Month: June 2016
It’s beautiful the Summer month of June
When all of God’s own wildflowers are in bloom
And sun shines brightly most part of the day
And butterflies o’er lush green meadows play.
Light hearted skylark songster of the wing
High o’er the quiet and lonely moorland sing
Above her nest cloaked by the tangled heath
Her charming song so exquisitely sweet.
So mellow the gentle breath of june day breeze
The birds rejoicing on the leafy trees
And dappled trout in pool bed of the stream
Bask in the sun their spotted skins agleam.
God gave us June and all her lovely flowers
Bright sunny days and pleasant evening hours
Shady green glens and serene sunlit dells
And leafy bowers adorned with blue bluebells.
But god June’s maker has the final say
And what he give he also take away
And God’s own larks will trumpet in the sky
To celebrate the birthday of July.
– Francis Duggan
The tiny breeding frogs are singing in the roadside drain
And the magpie he pipes in the wind and the rain
And as shades of darkness roll across the sky
The foxes are barking on the hill nearby
In the chilly gloam of a gray Winter’s day
The grey roos in the scrub they box as they play
And the calls of the birds known to some as weerloo
The big birds known to most as yellow tail black cockatoo,
A chilly evening in June ten weeks from the Spring
But the grey backed magpie is not shy to sing,
With it the gray fog carries a silent chill
As it slowly creeps across the old stony hill,
On a chilly evening not cold enough to snow
Harsh is the caw of the dark homing crow.
– Francis Duggan
1903 George Orwell (author of Animal Farm)
1876 George Custer (US General, killed at the Battle of Little Bighorn)
On This Day:
1950 Isreali airline El Al begins operations
Have a good Saturday, 25th June
Is there any way to beat
the full, lush perfection
of a plump, nectarous strawberry?
The divinity of it as it hemorrhages in the mouth
is comparable only to the first rush of sexual culmination
or the sudden release of pain.
Cumulous clouds of blooming lilac
inspire the air with purplish balm.
The scented curlicues dance through the gauzy sheers
to the rhythm of youthful hearts and the summer equinox.
The joyful cracks and flashes of early summer
thunderous rumblings play like stirring music,
whilst the whispers of water kissing the grass with
wet, clapping smacks lull the wide-eyed to gentle slumber.
Wafting down the streets and into open windows
are the crooked, spiced hazy fingers of grilled steak
as it sizzles and pops, summoning lustful hunger.
Even those who are chaste in the matters of meat
must appreciate the sultry nature of this aroma.
It tantalizes and teases with its sinful spark and spit.
The chirps and chants of happy songbirds
cause the listeners to crane their necks to hear.
We believe we understand their language,
as a oneness with the winged seems possible today.
Inconceivable that there be grief on a day
that shines as bright as this.
There must be exemptions from death and despair
when the sun strokes and cuddles pallid skin.
Only birth and its celebration seem
fitting when the night seems lost forever.
The sun stubbornly refuses to bleed into the horizon.
Orange and violet skies are made more luminous by
the joyful candles that glow below.
The rich and decadent cakes boast sugary prose and flora
intended for the beloved and the ravenous.
Nights that cloak us in quiet and cold
seem other worlds away.
This coming eve will be full of warmth and perfume.
I dream of rolling on the grass until morning.
– Tara Teeling