My Special Guest tonight is…

Charlotte Brontë and Life

Born in 1816 in Thornton, England she was a novelist, poet and the eldest of the three sisters. Although she unfortunately experienced the early deaths of her siblings she survived into adulthood and her novels became classics of English literature including of course Jane Eyre.

So why did I chose this one, well I’ve been through some rough times just like Brontë and so many others of you out there. Lately though, I’ve been quite well. ‘Things’ have been okay, with a little holistic persuasion and I hope this has been seen in some of my posts lately. I’m actually content with life at the moment.

“Okay who are you and what have you done with the Mush!” I hear you shout.

Don’t worry, I’m still the grumpy so-and-so you’ve all come to know and love but for now though I’m quite… Happy!

So for your enjoyment from a Happy Chappy:

Life

Life, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life’s sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily
Enjoy them as they fly!
What though Death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O’er hope, a heavy sway?
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell;
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfully, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair!

My Special Guest tonight is…

Elizabeth Barrett Browing and A Man’s Requirements

I do consider myself a fair man when it comes to the opposite sex; most of the time, which is the very reason why I chose this poem. I don’t assume to know the meaning of it particularly because of the era it was written. Today though, I think any woman writing this may very well be sticking two fingers up to men. And good on them I say!

Its the last verse that gives it away. You can almost hear the sarcastic undertone as she’s writing. It could be the prelude to a ‘I want a divorce dear’; sweet.

Then again it maybe that Elizabeth was trying to tell her husband something as it is said that during the years of her marriage to Robert Browning, her literary reputation far surpassed that of her poet-husband. When visitors came to their home she was always the greater attraction.

Regardless of any meaning though I hope you enjoy.

A Man’s Requirements

Love me Sweet, with all thou art,

Feeling, thinking, seeing;

Love me in the lightest part,

Love me in full being.

 

Love me with thine open youth

In its frank surrender;

With the vowing of thy mouth,

With its silence tender.

 

Love me with thine azure eyes,

Made for earnest granting;

Taking colour from the skies,

Can Heaven’s truth be wanting?

 

Love me with their lids, that fall

Snow-like at first meeting;

Love me with thine heart, that all

Neighbours then see beating.

 

Love me with thine hand stretched out

Freely—open-minded:

Love me with thy loitering foot,—

Hearing one behind it.

 

Love me with thy voice, that turns

Sudden faint above me;

Love me with thy blush that burns

When I murmur Love me!

 

Love me with thy thinking soul,

Break it to love-sighing;

Love me with thy thoughts that roll

On through living—dying.

 

Love me when in thy gorgeous airs,

When the world has crowned thee;

Love me, kneeling at thy prayers,

With the angels round thee.

 

Love me pure, as musers do,

Up the woodlands shady:

Love me gaily, fast and true

As a winsome lady.

 

Through all hopes that keep us brave,

Farther off or nigher,

Love me for the house and grave,

And for something higher.

 

Thus, if thou wilt prove me, Dear,

Woman’s love no fable.

I will love thee—half a year—

As a man is able.

 

 

 

 

My Special Guest tonight is…

Emily Bronte and Moonlight, Summer Moonlight

I’m not gonna talk about Emily Bronte, come on everyone has heard of Emily Bronte even if only her name.

What I’d like to point out is this: poems don’t have to be long or complicated with difficult words or difficult meanings. No they can be soft and delicate and simple and rhyme.

Just like this.

Moonlight, Summer Moonlight

‘Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending
Their breezy boughs on high,
Or stooping low are lending
A shelter from the sky.

And there in those wild bowers
A lovely form is laid;
Green grass and dew-steeped flowers
Wave gently round her head.

My Special Guest tonight is…

William Blake and The Smile

I was quite surprised to find this poem in my own files stashed at the back of my laptop. I’ve posted one or Mr Blake’s poem’s before called A Poison Tree. A particularly good tale about regret and vengeance, at least that’s how I read it (manic chuckle).

This one though is quite the opposite and I confess it even puts a smile on this miserable bastards face.

So while the sun is shining, settle yourself into a recliner and enjoy.

The Smile

There is a Smile of Love
And there is a Smile of Deceit
And there is a Smile of Smiles
In which these two Smiles meet

And there is a Frown of Hate
And there is a Frown of disdain
And there is a Frown of Frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain

For it sticks in the Hearts deep Core
And it sticks in the deep Back bone
And no Smile that ever was smild
But only one Smile alone

That betwixt the Cradle & Grave
It only once Smild can be
But when it once is Smild
There’s an end to all Misery

 

 

My Special Guest tonight is…

A E Housman and Her Strong Enchantments Failing

Loving this gruesome poem from Mr Alfred Edward Housman (AE to his friends I’ll bet) was born in Bromsgrove, Worcestershire in England.

Usually known as A. E. Housman (told you), was an English classical scholar and poet, best known to the general public for his cycle of poems A Shropshire Lad.

Her Strong Enchantments Failing

Her strong enchantments failing,
Her towers of fear in wreck,
Her limbecks dried of poison
And the knife at her back,

The Queen of air and darkness
Begins to shrill and cry,
‘Oh young man, oh my slayer,
Tomorrow you shall die.’

Oh Queen of air and darkness,
I think ‘tis truth you say,
And I shall die tomorrow;
but you will die today.