Winter Seascape
by John Betjeman

The sea runs back against itself
With scarcely time for breaking wave
To cannonade a slatey shelf
And thunder under in a cave.

Before the next can fully burst
The headwind, blowing harder still,
Smooths it to what it was at first -
A slowly rolling water-hill.

Against the breeze the breakers haste,
Against the tide their ridges run
And all the sea's a dappled waste
Criss-crossing underneath the sun.

Far down the beach the ripples drag
Blown backward, rearing from the shore,
And wailing gull and shrieking shag
Alone can pierce the ocean roar.

Unheard, a mongrel hound gives tongue,
Unheard are shouts of little boys;
What chance has any inland lung
Against this multi-water noise?

Here where the cliffs alone prevail
I stand exultant, neutral, free,
And from the cushion of the gale
Behold a huge consoling sea.

James at his Toy Fair 28-11-09


Thanks to cat for the pic

First Love

I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start --
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.

Are flowers the winter's choice?
Is love's bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love's appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more

John Clare

The Confirmation
by Edwin Muir

Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face,
I in my mind had waited for this long.
Seeing the false and searching the true,
Then I found you as a traveller finds a place
Of welcome suddenly amid the wrong
Valleys and rocks and twisting roads.
But you, what shall I call you?
A fountain in a waste.
A well of water in a country dry.
Or anything that's honest and good, an eye
That makes the whole world bright.
Your open heart simple with giving, give the primal deed.
The first good world, the blossom, the blowing seed.
The hearth, the steadfast land, the wandering sea,
Not beautiful or rare in every part
But like yourself, as they were meant to be.

No column to hold me up
-------------------------
That tent that you saw at the top of your street,
Was me camping out, hoping that I would meet
You passing that way, but I got a bad chest
just before my arrest. I'd forgotten my vest.

Got my Mrs May T-shirt and pillow and knickers
Who cares if they have inappropriate stickers!
There's shopping bags, magnets and badges galore,
I just keep buying more,
On some can I say that you look really rough!
Ooh! I can't get enough of this Mr May stuff.

In the next day or two a delivery truck
Will deliver two tons of those gums that you suck,
It's possible that it might just cause a jam,
As it's also unloading the five tons of Spam.
The Ferrari I got you will soon be arriving
Mid life crisis averted re the car you'll be driving!

The registry office I've now gone and booked
Your, so busy schedule I've not overlooked.
Friday at two, or Monday three, Tuesday four,
The guys from 'Hello' say they'll wait by the door.
Consider the car as a small wedding gift,
I'm now stony broke. Could you give me a lift?
So, I will wear puce and I think we should match,
I bet even Jordan will envy my catch.

Right!
Cancel the wedding, found out my worse fears,
Apparently you've had a nice girlfriend for years!
That's it I'm afraid, I just can't be a fan,
I've heard Doctor Who is a very nice man.
Can I have the Ferrari? It's important the car is,
Seems all the doc's got is a thing called a Tardis.

Elaine x

Tell me not here, it needs not saying
Alfred Edward Housman

Tell me not here, it needs not saying,
What tune the enchantress plays
In aftermaths of soft September
Or under blanching mays,
For she and I were long acquainted
And I knew all her ways.

On russet floors, by waters idle,
The pine lets fall its cone;
The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing
In leafy dells alone;
And traveller’s joy beguiles in autumn
Hearts that have lost their own.

On acres of the seeded grasses
The changing burnish heaves;
Or marshalled under moons of harvest
Stand still all night the sheaves;
Or beeches strip in storms for winter
And stain the wind with leaves.

Possess, as I possessed a season,
The countries I resign,
Where over elmy plains the highway
Would mount the hills and shine,
And full of shade the pillared forest
Would murmur and be mine.

For nature, heartless, witless nature,
Will neither care nor know
What stranger’s feet may find the meadow
And trespass there and go,
Nor ask amid the dews of morning
If they are mine or no.

Hello James,

RetroMaynia

Looking from a woman's point of view,
Whatever are we going to do with you?
Bet poor Woman wonders what she's got,
As man with tectonic plate equals...
Real crackpot!

Eclectic kitchen contents?
You're just like my old mum.
She's got gadgets and cracked plates dating from 1931.
Your Woman's oh so tolerant,
Finds humouring is best,
Perhaps SHE'd like white crockery?
Please put her to the test.
Perhaps she's working her way down,
by starting with the attic.
And that is why the kitchen still,
Appears to be quite static.
Although I believe she infiltrated,
(To the juicer I'm refering,)
Ooh! please pass me my wooden spoon,
I love a bit of stirring. ;-)

As for your little Honda banger,
What about a plinth in the Top Gear hangar?
Ooh, Mr Clarkson would really love that!
Vietnam memories of the times he went splat!
Wouldn't you just love to see his face,
If your chugging little Honda had pride of place.

Elaine x

To the Moon

Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth, -
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Thank you Honeyfitz for the great photo of James at MPH.

The Power of Words
Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Tis a strange mystery, the power of words!
Life is in them, and death. A word can send
The crimson colour hurrying to the cheek.
Hurrying with many meanings; or can turn
The current cold and deadly to the heart.
Anger and fear are in them; grief and joy
Are on their sound; yet slight, impalpable:--
A word is but a breath of passing air.

Meeting James May.

I travelled down to London last week to meet James for the second time. He was signing his 'Toy Stories' book. He was very sweet and complimented my poetic endeavours. Thank you James. All this is dedicated to and inspired by you. I hope you like my poetry choices. Elaine x

Sonnet to Hope

O, ever skilled to wear the form we love!
To bid the shapes of fear and grief depart;
Come, gentle Hope! with one gay smile remove
The lasting sadness of an aching heart.
Thy voice, benign Enchantress! let me hear;
Say that for me some pleasures yet shall bloom,--
That Fancy's radiance, Friendship's precious tear,
Shall soften, or shall chase, misfortune's gloom.
But come not glowing in the dazzling ray,
Which once with dear illusions charm'd my eye,--
O! strew no more, sweet flatterer! on my way
The flowers I fondly thought too bright to die;
Visions less fair will soothe my pensive breast,
That asks not happiness, but longs for rest!

Helen Maria Williams

THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER.
Joanna Baillie

Braced in the sinewy vigour of thy breed,
In pride of generous strength, thou stately steed,
Thy broad chest to the battle's front is given,
Thy mane fair floating to the winds of heaven.
Thy champing hoofs the flinty pebbles break;
Graceful the rising of thine arched neck.
White churning foam thy chaffed bits enlock;
And from thy nostril bursts the curling smoke.
Thy kindling eye-balls brave the glaring south;
And dreadful is the thunder of thy mouth:
Whilst low to earth thy curving haunches bend,
Thy sweepy tail involved in clouds of sand;
Erect in air thou rear'st thy front of pride,
And ring'st the plated harness on thy side.
But, lo! what creature, goodly to the sight,
Dares thus bestride thee, chaffing in thy might?
Of portly stature, and determin'd mien?
Whose dark eye dwells beneath a brow serene?
And forward looks unmoved to fields of death,
And smiling, gently strokes thee in thy wrath?
Whose brandished falchion dreaded gleams afar?
It is a British soldier, armed for war!

Hello James,
"But I can only write what the muse allows me to write. I cannot choose,
I can only do what I am given, and I feel pleased when I feel close to concrete poetry - still."
Ian Hamilton Finlay
----------------------------

Amuse my Muse
------------
After much deliberation,
Infinite examinations,
I've come to the conclusion,
The answer lies in combinations.

Now I don't mean what great grandad wore
When draughts did in the winter draw.
I'm talking of grey matter, crikey!
I'll go all posh and say, the psyche.

Nothing can quite bring together
More adroitly than the brain,
Countless subtle, diverse sensations,
Perfection snapshots to attain.

When,
things come together at critical moments,
Providing experiences you can't define,
Captured in time and later recalled,
(You're always enthralled,)
Treasures, unmeasurable, unique and sublime.

Quintessential Porsche therefore could be defined,
When awareness is heightened and forces aligned,
Image, speed, power - all senses applied,
Colliding convergences intensified.
The muse has inspired, I think you will find,
Brought altogether by the power of the mind.

Elaine x

I'll change highways in a while, at the crossroads, one more mile.
My path is lit by my own fire. I'm going only where I desire.

Remembrance Sunday

Hello James, - Tea's up!
--------------
"The saddest thing I can imagine is to get used to luxury."
Charlie Chaplin

"Never trust a man who, when left alone in a room
with a tea cozy, doesn't try it on." Billy Connolly

Now I love tea and tea loves me
Except that it makes me want to...
be forever finding,
and this bit grieves,
ways of recycling spent tea leaves.
Good for the garden that's where they should go,
That's if I can be ars.. bothered to throw
them out when it's raining
and I've got bare feet,
so usually at this point I tend to cheat
and try to flush them down the sink,
then make myself another drink!

So Mr May, according to you
You're always making this tasty brew,
The burning question is,
I want to know,
Where do all your tea leaves go?
Do you like me
shove them down the sink
and block it up and make it stink?
I suppose that I should use my strainer,
leave them to dry out on the drainer.
Then bag them up,
add raspberry,
and sell them off as herbal tea!

Elaine x