northie

*The dashing musician grabs the shiny as she hurtles past ...* Hi! ... Bye!

*Offers Drew a selection of mirrors so that he can view himself from all angles ... Gets lost in (self-) admiration. * Mine

No manners, some people... Please would you be kind enough to give me the shiny? Or I'll play for a very long time ...

*While the meddlesome minstrel carries the musician's pack on board, fussing about where to put it ...* Here's the ticket - I'll just slip it in here, shall I? *Waves the bothersome bard off* Penrith is a nice place

*Leaves Emi and the babbling bard discussing the mechanics of poetry, at great length ... * All very interesting, shiny and I will leave you to it. Bye!

I think I'll play a good, rousing march so shiny and I can leave the prattling poet far, far behind. Left, right ...

Well you wouldn't, would you? Shiny wants to go out into the garden with me.

This is getting boring I'd better break the pattern by taking it myself!

As you're new here, I'll just explain another of the rules - you only keep the shiny until someone else shows up ... That being me!

Thanks for posting your choice of poem, Tim. I read it and then read Parker's comments. Interestingly, I found it less 'personal' with the 'never-failing friends' being books which can be a profound source of comfort, knowledge and inspiration and which contain the essence of those who went before him and whom he wishes to join in due course.

*Scares the BOP away with some truly wonderful awful playing*

And what Pope was describing apparently did happen: he was so hugely popular that he was besieged by all kinds of people. When was a poet last that famous, I wonder?

Come here, shiny! Concert's about to start. Let's find you a seat ... Don't listen to the boring old bard.

You neither Shiny fancies a nice concert by ... me, of course!

Wrong side of the Border, you prosing prate! *Swipes the bard over the head and grabs the shiny* That's better! Mine

Yes - most definitely not something to be done in the real world. Anyway, enough talking ... *Catches the lemur by the tail and ties it to a bedpost.* Mine

I'm sorry to say that you only have yourselves to blame that I'm inflicting another of my poetry choices on you - finding people with whom I can talk about poetry (in however an amateur fashion ) has rekindled my interest. That, and it's too hot again to be doing much else ... I like Alexander Pope although I find his writing quite hard work. This is a section of Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot which had me grinning ... No place is sacred, not the church is free; Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me: Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy! to catch me just at dinner-time. Is there a parson, much bemus'd in beer, A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, A clerk, foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, Who pens a stanza, when he should engross? Is there, who, lock'd from ink and paper, scrawls With desp'rate charcoal round his darken'd walls? All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain. Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws, Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause: Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope, And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope. Friend to my life! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song) What drop or nostrum can this plague remove? Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love? A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped, If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead. Seiz'd and tied down to judge, how wretched I! Who can't be silent, and who will not lie; To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace, And to be grave, exceeds all pow'r of face. I sit with sad civility, I read With honest anguish, and an aching head; And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, This saving counsel, "Keep your piece nine years." "Nine years!" cries he, who high in Drury-lane Lull'd by soft zephyrs through the broken pane, Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends, Oblig'd by hunger, and request of friends: "The piece, you think, is incorrect: why, take it, I'm all submission, what you'd have it, make it." [The Mint was a sanctuary for debtors.] Here's the link for anyone feeling strong: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/resources/learning/core-poems/detail/44895 It's one of Pope's shorter offerings but still quite long!

*Gives the lemur just a little push ...* Oh dear, you seem to have missed the bed that time ... Mine

*while both the bard and the fairy are transfixed by their mind pictures... * Me, I'm pure ... Mine

I don't think so, birdie! The shiny wants to be in the company of a great artist, me! Mine

Blimey! - I'm not sure I can cope with such niceness... How many hours before today ends? Whose clock are we going by? Not that I'm keen, you understand ...

Waltz, polka, minuet, foxtrot or fandango?

Emi, read Val's status and/or blog ...

I'm reading this while broiling gently on a bus home on by far the hottest day of the year. Perhaps I might have enjoyed a poem about cold and snow more ? But that's a bit mean ... Enjoyed them both in different ways.

*Tries to get the bard to join in a cheering, tuneful song for the penguin... * Ok, I'll do it myself then...