So we boarded the Northern train
in howling winds and stinging rain.
The guard, with duties now performed
gives one last cry of all aboard.
Green flag raised, his whistle blows,
checks the carriage doors all closed.
Whilst stowing cases overhead
released our snorting fiery steed
With metal and mesh racks overflowing
four bare round lamps, all gently glowing.
As we settle back on the velour seating
Our ankles warmed by piped steam heating.
So leaving the station far behind
we catch the rhythm of the lines.
Windows sealed against the chill
the rhythmic, rocking motion will
enfold us in it’s gentle arms
as we succumb to it’s lazy charms
After eight long hours the race is run
to our right the rising sun
our destination close ahead
reluctantly our journey’s end.
So sadly we depart the Northern train
Counting the days till we ride it again
son of Isis and Osiris
by the wearing of me may you live long and prosper
illuminates one tree
and silhouettes in stark relief
the ravages of Autumn’s dessicating wind and warmth
May the Holy Spirit
bring you joy everlasting
by the Grace of God
Typically British, don’t you know
A cricket fan’s joy
lies in seeing the two teams
playing by the rules.
As players we should always
keep the Spirit of the game.
The Queen, God bless her
A toast to bring joy to all
of British spirit
On the occasion of the announcement of a major Royal event, such as engagement to marriage, the birth of a child or significant Royal birthday it was customary for a signal to be transmitted to all serving members of the British Armed Forces wherever they were, be it on ships or on land in all corners of the world. The signal was generated and was usually personal from Her Majesty The Queen inviting all to join with her in celebration. The instruction would be given to, “Splice the mainbrace!” All were then entitled to draw a free drink which had to be consumed immediately and generally accompanied by the toast as described above. In a true spirit of cameraderie, great joy was felt by all at her generosity.
Their day is done
to carpet the ground
and muffle wild sounds
once English greenwood fair
stark now the grey and bare,
limbs reaching heavenly
bereft of their canopy
call out for the sun
stand in supplication
till Spring comes calling
Originally posted on Rachel Poli: We already talked about the when and why I started writing short stories. But what about you? Pretend you’re back at school and your new English teacher is asking you to write an essay on the first day. (What a jerk, am I right?) Here’s the question: Do you write…
via Why Should You Write Short Stories? — Chris The Story Reading Ape’s Blog
Bran threw the scraper to one side. It had been fourteen earth-turns since he had begun his quest. Now it was complete, without help and equipped only with determination and sense of purpose he had made a hole large enough to pass Aena’s daughter’s son through the greystone. He would be protected from all ills by the power of Freyin, controller of the winds, bringer of light, governor of the storm. Bran had heard the tales of other such holy stones, far to the West and over the dark sea. Each one had rained glory upon the head of it’s creator and power to the clan. Now he would be able to enjoy the rewards of his labours. The greystone would become a sacred site of reverence, offerings would be made and wealth would fall upon his and his son’s heads. Bran was pleased. He looked through the stone and in a state of reverie imagined his future as overseer of all the land in his sight.
“It’s ok, my dear, I’ve booked us a berth on the Titanic for her maiden voyage, that way you should be able to give birth to our dear son on the voyage and he will gain lifelong fame.”
A hint of darkness
in the high-rise sun-bleached cloud
Summer storm threatens.
Once still, the green leaves tremble
in shy anticipation