Small rhymes

Hmm

Cannot think what to write tonight.

It brings to mind one of a group of autographs we would write in each other’s books. And that had me wondering if anyone collect signatures these days.

Can’t think

Born dumb.

Inspiration won’t come.

Bad ink

Bad pen.

Gobble gobble

Amen.

Well it went something like that. Then there was this one

When you get married and have twins,

Don’t come to me for safety pins.

And then this one too

2Ys U R

2Y’s U B

I C u R 2Ys

4 me.

But I think the one I liked the best was one that my Mum wrote. If I remember rightly it went like this.

If you’ve had a kindness done, pass it on.

It wasn’t meant for you alone, pass it on.

Le it wander down the years.

Let it dry another’s tears

‘Til in heaven the deed appears.

Pass it on.

We will rememebr them...

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them.

We will remember them.

Back home right now it is the morning of April 25^th. ANZAC Day. That stands for Australia and New Zealand Army Corps.

 It commemorates all New Zealanders killed in war and also honours returned servicemen and women. The date itself marks the anniversary of the landing of New Zealand and Australian soldiers – the Anzacs – on the Gallipoli Peninsula in 1915. The aim was to capture the Dardanelles, the gateway to the Bosphorus and the Black Sea. At the end of the campaign, Gallipoli was still held by its Turkish defenders.
Anzac Day was first marked in 1916.
Thousands lost their lives in the Gallipoli campaigns, 7,000 Turks, 44,000 men from France and the British Empire, including 8500 Australians.  Australia also marks the events of 25 April. Among the dead were 2721 New Zealanders, almost one in four of those who served on Gallipoli.
My Father belonged to the NZ RSA (Returned Servicemen Association) and would in his latter years attend the dawn series.  
The red poppy has become a symbol of war remembrance the world over. People in many countries wear the poppy to remember those who died in war or who still serve. In many countries, the poppy is worn around Armistice Day (11 November), but in New Zealand it is most commonly seen around Anzac Day, 25 April.

 The red or Flanders poppy has been linked with battlefield deaths since the time of the Great War (1914–18). The plant was one of the first to grow and bloom in the mud and soil of Flanders. The connection was made, most famously, by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae in his poem 'In Flanders fields'.

 

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Words, words, words...

Could you imagine a world without the written word?

Words on paper can let our brains do amazing things. Well, reading the words can do.

It can transport us to other world. Let us live vicariously through the lives of real or fictional characters.

Reading words can create emotions; make us feel sad or happy, excited or fearful. Bring a tear to our eye or set the heart racing.

How powerful is that!

And not just reading the words, listening to a story or a song can put us under a spell. Bringing back old memories or helping to create new ones.  

Poetry can be particularly evocative, sort of a cross between music and reading. And not just for us grown up either.

I remember first hearing the remarkable rhyming fun of the Cat in The Hat when I was at primary school. The book was first published in about 1957 and has been enchanting children and grownups alike since then.

“We looked!
Then we saw him
step in on the mat!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The Cat in the Hat!”

“I know it is wet
And the sun is not sunny.
But we can have
Lots of good fun
that is funny!”

It doesn’t even have to make sense. What do I mean? Well how about this written by Lewis Carroll

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.

Nonsense is fun, just look at the beginning of the epic poem The Walrus and the Carpenter.

 The sun was shining on the sea,

Shining with all his might;

He did his very best to make

The billows smooth and bright--

And this was odd, because it was

The middle of the night. 

 And I can’t mention the word nonsense without quoting the most famous of them all, the very talented Edward Leer.

There was an Old Man with a beard,

Who said, "It is just as I feared!

Two Owls and a Hen,

Four Larks and a Wren,

Have all built their nests in my beard!"

 

...of pets an poetry

There are days when I feel that the more I write the blog the more difficult it is to find something to write about. And yes this it is one of those days.  So here’s a writing exercise I did a while ago

Of Pets and Poetry

All things bright and Beautiful,

All creatures great and small.

All things wise and wonderful,

The lord God made them all.

 I think mice are rather nice,

 Their tales are long,

Their faces small,

They haven’t any chins at all,

At least that’s how I think it goes. My sister  had some white mice once. They lived in a little wooden cage with a wire mesh front. I remember the musty dusty sawdust smell of them and how the warm soft pink bare-skinned blind babies snuggled in my hand. 

Three blind mice,

Three blind mice

See how they run.

One of them did, Mum found it later squashed under the cage.

But I still think mice are rather nice.

Two little dickey birds sat upon a wall,

One named Peter,

One named Paul.

Who’s a pretty boy then, who’s a pretty boy?

Noddy is. He’s Granddads green and yellow budgie. He can wolf whistle too. Noddy loves sugar and if you press a damp finger into the white grains he’ll sit on your hand and gently nibble at the sweetness with his  sharp curved beak. Oh no there’s little budgie droppings in the sugar, “Who left the cover off the bowl?” 

How much is that doggie in the window?

The one with the waggily tail.

How much is that doggie in the window?

 I do hope that doggie’s for sale. 

Rex is a foxie; he’s my fiend. We drove all the way out to the Blue Cross Kennels in Wellington, and chose him, out of all the other dogs that needed homes. He sleeps in the big kennel that Dad built, under the apple trees. At first he was tied up with a red leather leash, but he chewed through that. Dad mended it with a metal plate and a couple of rivets. He’s clever my Dad is. After that Rex was tied up with a shiny silver chain. 

Once I took him to school for pet day. The best thing about that was that I had to take him home after lunch and didn’t have to go back for the rest of the afternoon. Rex loved to chase the ball, but he never wanted to bring it back, he’d just chew and chew slobber all over it, and then it wasn’t much good for anything. When we moved to Petone, Mum said we couldn’t have a dog in the shop. She found a nice lady to take care of him. When the lady came to take him away I cried, the lady said we could visit whenever we wanted too. But somehow Mum never found the time to take us. 

Oh my name is Dinky Pinky,

And my tail is short and Kinky

I’m a little elephant

As you can see.

Well it went something like that. The song was from one of my favorite stories on the radio request session on Sunday mornings. My Dinky’s not an elephant; he’s a shiny black cat. It’s OK to have a cat in the shop. Good to keep the mice away Dad says. Once Dinky made a mess at the front of the shop, and at lunchtime, the busiest part of the day. He wasn’t very popular with Mum and Dad after that. My sister had a black cat too. When we moved to Melling her cat kept walking back to the shop. He had to cross the railway lines and the main road as well. He walked back so many times that the new people in the shop asked her if they could keep him. She said yes, and they changed his name to Harvey.

This little pig went to market.

This little pig stayed home.

This little pig had roast beef.

And this little pig’s… not a pig at all! He’s a guinea pig. All shiny black and white and ginger. I bought him from a friend at school for two and six, and called him Elvis. He’s got a quivery shivery nose and long white whiskers. When he’s hungry he sounds just like a squeaky toy. Out the back of the shop there used to be a bakery. That’s where Elvis lives. I keep his cage on the bench near the window so he can see outside. The front door of the shop is on Jackson Street and the back door is on Peel street, so there isn’t any grass in our backyard. Our neighbour in Peel Street is very nice lady. She lets me bring Elvis over to play on their lawn whenever I want.  He looks like he’s smiling when I put him down on the grass to play.

All things bright and Beautiful,

All creatures great and small.

All things wise and wonderful,

The lord God made them all.