My house is my home And it goes where I roam And as I grow big So does it. It’s always my size Never too tight a fit Though I eat and I graze All night long. Though it’s comfy and warm And it keeps me from harm I never eat in; watch TV. So tonight I’ll eat out While the birds not about And I hope you won’t Mind little me.
How does one deal with a brain that is blank No interest in anything: dead? How can one enthuse and react and excite When the vacancy hangs like a cloud? How can one exist in a life that seems full Yet a whirlpool of nothingness looms? How can one write when one’s mind can’t be found When the Muse shuts all doors with dull sound?
I’ll sit here awhile and I’ll tap the keyboard Try to shift torpor from my brain. I’ll struggle to share the Lethe I feel, Try to energise life from the depths; And if even that fails, at least I’ll have tried For my audience, a verse to provide.
There was a time when winters here were cold When snow and ice bit deep into the bone And frosted windows met us, rising, every morn When icy pavements meant we slipped and slid along. There was a time when summers were so warm The sun shone bright between the clouds And heat rose humid from the fields, Bright with wildflowers, buzzing insects And the heady scents of earth and farm. But then came now, and now it should be winter But the February temperature tells me no, For I feel the heat rise across both town and country See a clear blue unremitting glare upon the water And the butterflies awake and flit and start But it is winter or is winter summer now? For this thing called climate change has confused us all.
An iced fairy-cake, White Gothic structure Shining in the sun with Turrets, towers and chimneys Spires, like icing sugar Spiking heavenward, Brilliant against The dome of a blue sky. Castellations of legends And pointed, arched windows Full of intricate tracings. Paradise of imagination, Packed with curiosities In the collections of Walpole’s desires And eccentricities.
Strawberry Hill, London, is currently open to the public with an exhibition of some of the items collected by Horace Walpole (son of Britain’s first Prime Minister). He was an avid collector of art and curiosities, from fine art to armour and coins etc.
The house originally fronted onto the Thames, but the land in front has now been built upon and the site has been developed as part of Queen Mary’s University, London, in fact the students wander around the campus on the lawns outside and have lectures in the adjoining rooms.
Walpole designed this house together with his friends Richard Bentley and John Chute, as a ‘private retreat and a house for show, a place for study and for elaborate parties.’*
Not only is the exterior beautiful, but the interior has rooms or varying shapes, and sizes, ceilings which must be some of the best examples of Gothic revivalism known. There is a mirrored gallery, glitzy with gold and cream Gothic pinnacle ceiling and the prettiest library I remember ever seeing. Unfortunately I could not photograph the interior this time due to so many of the artefacts being on private loan.
It is well worth a visit though for those who like the Gothic style.
Four-legged beast of burden Rough-haired or smooth Piebald, brown or dun Long-eared and skinny-tailed Capturer of our hearts, Nudging at our pockets And snuffling for a carrot. Baring teeth when moody And singing your own song Loudly braying and laughing At the human it does not want to please. Beast of burden Reliable until that point When stubborn will intercedes And nothing will move him. Jack the father Jenny the mother Led by man for 5000 years Bearer of Christ and His mother And a cross to prove it. And now beach companion On a summer’s day in Europe Fun to be with, Loving, faithful, knowing friend.
Bush and grass; Nomadic units. Mud and thatch; A season’s shelter. Timber, wattle and daub; A whole community. Stone and flint and brick, Lots of brick and stone; Built to last; A permanence: Solidity, reliability Cities and government Confirmation of continuity Substance, dependability.
Cold steel; Reflective, shiny Repellant Outward gloss; Hard. And glass All revealing Transparent glass. Windows to the outside Portals to the inside. Transparency and truth Everyone can see; Everything.
The last few decades have seen a new architecture throughout the world. There is a change in style and feeling and I wanted to express how our architecture says a lot about us socially. This is a picture of Basingstoke, once a small market town evolving into a commercial hub – the place where Burberrys were invented in a small retailers; where Eli Lilly and Smiths industries and Lansing Bagnall led the way; where the Automobile Association still is based in what was until recently the tallest building between Hampshire and America; where the bank note printers De La Rue still has its headquarters on the edge of town. But as we move away from industry and manufacturing, – this is on the edge of the Uk’s silicon valley – to ethernet and internet and the need to face each other and work together physically, so architecture has changed. From solid stone with a ‘built to last’ feel, we have moved to glass and steel. Does it represent the unforgivingness of the working environment today? Does the transparency of glass mean that – yes we can see you are not hiding things but that you are being watched all the time? Does the brittleness of glass reflect the ease with which our individual worlds can be smashed and broken?