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Daffni's (teifii on UKA) UKArchive
68 Archived submissions found.
Title
Loss (posted on: 18-01-16)
For a friend who, of course, never saw it.

Her mind was once a treasury of memories and learning. She taught classics to a generation, knew the Romans and the Greeks, knew each bird by name and feather and every weed and wildflower was stored with love and labelled in her mind, retrievable by Latin name or old man's beard, forget me not, snapdragon , cuckoo pint or thyme. Now mental bankruptcy looms, her mind's vaults unlocked and leaking like the rusting hold of a sunken ship. Her assets stored meticulously here have been seeping through the cracks, and watery fumes of lost recall tease cruelly as they float away. She feeds the birds and squirrels, watches black cows in the field, sees them gently browse, knows she loves them, counts them daily but forgets the word for cows. Early casualties are words; now she calls the nuthatch the upside down bird
Archived comments for Loss
Gothicman on 19-01-2016
Loss
Excellent poem, Daffni. Yes, some great, educated, and creative minds reduced to basic information processing by this scourge of a disease. Another burden and risk for the human condition over a lifetime, loss of personality. But given an intellectual fight and some defining dignity by fine poetical minds like yours. With rising pollution in foodstuffs, particularly shellfish, I fear it's on the increase.
Trevor

*Daffni, I think you've erred in applying "center" commands; < center > at start, and < / center > at the end, (without the spaces, otherwise these instructions will center); or you might try < BLOCKQUOTE > at start, and < / BLOCKQUOTE > at end, again without the spaces, to give the poem a more balanced presentation.*

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comment. I don't know if it's really on the increase or just that more of us are living further into old age.
Daffni

* thanks for advice, which I shall try to follow. I didn't try to do any commands, just copied it from my poetry file and the beginning kept disappearing.

sweetwater on 19-01-2016
Loss
Terribly sad poem vividly told. Perhaps if she doesn't realise what is happening she is the least upset by it. For me the last verse was especially touching. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue. Yes, in the early stages it was awful as she did know exactly what was happening to her. Later, not knowing, she was quite happy.
Daffni

Bozzz on 20-01-2016
Loss
So sad because so many of us will see this among our own family and friends. Beautiful writing Daff......David

Author's Reply:
Thank you, David. Yes, and frightening too.
Daff

Supratik on 21-01-2016
Loss
'Early casualties are words;'... the line comes straight from the heart...it wrenches the reader instantly. Best. Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thank you Supratik. Yes. that's very true. It's the words that go first.
Daff


Estuary Flood (posted on: 28-12-15)
Seems appropriate for posting while the weather is still so wild and uncooperative.

Estuary Flood Estuary Flood The hills look down on the gentle river that glistening glides towards the sea. On either side in lush green grass, where buttercups gleam and reflect the sun, the black cattle graze or quietly drink, or stand in the water to cool their feet. Serenity reigns as the tide flows in and the water deepens inch by inch, river and salt sea mingling as friends. Now the sky is darkening, the mountain in cloud, and the rain is falling on pasture and stream, on the hidden hills and the mountain rocks, and pouring in rivulets down the cwm. Faster the flash flood of water comes rolling, coiling and boiling over its banks. The cattle take refuge on slopes and on islands, the woodland resembles a mango swamp and the rippling river's a furious flood. Now the curtain of rain is thinned and torn and the hills emerge from within their shroud. The sea draws back and drags the water, willingly sweeping down to the shore, and the pasture drains to the river again and the cows resume their chewing of cud. Herons by puddles stand with heads bowed, eyeing water and mud with beaks at the ready. We walk by the water, flowing now softly, and everything's dripping and calm and cleansed.
Archived comments for Estuary Flood
Bozzz on 28-12-2015
Estuary Flood
Another very fine descriptive piece, Daff, but I, and I'm sure the inhabitants of York and the rest, will envy the peaceful flood you describe. "River and salt sea mingling as friends" lovely but you must be joking"! My best for the New Year ...David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David. Yes I'm sure there are many people who are not enjoying floods. I wrote this one ages ago when there weren't any floods of the threatening variety.
Hope you had a nice Christmas holiday.
Daff


ARMAGEDDON IS NO MYTH (posted on: 21-12-15)
Just wanted to try a vilanelle. The subject just presented itself

With speed and greed, today and every day, in spite of danger signs and wise men's pleas, alas, our garden, Eden, we betray. The Earth is crying out in every way but still we poison land and sky and sea with speed and greed, today and every day. We hear not, heed not what the prophets say about our waste and wantonness, and do not see, alas, our garden, Eden, we betray, changing just enough to perhaps delay the ruin we are wreaking carelessly with speed and greed, today and every day. Green turns to desert , city life holds sway. We violate each river and every other tree. Alas! Our garden, Eden, we betray. No fig leaf can disguise the fact that we are killing bit by bit even the Dead Sea, with speed and greed, today and every day. Alas! Our garden, Eden, we betray.
Archived comments for ARMAGEDDON IS NO MYTH
Corin on 22-12-2015
ARMAGEDDON IS NO MYTH
Absolutely Daff - still it will all be alright for those living on a hill in rural Wales ๐Ÿ™‚


Author's Reply:
Thanks Corin. Yes, there is a lot to be said for living on a hill in Wales. One very good think about that is that it doesn't flood as all the water off the mountain flows through the faryard and over a 10 foot drop to two big fields before it gets to me. Not that that is going to save the planet.
Daff

Bozzz on 22-12-2015
ARMAGEDDON IS NO MYTH
Oh how true and painful to the mind - the madness of our humankind. Self-destruction is nature's way of disposing of unwanted species - at least we know where we stand. Great piece Daff...David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David. Yes, our selfish ways don't bode well for mankind's future.
Daff

sweetwater on 23-12-2015
ARMAGEDDON IS NO MYTH
Your words really hit home with me, I am already in mourning for what will inevitably occour, maybe not for hundreds of years but it will happen, we will in our stubbon stupidity destroy the hand that feeds us. And this amazingly ( once ) perfect planet will be no more. I also have the hope that somehow it will regenerate once it has got rid of it's most destructive species. An outstanding poem. I love the way you have repeated each last line too, Sue.

Author's Reply:
Hello Sue. 'I am already in mourning' me too.
The repeat lines are part of the rules for a villanelle. Oh dear the spellchecker doesn't know what that is.
Daff


Triolet (posted on: 04-12-15)
Written when Afghanistan was receiving our attention.

Why do steel birds in our skies fly with cold death in their wings? Beneath them a broken town lies. Why does steel death haunt our skies while the blood of our kin still dries? The bright desert bird still sings as the steel birds in our skies fly with cold death in their wings..
Archived comments for Triolet

No comments archives found!
REQUIEM FOR A SOCIAL CONSCIENCE (posted on: 30-11-15)
a glimpse of a bit of London in 1971

REQUIEM FOR A SOCIAL CONSCIENCE I do not know her name; We do not ask these things when pity is confused with shame; but she is bent and lame and old. Her face expresses nothing but age and cold. And daily almost she came to the same place, a crumbling wall where, half sitting, holding lest she fall, she'd wait beneath the sightless gaze of windows curtained nights and days against intrusion, against even the grimy sunlight, against involuntary hopes, unwelcome there, where hopes have often proved precursors of despair. And even I, who claim to care, passed her daily, smiled, and did not dare to trespass further, but wondered where she slept, and who else was there. I too have curtains on my brain, but they are ragged and cannot keep out the pain of solitude unsought and the stain upon my consciousness of one unknown old woman wearing slippers in the rain.
Archived comments for REQUIEM FOR A SOCIAL CONSCIENCE
Bozzz on 30-11-2015
REQUIEM FOR A SOCIAL CONSCIENCE
Streets paved not with gold, but poverty. I was there and you hit it right. How many times have we walked past feeling shame - a sensitive but powerful piece. Bravo Teifii ...David

Author's Reply:
Thank you again, David. Yes i lived there too for a year while studying to get into uni. Don't think I could face living in a city now.
Daff


WINTER (posted on: 30-11-15)
Winter is upon us

The sky bleaches blue to grey to white. The river is glass. Crows, black aeroplanes, launch from the trees and swoop, skimming fields of frozen lifeless grass. Ice stays the stream in steel fingers. Every tiny creature lingers in its lair, sheep huddle in their wool, the land's pulse slows, and winter claims its yearly debt in full.
Archived comments for WINTER
Bozzz on 30-11-2015
WINTER
Excellent - especially liked the last verse -beautifully worded.....Yours aye, David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David. Getting rather more winter than we want right now. Almost impossible to get out of my gate for wind.


THE LEAVING OF LIVERPOOL (posted on: 02-11-15)
A true story

This alien room has housed him for a year. It was a place to sleep; he was not happy here. The few signs of habitation soon will go, the pictures on the wall, the princess on her bed of snakes, the eagle and the owl. The suitcase menaces, cardboard boxes lour. They tell of departure, of the evil hour. We'll laugh no more together and now we do not talk, although he must go tomorrow and I must let him go.
Archived comments for THE LEAVING OF LIVERPOOL
Mikeverdi on 02-11-2015
THE LEAVING OF LIVERPOOL
I'm loath to critique something so personal, and this being 'true' indicates that. The words tell a heartfelt story, one many will understand. I like it and it touched me.
Mike


Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike. Hope you are better. Seem to remember you were heading for hospital after the uka weekend.
Daffni


THE SILENCE OF NEPAL (posted on: 02-11-15)
Nothing to do with the earthquake.

He said, 'I do silence rather well.' He did, and always would; I could tell. I was not often there and yet for me, what ere befall, Liverpool will always hold hints of far Nepal. That was a sad time but after all these years what I recall is not tears but laughter.
Archived comments for THE SILENCE OF NEPAL
sweetwater on 04-11-2015
THE SILENCE OF NEPAL
Lovely words, each one really had something to say, simply and straightforwardly yet conveys so much feeling. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue for commenting.


I Lift My Eyes To The Hills (posted on: 19-10-15)
song for Trawsfynydd which lies in s bowl among the mountains

I lift my eyes to the hills, from whence comes no help from gods to temper the world's ills. And yet, although I see no saviour king or holy angels, there is something in those hills, in this austere land, that consoles and speaks of eternity, something, I think, that comes from souls of those who lived and died and signed the landscape with their toil, a signature of boundary walls strung like scars across the slopes of mountains almost old as time. They built their hafods and their hendres, stern faced chapels, endless drystone walls. And men in whom the same blood runs build still, build again the same walls with the same stones when at last, centuries having wreaked revenge, the rocks slip sidelong and fall, leaving gaping holes where sheep flow, an undulating stream, to pastures new . They too have a patient and enduring pattern of continuity that seems inbuilt; Ewes teach lambs the lie of the land. Generation after generation of sheep have roamed among these rocks, preserving a racial memory, a living ancestry of flocks. Perhaps there is something of that in me, a legacy willed unknowing by my Gran who was London Welsh and never saw these hills.
Archived comments for I Lift My Eyes To The Hills
Corin on 19-10-2015
I Lift My Eyes To The Hills
Beautiful Daff, I feel exactly the same.There is a spirit of humanity lingering still among us. By adding to that idea a similar ovine spirit you have created a powerful expression of a great life force that determines the progression of the world.

love

Dave

Author's Reply:
Thanks Dave. But good heavens it's only a poem!
Daff

Nomenklatura on 19-10-2015
I Lift My Eyes To The Hills
Yep, a splendid pastoral piece, with added mysticism. Quality work.

Author's Reply:
Thans glad you liked it.
Daff

Bozzz on 19-10-2015
I Lift My Eyes To The Hills
Brilliant prose - loved it. Bozzz
Working in the valleys, I played golf on those lovely hills - to hit and wound a sheep cost one ยฃ30 in those days.

Author's Reply:
It was obviously an expensive hobby. Glad you liked the poem.
Daff

Supratik on 19-10-2015
I Lift My Eyes To The Hills
Brilliant. Read it many times. Will come back, it's my birth right to return to this poem.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Supratik. Hope the magic lasts through return visits
Daff

Gothicman on 20-10-2015
I Lift My Eyes To The Hills
Beautiful poetry Daffni, the enduring, weather battered hills, even so, the most reliable objects of permanence. Enjoyable read.
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Thank you Trefor for your comment
Daff


LANGUAGE TEACHING BLUES (posted on: 19-10-15)
I have given up teaching now. enjoyed it but getting too old and decrepit

I have become unsociable. I do not want this person that I do not know filling my days, my hours. A time-tabled week with no scribbling words or reading poems over morning marmalade, but daily practicalties – Is the bathroom clean, the guest room ready? Remember you like linguistics -- and you will get paid. Six days of concentration, communication, love of language and a shared task. At last the job is done. I smile and take the cheque for which I quite forgot to ask.
Archived comments for LANGUAGE TEACHING BLUES
Corin on 19-10-2015
LANGUAGE TEACHING BLUES
Now - I still like teaching, but only one at a time for an hour or so a week.

Dave

Author's Reply:
Yes, exactly. I may get back to doing small amount when various operations etc over and done with.

Nomenklatura on 19-10-2015
LANGUAGE TEACHING BLUES
Teaching's loss!

Artfully done.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the reference. May get back a bit later.
Daff

stormwolf on 20-10-2015
LANGUAGE TEACHING BLUES
Hi Daff,
You caught it perfectly. I felt the same when doing a healing in my home. All that preparation totally forgotten when we are doing what gives us joy and we are in our element.
The remuneration quite goes out the window.
Enjoyed the poem.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison. Still it is nice to get paid especially when one has forgotten.
Daff

Pronto on 20-10-2015
LANGUAGE TEACHING BLUES
Well written. You reminded me of a friend we have, now long retired, but still does exam marking and invigilating Can't keep her away from it.
I enjoyed this very much.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pronto. A friend of mine used to exam papers and told me several comments lifted from papers. One was 'I don't kbow but I make excellent owl noises.'#
Daff

Supratik on 21-10-2015
LANGUAGE TEACHING BLUES
I enjoyed the poem because I come from a family of teachers. Forgive my saying so, but please don't use words like decrepit for yourself. Best. Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment. As for 'decrepit' I'm afraid right now it is all too accurate description but may improve.
Daff


Farm Vigil (posted on: 31-08-15)
A glimpse of the sadder part of farm life

Just born, deformed, the calf lies in the barn and scarcely breathes. The cow stands chewing cud, gives not a glance; she knows it will not live and we know too. But still he tries to give it milk and life. ''Give up,'' I say, as daylight steals beneath the door, ''It's all but gone.'' Kneeling on the straw the old man insists, ''It's a little soul and it wants to live.''
Archived comments for Farm Vigil
gwirionedd on 31-08-2015
Farm Vigil
Hmmm... Lovely, poignant ending. It makes me want to become a vegetarian, but I know I don't have enough will-power.



Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comment. I too tend towards vegitarianism but only half heartedly. I compromise by buying lamb and pork from friends whose livestock I know is quite pampered.

Supratik on 01-09-2015
Farm Vigil
I would have missed reading a beautiful poem had I not pressed enter! Every line is born out of concern for the little soul that wants to live. Live it will in the poem and when more of such concerned lines pop up sadder part might disappear. Touched! Best. Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thank you Supratik. The old farmer in the poem is the nephew of a famous Welsh poet killed in 1st world war. He is my nextdoor neighbour.

sweetwater on 01-09-2015
Farm Vigil
Beautiful poem, had to cry at the end, I know these things happen but it was the love shown by the old man that really brought home the tragedy of the little calf. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Yes, that's how I felt about it and was the starting point for the poem.
Daffni

Kipper on 02-09-2015
Farm Vigil
Perhaps most of us take a somewhat ambivalent view when we sit down to Sunday dinner. It is difficult sometime to distinguish between what's on our plate and what goes on in the farmyard.
Your poem has lifted the veil, a little, for now.
Michael

Author's Reply:
Thank you Kipper. Yes very true. I suspect this was a one off. Most farmers have to be more pragmatic to manage a farm and its livestock.
Daffni

pommer on 03-09-2015
Farm Vigil
A beautiful truthful reflection. Having worked as a cowman in the past I have seen it,and can visualise your words. Well done, Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Peter. I once worked on a dairy farm for several months but we didn't have any tragedies in my time. Cows are lovely beasts. The one in the poem is more recent. She is on the farm next door.
Daffni


DJ DAY (posted on: 31-08-15)
ON AUGUST 15TH 1945 I WAS 13 AND TWO WEEKS EXACTLY. Had returned from evacuation after VE Day

Tonight we put out flags and lit the astonished cricket field with fairy lights, and filled the air with patriotic peals of Land of Hope and Glory, God Save the King. That anthem that we fled after flicks on Saturdays, promoted now to paean, and we stood in silent praise upon a playing field, suddenly become Valhalla. And then to crackling strains of dance bands, we pranced a wild unheeding polka with schoolfriends, strangers, neighbours, anyone to hand. Exultation reigned and joy unlimited. And in Japan, they could not count the dead.
Archived comments for DJ DAY
gwirionedd on 31-08-2015
DJ DAY
Wow... what a twist at the end there!... I wasn't expecting that. The juxtaposition of cosy Old Britain with nuclear-decimated Japan. So concise and brutal. Sometimes, saying less says so much more.

It sounds very English, but surely, you grew up in Wales...?





Author's Reply:
No. I didn't grow up in Wales. I'm English but have now grown Welsh roots I think.

Mikeverdi on 01-09-2015
DJ DAY
That's great writing.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike.
Daffni

sweetwater on 01-09-2015
DJ DAY
Gosh you ended such a joyful poem with a stab to the heart, brilliantly clever, it really hit hard. I was watching a programme about that awful bomb on TV recently and was so shocked at how dreadful it was. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sue. Yes truly dreadful, and to think we now have an even nastier version.

Kipper on 02-09-2015
DJ DAY
People of a certain age remember the jubilation that came with the ending of the wars in Eurpope and the Far East.

For most I think the realisation of the enormity of what had happened came later.

Your poem somehowe blends the juxtaposition of two quite opposite emotions.

Powerful writing.

Michael

Author's Reply:
True. I don't remember any feeling of horror on the actual day.
Daffni

Pronto on 07-09-2015
DJ DAY
Ah VJ day one nations joy another's grief. I only vaguely remember it and the street party. Jelly and blancmange. Unheard of luxuries to celebrate the demise of distant demons.
Excellent write.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for reading and commenting.
Daffni


HIRAETH TOO IS AN UNTRANSLATABLE WORD. (posted on: 13-07-15)
I'm just addicted to languages and in particular words with a special meaning that doesn't really translate to other languages. Hiraeth in welsh is longing but not for something mundane like a good dinner or better weather.

HIRAETH TOO IS AN UNTRANSLATABLE WORD. Last night snow descended on garden and fields and city streets, and spread its mantle like a gentle pardon over all our petty quarrels and deceits. I thought winter had come at last, real winter as in times long past, before life dulled to a grey December such that I could scarce remember my Russian childhood when the frozen forests sheltered wolves, and bears slept away the winter in their lairs. Rodina is a gift unchosen, biding its time but never lost, and flickering to life in flowers of frost. Rodina [stress on first syllable] the most nostalgic word for motherland in Russian.
Archived comments for HIRAETH TOO IS AN UNTRANSLATABLE WORD.
gwirionedd on 13-07-2015
HIRAETH TOO IS AN UNTRANSLATABLE WORD.
An interesting poem. I wonder where the link between Russia and Wales comes in.

I noticed after a second read that it's based on the Russian sonnet, as championed by Pushkin in "Eugene Onegin" (an excellent novel-in-verse).

I don't speak Welsh, but it seems that "Hiraeth" is rather like the German "Sehnsucht".

sehnen (nach) = to long (for)
Sucht = addiction

So, "Sehnsucht" is a very powerful form of longing, like an addiction to longing itself.

I suggest "a gift that's unchosen", in order to avoid the archaic syntax.





Author's Reply:
Thank you Gwirionnedd for your comment. Yes I suspect Sehnsucht is something like hiraeth but my German is now very rusty.The link between Welsh and Russian is just me, ie. the two words both have subtlties [damn. I've forgotten how to spell].
Thanks for the above suggestion but I think I'll stick with the archaic syntax as the extra word beaks the scanning.

sweetwater on 13-07-2015
HIRAETH TOO IS AN UNTRANSLATABLE WORD.
This is a very appealing and charming poem, I enjoyed it very much. I love all the images, and the nostalgia came through beautifully. I am very much for archaic syntax every time. ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue. Glad you liked it. Have to admit the Russian childhood is imaginary as I never went to Russia till I was middle-aged.
Daffni
Just noticed that you selected it a a hot story. So extra thanks. I didn't have a proper chance to catch up yesterday as I had to go to Liverpool for hospital appointment. It's such a long way, that I was too tired after to pay proper attention to my email notifications
Daff

amman on 14-07-2015
HIRAETH TOO IS AN UNTRANSLATABLE WORD.
I can only echo Sue's comments; quite charming and some powerful imagery. A gift unchosen is spot on. Particularly taken with the 1st four lines.
Regards.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comment. Amman
Daffni


ETERNITY (posted on: 13-07-15)
Can't remember what started the train of thought and hence poem.

To those who die and go in sure and certain knowledge, as the priest prays at the grave's edge, of a shining future, there is no end to the glorious dream. Whatever mayn't or may be true, disillusion never can pursue them to an end and dull the gleam of long awaited paradise; their holy certainty provides their own eternity. But some faith never can entice to trust in God and after life, shining angels, heavenly choirs, babies born in lowly byres and everlasting end to strife. That promised land they disavow and live life by a lonely creed that offers no guarantees of something better after now. They must cherish all this earth endows them with and live each second as if death and darkness beckoned, sow all the seeds that time allows for others to nourish and facilitate, savour every bird and flower, each minute and each passing hour, breathe the lilac's scent, appreciate each green leaf on its bough because eternity is now.
Archived comments for ETERNITY
deadpoet on 13-07-2015
ETERNITY
Beautiful- particularly the last stanza- should be read several times as the broken lines are hard in the beginning. Very special.

Pia xx

Author's Reply:
Thank you Pia for reading anf commenting
Daffni

Gothicman on 15-07-2015
ETERNITY
A poem after my own heart, Daffni! Value every moment of what you know exists - rely on rebirth in the same orbit, again and again and again, each continuing on the one own curve, new body, new chances! Damn the quantum physicists! I'll settle for oblivion on a straight line!
Skilled writing as per usual.
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Thank you Trevor. Glad it struck a chord.
Daff


Feathered Paternity (posted on: 18-05-15)
Here's another duck poem I made earlier

Llewelyn Fawr is very grand and knows exactly how to stand to look imposing, which is most important to a drake who needs the ladies to impress and to have a harem of enthusiastic mother ducks for future generations' sake. His feathers are a gleaming white and his beak canary yellow. His wings, though not in use for flight, he cleans with infinite care, feather by flawless feather. His feet are golden triangles that plod majestic through the mud like shoes of magic leather. His wives are speckly coloured with sapphire in their wings. Much of their day they spend hunting for interesting things, snails and slugs and such delights, until, in need of change, they wend their way to pond or stream, upend themselves and dabble there for frog spawn, fish eggs, dainty bites to be found in mud below, while feet wave freely in the air. At night the ladies to their nests repair and lay their eggs all white or green and hide them under leaves and grass from beady eyes of crows who pass, searching like spy planes from the air. Then comes the day, one gets the urge and snuggles down upon the eggs, with beak on breast, deep in feathers, and sits for weeks midst yellow flags oblivious of inclement weather, just waiting till she hears a peep, and one by one small beaks emerge. When all are free of broken shells and dry, she leads them forth in one long line to float upon the stream, chasing flies invisible to human eyes. Flashing, dashing everywhere, propelled by tiny feet under mother's watchful eye, turned skywards lest hawk or crow descend upon her little fleet. Llewelyn past them softly glides, bursting with parental pride.
Archived comments for Feathered Paternity
deadpoet on 19-05-2015
Feathered Paternity
Delightful- Now I know more about ducks. Nature is alive with food for them. This is an endearing poem.
I was in the garden this morning (sitting with my morning coffee) and a beautiful healthy looking fox came through the hedge very quietly but didn't feeel like staying once it caught sight of me. Just lumbered quietly off again.

๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your kind comment.
I'm glad to say that so far my garden doesn't seem to be hosting any foxes as they'd surely eat my ducks, although from teatime on they spend the night in a secure encloser, whither I entice them with corn for tea.

sweetwater on 19-05-2015
Feathered Paternity
I love these quick peep's into a lifestyle I know nothing about, but always find fascinating. A country life I always wanted but never truly had. Keep posting I love your ducks ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue xx

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue. Actually I never had a country life till I moved here but during the war my mother had our large garden full of chickens and ducks and I fell in love with the latter and so when I was able to move up here I made sure that I'd have a stream. Without running water ducks can be hard work.
Daff

Gee on 20-05-2015
Feathered Paternity
I love the descriptions in this, the way you paint such a clear picture with your words. I love the name of the drake too. I could just imagine him with his harem.
Beautifully done, Daff.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Gee. As to his name, I think he may be a reincarnation of the last Welsh Prince ๐Ÿ™‚


The Drake Celebrates The Rain (posted on: 11-05-15)
On Friday I came home from a friend's in pouring rain and saw no ducks in the garden. Got on with my book and checked garden every half hour all afternoon. At 6pm saw all 6 ducks led by drake single file across the field from the river.

Oh it's raining , yes, it's raining and the farmers are complaining that their hayfields are too wet to even think of baling yet. They say it's raining cats and dogs, but no, it's raining slugs and frogs, duck food tasty and sustaining. We couldn't contemplate abstaining. Come my wives all speckly fawn, let us waddle 'cross the lawn to seek out worms and slugs and snails with our beaks that never fail to find the bounty of the rain before it rushes down the drain. The farmers are deploring that it's pouring under flooring in the barns where they are storing the hay and oats and cattle cake, while outside the yard's a lake, quite a kingdom for a drake with his harem come exploring, while the storm around is roaring and the rain it goes on pouring. The roofs and paths are streaming. the cattle all are steaming, dreaming in their shed and chewing cud and trying not to think about the flood. Let us celebrate the muck. What care we the tractor's stuck, the sheep are one wet huddle and we're feasting in a puddle which is absolutely teeming with frogspawn, and pale sun is gleaming through rain that still is streaming. So come, my ladies, don't complain. Time to waddle down the lane, gain at last our own domain and thank the duck god for the rain..
Archived comments for The Drake Celebrates The Rain
Weefatfella on 11-05-2015
The Drake Celebrates The Rain
Hi,very vivid images in this light hearted splash about. The sheep in the huddle especially. Aye an enjoyable wee tale. Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks. Glad you enjoyed it. 'Nice weather for ducks' is a really true descriptive saying. They love it.
Daff

Andrea on 11-05-2015
The Drake Celebrates The Rain
Could I borrow a duck, please Daff? The bloody slugs and snails have just eaten me tomatoes! I have frogs alright, but they are bone idle...

Author's Reply:
The ducks say they'd love to come as they fancy eating the frogs. We do have quite a production line in these parts for slud abd I do have them but a lot less than people without ducks.
Daff

sweetwater on 11-05-2015
The Drake Celebrates The Rain
Loved this slice of duck viewed farm life, great fun ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sue for appreciation. I do love my ducks and go down everyy morning to let them out for a slug hunt even though I have to navigate with a crutch. After their hunt they usually sit around on the lawn being decorative.
Daff

Mikeverdi on 12-05-2015
The Drake Celebrates The Rain
HaHaHa! Love the picture this brings with it!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike. The ducks salute you.
Daff

Gothicman on 12-05-2015
The Drake Celebrates The Rain
Beautifully constructed poem, Daffni, and wonderful picture of rural life in the rain around the rolling hill farms, rewarding, positive read.
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Thank you Trevor. Glad you approve.
Daff

deadpoet on 12-05-2015
The Drake Celebrates The Rain
Gothicman said it better than I could. Absolutely loved this.
Pia

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pia. Glad you enjoyed it.
Daff

Gee on 14-05-2015
The Drake Celebrates The Rain
Oh Daff, I love this. My great grandfather used to keep ducks and always told me how they would form a line to get down to the river. This wonderful poem brought it all back.
A lovely picture. So beautifully worded.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Gee for reading and I'm glad it reminded you of your great grandfather. Before coming to Wales Ilived in Exeter city centre and when I was free to move, a stream was high on my list of priorities so that I could keep ducks without hard labour carrying water,
Daff

pommer on 14-05-2015
The Drake Celebrates The Rain
Great poem Daff,reminded me of all the rainy days when working on farms many years ago.I could see it all again.Enjoyed this one, Peter.

Author's Reply:
I once worked on a dairy farm for 8 months. Enjoyed the cows but we didn't have ducks or a stream. Now I'm going to post my other duck poem.
Bye
Daff


THE FROG PRINCE HAS HIS WAY (posted on: 27-04-15)
Nothing new now except Teifi-Dog's book in Welsh. So offering up this bit of frivolity. Probably posted it sometime in past.

The wicked witch was practising among the blue delphiniums. She started with an easy spell, turning princes to amphibians. Singing a song and strolling along came a prince in a velvet cloak and a coronet, and suddenly his song turned to croak. One moment he was singing and princely thoughts was thinking, and next he caught sight of his feet and saw that he was shrinking. The witch she muttered the antidote to avert or weaken the curse. Alas, being but a learner witch, she only made things worse. By now the prince was small and green and sitting by a log and all the world could clearly see that he was now a frog. From that day on he frolicked and leapt, showed off his strong green thighs, and developed a most unprincely taste for dining on slugs and flies. Now in the next door castle there lived a young princess. She wandered through the garden in a shining golden dress. She saw the frog with his coronet and, being well educated, she knew at once he was a prince who for his princess waited. 'Let me kiss you, Prince, my dear, to release you from your spell. We'll have a royal wedding and in your castle we shall dwell.' But the witch's mangled spell had caused a little glitch. The prince he liked his slimy ways and living in a ditch. And he liked a froggy girl he'd met while practising his jumping, and now he wanted most of all to do some froggy humping. The princess sat beside him hoping for a snog but he threw his coronet away, said, 'I'd rather be a frog.'
Archived comments for THE FROG PRINCE HAS HIS WAY
Ionicus on 27-04-2015
THE FROG PRINCE HAS HIS WAY
Very amusing Daff. You may be right in saying that it is probable that it has been posted in the past as it seems vaguely familiar.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Glad it amused you, Luigi.

deadpoet on 27-04-2015
THE FROG PRINCE HAS HIS WAY
I haven't encountered this poem before- I laughed- it's good to have a laugh. Good for the prince- quite unconventional- very good.

Author's Reply:
Sorry to reply late but have been both poorly and trying to finish formatting a book. Glad it made you laugh.
Daff

Gee on 28-04-2015
THE FROG PRINCE HAS HIS WAY
Oh, this is lovely. I really enjoyed the unexpected ending and it definitely put a smile on my face.

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading. Sorry to reply so late. Have not been checking here recently for a while.
Daff


DECEPTION (posted on: 20-04-15)
Seasonal thoughts. Outside is looking quite springlike

DECEPTION 'I'm planning on springtime and warm April showers,' said the weather. And the daffodil listened deep in its bulb, curled with its flower buds tightly together. 'Unwrap your green leaves and prepare for the sun,' said the weather. The rain it fell warmly on unfrozen earth, warmed by the sun, and wherever that warmth touched with green thumb, life began stirring. 'Get ready for birth,' said the weather. 'The snow is long gone and gentle the wind,' said the weather. And the daffodil, restless, more tempted than ever, thrust up her leaves to sample the air and the weather. However, the soft rain turned overnight to snow, and frost spread out its cold feathers, and the new lambs shivered, and the river stopped flowing. 'I was joking, you know,' said the weather.
Archived comments for DECEPTION
Mikeverdi on 20-04-2015
DECEPTION
I like this poem, I like the idea, the lay out, all this works for me. On the critique side, for me you could prune out some words to ease the flow.
This is just my opinion, others may differ.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike for your comment. I've had a look and can't actually see anything that could be removed except the repetitions of 'the weather' but they were intentional and I think are necessary as they make a sort of chorus.
Daffni

Andrea on 20-04-2015
DECEPTION
Loved your pome Daff - and so happy to see you back!

Author's Reply:
Thank you Andrea. It's nice to be back. But I shall have another absentee period in July as I finally have a date for my new shoulder joint. Meantime I shall try to post a bit more here. I need a push to get back to writing poetry again.
Daff

sweetwater on 21-04-2015
DECEPTION
My type of poem this, I loved it. May I just say though one or two less 'said the weather' would read more smoothly for me. But even so this is a lovely description of the unpredictable springtime. ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue. I see what you mean about the repetitions but still feel it needs them. See reply to Mike above.
Daffni

deadpoet on 21-04-2015
DECEPTION
I was let down when it began to snow- poor lambs- but I loved reading your poem- daffodils are so lovely. Spring is a beautiful time of year. Probably my favourite.

Author's Reply:
Couldn't agree more but right now the weather seems to have relented. There are lambs everywhere sunbathing and not needing to shelter under or on top of Mum.
Daffni

Ionicus on 22-04-2015
DECEPTION
Nice to see you back even if only fleetingly, Daff. Always a pleasure to read your work.
We know that we can't trust the weather and yet we are lulled into complacency at the first glimpse of daffodils springing to life.

Luigi xx

Author's Reply:
Thank you Luigi. It's nice to be back
Daff


On writing poetry in a Quaker meeting (posted on: 19-08-13)
My entry tp UKA competition, which got 'commended'. A pleasant surprise as I had an email from a friend about it before actually hearing the results. Congratulations to the winners.

I take a pencil and a notebook or a piece of paper. No one notices, or at least no one asks me why. If we were in King Charles' time I could be writing names of non-attenders at the church, of dangerous dissidents. But I am listening to the silence and fishing in its gleaming space for images and cadences that float into my mind. I make my notes by the glow of the candle that burns in the secret room. I hope I have come to terms with my God on the question of writing there, for poetry is as near as ever I get to prayer.
Archived comments for On writing poetry in a Quaker meeting
Corin on 19-08-2013
On writing poetry in a Quaker meeting
Lovely ending Daff and congratulations on the commendation.

I hope to hear you read your stories and poems at the UkaLive Event in London on Saturady September 20th. For full details see:-

http://ukauthors.com/phorum5/read.php?1,219923

You have books to sell too so bring a few along.



David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David. Will read it at BGGS and will bring some books.
Daffni

Nemo on 22-08-2013
On writing poetry in a Quaker meeting
I'm admiring the skill employed in the simplicity of writing which manages to be so strong.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Nemo. Glad you liked it.

Leila on 22-08-2013
On writing poetry in a Quaker meeting
Lovely, spare, nicely put together...congrats Daffni...Leila

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind comment.


SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM (posted on: 05-07-13)
My entry to this week's challenge. To be sung to tune of the Red Flag / Tannenbaum, preferably with noses pointing heavenwards and one paw raised. For some reason my usual method of [img]site etc[/img] doesn't work now. I expect it's me.

SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM  photo paw_zpsaab3fedb.jpg Chorus Come rain and gales and whirling snow, we've seen it all before and so we raise a paw and swear that we to farm and flock will faithful be. In byres and yards across this land you'll find our multifarious band of collies who, though farmers scowl, to pass the time this anthem yowl. We may be muddy and unkempt, and may have fleas and smell a bit, we let folk in and then attempt to bite their heels, we must admit. But when the farmer whistles us and duty calls, then with no fuss we roll right through a five-bar gate and all his needs anticipate. We dip our tails, and crouch nearby to hear, "Away!" or else "Come by!" For we are clever, we're so bright we know our left paw from our right. That gate-roll is a skill innate no other breed can imitate; While other dogs are thwarted quite we're up the mountain out of sight. From puppyhood we know that we were born to fetch from slope and scree, from pasture, meadow, mountains steep, those fascinating creatures -- sheep. Though some of us are less than brave we teach those sheep how to behave, We fix them with a glassy stare and disobey they do not dare. We yearn not for a life of ease and only want the boss to please. We're kind to ewe's with new-born lambs and stand our ground 'gainst bolshy rams. The barn is cleared, it's time to shear, and men from neighbours' farms are here. We know today amidst turmoil we shall not rest from farmyard toil. We'll work for hours and hours until every sheep is off the hill Oh lanolin, oh lanolin, the smell of sheep all gathered in. No matter how they shout and curse [and some of them do even worse], each farmer knows one truth of old: a collie's worth is more than gold. Though poodles sleep on satin beds and we in barns and draughty sheds. and when we die, in fields we lie with grazing sheep above our heads. Repeat Chorus
Archived comments for SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM
Texasgreg on 07-07-2013
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM
Ya know, I've always admired the working dog and it's relationship with humans. Though I'm not familiar with the tune, I really enjoyed the energy and faithfulness you mustered in this piece.

Super good job! Hope you get more views.

TexasGreg ๐Ÿ™‚

 photo Gunspincowboy.gif

Author's Reply:
Thank you Greg. Sorry to reply late but I never get notification of comments these days so tend to forget to look.

Andrea on 07-07-2013
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM
Great stuff, Daff!

Incidentally, [img] etc doesn't work here as it's not html but BBCode. I've fixed it for you ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for fixing it Andrea. I thought it was me. How does one actually do it here as it might be useful in future? By the way, is there some reason one no longer gets notification of comments. I keep being rudely late in replying as I don't realise there is a comment and therefore forget I posted something.

Weefatfella on 07-07-2013
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM
 photo 5031cf9b-61d2-4fbf-912f-998c505fb4bc_zpsd7cccd97.jpg
Absolutely brilliant. I loved this. I've always had the greatest respect for these dogs and the hard work they do.
I've never heard one singing though. {At least without a drink in his paw}.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 09-07-2013
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM
Glad you liked it. Mine don't do any hard work but they do sing at times in a chorus of three. And worse; they bark like mad whenever the farmer comes to use his own farmyard that they think they own! But I do love them.

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 09-07-2013
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM
Daff, you need to upload the image to Photobucket (or similar), and then grab the html code and paste it into your submission.

Sorry about the notifications - we're working on it.

Author's Reply:

Pronto on 11-07-2013
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM
Great stuff, really amusing work mate. I've only ever been nipped three times by dogs and two of the sods were sheep dogs! ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Tis their vice I'm afraid.


The Homecoming (posted on: 20-05-13)
An old one for the poetry workshop challenge

''I'm sober,'' he said, ''and I love you. Come home.'' And the pines on the mountain danced with branches outspread in a green ecstasy, the birds sang Ode To Joy and rebellious hope flooded the sky and fields. The forest flared with green flames, harps sang in every stream and waterfalls thundered applause. Homeward I sped through Betws and Blaenau, through Rhaedr reeling along in a rusty old van with wings on its wheels. Over the Severn, a fairytale drawbridge hung from the heavens on silver blue chains. The motorway gleamed in the moonlight and rain and the city lights seemed like spun gold as I sped to my home, just a house in a terrace but now promised land; the doors opened wide and there he stood waiting – bottle in hand.
Archived comments for The Homecoming
franciman on 20-05-2013
The Homecoming
Hi Teifii,
'Well see you. 'e told me 'e was sober, mind!' It's my sad attempt at Welsh mimicry, courtesy of How Green Was my Valley.
I really enjoyed this, the use of Welsh giving it an immediacy and an exotic feel. You gave it a great build up of pace and then stung the reader beautifully at the end. I laughed out loud, though I suspect the message is more serious than that.
What more can I say? except well done and I could read more.
cheers,
Jim x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Jim, rather belatedly. I must find out how to reinstate getting notification of comments. The Welsh accent up here is very different from the South Walian one. Glad it made you laugh but I agree not really funny.

freya on 20-05-2013
The Homecoming
Daff, totally admire the way you use the vehicle's journey to mirror the bubbling and joyful anticipation of your speaker. What a clever and entirely effective way to show how she is feeling from the moment she starts to drive, and sweeps by 'dancing pines in a green ecstasy', crosses a 'fairy tale drawbridge that hangs from the heavens' and on and on until she approaches the 'promised land' of a humble abode. And then the bubble bursts in one closing line.

There is something of a bemused quality about this whole piece. Its wild exaggeration and wry 'so what did I expect' kind of closure. Greatly enjoyed, Daff. Only nit: I wouldn't repeat 'sped'. Shelagh xx

Author's Reply:
Thank you Shelagh. Sorry this is late. I forgot I had a submission here.
I can't think os a substitute for sped right now, too tired. But I think it is far enough away.

e-griff on 20-05-2013
The Homecoming
A descriptive poem embellished by a twist. Unusual but welcome. Nicely balanced.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Griff.

Shywolf on 20-05-2013
The Homecoming
Loved these lines: 'in a rusty old van/with wings on its wheels.' Is this what poets end up riding when they're old? Does Pegasus grow tired of the weight of words from old mouths?

What a depiction of how hope transforms everything, and how easily it is ignited by a handful of words, giving wings to old rusty vans, and how easily it is extinguished by a bottle in the hand.

Never been any doubt in my mind that you have a poet's sensibility, Daff, and it shows most strongly in this piece.

Glenn

Author's Reply:
Thank you Shy. I appreciate your comment. This particular poet has always had old vans, frequently rusty.

Savvi on 20-05-2013
The Homecoming
Love the way you build this run home to your loved one only to find out he's a lying *!***??? well done all I would say is twill din bob sias. ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Savvy. Or diolch if that was Welsh ๐Ÿ™‚

Slovitt on 21-05-2013
The Homecoming
daff: yes, i remember this one. you write a clean, springy line which is perfect for this tale of yours, and so what can one do but go on to the door and re-enter that world which you so much love, so much hate. a good poem. swep

Author's Reply:
Thanks Shep. I expect you saw it in the competition it won on another site whose name eludes me right now.

karen123 on 21-05-2013
The Homecoming
I would love to repeat what Freya said. She said what I wanted to say but so much better

Author's Reply:
Thank you Karen.

stormwolf on 21-05-2013
The Homecoming
OMG! The last line hit me like a punch in the guts.
excellent work.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
and thank you Alison. Didn't meran to cause you actual bodily harm ๐Ÿ™‚


WILLIAM BROWN PAINTED WOLVES (posted on: 22-04-13)
a true story

William Brown painted wolves, on canvas, paper, cardboard cutouts propped on shelves, savage, silent, lurking everywhere, stark against snow or caught in headlights' glare. I drank his coffee and acquired a passing acquaintance with wolves, for that was what he did, he painted wolves – not very well, I thought. Now after twenty years or more when I drive at night the lonely lanes of Wales, from whence all wolves have long since fled, I see them at the road's edge. Loosed from their paint and plywood, they slink along stone walls. red eyes re-ignite, and I think, ''Thank you, William, for the wolves''.
Archived comments for WILLIAM BROWN PAINTED WOLVES
japanesewind on 23-04-2013
WILLIAM BROWN PAINTED WOLVES
Enjoyed this read....some good imagery and not overdone detail, like to think of them "slipping from the plywood"

Regards..David

Author's Reply:

teifii on 25-04-2013
WILLIAM BROWN PAINTED WOLVES
Thanks for the comment. Oddly enough, having last seen William in Exeter in 1984 or therabouts, I went to an exhibition in the Tabernacl [gallery in Machynlleth] and suddenly caught sight of a definite William wolf on the stairs.

Author's Reply:


CONSIDERING MORTALITY (posted on: 22-04-13)
Written 10 years ago

At seven years I came to know that there would be an hour to go, a time to leave this lovely earth with all its sadness and its mirth. I knew that pilots in the sky falling in flames from burning planes were leaving ere their time was up, dying before their time to die, But I remember exactly when the term 'three score years and ten' became a personal certainty and meant that there would be an end to autumn's golden pain and fir trees scent, wet bracken, evening light and thunder storms and even lilac in the rain. It was autumn then and I was in its spell, walking in its shattered golden shell, and from that day I counted years in autumn leaves, a currency of tears. And now at last my earthly due of seventy falls of flying leaves has been paid out in full and any year could cry 'adieu!' When that moment comes, I will take low light glinting on the lake as the sun slides down the sky, shadows lengthen and owls fly, the laughter of a gloomy friend, laughter he needed more than most, living where demons lurk in gloom lhat laughter only can transcend. These things I loved I'll hold along with that shining autumn gold. And if I need help to pass through pain let me remember the lilac and the rain.
Archived comments for CONSIDERING MORTALITY
Nomenklatura on 22-04-2013
CONSIDERING MORTALITY
'Come not so fast cold winter,
to end the autumn of my days.'

A lovely poem, glad you're still here.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for appreciating it. Yes I'm still here, just trying to rationalise commit,ents to have more time to write. Liked your quote too. Haven't heard it before/

ValDohren on 23-04-2013
CONSIDERING MORTALITY
I'm glad you are still here too teifii - I found the alternating rhyme scheme a little odd, but it is consistent and obviously intentional. The content of the poem is lovely though sad, but there are some great lines in there, and I really enjoyed reading.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val. Glad you liked it. Actually the rhyming scheme was neither comsistent nor alternating. My aim was to have it scan regularly and have quite a lot of rhyme but deliberately not consistent so as not to circumscribed by it.

cooky on 24-04-2013
CONSIDERING MORTALITY
Elegant write with a touch of class. I like this

Author's Reply:
Thanks Cooky. Glad you liked it.

freya on 24-04-2013
CONSIDERING MORTALITY
Poignant and sensitive read. Feel a bit teary to tell you the truth.

let me remember the lilac and the rain.

Yes. Wonderful resolution. Shelagh xx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Freya. Didn't mean to bring on the tears.

Andrea on 26-04-2013
CONSIDERING MORTALITY
You'll outlive the lot of us Daff!

Author's Reply:
Niot sure I want to.


COLLATERAL DAMAGE (posted on: 15-04-13)
Thought I'd give this an airing as there seems still to be so much of it around. The news bit that inspired it was actually I think in early days of Afghanistan but the scenario repeats.

Up and up to the high pasture, a barefoot child of six or so, along the track, skipping as she goes, and singing a green song. Bringing bread and cheese and water for the old man where he waits, not for the food, though man must eat, but for the child, the one granddaughter, only child of the son he will see no more, fallen far away in someone else's war. She rounds the rocks and comes again, as she comes each day, singing still, to the open pasture that waits for rain. Death comes unannounced in one loud scream. Then a receding roar, an empty sky, nothing but echoing silence, crying 'Why, oh why?' Of his flock a few stand dazed among the dying and the dead. He lies spread-eagled on the grass, sightless eyes, a stream of blood trickling under the broken head. Soon will be rain, the grass will green, the lambs will come, the fields be tilled. Men will return that have not been killed, but nothing will fill that empty space where a child is singing a broken song for all the things that might have been.
Archived comments for COLLATERAL DAMAGE
Ionicus on 15-04-2013
COLLATERAL DAMAGE
A sad commentary on the misery that conflicts bring about, Daffni. It can apply to any of those countries in turmoil for whom hope of everlasting peace is wishful thinking.

Author's Reply:
Unfortunate;y so true, Luigi. Thanks for commenting,

ValDohren on 20-04-2013
COLLATERAL DAMAGE
Very sad and moving write. So much heartache, so much pain, so much war - will man ever learn. Excellent.

Val

Author's Reply:


SPRING NOT QUITE READY TO SPRING. (posted on: 01-03-13)
For poetry challenge

Under the russet remnants of autumn's bracken, the green shoots coil in readiness. In every bulb beneath the frozen earth embryo flowers plan their entrance for the annual gala. On every tree the sheathed leaves stir in their buds, sap begins to rise and chlorophyll practises the skill of turning green. Look at the lilac tree. Who would think those thick black buds could hide such wild profusion of colour and of scent.
Archived comments for SPRING NOT QUITE READY TO SPRING.

No comments archives found!
CATASTROPHE (posted on: 28-01-13)
For the writing workshop

What the hell is going on? I've just woken up and I found myself in a metal cage in a place that smells rather like the smell near the bins at the hospital where I sometimes go to find a tasty dinner. But this smell is definitely not dinner. There is a thin tube stuck to one of my paws and something red is dripping into it. One of my back paws is all bandaged up and, to crown it all, there is a great big stiff collar thing round my neck so I can't reach any of my paws. Now someone is coming. A girl in a white coat says, 'Ah, Gilbert, you're awake. How are you feeling?' She opens the door of the cage and puts a dish with food in front of me. Well, I am a bit peckish so I go to eat it but that horrid collar gets in the way. The girl picks up the saucer and holds it for me while I eat. 'Well, your appetite is OK,' she says, 'so that's a good sign.' She closes the cage door and goes out of the room. I have a look round. There is another cat in the next cage with the same sort of contraption that is stuck to me but he's asleep. The other side is empty but beyond it I can see a big white rabbit chewing a cabbage leaf. On the other side of the room there are four dogs, all different, sitting on blankets with their leads attached to a rail. Some of them have bandages too. I sniff the air for information. Through the nasty hospital smell I can smell several animal smells beside dog and cat. There is rabbit, of course, and I'm sure I can smell ferret and badger. This is certainly a very strange place and I wonder how on earth I got here. While I'm wondering, I fall asleep on the very comfy cushion that I was sitting on. I wake up, still wondering. The last thing I remember is crossing the road to chat up a very pretty blue Persian. I remember she was the same colour as my grey patches. That's all I can remember. Of course, I remember all sorts of things before that. I know all the streets of the town and the best places for finding food, the best spots for sunbathing on fine days and the warmest hideouts for bad weather. After all, I should remember these things as I've lived in the town all my life. I was born there. My mother was all white with one grey ear and she looked after me and my siblings on the back seat of a rusty old car. I left home quite young -- by accident. I went exploring one day the way Mother always encouraged us, and while I was gone a lorry came and towed away the car. I'm sure Mother will have made a home somewhere just as good with the other kittens; she was very resourceful. But I had no idea where to look for her. So from then on I looked after myself. I must have inherited Mother's resourcefulness as I managed really well. The first night I slept in a garden shed. It was the first shelter I could find and it was starting to rain. The next day I discovered the dog biscuit factory where there was a plentiful supply of mice. Fortunately Mother had taught me early on how to catch them, so I made that my headquarters. I wouldn't mind a nice fat mouse now but I'm a prisoner and everything seems very difficult. Hang on, someone's coming. This time it's the same girl with a man, also in a white coat. The man says, 'He seems a lot better, doesn't he? I think we can take him off the drip.' I thought they were going to take me somewhere, but the girl just fiddled with my paw and then took the tube and the bottle away. She held the saucer again for me to have a drink and then some more food. It was only tinned stuff, OK I suppose, but I'd rather have has a mouse. I don't seem to be able to get mice out of my thoughts. The people went away and I tried to settle down again but couldn't get comfortable with the collar thing in the way. Now that my front paws were both free, I could move better so I decided to see what was the problem with my back paw. Easier said than done. You try turning to look at your feet with that thing round your neck. In the end I lay on my back and stretched that back leg as far as I could. Now I could see it; there were bandages to about half way up. I stretched towards it until I could just get my teeth to the bandages. As I said, I am extremely resourceful. I managed to pull most of the bandages off before the girl came back. 'Oh, Gilbert!' she said, 'You're not supposed to get at that. Now look what you've done.' She lifted me out, put me on a table and cut off the bandage. Then she said, 'Since you managed to get round the collar, we might as well take it off,' and she cut the horrible collar thing off my neck. What a relief! I began to feel more like my old self; got some of my dignity back. She put me back in the cage and went away. Now I can reach my poorly paw but she has wrapped the new bandage in some sort of green rubbery bandage that won't come off. I tried with my teeth but didn't like the smell. While I was on the table I'd seen my paw was all bloody. But I don't recall having any fights recently. I really need to lick the paw but I can't because of the green stuff. I stretch all my paws and the other three all seem fine. Still wondering what has happened to me, I settle down to have a good cat lick and groom my whiskers. I spent a few days and nights in that cage. There's nothing much to report on that except that it was boring. Being a street cat, I have always had a very full life. Now I've been moved. I'm still in a cage but they've taken the bandages off my paw and I've had a good lick. I seem to be minus a toe but don't envisage any problems with that. After all it's a back paw and one mostly uses front paws for practical matters. The new cage is in a room full of cats, some one in a cage and some two together. My neighbours on both sides are two to a cage. Apparently the two tabbies are sisters and the other two are brothers. They were rescued from a terrible place where they were shut in with no food and very badly treated. They like to hear my stories of life about town. They asked me how I got here but I couldn't explain as I still don't know. As I told them, I was going about my business and must have been catnapped. Every now and again people smelling of outside come into the room and look at us. Sometimes the people in white coats take a cat out of a cage and the people stroke it and make friendly noises and sometimes take it away. I wonder where they go and if I shall ever be set free. Sitting in a cage all day every day is utterly boring and not good for a cat's self respect. There's someone coming now, an old lady with one of the girls who feed us. They stop by my cage. 'This,' says the girl, 'is Gilbert. He's our favourite. A great character. We call him Gilbert because we are up to G in the alphabet. ' Gilbert indeed! That's never been my name. Out in the town I was generally known as Gratch Bent-Ear because I am white with grey patches and one of my ears is a bit bent. I forget what happened to it but it's not important. 'Do you think after that sort of life he would settle with me? I live in a very rural spot.' 'I think so. He seems to be very intelligent and if he will probably realise that life with you is much more comfortable than on the streets. He isn't nervous, not even of big dogs.' Of course I'm not afraid of dogs. I've met plenty in the town and any that weren't friendly and polite I saw off easily with a quick swipe of my paw. The girl is still talking. 'He has almost certainly had quite a hard but interesting life. He's been feral most of his life we think.' 'Feral?' 'Basically wild. There are a lot of cats living wild in city streets. Usually they keep away from people but Gilbert didn't have much choice as he was picked up unconscious from the road. And actually he is surprisingly friendly. He was brought in to us a couple of weeks ago because he was hit by a car and was unconscious and had a damaged paw. He's lost a toe but he's quite well now.' I have a quick look at the paw that was hurt and at the other one. Don't see much difference and anyway it doesn't hurt at all now and I can still scratch my ears with it. While I'm inspecting my paw, they've stopped talking and opened my cage. The girl in the white coat lifts me out and gives me to the old lady, who strokes me and it feels nice. I never got stroked till I came here. 'What happened to his ear?' 'Oh, that was nothing to do with getting run over. I think it's an old injury. The old lady looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, 'Well, Gilbert, would you like to come and live with me?' Nice of her to ask, so I purr to show I'm not against the idea. Next thing I find myself gently bundled into a wire box even smaller than the cage, the box is put in a car and and covered with a blanket. Can't see a thing and certainly can't do anything about matters so I settle down and go to sleep. I now live with the kind old lady. When I woke up the box was being moved and then she opened it. 'Here we are, Gilbert. This is your new home.' I sniffed the air cautiously and it seemed OK. There was none of that nasty hospital smell. So I got out and inspected all the corners of the room. The door was open so I had a look in the next room as well. Lovely comfortable chairs and a sofa. Not like the broken ones we used to sleep on sometimes at the dump in town. I made a note to have a sleep there later but meanwhile I was a bit hungry so I went back to the other room and meowed as pitifully as I could. At once the old lady got a tin, opened it and put some really quite good food in a saucer. Well, I thought, looks like getting food isn't going to be difficult here. And I wasn't wrong. I get regular meals and if I don't fancy one kind of cat food, I just turn my nose up at it and go and sit in one of the armchairs. The old lady takes the hint and I get the sort I prefer. I've definitely retired from street life. There are several cats who live with people in other houses nearby. Mostly we get on quite well but the others told me about one they were all afraid of. 'I'm not afraid of him,' I boasted, remembering my past fights. The next day I met that cat and he was very rude to me. I introduced myself in a perfectly polite fashion and he swore at me. Well, I've never been a cat to back down when faced by a threat. So that was it; we had a serious cat fight, claws and teeth and nothing barred. When it was over we both had a few sore bits that needed licking and there were equal quantities of white and ginger fur all over the place. Now Ginger and I tolerate each other and I have the freedom of all the houses and go visiting with my old lady. All the people admire me and all the other cats are very respectful. I think I'm going to enjoy my retirement.
Archived comments for CATASTROPHE
bluepootle on 28-01-2013
CATASTROPHE
Gilbert's got plenty of attitude! Love him. His personality came across really well in this.

Author's Reply:
Sorry I'm late replying. Not too well at present. Thanks for appreciating Gilbert. He is real.

TheBigBadG on 28-01-2013
CATASTROPHE
Fool that I am I thought him a dog at first. Clearly I've been brainwashed by dodgy American films. I like the idea of his fortuitous and noble retirement, like someone who's lived on the streets all their life finding a wining lottery ticket or something. Part of me thinks a real cat might not be so quick to be grateful, but I won't be churlish - it's a sweet story and that's no bad thing. ๐Ÿ™‚
George

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading. Made me smile that you thought he was a dog./ I fear I am typecast ๐Ÿ™
Gilbert is real and he took to his new life as if it was exactly what he deserved.

butters on 28-01-2013
CATASTROPHE
sorry, too tired tonight to read/comment tonight but will as soon as i get to my pc tomorrow after work. x

Author's Reply:

butters on 29-01-2013
CATASTROPHE
delightful little tale, with a new name for the start of a new life. Gilbert seems extremely polite for a feral, and surely knows which side his bread's buttered as the outcome testifies.

small typo, daffni, here:

You try turning to look at your feet with a that thing round your neck

and here, is there a better way of phrasing this? as it stands, the 'some one' feels off a bit, but you follow it with 'two to a cage' and don't need the repetition:

some one in a cage and some two together. My neighbours on both sides are two to a cage.

maybe 'some alone in cages and others in pairs'?

I found the lack of spaces between the paragraphs harder to read onscreen than I do on a page. probably a case of my eyes getting worse ๐Ÿ™

but reading this gave me a smile ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Hi Butters, Thanks for coming back. I'm late myself having been poorly all week.
I agree about paragraph spaces but my file had spaces and this is UKS submissions version. Another time I'll put extra spaces. Also will look at 'twi in a cage' when I feel better. I suspect you are right and have the solution but I'm brain dead. I've spent the last two weeks putting it into Welsh.

Savvi on 30-01-2013
CATASTROPHE
A great piece forging pastures new albeit reluctantly at first, I like the idea of the tough, new kid on the old block, made me smile, others have the crits so just left to say great job ๐Ÿ™‚ thanks for the read. S

Author's Reply:
Thanks Savvi. Gilbert has two outings last week. My Welsh class homework was write a story by someone finding themselves somewhere unexpected and that fitted well with Gilbert's experience.

TheBigBadG on 31-01-2013
CATASTROPHE
Well if it's a true story then i'm going to stop double-guessing felines, maybe keep the day job. Sounds like a sharp cat.

Author's Reply:

Weefatfella on 19-02-2013
CATASTROPHE
 photo 615f3747-f93a-4017-925a-493d3a9cd963_zps9cdcaec0.jpg
Hi teifii,
There is a shortage of prose writers here on UKA so
I thought I'd better introduce myself.
I really enjoyed your feel-good tale of out of the frying pan into the warm bath.
I Iook forward to more.
Thank you very much.
Weefatfella


Author's Reply:

Andrea on 19-02-2013
CATASTROPHE
Much enjoyed, Daff, but sorry to hear you're not well.

Author's Reply:


Cantre's Gwaelod - Welsh Atlantis (posted on: 21-01-13)
Flippant Take on the Bells of Aberdovey

Being a daughter of the king and the maiden of the well was perhaps quite romantic but Meredid thought it hell. Day after day as duty required she filled her buckets with water cold and poured it into the sea below dreaming of suitors young and bold. At last on the night of the highest tide, her father was feasting the men of his court, she dressed her best and joined the fun, neglected to do what she knew she ought. The water rushed in and washed away the high stone walls and feasters all including the princess, the drunken king and his guards, the feast and the great hall. This is the oldest tale of the flood that sank Cantre'r Gwaelod out of sight. Others there are of a later date that blame not Meredid nor tell of her plight. So for now at least this will have to do. The later tale of the land's immersion inluding the church bells under the sea will lend itself to a better version
Archived comments for Cantre's Gwaelod - Welsh Atlantis
bo_duke99 on 22-01-2013
Cantres Gwaelod - Welsh Atlantis
liked this, the Radio4 pilgrim plays cover this ground in series 2 I think

Author's Reply:
Thanks. I'm out of practice. Just replied to all on new post instead of reply.

orangedream on 22-01-2013
Cantres Gwaelod - Welsh Atlantis
Nice to read you again, Teifi. I very much enjoyed this.

Tina

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 23-01-2013
Cantres Gwaelod - Welsh Atlantis
This reminded me of a story I once read about a church that got buried under water when a dam burst and they could hear the church bells ringing in years to come from the lake.
Lovely poem
Alison x

Author's Reply:

teifii on 17-02-2013
Cantres Gwaelod - Welsh Atlantis
Thank you all three. Yes it's a famous legend but the better version in my opinion is a bit later

Author's Reply:


Aftermath (posted on: 21-01-13)
My last week's entry tio the weekly challenge - INFERNO

A fading loyalty lingers on the fringes of desire. What is to be a furnace is just a little fire. And reason still is cool enough to scatter through my mind the foretaste of the ashes that later I shall find. When cold congeals upon the soul, flames quenched and passions fled, I shall search the ashes, but I know the phoenix will be dead.
Archived comments for Aftermath
cooky on 21-01-2013
Aftermath
I like this. love the last two lines.

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 22-01-2013
Aftermath
Such a beautiful and wistful poem, Daff. Good enough to win the 'Golden Egg'. Well done.

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 22-01-2013
Aftermath
A wonderful write, Teifi.

Tina

Author's Reply:

Texasgreg on 23-01-2013
Aftermath
Aye! For love to die with no hope of return from the ashes...

Good...really good piece, IMO.


Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:


Married Life (posted on: 19-11-12)
My entry for previous weekly cjallenge. Andrea extracted a promise that I'd post it here and I put it on hold thinking it would appear on the Monday. Clearly I misunderstood the system as it disappeared. Sorry Andrea. Here it is belatedly.

They met on a doorstep posting leaflets on socialism to right the wrongs of their battered world. And their rapport, was born of a vision shared of justice and peace and a world with no flaw. He wanted a family, wife and home, She needed, she thought, security and the life that she had not had before. He proposed that they build a world together and pool their dreams of a life fulfilled. She accepted and high on hopes and euphoria they embarked on a whole new life. The red flag was furled and hurled in domestic strife. She got security of a sort; he got a wife, children, a home of sorts. But neither had asked what the other meant by a better life.
Archived comments for Married Life
Texasgreg on 19-11-2012
Married Life
You funny little devil, you.
That's not funny. -joke-

Superduper, IMO.

Texasgreg ๐Ÿ™‚

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Texasgreg. You're right; not funny at all.

Ionicus on 19-11-2012
Married Life
This is superb, Daff. Why do I have the feeling that I read it even before you posted it on the Forum?

Author's Reply:
You did indeed, Luigi. It was my entry to the marriage challenge. Thanks for commenting.

Andrea on 19-11-2012
Married Life
Better late than never, eh Daff? I thought this was absolutely brilliant.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea.

Mikeverdi on 19-11-2012
Married Life
Excellent writing, I loved it. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike.

butters on 19-11-2012
Married Life
original approach, sobering reflection!

Author's Reply:
Thank you Butters

franciman on 19-11-2012
Married Life
This was a standout for me amongst many excellent weekly writes. A poem with so many layers and a wonderful pragmatic voice. I loved this from the moment I began to read it.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks for a lovely comment.

peg on 20-11-2012
Married Life
An excellent read on the meaning of marriage...Maggie

Author's Reply:
Hi Maggie. Thanks. Not all marriages I hope.


THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET (posted on: 09-04-12)
This is the first story in the Filigree Sheepdog book. I revised it last year during Ukaway where I got useful tips as feedback. It has taken me till now to start on illustrations. Should be three but the third one is half done. Have tries my best at using new code [copied David's link to his pics]i

THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET Tess was getting bored in the farmyard. Her puppies were now ten weeks old and Tess loved them, but she wanted to get back to work. The farmer came out of the farmhouse and whistled her. She shot across the yard with the four puppies following close behind. 'Reckon it's about time to give this lot a smell at the sheep,' said her boss, opening the gate out of the farmyard. 'Heel, Tess!' Tess fell in behind him and the puppies galloped in front sniffing at interesting new smells. All that is except the little grey one. Wispy was half the size of her black and white brothers and she thought the big world outside the farmyard might be dangerous. But she didn't want to lose sight of her mother so she followed them down the lane till they came to another gate and found themselves on the mountainside. 'Pay attention, puppies,' said Tess sternly. 'You are going to start school today.' 'Come bye, Tess,' said the farmer and Tess shot off to the left and away up the mountain. Wispy's brothers started to run after her but the farmer shouted, 'No!' so fiercely that they all stopped and sat down. Suddenly Wispy saw some big white animals coming down the hillside towards them with her Mum creeping along behind them. Wispy took refuge behind the farmer's welly boots but her brothers ran to meet their mother. They kept to one side out of the way of the white things in case they might get run over as they seemed even bigger now and there were a lot of horny feet all pounding along. Photobucket 'Good girl, Tess,' said the farmer. Now take them back up the mountain. The pups can go with you.'' Tess gave a quiet bark and all the sheep turned and raced back the way they'd come with Tess and three puppies behind them. Wispy was shaking all over. The farmer looked at her. 'Don't think you're going to make a working dog, somehow,' he said. Then he whistled Tess and they all trooped back to the farmyard. Wispy's brothers couldn't stop talking about how nice sheep smelled and what fun they'd had. Wispy decided she never wanted to be that close to a sheep again. The next day the farmer called them and took them through the gate to a field next to the farmyard. There were about ten sheep in there, just as large and woolly and dangerous looking as the ones on the mountain. The boy pups wanted to chase them but their mother told them that they must never do that unless the farmer told them to, and that first they must do some lessons. Wispy had no intention of doing any lessons that might involve sheep, so she ran back through the gate and hid behind an old stone wall. Her brothers were learning words for sit and lie down and to come when they were called and to walk behind the farmer in an orderly way. Also there was a very difficult lesson; they had to remember which was their left paw and which was their right. Wispy thought that so far it didn't look too dangerous so she came out and sat on top of the wall in the sunshine to watch. The sheep were watching from the other end of the field, so she was still sure she was not going out there. While she was sitting on the wall and feeling rather left out of things, a man with a beard and wearing a wide hat came along the lane and into the farmyard. He saw Wispy sitting on the wall and exclaimed, 'Fancy that, it's a filigree sheepdog! Why aren't you out there with the others?' 'I'm frightened,' replied Wispy. 'Have you seen all those big white sheep waiting at the end of the field. I'm only small and they could easily eat me or stamp on me.' 'Don't worry, little one,' said the man, 'Just look after this notebook with my poems while I have a chat with the farmer.' He was a poet and poets often understand animal talk when other people don't. Wispy sat with her paw on the notebook, feeling very proud to be left in charge of it. The poet went across to the gate. 'Morning, Griff,' he called, and the farmer waved to him and told the pups to lie beside Tess and not to move. Then he went over to the gate. 'That little silver pup,' said the poet. 'She doesn't look much of a worker.' 'Frightened of her own shadow,' replied the farmer. 'Quite useless. You can have her if you like.' 'Thanks, Griff,' said the poet. 'I've always fancied a filigree sheepdog.' He walked back to Wispy, picked up the notebook, put it in his pocket and then tucked Wispy under his arm and set off back down the lane. 'Filigree sheepdog, indeed!' muttered the farmer. 'Did you ever hear such nonsense.' But Wispy was very proud of her new name. She looked back to the farm and wondered whether to feel frightened or glad at the way things were happening. 'Don't worry, little one,' said the poet, gently scratching her ears, 'You'll have a nice life at my cottage and there are no sheep there. Just me.' She wuffed a quick message to her mum that she'd come back and visit when there were no sheep around, and then the lane went up the mountain and round a corner and the farm was out of sight. There were sheep all over the place but she felt quite safe so high up in the poet's arms. The poet walked quite a long way until they came to a little stone cottage with a slate roof and flowers growing round the door. He put Wispy down saying, 'Here we are. Little Filigree Sheepdog, this is home. Have a good sniff around to remember where you live.' Then they went inside and the poet had a cup of tea and gave Wispy a lovely bun with fishpaste on it. When it was time to go to bed the poet put a big thick blanket in a corner near the fire to make a bed for Wispy. She decided she definitely liked her new home.
Archived comments for THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
Andrea on 09-04-2012
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
Awww, nice tale (pardon pun), Daff. Pity the links are only...links. Why don't you upload the pics to Photobucket (or similar) and then post on your piece?

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea. I uploaded them to my site. Don't see why I need photobucket when I have a page of my own for putting pictures on net. For the actual wording for the link, as I didn't understand the one with the bits, I looked at David's links as he links from his page not photobucket, just put my site address instead of his and the name of my own illustration. His work but mine don't.

Ionicus on 09-04-2012
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
[http://www.meirionnydd.f9.co.uk/store/behindwellies.jpg]IMG

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi but it doesn't work I think IMG was the old system.

Ionicus on 09-04-2012
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
The first link does not seem to work.

Author's Reply:
Actually neither of them did from my earlier attempt

Andrea on 09-04-2012
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
Well, I just thought is you did via Photobucket, the illustrations would appear on the piece, like this...

Photobucket

...which would have been nice ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
I used to belong to photobucket but kept having to do fiddly things for various reasons. Would much rather use my own site but have now wasted most of the morning trying every suggestion.

TheBigBadG on 10-04-2012
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
This is a nice story, reminds me of some holidays I took on a croft when I was but a bairn. Of course poets can speak to animals too, nice to see it finally recognised! ๐Ÿ™‚ There are a couple of typos towards the end (a 'ti' and a 'downm') so you know.

As for the links, this is a fairly simple guide to them - http://www.echoecho.com/htmllinks01.htm. What I did to start was keep a text file with the code in and then copy and paste everything. Saves having to learn an entirely abstract set of codes!

Author's Reply:
Thanks for trying to help. I spent ages on all the suggestions but never knew how much one had to put or leave out. In the end I adapted Andrea's version to work for 'stop!' I shall take your advice and file the link. I used to do that with the old img system.
Thanks for spotting the typos.

TheBigBadG on 10-04-2012
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
Of course, if I'd been thinking I would have linked my own link. Try this - http://www.echoecho.com/htmllinks01.htm.

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 10-04-2012
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
I used to belong to photobucket but kept having to do fiddly things for various reasons. Would much rather use my own site but have now wasted most of the morning trying every suggestion.

Well, you didn't need to with my suggestion I already did the pic for you ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
I know and thank you for doing it for me. I think I have now mastered a modified version of your link to substitute my site for photobucket. Thank you for all your efforts.

amman on 11-04-2012
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
Hi Teifii
Nice to see the runt of the litter find a good home. My grandkids would love this story.
Regards

Author's Reply:
That's good. I hope it does appeal to kids. And it is more or less true. Only she came to live with me and the poet who named her was a friend.

sunken on 11-04-2012
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
I feel Amman is showing off a bit. I don't have kids, or grandkids, but I do have a spider who lives in the corner of my bathroom window. He's named Harold. He, I'm sure, will enjoy your story too. Bet Amman doesn't have a spider named Harold. Just saying is all. Lovely stuff, Ms. Daff.

s
u
n
k
e
n



Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunks and Bernard. I have a lot of spiders but have not been introduced so don't know their names.

AdrianLynch on 07-05-2012
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
Good story and the illustrations are great. All the best with it. Adrian.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Adrian for your kind comment.

orangedream on 16-11-2012
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG AND THE POET
Just stumbled on this, teifi. The illustrations are wonderful, and the story - delightful. I would give anything to be able to draw like that;-)

I hope you are well.

Best wishes

Tina

Author's Reply:
Thank you Tina. Glad you liked it. I really must get down to the illustrations and get the book out. But time is the problem.


Feathered Paternity (posted on: 13-02-12)
n old one as no time to settle down and write.

Feathered Paternity Llewelyn Fawr is very grand and knows exactly how to stand to look imposing, which is most important to a drake who needs the ladies to impress and to have a harem of enthusiastic mother ducks for future generations' sake. His feathers are a gleaming white and his beak canary yellow. His wings, though not in use for flight, he cleans with infinite care, feather by flawless feather. His feet are golden triangles that plod majestic through the mud like shoes of magic leather. His wives are speckly coloured with sapphire in their wings. Much of their day they spend hunting for interesting things, snails and slugs and such delights, until, in need of change, they wend their way to pond or stream, upend themselves and dabble there for frog spawn, fish eggs, dainty bites to be found in mud below, while feet wave freely in the air. At night the ladies to their nests repair and lay their eggs all white or green and hide them under leaves and grass from beady eyes of crows who pass, searching like spy planes from the air. Then comes the day, one gets the urge and snuggles down upon the eggs, with beak on breast, deep in feathers, and sits for weeks midst yellow flags oblivious of inclement weather, just waiting till she hears a peep, and one by one small beaks emerge. When all are free of broken shells and dry, she leads them forth in one long line to float upon the stream, chasing flies invisible to human eyes. Flashing, dashing everywhere, propelled by tiny feet under mother's watchful eye, turned skywards lest hawk or crow descend upon her little fleet. Llewelyn past them softly glides, bursting with parental pride.
Archived comments for Feathered Paternity
orangedream on 13-02-2012
Feathered Paternity
This is beautiful, Teifi. Sometimes the old ones are the best. Much enjoyed;-)

Tina

Author's Reply:
Sorry I didn't reply. Don't know what I was doing in Feb but thank you.

Andrea on 13-02-2012
Feathered Paternity
Great imagery, Daff, I can just see those ladies kowtowing to ol' Llewelyn, the proud pater!

Author's Reply:

Romany on 13-02-2012
Feathered Paternity
You really do capture nature very well teifi, and you have an obvious understanding of it too. Lovely.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Sorry I didn't reply. Don't know what I was doing in Feb but thank you.

Ionicus on 13-02-2012
Feathered Paternity
There is no one like you, Daff, who has this kind of insight into the life of ducks and drakes.
Very sweet.

Author's Reply:
Sorry I didn't reply. Don't know what I was doing in Feb but thank you. Llewelyn has long since gone to the duck pond in the sky.

ChairmanWow on 14-02-2012
Feathered Paternity
Well imagined slice of duck life. Keen observer of nature a poet must be, i think.

Author's Reply:

Corin on 12-04-2012
Feathered Paternity
Delightful Daff,

Llewellyn the Great eh? i hope he doesn't give us English as much trouble as his forbear!.

Regards

David

Author's Reply:
He was no trouble. Since gone to duck pond in the sky. Thanks for reading. I see I neglected all other comments.


TO LEV TOLSTOY (posted on: 23-01-12)
[after reading Kreutzer Sonata and listening to 20 episodes of War and Peace on the radio]

Ah, Batushka, when you thought To proscribe music for our sake, Did you not know that words can bring Solace and desperation in their wake? The printed page, disowned by you, And now transmitted through the air, Suspends an entangled chain Between the poles of hope and of despair. POST SCRIPTUM Granted you could not foresee Your propagation by the BBC
Archived comments for TO LEV TOLSTOY
Andrea on 23-01-2012
TO LEV TOLSTOY
Beautiful, Daff - I'm sure Tolstoy would be delighted!
Particularly like the PS ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Andrea. I'm quite fond of the ps myself.

barenib on 24-01-2012
TO LEV TOLSTOY
Hello Daff. As you know, Tolstoy is one of my favourites and I recently worked my way through the 1972 BBC TV series of War & Peace. I've no idea what Lev may have made of that, except that Anthony Hopkins was very good. Anyway, so is your poem, and I enjoyed it - John.

Author's Reply:
Hi John, I stopped watching the bbc tv one when they stopped one episode as Anfre fell on the battlefield and began the next one whern Napoleon sees him. Totally missed the empty sky. What I do wish I could get hold of is their radio one, not the one for sale made recently but the 1970 something one. I absolutely loved that and listened for an hour twice a week through 20 episodes. It was wonferdul and included the narrator.

sunken on 25-01-2012
TO LEV TOLSTOY
Wow is all I can say, Ms. Daff. I think this is one of your best. I am going to get my placards out. This surely deserves a nib. You're getting a smelly Bernard if you like it or not. He's mad for a bit of Daff and no mistake. A very impressive write in my sunky opinion.

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Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Sunkie and please tell Bernard I'm honoured.

ChairmanWow on 25-01-2012
TO LEV TOLSTOY
HArd to anticipate everything. Nicely done piece.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for commenting. Anticipate what?

Zoya on 27-01-2012
TO LEV TOLSTOY
I love the Kreutzer Sonata and of course "War and Peace" is one of my favourite epics! I have read it thrice, despite its length, at three different points of times in my life, and found something new in it every time...
Love this short and sweet piece Daff!
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:
Thanks Zoya. And I'm with you on War and Peace.

ChairmanWow on 28-01-2012
TO LEV TOLSTOY
Hard to anticipate technology; being broadcast on the BBC. Great poem.

Author's Reply:


Catastrophe (posted on: 26-09-11)
For the prose workshop

What the hell is going on? I've just woken up and I found myself in a metal cage in a place that smells rather like the bins do behind the hospital where I sometimes go to find a tasty dinner. But this smell is definitely not dinner. There is a thin tube stuck to one of my paws and something red is dripping into it. One of my back paws is all bandaged up and, to crown it all, there is a great big stiff collar thing round my neck so I can't reach any of my paws. Now someone is coming. A girl in a white coat says, 'Ah, Gilbert, you're awake. How are you feeling?' She opens the door of the cage and puts a dish with food in front of me. Well, I am a bit peckish so I go to eat it but that horrid collar gets in the way. The girl picks up the saucer and holds it for me while I eat. 'Well, your appetite is OK,' she says, 'so that's a good sign.' She closes the cage door and goes out of the room. I have a look round. There is another cat in the next cage with the same sort of contraption that is stuck to me but he's asleep. The other side is empty but beyond it I can see a big white rabbit chewing a cabbage leaf. On the other side of the room there are four dogs, all different, sitting on blankets with their leads attached to a rail. Some of them have bandages too. I sniff the air for information. Through the nasty hospital smell I can smell several animal smells beside dog and cat. There is rabbit, of course, and I'm sure I can smell ferret and badger. This is certainly a very strange place and I wonder how on earth I got here. While I'm wondering, I fall asleep on the very comfy cushion that I was sitting on. I wake up, still wondering. The last thing I remember is crossing the road to chat up a very pretty blue Persian. I remember she was the same colour as my grey patches. That's all I can remember. Of course, I remember all sorts of things before that. I know all the streets of the town and the best places for finding food, the best spots for sunbathing on fine days and the warmest hideouts for bad weather. After all, I should remember these things as I've lived in the town all my life. I was born there. My mother was all white with one grey ear and she looked after me and my siblings on the back seat of a rusty old car. I left home quite young -- by accident. I went exploring one day the way Mother always encouraged us, and while I was gone a lorry came and towed away the car. I'm sure Mother will have made a home somewhere just as good with the other kittens; she was very resourceful. But I had no idea where to look for her. So from then on I looked after myself. I must have inherited Mother's resourcefulness as I managed really well. The first night I slept in a garden shed. It was the first shelter I could find and it was starting to rain. The next day I discovered the dog biscuit factory where there was a plentiful supply of mice. Fortunately Mother had taught me early on how to catch them, so I made that my headquarters. I wouldn't mind a nice fat mouse now but I'm a prisoner and everything seems very difficult. Hang on, someone's coming. This time it's the same girl with a man, also in a white coat. The man says, 'He seems a lot better, doesn't he? I think we can take him off the drip.' I thought they were going to take me somewhere, but the girl just fiddled with my paw and then took the tube and the bottle away. She held the saucer again for me to have a drink and then some more food. It was only tinned stuff, OK I suppose, but I'd rather have a mouse. I don't seem to be able to get mice out of my thoughts. The people went away and I tried to settle down again but couldn't get comfortable with the collar thing in the way. Now that my front paws were both free, I could move better so I decided to see what was the problem with my back paw. Easier said than done. You try turning to look at your feet with that thing round your neck. In the end I lay on my back and stretched that back leg as far as I could. Now I could see it; there were bandages to about half way up. I stretched towards it until I could just get my teeth to the bandages. As I said, I am extremely resourceful. I managed to pull most of the bandages off before the girl came back. 'Oh, Gilbert!' she said, 'You're not supposed to get at that. Now look what you've done.' She lifted me out, put me on a table and cut off the bandage. Then she said, 'Since you managed to get round the collar, we might as well take it off,' and she cut the horrible collar thing off my neck. What a relief! I began to feel more like my old self; got some of my dignity back. She put me back in the cage and went away. Now I can reach my poorly paw but she has wrapped the new bandage in some sort of green rubbery bandage that won't come off. I tried with my teeth but didn't like the smell. While I was on the table I'd seen my paw was all bloody. But I don't recall having any fights recently. I really need to lick the paw but I can't because of the green stuff. I stretch all my paws and the other three all seem fine. Still wondering what has happened to me, I settle down to have a good cat lick and groom my whiskers. I spent a few days and nights in that cage. There's nothing much to report on that except that it was boring. Being a street cat, I have always had a very full life. Now I've been moved. I'm still in a cage but they've taken the bandages off my paw and I've had a good lick. I seem to be minus a toe but don't envisage any problems with that. After all it's a back paw and one mostly uses front paws for practical matters. The new cage is in a room full of cats, some one in a cage and some two together. My neighbours on both sides are two to a cage. Apparently the two tabbies are sisters and the other two are brothers. They were rescued from a terrible place where they were shut in with no food and very badly treated. They like to hear my stories of life about town. They asked me how I got here but I couldn't explain as I still don't know. As I told them, I was going about my business and must have been catnapped. Every now and again people smelling of outside come into the room and look at us. Sometimes the people in white coats take a cat out of a cage and the people stroke it and make friendly noises and sometimes take it away. I wonder where they go and if I shall ever be set free. Sitting in a cage all day every day is utterly boring and not good for a cat's self respect. There's someone coming now, an old lady with one of the girls who feed us. They stop by my cage. 'This,' says the girl, 'is Gilbert. He's our favourite. A great character. We call him Gilbert because we are up to G in the alphabet. ' Gilbert indeed! That's never been my name. Out in the town I was generally known as Gratch Bent-Ear because I am white with grey patches and one of my ears is a bit bent. I forget what happened to it but it's not important. 'Do you think after that sort of life he would settle with me? I live in a very rural spot.' 'I think so. He seems to be very intelligent and if he will probably realise that life with you is much more comfortable than on the streets. He isn't nervous, not even of big dogs.' Of course I'm not afraid of dogs. I've met plenty in the town and any that weren't friendly and polite I saw off easily with a quick swipe of my paw. The girl is still talking. 'He has almost certainly had quite a hard but interesting life. He's been feral most of his life we think.' 'Feral?' 'Basically wild. There are a lot of cats living wild in city streets. Usually they keep away from people but Gilbert didn't have much choice as he was picked up unconscious from the road. And actually he is surprisingly friendly. He was brought in to us a couple of weeks ago because he was hit by a car and was unconscious and had a damaged paw. He's lost a toe but he's quite well now.' I have a quick look at the paw that was hurt and at the other one. Don't see much difference and anyway it doesn't hurt at all now and I can still scratch my ears with it. While I'm inspecting my paw, they've stopped talking and opened my cage. The girl in the white coat lifts me out and gives me to the old lady, who strokes me and it feels nice. I never got stroked till I came here. 'What happened to his ear?' 'Oh, that was nothing to do with getting run over. I think it's an old injury. The old lady looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, 'Well, Gilbert, would you like to come and live with me?' Nice of her to ask, so I purr to show I'm not against the idea. Next thing I find myself gently bundled into a wire box even smaller than the cage, the box is put in a car and and covered with a blanket. Can't see a thing and certainly can't do anything about matters so I settle down and go to sleep. I now live with the kind old lady. When I woke up the box was being moved and then she opened it. 'Here we are, Gilbert. This is your new home.' I sniffed the air cautiously and it seemed OK. There was none of that nasty hospital smell. So I got out and inspected all the corners of the room. The door was open so I had a look in the next room as well. Lovely comfortable chairs and a sofa. Not like the broken ones we used to sleep on sometimes at the dump in town. I made a note to have a sleep there later but meanwhile I was a bit hungry so I went back to the other room and meowed as pitifully as I could. At once the old lady got a tin, opened it and put some really quite good food in a saucer. Well, I thought, looks like getting food isn't going to be difficult here. And I wasn't wrong. I get regular meals and if I don't fancy one kind of cat food, I just turn my nose up at it and go and sit in one of the armchairs. The old lady takes the hint and I get the sort I prefer. I've definitely retired from street life. There are several cats who live with people in other houses nearby. Mostly we get on quite well but the others told me about one they were all afraid of. 'I'm not afraid of him,' I boasted, remembering my past fights. The next day I met that cat and he was very rude to me. I introduced myself in a perfectly polite fashion and he swore at me. Well, I've never been a cat to back down when faced by a threat. So that was it; we had a serious cat fight, claws and teeth and nothing barred. When it was over we both had a few sore bits that needed licking and there were equal quantities of white and ginger fur all over the place. Now Ginger and I tolerate each other and I have the freedom of all the houses and go visiting with my old lady. All the people admire me and all the other cats are very respectful. I think I'm going to enjoy my retirement.
Archived comments for Catastrophe
bluepootle on 26-09-2011
Catastrophe
A recognisable cat mentality! Gilbert's got personality, which comes across strongly in the writing. I like the way you start at the vet's and jump back; there's a good mixture of events and reflection to keep the story interesting.

You've got some weird tenses going on in there but I really think it works. It seemed convincingly animalistic to have it jumping from present to past tense with jerky swaps. Now I live here. I explored around. Now I go visiting etc. I thought that was actually really effective.

I wanted Gilbert to be okay and have a happy ending, so I obviously came to care about him!

Author's Reply:

ruadh on 26-09-2011
Catastrophe
Another believable cat voice and enjoyable read. I have to agree with most of what BP says although the jerkiness was a little jarring at first.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 26-09-2011
Catastrophe
Thank you both. Gilbert is alive and well and still living with the old lady.
I did have trouble organising the tenses and changed a few but ran out of time on Sunday so may have another look.

Author's Reply:

sirat on 26-09-2011
Catastrophe
I'm okay with the mixed tenses, all part of the 'cat voice', and there are a few small proof reading corrections needed (e.g. 'that smells rather like the smell near the bins'; 'rather have has a mouse'; 'with a that thing round your neck'), but more fundamentally, it didn't seem to have very much structure or point as a story. The stray cat has found a home โ€“ that's basically it. I would like a bit more conflict and resolution, more surprises, more of a point to the whole thing.

The character of the newly-named Gilbert came across strongly, the voice was fine, but it seemed like an introduction to a story rather than the story itself. What if he found unexpected disadvantages in farm life, what if he ran away again or had some great adventure of some kind?

Maybe I just ask too much, but I give you my thoughts for what they're worth.

Author's Reply:
No, not too much. Probably for adults it would be a bit of a non-event as they'd guess the ending but small kids wouldn't and I hope would go along with the the cat's point of view. Thanks for pointing out typos. I'm afraid I didn't proof read it at all, just did a bit of emergency tense fixing and went for my supper which had assumed greater importance on Sunday night.
Have duly done amendments. Couldn't find a suitable alternative for smell. Could hardly call it an aroma or perfume.


Town life (posted on: 12-09-11)
For Sirat's prose workshop challenge. Well, no one said it had to be for grown ups.

I'm a sheepdog, at least that's what I was supposed to be. I was born on the farm where both my parents work. There were six of us and all the others left the farm before me. Some went to other farms and a couple went to families as pets. Then there was a long gap when no one came to buy a puppy, in fact no one came to look at me at all. I used to envy my brothers who were chosen as pets because I thought that would be a very nice life and the people who bought them made such a fuss of them. Then one day when I was feeling particularly bored and neglected a big posh car came into the farmyard. Two people got out and the farmer shook hands with them and they all came over to my kennel. The people didn't smell a bit like the farm people. 'I've always wanted a dog' said the man, 'haven't I Madge? But we thought we should wait till we had a garden. It's only fair.' 'Yes,' said Madge. 'You can't really keep a dog in a flat.' 'He's the only pup I have at present,' said the farmer. 'He's healthy and good tempered, likes children.' Well, of course I did. It was the children who brought me my dinner every day and Lucy sometimes saved tit bits from her own dinner to smuggle out to me. What's not to like? Anyway, these people stroked me and took me for a bit of a walk down the lane and back. Then they chatted with the farmer for a little while and then swapped my old collar for a bright red one with a matching lead and put me on the back seat of the car. I was really pleased to have been chosen at last, although chosen might not be quite the right word when you're the only one left. The red collar seemed like a sign that I was now someone's special dog. It was the first new clothes I'd ever had. 'He's a bit smelly, George,' said Madge, but I'm sure he'll clean up all right.' The car drove out of the yard and whizzed along the lanes much faster than the farmer on his tractor. The car didn't smell like the tractor either. It had the same very clean smell the people had and I couldn't decide if I liked it. We were in the car for a long time and seat was very comfy so I fell asleep and dreamt of the exciting new life I was going to have. Lucy had told me when my brothers went away that they would sleep indoors in a special cozy bed and would have all sorts or tasty things in their dinners, they wouldn't be tied on a chain and would have children to play with. It sounded lovely. At last I woke up because the car had stopped. 'You put the car away, George, and I'll take Rover inside. He must be thirsty by now and I'll give him some dinner to make him feel at home.' She took my lead and we went inside the house. It was nothing like the farmhouse although, as I'd only occasionally been past the back porch of the farmhouse and then only into the kitchen, I couldn't really be sure. It had the same extra clean smell the car had and the floors were shiny wood. I stopped on the mat in the hall and refused to walk over the floor into the kitchen. Madge pulled my lead and I kept slipping over all the way to the kitchen. She picked me up in the end and put me on a rug by a big warm stove like the one the farmer's wife warms poorly lambs in. That made me feel more at home but I was really worried about How I was going to walk about on that floor. Grass is much easier. George came in and Madge started putting things on the table. I could small all sorts of nice stuff and put my paws on the table to have a look. Madge said, 'No!' and smacked my nose but not hard. I thought, I suppose I'd better keep away from the table. I'm going to have to learn what I can and can't do here. It was all right though; when their dinner was ready they gave me a nice new bowl with very tasty dog food in it. After dinner we all went into a big comfy room with a sofa and comfy chairs and carpet on the floor so I didn't slip. George and Madge watched pictures on a box. In the corner of the room there was a nice soft bed especially for me and later, when they went to bed, George took me back to the kitchen and showed me another comfy bed by the stove and I realised that my new life really was going to be luxurious. I thought dogs always slept in a kennel or a barn. In the morning they let me out in the garden. It was quite interesting, with a lot of flowers round the side and a big patch of bushes at the end and a big tree that was good for peeing. Then we had breakfast [I had a big dog biscuit] and I got quite excited wondering what would happen next. What did happen was a bit disappointing. They took me to the kitchen and told me 'Stay'. Then they left the back door open a bit and got in the car. I thought I was going too but George said firmly, Stay!' and closed the garden gate and drove off. Of course I didn't want to stay in this place on my own so i jumped over the gate and set off along the road. There were all kinds of interesting new smells, some quite different to farm smells; it was like a sort of dog newspaper so I learnt a lot about my new surroundings. The road where our house was had trees all along both sides but at the end it came to a wide road with no trees and different kinds of shops. There were lots of cars driving up and down the road and people everywhere. Some of them tried to pet me but I ran away because I didn't know them. I crossed over, zigzagging between cars and causing them to screech horribly and nearly stop. One of the drivers shouted something at me; I don't know what it was but he seemed very angry. I began to feel rather frightened but then I smelled something really delicious. I followed the smell to a shop full of meat. It was irresistable and I ran in, grabbed a big piece of meat with a bone from the wooden counter just as the man was going to chop it with a big chopper. He shouted loudly and threw the chopper at me, but he missed and I ran as fast as my paws could go out of the shop and away down the road, dodging between people and prams and shopping trolleys. With the wonderful smell right under my nose, I was longing to get my teeth into my feast but I didn't dare stop. At last I saw a hole in a wall leading to a patch of shrubbery. So in I went and found a nice hidden spot among the bracken and settled down to chew the meat till there was nothing left but the bone. This I buried by a tree and took careful note of exactly where so that I could come back for it. I was now feeling very pleased with my exciting life in the city but as I came out of the hole in the wall I heard a horrible wailing noise and a big van with a flashing blue light stopped and three men jumped out. One shouted, 'That's him! That's the Browns' lost dog. I was so confused I stopped for a moment to decide which way to run and one of them grabbed me. They put me in the back of the van and in a few minutes I was back at the house and George was holding me on a lead and saying, 'Thank you so much, officer, we've only had him a day and he's proving more trouble than he's worth.' 'Well, just make sure you keep him in. We can't have dogs roaming the streets, you know.' And off they went in the van. That night I had a nice dinner again but I wasn't really hungry and I had a definite feeling that George and Madge were not pleased with me, although Madge did keep stroking me and saying, 'Oh, I'm so glad you didn't get run over.' I didn't know what 'run over' meant but I was glad that she seemed as much pleased to see me as she was cross. The next day they didn't go away. Madge took me for a walk to the park and when we came home there was a very high fence round the garden and George was just fixing an extra piece across the top of the gate. 'That'll put an end to your nonsense,' he said to me and it wasn't too difficult to understand that I was now a prisoner. The next day they left me again. They gave me a supply of toys, rope and balls, one of which bounced in a funny way and was stuffed with tasty biscuits. At first I was fairly happy there on my own as I was busy getting at the biscuits. That was fun because not only were the biscuits tasty but I do enjoy puzzling things out. After I'd eaten all the biscuits I had a look at the balls and things but toys aren't much fun all on your own. You need someone to throw the ball or play tug-of-war. So I sat by the fence and watched the next garden but no one was home there either and the cat was very rude to me through the fence. The front gate was a bit more interesting as people and cars went up and down the road but I soon got bored watching them and began to wish I was back in the farmyard. I could see a lot of things from my kennel, especially if I sat up on top of the stone wall beside it. There were sheep and cows and sometimes I used to see my mum rounding up sheep with the farmer. I sat there in the garden remembering my life as it used to be. I remembered once there was a whole day when the farmyard was full of sheep and the men were shearing all their wool. That was really exciting. The sheep kept trying to escape but when they had been shorn, they jumped up in the air and galloped off pleased to feel cool and free. And then twice a day there was milking. This wasn't so exciting but it was interesting as some of the cows used to come over to my kennel and talk to me while they were waiting for their turn. That afternoon when George and Madge came home, they were very pleased with me for not running away. Not that I'd had much chance to do so. They gave me a bone as a reward but I'd have preferred the one I left by the tree. It would have been getting quite nice and smelly by now. Next day they went again. They said they were going to work. I didn't really understand this as there were no farms around so how could they be working? They had refilled the funny shaped ball, this time with bread and gravy and bacon rind so at first I was very busy and happy. But then it was empty. Nothing was happening in the road or next door. Even the cat had gone. I sat by the fence, imagining the farm was the other side. In the end I got so bored and lonely that I started to dig by the fence for something to do. As the hole I was digging got deeper and deeper an idea came to me. Why not dig all the way under the fence? So I did, and went wandering around the town again. I was tempted to go back to the meat shop but I remembered the chopper and thought the better of it. I dug up my bone and reburied it in the garden and then had a sleep in the kitchen. When I woke up I explored the kitchen to see what else I could do to relieve the boredom. To my delight I discovered that the cushions on the chairs were soft and if I chewed a corner i could pull all the white fluffy stuf out; Except that it didn't have any taste it was almost as interesting as pulling the food out of the ball. When my people came home they couldn't help laughing at the sight of me with white fluff sticking to my whiskers. But when Madge saw the cushions she was definitlely not pleased and then George found my hole under the fence right in the middle of plants he called his 'lupins'. What a fuss about a few plants! 'This won't do,' he said. 'Madge, he'll have to go. He's just not suited for town life. We should have got a spaniel or something.' The next morning they put me in the car again and I snuggled down on the comfy back seat and wondered where we might be going. Just like the time before when they fetched me I went to sleep for a long time. Then I woke up and sniffed the air. It smelt different, not the town smell but the scent of grass and water. I peered out of the window and we were travelling through fields and then crossing a bridge over a river. Suddenly there was a field of cows. They looked familiar; yes, that brown and white one was defintely Primrose, who used to come and give me a friendly sniff in the farmyard. The car window was open a little bit so I pushed my nose into the gap and sniffed hard. Yes, they were our cows and the next field was full of sheep. Home! We drove into the yard and they let me out. 'It seems we've made a big mistake,' said George to the farmer, who was standing in his wellies by the barn door. 'Looks like it,' he said. Then he looked down at me and gave me a pat. 'You want to make yourself useful, do you, lad? Well, tomorrow you can come out in the fields with me and your mum. There's work to do. That night I slept in the barn with Mum and in the morning we all went to work and I never agian dreamt of being a pampered pet.
Archived comments for Town life
sirat on 12-09-2011
Town life
This is a clever angle on the challenge, and it has almost all the elements of the story of Kesang Marstrand's song: the idea of city life and affluence being held up as a fantasy and an ideal that in reality disappoints, and can be had only at the price of loneliness and isolation. I particularly liked that Rover lived in a world of smells, which is something people usually miss when telling a story from a dog's point of view, and his naiveity about the city traffic, and even about the 'big warm stove (that) the farmerโ€™s wife warms poorly lambs in'. I also loved the notion that as there were no farms around so how could they be working? (you missed the question mark at the end of that sentence, by the way).

As a children's story I think it works well, and even contains a valuable lesson: don't assume that far off fields are necessarily greener, especially the ones that have been concreted-over, where life takes place behind high walls and fences and stout, firmly-locked front doors.

The piece needs proof reading, mostly for missing or incorrect letters, and the usual small changes that weren't fully tidied-up, like 'as fast as I my paws could go'. I wasn't sure whether 'ball' was a misprint for 'bowl' with regard to Rover's feeding vessel:
'refilled the ball, this time with bread and gravy'. If so it seemed to occur twice. Maybe this needs clarifying.

Overall, I think this is a very fine response to the challenge.

Author's Reply:
Thanks David for such a conscientious review. I'll go through it for mistakes. I wrote it at the last minute last night before turning off the computer and having dinner so din't proof read at all. I wondered about the question mark as it wasn't a direct question but part of wondering. I teke it there should be one. I shall edit. The careful attention to smells is a left over benefit from our readings at the Welsh farm house holiday last year.
Ast to the bowl; probably does need a note as he has his dinner in a nice new bowl but the 'ball thing' was a cong, a hollow dog ball that bounces in all directions and can be stuffed to keep a dog occupied.
I shall go over the whole thing in a minute and check for spelling etc. May not do it very well as I am suffering. This morning my daft little rescue collie who runs in circles collided with me so hard she removed my feet from beneath me and my face collided with a very lage rockery rock. So I'm not at my best.

bluepootle on 12-09-2011
Town life
This is lovely, a nice little story with a moral and I loved Rover's voice. He reminded me of my dog.

You've got some spelling mistakes and missing words, so it could do with a tidy. I think some lovely illustrations would set it off nicely too!

Author's Reply:
Hi Aliya. Yes, I realised I hadn't checked spelling but I'd wasted lots of time trying to do one illustration but decided it wasn't good enough and opted for supper. See answer to David above. Greetings to your dog.
Daff

franciman on 12-09-2011
Town life
It was like a fly-on-the-wall documentary for dogs. The voice was very good and the structure of the story. "O would the Powers the giftie gie us, tae see ourselves as others see us" You have certainly done that, and what a marvellous perspective.
Great Piece.
Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Jim. It should carry a health warning to prospective collie rescuers. They are lovely dogs and make excellent pets but only for owners with enough time to occupy their brains as well as provide plenty of excercise. A borser collie working often covers 30 miles in a day.
Daff

e-griff on 13-09-2011
Town life
a very nice story, a good view of a 'dog's life' - I enjoyed reading it very much.

G

Author's Reply:
Thanks Griff. Glad you liked it.


DUCKLING CALYPSO (posted on: 05-09-11)
An old one from the Wednesday challenge word -- Calypso. I'm not up on Greek mythology

The little brown duck is sitting on eggs and everyday she shuffles her legs and scuffles the eggs about in the nest and sits with her beak tucked into her chest. And she's talking to ducklings, quackety quack, and they from their eggs peep, peeping back. 'Listen my little ones, listen to me. Soon you'll come out the big world to see. Big world got a lot o foxes, crows and weather. Big world got a lot o dangers, keep together. Baby ducks listen to Mum's wise quack, small beaks peck and the shells they crack. Baby ducks tumble out under her feathers, she tucks them under her all together. Then, 'Follow me children, into the water. Remember to do what I said you oughta. Big world got a lot o foxes, crows and weather. Big world got a lot o dangers, keep together.'
Archived comments for DUCKLING CALYPSO
franciman on 05-09-2011
DUCKLING CALYPSO
Hi teifii,

I like this. It has the rythme of the Calypso. The one fault is, I fear, the repetition of feathers at the end of two consecutive lines.

Did you know calypso in Greek means "to cover", very apt for the actions of mother duck in your verse.

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thank you for spotting that. I write it in such a hurry for one Wednesday that i didn't notice it at all. Have edited it.No I didn't know about 'cover'. I know practically no Greek.

stormwolf on 05-09-2011
DUCKLING CALYPSO
Lovely, Daff.
I can see this in an illustrated book that I would read to my granddaughter. It made me smile. ๐Ÿ™‚
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison. Actually there is going to be a whole book of filigree Sheepdog stories when i have time to do the illustrations. The stories are more or less written. Talking of reading to grandchildren, Have you seen the Rainbow Pony on my website?
Daff

Corin on 08-09-2011
DUCKLING CALYPSO
LOvely Daff - Alison is right - it needs a a picture and a lot of other duck hen and sheep poems to go with it:-)

Dvaid

Author's Reply:
Glad you liked it David,
There are a lot of other poems and some in the book have pictures but by no means all. I was talking about the wrong poem above to Alison. It is the Filigree sheepdog who is on her way to a book of stories. The calypsos [ducklings and guineapigs are in a book of animal poems.


THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG (posted on: 05-09-11)
Another animal one

She was small and fearful and sort of blue. Well, her fur was a silvery colour. She lived in a barn on a farm with her mother and nothing of sheep-herding knew. She could not comprehend why the farmer would send the dogs to chase daft woolly ewes from one field into another. One by one her sisters and brothers departed to other farms, while she stayed with her mother, couldn't go with the others because of the farmer's qualms. ''That one's a runt, half the size of the others. Though she comes of good stock and might possibly grow, I don't see her working a flock. I can't sell a pup that just doesn't know one end of a sheep from the other.'' So the little grey dog was left in the yard whenever her mother was working. The other dogs herded sheep in their sleep, in the farm machine willing cogs. She viewed with alarm a wave of the arm or a whistle that signalled to men and dogs that work was afoot and would not keep: sorting or shearing or foot rot for treating. Then dogs were required for gathering sheep or just standing guard and excitement was rife in the yard. She hid in the barn with nose under paws, shaking and shivering because she dreaded the noise, men shouting, dogs barking, sheep in their hundreds milling and bleating, and more and more landrovers parking. Then down from the hillside stony and steep a poet came walking and talking, refining his poems and rhymes in his head. He saw the sheepdog that didn't do sheep, with the sun on her silver fur shining and, ''A filigree sheepdog!'' he said. Poets have eyes for all that cries and he saw that her soul was repining. He understood that she'd work if she could but she wasn't that kind of dog. He thought of his room with never a sheep to nibble his books or disturb his sleep or worry a little grey dog. He called to the farmer, "That dog over there, The one with the silvery hair." The farmer looked out from his tractor shed. "The one by the wall? No use at all. Take her and welcome," he said. So they went off together, an unlikely pair, the poet and filigree sheepdog.
Archived comments for THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG
Corin on 05-09-2011
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG
O Lovely Daff:-)

I was a bit confused by this bit though:-

She viewed with alarm a wave of the arm
or a whistle that signalled to men and dogs,
that work was afoot and would not keep,
sorting or shearing or foot rot for treating.

I can see it now as:-

She viewed with alarm a wave of the arm
or a whistle that signalled to men and dogs
that work was afoot and work would not keep;
Like sorting or shearing or foot rot for treating.

David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David. I agree the comma is wrong. But I think the next two lines are Ok. Perhaps should be a colon before the list of work. I'll go an fix it. Thanks for your time.
Daff

franciman on 05-09-2011
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG
Hi Daff,

Lovely story, told in a soft focus if you see what I mean. I agree with David, it is a poem that needs more than one read.

Cheers,
Jim x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim. I too agree with David and have amended to verse that didn't read right.
Daff

barenib on 06-09-2011
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG
Daff, I enjoyed this tale and like the idea of the dog that doesn't conform ending up with the poet! Nice work - John,

Author's Reply:
Thanks John.
The story is basically true except that she came to me via a dog rescur. But the poet is real, a mad genius friend who christened her the filigree sheepdog. However, when she ate a box he wanted for my computer, he said, 'Look what your whippet has done.' But Filigree sheepdogs stuck.
Daff

Jolen on 10-09-2011
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG
I enjoyed this much too, Daff and think you have a penchant for painting lovely pictures with such fantastically lyrical poetry.

best,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Jolen. Actually the nearly next job is to actually paint some pictures of her and her friends as she is going to have her own book -- in prose though. The stories are more or less written. Must start painting.
Daff

RoyBateman on 11-09-2011
THE FILIGREE SHEEPDOG
I thought that this must have been based on a great deal of truth - pretty obvious from the tone. From someone who's always shared a home with a collection of "unwanted" moggies, I know exactly where you're coming from with this...oh, excuse the cliche!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Roy. Right at this moment I think moggies would be an improvement. On monday one of my present rescue dogs ran into me, swept me off my feet so I landed with my face on a rock. So I'm feeling sorry for myself. And Silver [the very small but fast culprit] keeps going all submissibe on the floor whenever I look at her. I didn't tell her off, just screamed at all three, 'GET OFF ME!' because their attempts at assistance or sympathy were not helping.


SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM by Teifi Dog (posted on: 29-08-11)
Sung to the tune of the Red Flag [Tannenbaum]

Chorus Come rain and gales and whirling snow, we've seen it all before and so we raise a paw and swear that we to farm and flock will faithful be. 1 In byres and yards across this land you'll find our multifarious band of collies who, though farmers scowl, to pass the time this anthem yowl. 2 We may be muddy and unkempt, and may have fleas and smell a bit, we let folk in and then attempt to bite their heels, we must admit. 3 But when the farmer whistles us and duty calls, then with no fuss we roll right through a five-bar gate and all his needs anticipate. 4 We dip our tails, and crouch nearby to hear, "Away!" or else "Come by!" For we are clever, we're so bright we know our left paw from our right. 5 That gate-roll is a skill innate no other breed can imitate; While other dogs are thwarted quite we're up the mountain out of sight. 6 From puppyhood we know that we were born to fetch from slope and scree, from pasture, meadow, mountains steep, those fascinating creatures -- sheep. 7 Though some of us are less than brave we teach those sheep how to behave, We fix them with a glassy stare and disobey they do not dare. 8 We yearn not for a life of ease and only want the boss to please. We're kind to ewe's with new-born lambs and stand our ground 'gainst bolshy rams. 9 The barn is cleared, it's time to shear, and men from neighbours' farms are here. We know today amidst turmoil we shall not rest from farmyard toil. 10 We'll work for hours and hours until rvery sheep is off the hill Oh lanolin, oh lanolin, the smell of sheep all gathered in. 11 No matter how they shout and curse [and some of them do even worse], each farmer knows one truth of old: a collie's worth is more than gold 12 Soft poodles sleep on satin beds and we in barns and draughty sheds. and when we die, in fields we lie with grazing sheep above our heads. Chorus Come rain and gales and whirling snow, we've seen it all before and so we raise a paw and swear that we to farm and flock will faithful be.
Archived comments for SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM by Teifi Dog
Ionicus on 29-08-2011
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM by Teifi Dog
Very amusing Daff and well constructed.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:

franciman on 29-08-2011
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM by Teifi Dog
Daff, I can only echo Luigi, really fun to sing!

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thank you Luigi and Jim. Trouble is if I perform it I feel obliged to sing at least the chorus and I sing worse than a collie.

Corin on 31-08-2011
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM by Teifi Dog
Great Daff - how do I teach Crab to do a gate roll?
He certainly knows his left paw from his right but he is only interested in using this great knowledge to find sticks and balls.

Author's Reply:
Hi David. I bet if he was one side of such a gate and something special like a ball or you was the other side, he'd find the knowledge in his subconscious.

Albermund on 02-09-2011
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM by Teifi Dog
Great fun, t, and really well done. Especially loved 4,6 & 10. Thought 12 was a bit dicky though - it didn't seem to stand on its own to me. Anyways I sung it all the way through out loud, unalone and unembarrassed, heh! Ta vry much, Albert ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Albert. Very brave to sing it aloud in company! Have amended verse 12 on advice of Corin.

Corin on 02-09-2011
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM by Teifi Dog
Daff - Mavis (the Pedant!-)says that the last verse lacks a main verb, so get rid of the conditional clause 'though':-

Soft poodles sleep on satin beds
and we in barns and draughty sheds,
and when we die, in fields we lie
with grazing sheep above our heads.

Dave and Mavis


Author's Reply:
Thanks to mavis. Have accepted the change and edited.

Romany on 03-09-2011
SHEEPDOGGEREL ANTHEM by Teifi Dog
Clever and fits the tune perfectly!

Romany

Author's Reply:
Thank you Romany.
Daff


TO ROBERT GRAVES (posted on: 29-08-11)
TO ROBERT GRAVES [Who says that perhaps he has valued women too much]

Oh no, rather you underrate us, to value us only as temples to your muse. You deny us our humanity, casting us in the role of goddesses to propitiate your poetry. For poetry is a jealous god, demanding of his high priest offerings of lucid beauty. So you made of each new love an Aphrodite, who showed her mortal soul and sank back to the sea. You have seen, because you wished to see, latent in the eyes of women, a vision of immortality, and from it, with a charm of words, you made a separate reality. Your poems live, a lyrical testimony to poetry -- to love perhaps -- but love itself belongs to people, not to poets or to gods, and the air on Mount Olympus is too rare.
Archived comments for TO ROBERT GRAVES
franciman on 29-08-2011
TO ROBERT GRAVES
Teifii this is superb. It has a real classical feel that simply serves to make it shine the more. Also, I believe your challenge is justified, and you give the rationale with lyric beauty and poise.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Jim. What a lovely comment. And thank you for the nom which must have been you. Most unexpected.

Omma_Velada on 29-08-2011
TO ROBERT GRAVES
Wow, this is really beautiful, it reads as though it is part of the fabric of poetical history. I really enjoyed each stanza.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Omma. I'm homoured. Really glad you liked it.

Corin on 30-08-2011
TO ROBERT GRAVES
Lovely Daff - that's put the bugger in his place. Mind he went through World War I which I think gives any man the right to a little madness and delusion.

David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David. For all I know he may have been kindness itself to women. I just seized on his comment and his poems as an excuse for a poem.

Andrea on 31-08-2011
TO ROBERT GRAVES
I don't care what he was like as a person, really, he was simply a brilliant writer. Although not too familiar with his poetry (you know me and poetry!), I Claudius and Claudius the God are absolute masterpieces.

This is great stuff, Daff, well worthy of the nibs 'n' noms ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea. I like his poems too. Haven't read the books but wil one day.

RachelLW on 31-08-2011
TO ROBERT GRAVES
Terrific poem. I love some of Graves' love poems, but I watched a documentary about him years ago and completely see what your poem sums up. Great final stanza too. Rachel ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Rachel. Glad you liked it.


Weather (posted on: 15-08-11)
For Corin's challenge in poetry workshop

The first time we met the sun was on the hills, the fields were full of flowers the air with scent of hay. The birds they sang in choirs all the summer through. We walked hand in hand in rain and wind and sun and had no fear of storms or thought of days to come, but weather it is fickle in heads and hearts as well as land and sea and sky. The night when last we met the rain wept bitter tears and no birds sang.
Archived comments for Weather
anth2011ed on 15-08-2011
Weather
lovely poem ....

Author's Reply:
Thank you for reading and commenting.
Daff

barenib on 15-08-2011
Weather
Daff - we all need our own private forecaster I think... Good read, John.

Author's Reply:
Hi John. Thanks for the comment. By the way the challenge was up to 16 lines, grief or joy, no more than one 3 syllable word, no more than five two syllable words.

Ionicus on 16-08-2011
Weather
Daff, a pleasant read.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi
Daff

e-griff on 16-08-2011
Weather
I thought this was very good. ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:

bluepootle on 16-08-2011
Weather
I like this one very much too.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Griff and Aliya. I'm a bit surprised at getting only unqualified approval for what was only an exercise in not using long words.

stormwolf on 17-08-2011
Weather
Another example of why I love straighforward poetry that is easy to read but leaves its imprint on your heart or mind.
I enjoyed the transformation of feeling half way through and the way that you wove the feelings in the people into the fabric of the weather. Another lovely one Daff.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison. You are all being very kind.
Daff

RoyBateman on 17-08-2011
Weather
A simple idea, blending apparently random weather with human emotions (that are also out of our control), and I think it works very well because it's so accessible and immediate. Also, it says all that needs to be said - and the last line is a corker.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Roy. Last line stolen from la Belle Dame Sans Merci.

RachelLW on 17-08-2011
Weather
Very lovely. Agree with everyone above. Rachel ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thank you Rachel
Daff


The perils of Mythology (posted on: 08-08-11)
For Bluepoote's prose challenge

The priest of St George's Church in deepest Sussex rubbed his eyes, opened them again and did not believe what he saw. 'Good evening,' said the dragon, smiling amiably. 'I refuse,' said the priest, 'to acknowledge you. Please stop behaving as if you exist.' 'But I do exist. See for yourself. And if I had never existed, your patron saint would never have risen above ordinary everyday knighthood.' 'Things were different in those days, and, anyway, you're dead. The Blessed Saint George killed you.' 'He did no such thing. He ruffled my scales a bit and let out a pint or two of dragon blood, but a week or two of convalescence and I was as good as new.' 'There are no dragons these days. If there are, how come we never see any?' 'Because we were not happy with the treatment we received in these parts so we went to Wales, where they know how to treat decent dragons.' 'I don't believe in you,' said the priest, hanging on for dear life to all he'd been taught in the seminary. 'Well, you don't much believe in Wales for that matter,' said the dragon smugly. 'But it exists.' All certainties began to jumble themselves inside the priests head, and all practicalities too. What am I going to tell the bishop? Was the thought foremost in his mind. 'The truth of course,' commented the dragon, who was adept at thought reading along with his many accomplishments. What is he coming for, by the way?' 'He's going to preach.' 'What about?' 'Reality and Myth and their part in religion,' said the priest gloomily. He had been expecting tomorrow's visit and service to improve his career prospects. After all, he's always done his job conscientiously, been quite a stickler for the rules. 'Interesting,' said his visitor. 'I might stay around to listen.' He assumed a look of utter innocence, which infuriated the poor, flustered priest. 'Please,' he implored. 'Go back to Wales and let's forget all about this nightmare. The bishop just wouldn't understand. He'd probably call in an expert to exorcise you as an evil spirit.' 'Wouldn't bother me. We dragons have encountered worse things than that.' 'Well, what can I offer you to go away and get on quietly with your own affairs?' God help me, he thought in a panic, I'm actually bargaining with an evil spirit, maybe even the evil one himself. 'A virgin would be nice.' The dragon licked his chops theatrically. 'There aren't any available,' said the priest desperately. 'And anyway, that is totally immoral.' 'So is lying to your boss for your own ends.' 'Don't you think I know that? I'm on the horns of the proverbial dilemma.' 'Somewhat of a clich้,' commented the dragon. 'I'm a bit of a poet myself. I blame the environment. And by the way, we don't eat people any more, nor do we concern ourselves with purity and morality etc. That's your department.' 'Well. What will you accept? My soul?' 'By my scales! You really do think I'm Satan, don't you? You believe in him, I suppose.?' 'I don't think I believe in anything right now,' cried the priest, hoping he was delirious. 'A ha, a result!' exulted the dragon. 'Tell you what; you agree to come to the National Eisteddfod next year and give a talk about mythology ………………… in Welsh.' Anyone in a less distraught state than God's representative in rural Sussex would have seen that he had his forked tongue stuffed well into his scaly cheek. 'Anything,' muttered the priest, crossing his fingers behind his back. There was a clap of thunder, the rain descended and the dragon vanished. The priest went indoors, poured himself a large scotch and contemplated his notes for the next day and went to bed resolved to treat tomorrow as if nothing unusual at all had happened.
Archived comments for The perils of Mythology
sirat on 08-08-2011
The perils of Mythology
I enjoyed this. I think the pretentious among us would call it magical realism, but whatever it is it's entertaining. I think it starts well, and I'm quickly hooked, but I was a shade disappointed in the ending. I wanted the dragon to connect in some way with the bishop's sermon on Reality and Myth. He could be a heckler visible only to the priest, perhaps? I just wanted something to happen that would tie all the threads together and end the story with a chuckle. Otherwise, great.

Author's Reply:
Thanks David. I fully concurr on the ending. It was written in a few snatched minutes while cleaning the [very dog-hairy] house to receive a student for a week's course last night. She didn't turn up or even inform me so I'm still fuming but the house is clean. I might just as well have spent more time on the story. I'll see what I can do about an ending.

bluepootle on 08-08-2011
The perils of Mythology
This has a light touch in the dialogue and made me smile. I think it needs a polish. There are missing speech marks, and changes of tense, and too many 'and's in the last paragraph, perhaps! Also, although the dialogue is great my first reaction is that you need a bit more description of setting up front to really capture the reader.

Like David, I felt it petered out at the end. It felt like you set up a great and interesting scenario and didn't quite know what to do with it.

I enjoyed it.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Aliya. I'll edit the punctuation. And I'll try some polishing as I shall be less presed for time [see above]. As to description; I'm always afraid that if I do use it, that would be telling instead of showing -- something I'm never sure about.

franciman on 08-08-2011
The perils of Mythology
I too was hooked. Although it is a light and fantastical read, it takes you deep in places. The suggestion that simple, stout faith can be overcome by a singular vision, calls up doubt about the nature and strength of faith. The question of England's negligent benificence to Wales is also neatly handled.

I think I see the relevance of the ending. However, it is not clear and therefore becomes anti-climactic.

Overall a very enjoyable read.

Author's Reply:
Glad it hooked you, Jim, but you were a bit short changed. See above for excuse. Glad you got the Wales connection. As to the end; I'm not happy with it myself. Didn't have any ending really but had to come to a full stop and get back to work. I shall have another go when I have finished formatting a book of Welsh poems I'm goping to publish and which were also vying for my time. not my poems of course.

e-griff on 08-08-2011
The perils of Mythology
nice wee story. didn't find the end disappointing but agree it could be improved. One side-issue. I do wish there wasn't so much defensiveness/ inferiority complex shown from the Welsh side ... eg Well, you donโ€™t much believe in Wales for that matter , Blimey! If a welsh lady writes that, who IS gonna believe in it? - I believe in Australia it's called 'crying stinking fish in your own backyard' - those Aussies, eh?

Author's Reply:
Thanks Griff. When I get time, I shall probably try a little polishing along lines suggested above. I'm not Welsh except by adoption but the Welsh do make fun of themselves, quite good at doing so and at the same time having a dig at the English. And since dragons are known to live here [as well as in China], I think that excuses the use of welshness as a gimmick.

Bikerman on 08-08-2011
The perils of Mythology
Yes, it's entertaining, in a jokey way, but a bit 'so what?' To be honest, too much like a children's story for my liking.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment. Well, I do write children's stories so guilty as charges ๐Ÿ™‚

expat on 08-08-2011
The perils of Mythology
I liked it! True, it could do with some tidying but you admitted it was a rush job. I thought the ending was all right; the equivalent of little kids sticking their heads under the sheets to shield them from things they don't like (or understand).
Delightfully surreal (and not unlike some of Aliya's work).
๐Ÿ™‚ Steve

Author's Reply:
Thank you Steve. I'm flattered by both these remarks [Delightfully surreal (and not unlike some of Aliya's work)]
Daff

sunken on 10-08-2011
The perils of Mythology
Hello Ms. Daff. It's me, sunks. Enjoyed this. I've always seen a lot of untapped humourous potential in you. Sometimes I'm not even sure if you know just how funny you are. I hope that doesn't come across as offensive. It's a compliment - honest. Well done on the nib.

s
u
n
k
e
n



Author's Reply:
Hello Sunks. So glad to see you around. Really wondered what had happened to you.
Thanks for the comment and the much appreciated Bernard.
And I definitely take it as a compliment -- being funny.


UN BLANC DANS LA CONVERSATION (posted on: 27-06-11)
This was intended flor Wednesday's 'Remorse' prompt but I didn't make the deadline. Sorry.

Fear, said I, binds all humanity; Nations and individuals that dare not give enough of trust bind but themselves; Fearing to die we dare not live, and with conventions build our prison bars around humanity that could achieve the stars. Therefore let us break this craven net, stand forth from our protecting ramparts unafraid and, with understanding and compassion, not forget, in that arena by our own doubts made, that lacking all defences we might be far safer than in armed impunity All this I said, believed and must believe; It is the rock on which the tower of my being stands. I know no other creed by which to live; And so I hold with somewhat faltering hands to this my faith -- this little spark that must keep burning or my life be dark. A kindred spark you took and fanned it to a flame. Alone then in the island of its light you stood before my door and called my name. All my desperate hopes in that fire burnt bright but, afraid, I stood within my castle wall and of myself gave naught instead of all.
Archived comments for UN BLANC DANS LA CONVERSATION
RachelLW on 27-06-2011
UN BLANC DANS LA CONVERSATION
It's brilliant. And had it been entered I've no doubt you'd have got the egg this week. It's beautifully written. (Only bit I didn't get was line 3 of first stanza - 'trust bind but themselves', but maybe how it's punctuated - which is a laugh coming from me as my punctuation is shocking - or it could just be me...).

Rachel ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thank you Rachel. I was cross with myself for not posting in time when I actually had a poem and had missed so many weeks.
Nations and individualsm, that dare not give enough of trust, bind but themselves;
Does that help? {that dare not give enough of trust} is a defining clause, defining which nations and individuals, and as such shouldn't have commas. Bind is the main verb of sentence. Hope I haven't started a punctuation war ๐Ÿ™‚

franciman on 27-06-2011
UN BLANC DANS LA CONVERSATION
This is rather brilliant Teifii. Had you entered it I'm not sure I would have looked beyond it for a winner. The concept is inspiring and the language is elegant and eloquent. I liked so many of the images but -" to this my faith -- this little spark
that must keep burning or my life be dark." is my favourite.

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 27-06-2011
UN BLANC DANS LA CONVERSATION
I like this a lot, it's kind of epic, declamatory poetry to rouse crowds.

tehnically, it wavers a wee bit. Because I regard it so highly, I'm gonna go off an cogitate and come back with suggestions - does that make sense? ๐Ÿ™‚

G

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 27-06-2011
UN BLANC DANS LA CONVERSATION
I thought this was extremely beautiful and very classically written. The emotion was very stirring actually and the theme was deep and heart-felt. Then the end came so abrubtly with the sad realization that in spite of all proclaimed in the preceding verse, the opportunity slipped by unheeded. This added extra poignancy. Bravo!
Alison x

Author's Reply:

RachelLW on 27-06-2011
UN BLANC DANS LA CONVERSATION
Ha. A punctuation war. No, not with me. I'd wave my white flag within seconds. And now that you've explained it, it makes perfect sense. I'm trying to cobble together some excuses...but find I don't really have one. It was just how I read it! Rachel x

Author's Reply:

teifii on 28-06-2011
UN BLANC DANS LA CONVERSATION
Thanks everyone. Don't worry Rachel. I often find I've read something wrongly and then later it is obvious. The English teacher in me can't resist explaining.
Griff, feel free.

Author's Reply:

sunken on 28-06-2011
UN BLANC DANS LA CONVERSATION
It's all been said, Ms. Daff. It's good to see you getting the praise you deserve. I hope a Bernard won't take the shine off too much. Top stuff.

s
u
n
k
e
n



Author's Reply:

Zoya on 03-07-2011
UN BLANC DANS LA CONVERSATION
Dear Daff, Yes, we live by conventions, or rather refuse to dare to live outside conventions, only to regret it at times... Then one day the question comes and stands before us and says: "What if you had dared to let your self go and flow with your emotions, listened to your heart? Only if..." And you realise you will never know the answer... This is where remorse creeps in... And yet, you justify your action, or rather inaction, by telling yourself, you were bound by your tradition, convention, whatever, and could not have acted otherwise...
Beautifully compiled!
As always, you move me Daff...
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:


Anti Squirrel Device (posted on: 09-07-10)
I hope this is daft enough for Griff's Friday

There's a birdcage in my garden but it doesn't keep birds in or out. It's a diner with self-service and keeps a thief from sin. The thief is dressed in soft grey fur a handsome and a clever guest. He'd be welcome to a meal of nuts but not to all the rest.
Archived comments for Anti Squirrel Device
e-griff on 09-07-2010
Anti Squirrel Device
tree rats! yeuchhh! ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
I know they are pests but I quite like them when they are not stealing the bird food that takes up quite a bit of my available pennies.
Daff

stormwolf on 09-07-2010
Anti Squirrel Device
Loved it. The title gave the game away and was not needed IMO as we could deduce from the clever writing what it was.
'The thief is dressed in soft grey fur '
lovely. I adore squirrels and feed them in the Botanical Gardens here in Edinburgh. My grandchild is coming back to live in Scotland fron Holland soon, so looking forward to showing her the little thiefs ๐Ÿ˜‰
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison. Thanks for reading. I like them too -- see answer to Griff.
Have a lovely time with your grandchild.
Daff

Elfstone on 11-07-2010
Anti Squirrel Device
Well done for joining in - it's a good idea (see my comments in griff's piece). Did you mean the repeated 'but not' in the final line? Elf.

Author's Reply:
Hi Elf. Thanks for spotting that -- sheer carelessness on my part.
Daff

Ionicus on 11-07-2010
Anti Squirrel Device
I had to take my bird feeder down as the squirrels always found a clever way to get at it. I now scatter seeds on the lawn, a gesture much appreciated by the blackbirds but whereas the squirrels have vanished, big, fat pigeons have appeared.

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 12-07-2010
Anti Squirrel Device
Hi Daff - This ode could refer to some marriages! Spare a thought for our red squirrels and the latest black squirrels who may take out the grey in turn... evolution eh? mitch

Author's Reply:

RoyBateman on 12-07-2010
Anti Squirrel Device
There's no perfect way to feed the birds - we buy sunflower hearts by the sackful for our greedy little beggars, but we're lucky in that we don't get pesky squirrels. They are determined and skilful little raiders, though, and can get virtually anywhere - I can't help admiring and liking them, though the few reds I've seen (On the Isle of Wight) were even more charming!

Author's Reply:


Dovey Learns To Behave (posted on: 07-06-10)
Dovey would like it to be known that his name should be spelt Dyfi but that silly author thinks as it is in English, it is better to spell it the English way. after all he would not like to be called Diffy

Dovey Learns to Behave 'I've been training him for months but now I haven't got time to work with him,' said the farmer in the brown hat with a sheepdog on a string at his heels. The other man looked thoughtful. 'How much do you want for him?' he asked. The sheepdog wasn't taking any notice of the men. It was a warm July day and he was feeling too hot in the sun. But he was watching the sheep in the pen intently. They were hot too in their woolly coats and scared in the frantic noise of the market. Dovey didn't sympathise; he wanted to chase them. It wasn't true, what the farmer had said. He hadn't had a single lesson on the farm; he'd spent all the time in the barn. Suddenly he felt a tug on the string that was tied to his collar. 'Come on, Dovey,' said the other farmer, and the dog followed the farmer to his truck and jumped in. After some time they arrived at a farm under mountain, where they got a noisy welcome from the farm dogs. [img]http://www.meirionnydd.f9.co.uk/imag/pic6.jpg[/img] The dogs surrounded the landrover barking. 'Look what I got today,' said the farmer smugly to a woman standing by the door. 'Oh no! Not another dog,' sighed his wife. It was Friday, market day, and she never knew what her husband would bring home. 'He's very beautiful, isn't he?' said her husband, smiling broadly. Now all the dogs crowded round sniffing him. One rather ugly dog was sitting by the barn and looking at him very crossly, growling, 'Beautiful, grrrrrrrrr. I bet he's stupid' 'That's old Ben, you know,' said a young collie. 'He's not very clean but he's very clever. You must listen to him.' [img]http://www.meirionnydd.f9.co.uk/imag/pic11.jpg[/img] After supper Ben seemed a bit more friendly, and Dovey went up to him and said, 'Please, Ben, would you tell me how to work here. I want to be a really good dog.' 'Well,' said the old dog, 'you've seen the sheep in the fields, haven't you? 'Of course I've seen them, but I don't know how to work with them. Nobody has explained to me what is important.' 'Right. This is what matters. When the Boss says, ''Come by!'' you have to run straight at the sheep and bite their tails.' 'Are you sure?' asked Dovey. [img]http://www.meirionnydd.f9.co.uk/imag/pic14.jpg[/img] 'Yes, quite sure,' replied the old dog. 'And now go away. I want to sleep. It's shearing tomorrow.' 'What's shearing?' asked Dovey, but Ben was already asleep. The next morning the farmyard was busy and full of people shouting and dogs barking. And then, before long they all went together up the mountain, and there were the sheep – hundreds of them, bleating and running nervously all over the place. And then Dovey heard the words 'Come by!'. He ran after the sheep and grabbed a tail with his teeth. 'Don't !' shouted the farmer, but Dovey wasn't listening. He was too excited. After a lot of shouting and running, Dovey was caught by one of the farmer's men. He shook him, smacked him and tied him to the landrover by a rope. The other dogs were working with the sheep and Dovey had to stay in the landrover because he kept biting the rope. ' When the sheep came into the farmyard, Dovey had to sit by the shed on a chain and watch. He was very sad. That old dog lied to me,' he thought to himself. Every day for a while after that the farmer took Dovey up onto the mountain to meet the sheep again. The farmer explained to Dovey how to behave and Dovey had to work on a long string until he showed that he understood and was going to do as he was told. He paid attention and learned the rules for being an obedient sheepdog and how to work with other dogs, But for a long time he didn't talk to old Ben.
Archived comments for Dovey Learns To Behave
sunken on 08-06-2010
Dovey Learns To Behave
Hello Ms. Daff. I'll be frank, I wouldn't talk to old Ben for a while either if he pulled a trick like that on me. Did you do the pictures too, Ms. Daff? I is most impressed if you did. Dogs are very difficult to draw. I tried to draw one when I was at school once. The teacher said it was one of the best pictures of a rat that she'd seen. I hid my tears, of course, and never let on that it was actually meant to be a Labrador. Ahem. A lovely story beautifully illustrated. I hopes you get a few more comments soon.

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Author's Reply:
Hello dear Sunken. Thank you for that. Pity about your labrador. Some teachers lack imagination.
Yes, I did the pictures with a little help from a friend who drew the originals of the people and then I played about with them afterwards with computer and with pen. I find dogs much easier than people. But I swear I'll never do another story with a picture for every page. It's had me occupied for weeks. Now I am in the middle of fixing the speech bubbles for the Welsh version. It was originally in Welsh as I wrote it for the local eisteddfod and got ยฃ12.

admin on 08-06-2010
Dovey Learns To Behave
Awww, that's a lovely tale (tail) Daff. Fab pics, too!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea. Glad you liked it. Couldn't get the pics up at first as my picture store on my website had got an odd quirk after the other new site was done (courtesy of a gentleman in Scotland who was inspired to help by the pictures of collies on site as he has two himself). The quirk was that every time I tried to upload things via meirionnydd the powers that be diverted the link to merilang.com. I presume Richard did something clever to get people to go their for the sake of my income. Anyway I found a way round it.

sunken on 09-06-2010
Dovey Learns To Behave
So the illustrations are yours, Ms. Daff? Blimey. I had no idea you were an artist too. The beagle named Bernard, he say woof!

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Author's Reply:
Dyfi he say wooff too and thank you to Bernard, a bernard is always appreciated, especially by a dog.

pdemitchell on 09-06-2010
Dovey Learns To Behave
Wow, Daff! ยฃ12 from the eisteddfod! I hope you won't let the riches go to your head! The illustrations are delightful but the last paragraphs felt a little rushed compared to the preceding dialogues. A confrontation with Ben might sort that out! Why did Ben set Dyfi up? Lovely stuff. Cheers. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mitch for the suggestions. You are quite right but I got tired of it in the end [bearing in mind that I was writing in Welsh and the eisteddfod was looming] and also once I got around to the English and decided it was for kids, I decided not to make it too long and that there would be a sequel when he and Ben sort out their differences. Mind you any sequel and consequently longer version will not have a picture to every two page spread.
As for the riches -- long spent.
Daff

Romany on 11-06-2010
Dovey Learns To Behave
I knew how to say Dyfi! For my part I think you should change it back!

Anyway, your sketches are lovely and your obvious knowledge of your subject comes through in your words. I think this would make a great kid's story, although the ending didn't feel like an ending if you know what I mean? It felt a little rushed if I am totally honest, which is a shame because if it was a more rounded ending, it would, in my opinion, be a very neat little children's story, a little bit a la Dick King Smith (which believe me, is a compliment!)

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Romany. I agree about the ending but that will be sorted I hope when I get around to the next one. Part 2 will go more into Dyfi's and Ben's later doings.

wfgray on 18-06-2010
Dovey Learns To Behave
Hi there, this is the third time I have tried to put a comment on your story. Not your fault i have had comp problem. How people must envy you living in that delightful cottage being surrounded by dogs etc. Your sketches are brilliant and very informative.

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much for commenting and for persevering to do so. I do know how lucky I am, believe me. By the way, Dyfi actually lives with me and teaching him not to chase my pet sheep was not as easy as in the story. The story was true at the beginning but the rest was an fictional alternative to being dumped on me.
Daff


Readiness (posted on: 29-03-10)
Yet another spring poem. Time I started writing and posting again.

Under russet remnants of autumn's bracken the green fronds curl in readiness. In every bulb beneath the frozen earth embryo flowers plan their entrance for the annual gala. On every tree the sheathed leaves stir in their buds, sap begins to rise and chlorophyll practises the skill of turning green. Look at the lilac tree! who would think those thick black buds could hide such wild profusion of colour and scent.
Archived comments for Readiness
e-griff on 29-03-2010
Readiness
I was ready (from the first two lines) to read a 'colour' poem but not only do we have two greens, but no yellow, no blue, no brown ... a 'wild profusion'?
๐Ÿ™‚

Ah me ... (just stirring) JohnG

Author's Reply:
Hi John
Thanks for stirring. Any attention always welcome. I'm afraid the colours are still in waiting.
Daff

Bevvy on 29-03-2010
Readiness
Hi Daff,

Lovely poem. I especially liked 'embryo flowers'.
Thank goodness for spring after this chilly winter!

I've also just started writing again (after a long, long gap.)
Let's both keep going!
love,
Bev
x

Author's Reply:
Hello Bevvy, nice to see you back. Glad you liked the poem. As for spring -- don't count your chickens. We are promised snow again over the next few days so the bulbs etc had better stay coiled. On Thursday I have to keep a hospital appointment in one direction in the morning and then a poetry reading in the opposite direction in the evening. What's the betting that is when the snow will arrive.
Yes, you're right. We must both get on with the writing.
Daff

stormwolf on 29-03-2010
Readiness
Just lovely. There is colour movement and form in the delightful images here. I saw it all like a disney cartoon if you know what I mean or maybe a lovely painting.
The sort of poem that gladdens the heart.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Storm. Thank you for reading. Now you've made me see it like a cartoon.
Daff

sunken on 31-03-2010
Readiness
Hello lovely Ms. Daff. I hope you're not snowed in and stuff. It's good to see you subbing again. You and Andrea are like the grannies of the site. It's really lovely. Tip top stuff, as ever. Good luck with your travelling plans.

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Author's Reply:
Hello Sunks. Nice to know I am an honorary granny.
Travelling was OK. Hectic day as i had to run the dogs down the lane and then shut them up while I went to Llandudno -- snow on hills but roads were OK. Then home, feed dogs and ducks and set off with dogs, run through forest [dogs not me] and drive to Aberteifi. Home by 1 am. Don't think I'll do it again unless Emma is available for dogs so I can stay over at Ceridwen. Like a wet rag today.
Daff

pdemitchell on 31-03-2010
Readiness
A passable short stab at a homage to Spring thankfully free of O, sylvan glades and bouncing bunnies. My favourite so far and shows you're willing to try new forms. More please! Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mitch for your comment. Have to admit my new book does have bunnies on the cover but that's because the author, Daudet, began with the words, 'It was the rabbits that were surprised.' So my translation does indeed have bunnies on the cover.
Daff

sybarite on 07-01-2011
Readiness
Oh! This is lovely. I could smell the lilacs. "Embryo flowers" is fabulous.

Author's Reply:
How nice. A comment in the new year to remind me that there was spring last year. Thanks for reading. Glad you could smell the lilac.
Daff


WISPY AND THE WITCH'S DRAWERS (posted on: 28-08-09)
This is the full length version of my entry for Griff's challenge. It wasn't too happy being shortened. I always keep the long version for future use when I edit stories for the flash challenge. Now I have to paint some illustrations that include witch's knickers.

'A collie at the back door, Wisp,' called the poet. Wispy stuck her head out of the dog flap. 'I'm Majyk. I belong to the Witch of the Mountain,' announced the other dog. 'I need your help.' 'Witches have cats, not dogs,' said Wispy. 'The Witch of the Mountain has always been rather eccentric, even for a witch, and she picked me because I'm all black.' 'OK, I suppose you're telling the truth. How can I help?' 'The witch has lost her drawers and she's flaming mad.' 'You can't lose drawers. They're always in a chest-of-drawers.' 'Not that sort of drawers,' yelped the black collie. 'Knickers.' 'She should be wearing them.' 'She's got two pairs. These are her broomstick-riding drawers. She can't fly without them.' 'Well, I'll do my best to help. How did she lose them?' 'She washed them and hung them on the line between the oak trees and they just vanished. She's really hopping mad.' 'Hmmm, we'd better go and ask Mrs Beetroot if she's found any new rags for her floor washing. She's the farmer's wife and she's always washing floors because Mr Beetroot keeps coming indoors in his wellies.' So off they went to the farm. Mrs Beetroot was scrubbing the front step and wiping it with a big green cloth. They explained their problem and asked if they could see all her floorcloths. There were a lot of them, including three pairs of knickers. 'No, not those, said Majik. They're about three times baggier and made of lots of bits of cloth all different colours.' 'Patchwork' said Mrs Beetroot. 'Now I come to think of it, I did se the raven flying past yesterday evening with something big and brightly coloured hanging from his beak. Do you know where to find him?' 'Doesn't he have a nest on that steep cliff near the top of the mountain?' said Majyk. 'Yes, that's right. I have a friend who lives quite near him,' said Wispy. So they thanked Mrs Beetroot and set off again. They were pretty tired by the time they reached the cliff and sat down for a little rest. Then they started climbing carefully up. At last they reached the ledge and there was Mrs Raven sitting on a nest of twigs mixed with bits of cloth and old clothes. And there were the witch's drawers. 'What are you two doing up here?' croaked Mrs Raven. So they explained. 'My husband brought me those last night to make the nest more comfy,' she said. Majyk whimpered plaintively. 'My boss is wrecking the house looking for them.' 'All right, you can take them,' said Mrs Raven, feeling sorry for the poor little dog. She threw the knickers down from the ledge and Wispy and Majyk slid down and picked them up. They ran all the way down the slippery paths to the witch's hut and found her throwing things out of all her cupboards in a terrible rage. 'Woof,' barked Majyk. Look what we've got. But I think they need another wash. They've had quite an adventurous time. The Witch of the Mountain was so happy to have her drawers back that she gave the dogs an enormous bone each. The bones were so big that Wispy had to stay and chew hers there with Magyk.
Archived comments for WISPY AND THE WITCH'S DRAWERS
Romany on 28-08-2009
WISPY AND THE WITCHโ€™S DRAWERS
I think this would be great for kids with lots of brightly coloured pictures, th eonly thing I suggest you might need to add is some sort of message or moral - there has to be a point to children's stories I think. Nothing heavy or too lecturing, just something about taking thing without asking, or how to forgive, or sharing success. Even a single sentence would suffice, or a line of speech to round it off, if you know what I mean? Anyway, colourful and th ekids would find anything to do with knickers amusing!

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thank you dear Romany for a helpful comment. It is indeed supposed to have illustrations but I am just now getting around to that. Have been busy with publishing matters and also with painting a cover picture for one of my own. That's done now but did it on A3 and my scanner is A4 so next thing after bank holiday is to find somewhere to scan it.
As to a moral for the tale, trouble is that there are lots and I can't really add one to each. I think kids will have to take what they can from them.
Daff

sunken on 30-08-2009
WISPY AND THE WITCHโ€™S DRAWERS
Lol. Hello Ms. Daff. I must be a big kid I suppose. I loved this. My fave section has to be -

โ€˜The witch has lost her drawers and sheโ€™s flaming mad.โ€™
โ€˜You canโ€™t lose drawers. Theyโ€™re always in a chest-of-drawers.โ€™
โ€˜Not that sort of drawers,โ€™ yelped the black collie. โ€˜Knickers.โ€™
โ€˜She should be wearing them.โ€™
โ€˜Sheโ€™s got two pairs. These are her broomstick-riding drawers. She canโ€™t fly without them.โ€™

People shouldn't be put off by the 'Kids Stories' tag. I've read a few now I've enjoyed. I don't know what that says about me tho (-; This is one of the best I've read in this genre. Bernard is mad with me for keeping him so busy, especially over a bark holiday weekend, but it's hardly my fault that uka's had a strong stream of subs. Well done, Ms. Daff. A tip top read and no mistake.

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Author's Reply:
Thank you Sunkie and Bernard too. I too am a big kid, in fact I think I'm reverting to childhood in my old age. But then I never grew out of fairy stories.
Daff

shackleton on 30-08-2009
WISPY AND THE WITCHโ€™S DRAWERS
Enjoyed the read, Daffs. Probably 'cos I'm a bit of a big kid meself.

Author's Reply:
Me too. Glad you liked it. After all, if the 'big kids' like it, hopefully so will little kids.
Daff


Wispy and the Lost Bear (posted on: 18-05-09)
This is the full length version of my last week's flash challenge entry.

Wispy and the poet were coming back from a walk to the village. Sitting by the roadside was little boy, sobbing bitterly. 'What's up?' asked the poet. 'I've lost my bear. Some big boys threw him out of the bus window and now I can't find him anywhere.' 'Leave it to me,' said Wispy. She sniffed the little boy, pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and ran off towards the farm. The poet took the little boy into the cottage for a cup of chocolate. When she got to the farm, she went straight to the barn where her friends lived. There were three of them, all collies, and they all worked on the farm, but just now they were off duty. 'I need your help, she said. Have a sniff at this,' and she dropped the hanky on the barn floor. 'Somewhere there is a lost bear and he smells like this.' 'Where do we start? 'asked old Shep. 'Probably somewhere along the school bus route, but we'd better split up and do different bits of the road between the village and the school.' Quick as flash they all ran off. Fly was the fastest so she ran straight to the school. Shep took the short lane by the farm as he couldn't run so far as the others. Once they were in position they all put down their noses and concentrated. They didn't just look by the side of the road because they thought the nasty boys could probably throw quite a long way and the country lanes had thick hedges and fences with lots of wild flowers growing along them. That's why they needed their noses more than their eyes. Wispy was checking the edge of the woods when she heard a sudden barking from quite near the farm. 'That's Shep's voice.' As she ran towards the farm. Fly and Pip caught her up and they all ran together. Soon they saw Shep. He was pointing with a paw at a very steep bank. 'Can't see anything,' said Pip, who was not very old. 'But use your nose, you silly dog,' said Shep. And they all sniffed. 'Up there,' said Shep. You go, Wispy. You're good at climbing because of all the mountain walks you go on with the poet. So up she went, and stuck in a bush at the top of the bank, there was the bear. She pulled him free, thanked her friends and ran back to the cottage with the bear in her mouth. The little boy was sitting in the kitchen with the poet. Tears were still running down his face. Wispy ran up to him and sat, holding the bear up to him The little boy stopped crying and his eyes shone. 'My bear, my bear! He's back and he's safe,' he shouted and took the bear from Wispy's mouth. 'Oh you are a clever little dog. How ever did you find him?' 'With a little help from my friends,' said Wispy and went to get a drink as all that running and sniffing had made her very thirsty. She looked at the empty chocolate mug but the poet said, 'Wispy, have some water. You know chocolate is very bad for dogs. Then we must take little Tommy here home or his mother will be worried out of her mind.' So they all set off together for the village and Tommy's mother made tea and gave them buttered scones. Wispy got two scones, one that the poet gave her and another that Tommy slipped under the table for her because he and his bear were so grateful.
Archived comments for Wispy and the Lost Bear
Sunken on 18-05-2009
Wispy and the Lost Bear
Hello Ms. Daff. It's me, sunks. I guess I'm just a big kid at heart. When I read stuff like this it makes me wish I had kiddies. This feeling soon passes though when I see my neighbour's little brats causing mayhem (-;
A very sweet little write and no mistake. If I get pregnant in the next week it will be your fault. Talk about broody...

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Author's Reply:

Jolen on 18-05-2009
Wispy and the Lost Bear
A charming little story, Daff, you make it look so easy. I admire you for being able to give us so much in such few words. These appeal to all of us, for different reasons, I think.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

teifii on 19-05-2009
Wispy and the Lost Bear
Thank you all for reading and the kind comments. Sunks, I shall feel terribly guilty if you get pregnant. You could just get a teddy I suppose -- less trouble than either kids or dogs.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Elfstone on 19-05-2009
Wispy and the Lost Bear
"Wispy" is just the right name! There is a delightful Victorian feel to these little stories. Kids must love them! Elf

Author's Reply:
Thanks Elf. The stories are in a halfway state as they are waiting for me to do illustrations. Was about to start but been ill for two weeks. Think I may have a go today.at least one can draw sitting down but it needs some mental energy.
The original story began as a poem 'The Filigree Sheepdog'. Then had a prose version when I needed an entry for the flash challenge one week. Of course all the flash versions are greatly cut but I store the uncut versions and at least I get pushed into writing more. Wispy was real and lived with me [she appears in 'And Thereby Hangs a Tale'. But the poet is real too and although she never lived with him he did give her her nickname of the filigree sheepdog. 'Wispy' was because she was grey and only half sizes -- a little wisp. The poet used to call her the filigree sheepdog except if she misbehaved. When she ate the box he wanted to put my computer in, he said, 'Look what your whippet's done!'.

macaby on 21-05-2009
Wispy and the Lost Bear
A delightfull story. All kids love teddy bears, I'm sure they would like this story also. mac

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mac. Must start doing the pictures.
Daff


A DREAM COME TRUE (posted on: 20-04-09)
This is the English version of my Welsh piece about finding my house -- No, Sunkie, I had not mislaid it.

A DREAM COME TRUE In 1956 I was working in Shropshire and I went to Wales for five days because I wanted to see some mountains for the first time in my life. I got a train from Shrewsbury to Porthmadog. The train was called the Cambrian Coast Express and it took five hours to reach Porthmadog, but every moment was lovely. From Porthmadog I walked to Capel Curig and I fell in love with Wales the moment I saw Moel Siabod. Ever since then I used to come to Wales whenever I had three days together - one day to drive there, one to stay and one to drive back. In 1985 I was at last able to move to Wales and I wrote to every estate agent in North Wales to find a house with a little bit of land. I wanted a stream too because I had a dream of keeping ducks and that is hard work without running water. Most estate agents ignored my request for a stream, perhaps because I did not have enough cash to spend. Some estate agents sent publicity for houses with gardens and a trout stream for three times the money I had. I threw these straight in the waste-paper basket and did not expect to get a stream. At last I came with a friend for four days to look at all the houses I had collected. All Friday and Saturday we drove and looked at houses. The only two houses that I really liked were on top of mountains without a road or even a proper track to them, so it would have been impossible for me to live there alone as I grew old. On Saturday evening we were in the village of Croesor at 8 o'clock before we realised that we were nearly out of petrol. As every garage was closed I said we should find somewhere to spend the night. My friend said, 'Go back down to the main road and turn left and you'll be on the road to Dolgellau. We can spend the night there.' She was right and as we drove a nuclear power station, she asked what it was. I had seen the power station from across the lake at Trawsfynydd but form the main road it looks different, and worse. I was puzzling about what it could be and was driving very slowly. So I saw the sign for Trawsfynydd. 'Ah,' I exclaimed, 'Now I know where we are. This village has a garage and a nice pub that does supper as well as bed and breakfast. All our troubles are over.' We went into the pub and ordered supper. While they were preparing our food we sat at the bar to look at the pieces of paper and decide where to go the next day. It was obvious what we were doing and someone asked me if I had found anything yet. Then someone asked what sort of house I wanted. The conversation was quite casual and I just described my dream house. 'I'd like a house on its own but not right away from everyone, built of stone, old. It doesn't matter what size or condition, as long as I can afford to buy it and live in it and a garden isn't important but with a bit of land, any rough bit of land will do, in sight of the mountains, not far from a river and, if possible, with a stream.' An impossible dream! 'A friend of mine is selling a house like that,' said the woman behind the bar. 'I'll phone him.' And that is how I bought Bodyfuddau. It means everything to me. I've lived here now for fourteen years. I have very friendly neighbours, two sheepdogs and lovely ducks. I live in Paradise.
Archived comments for A DREAM COME TRUE
cat on 20-04-2009
A DREAM COME TRUE
An old stone house, mountains and a stream - sounds like paradise to me. A charming write and read.

Love Catherine x

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Cat, It is indeed paradise. Of course I'm biased.
Daff

RachelLW on 20-04-2009
A DREAM COME TRUE
I agree with cat. Very charming. It brought a tear to my eye. Am oddly lacrimose at the moment! I thought this was a lovely tale and nice to know it's true too! Rachel ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Oh dear, Rachel. I had no intent of reducing you to tears. Hope you feel more cheerful too.
Yes indeed it's true and I still live here.
Daff

Sunken on 21-04-2009
A DREAM COME TRUE
So glad you found your house, ms. Daff. It's a bugger when that happens. I've last mine once or twice. It usually happens after one too many drinks and no mistake. I'm glad you translated this. My Welsh is terrible. Here's what I know - Leeks, Tom Jones, Gavin and Stacey, Catatonia and The Manic Street Preachers. All in all, Wales seems pretty damn cool to me. A lovely piece and no mistake. I'm wondering how old you were in 1956. I realise that it is very rude to ask a lady her age, so I won't. I'm glad you found your paradise. Have I told you lately that I love ya? Well I do! And I don't care who knows it (-; I know what will happen now. People will just think I'm after your abode. Well they'd be wrong! Ahem. It's your ducks that I want (-; Take care Ms. Daff.

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Author's Reply:
Hi Sunkie. Perhaps you should have yours microchipped in case it strays again. I think mine is too firmly attached to a bit of mountain to go anywhere.


Just did the maths for 1956 and find I was 22. As you can now calculate, I'm getting on a bit.


I told the ducks about you and they were chuffed and said if you were nearer they'd give you an egg.


http://www.meirionnydd.force9.co.uk/daf.blog/ducks.snow.htm



Daff

Sunken on 21-04-2009
A DREAM COME TRUE
I meant to say 'I've lost mine once or twice'. Thank you. I hope this helps. Good day. Hello?

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Author's Reply:

e-griff on 21-04-2009
A DREAM COME TRUE
You do indeed!!! ๐Ÿ™‚

bless.

Coincidentally, it's 14 years since we discovered this little house in France, and this, similarly, is OUR paradise (despite the green and red blooded life invading us).

The weather is now getting fine enough to dine outside. But I also like it in winter when the storms roll in from the Atlantic and hammer at us.

Author's Reply:
Your house sounds lovely, Griff. I like the winter storms too but am not right by the sea. There as a small mountain or two between me and the coast. Trawsfynydd actually means across the mountain [from Harlech]. Men who worked all their lives in Harlech when it was an important port in the middle ages, used to ask to be taken back across the mountain to be buried.
I can't remember where exactly your house is. Does the country around smell of thyme in summer?
Daff

e-griff on 21-04-2009
A DREAM COME TRUE
well, we are at least 50 miles inland, but the land to the west (the Vendee) is low lying, and apart from one ridge, we are the first high ground, so we get the lot, esp as it rises behind us (all granite round here) to the Gatine (the land of lakes - apple growing country) where the two sevres (as in Deux-Sevres) start (Sevre Nantaise and Sevre Niortaise).

Around us it's cattle farming and some goats (which you don't see) and ducks (fields full of them sitting - the french eat a lot of ducks), so the smell is often, er cowshit.

there are many smells on the wind though, that are more pleasant. On summer eveings, around 9 o'clock, a moist 'green' breeze flows down over the garden as the cold air sinks ... it comes all of a sudden....

and the stars BLAZE!

I'm sitting in my wee cabin now, the birds twittering, an occasional 'farming' noise, sky outside blistering blue, colours vibrant,just an odd car passing, the dandelions growing .... damn. must get the little tractor out!

off to the supermarche soon. do the shopping, then to the bar for a beer or a coffee (best coffee around - honest), then back in me cabin. Loads of things I should be doing (burning cuttings, clearing garden, cleaning patio, painting stuff ...) but I'm lazy. Not warm enough yet maybe (and hopefully, soon it will be 'too hot')

Author's Reply:
Loads of things I should be doing (burning cuttings, clearing garden, cleaning patio, painting stuff ...)

Don't remind me.
It all sounds absolutely beautiful. I love France.
Daff


Letters From My Mill (posted on: 09-02-09)
There seems to be no category for translation [by the way what's the difference between genre and category?]. This is my translation of Alphonse Daudet's Lettres de Mon Moulin, a book of which I managed to read a couple of pages at school and promptly fell in love with the French language. I has only been translated one in, I think the 1920s and has long been out of print. Now my dilemma is: do I publish it myself by Merilang press or do i try to interest a publisher? It is a pretty famous book.

MOVING IN     It was the rabbits that were surprised ... For so long had they seen the door of the mill closed, the walls and the platform invaded by weeds, that they had come to believe that the race of millers was extinct, and, having taken a liking to the place, had made of it a kind of strategic headquarters, a rabbit mill of the Jemappes … On the night of my arrival there were, without a word of a lie, at least a score of them sitting in a circle on the platform and warming their paws in the moonlight. … I had barely the time to half open a window when, woosh! the whole troop decamped, all their little white behinds scurrying, tails up, into the bushes. I hope they come back. Someone else who was astonished to see me was the first floor lodger, a sinister old owl with the pensive expression of a philosopher, who had inhabited the mill for twenty years. I found him upstairs, sitting motionless and upright on the mill shaft surrounded by rubble and fallen tiles. A round eye regarded me for a moment; then, alarmed at not recognising me, he began to shout, ''Hoo, hoo!'' and to shake his grey, dusty wings painfully. These wretched philosophers – they never brush their clothes! Never mind! Such as he is, with his blinking eyes and his sulky expression, I liked this silent lodger more than any other, and I made haste to renew his tenancy. As before he keeps the whole of the upstairs of the mill with an entrance through the roof, and I have reserved for myself the ground floor, a small whitewashed room, low and vaulted like a monastery refectory. It is from there that I am writing to you with my door wide open letting in the good sun. In front of me a small wood of sparkling pine trees tumbles down to the bottom of the slope. On the horizon the delicate peaks of the Alps cut into the sky... No noise... Just faintly from afar the notes of a flute, a curlew over the lavender fields, the bell of some mules on the road... All this beautiful Provencal countryside lives and breathes light. You think I miss your noisy, dark Paris? This is exactly what I was looking for, a warm, scented patch of land, a thousand miles from newspapers, hackney carriages, fog!.. And what objects of beauty around me! It is scarcely a week since I moved in and already my head is overflowing with impressions and memories. Only last night I watched the flocks being brought down from the mountain to a farm at the bottom of the hill, and I can assure you that I would not exchange that sight for all the first night that you have attended this week in Paris. Just imagine. I have to tell you that in Provence it is customary, when the hot weather arrives, to send the flocks up into the Alps. The animals and people spend five or six months up there, sleeping under the stars in the lush grass; then at the first touch of autumn they come back down to the farm and return to grazing comfortably on the little grey, rosemary-scented hills... So yesterday the flocks were coming home. From first thing in the morning the farm gate was wide open, the sheep barns were full of fresh hay. Hour by hour they said, ''Now they're at Eygui่res, now at Paradou." Then suddenly, towards evening, a great shout: ''There they are!'' and down there in the distance we see the flock approaching in a glory of dust. All the track seems to be walking with them The old rams come first, looking fierce with their prominent horns; behind them the main flock of sheep, the ewes rather weary, their lambs at their feet; the mules with their red pompoms carrying panniers with day old lambs that they rock as they walk; then the dogs, all sweaty, with their tongues hanging right to the ground, and two great rascals of shepherds in rough woollen red cloaks that reached their heels. All this files happily past us and is swallowed up by the gateway, their many feet pattering like heavy rain... The commotion in the house has to be seen to be believed. From their high perch the great green and gold peacocks with gauzy crests have recognised the homecomers and greet them with a raucous trumpet blast. The poultry run, which has been asleep, wakes up with a jolt. They are all on their feet: pigeons, ducks, turkeys, guinea fowl. The hen house has gone mad; the hens are talking of making a night of it! It seems that each sheep has brought back in its wool, along with a wild alpine scent, a little of that lively mountain air that intoxicates and leads to dancing. In the midst of all this the flock reached its shelter. There is nothing so charming as this settling in. The old rams get quite sentimental on seeing their nursery again. The tiny lambs, those who were born on the journey and have never seen the farm, look around with astonishment. But the most touching of all is to see the dogs, those brave sheepdogs, all busy with their animals and seeing that they are at the farm. The guard dog can call them from his kennel: the bucket at the well full of fresh water can signal to them: they don't want to see anything, hear anything, until the livestock is home, the great bolt closed on the little latticed gate and the shepherds sitting at table in the low room. Then and then only so they consent to go to their kennels and there, lapping their pans of soup, they tell their farmyard friends what they have done up there on the mountain, a dark countryside where there are wolves and tall purple foxgloves full of dew right to their edges.
Archived comments for Letters From My Mill
e-griff on 09-02-2009
Letters From My Mill
this is cute, and certainly deserves to be seen

I found it interesting. and it set me off thinking ...

How far does 'translation' go? Do you attempt to keep a flavour of the original language? Of course, it seems fitting to keep the tone of the original writer (as you do when editing in english), but what if the style in the original language is not one familiar to the translation reader?

I have to say there are a number of phrases and constructions in this which don't sit well, whether it's the translation following a non-english structure or the old-fashioned ness of the original, I don't know.

eg: For so long had they seen the door of the mill closed, the walls and the platform invaded by weeds, that they...

of course, for some such unusual phrasing might be appealing ...


Phew, it's a tricky subject ...

Author's Reply:
Hi Griff,
Thanks for paying attention to my efforts.
I think one does need to keep a flavour of the original, both language and writer, but obviously not enough to sound translated. I'm talking here of prose as I think with poetry it is necessary to write a new poem and then deciding what if any of the original format should be used is really tricky.
Here I think the flavour is essential.
>>but what if the style in the original language is not one familiar to the translation reader? <<
Well the style is very very familiar to me, but that doesn't mean I am necessarily always going to be right. I don't see anything wring with the sentence you quote above. It's how I would write it even if I were not translating but I know you do think that I sometimes use less than modern language.
I looked with interest at the version you sent me by email and it reads well, but as you have not highlighted anything, short of reading both in parallel text, I can't really make out all changes.
I agree that the ways and means of translation would indeed make a good topic.
Daff
PS just removed a typo [superfluous 'in' ]

Sunken on 12-02-2009
Letters From My Mill
Blimey. This has you written all over it, Ms. Daff. I would have sworn that you had written it rather than translated it. Tell me, do you prefer animals to people? Some people do ya know? I've been called a dirty dog a few times, so I might be in with a chance (-;

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he knows the secret ingredient to shredded wheat

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sunky. I find that most flattering as I think it sounds like Daudet and I fell in love with his language many years ago.
As to animals -- yes, to a lot of people anyway. I like a lot of people but practically all animals.
As to shredded wheat. I have always considered it should be goat food.
Daff


COVENTRY CATHEDRAL (posted on: 12-01-09)
Written back in 1960s after a visit there

A torn cross of crucified metal Like the twisted girders of a city seared with war Stands in silent serenity. There is no figure on it; The pain is not individual Nor is it long ago. Outside, with a trust that is undeserved, The ruins of the old reach out to touch the new; Forgiveness in stone, Raised by the hands of men Perhaps in the half knowledge That no longer can we say, "We know not what we do." Here man himself has risen again, Knowing and defying all the inhumanities That man inflicts on man. These stark walls testify to truth, to hope. Kneel not, pilgrim; Here one can worship standing up.
Archived comments for COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
cat on 12-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
Hi teifii,
You paint your picture with words so beautifully, esp like
'no longer can we say...' Will most certianly be looking through your work, if that's ok?
c x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Cat, and of course it is more than OK.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Mezzanotte on 12-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
I loved the image of "crucified metal",
and the old reaching out to touch the new.

A lovely poem.
I hope you've done something else with it, and it hasn't been sitting in a file for forty-odd years. That would be a shame indeed.

Jackie

Author's Reply:
Thank you Jackie for your kind comment.
It did sit for a long time as before I found UKA I never really knew how to get published so didn't try. I think other parts of life were distracting me. But it has since been published in Reach magazine and maybe elsewhere as I can't remember. I really should keep better records.
Those two lines were where it started. the 'reach out' bit was occasioned by one lacy archway that still stood and was almost touching the new walls. I assume it still does.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Yutka on 12-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
A timeless, inspirational poem. It is so good you dug it out. Forgiveness is a key to hope.
Yutka:)

Author's Reply:
Thank you Yutka. It is indeed but looking round the world today, there isn't a lot of it.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Sunken on 12-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
Hello Ms. Daff. It's me, sunks. A fine piece and no mistake. Well done on the nib.

s
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Liverpool 2 - cadburys cream egg 4

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunky. Course it's you. Who else would sign off
'Liverpool 2 - cadburys cream egg 4' Glad you liked it.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Ania on 12-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
I loved this. Having visted Coventry Cathedral some 40 years ago myself on a school trip, I rember how impressed I was with it especially the old/new aspect, so I think you summed up the whole concept really neatly.

Ania

Author's Reply:
Thank you Ania, glad you liked it.
Daff

royrodel on 12-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
Never been to Coventry
and as for the church side of it, well enuff said.
the line "the twisted girders of a city seared with war"
puts me in mind of the blitz, but that's just me trying to read this in my way .

RODEL

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading it anyway, Roy. I'm not into church myself either but there is something about that building that speaks of humanity as much as religion.
As to the blitz reference: it isn't just you, I meant it that way and so, I'm sure, did the architect. Coventry was well and truly blitzed.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Andrea on 12-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
You got it right, Roy - Coventry (and the cathedral) was bombed flat in WW11, (14th Nov 1940) like Rotterdam was. The new St Michael's, was built around the ruined shell of the old one.

Fantastic pome Daff.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Andrea. Bit late but I think I missed your comment while otherwise engaged ๐Ÿ™‚
Daff

VOTE FOR MY SPRING FEVER POEM
My poem is competing in the Spring Fever poetry contest.
Your comments and vote would be appreciated! because apparently you have to get enough votes to get to the judge later. http://writelink.co.uk/springfever/entryDetail.php?id=9

RoyBateman on 13-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
This site is a genuinely moving one, even for a humanist like me. I've been there many times since I was a kid - my dad, who lived in Bilston, remembered standing on the front doorstep with his dad watching the glow in the sky and wondering where had copped it so badly. And Coventry has to be around 30 miles away. There are aspects of the new building that I've never been sure about, especially that monster tapestry, but the acoustics are - amazingly - superb. I once saw a visiting Norwegian (I guess...) choir just drop their duffel bags and do an impromptu vocal version of Grieg's "Last Spring" in there. It was stunning, and brings a lump to the throat even now. Great poem, well-deserved nib.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Roy. Although I'm not religious, the chapels were one aspect that moved me. And we came out of the last one opposite the blue and gold window /wall just as the sun was rising and watched the wall change with the sun. Something I'll never forget.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

macaby on 13-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
after reading the poem i had the impression that there was a anti war theme running through the poem as well. due to these lines." the pain is not individual". " nor is it long ago" "outside with a trust that is undeserved" " we no not what we do ". i wasn't sure if the cathedral was bombed or not during the war so went and goolged coventry cathederal, i saw a picture of w. churchill standing in the ruins after the blitz and i thought i was right . was i ? nice work i enjoyed the read.




Author's Reply:
Hi Macaby
Yes, you were right. It was bombed indeed. along with a large part of Coventry. And there is an anti war them implied in the poem and I suppose probably in the cathedral too, although I think it's main theme is forgiveness.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Bradene on 15-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
This is wonderful Daff. I remember going to Coventry when I was about 8 with my friend and her Mum and Dad, it was an unforgettable experience. So much ruined and so much going on. I never did get back to see the New Cathedral, but I always meant to some day. Perhaps soon. Love Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val. Yes, you really should. But don't, like me, leave it till you are half a country away and no transport [mental patients driving licences are invalid, so I hitched.]
Daff

reckless on 24-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
This is very fine. I like the descriptions, so well written, and also the messages it gives. Thought provoking.

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much, Reckless.
Daff

uppercase on 27-01-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
wonderful read it's like a painting come to life...erma

Author's Reply:
Thanks Erma. What a lovely comment.
Daff

artisus on 05-02-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
Wow, Daff, an Excellent poem.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Nic. I appreciate that. And many thanks for the nomination, which I asume was you.
Daff

artisus on 06-02-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
No Daff, it was somebody else who nominated it, which I would have done too, so I totally agree with him/her. I simply made it a favourite read.

Author's Reply:
Ah well, thank you anyway, Nic. And thank you to whoever it was.
Daff

Jolen on 14-02-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
This gave me chills and I am thrilled to see that it was both nibbed and nominated. Its rich imagery is enhanced by the beautiful statement in your ending.

Beautifully done, Daff.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Jolen. I'm glad you enjoyed it. That ending was quite a late version.
Daff

orangedream on 26-03-2009
COVENTRY CATHEDRAL
A beautiful poem, Teifi. Have just stumbled on it - metaphorically speaking, of course.

Deserves all its accolades and more.

Tina x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Tina. Hope you didn't graze your metaphorical knees.
Daff


Good Fences Make Good Neighbours (posted on: 15-12-08)
I think I've posted this before but I read it last night at Theatr Fach and that decided me to put it up now. I seem to have been neglecting posting here because I get caught up in the weekly challenge.

Beware, says my neighbour, of Welshmen bearing gifts. His trailer stands outside my gate precipitously full of fence posts, past their sell by date but fine for fuel. While we unload the wood our sheepdogs fraternise, sharing smells around the yard, smells that Mot knows well, for several times a year he leaves his kennel by the farmyard fence and brings his bowl and takes up residence. That night I stoke the fire and sit up late, contemplate the flames and think, 'Even old fences make good neighbours'.
Archived comments for Good Fences Make Good Neighbours
Corin on 15-12-2008
Good Fences Make Good Neighbours
LOL - Great ending Daffni.

David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

barenib on 15-12-2008
Good Fences Make Good Neighbours
Daff - I love the atmosphere that this creates and, as often with your poems, end up feeling jealous of your rural aspects! The central idea of this is excellent - the idea that a fence can be used to unite, rather than divide and makes for an enjoyable poem - John.

Author's Reply:
Thanks John. Sorry to make you jealous but it is lovely -- bit soggy today.
The fence idea is originally Robert Frost's but his poem is about walking the fence with his neighbour. It a;ways amkes me smile as the neighbour, if I remember rightly, has cattle and Frost has apple trees so they are not in danger from each other.

Sunken on 16-12-2008
Good Fences Make Good Neighbours
Does your dog really pick up his bowl and move into your house of his own accord, Ms. Daff? He sounds quite clever. I do believe that you could be right with regards to wooden posts. I feel as if I might get more sense from them sometimes. Anyway, must dash. I need to throw a neighbour onto the fire before it goes out (-; Enjoyed the poem and no mistake.

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Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky.
It was my neighbour's dog, and I must admit that it was poetic licence and a metaphorical bowl. But he did come for his holidays and his boss brought his bowl.
Thank you very much for the Bernard.
Daff

Munster on 17-12-2008
Good Fences Make Good Neighbours
Hi Mot obviously needs a break too, nice poem I enjoyed the read Tony

Author's Reply:
Thank you Tony. Mot did use to enjoy his holidays but he's herding sheep in the sky now. Died suddenly [very old] last year while eating his dinner. A happy way to go.
I used to feed him in his kennel and exercise him but found it easier to bring him here. First time I did it I left a message signed MOT saying 'spending my holidays at Bodyfuddau.' I chap with a caravan in Gareth's field turned up to pay his rent and asked for Mr Williams. I said he'd be at the bungalow but was still away. Very puzzled look and then, 'But there is a message saying he's spending holidays here'. I think he thought I was quite mad when I explained that the message was left by the dog.

niece on 18-12-2008
Good Fences Make Good Neighbours
I wanted to see your take on "good fences", Daff and loved what I read...Lovely poem!

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Thank you Niece. Glad you liked it.
Daff

freya on 18-12-2008
Good Fences Make Good Neighbours
Daffni: what a lovely picture of Welsh countryside and neighborly contentment you conjure up in this poem! Except for your great love of and belief in magic where animals are concerned though, I don't think you really need the line about Mot bringing his bowl. The poem works just as well without it, maybe better in that your reader isn't even momentarily distracted by wondering 'how that could be', and instead focuses on the importance of what you are saying.

I love the little details of speech and action which tell us so much about your neighbor, and especially the image of you sat stoking the fire, reflecting on your friendship with him. Masterful touches. Shelagh ๐Ÿ˜‰

Author's Reply:

teifii on 19-12-2008
Good Fences Make Good Neighbours
Thank you Shelagh. Glad you liked the picture. I know he didn't really bring the bowl but I like the whimsy. It wasn't meant to be a serious deep poem.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Author's Reply:

uppercase on 19-12-2008
Good Fences Make Good Neighbours
Very nice and comfortable feeling in this poem. I enjoyed reading it...erma

Author's Reply:
Thank you Erma. Nice to see you back.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm


THE BIRCH TREE (posted on: 22-09-08)
A translation from the Russian of Sergei Esenin

Through my window The birch tree Dusted with snow Is a silver filigree. Ice tassels dangle in a white fringe from every snow-bespangled twig. And the birch tree sleeps In a silence of snow While snowflakes Burn in a golden glow and grey dusk descending at leisurely pace sprinkles the branches with new silver lace.
Archived comments for THE BIRCH TREE
Bradene on 22-09-2008
THE BIRCH TREE
A lovely picture of Winter, It's great in the minds eye, but the reality is not so pleasant to me I dislike winter and find it a chore to get through, I should have been born on a balmy dessert Island paradise preferably with a hunky man for company.. Ha! in my dreams Daff. Super work. Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading, Val. Bit unkind to remind you of what's coming. Mind you, that's a Russian winter. I suppose ours will be as wet as the summer was. Fortunately, living where I do, I quite like rain.
Daff

artisus on 22-09-2008
THE BIRCH TREE
Yes a very lovely picture of winter!

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading, Nic. Glad you liked it. I suppose it's hardly the right season yet.
Daff

Sunken on 25-09-2008
THE BIRCH TREE
Blimey Ms. Taff. I'm chilly enough as it is. I'm doing my current batch of comments in the nude as it's early morning and I can't sleep. I blame Jeremy Beadle. He's been on my mind a lot since he passed away. To be frank, I don't think he's dead. It's all a big publicity stunt for his next book - 'Watch out - I'm crap'. You are one clever lady, Ms. Daff.

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unfashionably courteous

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sunkie, you are most kind. Do you reckon if I pretended to be dead people would buy my books?


TAKING LIBERTIES WITH AKHMATOVA (posted on: 22-09-08)
Started out as a translation from Anna Akhmatova but got diverted to another poem.

Poetry should be unexpected Everything in poetry should be inappropriate, improbable as people. Don't you know from what cast off seeds poetry springs, shameless as dandelions by the fence and other weeds? An angry shout, a whiff of tar, a magic growth of lichen on a wall... a wayward thought, and poetry shakes its green lance and answers to the call.
Archived comments for TAKING LIBERTIES WITH AKHMATOVA
Bradene on 22-09-2008
TAKING LIBERTIES WITH AKHMATOVA
Love this one Daff, full of truth and things we all aspire to, yet so difficult to attain, well in my case anyway. Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val. At least this one has no snow.
Daff

littleditty on 22-09-2008
TAKING LIBERTIES WITH AKHMATOVA
checked my fav list for this one, thought i had put it there? - it's ace - loved the last stanza esp -the rhyme there is a perfect close, 'a whiff of tar' not the only phrase appealing to the senses -well done poet Daff, thanks for the read, Ditty xx

Author's Reply:
Thank you Ditty. So glad you liked it. Thanks for making it a fav too. I'm quite fond of it myself. It was published in Coffee House Poetry about a year ago.
Daff

artisus on 22-09-2008
TAKING LIBERTIES WITH AKHMATOVA
hmm, very interesting and well written

Author's Reply:
Thank you Nic. I'm flattered by that.
Daff

Corin on 24-09-2008
TAKING LIBERTIES WITH AKHMATOVA
O lovely Daff - an excellent analysis, but should not you also put in that poetry also comes from long contemplation and study or overwhelming imperative?

love

David

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment, David.
It does indeed, but this aint a thesis, only a poem.
Love
Daff
and wuff to Crab.

Sunken on 25-09-2008
TAKING LIBERTIES WITH AKHMATOVA
Ahhh, wayward thoughts... Ahem. Sorry Ms. Daff. For a moment there I was in a field, naked, just me and the girl next door with a pot of jam and our imaginations for company (-; I blame my inability to socially integrate.

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he blames his inability to socially integrate

Author's Reply:
I hope it was good jam.
Daff

BaBy_PoeT on 25-09-2008
TAKING LIBERTIES WITH AKHMATOVA
hey,
you have spoken the truth.. poetry doesnt have to follow any kind of a template.. i think so anyway... it should just flow as the writer writes it if you know what i mean.. i enjoyed this one..
take care
carry on speaking the truth.
xXxBPxXx

Author's Reply:
Thank you BP. Glad you liked it.
Daff

jay12 on 08-10-2008
TAKING LIBERTIES WITH AKHMATOVA
Writing good poetry is difficult, you make it look easy here! An excellent poem indeed. Proves that my ditty's are that of a small fry in a big ocean.

Jay.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Jay. It's never as easy as it looks. And don't put yourself down. Just had a look and commented on some of your own.
Daff
I put it in the wrong box first.


Paper Hoarding (posted on: 26-05-08)
This was written for the weekly flash challenge but that week having been superseded now by the next, I thought I'd post it here as not everyone looks at the challenge in the forum. If anyone feels like indulging in the challenge, this week id Parallel

In France they write on squared paper [in the schools I suppose] and sell it in the supermarket. Pencils and paper in all shapes and sizes are my secret vice, so I could not resist when shopping for wine stocking up on some samples to add to my store, which increased exponentially, filled every drawer. Now I can't afford to go abroad so maybe I can use more sheets of paper and reduce the hoard.
Archived comments for Paper Hoarding
Emerald on 26-05-2008
Paper Hoarding
I was at school in France and yes we did write on squared paper - lol - this made me smile - today I bought a pad of paper because I like to hoard as well - was this about carbon footprints - that is what my impression was

Emma x


Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Emma. I think it's incurable. No, it wasn't about carbon footprints -- just my private vice.
Daff

orangedream on 27-05-2008
Paper Hoarding
What a charming poem, daff.

I too am a 'paper hoarder'. I love the stuff and have it in all shapes and sizes, thicknesses and colours. I'm the same too with pens and yet I can never find one when I need one!

Tina:-)

Author's Reply:

teifii on 27-05-2008
Paper Hoarding
Thanks fellow hoarder. I used to be tempted by pens but have been cured by a surfeit. Several years ago I gave into junk mail from Nattional pen company and bought 50 [the least possible] nice pens with Meirionnydd Languages on in gold to give my students. The company obviously thought I was someone dishing out pens at conferences etc but it takes ages to get rid of 50 when I teach a few individuals a year. So they kept sending me delightful samples fo years. Finally it tailed off and then I actually ran out and bought another 50 so they have started sending me new ones agai, sometimes calendars and calculators as well.
But I'm still into paper. I can justify some purchases by the fact that I make handmade cards to sell in the market.
Love
Daff

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 27-05-2008
Paper Hoarding
yes, they do. I LOVE pens and paper. Writing lines on fresh paper ... lovely! I LOVE it.

Author's Reply:
I see I've replied to Tina in the wrong place.
Thanks Griff.
Yes, it's great isn't it - nice clean crisp paper.
Daff

pencilcase on 27-05-2008
Paper Hoarding
'ello Daff.

Obviously, I am drawn to any poem that mentions pencils, so thanks for sharing this curiously pleasing contemplation.

Are you planning on being at ukalive?

Best wishes,

Steve

Author's Reply:
Ello Steve,
Oh yes pencils too. I love them, especially with rubber tips -- so useful for both languages and writing poetry.
Yes, will be at ukalive if all goes well. See you there?
Daff

Griffonner on 03-06-2008
Paper Hoarding
I can always send you some, Daff. In the weeks before the return to school the supermarkets are fair busting under ther weight of squared paper.

As a fellow hoarder, I can sympathise and empathise. I found some paper of mine in a folder the other day. Goodness didn't it bring back memories. 1967 must have been a far better year than I thought. (I wonder if the lady in question thinks so too!)

Anyway, Daff, this was a charming poem that struck a note with me. Nicely done.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Allen. I don't think I would dare ask for more. I'm trying to control my urges.
I hope you are better [from other complaints not the paper obsession; that's incurable.
Glad you liked the poem.
Daff

eddiesolo on 07-06-2008
Paper Hoarding
Hi Daff,

Arghhhhhhhhhhh, better be quick my computer has just started to make a terrible noise from the power supply!

Great piece and enjoyed....bye.

Si:-)



Author's Reply:
Thank you Si. I hope you have not suffered an explosion and are still with us.
Daff

CVaughan on 07-06-2008
Paper Hoarding
I thought this good to read and interesting. I am addicted to stationery Ryman-style shops, I'm sure a sales girl in our local feared I was a stalker. I was just after her plastic clipboards and wallet folders, a secret vice, not into Hbs though. Sorry back to you pencil-fiend you. Daff pencil rating 10! Frank

Author's Reply:
Hi Frank.
Interesting the apparent percentage of writers who share the addiction. I had to laugh at the image of you stalking the plastic clipboards.
Thank you for appreciating the poem -- not a very serious effort.
Daff

CVaughan on 07-06-2008
Paper Hoarding
I thought this good to read and interesting. I am addicted to stationery Ryman-style shops, I'm sure a sales girl in our local feared I was a stalker. I was just after her plastic clipboards and wallet folders, a secret vice, not into Hbs though. Sorry back to you pencil-fiend you. Daff pencil rating 10! Frank

Author's Reply:


The Collies Celebrate Christmas (posted on: 09-11-07)
This is a part of And Hereby Hangs a Tail -- just the Christmas bit in case it any use for Kazzmoss' reading for the blind. All characters mentioned are dogs except the Boss.

Today we went to a sort of shop in the forest and bought a tree. It is sometimes very puzzling what humans buy. I mean you can't eat a tree [unless you're a goat]. When we got home the Boss and Val put the tree on the windowsill. Our house is very old and has very big windowsills because the walls are so thick. Then they put coloured balls on it and silvery stuff and they put lots of parcels on the windowsill. Of course, I was watching as I always watch what the Boss does in case she needs my help. She put one parcel there and said, 'That one's for you Teifi Dog on Christmas Day.' The next morning when we all got up, the Boss said, 'Happy Christmas, Doggies,' and when she opened the door, the garden was all white. We ran outside and chased each other all through the white stuff. The Boss said it was called snow. It felt lovely under our paws and made everything look like a new world. Val took me and Wisp out in the field and so we could have a good roll in the snow.. Frosty stayed in her basket. Frosty wasn't excited by the snow because she'd seen it before. She said it was all very well if you had a nice warm home but no fun at all when you had nowhere to go and get warm. Later we opened our parcels and we each had a big bone that we chewed in the garden. The humans made a snowdog. At dinner time we had special dinners with all sorts of human food in them and then quite a lot of titbits too. The next day we all went to visit Bess and Ben. On the way we went for a walk in the forest. It was very pretty. The trees looked a bit like our Christmas tree with snow on their branches but not with coloured balls, of course. While we were walking, Frosty said suddenly, 'Interesting smell! Deer I think. I'm off to have a look,' and she vanished in a whisk of her tail. We had to wait 20 minutes till she came back. The Boss said Wispy and me were good dogs because we didn't run off. When we got to the house we all got a chew and some titbits. I think Christmas Day seems to go on for two days, which is a very good idea.
Archived comments for The Collies Celebrate Christmas
Sunken on 09-11-2007
The Collies Celebrate Christmas



Hello Ms. Daff. I am terrible at kiddies stuff. I got to the bit about them both having a big bone and just lost it. I do apologise. I am lamenting the loss of innocence of late and feel ashamed of myself and no mistake. This is a lovely little piece, a piece that horrible people like me should not be reading (-; Honestly tho, kiddies stuff is notoriously tricky. I admire your ability to pull it off... Oh god, I'm having those thoughts again. Sorry. I'll sort myself out.

Take care Ms. Daff.

Rate: All the kings horses and all the kings men (to do with as you see fit)

s
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k
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sold to the girl with the glitter ball eyes

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 09-11-2007
The Collies Celebrate Christmas


Ahem. Sorry. Wrong link. You can have me banned ya know? Just mail Andrea or Richard.

Bernard did like it by the way, it's just that he leans more towards poetry. I'll go now Daff. Thank you. Where's me coat?




Author's Reply:
Thank you Bernard. I shake your paw.
Teifi Dog

Kazzmoss on 09-11-2007
The Collies Celebrate Christmas
Perfect Teifii, lovely little story and I can just conjure up the dogs running in the snow with their tails held high. Thank you very much, I'd love to use this. Kazzmoss

Author's Reply:
You are very welcome. I hope it goes down well. I wasn't too sure if it would read OK as a separate piece as I just snipped out the Christmas bit.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/gallery/books/shop.merilang.htm

freya on 11-11-2007
The Collies Celebrate Christmas
Daff, utterly charming! You are so good at spinning these doggy and other animal tales in the magical ways kids just love. And they're the kind adults enjoy reading to children when they are not yet readers themselves.

Looked through Sheepdoggerel because I thought you had a couple of poems in there that are at least winterish if not exactly about Christmas. Suppose Sheep Doggerel Anthem comes closest? In any case, know I'm hoping to introduce some very wee ones to poetry via mummy and daddy reading your poems to them. Delightful. ๐Ÿ™‚ Shelagh xx

Author's Reply:
Hello Shelagh,
I'm glad you liked Teifi Dog's account.
I don't think the Anthem is Christmassy although the chorus is a bit cold. But there is verse about shearing and that's mid summer so I suppose it isn't seasonal. There are some wintry ones in Sun On The Hill though.
Actually next Friday we are having one of out poetry evenings, this one organised by Chrissy, and as it is entitled Winter Warmers I'm doing four of mine Winter, Robin on a Learning Curve, The Birch Tree and Wern Fach [the last isn't in the book but will be in the next. It has been in Voices though]. I hope your wee ones like the doggy poems.
All the best to al of you
Love
Daff

SugarMama34 on 13-11-2007
The Collies Celebrate Christmas
Hi Daff

A lovely story that younger children will enjoy it shows them how dogs may think about what us adults do and about their own surroundings. In that sense it reminded me a little of Lady and the Tramp as that showed the same sort of thing too, in the way that Tramp though his female owner was called 'Darling'. I enjoyed this sweet story of yours.
Lis'. xx

Author's Reply:
Thank you Lis'. That's a nice tribute. Teifi Dog would be very pleased. His mother told him that it was important for sheepdogs to learn to understand humans.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.merilang


BIRTHDAY CARD POEM (posted on: 29-10-07)
the other one of the pair

I have no gift to give you Save what you cannot take, And a little tarnished love; Accept it for my sake. There is no promise; Nothing is understood Except, perhaps, that you would Love me, if you could.
Archived comments for BIRTHDAY CARD POEM
e-griff on 29-10-2007
BIRTHDAY CARD POEM
ahah! the OTHER one! sweet. You know what I'm going to say, don't you? 'Save'?

but on the overall flow, I feel the rhythm might be better if you inserted a two-syllable word in the first line of the second verse, probably before 'promise' - such as 'lovers'/'solemn' or summat like that - because mostly this poem does lilt along nicely.

What a smashing pair you have revealed today! ๐Ÿ™‚ thankyou.

Author's Reply:
Hi John. Yes, I did guess but sometimes I can be a bit obstinate about old fashioned terms if I think they are useful, regardles of the fact that most people don't use them. For instance, i use 'thus', although It has been pointed out that no one uses it. To which I can only say, 'I do' and in real life, not just in poems.
I've thought about the possible extra word but still prefer it as it is; I don't want it to lilt too muck as I think it would get rather sing-song.
Contrary, aren't I? But I do appreciate your input. It makes me think and that's good for me.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/gallery/books/shop.merilang.htm

Slovitt on 29-10-2007
BIRTHDAY CARD POEM
Daff: So the mystery isn't resolved, but another good short poem. Perhaps a comma after 'Love me' in your last line to slow down the line, give guidance on the emphasis you want for the reader. Swep

Author's Reply:
Thanks SWep. No, sorry. Not solved but in this case I like to leave the reader wondering.
I agree about the comma and will go to edit now.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/gallery/books/shop.merilang.htm

Jolen on 29-10-2007
BIRTHDAY CARD POEM
I enjoyed this and think it's a very lovely gift.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Jolen. Glad you liked it.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/gallery/books/shop.merilang.htm

Sunken on 29-10-2007
BIRTHDAY CARD POEM
Hello Ms. Daff. Ya know, even some tarnished love can go a long way, so I hear. A lovely piece and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
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Author's Reply:
Thank you dear Sunky. Yes, indeed. In fact it did.
Daff

eddiesolo on 29-10-2007
BIRTHDAY CARD POEM
I like this Daff, lovely write and enjoyed reading.

Take care.
Si:-)

Author's Reply:
Thank you Si. Sorry if it's a late reply. Haven't been getting all notifications.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

orangedream on 29-10-2007
BIRTHDAY CARD POEM
Ditto ... and some.

Tina

Author's Reply:

artisus on 30-10-2007
BIRTHDAY CARD POEM
very sweet and melancholic poem Daff.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 30-10-2007
BIRTHDAY CARD POEM
Thank you Si and Orange and Artisus.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Gerry on 02-11-2007
BIRTHDAY CARD POEM
Daff, Nice one ๐Ÿ˜‰

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Gerry.
Daff


TO S. (posted on: 29-10-07)
One of a pair written years ago.

Those flowers I picked and placed beside my bed In token of all tokens that cannot be Twixt thee an me -- Those flowers are dead. For such things may not be. We must subsist on glances and things unspoken; Promises not made can not be broken.
Archived comments for TO S.
e-griff on 29-10-2007
TO S.
whooooo! Hidden depths eh? You minx!

Very nice little poem. To be strictly honest 'twixt thee and me' didn't sit comfortably, but the rest spoke volumes.

Waiting for the other one, now ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:

eddiesolo on 29-10-2007
TO S.
Hi Daff.

Agree with John, this poem does make you want to read and read again-hidden depths for sure, excellent little poem.

Enjoyed reading.

Si:-)





Author's Reply:
Thank you John and Si. The other one will be somewhere else in the list as I posted them separately, which was a bit daft.
I know 'twixt thee and me' is vastly old fashioned but it came into my head like that and resisted all my attempts to change it. So be it.
Daff

Slovitt on 29-10-2007
TO S.
Daff: An intimation of intimacy, briefly phrased, and melodic.
You do leave the reader wanting to know why ya'll 'must subsist', and so off to the pair of this, perhaps for illumination.
A good short poem. Swep

Author's Reply:
Hello again, Swep. Thank you.
I'm afraid the other one won't answer the 'why?'. And nor will I. I'm afraid. It's all a long time ago but there is still only one other person who knows.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/gallery/books/shop.merilang.htm

Jolen on 29-10-2007
TO S.
I love mysteries and this is a fine poem any way you slice it!

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 29-10-2007
TO S.
How much you say in those few words. And what you did say, I liked ... very much.

Tina ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:

Romany on 29-10-2007
TO S.
Hey! This is great. Reminded me of one of mine - Forbidden Fruit. You saucy devil you!

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Romany, Orange and Jolen for reading. Glad it pleased.
Daff

Ionicus on 29-10-2007
TO S.
An enchanting little poem, Daff.
Favourite lines:
'We must subsist on glances and things unspoken;
Promises not made can not be broken.'

Luigi x





Author's Reply:
Thank you Ionicus for popping in and commenting.

Those were always my favourite lines in it although they were quite a late addition.
Daff

artisus on 30-10-2007
TO S.
oh this is very nice.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Artisus. Glad you liked it.
Daff

macaby on 04-01-2009
TO S.
i liked this one, i think you have done a good job in the way you leave the interpretation of the poem open to the reader. was this a forbidden love, a married man? a man much older than yourself? yes it leaves the reader wondering, thinking. thatยดs what poems should do to the reader. nice indeed.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 05-01-2009
TO S.
Thanks again Macaby.
I shall of course leave it open.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Author's Reply:


THE LITTLE HORSE THAT LEARNED TO FLY (posted on: 24-09-07)
One I prepared earlier.

The little horse lived in the valley between the green hills and the mountain forests. When he stood at the edge of the forest and looked far away across the hills and valleys, he could see the great purple mountain that was so tall that its summit was often hidden by the clouds and so far away that no one except old Timus, the gypsy, had ever travelled beyond it. After they had finished their work in the fields the people of the village would often gather around a fire by Timus' caravan and the old man would tell wonderful stories of his adventures on the other side of the purple mountain. The little horse would trot up to the edge of the crowd and listen with them. ''I would love to see the great wide world beyond the purple mountain, but I should get lost if I tried to find it,'' he thought. ''If only I could fly, I would fly over the top of it like the clouds. Oh, I do wish I could fly.'' One day he went to see old Timus and said to him, ''You have travelled far and seen many wonderful things. Have you ever seen a flying horse?'' ''No,'' said the old man, ''I've never seen a flying horse, but in the far away land of Greece the people tell of a great white horse called Pegasus, who had wings that could carry him anywhere.'' ''I have no wings,'' said the little horse, ''so I will never fly.'' Old Timus looked at the little horse with his wise old eyes and said, ''Listen little horse, there is one thing that I have learned that has carried me to many lands and through many adventures. You can do, anything, even the impossible, but only if you want to enough.'' ''Even fly?'' asked the little horse. ''Yes,'' replied the old man, ''even fly.'' That night the little horse could not sleep because he kept thinking how wonderful it would be to fly with the clouds to the top of the purple mountain. Very early the next morning he got up and watched the sun creeping into the sky from behind the purple mountain. ''Oh, how bright the sun is,'' thought the little horse, peering through half-shut eyes. Then right in front of him he saw a road. It was as if hundreds of shimmering cobwebs were stretched all the way from the edge of the forest to the far off purple mountain. ''A beautiful road especially for me,'' whispered the little horse and, squinting carefully against the glare of the sun, he set off towards the purple mountain. Higher and higher he climbed and still the road stretched before him through the sky to where the sun, in a glare of silver, shone behind the mountain. It was further than he thought. And below he saw towns, villages and farms. The farmers were turning the cows out into the fields after milking and people in the villages and towns were drawing back their curtains and taking in the milk. The people in the cities and on the farms looked up and saw him. ''Oh what a pretty cloud – just like a horse!'' said all the grown-ups. But the children could see much better. ''It's a real little horse that's learned to fly,'' they said. ''I wonder if he has come from Fairyland?'' As the sun rose high in the sky the shining road disappeared but by now the purple mountain was so near and the little horse so used to being in the sky that he just kept on flying. At last he came down onto the mountain and landed with all four hooves on a rock. The mountain was not purple any more. It was covered with green-gold bracken and grass, pinky heather and mossy rocks. Everywhere was the sound of water as little streams cascaded down the mountainside. All day the little horse ran through the bracken and jumped on the rocks and splashed in the streams. He played hide-and-seek with himself among the clouds that floated around the mountain. Then he grew tired and slept in the heather until evening. When he awoke, it was dusk. Far away in the west beyond his own village the sun was just sinking behind the forest. the little horse, who was still very sleepy, looked at it through half-closed eyelashes and saw a path all the colours of the rainbow. He stretched his legs and galloped, suddenly homesick, all the way back to his own field by the village pond. The grown-ups, drawing the children's curtains at bed time, said, ''see how that little cloud moves. There must be a wind up there.'' But the children saw the little horse and dreamed of what they might see if they could fly beyond the purple mountain.
Archived comments for THE LITTLE HORSE THAT LEARNED TO FLY
Jolen on 28-09-2007
THE LITTLE HORSE THAT LEARNED TO FLY
I agree with Glenn, I am not too keen usually on kids stories, but this one was a delight, and very easy to be charmed by. I think it appeals to anyone who reads it. Your language, as Glenn says is consistent and the story holds the interest all the way through. Very fine work, Daff.

Blessings,
JolenPhoto Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Author's Reply:
Thank you Jolen. I'm glad you liked it.
Daff


OF DELINQUENT DUCKS......... (posted on: 10-04-06)
The last of the duck stories for now.

My first introduction to call ducks was via two little drakes that I cadged from a friend, who had hatched then in an incubator, their mother having allowed the crows to eat all the offspring from the eggs in her own care. They were exceptionally tame, totally devoted to each other (declining wives when offered) and caused no trouble to anyone, except for regularly flying over the fence and then walking up and down demanding to be brought back in. They were occasionally rather rude to the respectable married proper ducks but were treated tolerantly with appropriate disdain. Unfortunately, after several happy years at Bodyfuddau, a weasel or something got in through a tiny ventilation hole under the roof of their house and decapitated them. Hearing of someone who would supply call ducks by rail, I ordered three drakes, thinking that if they were going to be that devoted it would be as well to insure against a single bereft drake in the event of any tragedy. They duly arrived and settled in to the back garden and pond and seemed quite happy till spring, when they began pacing up and down the fence and eyeing the 'real' ducks whenever these ventured near. It was clear that whereas two had made for real friendship, three made for gang behaviour. I decided in view of this they needed wives, but their behaviour on meeting the wives was so appalling that I gave the wives to a friend who had a lonely call drake with good manners [it was basically gang rape, I'm afraid]. Meantime my three took to beating up the geese! Finally I acquired three more wives and, as I did not have three possible separate enclosures, a friend took one drake. Peace descended: the white drake lived out front with his wife and never molested anyone. The little grey and white chap was given two wives in the garden - and promptly fled, but later settled down to family life and became a model of respectability. To this day he still goes by the name of hooligan. Then disaster struck again - I lost the little white duck and had to put her grieving widower back with his brother. The moment I let them out the next morning there was a great reunion and the poor wives were told to get lost. What's more, the grey drake at once began to terrorise the poor geese again so that they did not dare go out to eat the grass. Alyosha, the white one, just hung around egging him on. I took temporary measures and divided the garden into two enclosures with a pond each, and left the white drake with one wife [Apricot] outside with the geese, shutting the hooligan into the nearest part with the wife who was most devoted to him (a rather one-sided attachment). She immediately settled on her eggs in my rockery and he was pacing up and down the fence for three weeks, talking to his brother through it. The geese finally realised that they could safely graze. This was several years ago and Hooligan and Apricot have both since been widowed but have settled into companionable old age together. As an antidote to the above tale of woe I shall now recount what has been happening in the front yard (main duck territory). I have there a flock of assorted domestic ducks which included at one time two extremely ancient Khaki Campbell ducks and a Welsh Harlequin drake. The latter, when not pursuing his general career of rape, as befits one of Khaki Campbell heredity, spent all his time at the side of one of the old ladies. They went for walks together, visited a part of the stream away from the others, and slept side by side with their heads under their wings. All this must have been by his choice as she was almost completely blind and at bedtime followed the conversation of the flock to go to the house. If he was there before her and she did not come in behind the flock, he would come rushing out, find her and lead her in by talking. This was a few years back now and they have both gone to the farm in the sky but I still remember his devotion. The present incumbants are basically two harems - Llewelyn [the hero of Feathered Paternity] has speckly porridge coloured wives and Pearly and Smokey, both indian runners, have a small harem of indian runner ladies.
Archived comments for OF DELINQUENT DUCKS.........
RoyBateman on 12-04-2006
OF DELINQUENT DUCKS.........
Ah...I knew that ducks could be right little devils at times, but their devotion was a surprise! Thay never fail to amuse me - maybe it's the silly noises, maybe the waddling, I'm not sure. A different and very entertaining little piece, and I for one thoroughly enjoyed it.

Author's Reply:
Hi Roy. Yes, I was surprised myself at that devotion. Thy do have their mates and call ducks [which the devoted pair were not] mate for life, but this was curious as they did not even arrive here at even approximately the same time. Thanks for reading and appreciating.
Daff

calisto on 16-04-2006
OF DELINQUENT DUCKS.........
Ducks are fascinating birds. Thanks for an insight into their private lives.

Author's Reply:
Hi Cakisto. Thanks for reading. Fortun\tely they don't seem to object to my prying.
Daff


FEATHERED PATERNITY (posted on: 10-04-06)

I've retitled it and decided to give it another airing as its main protagonist gets a mention in the latest duck story. Ducks will now be given a rest.



Llewelyn Fawr is very grand And knows exactly how to stand To look imposing, Which is most important to a drake Who needs the ladies to impress And to have a harem Of enthusiastc mother ducks For future generations' sake. His feathers are a gleaming white And his beak canary yellow. His wings, though not in use for flight, He cleans with infinite care, Feather by flawless feather. His feet are golden triangles That plod majestic through the mud Like shoes of magic leather. His wives are speckly coloured With sapphire in their wings. Much of their day they spend Hunting for interesting things, Snails and slugs and such delights, Until, in need of change, they wend Their way to pond or stream, upend Themselves and dabble there For frog spawn, fish eggs, dainty bites To be found in mud below while Feet wave freely in the air. At night the ladies to their nests repair And lay their eggs all white or green And hide them under leaves and grass From beedy eyes of crows who pass, Searching like spy planes from the air. Then comes the day, one gets the urge And snuggles down upon the eggs, With beak on breast, deep in feathers, And sits for weeks midst yellow flags Oblivious of inclement weather, Just waiting till she hears a sound And one by one small beaks emerge. When all are free of broken shells and dry, She leads them forth in one long line To float upon the stream, chasing flies Invisible to human eyes, Flashing, dashing everywhere, Propelled by tiny feet Under mother's watchful eye, Turned skywards lest hawk or crow Descend upon her little fleet. Llewelyn past them softly glides, Bursting with parental pride
Archived comments for FEATHERED PATERNITY
niece on 11-04-2006
FEATHERED PATERNITY
Teifii,
This is such a lovely poem...shows that every little life has it's share of joy and pain, worries and problems.
Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:

teifii on 11-04-2006
FEATHERED PATERNITY
Thank you Niece. Llewelyn says its nice to be understood by his oublic. Mind you he doesn't have many problems. But id the bird flu causes them to have to be shut in, he will have to be confined to the barn and they'll all be most peeved.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 11-04-2006
FEATHERED PATERNITY
I'm surprised this hasn't had more attention Ms. Daff. Come over here and I'll give you some attention (-; Ahem, sorry - it's that time of the year. I especially liked -

His feet are golden triangles
That plod majestic through the mud
Like shoes of magic leather.

You are indeed a very classy poet young Teifii. Well bloody done.

s
u
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k
e
n

he can't see the difference between lambs and sheep?


Author's Reply:
Thank you dear Sunkie. It did get some attention before so some had already read it. I'm glad you liked it. I quite liked the bit about the feet myself.
Daff
sheep are bigger until mid summer when they get shorn and suddenly all the lambs are bugger than their mothers. It always sems a bit odd.

Emerald on 11-04-2006
FEATHERED PATERNITY
Hi Daff,

Enjoyed your poem very much - he sounds quite a character!

Emma ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Glad you liked it Emma. Thanks for the comment. He is quite a character, it's true.
Daff

littleditty on 12-04-2006
FEATHERED PATERNITY
i am now in love with Ducks! Thanks Daff -this is charming and beautifully written xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
I've been in love with them since my childhood. I even bought this house mainly because it had a stream which makes keeping ducks easy. Thanks for reading and commenting.

Macjoyce on 04-05-2006
FEATHERED PATERNITY
I really liked that. A lot of rhymes going on of course, but it felt like blank verse. Particularly liked the ending. There ought to be more ducks called Llewelyn. And Taliesin.

Just for pedantic metric reasons, how about "from beedy eyes of crows who pass/AND SEARCH like spy planes from the air?"

All the best,

Paul.


Author's Reply:
Hi Paul. Thanks for seeking this one out. Glad you enjoyed it. I like your suggestion and will think about it. I know it would make the foot regular but I quite like the inverted one so will think.
Good idea on the names. I shall bear Taliesin in mind for when I next need to name a drake. Not al the flock have names but quite a few do.
Daff


A DREAM COME TRUE (posted on: 20-03-06)
A wonderful incidence of serendipity. This is actually a translation from my Welsh essay for the National Eisteddfod [had a very demanding teacher at the time to whom one did not say no ๐Ÿ™‚

In 1956 I was working in Shropshire and I went to Wales for five days because I wanted to see some mountains for the first time in my life. I got a train from Shrewsbury to Porthmadog. The train was called the Cambrian Coast Express and it took five hours to reach Porthmadog, but every moment was lovely. From Porthmadog I walked to Capel Curig and I fell in love with Wales the moment I saw Moel Siabod. Ever since then I used to come to Wales whenever I had three days together - one day to drive there, one to stay and one to drive back. In 1985 I was at last able to move to Wales and I wrote to every estate agent in North Wales to find a house with a little bit of land. I wanted a stream too because I had a dream of keeping ducks and that is hard work without running water. Most estate agents ignored my request for a stream, perhaps because I did not have enough cash to spend. Some estate agents sent publicity for houses with gardens and a trout stream for three times the money I had. I threw these straight in the waste-paper basket and did not expect to get a stream. At last I came with a friend for four days to look at all the houses I had collected. All Friday and Saturday we drove and looked at houses. The only two houses that I really liked were on top of mountains without a road or even a proper track to them, so it would have been impossible for me to live there alone as I grew old. On Saturday evening we were in the village of Croesor at 8 o'clock before we realised that we were nearly out of petrol. As every garage was closed I said we should find somewhere to spend the night. My friend said, 'Go back down to the main road and turn left and you'll be on the road to Dolgellau. We can spend the night there.' She was right and as we drove a nuclear power station, she asked what it was. I had seen the power station from across the lake at Trawsfynydd but form the main road it looks different, and worse. I was puzzling about what it could be and was driving very slowly. So I saw the sign for Trawsfynydd. 'Ah,' I exclaimed, 'Now I know where we are. This village has a garage and a nice pub that does supper as well as bed and breakfast. All our troubles are over.' We went into the pub and ordered supper. While they were preparing our food we sat at the bar to look at the pieces of paper and decide where to go the next day. It was obvious what we were doing and someone asked me if I had found anything yet. Then someone asked what sort of house I wanted. The conversation was quite casual and I just described my dream house. 'I'd like a house on its own but not right away from everyone, built of stone, old. It doesn't matter what size or condition, as long as I can afford to buy it and live in it and a garden isn't important but with a bit of land, any rough bit of land will do, in sight of the mountains, not far from a river and, if possible, with a stream.' An impossible dream! 'A friend of mine is selling a house like that,' said the woman behind the bar. 'I'll phone him.' And that is how I bought Bodyfuddau. It means everything to me. I've lived here now for fourteen years. I have very friendly neighbours, two sheepdogs and lovely ducks. I live in Paradise.
Archived comments for A DREAM COME TRUE
Romany on 20-03-2006
A DREAM COME TRUE
It seems to me that you do indeed live in paradise; what a beautiful photograph, and the dogs look lovely. You are a very lucky lady, and more power to you I say!
Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Romany for your comment. You are roght; I do. And I never stop appreciating my luck.
As tp the dogs, both are in the farm in the sky now. The nearest is Cymro. It means Welshman, and that was all we knew about him. He was found wandering in a friend's farmyard, senile and stone deaf and aged according to the ver 12 to 16. He was an absolute dear and spent 2 happy years with me. The other is Teifi Dog in his youth.
Daff

Andrea on 20-03-2006
A DREAM COME TRUE
Oh, beautiful, beautiful Daff - I know all those places well and it is, indeed, paradise (if there is such a thing) on earth ๐Ÿ™‚

I've told you before, you're living my dream. Long may you continue to appreciate and enjoy it *sigh*.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Andrea. Sorry I misjudged picture size [maths was never my thing]. As you know, you are invited so I expect you one day. red Dragon is coming sometime too so you might meet up for a cuppa among the ducks.
Daff

Ginger on 20-03-2006
A DREAM COME TRUE
I am so jealous, I would love to live somewhere like that. We live in sunny Berkshire, but can't afford to buy in the rural villages - too much money for the houses! So we live nearby and that will have to do for now.

Lisa

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the comment, Ginger. I sympathise about the price trap. The house I lived in in Exeter was semi derelict when I bought it with a loan to run an international centre. The latter was non-rofit making and I taught for a living and it took me 14 years to pay of the small loan.
However, by the time that I needed to move [due to Mrs T. there were almost no people needing the centre] house prices in Exeter had soared and of course I had repaired the essentials as we went along, but in Wales they were still right dow. So I was able to buy this with no loan or mortgage. A necessity as of course i had to leave my job to come so was not mortgageable. If you want a trip rather far afield from Bucks one day, come and se me.
Daff

Kat on 21-03-2006
A DREAM COME TRUE
What a delightful story, Daff and I love that picture - Teifi dog looks like the definition of eagerness and enthusiasm. I wish you many more lovely years in your paradise!

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Kat. He was. He was totally enthusiastic, helped with everything and clearly thought I couldn't manage even to put out duck food without him. But sheep were so special that he observed calmly as I opened bins etc for other creatures but was bursting with supressed excitememnt as soon as I laid a hand on the bin that contained sheep muesli because that meant he could supervise while they ate, his greatest daily treat, even better than a swim in the river. I stil miss him.
Daff


They say I’m a Welsh Sheepdog (posted on: 18-11-05)
Brith said it was time he had his own poem. He got fed up with hearing about Teifi Dog.

They say I come of an ancient breed, Native to the land of Wales, Bred for the herding of mountain sheep And all that that entails. But somehow they must have got it wrong; Rolling in the manure heap Is my idea of work on a farm, And I certainly don’t rate sheep. I’ve no inclination to chivvy the flock Or to sleep in a kennel or stable. I prefer entertaining my guests At a well laid dining room table. In spite of my size I do my best to climb on available laps, and my sleep On my bean bag beside the fire Is quite untroubled by sheep.
Archived comments for They say I’m a Welsh Sheepdog
Kat on 18-11-2005
They say Iโ€™m a Welsh Sheepdog
Hi Daff

I do enjoy your lovely sheepdog poems, and that's a great pic of Brith who is certainly entertaining his guests!

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading, Kat. Brith says : 'Oo good. Got myown public now.'
I've published all the animal ones in a litle boklet [after great struggles with Microsoft publisher] and have been selling them in the weekly country market along with my crafts. Now I'll have to do two more pages and stick Brith's contibution in or le'll take offence. I can leave a few inserts on the table for people who have the booklet.
Anyway, I'm very glad you like them
Daff

chrissy on 18-11-2005
They say Iโ€™m a Welsh Sheepdog
This certainly is a true account of Brith's character but he is a lovely dog and this is a great poem.
chrissy

Author's Reply:
Thanks Chrissy. Brith says you can come to dinner if you like.
Daff

Slovitt on 18-11-2005
They say Iโ€™m a Welsh Sheepdog
Daff: Brith is a handsome rascal. You've written him his poem and created him for us. Very nice. Swep

Author's Reply:
Thanks Swep. Yes he is handsome -- and doesn't he know it.
Daff

red-dragon on 19-11-2005
They say Iโ€™m a Welsh Sheepdog
I think this is brilliant! Ann

Author's Reply:

Dargo77 on 19-11-2005
They say Iโ€™m a Welsh Sheepdog
Daff, he looks and sounds like a great character. Nice that you have each other.
Best regards,
Dargo

Author's Reply:

Lare on 29-01-2006
They say Iโ€™m a Welsh Sheepdog
Hi Daff...you write brilliantly of Brith...my wife's parents have a dog very similar to Brith...her name is Molly...and the way you lay out Brith's preferences in this piece...well...Molly could be Brith's twin. You have brought a smile to me today, Daff...I will print this out to send to my wife's parents...they will LOVE it...

Lare

Author's Reply:
Hi Lare,
Thank you. I hope they like it too. Brith says hello to Molly and that is nice to have his point of view shared.
Daff


NELLIE (posted on: 06-05-05)


Nellie was Teidi Dog's older sister and remained on the farm both as worker and pet. She was a brilliant sheepdog and also very funny. Many collies smile but Nellie practically laughed at times and grinned like a crocodile.



NELLIE Nellie was a busy dog; She had a lot to do. Finding sheep in snow and fog, Fetching lambs and ewes. Well, she was a border collie, So what would you expect. Clever dogs are collies But she was the cleverest yet. And because she was so clever When not engaged in work, She went a wandering, Then came home with a smirk. For Nellie was a smiling hound, Her sense of humour keen, She gave no sign of what she’d found Nor said where she had been. But on return was pretty smelly, Up to her eyes in mire, So for a broadly grinning Nellie A spell of barn rest was required. She was bright and busy and always there When work was to be done, But when she reckoned she could be spared She had to have her fun. And whenever she got caught At mischief or about to disappear, Knowing exactly what she ought To do, she’d grin from ear to ear. Quite unrepentant, unabashed, Knowing full well her worth As an expert in her field, she’d flash A smile and share her boss’s mirth. So much throughout her life she laughed In greeting, to divert disgrace, Or just for fun, when she trod her final path She’d laughter lines upon her face. Yes, Nellie Dog was special indeed And now when at last she‘s gone I think it can be guaranteed She’s smiling still at all that fun.
Archived comments for NELLIE
LenchenElf on 2005-05-06 13:19:55
Re: NELLIE
This left me with a broad smile, I'm going to read this to my youngest child, similar in character to Nellie, thanks for sharing it Teifi ๐Ÿ™‚
all the best
L

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-05-06 15:42:56
Re: NELLIE
Thank you Elfie. I hope he or she likes it. Nellie would be delighted and would smile her crocodile smile.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Slovitt on 2005-05-07 00:07:50
Re: NELLIE
Daff: So Nellie, as with Badger, was part of your life. I understand that relationship with different animals, of which we are but the Bi-pedal one. There's nothing like a smiling collie, full of good will and with minimal requirements. Well done. Swep

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-05-07 12:49:32
Re: NELLIE
Swep. Thank you for reading. Yes, Nellie was almost a favourite with me although she didn't live with me. Her owners had her mother and kept Nellie and gave me her brother Teifi, who was my constant shadow and understood most human conversation. He too used to smile but more discreetly.
Talking of dogs; I am sad today. Wispy, the filigree sheepdog, had to be put to sleep yesterday [multiple tumours] and is noe buried with her adored Teifi in the garden. At least she had pretty good quality of life pretty well to the end, but I miss her already.
Daff

Author's Reply:

zenbuddhist on 2005-05-07 13:09:01
Re: NELLIE
they`re braw wee dugs

Author's Reply:

Gerry on 2005-05-07 13:56:54
Re: NELLIE
A lovely tribute to a talented dog...

Gerry.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-05-07 17:24:25
Re: NELLIE
Aye they are indeed. Thanks for reading.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-05-07 17:26:17
Re: NELLIE
Thank you Gerry. She was talented indeed, as was her brother, who was mine. He didn't have sheep in the serious sense but was always convinved he was in charge of my 2 or 3 pet woollies.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-05-08 03:18:33
Re: NELLIE
Wonderful ode to a working dog, I have kept dogs all my life and I truly can appreciate the total devotion, love and entertainment they provide..

As well as inspiration. We could all do with some lessons from our pets...

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Dazza on 2005-05-16 20:24:37
Re: NELLIE
Expert in her feild...In many feilds I expect! Another rural snippet of what it is to have a dog's life, you do it like no one else around these parts! Dazza.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-05-17 11:31:53
Re: NELLIE
Thank you, Jolen, for reading and commenting, Sorry to be late in replying; I think the notification got lost in sorting out my spam.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-05-17 11:38:13
Re: NELLIE
Thank you Dazza. Do you know, I had actually not realised that 'an expert in her field' had such a great dual meaning. Well read.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-05-20 12:52:56
Re: NELLIE
Hi, my reply seems to have disappeared, so in case you didn't see itt, thanks again.
Daff

Author's Reply:


FEATHERED PATERNITY (posted on: 25-04-05)
I've retitled it and decided to give it another airing as its main protagonist gets a mention in the latest duck story. Ducks will now be given a rest.

Llewelyn Fawr is very grand And knows exactly how to stand To look imposing, Which is most important to a drake Who needs the ladies to impress And to have a harem Of enthusiastc mother ducks For future generations' sake. His feathers are a gleaming white And his beak canary yellow. His wings, though not in use for flight, He cleans with infinite care, Feather by flawless feather. His feet are golden triangles That plod majestic through the mud Like shoes of magic leather. His wives are speckly coloured With sapphire in their wings. Much of their day they spend Hunting for interesting things, Snails and slugs and such delights,                 Until, in need of change, they wend Their way to pond or stream, upend Themselves and dabble there For frog spawn, fish eggs, dainty bites To be found in mud below while Feet wave freely in the air. At night the ladies to their nests repair And lay their eggs all white or green And hide them under leaves and grass From beedy eyes of crows who pass, Searching like spy planes from the air. Then comes the day, one gets the urge And snuggles down upon the eggs, With beak on breast, deep in feathers, And sits for weeks midst yellow flags Oblivious of inclement weather, Just waiting till she hears a sound And one by one small beaks emerge. When all are free of broken shells and dry, She leads them forth in one long line To float upon the stream, chasing flies Invisible to human eyes, Flashing, dashing everywhere, Propelled by tiny feet Under mother's watchful eye, Turned skywards lest hawk or crow Descend upon her little fleet. Llewelyn past them softly glides, Bursting with parental pride
Archived comments for FEATHERED PATERNITY
chrissy on 2005-04-25 09:11:35
Re: DUCKS AT BODYFUDDAU
Gorgeous poem, Daphne.
Great descriptions and intricate little rhymes, nothing forced, really natural rhythm.
Top marks from me.
chrissy

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-25 15:15:40
Re: DUCKS AT BODYFUDDAU
Thank you Chrissy. Glad you liked it. For ages I thought I couldn't do a duck one as the definitive duck poem was written -- From the troubles of the world I turn ........ etc. Then I suddenly thought, seeing Llewelyn poncing around with his harem, that it could be personalised and -- hey presto. Glad you liked the rhymes. I enjoyed them -- so much easier than trying to find a rhyme for Felix. I'm now going to liik to see if you put your nice new ones up.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Slovitt on 2005-04-26 04:56:19
Re: DUCKS AT BODYFUDDAU
Daff: This one is one to settle in with and enjoy the pleasant sounds and charming tale. Yes, 'His feet are golden triangles' and yes to 'Like shoes of magic leather.' You have a typo in 'sapphire', and yes 'Feet wave freely in the air.' Well, and deftly done, a good poem. Swep

Author's Reply:

Gerry on 2005-04-26 11:06:10
Re: DUCKS AT BODYFUDDAU
I enjoyed this-it has a nice lilting cadence.
Good one...

Gerry.x

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-26 14:58:47
Re: DUCKS AT BODYFUDDAU
Hi Swep,
Thanks for the helpful comment, especially the typo. I'm afraid I'm careless and I think I did have a momentary doubt about that spelling. Am tempted to say, 'Silly place to put a double p.'
Glad you liked the poem. I was rather pleased with 'shoes of magic leather' myself although I only actually got there by looking for the rhyme.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-26 14:59:56
Re: DUCKS AT BODYFUDDAU
Thanks Gerry. Glad you enjoyed it.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-27 15:52:32
Re: DUCKS AT BODYFUDDAU
You're very welcome, Tevor. Hope the children enjoy it. Fawr [mutated from mawr] = big, or in the case of Llewelyn Fawr 'great'. He was the last great Welsh prince before annexation. Of corse I'm pretty sure he wasn't a duck. I envy you the mountain walking. My knees have got too bad for such activity so I can enjoy the mountains [fawr and fach] only from below.
Thanbks for your appreciation.
Daff

Author's Reply:


L'ORAGE (posted on: 18-04-05)
I hope there is no necessity for poems to be in English. I wrote this years ago when in France and thinking in French. Couldn';t do it now. It was Emma's lovely poem that prompted me to ressurect it. Thanks Emma

La montaigne est devenue amoureuse du ciel
Et donc les ้l้ments nous ont oubli้s.
Les nuages gris sont d้scendus chez elle,
Lui ont cach้ la t๊te et voil้ les pieds.
Lเ-haut, bien au delเ de nos orreilles,
Ils ont fait de l'amour, le ciel et sa montaigne.
Ici, dans la vall้e, il n'y-a pas de soleil;
M๊me la rivi่re se tait et le monde s'้loigne.
Ecoute, mon cher, fais pas de bruit.
Le ciel a pleur้, et ses larmes tombent
Sur les arbres comme le pluie.

Archived comments for L'ORAGE
Emerald on 2005-04-18 18:26:09
Re: L'ORAGE
Ceci est si belle, avec les images merveilleuses.

I enjoyed reading this Daff, glad you submitted this.

Emma:-)

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-18 18:34:47
Re: L'ORAGE
Merci Emma. Tu es tres gentille.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-20 15:14:15
Re: L'ORAGE
Dear Glenn, Thank you for your kind, and informative, comment. Seems I may be, unbeknown to myself, partly American Indian.

Daff

Author's Reply:


THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU (posted on: 04-04-05)
Definitely daft. I'm still trying to make the picture thing work. Seems maybe to do this I have to appear on my personal details as a sheep. Oh well, could be worse.

THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU If you come in the gloom, There are white shapes that loom, And the sounds are decidedly spooky. No need to fear ghosts; These are your hosts, Just Badger and Felix and Luki. If perchance you can’t sleep And you try counting sheep Line leaping over the pea sticks, Badger’s sure to turn round And come with a bound, Followed by Luki and Felix. If you’re mugged at the gate, For you noticed too late An importunate ovine cadger, If it’s head’s in your pocket And nothing will stop it, It’s almost certainly Badger.
Archived comments for THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
teifii on 2005-04-04 15:55:08
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Well I'm commenting myself here as it has really gone awry.
I edited it to get the picture there but did not change anything. In edit poems appear as paragraphs but I assumed this would not actually appear thus but it has -- no picture and no poem.

Oh hell. I give up.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Emerald on 2005-04-04 18:24:55
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Hi Daff, saw this earlier - and didn't leave a comment as I was hoping you would get it in its proper format - So glad you have - I enjoyed reading this very much.

Emma:-)

Author's Reply:

chrissy on 2005-04-04 18:36:36
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Well done the woman of threes. Three sheep, three dogs and three cats. We won't mention the ducks.
Glad you got it sorted.
It's a good poem.
chrissy



Author's Reply:

Kat on 2005-04-04 21:00:20
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
I love your poem and the pic, Daff! Not an easy poem to write, I would think. All the best.

Kat ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:

Dazza on 2005-04-05 01:10:56
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
You rural litttle so and so! I can just smell the dung and far flung vales and dales and sheep of your wacky little world (envy), Dazpacho. Love.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-05 11:53:11
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Thanks Trevor. They swear they were not responsible.
Seem to have sorted it now but will view easyedit with caution in future.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-05 11:54:49
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Yes, it is better thus, I think. Thank you for persisting and for your kind comment. I do know how lucky I am to live here.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-05 11:57:16
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Thank you Emma and Chrissy. Glad you enjoyed it. It's just a bit of fun really. The hardest bit was finding a usable rhyme for Felix. Badger had only one possibilty.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-05 11:58:30
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Thank you KJat. Yes, the challenge was the names as they are for real. But I enjoyed doing it.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-05 11:59:41
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Thanks Dazza. Actually, you know, sheep smell lovely. But I suppose it may be an acquired taste.
Daff

Author's Reply:

RoyBateman on 2005-04-05 12:14:44
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
I think I know these characters - or their close relatives. Woolly jumpers. Hilarious poem, gave me a good laugh. Trouble with sheep is, they won't stand their round at the baa.

Author's Reply:

Dargo77 on 2005-04-05 12:38:18
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Daf, a flocking good poem. I also envy your rural surroundings.
Best regards,
Dargo

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 2005-04-06 11:10:34
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
what a heartwarming ditty. Loved the tricky rhyme. ld

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-06 11:38:07
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Thanks Roy fir reading and making me laugh too. I can tell you this lot certainly make a fuss if their glasses [actually washing up bowls] are not replenished each evening -- sheep muesli not beer.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-06 11:39:05
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Tanks Dargo. Great pun!
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-06 11:40:24
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Thank you LD. It was indeed tricky but I felt it would be cheating to change any of their names.
Daff

Author's Reply:

tai on 2005-04-07 14:12:45
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Hi teifii, a lovely little limerick. Is it Wales I wonder. I enjoyed it very much. It gives a real taste of the countryside.

All the best

Tai

Author's Reply:

Claire on 2005-04-07 15:37:44
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Tis a canny one this is. Great flow to it, with some amusing lines too.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-07 16:40:42
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Hi Claire and Tai. Thanks for reading and glad it amused you. And yes, Tai, it's Wales indeed. That's where we live, me and them and assorted other livestock.
Daff

Author's Reply:

potleek on 2005-04-07 18:41:52
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Teiffii sorry I'm a later browser but just stumbled across this most amusing enjoyable piece, I've had my experiences with sheep although I'm a townie so I can understand in a way.
Only one fault with it, it just were'nt long enough, I honestly could have read more, surely there must be more...Tony

Author's Reply:

Abel on 2005-04-20 15:25:54
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Thoroughly enjoyed this piece...fun, flowing. Thanks for this,

Ward

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-21 19:12:55
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Hi Tony,
Late browsers are always welcome. Glad you liked it and sorry there is no more. I had enought trouble finding rhymes for the three names and can swear there are no others. There may one day be a piece about how Badger came to be the sheep with attitude that he is, but it is waiting on the more important matter of earning my living.
Thank you for appreciating my effort.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-21 19:13:23
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Glad yo liked it, Ward.
Daff

Author's Reply:

karenuk on 2005-10-04 20:49:26
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Enjoyed the humour of this, I love sheep. You're lucky to have some and they sound real characters!

'If youโ€™r mugged' - should be "you're" ๐Ÿ™‚

Karen xx

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-10-05 14:49:55
Re: THE PERILS OF CAMPING AT BODYFUDDAU
Thanks Karen. Yes, I know I'm luccky. They coem for breakfast every morning, putting their nosed through the gate for bits of bread.
Thanks for the typo warning. Now fixed. Wonder how that got away for so long. A good example of why critting is useful even in small matters. I hate mistakes lurking in my poems.

Author's Reply:


She Drove Off Without Me (posted on: 18-03-05)
This is a resubmission prompted by my desire to try my skills at adding a picture. This was really written by Teifi Dog [whose name I nicked for here as the site wouldn't alow any of the versions of my own name.] So I thought he should have his picture with it. Now to see if I can do it, that is the question.

Click here to seeTeifii dog

The boss has gone; I'm a lonely dog;
I haven't the spirit to prowl;
I look at my biscuits with jaundiced eye
And I sit by the door and howl.

I am the back-seat-driver,
I should be there in the van;
It's me that keeps an eye on the road,
Not a damned computer plan.

The rain is dripping, the sheep are wet;
I can't be bothered to bark;
I don't give a damn what the ducks are doing;
My world has gone woefully dark.

Wispy, promiscuous bitch,
Is making eyes at the sitter;
But I am a serious collie dog
And I say it doesn't befit her.

I know that we've been dumped
While the boss goes off on the spree.
It ain't right; she loses all sorts of things,
But never drives off without me.

Archived comments for She Drove Off Without Me


Andrea on 2005-03-18 18:30:39
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Teifii, I fixed your dog pic ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:

Michel on 2005-03-18 18:51:54
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Where is it, then?
*woooof*

Author's Reply:

shangri-la on 2005-03-19 15:03:56
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Loved this enchanting piece, especially

' I look at my biscuits with jaundiced eye'

and 'It ain't right; she loses all sorts of things,
But never drives off without me.'

Awww I could just imagine his woeful look, lovely pic too.

Author's Reply:

KevTheRev on 2005-03-19 17:30:15
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Got two dogs, both mad as hatters.

How do you get a pic in the story box?????

I dont see it in yours!

They should improve the pic upload size and allow more pic to be submitted. ( I ask too much at times, the site is very good!)

Nice little tail!!!

Kevin

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-19 20:02:05
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Very good question. It seems one can click and get it but the poem disappears and you get just Teifi Dog
And woof to you.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-19 20:02:52
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Very good question. It seems one can click and get it but the poem disappears and you get just Teifi Dog
And woof to you.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-19 20:08:50
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Thank you Shangri-la. This was the first poem I wrote in recent times after years of silence and really I think Teifi Dog wrote it.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-19 20:16:04
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Bet you love them though. Thanks for liking Teifi's tail. I now have two out of three without tails due to accidents.
In theory you upload picture to picturebucket [which is a website where one can store pics. I haven't got the address as I've just had my computer re-installed and all my favourites have gone but it is in the forums. That's where I asked. By the way, if you want to go there [very interesting] you have to give yourself another name. For some reason one has to have a different name here and in the forums.
Teifi Dog's picture is only a partial success; one has to click to see it. Andre put a message above to the effect that she had fixed it for me but I can't reply to her message -- get a no page message. So Andrea if you see this, I'm sorry for not replying directly.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-19 20:18:26
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Trying again. Each time I try to reply to your message I get a 'can't open page' message. Thank you for your efforts on Teifi's picture . It's there but separately. I must still be doing something wrong.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 2005-03-20 19:14:35
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Ahhh young Daphne, what I wouldn't give for a dog right now. Any girl in a storm will do. That was a terrible comment and one which does not befit your wonderful poem. I shall smack myself very rigorously with a leather strap across my nether regions. Chances are, I will quite enjoy the experience. You just can't win can ya? I blame Spring Daphne, I'm hornier than ever. I'm sure you needed to know this. I shall leave before I get in to more trouble.
Love and battenberg cake (I love battenberg)

s
u
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k
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Take towels, I predict water.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-21 12:13:20
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Thank you Ancient One. Your comments always more than befit my poems. Showed it to my dogs [Teifii watching from above] and Jess and Wispy, being female, said they thought it better to keep out of your way.
Anyway we are all glad you liked it. Odd that I still can't get his picture to appear actually with the poem.
Daff [and Teifi Dog's ghost]

Author's Reply:

Abel on 2005-03-22 21:47:48
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Really enjoyed this piece...I believe I remember it from before (?)...well done.

Ward

Author's Reply:

Mehitable on 2005-03-23 01:07:40
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Such a sad and lovely poem. We lost our dog nearly two years ago and have only just started to get over him. Every time I went out of the door without him, I could hear his woeful laments - and they were so just. Going to get another dog soon - I'll remember this poem when I've got him!
x Mehitable

Author's Reply:

Emerald on 2005-03-23 10:16:39
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
A lovely poem - reminds me of my dog - enjoyed reading

Emma:-)

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 2005-03-23 12:25:00
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
A very nice and enjoyable poem Daff.

Author's Reply:

Dazza on 2005-03-23 12:29:17
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Daff, your love of critters is obvious and you I love how you get into their heads. You really need to read The Far Side by Gary Larson, he does cartoons and loads of them have animals and very funny to. Dazza.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-23 14:58:56
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Thank you Abel. Yes, you probably have seen it. I put it up,again to try and include his picture but I still haven't completely got to grips with the technology. Glad you liked it.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-23 15:02:59
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Thank you Mehitabel. Yes, it is hard isn't it? Teifi Dog has been gone over two tears now and although I still have Wispy and two replacements, I still miss him. He, as you can twell from the poem, went everywhere with me and seemed to understand everything I said.
Hope you get a new one soon. You'll still miss the old one but will soon find another space in your heart for the new arrival. It's so sad that we always go through this because their lifespan is so short.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-23 15:05:39
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Emma and Apolloneia, thank you both for reading Teifi's poem. I'm sure he would be gratified that you liked it. My remaining dogs are showing no poetic talent ast all.
Daff

Author's Reply:

uppercase on 2005-03-23 15:08:11
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
I love this poem. I'm a dog lover too. I think animals are the only creatures on earth that know how to love...Erma

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-23 15:10:52
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
I suspect in this case Teifi Dog got into mine. If I may say so, you're quite good at reading their minds yourself.
I have made a note of the book and will lok for it.
Thanks for reading Teifi Dog's ouevre. Did you read his sheepdoggerel anthem?
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-24 16:16:50
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Thank you Erma. Glad you like it.
I agree about dogs on the whole [although I suppose one should include humans.] Come to think of it some others do show love. Some mate for life and pine away when their mate dies. I had alittle duck that someone gave me and she went quite mad, running in endl;ess triangles. Then her previous owner handed over his remaining duck and drake to be cared for while he moved. She immediately became quite normal -- they were obviously a trio and there was a definite emotional link. By the time the ther two moved on she had babies and mother love took over.
But I think it is only dogs who love humans.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Bradene on 2005-03-27 13:10:25
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Love the poem Daff and the picture, nice one Love Val x

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-28 16:32:56
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Thanks Val. Glad you liked it. It's been there before but I am experimenting with pictures. I was juust going to try editing it to get his picture straight from uka files but see that only one's first photo can be used and that's currently sheep and I assume that if I change it Teifi Dog will appear as a sheep. He wouldn't approve; he was very keen on sheep but saw them as decidely inferior.
Daff

Author's Reply:

steadyeddy on 2005-03-28 17:05:30
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
hey I loved this and not just because I love dogs either, i loved because its good,,

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-29 12:02:00
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Thank you very much on both counts. Nice to meet you.
Daff

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 2005-04-01 15:48:30
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
I loved this..especially 3rd verse. There's a beautiful absent internal rhyme in there - i guess such a pedigree would not dream of rhyming anything with duck?! Damn good read, thanks, Ld

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-04-02 12:52:05
Re: She Drove Off Without Me
Thank you Little. I've just been back to yours and am really impressed.
Teifi's ghost says 'Of course not. Don't understand what you can mean,' ๐Ÿ™‚
ut he does like alliteration because he was Welsh until promoted above.
I don't give a damn what the ducks are doing;
Daff

Author's Reply:


THE NATURE OF THE BEAST (posted on: 28-02-05)
Have changed 'she' to 'it' to lessen confusion. Hope it's an improvement Plus added here the actual culprit.

THE NATURE OF THE BEAST Cat in kitchen, too intent. I stop, detect Between his paws a feathered tail. He moves first, anticipates My grab, And through the cat flap flees To no avail. My instinct is as strong as his; I have his tail within my grasp. He drops his victim And I hold him fast. Cat underarm, knows it’s there. Rigid with thwarted instinct, He squirms and struggles toward the floor. One handed, with care, I take it up And put it out And shut the door. It creeps behind a spade And sits inert. It came for food, no doubt, For all without is frozen hard And this shed Seemed better than the yard. Now it can’t escape the way it came, For shock has made That knowledge fade. All places seem the same. Later I look again; It has not moved. Maybe nature gives To caught creatures Some natural anaesthetic To relieve the pain And panic. Cat, disgruntled, eats cat food And then, replete, Surveys me balefully And thinks of birds to eat, Begrudges his lost loot And broods. I know I’m thwarting nature’s laws For she is on the side Of teeth and claws; What cares our careless mother If one more song thrush dies? And still it stands, A meal in frozen feathers. I hesitate and push the door….. And then it flies.
Archived comments for THE NATURE OF THE BEAST
Emerald on 2005-02-28 14:57:46
Re: THE NATURE OF THE BEAST
This reminded me very much of my cats - their instinct is there to kill, and so many times I have thwarted them - sadly many of their victims often die of shock from the trauma. Enjoyed this.

Emma:-)

Author's Reply:

Kat on 2005-03-01 00:46:55
Re: THE NATURE OF THE BEAST
I see your name and I know I will not be disappointed when I read further Teifii, but more than that I am in awe of your mastery - each time! You describe the seemingly ordinary/natural around us and bless it with your poetic wisdom which contain truths for us all to glean.

Oh, did I say I liked your poem? ๐Ÿ˜‰

Kat ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-01 12:41:09
Re: THE NATURE OF THE BEAST
Kat, I'm overwhelmed by your comment. I've just been browsing among your work so I'm even more flattered. Thank you.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-01 12:44:03
Re: THE NATURE OF THE BEAST
Thank you Emma for reading and commenting. I'm afraid all our cats are like that, except I suppose I must except one of mine but only because she is too dim to work it out.
I wonder do you know how to put a picture with a poem? I wanted to put one of Barney [the criminal in the case] but couldn't work out how.
Glad you liked the poem.
Daff

Author's Reply:

red-dragon on 2005-03-02 20:49:13
Re: THE NATURE OF THE BEAST
A beast indeed! Ours is 19 and shows no sign of stopping the kill...Ok, it IS next door's bowl of cat food, but, in her eyes, it the mighty mouse! All the birds escape! Thankfully. Your poem brought back memories, though. Ann

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-03 13:33:51
Re: THE NATURE OF THE BEAST
Thank you Ann for reading. I'm afraid my birds don't escape. I fear maybe even the thrush in the poem was the feathers I found the next morning. Then I rescued a robin and the next day what do I find but a dead robin.
I'm afraid my cats are lethal. Maybe they'll be less deadly if they reach a great age like yours.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Slovitt on 2005-03-03 16:20:01
Re: THE NATURE OF THE BEAST
Daff: I guess the pm system has failed me again as I sent you one this past Monday thanking you for your comments on several of my poems, and then again a couple of hours ago I sent another such missive winging across the Atlantic. In any case, to your poem: I think the piece might be stronger if you cut out most (not all) of the editorializing. Additionally, that would have the effect of shortening the piece which might focus it, and make its length more effective for a subject in which the story is pretty basic. As always with your work there is your natural gift with rhyme here. Jumping in, with a suggested possible look at your first stanza, find the following:

Cat in kitchen, too intent.
I stop: between
His paws a feathered tail.
He moves first, anticipates,
And through the cat flap
Flees to no avail.
I have his tail within my grasp;
He drops his victim,
But I hold fast.

And starting the second stanza,

Cat underarm, knows she's there.
He squirms and struggles toward the floor.

and on, to the third stanza where you might look at
cutting 'For shock has made/That knowledge fade.'/ the stanza to conclude

Now she can't escape the way she came.
All places seem the same.

I have suggested a lot, and will conclude by saying that the 3-7 lines of your fourth stanza don't add much for me as reader, and may be something you could do without. To your attention, and hopefully I haven't made too bold with your poem. Swep

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-03-03 17:07:56
Re: THE NATURE OF THE BEAST
Swep,
Not at all. Thank you for your careful consiferation. I shall think about your suggestions. I doubt if I'd take out the part about the anaesthetic effect as it was central to my thinking. She could fly but it seemed as if she never would.
I got the message this time but now the site has decided that my password is wrong so I may have a brief spell of silence if I don't get it sorted.
Daff


Author's Reply:


TODAY IT RAINED (posted on: 24-01-05)
I actually rather like rain, which given where I live [North Wales] is just as well, but this is a snapshot from previous times before I lived here.


Today it rained;
I left the city skulking in its lair;
Just for today I would not share
Its sullen secrets
And its dirty grey despair.

I walked in flooded fields
Beside the swollen streams,
Where, on such breathless days,
Stern reality bows its head
And yields its place to dreams.

As another and a human touch
Once brought me ease,
So this rain, with instant gentleness,
Stilled weary questioning and gave
A temporary peace.

Archived comments for TODAY IT RAINED
chrissy on 2005-01-24 05:39:43
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Daphne, what a beautiful, well written poem. Very wistful and gentle.
Absolutely lovely.
Well worth a ten and a great read for me.
chrissy

Author's Reply:

Penprince on 2005-01-24 08:01:32
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
This is an excellent imagist's poem, a landscape is etherealized and rain is used as an image of happiness...which showers for its own period...EXCELLENT work. I could see a touch of T. E. Hulme in this work...

D

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-01-24 12:36:50
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Thank you Chrissy for your kind words. I'm afraid it's an old one again. I really must try to get writing.
Daf

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-01-24 12:52:58
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Thank you Deb for reading and commenting. I'm glad you liked it.
I had never heard of T.E.Hulme so went to look via Google. Amazing that he wrote only 6 poems of which so far I've only found 3. I love them all so am very flattered.
Daf

Author's Reply:

Kat on 2005-01-25 17:15:50
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Really enjoyed this - very well-written!

Kat ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:

Leila on 2005-01-25 17:24:51
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Very nicely done, I did enjoy reading...L

Author's Reply:

Dargo77 on 2005-01-26 03:31:42
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Daf, really thought this was an excellent poem. Pleased you are back posting.
Best regards,
Dargo

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-01-26 23:12:58
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Thank you Leila and Kat. I'm glad you liked it.
Daf

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-01-26 23:17:58
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Thank you, Dargo, for reading and the kind comment. I'm glad to be back; must come here more often. Work gets in the way, no to mention badly behaved computer!
Daf

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 2005-01-27 18:58:24
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Bloody lovely Teifii. I will mispell your name at some point, so I apologize in advance. Could I maybe call you Dave instead? Really enjoyed this piece. I have a strange fondness for rain myself. I hate cloudless blue skies and that big yellow round thing that sometimes comes out... what is that called now....?

Corny comment - It may have rained today (wait for it) but your lovely poem warmed us all....

Jeeezus - Quick, pass me a sick bag.

s
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k
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Author's Reply:

shackleton on 2005-01-27 21:54:02
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Hi Daf. I enjoyed your poem - nicely completed with that last verse. I visit south Wales about 1 sunday in every 6 to see my son who lives near Swansea. Every time we went down there last year - the sun always seemed to be shining. Just random chance of course but every one looked forward to us visitting 'cos the expected (and got) a nice sunny day. Funny old life. Good poem!

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-01-28 15:21:49
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Hi Sunken. Thanks for the comment. Don't worry about the name. It is odd because originally it was my dog's name [he actually wrote the sheepdogerel anthem and the other one] but when I tried to sign in with it somewhere [not here] I got a message that it was taken. I doubted it but complied with an extra i. That seems to do for everywhere.
You may indeed call me Dave if you wish but I am actually female [Daphne] and Daf has been my nickname amongst friends from long before my net days. It has one f because I use it in Russian, which doesn't have ff, but I find in the invisibility of the net that those who realise I'm in Wales assume I am Dafydd. It's a bit late to rectify now. Perhaps I should try to remember to use Daff.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-01-28 15:27:12
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Hi Shackleton,
Thank you for reading and the kind comment. You sound like the right sort of visitor. But of course we do have sun sometimes.
Daff

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-01-28 15:29:18
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Forgot to finish as my computer disconnected mid-message. My brother emigrated to Australia and I never envy him the predictable sunshine. Give me clouds and rain and three seasons in a day and I'm happy.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Dazza on 2005-01-30 14:37:24
Re: TODAY IT RAINED
Hey there, New Zealand is a rain nation to and this reminds me of then. And wow, you are 71! Poetry never gives away age, you are my hero.

Author's Reply: