Post Midnight Funky Grooves

The sweet sound of music keeps ringing in my ears - so think i better share some heavy grooves form the groovemeister!

Ian Wilson- Four In The Morning (Goodking Edit)

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Supergirl and Flash

Caught up with The Flash last night so awaiting next episode yo come online here.

Looking forward to this crossover episode.





https://www.facebook.com/SupergirlCBS/videos/829716707158018/

http://www.cbs.com/shows/supergirl/photos/1006047/first-look-the-flash-helps-supergirl-in-worlds-finest-/

New Community Promotion!

Originally posted by a_phoenixdragon at New Community Promotion!

Originally posted by dancingdragon3 at New Community Promotion! Please, pass it on.

This is an advertisement for three new LJ communities, brought to you by dancingdragon3 and terror_scifi. Please, share this with your flist to spread the writing fun!

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aanime_fan For fans of American animation, CGI, video games, and cartoons.
Fan fic, graphics, news, and essays welcome.

myth_fan For fans of mythology, fairy/folk tales, and urban legends.
Fan fic, graphics, news, and essays welcome.

Feel free to pass it along, guise! These new comms sound like fun!

Poems Of The Week

Metroland: three John Betjeman poems
from A Few Late Chrysanthemums (1954)

Harrow-on-the-Hill

WHEN melancholy Autumn comes to Wembley
And electric trains are lighted after tea
The poplars near the Stadium are trembly
With their tap and tap and whispering to me,
Like the sound of little breakers
Spreading out along the surf-line
When the estuary’s filling
With the sea.

Then Harrow-on-the-Hill’s a rocky island
And Harrow churchyard full of sailors’ graves
And the constant click and kissing of the trolley buses hissing
Is the level to the Wealdstone turned to waves
And the rumble of the railway
Is the thunder of the rollers
As they gather up for plunging
Into caves.

There’s a storm cloud to the westward over Kenton,
There’s a line of harbour lights at Perivale,
Is it rounding rough Pentire in a flood of sunset fire
The little fleet of trawlers under sail?
Can those boats be only roof tops
As they stream along the skyline
In a race for port and Padstow
With the gale?

Middlesex

Gaily into Ruislip Gardens
Runs the red electric train,
With a thousand Ta’s and Pardon’s
Daintily alights Elaine;
Hurries down the concrete station
With a frown of concentration,
Out into the outskirt’s edges
Where a few surviving hedges
Keep alive our lost Elysium – rural Middlesex again.

Well cut Windsmoor flapping lightly,
Jacqmar scarf of mauve and green
Hiding hair which, Friday nightly,
Delicately drowns in Drene;
Fair Elaine the bobby-soxer,
Fresh-complexioned with Innoxa,
Gains the garden – father’s hobby –
Hangs her Windsmoor in the lobby,
Settles down to sandwich supper and the television screen.

Gentle Brent, I used to know you
Wandering Wembley-wards at will,
Now what change your waters show you
In the meadowlands you fill!
Recollect the elm-trees misty
And the footpaths climbing twisty
Under cedar-shaded palings,
Low laburnum-leaned-on railings
Out of Northolt on and upward to the heights of Harrow hill.

Parish of enormous hayfields
Perivale stood all alone,
And from Greenford scent of mayfields
Most enticingly was blown
Over market gardens tidy,
Taverns for the bona fide,
Cockney singers, cockney shooters,
Murray Poshes, Lupin Pooters,
Long in Kensal Green and Highgate silent under soot and stone.

Baker St Station Buffet

Early Electric! With what radiant hope
Men formed this many-branched electrolier,
Twisted the flex around the iron rope
And let the dazzling vacuum globes hang clear,
And then with hearts the rich contrivance fill’d
Of copper, beaten by the Bromsgrove Guild.

Early Electric! Sit you down and see,
‘Mid this fine woodwork and a smell of dinner,
A stained-glass windmill and a pot of tea,
And sepia views of leafy lanes in Pinner –
Then visualize, far down the shining lines,
Your parents’ homestead set in murmuring pines.

Smoothly from Harrow, passing Preston Road,
They saw the last green fields and misty sky,
At Neasden watched a workmen’s train unload,
And, with the morning villas sliding by,
They felt so sure on their electric trip
That Youth and Progress were in partnership.

And all that day in murky London Wall
The thought of Ruislip kept him warm inside;
At Farringdon that lunch hour at a stall
He bought a dozen plants of London Pride;
While she, in arc-lit Oxford Street adrift,
Soared through the sales by safe hydraulic lift.

Early Electric! Maybe even here
They met that evening at six-fifteen
Beneath the hearts of this electrolier
And caught the first non-stop to Willesden Green,
Then out and on, through rural Rayner’s Lane
To autumn-scented Middlesex again.

Cancer has killed him. Heart is killing her.
The trees are down. An Odeon flashes fire
Where stood their villa by the murmuring fir
When ” they would for their children’s good conspire. ”
Of their loves and hopes on hurrying feet
Thou art the worn memorial, Baker Street.





BranchLine 1 by Sir John Betjeman

Power Of Three

"Nothing perks up a girl's career than sending her husband to hell"
Phoebe )From "A Witch's Tail" Season 5)

Yep, been watching Charmed again (season 5) after a couple of Buffy episodes, I just love this series. It is very warming, and pun intended, charming to see such excellent female roles such as the mighty Buffy. Which reminds me, when will TPN's next You Tube Buffy review will be on You Tube. It has been awhile ince the last one and he normally posts them up weekly.

Wednesday Musical Selection - Blackness

Taking a quick break from DVD watching to give you some blackness - old school funk and soul -

Syl Johnson - Is It Because I'm Black

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