“Do you think I’ve gone round the bend?“ “I’m afraid so. You’re mad, bonkers, completely off your head. But I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are.” ― ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’ 1865 … Lewis Carroll
A BIT OF NONSENSE
NONSENSE VERSES . . . Just playing with words & triple rhymes
A very long song is quite wrong But a terse little verse is worse So why try to cry, ‘cos You know I’ll feel low when you go.
It would seem that I scream when I dream So why can’t I try to be shy It’s unkind when I find you don’t mind You will know it is so when I go.
It is sad when a lad turns out bad But a joy for a boy to annoy; Why disguise all those lies I despise, Tell me why you don’t try to comply?
Please desist and don’t twist my wrist You can kill my goodwill with that pill I can tell you’re not well when you yell Lose your head, you’ll be dead, it is said.
Try to recall your fall in the hall, I could tell you weren’t well when you fell. Don’t sigh, that is why, by and by If you’re kind you will find I won’t mind.
The cop had to pop to the shop To get runny honey for money; But today he’s away at a play, So tomorrow, in sorrow, he’ll borrow.
The girl with the twirl and the curl Denied she had tried not to hide, But the boy full of joy with the toy Asked to play, if he may,every day.
When the man with a can saw the fan I know he gave a slow blow He looked swell till he fell in a well; He’s unwell I can tell by the smell.
It is fun to run in the sun, If you try to fly you’ll see why. But begin to sin, you won’t win; No, you shouldn’t, you wouldn’t , you couldn’t ,
Bliss in a kiss will not go amiss It serves and deserves, to comfort the nerves. But let me repeat, you’ll meet with defeat When time and chime no longer rhyme.
It’s absurd when a bird can’t be heard It’s a sin when an inn won’t serve gin. It’s a pity this ditty‘s not witty I endeavour to be clever however.
As the seductive sun appears Dispensing its joy in generous rays The air I breathe is warm yet fresh And the world awakes from its malaise.
Content to soak up all the warmth, The earth, the grass, the trees are still, Suffused with morning’s cooling calm Sharing a taste of earth’s goodwill.
The elfin stream is placid too Reflecting back the sunlight’s heat Tending the water’s life below Coaxing us all the sun to greet.
Oh, make the most of this fair day Before it melts and drifts away.
I composed this sonnet inspired by an early morning scene in The New Forest, Southern England, which is also the subject of my pen and wash sketch above.
Long lingering Lyn stretches her arms from the east and from the west faltering before then slowly gathering the courage to continue
Until at last separately these fledgling rivers tumble less tentative now more fluent and sure almost impetuous towards each other through their sovereign gorges
Plummeting now to where their destined waters meet in conscious confluence
A stillness then returns caution again prevailing tentative once more, remembering, regretting, still grieved by distant memory
But now able with measured movement to veer past the lighthouse by the river’s mouth and to slip softly into the welcoming sea.
On 15 and 16 August 1952, a storm of tropical intensity broke over south-west England, depositing 9 inches of rain within 24 hours on the already saturated soil of Exmoor, North Devon. The East and West Lyn rivers, which drop down from Exmoor, were swollen even before the storm. Debris-laden flood waters cascaded down the northern escarpment of the moor, much of it converging upon the village of Lynmouth in particular. In the upper West Lyn valley, a dam was formed by fallen trees, etc., but in due course this gave way, sending a huge wave of water and debris down the river.
Overnight, more than 100 buildings were destroyed or seriously damaged along with 28 of the 31 bridges, and 38 cars were washed out to sea. In total, 34 people died, with a further 420 made homeless. The seawall and lighthouse survived the main flood, but were seriously undermined. The lighthouse collapsed into the river the next day.
Pictures by Sir Edward Burne-Jones (1833 – 1898) . . . ‘The Heart of the Rose’ Tapestry design, inspired by Chaucer’s adaptation of the medieval French ‘Le Romaunt de la Rose’
Today . . . a plug for my favourite choir – the Westminster Chorus – with their moving rendering of ‘Oh Love that will not let me go’ . . .
The Westminster Chorus, singing a David Phelps arrangement of the George Matheson Hymn, “Oh Love, That Will Not Let Me Go” in the Petrikirche, a Protestant church (start of construction 1322) in Dortmund, Germany. The church is famous for the huge carved altar (known as “Golden Miracle of Dortmund”), from 1521. It consists of 633 gilt carved oak figures depicting 30 scenes about Easter.
Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones … Singing Angels (‘Honesty’) Tapestry 1898 (detail)
Do I just pretend to be open am I a charlatan at heart how sincere how honest when push comes to shove when the chips are down what remains that is true to my intent
Have I forsaken my promise my desire to be me openly faithful truly chaste a compassionate soul struggling for honesty and resolved to lead into the Promised Land
My poems are imagination’s creatures but still slave to whim to make-believe and the pre-determined end does this condemn me to reach a bargain to fudge the truth
If so then has that truth become another lie or does it just allow me a latitude a breadth of narrative which covers up the shallowness of my intent
I compromise surely make accommodations to reality inhibited by thoughts of entitlement feelings of worth desire to please to purchase credibility a mercenary versifier forever regretting that this facade must be negotiated with my better judgement not wanting to hurt protecting decorum and further weakening honesty effectively dissolving the truth
And yet rather this than face the rejection that surely would follow as always the truth that no – I am no wunderkind not tomorrow’s success nor Destiny’s child just waiting to be found
Bosham is a delightful village situated on an arm of Chichester Harbour (West Sussex). Bosham has a long history; it is thought that it was one of the first sites in Sussex were the Saxon St Wilfrid preached, around the year 681 AD. Three centuries later, it was at Bosham that King Canute, tongue in cheek, ordered the waves to cease their movement. Canute’s daughter is buried at Holy Trinity parish church, which features a superb 11th century chancel arch and a Saxon tower.
One of Canute’s successors, Harold, set sail from Bosham in 1064 on the voyage which was to eventually cost him his kingdom, after a storm cast him into the hands of William of Normandy.
Today, Bosham remains a popular boating centre, and it retains many charming 17th and 18th century buildings in the narrow, winding streets and alleys that lead to the harbour. The manor of Bosham House, which may stand on the site of a Saxon house built for Canute, was the home of Henry Hamblin, the popular writer and spiritualist known as the ‘Saint of Sussex’.
Roland's Ragbag 