Poetry Wednesday: New Life

On Saturday last
I held
New life
Three days old
A tiny bundle
Relaxed, asleep
No worldly care
Mummy’s lip
Tiny fingers
Unclenched
Relaxed
Unaware
Of the drama
Panic
Fear
That surrounded
Her entry
Into our world
Of the tears
Prayers
As heartbeat
Slowed

Now she sleeps
On my shoulder
Surrounded by
Love and care
Unconcerned
Of what
Her future holds
No knowledge
Of what
Her contribution
To the world
Will be
I am reminded
Of my own
My son
Once new life
Now taking
Photographs
Of the miracle
In my arms
Of my daughter
Once new life
Just like this
Her head
Against
My shoulder
Welcome
Jayla

Sau de Eau, Trinidad

© JH 2007
Sau de Eau off the North coast of Trinidad, West Indies

This foto of the island, Sau de Eeau was taken by my son, from his boat in 2007. When I first saw it I thought it was a painting.

As explained to me by my son, this area is a deep sea basin which is a depression of the sea floor more or less equidimensional in form and of variable extent. Scientists, geologists, meteorologists and marine experts will understand this as I am sure some of you will. I did geography but you can leave me out on this one!
My son took an interest in photography at a very early age which may have had something to do with the fact that my husband never went anywhere without his camera. I’ve lost count of the number of cameras we had in the house. Around the age of ten (none of us can remember exactly when) his Christmas present was a Pentax P30T which he tells me, he still has! So he went through a stage when he clicked anything and everything in sight not taking into consideration, at his young age the cost of rolls of film and developing. Major expense!! He also had ‘small library’ of books on photography.

By mid teens the novelty of camera, exposure, photography books, lighting and capturing that “Kodak Moment’ wore off.

If the above is anything to go by I am very happy to know that the ‘bug’ has returned, he once again never goes anywhere without his camera and we can look forward to many hours of enjoyment at his expense! Also, thank God for Digital cameras.

Poetry Wednesday - A Speech

I absolutely love this from Shakespeare's Henry Vth, Act 111, Scene 1. The grand speech on the eve of the Battle of Agincourt as the king stirs his men into action. Another piece I had to learn at school. And I can still remember it!! I recall in the 60s watching the film starring a young Lawrence Olivier - we had to watch it as we were doing Henry Vth for 'O' Level. Kenneth Branagh's production many years later didn't stir the same emotions!



Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

Poetry Wednesday

I’m posting a Clerihew - thanks to Michael (Shouting at Streetlights) on Blogger!!

Frustrated Barbara
Is looking for a harbor
In which to dump her computer
Because it isn’t acting as it oughta’

Poetry Wednesday It is Dark

It’s dark
Very, very dark
Let me sleep
Let me sleep
Off the pain
The feeling of gloom
Of hopelessness
That embraces me

It’s light
Very, very light
Let me sleep
Continue to sleep
To stave off
The pain the doom
The hopelessness
Still embracing me

The dark
Of the night
Brings no peace
The light
Of the day
Is not enough
To quell
My uneasy spirit

In the dark
Should I sleep
And hope for
Dreamless peace?
In the light
Should I wake
And hope for
Soothing calm?

FFFF Pigeon Point Tobago

FFFF Pigeon Point Tobago

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After exams and a few days off from work, my daughter went to Tobago for a couple of days last week. We have lived in Trinidad since 1992 but never made the time to go over to the beautiful holiday island where the eccentric Sir Norman Parkinson (Parky), photographer extraordinaire of royalty and famous models made his home long before anyone other than Tobagonions lived there. He set up a pig farm in Tobago and marketed "Porkinson's Bangers' supposedly because he missed real British sausages commonly known as 'bangers'.

However this is not about Parky. This is about the foto my daughter's took of the spot that is used all over the world, to market the Caribbean. The famous Pigeon Point.

Copyright NML Tobago 2009

Pigeon Point Heritage Park is often considered Tobago's most beautiful beach and is home to the famous thatch-roofed jetty which has become an internationally recognized signature of Tobago. The resort includes a long stretch of white sand beach with warm aquamarine waters.

The photo below (not taken by my daughter) is how it is portrayed on many a brochure.

.

Hope I haven't broken the rules of FFFF

Poetry Wednesday Tarantella

Joseph Hilaire Pierre René Belloc (27 July 1870 – 16 July 1953) was an Anglo-French write and historian who became a naturalized subject in 1902. He was one of the most prolific writers in England during the early twentieth century.

Belloc was born in La-Calle-Saint-Cloud, France to a French father and English mother and grew up in England. His paternal grandfather was the painter Jean-Hilaire Belloc and his mother Elizabeth Rayner-Parkes was also a writer, and a great-granddaughter of the English chemist Joseph Priestley.

Tarantella is another of my favourites. I did not have to learn this by heart for exams but rather for recital on Parents Days! A group of us, with coaching from a professional, would stand on the stage and lift the roof of the assembly hall as we recited this. I don’t think I ever understood it at that time. The Tarantella is a southern Italian couple folk dance in 6/8 time accompanied by tambourines. Although the school I went to had two orchestras we were not accompanied by tambourines but we recited it in 6/8 time. And, I can still do it!!!

Tarantella

DO you remember an Inn,

Miranda?

Do you remember an Inn?

And the tedding and the bedding

Of the straw for a bedding,

And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,

And the wine that tasted of tar?

And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers

(Under the vine of the dark veranda)?

Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,

Do you remember an Inn?

And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers

Who hadn't got a penny,

And who weren't paying any,

And the hammer at the doors and the din?

And the hip! hop! hap!

Of the clap

Of the hands to the swirl and the twirl

Of the girl gone chancing,

Glancing,

Dancing,

Backing and advancing,

Snapping of the clapper to the spin

Out and in--

And the ting, tong, tang of the guitar!

Do you remember an Inn,

Miranda?

Do you remember an Inn?

Never more;

Miranda,

Never more.

Only the high peaks hoar;

And Aragon a torrent at the door.

No sound

In the walls of the halls where falls

The tread

Of the feet of the dead to the ground,

No sound:But the boom:

Of the far waterfall like doom.






Hilaire Belloc