Hotel Room

 Dear reader,

Snipes are a family of water birds characterized by their long, probing bills and secretive behaviour.   They are also known for their unique aerial displays during the breeding season, where males perform a "drumming" or "winnowing" flight.

Snipes have a global distribution with several species found in various parts of the world, including the common snipe.   The word "sniper" actually originated from the difficulty of hunting snipes as the are camouflaged and swift fliers, making them a challenge for hunters.

Snipe live on wet grasslands, marches, and moorlands throughout the U.K.  The common snipe usually stays hidden in the grass but if it is startled it will burst out from its cover and fly in a zig-zag pattern to evade predators.  They are secretive, highly camouflaged birds that use their very long bills to probe mud and sand flats for tasty creatures to eat.

 

                                                                                * 

From Dorothy Wordsworth   April 29th  1802  in Westmorland

'A beautiful morning - the sun shone and all was pleasant......William lay, and I lay, in the trench under the fence - he with his eyes shut, and listening to the waterfalls and the birds.  There was no one waterfall above another - it was a sound of water in the air - the voice of the air.  William heard me breathing and rustling now and then, but we both lay still, and unseen by one another; he thought that it would be as sweet thus to lie in the grave, to hear the peaceful sounds of the earth, and just to know that our dear friends were near.'

From D.H. Lawrence   April 30th  1915   in Sussex

'There is a wagtail sitting on the gate-post.  I see how sweet and swift heaven is.  But hell is slow and creeping and viscous and insect-teeming;  as is this Europe now, this England.'

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 Hotel Room

 

Imagine the cellars, 1718

 storing meat

fruit and onions,

apples on slats

maturing, ripening

within peeling walls.

Mouse holes and

a smell of damp and decay.

 

A smaller room attached -

 a game larder,

where pheasants, snipe,

partridges, rabbits, hares

and ducks are hung on hooks

or from the rafters.

Large clay pots sit in the corner

full of earth and potatoes.

 

See the rooms, basement now, 2018.

Pristine white walls, Farrow and Ball,

arches and pillars over large bed

black sofa, black cushions,

lush bedside lamps,

the bathroom heats underfloor

large bath, rolled white flannels

gold taps.

 

Where has all the magic gone?

                                                                                 *

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cold Christ Child The Chapel

Dear reader, 

I always feel sad on Easter Saturday because I am thinking of Jesus and his death and burial.  I wonder what He is doing in the burial place when He is supposed to be dead, a cave, with a stone over the entrance.  Then on Easter Day in the early morning someone has moved the stone and Jesus is seen walking and is recognised by his friends.  Although one of them thought he was the gardener.   But He has been resurrected and has come back to the world to save us all from our sins.  He does this by loving us all.  It is so good to know He loves me.  This is such a fantastic story and it is a great relief to me when Saturday is over and I then know all is well. Wondering who moved the stone I think it must have been the angels.

Because I am deaf and can't hear a word in our church I watched a service from Bristol Cathedral to celebrate the Risen Christ.  But sadly in the last few years I haven't felt the magic or spirituality of God in these church services.  It is all too regimented.  Too many choir hymns and not enough partaking of them by the congregation.  I watch these services but don't feel a part of them.  Give me a small chapel somewhere with a priest and a small congregation and I feel at home and part of God's children.

                                          

                                                                             *

From Samuel Pepys    April 22  1664 in Kent

'I was called up this morning before four o'clock.  It was ull light to dress myself: and so by water against the tide, it being a little cool, to Greenwich; and thence, only that it was somewhat foggy till the sun got to some height, walked with great pleasure to Woolwich, in my way staying several times to listen to the nightingales.'

From John Clare   April 23rd  1825 in Northants

'Saw the redstart or firetail to-day and little willow wren.  The blackthorn tree in full flower that shines about the hedges like cloaths hung out to dry.'

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Cold Christ Child

 

Why did Murillo, Fra Filippo Lippi,

Leonardo da Vinci paint

the Christ Child nude?

Did they not know of night-time cold?

 

Was the hot Levantine wind

blowing in the midday sun,

enough to stay the chill of evening

and warm this precious child?

 

They painted the Madonna in a dress,

the soldiers fully clad

in jerkins, armour, helmets,

the angels in sumptuous robes,

but the Christ Child is left on marble floors,

or dandled in laps,

with nothing to swaddle and secure him.

 

Could it be that this cold start

was not enough 

to set alight the love

needed to save us all?

 

                                                                               *

 

 

Chapel

 

Away with the cherubs

the angels, the painted ceilings

the high arches

the high ceilings

nudes male and female

the artifacts

the gold crosses

and ornate statues of the

Virgin Mary.

 

Give me a chapel with

whitewashed bricks

wooden pews

oak door with studs

daisies on the altar

in a china jug

a bust of St. Columba

and quiet peace

in God’s house.

 

                                                                                       ^*

 

^{With very best wishes, Patrica}

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bath

 Dear Reader,

I went to see an old friend last week and we talked of this and that, gossip and world news. She asked me about my poetry, was I still writing. I told her the muse seems to have deserted me lately and she made a suggestion.  There are so many new difficulties old people have to go through, why not write a short book of 'old age' topics in poems and try to keep them humorous.  I thought about this when I got home and wondered whether if could do it.  

I started thinking about getting into the bath and how difficult, well, nigh impossible, to get in it or out of it.  Then I started to write the following poem and hope you enjoy it.  There are so many things we have to accept that we can't do any more and try to find something positive about how we are now. I will be writing more poems in the weeks to come.  Perhaps you could put a comment on the blog to say if you like the idea. 

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Years ago there was an extremely funny series on the television called "Dad's Army".  Being deaf I hadn't been able to hear the jokes but I had a lovely surprise this week because I found that the series had subtitles.  It is still as funny as ever.  I laugh and laugh.   Arthur Lowe as Captain Mainwaring, the main character, is such a wonderful actor every twist of his mouth or roll of his eye are beautifully timed.  I thoroughly recommend this series if you want and like good comedy.

                                                                          *

From Dorothy Wordsworth   April 9th  1798  in Somerset

'Walked to Stowey, a fine air in going, but very hot in returning.  The sloe in blossom, the hawthorns green, the larches in the park changed from back to green in two or three days.'

From Gilbert White    April 11th  1790 in Oxford

'Thames very full and beautiful, after so much dry weather: wheat looks well; meadows dry, and scorched; roads very dusty.'

  

 Bath

I stand looking 

at the bath,

my friend the bath

what times I have had in it,

splashing and twirling

diving under the water,

scrubbing with French soap

from Marsailles,

listening to Mozart

by candlelight,

Badebas pine bath oil

scenting the room,

just lying back

thinking through the day

enjoying the warming water.

 

But Now?

 

The side is too high

I can't get over it,

getting out is nigh impossible.

Now baths are out

I will have to take

up the challenge

and shower.

 

I hear people like them,

maybe I will.

 

                                                            *

With best wishes, Patricia

 

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A Variation on the Tortoise and the Hare

 Dear Reader,

The story of The Tortoise and the Hare is one of Aesop's Fables.   It is the account of a race between unequal partners and has attracted conflicting interpretations.  

The fable itself is a variant of a common folktale theme in which ingenuity and trickery are employed to overcome a stronger opponent.

The one sense it is no surprise as to why the classic moral of the story is "slow and steady wins the race'.  This is what takes place in the fable, the tortoise did move slowly and did win the race.

                                                                             *

I do everything slowly these days and find the pace very comforting.  No rushing about, no headlong dashes somewhere, just an even step to help me along the way.  Would that I had known that earlier in my life and I might have taken different turns.

                                                                              

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 From D.H. Lawrence  April 18th 1918 in Berkshire

'Yesterday there was deep snow, though the trees are in bloom.  Plum trees and cherry trees full of blossom look so queer in a snow landscape, their lovely foamy fullness goes a sort of pinky drab, and the snow looks fiendish in its cold incandescence.  I hated in violently.'

From John Ruskin  April 19th  1873 in Lancashire

'Up at 5, out at 6, in calm morning, wholly glorious.   Lake like a dream.....Entirely Paradise of a day, cloudless and pure till 5; then East wind a little, but clearing for twilight.  Did  little but saunter among the primroses and work on beach.'

                                                                          *

 

A Variation on the Tortoise and the Hare

The tortoise, shell-encased,
shy and timid,
was fond of quiet places.
He ate lettuce sandwiches
drank bottled water
and did deep breathing exercises.
He was slow alright,
but kept on "keeping on", getting there,
although a little fearful
of what life can bring.

Then, he discovered anxiety pills
and grew bolder,
he opinionated more,
rejected lettuce,
ate avocado and prawn cocktails,
drank vodka,
and tried his hand at salsa dancing.
Confidence changed him.
He became the hare.

This hare spoke his mind.
He jumped and danced
texted and mobiled friends,
arranged outings,
and had a ball.
But the Gods were watching him,
they sent a "don't forget card"
to remind him of his tortoise life,
his quiet life,
the life that was right and good
for a tortoise.

He threw the anxiety pills away
and slowly his shell grew back,
he started reading again,
he talked less,
thought more,
enjoyed lettuce sandwiches
and drank bottled water.
He became the tortoise
that he was meant to be.

                                                                                      *

With very best wishes, Patricia