Full Moon

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.
Buddha

The Moon


The moon was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago,
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below.
Her forehead is of amplest blond;
Her cheek like beryl stone;
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known.
Her lips of amber never part;
But what must be the smile
Upon her friend she could bestow
Were such her silver will!
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest star!
For certainly her way might pass
Beside your twinkling door.
Her bonnet is the firmament,
The universe her shoe,
The stars the trinkets at her belt,
Her dimities of blue.


Emily Dickinson

Libraries, books, oh and there's a fairy.

There really are fairies in my garden, here is one I caught on camera.

Dear Diary,

I am writing today about books and so of course our  libraries will get a mention..

Libraries will get you through times of NO money better than money will get you through times of NO Libraries
Anne Herbert.

CUTS to Libraries during a recession are just like CUTS to hospitals during a plague!

Eleanor Crumblehulme

The three most important documents a free society gives are a birth certificate, a passport, and a Library card. 

E. L. Doctorow.

A Library outranks any other one thing a community can do to benefit its people.  

It is a never failing spring in the desert.  

Andrew Carnegie

The public Library is the only public agency which serves the minds of ALL of the population, one individual at a time

Unknown. 

We are the only planet, so far as we know, to have invented a communal memory stored neither in our genes or our brains. The warehouse of that memory is called a Library.

Carl Sagan

More than a building that houses books and data, the Library has always been a window to a larger world–a place where we’ve always come to discover big ideas and profound concepts that help move the American story forward. . . . . Libraries remind us that truth isn’t about who yells the loudest, but who has the right information. Because even as we’re the most religious of people, America’s innovative genius has always been preserved because we also have a deep faith in facts. And so the moment we persuade a child, any child, to cross that threshold into a Library, we’ve changed their lives forever, and for the better. This is an enormous force for good.

Barack Obamac

I am meant to be away with the fairies today getting on with the gardening but the sun is not out, the ground is very wet and well to be honest I am feeling a trifle lazy so instead I am contemplating a rest on my bed with a Good Book. I have several which you can see if you check out the Books on My Bedside Table list in the right-hand column of this page. I have recently started the Patrick Harpur 'Soul' one which is a gem of a book, please don't be put off by the title or the sound of it, it's not your usual run of the mill New Agey type book, it is so well written and informative and I can't wait to to read more.

I am also enjoying Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, that's a real page-turner but I expect you have all read it years ago. I don't know how I missed actually reading it a few years back, a friend has just recommended it to me and I am so glad that he did.

Joseph O'Connor has a new novel out, I just can't wait for that. what a great writer and story teller he is (see my books on order list on right).

Simon Armitage has a new volume of poetry out, I heard him reading some of them on Radio 4 and I am very eager to get my hands on the book.

Trespass by that great writer Rose Tremain is another book thatI am longing to read, it's set in the South of France.

Philip Pullman's new one is said to be very controversial so I must read that. I will report back on all these but do remind me.

I have been listening to Jackie Kay reading her new book, Red Dust Road which is an 'adoption memoir' as they love to call these books. I am working on my own so was very keen to hear her story. She is a great poet and I have already read her poem 'The Adoption Papers'. The memoir is a great read and she read it beautifully this week on Radio 4's Book of the Week(it ended today but you can Listen Again).

I know I am biaised but aren't libraries wonderful? I pray that not one library is closed in the soon to be announced cuts in our public services, it would be a crime against society in my opinion.

If you have bored children take them to the library and join Space Hop, the Summer Reading Game.

What's on your bedside table?

I am off to see my cranial osteopath this afternoon, I can't wait.... even though I don't know how it works - her ways are ways of magic - but she usually puts me to right for a very long time and I am hoping to be free of headaches for a very long while.

And don't forget....

Whatever the cost of our Libraries, the price is cheap compared to that of an ignorant nation.
Walter Cronkite

Happy Reading,

Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait.

Gardens and Blogs

Grandmother's Garden by June Dudley


And when thou art weary, I'll find thee a bed of mosses
and flowers to pillow thy head...
John Keats

Dear Diary,

 

Finish each day and be done with it.  You have done what you could.  Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in, forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day, you shall begin it well and serenely.

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

I had a wasted weekend;  Saturday I had an horrendous migraine and had to come home from work; Sunday I had the migraine ‘hangover’ which any fellow sufferer will identify with, that feeling of utter weakness and slight shakiness.

Yesterday morning I was determined to play catch-up and in spite of still feeling a bit on the weak side I donned my gardening togs and spent a very happy couple of hours in the garden - just pottering really, which is one of my favourite pastimes, indoors or out, (please excuse the garden pun there). I also did quite a bit of the never-ending chore that is weeding.  It was very warm yesterday, today it is still very warm but we have had rain - constant rain - that started off so very lightly this morning and now, this evening, is falling heavily. I hope we are not going to have the same weather  we had last year when it rained throughout July and August.  As I am typing this I am watching the river which has taken on a lightish brown tinge and is rising quite quickly.  I pray it won’t flood….

A garden is a bit like a blog, it needs attention every day and much pleasure is gained if you receive positive comments about its appearance or its content.  Both require constancy (I love that word so had to slip it in), hard work, imagination and both benefit from new ideas.  Both require the weeding out of the unnecessary, the unintended or the unattractive.  Both mature with time, they may change direction, stop and start, have growth spurts, parts may die or disappear.  With any luck blossoming occurs.

We like to visit other people’s gardens and a lot of us also visit other folk’s blogs. We may have favourites; many are beautifully designed, are highly original or quirky, we are often moved to make comments, we get ideas, we learn such a lot and we are often inspired.  We may or may not stick to the rules of grammar or the rules of horticulture but we respond to our own moods, to those of the weather or the season, all can affect our practice.  Both can bring rewards; a feeling of satisfaction and achievement and sometimes even a healing of some kind.  Just as writing can be a therapy for the soul so can spending time outdoors in nature working  with the soil and with plants.

Of course both are creative pursuits and seeds are sown which with due care should bring fruit.  However I suppose the difference is that if I gave up tending my garden it would very soon take on a life of its own but with Mother Nature as ever the one in charge but if I gave up posting here my blog would rapidly fade away into obscurity. ……

 

But I’m not planning to do give up either just yet.

Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait

Before the famine

Before the famine

On the western tip of Europe
reaching out to Dingle Bay,
a cottage sits, thatched, gilded and always lit up
by the influence of God, or by rainbows
from the mountain rains and the sometimes sun.
Did I dream you into being?
Lying overgrown and ripe, in need of care,
your mellow garden is steeped in wild flowers
while turf is stacked against your stony walls.
Through a wooden door of oxblood red
you welcome me quietly into chiaoscuro light.
Ancestral memories have always sung to me
of your whitewashed walls and your truckle bed.
Now I yearn to sleep there by the glow of oil lamps
in the little alcove beside your hearth.
There, upon your paved floors of slate, lasting and true,
are patchworks and flowers,
a scented geranium in a metal pail.
A crucifix hangs upon a wall,
a rosary by its side.
A meal has been laid on the table:
there are foods that are staple:
potatoes, bread, butter in churns
and the purest honey from the hive.
Cait O’Connor

Painting by James Anderson

Snapshots

There is Another Sky

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come! 

Emily Dickinson

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Think of me on Sundays

This poem is inspired by a meme on
Yolanda's Perfectly Imperfect blog.



Think of me on Sundays.


Think of me on Sundays…

For if I were a day I’d like to be a Sunday; quiet and reflective.
If I were a time it would be night with my hours full of moonlight and wonder.
If I were a planet it would surely be the one that’s lost,
just out of reach, still waiting, borne on imagination.
If I were a direction it would have to be west for it is my spirit’s home,
to where I am drawn, from whence I came.
If I were a piece of furniture I’d love to be the bentwood rocker
on your sweet New England porch.
To calm you down I’d rock and soothe you off to sleep;
you’d be forever cradled in my arms of polished wood.
If I were liquid I’d be pure water in your streams or in sea water’s waves
or in cascades that play God’s music in their waterfalls.
If I were precious I would not be gold but would dress always in amethyst
encased in silver so I could lie at all times near your heart.
If I were a flower I’d want be the wildest rose, persistent, understated, seldom found.
If I were weather I would be in Ireland’s rain
so my drops would be gentle, soft and warm.
If I were an instrument I’d be uilleann pipes;
you’d hear me and I’d touch you somewhere deep within,
If I were a colour I’d have to steal the blue of summer skies
and be unapologetic in my crime.
If I were an emotion I’d strive hard to be thoughtful, always deep but wholly kind.
If I were a sound you’d hear me in the waves on oceanic crossings.
If I were an element I would strive to dance within the fire
that lights the blessing candle in your home.
If I were a place I’d be an island, small and safe, protected,
a haven for the poor lost souls and rescued beasts of burden on this Earth.
If I were textile I’d be the softest silk in pastels
or cotton paisley in bright colours, depending on your mood.
If I were a song it would always be the rebel’s tune
played loud and always shouting for a cause.
If I were a city I’d be Dublin, I’d feel at home there
and would sincerely hope you’d stay.
I’d be the doorway in a photo, a piece of history or art.
But if I were a gift for you I’d like to be a book,
one of wild, unruly poems, unstructured, wrapped with care, 
something to treasure all your days.
I’d hope you’d bring it out on Sundays .

Think of me on Sundays…


Cait O’Connor

A Nice Song

The Joys of Gardening

Dear Diary,

In my garden there is a large place for sentiment.  My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams.  The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful.

Abram L Urban

My garden is not huge but it wraps itself around the cottage and there is more than enough for me to cope with, I am so lucky to have the mountain stream flowing through it and the beautiful views. I have taken photos before for the blog but I shall try to take some more this week.

The growing season is short in this upland area of Wales and certain plants just will not grow and those that do are way behind those at lower altitudes.  You soon learn what keels over at this altitude in this acid soil and what thrives I am a bit of a fair weather gardener which probably explains why I am writing today about the joys of gardening. We have had so many weeks of real summer for a change. 

Shall I list these joys?  There are many.

To start with working with the soil ‘earths’ me which does me the world of good as I live too much in my head most of the time.  I love the feel of earth in my hands and the smell of it too.  Although I have to wear gardening gloves there are some jobs that I just can’t do properly with gloves on.  Transplanting seedlings for example, or potting on. 

There is the solitude too which I just have to have at times and I enjoy my own company very much but I am not always completely alone, I am joined sometimes by M who helps out with certain tasks.  I am accompanied at times by a dog or two or a cat and always surrounded by birds; some watch from a distance, some are braver like the robins and the blackbirds who watch patiently in case some tasty morsel is turned over and laid out at their feet,  (Do birds have feet?).  I am watched by squirrels and sometimes spied on by birds of prey like the red kites who swoop above me.  There are more bees this year which is good news and always butterflies around me.  Sometimes there are sheep in the field across the river and they will stand and watch my movements from afar. I wonder what they are thinking.  Perhaps they wonder what I am thinking,

Tending a garden is similar to the practice of meditation because I concentrate fully on the task in hand and become totally absorbed within it.  I am happy and purposeful and the garden seems to be the only place where I can put aside, if only for a while, any worries that I may have.  It is rewarding when a job is done, a ‘corner’ or a bed sorted and improved, an area cleared of weeds brings much satisfaction and reward for much hard work.  And it is ongoing as plants GROW (usually).  Weeds GROW too but I have learned to enjoy, well perhaps enjoy is not the right word; endure perhaps, the chore that is weeding.  My thoughts wander and I often find inspiration while I am doing it.

Gardening is physically exhausting sometimes and I have to limit myself in case I overdo things but at least it beats going to a gym and it is so lovely to be out in the pure fresh Welsh mountain air. The best advice I can give is to take it in small doses and set a time limit - stop when you are still wanting more and then there is the next day to look forward to.  A bit like writing I guess.

Yesterday I gardened in soft rainfall - West Cork weather I call it  - which suits me well.  It was warm but with the softest of rain, real Irish weather, rain that started off more like a mist but soon became the sort that quickly makes you wet through without you realising.  But for me it beat the sweltering heat any day, I was so happy.

Gardening presents challenges which for me, being an Aries, I relish.  However, being an Aries my enthusiasm is apt to wane before the job is finished.  I must try harder….  It is an inexpensive hobby if I restrict myself when I go to garden centres (very hard) and if I wanted to I could grow a lot of my own food…perhaps one day.

Just lately I have begun to see the garden as somewhere I can be creative rather than just somewhere to sweep, cut back, weed and tidy. This is quite exciting.  Just recently our phone line was down and I could not go on the net for a week - I turned to the garden as the weather was so inviting.  I realised that my life had become out of balance because I was spending too much time indoors looking at a computer screen, both at work and at home. I have had a few days off work and am just starting to feel rested.  Pottering is one of my passions and I have been concentrating on practising this one a lot.

Well I must sign off now.  The garden is quite tidy but the cottage needs a clean.  Not today though, I am not in housework mode (or cooking!). Maybe it will rain soon.  I found this quote recently, it is so true.

God made rainy days so gardeners could get the housework done.  ~Author Unknown

I must leave you with a poem. 

My dear cat Molly roams among the roses  - she’s not black but is pure white -  but I still loved the poem by Amy Lowell. I hope you like it too.


A Black Cat Among Roses

A black cat among roses,
Phlox, lilac-misted under a first-quarter moon,
The sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock.
The garden is very still,
It is dazed with moonlight,
Contented with perfume,
Dreaming the opium dreams of its folded poppies.
Firefly lights open and vanish
High as the tip buds of the golden glow
Low as the sweet alyssum flowers at my feet.
Moon-shimmer on leaves and trellises,
Moon-spikes shafting through the snowball bush.
Only the little faces of the ladies' delight are alert and staring,
Only the cat, padding between the roses,
Shakes a branch and breaks the chequered pattern
As water is broken by the falling of a leaf.
Then you come,
And you are quiet like the garden,
And white like the alyssum flowers,
And beautiful as the silent sparks of the fireflies.
Ah, Beloved, do you see those orange lilies?
They knew my mother,
But who belonging to me will they know
When I am gone.

Amy Lowell

Bye for now,
Happy Gardening,
Cait.












   

 Dear Diary,


Well it has been a long time since my last posting. I have missed you all but I've had a little holiday from work and from blogging and have been spending hours battling with weeds, trying to tame my unruly garden.  I hate pulling up weeds as they are after all just living plants that are unwanted and have landed up in the wrong place.  But I have been resolute and cast out any guilt feelings.  

And hasn't the weather been heavenly?  In between pulling up weeds I've been enjoying watching Wimbledon, it's always a treat for me to sit down and watch the tennis at this time of year.  (No Safin to drool over this year but never mind).   And I've been enjoying the World Cup too, I really love to watch good football, I always have done and while I was growing up I was a Crystal Palace supporter.  I'll say no more about England's performance in the World Cup though, it's really best forgotten.

I watched two good films this week - Julie and Julia with Meryl Streep. such a good one, especially if you love cooking and it's based on a book which was originally a blog. (a true story). The other one was The Queen with Helen Mirren.  Neither films are new but I hadn't got round to seeing either.


I  will sign off with a poem, something that just came into my head. 



Positive Thoughts


The trouble with you is you are always buried
deep beneath the negatives. Shall I list them? 
Can you spare me that much of your precious time?
I thought not and in any case upon them
you and I should never wish to dwell.
You lie so deep sometimes, submerged and overwhelmed
and guarding you, on high alert and always dressed to kill,
the thought police are on permanent patrol.

I must never give up the search for you
for positives parade in many ways,
are found in truth in all our days.
Sometimes the human heroes we encounter on our daily round
are truly saints or angels in our lives.
We almost disregard them as we heed our demons’  daily noise,
ignoring at our peril all the value in a loving, kindly face,
a baby’s smile, a laugh, a hope, a rush of love,
a real belief, some words of comfort and a strength of will,
an angel’s intervention in our life.

And unbeknown to us, amidst the graveyards in our minds
we give unholy funerals to them all
when we should seek their daily resurrection
and speak, for all to hear of good news, in a mantra
or some well-worn, bright, but long-forgotten silent prayer.

Cait O’Connor

Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait.

The Palm Reading

I crept in with sunken palms
chasms of no confidence,
a fortune in my hands for all to see,
a map of lines which I had carried lifelong, hidden,
with an eager, sometimes far too trusting, sympathetic heart.

She swept in on an air of frankincense and cedar
under an aura of rainbows, all sparkled silver and old gold.
Her tourmaline ring hung on red- ribboned silk
for she dowsed and read the tea leaves,
clouds and water, mirrors and a crystal ball.
She even saw weird shapes in dripping, melting wax.
All yielded secrets to her as she scryed.

She said I had a Water hand,
(intuitive and compassionate,
artistic and emotional, but seriously gullible
and far too unworldly for this tainted planet Earth).
My heart line was deeply curvy
(I liked the sound of that)
but I was without any minor lines.
(Well none to speak of).
No crosses or triangles, no sign of little squares.
But then she found the writer’s fork, (quite rare)
which showed a poet's soul
(kind and true with sensitivity).

On my return home, still elated, I created in her name
a bouquet of words, as we poets often love to do.
She knew the lore of flowers, threw runes,
read faces and the Tarot,
always kept her Angel cards at hand.
And when we’d bidden our farewells
and I’d looked deep into her kindly eyes of green
I had no doubt that I  had left with her the secrets
of my very special ‘poet’s life’ of dreams.


Cait O’Connor 2010

Your Song

I have given up on 'X' and 'Z' too so this will be the finale.
I have been looking forward to this one. It takes me back quite a long way but I still remember when I heard it, discovered Elton John and bought his first album.

I am a big fan of Bernie Taupin's lyrics.

Your Song

It's a little bit funny this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live

If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you

And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world

 

I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross
But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song
It's for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting but these things I do
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is what I really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

Alphabet of Songs 'W'

Dear Diary,

We must be the change we want to see in the world.
Mahatma Gandhi 1869-1948

Nearly finished the alphabet!

'W' has been a delight to search for as I have found so many gems.

Too many and so very hard to choose a favourite.

Songs like:

While my guitar gently weeps by dear George Harrison, God rest his soul.

Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush - the first song I heard after giving birth to my daughter and loving it instantly.

Wind beneath my Wings.

Waiting for a Girl like you.

White Flag by Dido.

White Ladder by David Gray.

When you Love Someone.

So hard to choose just one but in the end I chose this one not only for its music but also for its message of hope for the children of our world.

Wind of Change by the Scorpions

And finally just for Frances and just for fun and just because it is such a good one.



I might have to give up on 'X' unless anyone can help me out here?

Can't wait to do 'Y'.

See you soon,
Cait.

For Vincent

'V' wasn't so hard after all. This just happens to be one of my all-time favourites with beautiful lyrics too and Vincent is the name of my late brother, the one I never got to meet, I missed him by a matter of days, God rest his soul.. Why on earth did I think that this letter of the alphabet would be a challenge?

'W' should be a breeze (hold on Frances) and I can't wait to post 'Y'. 'X' will be hard as will 'Z'. But then I shall be back to more 'normal' blogging, I am quite looking forward to that but I hope you have been enjoying the music, I know I have found it fun searching.

In today's choice I hope you enjoy not just the music but the delicious works of art too.


Vincent

Starry
starry night
paint your palette blue and grey

look out on a summer's day
with eyes that know the
darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills
sketch the trees and the daffodils

catch the breeze and the winter chills

in colors on the snowy linen land.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
they did not know how

perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry
starry night
flaming flowers that brightly blaze

swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in
Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue
morning fields of amber grain

weathered faces lined in pain
are soothed beneath the artist's
loving hand.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you
but still your love was true

and when no hope was left in sight on that starry
starry night.
You took your life
as lovers often do;
But I could have told you
Vincent
this world was never
meant for one
as beautiful as you.

Starry
starry night
portraits hung in empty halls

frameless heads on nameless walls
with eyes
that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the stranger that you've met

the ragged men in ragged clothes

the silver thorn of bloody rose
lie crushed and broken
on the virgin snow.
And now I think I know what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity

how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
they're not
list'ning still
perhaps they never will.


Don McLean

The Moor

I just had to share this lovely poem with you as well as post my 'U' song.  I hope you enjoy both.

Next it is 'V's turn..... may this be a problem I wonder?

First the poem by a fine Welsh poet.


The Moor

 

It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.

There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart's passions -- that was praise
Enough; and the mind's cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.

R S Thomas 1913-2000

 

And now for something completely different.

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

Dear Frances of City Views and Country Dreams fame must be on my musical wavelength as she picked this one too. I found this version on YouTube which features more than just Roberta Flack and she still has a great voice, don't you agree?

It brought tears to my eyes.

Enjoy.

Summertime

Several folk had the same idea as me for 'S'. It just has to be Summertime.

And it is Summertime; the sun is showing herself a wee bit today though it could be a tad warmer.
Never mind, just  listen to Ella Fitzgerald, what a voice, what a song!
Enjoy.

Summertime

Summertime
And the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high

Your daddy's rich
And your mamma's good lookin'
So hush little baby
Don't you cry

One of these mornings
You're going to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky

But till that morning
There's a'nothing can harm you
With daddy and mamma standing by

Summertime,
And the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high

Your daddy's rich
And your mamma's good lookin'
So hush little baby
Don't you cry

George Gershwin

Any suggestions for 'T'?

Raglan Road

This is my choice for 'R'.  There were lots to choose from but my love of poetry won out.
It is a fusion of a much-loved poem by a much-loved poet -  put to music and sung with raw emotion by a fine singer, Luke Kelly -  God rest his soul.  I hope you enjoy it too.

Raglan Road

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day. On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay - O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away. I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay - When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.  Patrick Kavanagh

Que Sera

Up to 'Q' now, nearly finished the alphabet!

I have had a comment saying I seem to be avoiding 'proper blogging' by posting these songs but the majority of people who comment seem to be enjoying them. For me it's a case of having started (the alphabet) so I shall finish but I shall try and do a bit of a blog alongside the song when I have the time. It does actually take a lot of time searching for songs, re-listening to them and deciding on a favourite; any journey into nostalgia can while away the hours whether it is going through old photos (another job waiting for me and I have chestfuls to sort) or listening to old songs again. And they do all seem to be old songs, why is that? Is there no contemporary music with esteem worthy of mention? There is of course and I would love to post some - any suggestions would be very welcome.

The garden has been calling me too and a myriad of other things fight for my attention on my days off. I do long to write my more usual type of blogs again with pictures, poems, photos and of course blessings and I do apologise for their absence. I shall try and make up for it in future posts.

Well Q is a bit of a cop-out I guess. The song does remind me of my childhood but I can't say I love it. I couldn't find anything else, though I expect someone will come up with one and I shall kick myself for not thinking of it.

Here it is anyway, it's a cheerful song for sure so sing along do, I bet you know all the words..  A friend told me only this week  that scientists have recently discovered the benefits to our health of singing and humming - apparently they do wonderful things to the brain and help with problems like anxiety and depression. There does seem to be an upsurge in interest in singing lately.  (I sing all the time but only when there is no-one around.  How about you?).

Enjoy!



Bye for now,
Cait

Love Songs

I spent days thinking I would never find a 'P' song and now I have three! I am posting two of them simply because I know a lot of people dislike Celine Dion but the first is The Power of Love Personally I love her voice and have asked to be able to sing with such power in my next life, that's all, it would do me. I defy anyone to say she cannot sing!

The Eric Clapton song, the very gentle Please Be With Me is an old favourite of mine from one of my favourite albums 461 Ocean Boulevard. It takes me back but it remains a very beautiful song. I hope you enjoy it.

Going back to powerful voices simply raw with emotion. The third song? An absolute classic, it's
Piece of My Heart by Janis Joplin. I haven't posted it but if anyone wants me to I will.

So it's all about love folks - as most songs seem to be: the striving for, the celebration of, or the grieving over its loss.

Enjoy.

(Any suggestions for 'Q'?)




Please Be With Me

Oh my word, what does it mean?
Is it love or is it me
That makes me change so suddenly?
Looking out, feeling free.

Sit here lying in my bed,
Wondering what it was I'd said
That made me think I'd lost my head,
When I knew I lost my heart instead.

Won't you please read my signs, be a gypsy.
Tell me what I hope to find deep within me.
Because you can find my mind, please be with me.

Of all the better things I've heard,
Loving you has made the words
And all the rest seem so absurd,
'Cause in the end it all comes out unsure.

Eric Clapton

On a Bus to St Cloud

On a bus to St. Cloud, Minnesota
I thought I saw you there
With the snow falling down around you
Like a silent prayer
And once on a street in New York City
With the jazz and the sin in the air
And once on a cold L.A. freeway
Going nowhere
And it's strange, but it's true
I was sure it was you
Just a face in the crowd
On a bus to St. Cloud

In a church in downtown New Orleans
I got down on my knees and prayed
And I wept in the arms of Jesus
For the choice you made
We were just gettin' to the good part
Just gettin' past the mystery
Oh, and it's just like you, it's just like you
To disagree
And it's strange but it's true
You just slipped out of view
Like a face in the crowd
On a bus to St. Cloud

And you chase me like a shadow
And you haunt me like a ghost
And I hate you some, and I love you some
But I miss you most...

On a bus to St. Cloud, Minnesota
I thought I saw you there
With the snow falling down around you
Like a silent prayer


Trisha Yearwood

Here sung by Gretchen Peters.
Enjoy:

Nothing Compares to You

The Man With the Child in His Eyes

It's Lola and Layla!

I have taken the liberty of posting two songs for the letter 'L'. One is especially for Frances in New York but I love it too and it certainly takes me back.


LOLA

I met her in a club down in old Soho Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like cherry-cola Coca-Cola] C-O-L-A cola She walked up to me and she asked me to dance I asked her her name and in a DARK BROWN voice she said Lola L-O-L-A Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Well I'm not the world's most physical guy But when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine Oh my Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Well I'm not dumb but I can't understand Why she walked like a woman and talked like a man Oh my Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Well we drank champagne and danced all night Under electric candlelight She picked me up and sat me on her knee And said little boy won't you come home with me Well I'm not the world's most passionate guy But when I looked in her eyes well I almost fell for my Lola Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola I pushed her away I walked to the door I fell to the floor I got down on my knees Well I looked at her and she at me Well that's the way that I want it to stay And I'll always want it to be that way for my Lola Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Girls will be boys and boys will be girls It's a mixed up muddled up shook up world except for Lola Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Well I'd left home just a week before And I'd never ever kissed a woman before But Lola smiled and took me by the hand And said little boy I'm gonna make you a man Well I'm not the world's most masculine man But I know what I am and IN BED I'm a man And so is Lola Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola

Enjoy!







I am a huge Clapton fan and this song means a lot to me.

LAYLA


What'll you do when you get lonely
And nobody's waiting by your side?
You've been running and hiding much too long.
You know it's just your foolish pride.

Layla, you've got me on my knees.
Layla, I'm begging, darling please.
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind.

I tried to give you consolation
When your old man had let you down.
Like a fool, I fell in love with you,
Turned my whole world upside down.

Let's make the best of the situation
Before I finally go insane.
Please don't say we'll never find a way
And tell me all my love's in vain.

Kathy's Song

This song, 'K' in my alphabet of songs, is from one of the first LP's I ever bought and is one of my favourite Paul Simon songs. He wrote it for Kathleen Mary (which happens to be my name!) who was a girl he met at his first ever gig in England, in Brentwood in Essex. They had a relationship and she went to the USA with him but then returned to England.

Kathy's Song

I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls.

And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To England where my heart lies.

My mind's distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day.

And a song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme.

And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.

And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.


Paul Simon

Joan of Arc

'J' was a problem at first. Then I remembered Jealous Guy and the gorgeous Brian Ferry and also Joe Cocker's version. But then I suddenly remembered Joan of Arc - I just hope you can stand a bit more from the genius Leonard Cohen who is one of my favourite poets.

I used to own the tape that this is from and I would play it over and over; now I have the CD and still love it. I love Song of Bernadette too but that might come later, you never know.

I have 'K' all lined up, I can't wait to post that one!

Enjoy!

Joan of Arc

Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc As she came riding through the dark; No moon to keep her armour bright, No man to get her through this very smoky night. She said, I’m tired of the war, I want the kind of work I had before, A wedding dress or something white To wear upon my swollen appetite. Well, I’m glad to hear you talk this way, You know I’ve watched you riding every day And something in me yearns to win Such a cold and lonesome heroine. And who are you? she sternly spoke To the one beneath the smoke. Why, I’m fire, he replied, And I love your solitude, I love your pride. Then fire, make your body cold, I’m going to give you mine to hold, Saying this she climbed inside To be his one, to be his only bride. And deep into his fiery heart He took the dust of Joan of Arc, And high above the wedding guests He hung the ashes of her wedding dress. It was deep into his fiery heart He took the dust of Joan of Arc, And then she clearly understood If he was fire, oh then she must be wood. I saw her wince, I saw her cry, I saw the glory in her eye. Myself I long for love and light, But must it come so cruel, and oh so bright?

I want to know what love is

It's 'I' time.  I  didn't look elsewhere, it has to be this one.

I just love this song, it would be one of my Desert Island Discs.  I know it is really sad but it touches me somewhere deep within which is what music or any form of art should do, don't you think?

I hope you enjoy it too.

'H' for Hallelujah

It has to be Hallelujah for 'H'. I also like Alison Crowe's version of the song but Leonard Cohen (whose words I adore) surely owns it.


Hallelujah


Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Now maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Is how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
And it's not complaint you hear tonight
And it's not some pilgrim who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Good Vibrations

I'm on a roll now and already have 'H' lined up.
I must contain myself.
Tell me if you like this one.

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

This is 'F' in my Alphabet of Songs.

Roberta Flack owns this song as far as I am concerned, there is no contest.

Just listen.

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the empty skies, my love,
To the dark and the empty skies.

The first time ever I kissed your mouth
And felt your heart beat close to mine
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love
That was there at my command.

And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last till the end of time my love
It would last till the end of time my love

The first time ever I saw your face, your face,
your face, your face

Ewan McCall

Everytime We Say Goodbye

It's 'E' time for the Alphabet of Songs. It was hard to whittle it down as there were so many good ones.

For example:

Everybody Hurts by REM
Every Day by Buddy Holly
Everything I do, I do it for you by Bryan Adams

Eleanor Rigby by The Beatles
Every breath you take by The Police

and more. When I get to 'Z' (which may be a challenge?) I think I will have to start all over again as there are so many lovely songs out there.

This beautiful song sung by Ella Fitzgerald was Cottage Garden's choice and I must admit I love it too. I always find partings hard, even day to day 'leavings' and this song resonates with me somewhere deep within. I am no fan of goodbyes.

I listened to many versions on YouTube and I stumbled upon a version by Robbie Williams, I am a fan of his and am including it here too.

Enjoy.









Goodbye,
Cait.

Don't let the sun catch you crying

I have not blogged for many days; I apologise. I seem to have been busy with life, the good weather has filled me with energy bringing about a need to spring clean and de-clutter (yet again) and it has also drawn me outside which is not a bad thing. I am continuing my Alphabet of Songs now.

The letter 'D' has been a hard one and in the end I have chosen a song I loved when I was very young. I still love it and think it is underrated. Hope you love it too.

Any ideas for 'E' would be welcomed as I only have one or two ideas so far.

Don't let the sun catch you crying.
Bye for now,
Cait.

Democracy



Someone said there could be a Hung Parliament.
Someone else said ‘Who shall we string up first?’
The warmonger Blair or the liars,
the money-grabbers or the thieves,
the gamblers or the swindlers,
the bleeders or the cheats?

The con-men in the background? Men in black?
Spin-artists, brain-washers and blackmailers?
Or the handful of token females who crept around or simpered
with those feeble and spineless Yes-Men in their wake,
eyes only on a place in some future Cabinet?

To whom shall we grant a pardon?
Who shall we parade and proudly honour
for their brave forthrightness and their honesty?
(Answers on a postcard please, but don’t all rush).

Or shall I see you at the polling station,
an eager pencil in your hand,
itching just to make your little mark
to the Left or to the Right
or even in some real or just-imagined,
one-time-believed-in-and-hoped-for Middle Way?

As if there was a choice.

As if you had a voice.

Democracy?

They’re having a laugh aren’t they?



Cait O’Connor

Doves' resurrection

Doves’ resurrection


A pair of collared doves are nesting in the pine again;
one of the giants, a Scottish one of three,
planted ages past in someone’s sweet sad memory.
In only days gone past I have watched these birds
courting and cavorting at the river’s edge
but it is Nature’s mating dance and I can only peek.
I lay hidden now, a secret within my own nest,
peering outward through the tiny cottage window.
I see them later, landing on the branches,
creeping stealthily amongst the fronds of green,
seemingly safe and protected, (I hope all will be well).
They know not that I am there each morning
like a spy, watching, waiting for what might be new life signs.
And I wonder on this Easter Day
as I lie low - what looks in on me?
And I pray for resurrection for this world.


Cait O’Connor

Alphabet of Songs 'C'

Dear Diary,

Well it is time for ‘C’.

I had suggestions from Pamela for Caledonia which I am ashamed to say I had never heard before but as I am Irish not Scottish I feel I cannot pick that one and she and another also suggested Catch the Wind by Donovan (I love that one).

I had a great Kinks song suggested too (Come Dancing) and another song I had never heard of called Calling All Angels.

I love Candy by the fantastic Paolo Nutini (and my son sings it beautifully too).

A dear friend suggested California Dreaming, oh it is so hard to choose.

I came up with Candle in the Wind as I an a fan of Elton and especially Bernie Taupin's lyrics but it’s a bit ‘obvious’ I suppose. I like La Cienega smiled too by Ryan Adams but I guess that is an ’L’ not a ‘C’.

I asked M for a suggestion last night and straightaway he suggested this song which I adore.

Can’t Help Falling in Love with You!
(Where did that come from?).

(I was worried the song starts with an ‘I’ but it doesn’t).

There are three cracking versions on YouTube in my opinion:

Elvis of course - the song IS Elvis’s really don’t you think?

Celine Dion - I had never heard her sing it before and I was blown away by her unique rendition. I have already asked in my next life to have a really lovely singing voice and to possess the power that Celine has in her voice.

Finally I stumbled upon Andrea Bocelli’s version. I already LOVE this man’s voice and I must admit that only this version brought a tear to my eye.

So I am posting all three and would love you to vote for your favourite. Or do tell me if you have any other ‘C’ suggestions.

(Sorry about the big gaps between videos, had a bit of trouble posting).


















































Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait.

Alphabet of Songs 'B'

Dear Diary,

Here is the next song as promised in my last post. I did like the suggestions given, Bird on a Wire, Beautiful Day and Blackbird but in the end I picked a very old favourite of mine.

Well I promised a ‘B’ and there are two in this one. Another beautiful song with great lyrics sung by the great singer, Emmylou Harris. Boulder to Birmingham.

The lyrics follow below.





Boulder to Birmingham


I don't want to hear a love song
I got on this airplane just to fly
And I know there's life below
But all that it can show me
Is the prairie and the sky
And I don't want to hear a sad story
Full of heartbreak and desire
The last time I felt like this
It was in the wilderness and the canyon was on fire
And I stood on the mountain in the night and I watched it burn
I watched it burn, I watched it burn.
I would rock my soul in the bosom of Abraham
I would hold my life in his saving grace.
I would walk all the way from Boulder to Birmingham
If I thought I could see, I could see your face.
Well you really got me this time
And the hardest part is knowing I'll survive.
I have come to listen for the sound
Of the trucks as they move down
Out on ninety five
And pretend that it's the ocean
coming down to wash me clean, to wash me clean
Baby do you know what I mean
I would rock my soul in the bosom of Abraham
I would hold my life in his saving grace.
I would walk all the way from Boulder to Birmingham
If I thought I could see, I could see your face.

I hope you liked 'B'.

Any suggestions for a 'C' song?

Let me know.
Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait

Angel of the morning

Dear Diary,

I have just borrowed a book from the library, it is Time Out’s 1000 songs to change your life.  I am going to blog some of my favourite songs that jump out at me, maybe one each day, from A-Z and today I am starting with the letter ‘A’.  This first one is an all-time big favourite song of mine from way back, it is Angel Of The Morning, sung here by Juice Newton, I hope you enjoy the video. There were several good versions of the song by different artists on YouTube but after much deliberation I eventually picked this one.

I have been feeling a need for flowers lately, haven’t we all?  This video has some beautiful close-ups of all different kinds which  I hope will make for you a visual as well as an audible delight.  The song may be a tribute to a one-night stand but I think it is such a beautiful piece of music.

Angel of the Morning

There'll be no strings to bind your hands
Not if my love can't bind your heart
And there's no need to take a stand
For it was I who chose to start
I see no need to take me home
I'm old enough to face the dawn

Just call me angel of the morning, angel
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby
Just call me angel of the morning, angel
Then slowly turn away from me

Maybe the sun's light will be dim
It won't matter anyhow
If morning's echo says we've sinned
Well, it was what I wanted now
And if we're victims of the night I
won't be blinded by the light

Just call me angel of the morning, angel
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby
Just call me angel of the morning, angel
Then slowly turn away from me

I won't beg you to stay with me
Through the tears of the day
Of the years, baby

Just call me angel of the morning, angel
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby
Just call me angel of the morning, angel


Then slowly turn away from me

Chip Taylor

Bet you can’t wait to see what the letter B will bring.  Any suggestions?

Bye for now,
Cait.