Author: Low Wattage

Expat Welshman, educated (somewhat) in UK, left before it became fashionable to do so. Now a U.S. Citizen, and recent widower, playing with retirement and house remodeling, living in Delaware and rural Maryland (weekends).

February Poetry Competition – PRIDE.

Something for everyone this month?

The topic for  your musing will be PRIDE.

All of us have been around long enough to have something of which we are proud, in my case it is mostly my longevity.

It can always go before a fall of course and those of you having a Presbyterian bent (and you know who you are) can make it as sinful as you wish, it will always end in tears.

Entries here or on a separate post and linked, by February 15 2013 midnight local time.

Extra points for  R-P of course,  good luck.

Beyond my Reach

Just as the frost bound night gives way to dawn
dark silence echoes still across the tranquil lake
some early glancing sunbeams seem to wake
those placid waters as a mirrored, golden lawn,
and fleeing darkness all despond does take.

My fond, frail happiness, born so coffee hot
by morning fire of light, if not yet heat
must soon, before the waking day, retreat
and leave behind a vision which will not
until the next bright dawning e’er repeat

But I will know you when we meet again
lit only by the glowing eastern sky
before some first bird’s early morning cry
more lasting pleasure to perhaps attain
to fail perforce, but always, then to try.

All for Nothing

It was early in the fifth century, although nobody seemed too sure about exactly how early,  when Dionysius Exiguus (Dennis the Short perhaps? Let’s call him Den. for short) was asked by his boss Pope John 1 to calculate the date of Easter for the next few years because the previous calculation only went as far as about 500 when the World was expected to end. (some of this may sound vaguely familiar)

Continue reading “All for Nothing”

Fantasticks – January

As befits the New Year, here is January from Fantasticks, the strange calendar by Nicholas Breton (1554-1626).  I have been altruistically copying out months, as you may see from past postings.

JANUARY

It is now January, and Time beginnes to turne the wheel of his Revolution, the Woods begin to lose the beauty of their spreading boughe, and the proud Oke must stoop to the Axe: the Squirell now surveyeth the Nut and the Maple, and the Hedgehogge rowles up himselfe like a football: an Apple and a Nutmeg make a Gossips cup: and the Ale and the Fagot are the Victuallers merchandise: the Northerne black Dust is the during Fuell, and the fruit of the Grape heats the stomake of the Aged: Downe beds and quilted Cappes are now the pride of their service, and the Cooke and the Pantler are men of no meane office: the Oxe and the fat Weather now furnish the market, and the Coney is so ferreted, that she cannot keepe in her borough: the Currier and the Lime-rod are the death of the fowle, and the Faulcons bels ring the death of the mallard: the trotting gelding makes a way through the mire, and the Hare and the Hound put the Huntsman to his horne: the barren Doe subscribes to the dish, and the smallest seed makes sauce to the greatest flesh: the dryed grasse is the horses ordinary, and the meale of the beanes make him goe through with his travel: Fishermen now have a cold trade, and travellers a foule journey: the Cook room now is not the worst place in the Ship, and the Shepheard hath a bleake seat on the Mountaine: the Blackbird leaveth not the berry on the thorne, and the garden earth is turned up for her roots: the water floods runne over the proud bankes, and the gaping Oister leaves his shell in the streets, while the proud Peacocke leaps into the pye: Muscovia commodities are now much in request, and the water Spaniell is a necessary servant: the Lode horse to the mill hath his full backe burthen; and the Thresher in the barne tyres the strength of his flayle: the Woodcocke and the Pheasant pay their lives for their feed, and the Hare after a course makes his hearse in a pye: the shoulder of a hog is a shooing horn to good drink, and cold almes make a begger shrug. To conclude, I hold it a time of little comfort, the rich mans charge, and the poor mans misery.

Farewell.

The Coney “cannot keepe in her borough”  – wonderful spelling

Done Brown

My Redneck Christmas tree, an annual fixture on the Creek for a few years has been challenged by a monstrous interloper.  Under cover of darkness, my neighbor, all six feet two of her, has erected a twelve feet tall ILLUMINATED inflatable Santa on the end of her dock.  Here they are mocking  my delicate and tasteful annual Christmas exhibit.

What is Christmas coming to.

Christmas Day

Well it is either a few days early or four hundred years too late, anyway here is my old friend Nicholas Breton on Christmas.

Christmas Day
by Nicholas Breton
(c1554-1626)

It is now Christmas and not a Cup of drinke must passe without a carol, the Beastes, Fowle and Fish, come to a general execution, and the Corne is ground to dust for the Bakehouse, and the Pastry:  Cards and Dice purge many a purse, and the youth shew their agility in shooing of the wild Mare: now good cheere and welcome, and God be with you, and I thanke you and against the new yeare, provide for the presents: the Lord of Mis-rule is no meane man for his time, and the ghests of the high Table must lack no wine: the lusty bloods must look about them like men, and piping and dancing puts away much melancholy: stolne Venison is sweet, and a fat Coney is worth money: Pit-falles are now set for small Birdes, and a Woodcocke hangs himself in a gynne: a good fire heats all the house, and a full Almes-basket makes the beggars Prayers:  the Maskers and the Mummers make the merry sport: but if they lose their money, their Drumme goes dead: Swearers and Swaggerers are sent away to the Ale-house, and vnruly wenches goe in danger of judgement: Musicians now make their instruments speake out, and a good song is worth the hearing.  In summe,  it is a holy  time a duty in Christians, for the remembrance of Christ, and custome among friends, for the maintenance of good fellowship:  In briefe, I thus conclude of it.  I hold it a memory of the Heavens love, and the worlds peace, the myrth of the honest, and the meeting of the friendly.

Farewell.

Continue reading “Christmas Day”

Photo. Comp. #35 – The Winner

Eclectic, is that a real word?  Probably the first time I have used it.  That’s what they were, a small selection but the essence of the year was there.  Echos of the Olympics in Ara’s 1948 notice  and JM’s golden pillar,  a fine piece of  building by Pseu. , the artwork, well not my kind of thing, I’m more Gainsborough than van Gogh, but to each her own.  Then  couple of events by OZ, one tragic and one dramatic (see what I mean about eclectic).

Continue reading “Photo. Comp. #35 – The Winner”

Photo Op. Anyone?

A quick gander at my trusty H. Samuel Everight Watch (copyright Radio Luxemburg, 1960) tells me that there are only (6) SIX days left to enter the 35th  Photo Competition, the theme and post to which you should reference your entry is here.

For what I trust will be a limited time only the VERY next entry (and only that one) will also have the added honour of being the FIRST.

Thank you for your attention.

Horace Batchelor. Keynsham, (that’s K- E -Y- N- S- H- A- M), Bristol.