Autumn in Charlbury

Tue 16 Dec 2008, 14:43

the name is there richard ,if you look hard enough. (Duly added! --Richard)

Tue 16 Dec 2008, 12:15

Poem by an old man.
She stood on the bridge at midnight
Her legs were all a quiver
She gave a cough
Her leg dropped off
And floated down the river.

The boy stood on the burning deck
Picking his nose like mad
Rolling it up in little balls
And flicking them at his dad.

Not shakespeare i hasten to add.

(Real names only please... - Richard)

Thu 11 Dec 2008, 12:52

MID-DECEMBER by Gerald England

A full moon shines over the morning frost;
the lanes are full of late-fallen leaves;
walking across the mulch is almost as tricky as treading over ice.

In town the carol-singers are in crowding the shopping-mall,
while a group of muffled musicians play by the outside market.

This year but two robins on the early christmas cards;
the squirrel still runs along the fence skirting our newly-erected shed.

Tue 9 Dec 2008, 21:33

Thanks, Charlotte - that's a gorgeous poem, isn't it. I know it's a great favourite with Sue Cochrane (co-founder of Shed Theatre), but still I don't think it's sufficiently well known ... In fact I first came across it when Sue read it at a musical evening at the Shed a year or so ago. So thanks again for sharing it with all of us!

Tue 9 Dec 2008, 17:32

Still feels like November to me. Can't believe Christmas is nearly on our doorstep? 2009 has just got to be better?

'No sun, no moon, no morn, no noon,

No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day;

No sky, no earthly view, no distance looking blue,

No road, no street, no t'other side the way...

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,

No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,

November!'

Tue 9 Dec 2008, 16:12

I admire your very subtle attempt at subliminal advertising Ed!

Tue 9 Dec 2008, 15:22

I was crossing the Playing Close earlier when a question popped into my head: 'What does autumn go on paying for/With so much yellow money?' The question really started to preoccupy me, till I remembered it came from a poem by Pablo Neruda - who is also the subject of ChOC's next film, 'Il Postino'! Perhaps the film has the answer. It's something different to think about, anyway.