Wednesday, 27 February 2013
Who's For Tea?
They pose and pontificate,
assured of their position;
sons of the Fathers
with Right on their side.
No matter the tragedies,
the mayhem, the mourning,
they scorn their detractors
and will have their way.
You and I may fail to see
the attraction or necessity
but who can deny them?
Money talks, and how.
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
Eloise - Polyglot poetry
Für Eloise
When she was just a little child and learned to say my name
Eloise would call to me to join her in a game.
"Papa!" she'd say, "Papa! Papa! Allons! Enfin! Vite!"
in so imperious a way, and stamp her little feet.
"Ja, ich komme, Liebling", I'd tell her in reply
and rush to do her bidding, no need to tell you why.
This perfect little creature, so vibrant yet serene
was everything I'd hoped for, the cutest thing I'd seen.
So if I seem enamoured you must forgive me please.
There's nothing I would not have done for my sweet Eloise.
Kommen Sie Hier
"Zu Papa komm, mein Liebling,"
I'd say to my little girl
and she'd come across to where I sat
with a run, a skip and a twirl.
She'd scramble up upon my knee
with a radiant confident smile
and throw her arms around my neck
as time stood still for a while.
"Du bist mein ein und alles".
"Naturellement!" she'd cry
and placing her little nose on mine
she'd look me in the eye.
"Tu me traites avec tendresse,
mon gentil Papa!"
But how could I do anything less?
C'est paternité, n'est-ce pas?
The Fishing Cat
I loved to read to Eloise
I would see the words afresh
and one of her favourite stories
was called Le Chat Qui Pêche.**
It's all about a cat that was
as curious as my daughter
who finally went a bit too far
and fell into the water.
I used it as a warning but
she didn't care for that
and one day learned her lesson
in the same way as the cat.
"Oh, Papa", she said in jest
"Je suis mauvais sujet!"
"Ja, liebling, aber macht nichts!
I love you anyway."
Es ist Wunderbar.
One day when I took Eloise
to see the local zoo
she was extremely taken
with a bounding kangaroo.
Wide eyed she watched, then said, "Papa!
Regard! Cet animal!
C'est vraiment l'animal comique,
il bond de même qu'une balle!"
There was no arguing with that!
I said, "Ja, das ist wahr."
She turned to me and with a grin
said, "Es ist wunderbar!"
Desolée
She dressed up for the party
but no-one came to call;
Eloise stood in her very best dress,
there in the empty hall.
"Oh Papa, je suis desolée,"
she said to me at last;
her body slowly drooping,
her features quite downcast.
"Cherie, cherie, mein Liebling",
I stammered, " Komm zu mir!"
and very gently drew her close
and wiped away a tear.
I held her as she quietly sobbed:
"Pourquoi personne n'arrive?"
For once I had no answers and
could only watch her grieve.
Not Tonight
"Ich liebe dich, I love you "
I often used to say
and she'd reply "Je t'aime, je t'aime,"*
in her own special way
"Wo gehst du hin?" I'd ask her
- not seriously though -
just to hear her answer;
I didn't need to know.
"Veux-tu danser, cher papa,
en disco avec moi?"
I'd shake my head, return her smile
and answer "Pas ce soir.
When she was just a little child and learned to say my name
Eloise would call to me to join her in a game.
"Papa!" she'd say, "Papa! Papa! Allons! Enfin! Vite!"
in so imperious a way, and stamp her little feet.
"Ja, ich komme, Liebling", I'd tell her in reply
and rush to do her bidding, no need to tell you why.
This perfect little creature, so vibrant yet serene
was everything I'd hoped for, the cutest thing I'd seen.
So if I seem enamoured you must forgive me please.
There's nothing I would not have done for my sweet Eloise.
Kommen Sie Hier
"Zu Papa komm, mein Liebling,"
I'd say to my little girl
and she'd come across to where I sat
with a run, a skip and a twirl.
She'd scramble up upon my knee
with a radiant confident smile
and throw her arms around my neck
as time stood still for a while.
"Du bist mein ein und alles".
"Naturellement!" she'd cry
and placing her little nose on mine
she'd look me in the eye.
"Tu me traites avec tendresse,
mon gentil Papa!"
But how could I do anything less?
C'est paternité, n'est-ce pas?
The Fishing Cat
I loved to read to Eloise
I would see the words afresh
and one of her favourite stories
was called Le Chat Qui Pêche.**
It's all about a cat that was
as curious as my daughter
who finally went a bit too far
and fell into the water.
I used it as a warning but
she didn't care for that
and one day learned her lesson
in the same way as the cat.
"Oh, Papa", she said in jest
"Je suis mauvais sujet!"
"Ja, liebling, aber macht nichts!
I love you anyway."
Es ist Wunderbar.
One day when I took Eloise
to see the local zoo
she was extremely taken
with a bounding kangaroo.
Wide eyed she watched, then said, "Papa!
Regard! Cet animal!
C'est vraiment l'animal comique,
il bond de même qu'une balle!"
There was no arguing with that!
I said, "Ja, das ist wahr."
She turned to me and with a grin
said, "Es ist wunderbar!"
Desolée
She dressed up for the party
but no-one came to call;
Eloise stood in her very best dress,
there in the empty hall.
"Oh Papa, je suis desolée,"
she said to me at last;
her body slowly drooping,
her features quite downcast.
"Cherie, cherie, mein Liebling",
I stammered, " Komm zu mir!"
and very gently drew her close
and wiped away a tear.
I held her as she quietly sobbed:
"Pourquoi personne n'arrive?"
For once I had no answers and
could only watch her grieve.
Not Tonight
"Ich liebe dich, I love you "
I often used to say
and she'd reply "Je t'aime, je t'aime,"*
in her own special way
"Wo gehst du hin?" I'd ask her
- not seriously though -
just to hear her answer;
I didn't need to know.
"Veux-tu danser, cher papa,
en disco avec moi?"
I'd shake my head, return her smile
and answer "Pas ce soir.
'Ave You Seen - A conversation in dialect.
'Ave You Seen?
'Ave you seen the grass grow green?
I 'ave, but long ago.
And is it true the sea were blue?
Blue? Well, yes and no.
I've 'eard it said a rose were red...
That's right, son, red or pink.
And snow were white? The sun were bright?
So bright it made you blink!
And what about the leaves in autumn
were they really gold?
Aye, gold and brown and crimson;
the 'alf were never told.
And were there birds up in the trees?
And did you 'ear them sing?
They trilled a million symphonies,
especially in spring.
And did you ever catch a fish
and tek it to your mother?
And, grandad, do you ever wish
that you could catch another?
I wish I could 'ave seen the earth
when it were young and pretty.
Whatever made the world give birth
to one enormous city?
It were greed that did it, lad,
it all boils down to money;
they spent the world, spent all it had.
Oh, grandad, you are funny!
They spent the silver and the gold,
the copper and the brass,
they spent the oil, they spent the coal,
the trees, the flowers, the grass.
They spent owt that could swim or fly,
they even spent the water,
till all the earth were grey and dry
wi' nowt else left to slaughter.
But worst of all they spent folks' 'earts
and left 'em wi'out beauty.
All that's left when 'ope departs
is one long round of duty.
Christine
© 1990
'Ave you seen the grass grow green?
I 'ave, but long ago.
And is it true the sea were blue?
Blue? Well, yes and no.
I've 'eard it said a rose were red...
That's right, son, red or pink.
And snow were white? The sun were bright?
So bright it made you blink!
And what about the leaves in autumn
were they really gold?
Aye, gold and brown and crimson;
the 'alf were never told.
And were there birds up in the trees?
And did you 'ear them sing?
They trilled a million symphonies,
especially in spring.
And did you ever catch a fish
and tek it to your mother?
And, grandad, do you ever wish
that you could catch another?
I wish I could 'ave seen the earth
when it were young and pretty.
Whatever made the world give birth
to one enormous city?
It were greed that did it, lad,
it all boils down to money;
they spent the world, spent all it had.
Oh, grandad, you are funny!
They spent the silver and the gold,
the copper and the brass,
they spent the oil, they spent the coal,
the trees, the flowers, the grass.
They spent owt that could swim or fly,
they even spent the water,
till all the earth were grey and dry
wi' nowt else left to slaughter.
But worst of all they spent folks' 'earts
and left 'em wi'out beauty.
All that's left when 'ope departs
is one long round of duty.
Christine
© 1990
Along the Seashore
Along the Seashore
Waves, whispering on the sand
slowly encroaching
falling back
move miniscule grains
losses and gains
bring nourishment
to hungry mouths
of crabby crustaceans
wiggling worms and
a multitude of molluscs
not forgetting the hoards and hoards
of hidden, almost invisible, things
who wait with assorted maws and jaws
for what the sea will bring.
Life along the seashore.
Christine
© 2002
Waves, whispering on the sand
slowly encroaching
falling back
move miniscule grains
losses and gains
bring nourishment
to hungry mouths
of crabby crustaceans
wiggling worms and
a multitude of molluscs
not forgetting the hoards and hoards
of hidden, almost invisible, things
who wait with assorted maws and jaws
for what the sea will bring.
Life along the seashore.
Christine
© 2002
A Land of Contrasts
A Land of Contrasts
Andes, a sprawling dragon, slumbering as it grows,
the length of South America, land of vast diversity:
from Atacama desert sands to snow fields and steaming jungle.
Jagged peaks tower over salt flats and caustic lakes
where a flock of pink flamingoes - feathered, stilted Riverdancers -
move en masse, their dance of love, and never miss a beat.
Torrent ducklings dance with death, plunging into freezing water,
tumbling, racing over rocks, yet somehow they survive.
Plucky little Humboldt penguins run the gauntlet through a horde
of nursing sealions, penguin eaters; bravely elbowing their way,
trampling the recumbent bodies, rushing past the snarling mouths,
risking all to reach the sea for fish to feed their young;
a sea wherein another danger, orca - foe of penguins, glide
and leap, their snapping hungry jaws a harbinger of death.
A sheet of ice, the size of Wales, births a glacier, slowly flowing
ruthlessly, inexorably, into the southern ocean.
On rocky heights, viscachas, tiny fur-robed, rodent monks,
warm themselves, greet the sun, and mutter benedictions.
Zorros, abhorring housework, move their pups from den to den,
chased always by the guanaco who hate them with a passion.
Mists arise, revive the lofty cacti which burst into bloom,
a tasty treat for guanaco; somewhere a bromeliad
flowers once in thirty years, in hope of pollination
by humming birds which seem to thrive in disparate locations.
Flocks of jewel-bright macaws, raucous in their conversation,
fly beneath an azure sky, catch the eye and stun the senses,
Elsewhere, spectacled bears, weighing all of forty stones,
eat bromeliads, raise their young, high up in the tree tops,
while kodkod, secretive and shy, birdlike in the canopy,
kudu, tiny foot high deer dwarfed by giant greenery,
puma, sloths - green with algae, armadillos, countless creatures,
touch the heart and fill the mind with wonderment and awe.
© 2004
Andes, a sprawling dragon, slumbering as it grows,
the length of South America, land of vast diversity:
from Atacama desert sands to snow fields and steaming jungle.
Jagged peaks tower over salt flats and caustic lakes
where a flock of pink flamingoes - feathered, stilted Riverdancers -
move en masse, their dance of love, and never miss a beat.
Torrent ducklings dance with death, plunging into freezing water,
tumbling, racing over rocks, yet somehow they survive.
Plucky little Humboldt penguins run the gauntlet through a horde
of nursing sealions, penguin eaters; bravely elbowing their way,
trampling the recumbent bodies, rushing past the snarling mouths,
risking all to reach the sea for fish to feed their young;
a sea wherein another danger, orca - foe of penguins, glide
and leap, their snapping hungry jaws a harbinger of death.
A sheet of ice, the size of Wales, births a glacier, slowly flowing
ruthlessly, inexorably, into the southern ocean.
On rocky heights, viscachas, tiny fur-robed, rodent monks,
warm themselves, greet the sun, and mutter benedictions.
Zorros, abhorring housework, move their pups from den to den,
chased always by the guanaco who hate them with a passion.
Mists arise, revive the lofty cacti which burst into bloom,
a tasty treat for guanaco; somewhere a bromeliad
flowers once in thirty years, in hope of pollination
by humming birds which seem to thrive in disparate locations.
Flocks of jewel-bright macaws, raucous in their conversation,
fly beneath an azure sky, catch the eye and stun the senses,
Elsewhere, spectacled bears, weighing all of forty stones,
eat bromeliads, raise their young, high up in the tree tops,
while kodkod, secretive and shy, birdlike in the canopy,
kudu, tiny foot high deer dwarfed by giant greenery,
puma, sloths - green with algae, armadillos, countless creatures,
touch the heart and fill the mind with wonderment and awe.
© 2004
Benign Indifference
Benign Indifference
Oft she turns her wrinkled face,
pirouettes through starlit space;
agitated her demeanour,
aging legless barrelina.
Now and then she belches, spews,
shakes and quakes and so renews.
All is cyclical in motion,
life and earth and sky and ocean
living, dying, rising, falling,
though to us it seems appalling
for, short lived, to life we cling
while nature simply does it's thing.
"Gazing up at the stars, for the first time, the first,
I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe."
-Albert Camus (1913-1960)
Crazylady
© 2005
Oft she turns her wrinkled face,
pirouettes through starlit space;
agitated her demeanour,
aging legless barrelina.
Now and then she belches, spews,
shakes and quakes and so renews.
All is cyclical in motion,
life and earth and sky and ocean
living, dying, rising, falling,
though to us it seems appalling
for, short lived, to life we cling
while nature simply does it's thing.
"Gazing up at the stars, for the first time, the first,
I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe."
-Albert Camus (1913-1960)
Crazylady
© 2005
Philosophical Ramblings
Philosophical Ramblings.
Does the butterfly know courage
when first it leaves the cocoon?
Having left it's earthbound pedestrian life
of eating, eating, and yet more eating
to hibernate for many days
on the underside of a leaf
to break down into genetic soup
it now has to start all over again
struggle free, out into the light
stretch its wings and soar on high.
How brave is the butterfly?
Does the lioness know courage
when she faces the male who comes along
and wants to mate and sees her young as
a threat to his own genetic line;
when she drives him away with tooth and claw
to defend her young ones sired elsewhere
does she stop to think "Oh, this is scary"
or just act purely on instinct?
What courage she shows in human terms
but a mother's desire to defend her young
is pretty instinctive under duress.
How brave is the lioness?
A baby bird has to leave the nest
learn to fly and fend for itself
and we put it down to instinct
but is it afraid of the cat and the owl
the predators all around?
Does it have to pluck up courage
to launch itself off that bough?
To struggle at length with its very first worm
which must be a little daunting
and we call it nature, take it for granted
that's just what creatures do.
Is talk of courage absurd?
How brave is the little bird?
I ask because I'm human,
and humans like to know.
We want to know what makes us tick
why we do the things we do
or why we sometimes don't.
Is courage merely an instinct
born of the need to survive?
or is it something we can control
by an act of will, determination?
We like to think we're so brave
ripping our fears assunder
but are we really? I wonder.
Christine
©July2002
Does the butterfly know courage
when first it leaves the cocoon?
Having left it's earthbound pedestrian life
of eating, eating, and yet more eating
to hibernate for many days
on the underside of a leaf
to break down into genetic soup
it now has to start all over again
struggle free, out into the light
stretch its wings and soar on high.
How brave is the butterfly?
Does the lioness know courage
when she faces the male who comes along
and wants to mate and sees her young as
a threat to his own genetic line;
when she drives him away with tooth and claw
to defend her young ones sired elsewhere
does she stop to think "Oh, this is scary"
or just act purely on instinct?
What courage she shows in human terms
but a mother's desire to defend her young
is pretty instinctive under duress.
How brave is the lioness?
A baby bird has to leave the nest
learn to fly and fend for itself
and we put it down to instinct
but is it afraid of the cat and the owl
the predators all around?
Does it have to pluck up courage
to launch itself off that bough?
To struggle at length with its very first worm
which must be a little daunting
and we call it nature, take it for granted
that's just what creatures do.
Is talk of courage absurd?
How brave is the little bird?
I ask because I'm human,
and humans like to know.
We want to know what makes us tick
why we do the things we do
or why we sometimes don't.
Is courage merely an instinct
born of the need to survive?
or is it something we can control
by an act of will, determination?
We like to think we're so brave
ripping our fears assunder
but are we really? I wonder.
Christine
©July2002
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