Hannah and I and Green Eggs and Ham

Hannah and I read together a book
(At least Hannah read and I had a look).
The book was about some green eggs and ham;
I've never seen green ones as old as I am!
Green eggs and ham!   Now whoever heard
Of such a strange dish; it seems quite absurd.
I'm sure that like me you'd consider it strange
To find green eggs frying on your kitchen range.
I think if we found them we'd soon throw them out -
But that's not at all what this book was about!
And as for the ham - well - I really must say
That when I see some it will be a strange day.
Green eggs and ham!   Yet we found in this book
That at last he's persuaded to take one more look.
A look, then a taste, then a voice filled with glee,
"I do like to eat these strange things for my tea."
Green eggs and ham!   I'd soon throw them out,
And Nana would too, I don't have a doubt.
Your Mummy and Daddy would also agree
We shouldn't have green eggs and ham for our tea.
So maybe that story was not quite so true
As Sam-I-am tried to tell me and tell you.
We'll stick with our spinach and brocolli too,
Now they're green enough for both me and you.
Our eggs will be yellow, our ham remain pink;
That's alright for me.   Now.   What do you think?


(With apologies to Dr. Seuss)

Morning moment (in the grounds of Newman College, Birmingham)

At last, touched by the sun, departs the night,
Easing her soft shade into glowing light;
Waking and stretching comes the promised day,
Heralded by the chorus roundelay.

The trees reflect the scurrying clouds, with leaves
Which rustle gently in the cooling wind
And break to myriad dancing thieves,
To steal my concentration and my mind.

I'm lost, gone to far lands of faery fame,
Where dreamy creatures carry forth the day.
Now nothing that I dreamt can be the same,
And all reality has changed to fay.

MORNING PRAYER

Dear Lord, forgive a wandering errant mind,
Which dwells on nature's wealth, not its creator.
Help me in all the wonders I now find,
To see Your hand, Your love for every creature.

Be with me through the day I have to face.
Whatever comes I know you're always there,
To strengthen, guide, inspire and heal, in case
I feel myself descending to despair.

Painting the weather

I have never seen my image

Except as a friendly reflection

In rivers and pools.

I paint when the sun allows.

There is a moment when there is no sun.

Just a moment.   Wait a while.   No one

Can deny that now and again the sun's

Not there.   It's true you know, it's gone!

But this is also true: it will return.

I am a man of clouds!

Crowds do not please my eye;

I cannot stand to be

Seen, as I paint them fly

By.   With them I set my scene.

And what if the wind whips waves

Into white-topped cascades

Pounding the shore, the cliffs,

Breaking into a rainbow sparkle

As they destroy the work of ages?

I cannot capture these on paper.

The water and the paint have minds

Persistent in their own beliefs.

They lead me across new paths

And into ways I have not known

When I have watched the weather.

Marsh Harrier

The hawk was seen on a summer's day,

Lazily circling over the marsh.

The harsh sun glares on us as we stare

And dare to wait and watch awhile.

Here is a bird intent on its prey

On the marsh, on a summer's day.

It circles awhile then is joined by a mate.

We wait.   Together they fly for prey.

Their eyes, attentive to the needs of their kind,

Soar on the wind and wait for their prey

On the marsh, on a summer's day.

O, God made the wind and the sun and the day.

He provides the air and provisions the prey

For the bird He made to fly in the sun,

Awaiting the moment when it will be done,

When the prey is sighted, the dive is made,

The talons are locked and the kill complete.

Then he soars aloft with the dead in his feet

To feed himself, his mate, his young

To last the day, for the night is long -

His victory cry is his terrible song

On the marsh on a summer's day.

Richter (1915 - 1997) at the Barbican

O give us everything you have

And make the hall with music ring,

Make piers and roof and rafters sing,

Sviatoslav, Sviatoslav!

There is no sweat upon your brow

As you, composed, stand at the end;

There is no error to defend,

As turning round you take your bow.

Will you return to play again,

Or will you never grace this shore,

But be a stranger evermore

To play for gods, not mortal men.

For Jupiter in lofty heights

And Odin in Valhalla's halls

Will want your music in their walls,

They're such Olympian delights.

Or angels from the realms above

Will lay their harps aside for now,

Inviting you to take a bow

Where reigns the eternal God of Love.

But surely not just yet awhile;

On earth we need your glorious muse

To create sounds that still beguile

The fallen spirit.   Don't refuse!

Sviatoslav, Sviatoslav,

Hark now!   The sound that greets your ears

Is music of the heavenly spheres,

Sviatoslav, Sviatoslav!

Evening greeting

Gone, butterfly;

Gone grasshopper.

Come, fluttermoth;

Come, evening cricket,

Chirp in your place

To owls hooting,

Stars shooting;

Moon rise

In star skies.

Come, end-day!

Nowt a pound

Eh, Lad, ah says tha's nowt a pound,
Tha's nowt a pound, ah say.
Tha's nowt a pound, that's what ah've found,
Thy feet is med o' clay.
Tha wudn' even stand tha ground;
Th'art nowt a pound, ah say!

Tha back's a streak o' brightest yeller
An' watter's i' thi veins;
Tha's a bloodless, weedy type o' feller
Endahed wi' coward's brains!
Tha's nowt a pound, nor nowt a pound,
Th'art nowt a pound, ah say!

Thy gal's a bonny, pritty lass
Who'd blooms upon 'er cheek,
But thy be'aviour were so crass
She now looks pritty bleak!
Tha's nowt as pound, nor nowt a pound,
Th'art nowt a pound, ah say!

Tha wudden stand up to a man
An' yet yer did 'er wrong.
Tha cut 'er dead, an slapped 'er round
An' sang a coward's song. 
Tha's nowt a pound, now nowt a pound,
Th'art nowt a pound, ah say!

I 'ate a man like thee, I does,
Though 'man' for thee's too grand.
Just thee avoid the rest of us
Or else we'll mek thee stand
An' face the consequences of
Thy deeds, that fact's in 'and.
Tha's nowt a pound, nor nowt a pound,
Th'art nowt a pound, ah say!