Saturday, December 27, 2008
South and west across the Diablo Range
-741165.jpg)
-741515.jpg)
No reindeer were harmed in the production of these photographs.
xoxo
Krisbert Kringlecock
A Preparator's Christmas in Antioch
Looking through my bedroom window,
out into the moonlight and the unending
smoke-colored snow, I could see
the lights in the windows of all
the other houses on our hill and hear
the music rising from them up the long,
steady falling night. I turned the gas down,
I got into bed. I said some words to
the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.
Dylan Thomas
Come closer.
Only you can hear and see,
behind the eyes of the sleepers,
the movements and countries and mazes
and colours and dismays and rainbows
and tunes and wishes and flight
and fall and despairs
and big seas of their dreams.
From where you are, you can hear their dreams.
Dylan Thomas
from Under Milk Wood
Friday, December 19, 2008
Ragnarok Now?
As long as Yggdrasil stood,
healthy and green, the gods would be safe
Wolcom be thou heavenly kyng!
Wolcom yole! Wolcom born in one mornyng!
Wolcom ale for whom we sall syng!
Wolcom be ye Stephene and Johne!
Wolcom be ye goode newe yere!
Wolcom yole!
Yours 'til the sun stands still,
Robin i'th'Hood
from the Lord of Misrule
Blessed are our ties to the ancient ones.
Blessed are our ties to one another.
Blessed are our ties to the ones to come.
We rejoice.
Io, Saturnalia!
Io, Saturnalia!
Io, Saturnalia!
Blessed are our ties to one another.
Blessed are our ties to the ones to come.
We rejoice.
Io, Saturnalia!
Io, Saturnalia!
Io, Saturnalia!
Seasonally Affected and Disorderly
Tonight I have burned all my candles
Leaving only ashes in their wake...
And at times I get so hard to handle
'Cause simple songs leave me behind,
they all have taken wing
And I'm left alone to hear the song
a lonely candle sings
Stan Rogers
Saturday, December 13, 2008
from Phantasmagoria, Canto VII
For years I've not been visited
By any kind of Sprite;
Yet still they echo in my head,
Those parting words, so kindly said,
"Old Turnip-top, good night!"
Lewis Carroll
By any kind of Sprite;
Yet still they echo in my head,
Those parting words, so kindly said,
"Old Turnip-top, good night!"
Lewis Carroll
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
Saturday, December 6, 2008
The only, only thing
When I was a bachelor, I liv'd all alone
I worked at the weaver's trade
And the only, only thing that I ever did wrong
Was to woo a fair young maid.
I wooed her in the wintertime
And in the summer, too
And the only, only thing that I did that was wrong
Was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.
I worked at the weaver's trade
And the only, only thing that I ever did wrong
Was to woo a fair young maid.
I wooed her in the wintertime
And in the summer, too
And the only, only thing that I did that was wrong
Was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.
-701929.jpg)
-702789.jpg)
I met a little man in the wood alone.
He wore a little mantle of velvet brown.
Say who can that mankin be
Standing there beneath that tree?
I met a little man in the wood alone.
Dead Dance
From Waverly Fitzgerald's
schooloftheseasons.com
November 30 Dead Dance
In Ireland, the whole month of November was dedicated to the dead and they held their final dances before returning to their dwelling on the last day. A legend tells of the young woman who was foolish enough to go out walking on that night and sat down to rest on the side of a hill. A pale young man approached and invited her to a dance on the hillside. She realized after a while that he was a young fisherman who had drowned during the summer and all the other dancers were people who had died. She tried to leave but was surrounded by the dancers who whirled her around until she fell to the ground in exhaustion. Although she made it home to her own bed, she was suffering from "the fairy stroke" and despite the ministrations of the herb-doctor, she passed away the next night while the moon was rising and a faint music was hear from outside.
O'Farrell, Padraic, Superstitions of the Irish Country People, Cork & Dublin: Mercier Press 1982
schooloftheseasons.com
November 30 Dead Dance
In Ireland, the whole month of November was dedicated to the dead and they held their final dances before returning to their dwelling on the last day. A legend tells of the young woman who was foolish enough to go out walking on that night and sat down to rest on the side of a hill. A pale young man approached and invited her to a dance on the hillside. She realized after a while that he was a young fisherman who had drowned during the summer and all the other dancers were people who had died. She tried to leave but was surrounded by the dancers who whirled her around until she fell to the ground in exhaustion. Although she made it home to her own bed, she was suffering from "the fairy stroke" and despite the ministrations of the herb-doctor, she passed away the next night while the moon was rising and a faint music was hear from outside.
O'Farrell, Padraic, Superstitions of the Irish Country People, Cork & Dublin: Mercier Press 1982
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)