Archive for category Ireland
Five of Diamonds: Countdown
Posted by Angela Brett in Ireland, Writing Cards and Letters on February 8, 2009
I’m ninety eight years old, and I am dying.
I’ll do the things I still have time to do.
I’ll grab life and I’ll dance,
for I will not have the chance
to do the rest
before I rest
I knew that in advance.
I’m eighty eight years old, and I am dying.
I’ll do the things I never dared to do.
There’s still some room to grow,
so I won’t lie down below
scared to use,
afraid to lose
the things that soon will go.
I’m seventy eight years old, and I am dying.
I’ll be the me my elders never knew.
I’ll shatter expectations
of already dead relations
and they would die
to see that I
enjoy such deviations.
I’m sixty eight years old, and I am dying.
I’ll do the things I’ve learnt so well do to.
I’ll satisfy my hunger
to be a wisdom-monger;
refine the gold
of getting old
and glitter for the younger.
I’m fifty eight years old, and I am dying.
I’ll do the things I always wanted to.
Put the uniform away
and go outside and play
I’ve saved it up
Now giddy-up
It’s not a rainy day!
I’m forty eight years old, and I am dying.
I’ll do the things I came alive to do.
I won’t live in haste,
’cause there’s no time to waste
getting stressed
to be the best
to someone else’s taste.
I’m thirty eight years old, and I am dying.
I’ll do the things I really want to do.
My time will not be spent
to only pay the rent.
Find my groove
and make the move.
It’s time to reinvent.
I’m twenty eight years old, and I am dying.
I’ll do the things I don’t have time to do,
If I want to be a writer,
I’ll pull a near all-nighter
writing rot
of life’s garrotte,
the dead line pulling tighter.
I’m now eighteen years old, and I am dying.
I’ll do the things it interests me to do.
I’ve got some things to learn
and I will not miss a turn
bored to tears
by sev’ral years
of what they think will earn.
I’m only eight years old, and I am living.
I’ll do the things you show me how to do.
Show me what to do
so I can be like you,
so I’ll be free
to be like me.
Live long, live short, live true.
Eight of Diamonds: The Village of Silver
Posted by Angela Brett in 52 ways to say I love you, Bäume, Birds of Canada, Cadbury Heritage Collection, CERN, Dinosaurier, Discover Ontario, Fische, Flowers and Animals, Holland, Hunde der Welt, Intriguing Development, Ireland, Johnny English, Katzen der Welt, Kräuter, Lyon, Mont Blanc, Paris, Pferde & Ponys, Pilze, Reptilien, Schmetterlinge, St James's Gate, Switzerland, The Best of Switzerland, Tierwelt Europas, Venezia, Wasservögel, Wildflowers of Canada, Wildvögel, Writing Cards and Letters on January 19, 2009
Although many stories end up coming full circle, the first step is always finding a few good lines to lead into it. The steps are too steep for me to climb, I will wait and watch.
All the best pictures have canoes in them. As the boat left the wharf, they did not know that they would soon be the first victims of the biggest eruption in history. They used the clock tower to localise themselves in time and space. The people did not know that the tower would soon fall. It was big.
The butterfly said, “Some creatures are bigger than they have any right to be. The problem with rankings is that the first and second always crowd out the third. I am not going to react to that in the way you expect.”
The butterfly does not know what you have called him, he just lives.
The frog said, “I know a man who collects frogs. Hair brushed back to impress you, he has addled your brains, you no can no longer call yourselves human.
Why do you keep calling me a bull? I don’t wear armour and spikes to threaten you, but to protect myself. Standing on the stump of what was my home, I can’t help but wonder if there is any more of a future for those who destroyed it. After all their adventures, one diamond is still missing.”
A line of spikes separated the riches from the untamed sea. Many colours, reaching to the sky. Each stalk is topped with a permanent snowball. Scientists rushed to tend to the glowing backbone. The crowd rejoiced as they saw their work fall away.
Their neighbour was richer than they thought. A giant living diamond thrashed its way forward through the sea. A single female to perpetuate the genes of a thousand men.
And a gold-crazed fool said, “This is no more possible than a flower growing from another flower. I sent e-kisses over the internet before my first real kiss. I have two pillows, but there is no room for another in this bed.”
The trick in gathering treasure is to leave room for more. They got on like two flowers in a pod.
A village of silver, covered in white snow, one lasts and the other is precious.
Rearranging the components of your point does not make it any sharper.
Queen of Diamonds: Crossing Over
Posted by Angela Brett in Ireland, Writing Cards and Letters on December 21, 2008
I look up to the sky in search of you,
to sunlight that you hide your soul above.
You’re on the other side, in heaven’s crown,
in happiness, but I, in longing, weep.
It’s lonely here relying on myself
to hug myself inside and think of you.
I’ll reach the other side and we will meet
Already I am dying for your touch.
The fates are working for us, I’ll be there.
I’m crossing over, sole to interrupt
the festive fuss to mark your change of state.
Around the Stanford torus that’s our world
I’ll take a pleasant stroll to be with you
before we both embark for wedded life.
Ace of Clubs: The Island
Posted by Angela Brett in Discover Ontario, Ireland, Pferde & Ponys, Writing Cards and Letters on December 7, 2008
She skipped from stone to stone across the stream,
each stepping stone subsiding with her stride.
No tears for trampled islands,
she was on the other side.
In comfort, and in loneliness, she mused
she’d never feel or be felt from outside.
Her brain a private island
she lived and thrived inside.
The world and she were sisters, though not fused,
new sustenance delivered on each tide.
She lived upon an island,
Necessities supplied.
Her needs well met, she soon began to dream
of wants her bounded home could not provide.
She took them from the island,
and then the island died.
Assured the world would match her self-esteem,
She headed out across the sea’s divide
She found another island,
and there she multiplied.
And one by one each island’s stocks were used,
they one by one became desertified.
The world was but an island,
and then the island died.
The death and desolation soon suffused
the living brain she looked out from inside.
She never left the island,
and then the island died.
She’d skipped from stone to stone across this dream,
each stepping stone subsiding in her stride.
No tears for trampled islands,
she was on the other side.
Five of Clubs: Juratron Park
Posted by Angela Brett in CERN, Ireland, Writing Cards and Letters on November 9, 2008
If you pine for the mystery
before Noah’s ark
we’ve remade prehistory
at Juratron Park.
Come atoms, come molecules,
See what you were back then.
Come out for a frolic, you’ll
spin unperturbed again.
Those that wander can find
on our Memory Lane walks
they’re no longer confined
to a group of three quarks.
Before we were three
we were free from our tether,
and though we were free
we were closer together.
We loved antimatter,
we were one, nigh elation
to meet and to natter
’bout CP violation.
So come to a place
that’s more bright than the sun
where we’d meet face to face
‘fore they lost and we won.
Then back where you’re from,
bound together by force,
Go back to your com-
pounds, to never divorce.
We don’t all get on,
talk is charged and polemical
but each baryon
has its place in a chemical.
If protons complain
then you reach in and tell ’em, in
truth you all gain
when you’re each in your element.
You’re not vexed when you seek
unified universe
But you know you’re unique
when divided, diverse.
Make the world have this aim:
make the world we’re in different.
The more we’re the same,
the more we’re indifferent.
Queen of Hearts: Why?
Posted by Angela Brett in Birds of Canada, CERN, Dinosaurier, Discover Ontario, Fische, Holland, Hunde der Welt, Intriguing Development, Ireland, Katzen der Welt, Lyon, Mont Blanc, Paris, Pferde & Ponys, Pilze, Reptilien, Schmetterlinge, St James's Gate, Switzerland, The Best of Switzerland, Tierwelt Europas, Venezia, Wasservögel, Wildvögel, Writing Cards and Letters on August 24, 2008
Why are there poodles?
Why are there cats?
Why are there Bellan wrasse?
Cross-breeding of oodles
For eating of rats
To boost ocean biomass
Why are there leatherbacks?
Why is there beer?
Why is there Notre Dame?
We’ve banned aphrodisiacs
To free us from fear
In an effort to sauver nos âmes.
Is there a god who says, “It’s ’cause I say”?
Is it for people who like it that way?
Is it ’cause particles followed some law?
Is it just random events, nothing more?
Why corythosaurus?
Why Holsteiner horse?
Why are there Cooper pairs?
To kill time before us
To show feats of force
They send thirteen thousand amperes
Why are there wood hedgehogs?
Why are there clothes?
Why are there queens of hearts?
For Lumpi to teach French dogs
To hide what God loathes
So the kings can enjoy their parts
Is there a god who says, “It’s ’cause I say”?
Is it for people who like it that way?
Is it ’cause particles followed some law?
Is it just random events, nothing more?
Why Malahide Castle?
Why’s there Lake Sils?
Why are there tundra swans?
To use a land parcel
It rains, the hole fills
Now there’s no room for mastodons
Why are there butterflies?
Why are there birds?
Why did they bridge the Arve?
It’s so we don’t shut our eyes
To free falling turds
For the sake of appearing suave
Is there a god who says, “It’s ’cause I say”?
Is it for people who like it that way?
Is it ’cause particles followed some law?
Is it just random events, nothing more?
Why Maison du Mayet?
Why are there hares?
Why cruise in Georgian Bay?
It’s a raison de payer
For chic furry wares
‘Cause it’s ever so trendy that way
Why the Venice regattas?
Why the Rhine falls?
Why are there crested grebes?
Dear historical matters
For souvenir stalls
To eat the spare dough in Thebes
Yes to the god who says, “it’s ’cause I say!”
Yes for the people who like it that way.
Yes to the particles following laws
Yes to the random, its wonderful flaws.
Ace of Spades: Limerick
Posted by Angela Brett in CERN, Discover Ontario, Ireland, Jass, Paris, Switzerland, The Best of Switzerland, Wildflowers of Canada, Writing Cards and Letters on March 9, 2008
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Miss Day complains she never knows
why her boyfriend called her Wild Rose.
By any other name
she’d smell just the same
as her tissues begin to necrose.
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Un printemps une grande hirondelle,
sauta de la tour Eiffel,
mais une fois dans l’air,
elle tomba sur terre,
car on lui avait coupé les ailes.
translation:
A swallow decided one spring
Eiffel tower was worth base-jumping.
Soon after the jump
it fell on its rump
for somebody had clipped its wing.
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A young frau who swam Lake Brienz
was popular past all intents.
For the water was clear,
and without underwear,
she put on quite a show for the gents.
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A two-to-one flag made a fuss
of an equal-sized flag with a plus.
It said, “I’m neutral,
but my diagonal
is your base, which are belong to us.”
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Some pixels of fifty micrometers
two trackers and two calorimeters.
Eight magnets toroidal
and one solenoidal
surrounded by muon spectrometer.
Deep under soil Helvetic
are toroids electromagnetic
to confirm mc squared
makes particles (paired)
Converted from E that’s kinetic.
And now for a different detector:
If experiments had consciousness,
Just what do you think they’d confess?
“Well here under Cessy,
It’s all very messy.
Smashed hadrons and I CMS.”
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Pour réussir au jeu de Jass,
on met les atouts et les as.
Mais il faut être vite
sur ce putain de site (excuse my French)
avant que les aut’ ne se cassent.
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The catch with Niagara Falls,
is the cliché that always enthralls.
One must use Viagra,
to rhyme with Niag’ra,
And frankly I haven’t the balls.
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