Messy Little Details

My friend Carolyn has started a new weekly Meme.  She has called it Messy Little Details.  

This is what Carolyn has to say about it:
"Each week I will share one of these photos, something that caught my eye and I had to photograph. A simple thing. A detail. A colour. A texture. The post will be short, a photo and a few sentences at most, it is the photo and the reason I had to take it that I want to share."

And we can join in too!  By sharing a photo from our blogs or from Flickr with the linky she is attaching to her blog.   Go on, join in.  You know you want to!

I haven't taken many photos recently.  I know, shock! horror!  But life got in the way a bit.  However I do have some older photos (last Autumn) from the wool museum in Wales.

I took this photo because it reminded me of the past - of my childhood and of the more recent past - well 10 years ago - when I did more sewing! And I love the colours!  And how great that the aqua appeared almost on a sweet spot according to the rule of thirds!

Thanks for popping by.
Bernice

Travel diary

There was a giveaway of digital papers on 12 Months in View designed by Anita van Hal.  I used some of these papers to make a book. 

And I took it with me to Florida.  Before I left I stamped the days of the week into the book.
Each day I filled it and stuck in labels and bits and bobs.  I taped in the welcome pack from the Ladies Conference I went to.

I still have the last two days and the cover to finish.

Thanks for stopping by.

The Glover’s Son

I don't know how long ago I wrote this poem but safe to say it's a long time ago because the copy I have is typed.  As in, on a typewriter!

I am using the poem and some of my photographs in response to the challenge on 12 Months in View on April 23rd.  I may do a journal page later.

The Glover's Son

The shepherd, Constable and carpenter,

Ale sodden drunkard and the village fool

Were players on life’s stage each market day

While citizens thronged through the vendor’s stalls;

The glover’s son passed by these busy scenes

And on towards the river where mute swans

Slid silently upstream to Waterside

To nest on land beyond the waggoner’s way.

Another day might see a travelling band

Of vagabonds pass near the town. To act

The tragedy of Denmark’s righteous prince,

Or play the fool in some poor comic jest.

These sights provoked the glover’s son to leave

His well loved Warwickshire, and London bound

Did seek his fortune as a player king,

With Kemp and Burbage, all the Chamb’lain’s Men.

The written word, dramatic lines in verse

From tragic myth to comedy and love

Brought forth the fame which he desired

Not acting in the theatre’s wooden ‘O’.

At home in Stratford was his dear wife Anne

But London held his heart, the unknown love

In sonnet form address’d, the Queenly court

Where William’s plays were frequently performed.

And near four hundred years have passed, and still

His words are heard, and myriad murmurs walk

The willow’d way to see the graceful swans

And crowd the street toward the place

Where John the Glover lived, and walk the paths

Where once the bard of Avon walked with Anne

Through narrow streets and past the mill race weir

And up the hill ‘whereon the wild thyme blows’,

Or to the church where Shakespeare’s bones are laid.

To leave the town with all their homage paid.