Sunday Scribblings: View

On a glorious day at Corfe Castle
We set out to the hills for a hike
When through all of the touristic bustle
Came a butterfly riding a bike

(In the works of mythologic masters
Think of Titian or Watts or Van Dyke
Is there such a surreal disaster
As a butterfly riding a bike?)

So we walked with all Purbeck before us
To the cliffs where the waves pound and strike
And the breakers themselves beat a chorus
Of a butterfly riding a bike

Now in Dorset pubs often they mutter
Of the legend all swear by alike
Maybe one day you too will hear flutters
Of that butterfly riding her bike

The Ballad of the Dispirited Research Student

There was a girl who lost the will
Her research work to do
Although she had the brains and skill
Her apathy just grew

Deep down she loved her project
The science in her bones
Ideas and problems to connect
Find truths about unknowns

There was a time when she would sell
Her soul to get this break
But now her dream has turned to hell
It's all a big mistake

It matters not how hard she tried
She can't debug her code
Her confidence, morale and pride
Continue to erode

She seems to achieve less each day
She's tired all the time
Her thesis stress won't go away
There's such a hill to climb

A mountain that she still must scale
It's peak still lost in mist
Her futile efforts can't prevail
No reason to persist

The funding deadline's just a joke
She's human after all
But missing it would leave her broke
Finances at a stall

And as she hates to ask for aid
Her problems just get worse
But all her troubles she'll evade
By writing foolish verse

Eluded by the Muse

A new blogger's ultimate goal
Is to write posts with talent and soul
But her hopes go astray
And she's sorry to say
That she's stuck in a limerick-shaped hole.

And her writer's block just seems to worsen
For while she sits angry and cursin'
She wastes all her time
On amphibrach rhyme
And refers to herself in third person.

Hmmm... maybe it's all my own fault.

Meetings

Gosh, it's been a long time since I last posted. Lots of reasons for that, none interesting. I've been to a couple of important meeings lately, and in the boring ones came up with some limericks

For the delegates now we are waiting
And stress levels rise unabating
Prepeations are through
Now there's nothing to do
But sit here just procrastinating.

The talks are all thoughtful and deep
Intuition to make Einstein weep
The guy I can see
Just in front of me
Is so thrilled he's fallen asleep.

Cookies

Sunday Scribblings: Recipe

The first step’s the same in all cultures and lands
When cooking, to start with, you must wash your hands
Then preheat the oven to one-eighty C
(If gas is your thing then mark 4 it should be)
Two baking sheets needed, or one if it’s large
Just grease up the tins with some butter or marg
Then once you’ve completed this basic routine
Next weigh out 6 ounces of soft margarine
The same weight of sugar, a brown one not white,
Then cream them together til fluffy and light
The mixture at this point is yummy to eat
Just fat mixed with sugar, so soft and so sweet
Then into this fusion an egg you should whisk
(Don’t taste it hereafter as raw egg’s a risk)
Cue self-raising flour, 6 ounces you add
This mix now needs flavour, it’s time to go mad
If you can imagine it, try it and see
Try essence- vanilla or almond maybe
Think whisky or brandy, yes, just a wee dram
Or chunks of plain chocolate, use one hundred grams
Perhaps you want walnuts, or coconut shred
Or subtract some flour, use cocoa instead
Some people find currants and raisins ideal
With orange or lemon, the juice and the peel
Whatever concoction your mind can invent
There’s some combinations are true heaven sent
(And if there are some that you really screw up
Then those are the ones you can feed to the pup)
Now once you have added the things you prefer
Then take up your spoon, give it all a good stir
Place spoonfuls of mixture upon your greased tins
And bake in the oven for just 15 mins
If golden, remove them to cool, and you’ve made
Confections to leave shop-bought cakes in the shade
And others will praise them to highest degree
Though you’ll know they’re easy as easy can be

An Important Sunday

The streets are all empty of cars
The church pews today are deserted
The people are packed into bars
Emergency crews all alerted

What business can cause such a fuss?
What issue obsseses the nation?
The question on all lips is thus:
Can Palace avoid relegation?


Written this morning, before the match, but posted afterwards. A very exciting game ended in a 2-2 draw, which was all Crystal Palace needed to avoid relegation. Now all we need is a new owner...

Emily Bronte Cento

A cento is a patchwork poem, in this one every line is from a different poem by Emily Bronte.

Warm and bright on Arden’s lake
How beautiful the earth is still
Tonight there is no wind to wake
And curb my own wild will

Thought followed though, star followed star
I see Heaven’s glories shine
It seemed close by and yet more far
And they, perchance, heard vows of mine

Well, let them fight for honour’s breath
Thy love I will not, will not share
Time stands before the door of Death
To banish joy and welcome care

In life and death a chainless soul
But sorrow withers even the strong
A flood of strange sensations roll
Whispering, “Winter will not linger long”