Futility by Wilfred Owen

Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds, -
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved - still warm - too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?

Wish you were here!


Anyone partial to an amazing swelling organ? No mistaking the era that this comes from. Their big hit 'Venus' is good, but nowhere as good as this teen terrific platter.

On Joy and Sorrow from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran

Then a woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the reassure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

UKIP bollocks courtesy of Stewart Lee

PAUL NUTTALLS OF UKIP, MIDWEEK SPORT COLUMN, JAN 2015
Freedom of speech should be one of the cornerstones of our society and practiced by all, but this unfortunately is not the case. Islamic fundamentalists are a prime example of those who do not sign up for the freedoms we have fought for centuries to protect.

CHORTLE NEWS STORY, JUNE 2014

UKIP tries to shut down comedy tour - Aggressive campaign against Jonny & The Baptists

UKIP is trying to stop musical comedy duo Jonny And The Baptists from touring. 
Their current show is called The Stop UKIP Tour, prompting party supporters to target venues with a sustained written and phone call campaign. They have also put pressure on venues' sponsors and benefactors.
The campaign was sparked by UKIP's deputy leader Paul Nuttalls, who said: 'Everyone is entitled to their own opinion and UKIP is very much the party of free speech but I think it is wrong that taxpayers money is being used to back this production.'
The UKIP MEP for the North West Of England complained on the party website that: 'This blatantly party political rubbish is being staged to coincide with the run-up to the Euro elections in May and I am appalled that one of the venues in [sic] the much lauded Royal Exchange Theatre in Manchester. I would have hoped they had higher standards than giving this show house room.
'I have written to the Arts Council about this matter and also the Royal Exchange expressing my views about this distasteful satire.
'

THE BATH by Harry Graham

Broad is the Gate and wide the Path
That leads man to his daily bath;
But ere you spend the shining hour
With plunge and spray, with sluice and show'r -
With all that teaches you to dread
The bath as little as your bed -
Remember, whosoe'er you be,
To shut the door and turn the key!

I had a friend - my friend no more ! -
Who failed to bolt his bath-room door;
A maiden aunt of his, one day,
Walked in, as half-submerged he lay!
She did not notice nephew John,
And turned the boiling water on!
He had no time, nor even scope
To camouflage himself with soap,
But gave a yell and flung aside
The sponge, 'neath which he sought to hide!
It fell to earth I know not where!
He beat his breast in his depair,
And then, like Venus from the foam,
Sprang into view, and made for home!
His aunt fell fainting to the ground!
Alas! They never brought her round!
She died, intestate, in her prime,
The victim of another's crime;
And John can never quite forget
How, by a breach of etiquette,
He lost, at one fell swoop (or plunge)
His aunt, his honour, and his sponge!

When I Have Fears by John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

A Dream by William Blake

Once a dream did weave a shade
O'er my angel-guarded bed,
That an emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangle spray,
All heart-broke, I heard her say:

'Oh my children! do they cry,
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see,
Now return and weep for me.'

Pitying, I dropped a tear:
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied, 'What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night?

'I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round:
Follow now the beetle's hum;
Little wanderer, hie thee home! '

The Quarrel by Katherine Mansfield

Our quarrel seemed a giant thing,
It made the room feel mean and small,
The books, the lamp, the furniture,
The very pictures on the wall--

Crowded upon us as we sat
Pale and terrified, face to face.
"Why do you stay?" she said, "my room
Can never be your resting place."

"Katinka, ere we part for life,
I pray you walk once more with me."
So down the dark, familiar road
We paced together, silently.

The sky--it seemed on fire with stars!
I said:--"Katinka dear, look up!"
Like thirsty children, both of us
Drank from the giant loving cup.

"Who were those dolls?" Katinka said
"What were their stupid, vague alarms?"
And suddenly we turned and laughed
And rushed into each other's arms.