COURTSHIP

Black-necked
cranes ride
high and fast
on winter winds
above the
icy Himalayan
barrier.

On the plateaux
of Ladakh
proud ceremonies
of dance
occur, brooking no
refusal from the
chosen ones, as,
with mincing steps
and half-spread
wings they
nod and bow
and leap,
no motion
squandered;

necks extended
towards
the sky,
their bugle calls
voiced in
synchronicity
create a wall
of sound
across that
arctic desert.

Life is a series of passing clouds. All our joys, sorrows, pleasure and pain will pass. Before they do, I want to record them here so that I don’t forget them. You will find some of my favourite music performed by my favourite artists, some timeless comedy sketches that still make me laugh out loud, some of my own favourite photos linked to very happy memories and a few of my own poems in which I try to portray my view of the wonderful world of nature. There are also some tribute poems dedicated to my beloved husband, Ralph who was always the light of my life. If you happen upon this blog, I hope you enjoy it.

PLEASE CLICK ON ‘OLDER POSTS’ AT THE BOTTOM FOR MORE PAGES.

MIXED BLESSINGS ~ A 60 WORD STORY

Father Sullivan’s congregation usually consisted of seven or eight elderly stalwarts, but there were times when frustration overcame his normally cheerful persona, and this was one of them.

Today the church was packed and the smell was staggering. Where had they all suddenly appeared from?

He sighed, then smiled, and signalled the lady with the Llama to approach the altar.

A few haiku moments

a snail climbs
the garden fence-
as long as it takes

intensive care ward-
the language
of eyes

summer meadow-
the flap of wings lifting
a rabbit's ears

night creaking-
old house settling to where
it wants to be

overcast sky-
a child sets free
her red balloon

winter twilight-
he takes the bridle
from the old mare

BIRTH

BIRTH

In the cradle of time
titans once trapped
beneath a patina of
stagnant verdigris,
make salient moves
to break the chains
of confinement.

Whispers of their birth
become mighty roars
as the planet's crust
erupts in fiery fury
and spits out these
small moons through
its bleeding portals,
to circle for eternity
an inhospitable
lifeless globe

somewhere
in space.

PICTURE CAPTIONS

" You know the rules on school uniform, lads. Now go home, wash out that gel and report back to my office."

PICTURE CAPTION

It's the Hunt Ball tomorrow, should I wear the red silk - or the black velvet?

Ten month old white lion cub I met in Mauritius. (yes I was inside the compound and stroked him as well as other lions and white tigers)

https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-w6nAamuCm9k/TgA6yQh0RBI/AAAAAAAAGag/KuLf7fnrsAc/s640/DSCF3019.JPG

NO STRINGS ATTACHED

(inspired by this photograph by Yuliha Royuka and published with her permission)


At Corpus Christi Fair he bought
for her - three crimson balloons
shiny, floating, helium-light.
He whispered honeyed words
‘No strings attached my love -
let’s set them free on Gypsy Hill.’

Hand in hand they ran
laughing gaily like impish
children caught in the moment,
till slowly her fingers uncurled
and set them free, watching sadly
as they floated from her view.

Today with leaden heart she
stands on Gypsy Hill tossing
his love letters to the hungry wind
‘No strings attached my love’.

Blown, flown, and forever lost
like those sweet, crimson globes

POSTCARD FROM LANZAROTE

I have walked in lava fields

where colours runs like tears

down barren mountain slopes;

where fire has scorched the earth,

annihilating and devouring all.

Only a keening wind is heard,

a dirge for long-departed friends.

Only the eternal seeking...

for dandelion clocks

and autumn leaves

and children's kites

and poppy seeds

and washing lines

with dripping sheets,

for the long- flowing tresses

of a young girl's hair

and bamboo chimes;

for hats and veils

whipped from the heads

of sombre villagers

after Sunday Mass,

to bowl down alleyways

for scampering boys to chase.

These toys of the wind.

Forever lost, forever mourned.

60 WORD STORY

WINDOW SEAT

From her chair by the window, Elsie viewed the garden and its winding path with vacant, rheumy eyes.

Days came and went and still she remained inert, unmoving and unseeing.

On an early morning in May, a single delicate wild flower sprang up, causing the sting in her nostrils to bring tears to her eyes.

But she couldn't remember why.

Misunderstood ~60 word story

'Yuck!' gasped Abby, spitting into the sink. She rinsed her mouth with water, shuddered and looked daggers at her revolting brother, Robbie, who was bent double, clasping his stomach and laughing uproariously.

'What's so funny, runt?'

'Well, Sis, (hahaha,) I tried to tell you, (hahaha,) not to touch it. (Ahahaha!)

It's not lime jelly, it's slime jelly - an' it's mine.'

A story in exactly twenty five words......

CONSUMMATION

Sam rested his head against her warm side, breathing in her scent. His fingers explored her body as if for the first time. During his long absence he had dreamt only of this moment.

Squeezing gently, he smiled at the soft sound of Daisy's warm milk squirting into the bucket.

NAKED INTO THE WORLD - A STORY IN 150 WORDS

No one but his mother had ever seen Joe naked. For many long months, he had been hidden from prying eyes but gradually, as time passed and he grew rapidly, mother introduced him to the rest of the family.

In his teens, he took up kickboxing, at which he eventually became champion, taking on all comers from the mob. Joe was fearless, and his fame spread far and wide.There came a point in time when no one would dare challenge Joe’s supremacy, while he, tiring of the sport, began to look around for a more interesting pursuit.

That’s when he met Jill. In her limpid brown eyes, Joe was lost. They became constant companions, and wandered off on their own. They were gone for many months.

In the fullness of time they returned home and settled again with the family. And nobody but Jill ever saw their new baby Joey naked.

POSTCARD FROM CYDWELI CASTLE

By the wan light of sister moon
these grassy, shells of rooms.
are draped with brooding shadows.
Inside these ancient castle walls
hovering spirits whispers sibilant
songs through crumbling stones.

From the chapel anguished voices
chant requiems in eerie tones
for victims of the dread Black Death.

In the great hall, dancing ghosts,
like slowly swirling smoke,
sway trancelike to the music
of harp and lute: the scene
illumined by the flickering flames
of tar-tipped torchlight.

Incorporeal sounds press
loud upon my ear; disjointed
fragments of mediaeval airs.

Long dead knights and ladies
converse in hushed whispers
of murder and conspiracy.
A confluence of gathering
souls proclaim aloud, dark deeds
of treachery and villainy.

Outside the ramparts, thundering hooves
of wild-eyed horses conjure up
scenes of bloody, mortal combat.

High on these ramparts where banners once

proudly waved the castle unfurls

its chequered history for me.

Priorities~A 60 word story

‘The beauty of this superb penthouse flat Sir, is it’s rooftop garden, complete with a helipad, solarium and planetarium and a 9 hole putting green ~ hi-tech turf naturally.’

He joined the client at the window.

‘Magnificent view isn’t it, Sir?’

The lottery winner searched the scene and frowned.

‘Where’s the nearest MacDonald’s then, chief?’

(Added 26th January 2011)

DECEMBER MORNING

The garden wears
a winding sheet of snow.
An anaemic sun,
too weak to melt pond-ice
entombing golden fish,
hangs forlornly in
a gunmetal sky.

Lace doily spiders’ webs
decorate the naked trees.
A milky haze of frost lies
overall; listen!
nothing stirs, no breeze occurs.
no birds sing, no flowers spring.

Nor dare I move, for fear that
Mother Nature disapprove.

EXCALIBUR

Below the place called Avalon
the river winds down to a stone
which holds a sword in fast embrace,
a long time prisoner in this place.

Excalibur awaits the man,
the chosen one alone, who can
free it from the place it’s sheathed;
to him a kingdom is bequeathed,


Young Arthur grasped the jewelled sword
and proved he was the one true lord
and future king. This sword would break,
but fairest Lady of the Lake
delivered into Arthur’s hand
a new sword famed throughout the land.
A sword he pledged he would return
before his funeral pyre could burn.


The scabbard lost; the magic died.
A mortal wound smote Arthur’s side.
At Camlann was the king struck down,
a fatal wound to England’s crown.
He bade Sir Bedivere to take
the magic sword back to the lake.

The glinting sword thrown in the air,
was caught by the lady waiting there.
Then through the mist at Avalon,
the sword, and lady’s hand were – gone.

Copyright Grace Galton September 2010

NB As Arthur lay dying, he tells a reluctant Sir Bedivere to return the sword to the lake by throwing it into the water. Bedivere thinks the sword too precious to throw away, so twice only pretends to do so. Each time, Arthur asks him to describe what he saw. When Bedivere tells him the sword simply vanished underwater, Arthur scolds him harshly. Finally, Bedivere throws Excalibur into the lake. Before the sword strikes the water's surface, the hand reaches up to grasp it and pull it under.

FIREFALL, YOSEMITE

At winter's end when ice is melting
and mists shroud the cliffs in chiffon veils,
reflections of the setting sun, in perfect angle,
like the finger of the Lord, strike the cascade
and ignite the waterfall to flame.

And lo! the Angel Gabriel appears,
his head bowed in awe at the power and majesty
of God's hand upon the world. A fleeting instant
branded on the mind and soul
filling the heart with wonder at His work.


Here is a link to this story which inspired the poem


http://www.cultureledger.com/amazing-yosemite-firefall-horsetail-firefall-california-america/

Jamaican Sunset

ebbtide
falling into night
the brightest star

LAMENT OF THE LLAMA

You have to laugh don’t you?

That snooty young camel just came waltzing by.

It was all I could do not to spit in her eye!

Her toffee-nosed attitude gives me the hump.

If I could get at her I’d give her a thump..ing!

For years now the children have loved and adored me

their sticky small fingers have patted and pawed me-

and then, out of nowhere this madam appears,

with the ugliest face, and the silliest ears,

a miserable look and an ugly- toothed smile

and really bad breath that is hardly beguile..ing!

But summer approaches and soon she’ll be moulting,

and then they will see she is truly revolting!

SO THERE!

Newly hatched Bluetit chick in the nesting box in my garden, still looking wet, bedraggled and bewildered.

Cranes nesting on a telephone pole in Turkey. The wire has to stay, I don't like 'air brushing' my shots. To me they are..

BIRDS ON A WIRE

A dainty Goldfinch on my bird feeder. I love to encourage these tiny birds. They sing like canaries and add a lovely touch of colour to the garden.

LIQUID GOLD

Sunset over Altinkum, Turkey taken from the ferry, returning from Bodrum.

Bluetit chick just out of the nest, looking for Mum and Dad unsure of his ability to fly. This chick is approximately one inch tall. (Note the size of the Euonymus leaves behind him.)

Of this clutch seven hatched and flew while two sadly died in the nest.

Charlie's snooze time. Monkey World, Dorset

Lunch time for this Bengal tiger ~ Zurich Zoo, December 2008

It isn't the number of breaths we take that count ~ it's the number of moments that take our breath away

Anon