Visits Today

Another sunny day ,and i have been travelling down to Tonbridge to do a visit there ,one in Sevenoaks, and finally one in Rochester.Two pubs and a charity shop.

Just finished my Tonbridge visit. Steak and eggs with a glass of wine and a beer. Yummy.

Off to Sevenoaks soon for a charity shop visit.

Forever Charmed

Okay, this maybe a guy thing, but here are two of my Charmed ladies,and looking lovely as ever.

Paige and Prue (Shannen and Rose)

Cluttered Bookshops

Oh my, for all you bookworms out there just look at this store. Unfortunately the guy sold the shop in 2016.

Brooklyn’s Most Cluttered Bookstore

Thanks to crookedfingers for making me aware of this haunt.

May's New Friends

The new Tory / DUP Alliance -



May .. My lads are ready to start negotiations...

Sunday Music Selection - Jazz All The Way

Back home now after having don two pubs and a charity shop. So without further ado here is some music to relax by -


Alice Coltrane - Blue Nile

( More jazz here )

Enjoy.

Poems Of The Week

Two more poems i have enjoyed -


Humanity

Poem by Gregory Corso



What simple profundities
What profound simplicities
To sit down among the trees
and breathe with them
in murmur brool and breeze —

And how can I trust them
who pollute the sky
with heavens
the below with hells

Well, humankind,
I’m part of you
and so my son

but neither of us
will believe
your big sad lie.



Waking In The Blue

Poem by Robert Lowell



The night attendant, a B.U. sophomore,
rouses from the mare's-nest of his drowsy head
propped on The Meaning of Meaning.
He catwalks down our corridor.
Azure day
makes my agonized blue window bleaker.
Crows maunder on the petrified fairway.
Absence! My hearts grows tense
as though a harpoon were sparring for the kill.
(This is the house for the "mentally ill.")

What use is my sense of humour?
I grin at Stanley, now sunk in his sixties,
once a Harvard all-American fullback,
(if such were possible!)
still hoarding the build of a boy in his twenties,
as he soaks, a ramrod
with a muscle of a seal
in his long tub,
vaguely urinous from the Victorian plumbing.
A kingly granite profile in a crimson gold-cap,
worn all day, all night,
he thinks only of his figure,
of slimming on sherbert and ginger ale--
more cut off from words than a seal.
This is the way day breaks in Bowditch Hall at McLean's;
the hooded night lights bring out "Bobbie,"
Porcellian '29,
a replica of Louis XVI
without the wig--
redolent and roly-poly as a sperm whale,
as he swashbuckles about in his birthday suit
and horses at chairs.

These victorious figures of bravado ossified young.

In between the limits of day,
hours and hours go by under the crew haircuts
and slightly too little nonsensical bachelor twinkle
of the Roman Catholic attendants.
(There are no Mayflower
screwballs in the Catholic Church.)

After a hearty New England breakfast,
I weigh two hundred pounds
this morning. Cock of the walk,
I strut in my turtle-necked French sailor's jersey
before the metal shaving mirrors,
and see the shaky future grow familiar
in the pinched, indigenous faces
of these thoroughbred mental cases,
twice my age and half my weight.
We are all old-timers,
each of us holds a locked razor.

Good Night

Think tomorrow will be another relaxing day and then Tuesday off to Brighton for the day - our monthly lunch club meeting. Phil will be picking me up as usual. But for now i wish you all a good night.