Day: March 6, 2016

Enchanted English Grammar

http://www.enchantedlearning.com/grammar/

 

I’d like to write a preposition soon.

Because my eyes are feeling out of tune.

I’ll roll them up and put them down

I’ll send my specs into  the town

And then I shall  soon  see Siegfried Sassoon.

 

 

I’m amazed at how much grammar I’ve forgot.

………All periods,full stops and  those little dots……………………….

I think I’ll stick to commas now,

And cut out all the rest somehow,

I might persuade myself it’s worse than anything  with spots,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

 

I feel ashamed  of English being ill writ…

Even though I do possess a wit.

If only Ma had given me two,

I do believe I could make do.

I might have got a job as a Lit. Crit.

 

I once met Dr Leavis by a  lake;

My boyfriend was  there studying his mistakes.

He mentioned Hamlet more than once

I stood there and looked askance.

So Dr Leavis asked me could I dance.

 

I don’t know was it could or would or should?

The music was not playing in the woods.

I stayed real quiet,

On my word diet.

Yet Leavis was more pleasant than soap suds…

 

 

He swoons into her tarts

When my husband has been ill,he longs for a tart…

Well,you could start charging him!

Can you plug men in like you do with your mobile ?

I wonder if that’s why they have two ears?

What,does the charger go in their ear?

Well,they don’t use them to listen to us women.

I shall have to ask someone.

No,just look on the Internet…
I did look and the good news is,It’s free nowadays.

What’s the bad news?

It’s all porn

Did it affect you?

No,I’d rather read a book..

What sort of book?

The ones where she swoons into his arms

~and he swoons into her charms.

You read those books too?

I write them!

You never said.

No I write under a nom de plum

Plume!

Plum,plume,it’s all  a foreign language to me.

It’s French…

Like the tarts

The promised land

Joy sings now in golden light;
Yet after day comes deep,dark night.
New moon will rise by these grey trees.
This is where I want to be.

I want the day;I want the night.
I want the dark;I want the light.
I want to see and to be seen,
And not to lose myself in dreams.

The sun has set,grey clouds turn black,
The day just gone will not come back.
I’ll rest in thoughtful reverie
Until the reaper’s scythe takes me.

And then I’ll drop and mix with dust,
till worms and beetles sate their lust.
I fall into ten thousand motes,
And dance,in sunlight,music’s notes.

No more striving;no more ambition,
No more fighting;no competition,
Every particle’s the same
Without even its special name.

And, side by side, we all are one,
The lusts of life have been and gone.
We dwell with dirt and grain and sand
At last we’ve reached the Promised Land

Must we walk into that darkness?

The sunlight shining through these clouds in E...
The sunlight shining through these clouds in England is an example of sunbreak. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Four o’clock– and the sun’s still glowing
Four o’clock – of a  colour bright day,
Up above, pink-tinged clouds are sliding
Down still sky, sweeping sun away.

Come back sweet sun, do not leave us.
Come back bright beams,I need sunlight
Down on earth,it’s witch moon darkness,
When your golden face is out of sight.

I see the orange tinged clouds extending
I feel such sense of sky lit bright.
But gently now, the mist surrounds you
And sweeps away that happy sight.

Into velvet blackness sinking,
The dazzling, dreaming darkness falls.
Goodbye to haste,and glare, and sunshine,
Time for reverie,night time calls.

On the night-trains gentle journeys,
On this  trackless train we ride
Strange visions and haunting pictures
We will see in dreams’ designs.

In my night train,I’ll be happy
In such rich deep reverie.
We visit darkness in our sleeping,
There we learn its ecstasy.

Now we may have no God to hold us,
In His Hands of Living Love,
What will help us trust deep blackness
If there’s no Saviour from above?

Must we enter that great darkness,
Go back to dark from which we came,
Into dark all living creatures,
In that darkness find our home?

Trust the dark unknown, to hold us,
Trust the dark,both night and day.
Must we walk into that darkness
And trust it is our safest way?

Related articles

Gradually

You came here gradually,
from the whirling chaos of the dreaming infant,
anchored by the maternal hand to earth.
Do not try to fly back to heaven today.
Be patient;your guides will,with no effort,
Teach you the patterns and the dance.
All you need is to be open and to trust,
For you have a place in the world.
We need your contribution.No-one else
will see this world from your perspective.
And as you trust the chaos now,fear it not
Should it return.Every creative act
involves the breaking of these barriers
by which we keep the chairs and tables
anchored into themselves.The patterns may break up
but new ones are somewhere near.Patience
with this suffering is the only route now.

You cannot go back.Heaven comes only after
you have grown roots into this earth,
grown sunward,and travailed the storms
and stinging blows;
have grown your flowers and leaves
And let them fall.
Accept.

The only way you can go
is the earthly way.
You are part of us.
We love you.
Our hands are reaching out
If you just lift your eyes.

In the Chaos,God danced and rainbows
Flew from his hands; tears fell from his eyes…………
Those tears which fertilized our earth.
He wept, knowing of the pain to come;
And yet,he did not cease to dance.

Fumour

For non English speakers, the words,fumour and gloomour are inventions by me so don’t use them in essays etc.

 

 

 

Is it easy to write limericks and humour

To rescue folk stuck in their gloomour?

Well,why rescue at all?

Let them all fall.

See if I care about fumour!

 

Fuming is when folk get too  cross

Hot and smokey,it’s their loss.

Noone can make us feel

Other than what is real.

Don’t ley their moods be the boss.

How can we learn to live with love, not fear

 I try to feel through dark and distant space
To where you dwell in a so called “heavenly” place.
And you are far from those of us, who care.
Our hearts are dulled with loving thoughts not shared.
Your absence has so distanced us in grief.
We can neither share our loss, nor gain relief.I stare into the star filled sky at night
And see a space almost devoid of light.
I feel into the edges of my soul
I sense,somewhere, a partially dismembered whole.
Would new technology be able to aid my view,
As I search everywhere for some tiny trace of you?

How can someone vanish suddenly in the night,
And never,from then on, be in my sight?
I wish that I’d been there when you went off.
Then I could have expressed,in touch, my sweetest love.
Shall I never hear again your gleaming tenor voice
Enchanting me once more with your intriguing choice?
Shall I not even find the laces from your shoes,
Floating gently back to earth through these elm trees?

I see more flocks of gracious geese flash by.
Are those your fingers tracing lines across the sky?
Do you too see these geese from up above?
But you’re on the other side, too far away from love.
And even with the very new best technology
There’s no way back now,so you won’t ever be
With us again,Goodbye,Goodbye Goodbye
I’ll turn away my tear filled green- blue eyes
And look at all that’s near,as I’m still here.

I know now you’re too far away ,too far away, too far away ,my dear.
I know now that you’re too far away,my dear.
How can we learn to live with love, not fear,
As we go on ,now, down these coming years?
So sad that you’re not near,not here,not here,my dear.
Shall I sometimes,in the night. pretend, you’re there,
And that heaven is not really so agonizingly too far?
As we slide down the escape chute of the years,
Like children clutching at our teddy bears.

A gambit is the opening move.

A gambit is the opening move.

A manoeuvre the player can choose.

She seeks a quick lead;

A game at full speed.

What  shame if she thereafter should  lose.

 

I am innocent of tricks such as these.

I play games in order to please.

To  enjoy some fun,

No matter who’s won.

Then at leisure to relax at our ease.

 

In my ambit I find tricky folk

Whose guns are over-eager to smoke.

So I  am turning gay

In order to say,

I love you ,without being provoked.

 

Who understands a woman like me?

Is my mind a disorder to flee?

I may be  brilliant at times

But who chooses my rhymes?

I am who I am,let it be.

 

 

 

 

Gambit: your leg

12717545_665991480207400_9095795496204359785_n.jpg

gambit

See definition in Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary

Line breaks: gam¦bit

Pronunciation: /ˈɡambɪt/

Definition of gambit in English:

noun

1An act or remark that is calculated to gain an advantage, especially at the outset of a situation:his resignation was a tactical gambit

MORE EXAMPLE SENTENCESSYNONYMS
2(In chess) an opening move in which a player makes asacrifice, typically of a pawn, for the sake of acompensating advantage:he tried the dubious Budapest gambit

MORE EXAMPLE SENTENCES

Origin

Mid 17th century: originally gambett, from Italian gambetto, literally ‘tripping up’, from gamba ‘leg’.

He ate a piece of rancid cod

Image

Stan is feeling very odd
He ate a piece of rancid cod.
He hates to throw out bits of food,
but now his insides stewed.

He feels sick and tired of life.
He hates the housework and his wife.
He’s tired of cooking cakes for her.
And he dislikes her hair.

He does like talking to his cat.
They always have a friendly chat.
And he likes teaching tricks and jokes
And see….his ears do smoke!

He went to see a Doctor Brown
Who wore a bright red dressing gown.
He asked him why he had no suit.
And only wore one boot.

Dr Brown said, Look here, you!
I’m the doctor, how do you do?
So Stan said “I am feeling sick.
The world whirls far too quick”

“Travel sickness is not nice,
The world spins once, then you spin twice.
I’ll give you some pink medicine,
See how you get on.”

“I want to get off, not get on.
My time on earth is surely done.
I want to hear angelic choirs
Instead of Mary’s tyres.”

“I think you’re very melancholy.
I prefer my patients to be jolly.
Please take Prozac ‘ere you come”
“I’ve already taken twenty-one
,
But I still feel so black and grey.
I can’t tell if it’s night or day.”
Oh, help me doctor, it’s that time,
When men run out of rhymes.”

“Now look her, Stan,” the doctor said,
“I think that you should go to bed.
A little rest will do you good
And renovate your blood.”

“But who will bake the cakes and bread.
And make sure that the cat’s not dead?
And who will clean the purple bath
And sweep the garden path?”

So Doctor Brown began to cry.
He’s not much good but he does try.
So Stan went home and had a rest,
And ate some buttered toast.

Some days the world is too much here,
But other days it seems less queer
Then Stan feels he can cope with life
And even with his wife!