Friday 18 December 2009

It went and gone and did it





They said it would and it did
The snow came down to make us skid
Across the roads and down the lanes
It stopped the traffic and the trains

It stopped the airports and the stations
An inch of snow has stopped the nation
That’s all it takes to make us stop
No work today no way to shop

The powers that be had one whole day
To keep the white stuff at bay
To grit the roads and grit the rails
But all we hear are sad sad tales

Of people trapped in deep snow drifts
And cars trapped in deep snow rifts
Of black ice here and black ice there
To catch the traveller if they dare

To venture out into the weather
And not fall down, we cling together
And fight our way through wind and flakes
And try not to make mistakes

That sends us tumbling to the ground
Or motors that spin round and round
To try to get to where we’re going
Through all the white stuff that is blowing

It happens every year you see
That bit of weather fit for skies
They know it’s coming but do nothing
And just because it’s bloody snowing



Angus

©AngusDei2009

Wednesday 16 December 2009

It’s snowing





It seems the Met Office is in the know
They got it right it’s started to snow
It’s coming down in dribs and drabs
And my attention it has grabbed


There’s not a lot as some would say
And it really isn’t here to stay
It melts as soon as hits the land
And really doesn’t look too grand

But snow they said and snow it is
Although it hasn’t got much whizz
It makes the garden look quite nice
But not enough to me entice

To leave my nice warm room
And dig out my trusty snow broom
To sweep away this rather sad
Layer of flakes but I am glad

To see the white flakes coming down
And lying whitely on the ground
To make a snowman I can not do
Nor will my nose turn blue

Because as I write this ditty
The snow has stopped and there’s a pity
No snow ball fights, no wellies on
Because the snow you see has gone


Angus

©Angus Dei 2009







Sunday 13 December 2009

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

It has been a while since I posted on this blog, and with the chance of snow in the air I thought this may be appropriate.








Snow Day by Billy Collins


Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
and beyond these windows


the government buildings smothered,
schools and libraries buried,
the post office lostunder the noiseless drift,
the paths of trains softly blocked,t
he world fallen under this falling.


In a while I will put on some boots
and step out like someone walking in water,
and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,
and I will shake a laden branch,
sending a cold shower down on us both.


But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,
a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.
I will make a pot of tea
and listen to the plastic radio on the counter,
as glad as anyone to hear the news


that the Kiddie Corner School is closed,
the Ding-Dong School, closed,
the All Aboard Children's School, closed,
the Hi-Ho Nursery School, closed,
along with -- some will be delighted to hear -


-the Toadstool School, the Little School
,Little Sparrows Nursery School,
Little Stars Pre-School, Peas-and-Carrots Day School,
the Tom Thumb Child Center, all closed,
and -- clap your hands -- the Peanuts Play School.


So this is where the children hide all day,
These are the nests where they letter and draw,
where they put on their bright miniature jackets,
all darting and climbing and sliding,
all but the few girls whispering by the fence.


And now I am listening hard
in the grandiose silence of the snow,
trying to hear what those three girls are plotting,
what riot is afoot,
which small queen is about to be brought down.








Thursday 26 November 2009

Macavity - The Mystery Cat

This reminds me of my own bad tempered, moaning Mog.







By T S Eliot


Macavity's a Mystery Cat:he's called the Hidden Paw

For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.

He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:

For when they reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!



Macavity, Macavity, there's no on like Macavity,

He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.

His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,

And when you reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!

You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air--

But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!



Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;

You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.

His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;

His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.

He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;

And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.


Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,

For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.

You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square--

But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!



He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)

And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.

And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,

Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,

Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair--

Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!


And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty's gone astray,

Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,

There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair--

But it's useless of investigate--Macavity's not there!

And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:

"It must have been Macavity!"--but he's a mile away.

You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,

Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.


Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macacity,

There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.

He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare:

And whatever time the deed took place--MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!

And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known

(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)

Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time

Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!


Good old macavity.






Angus



Friday 20 November 2009

I’ve not been well you know


I’ve had the Porky flu this week
The outlook it was very bleak
Until the Pork Flu site I found
And now I feel my health is sound


I got my meds from my flu friend
And with my Lemsips made a blend
That kept the nasty bug at bay
To live to post another day



I must admit it did feel bad
But now I feel a bit more glad
I’m out of bed and on the sofa
Instead of sleep I can just loaf



Around in comfort in my home
For three more days before I roam
Again into the world outside
Without a Flu Friend for a guide



It’s good to feel OK again
Because the Pork Flu is a bane
It’s good to write to some degree
Although some readers might disagree


Porky Flu can mar your week
And really make the future bleak
But Tamiflu came to the rescue
Or maybe not, you could argue


Angus

© Angus Dei

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Friday 13 November 2009

We To Sigh Instead of Sing


By James Whitcomb Riley

Thought this would be apt.


"Rain and rain! And rain and rain!"
Yesterday we muttered
Grimly as the grim refrain
That the thunders uttered:
All the heavens under cloud -
All the sunshine sleeping;
All the grasses limply bowed
With their weight of weeping.



Sigh and sigh! And sigh and sigh!
Never end of sighing;
Rain and rain for our reply -
Hopes half drowned and dying;
Peering through the window-pane,
Naught but endless raining -
Endless sighing, and as vain,
Endlessly complaining,



Shine and shine! And shine and shine!
Ah! To-day the splendor!
All this glory yours and mine -
God! But God is tender!
We to sigh instead of sing,
Yesterday, in sorrow,
While the Lord was fashioning
This for our To-morrow!

Monday 9 November 2009

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie





After posting about good old “ratty” on Angus Dei on all and sundry it reminded of the poem by Robbie Burns.




So here it is:







Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
O what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle!


I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startleAt me,
thy poor earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!


I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request:
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
And never miss't!


Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin':
And naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin
'Baith snell an' keen!


Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste
An' weary winter comin' fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.


That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble
An' cranreuch cauld!


But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promised joy.


Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, oh! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!





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