Righteous Dustbins
Coffee break at ten, whirled through the
antichirst’s birth as retold by Neil Gaiman
and Terry Pratchett - the Spawn of Satan
without hoofikens, looking unlike his daddy-
waddykins as Sister Loquacious remarked
Brought to a Chattering Order where nuns
speak incessantly, however inconsequential,
in marvelous contrast with the usual nun’s
tale of silence broken by delightful renditions
of holy songs all jazzed-up; I laughed aloud
This day is blessed by this great piece of
irreverence, creating a context in which I
can read little documents, my mind held
in thrall by the righteous dustbins of this
saintly tale – thank you so much!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Related quotes
Experience The Divine - Best Gift
Maria von Trapp complained
she couldn’t stop singing and
saying everything that comes
into her mind, in tribute to his
favourite flibbertigibbet
Pratchett invented the Chattering
Order of Saint Beryl Articulatus with
Sister Loquacious and Sister Voluble
who were free to be quiet for one hour
on Thursdays only
Pratchett’s causal narrative makes
redress for all past injustice, fills me
with inspiration to visualise the office
as a Chattering Convent and to project
the holiday resort
Which we are going to visit as a corner
of unsullied paradise and YOU as the
best gift the universe could ever provide,
thank you for every moment of time
you spend
It is the highest compliment and when you
polish uneven lines, you do the work of
angels and change my consciousness
into an experience of the Divine…
Good Omens – Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
Corgi edition published 1991, pp 33,36,38, & 41
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Unseen Academicals- 22/11/09
Pratchett’s Unseen Academicals was a
joy from beginning to end, the author is
a prince among men
Ridiculed fashion items like six-inch
stiletto heels and all kinds of bling,
empty-headed models
Remunerated exorbitantly for glittering
while toiling labourers doing necessary
things are paid next-to-nothing
Pratchett’s depiction of the Discworld
is bathed in a golden light of happiness
everybody joyously engaged
In activities normally depicted as unmitigated
Misery; does Pratchett realize how much the
positive attitude of his main characters
Contrast with his cynical omnipresent narrator
perspective, does he see the juxtaposition
between two aspects
His protagonists acting with integrity and his blasé
narrative voice, the dualism must cause a war
in his mind – verily, I suspect
That is happening at present, while Pratchett is
telling a world-weary tale of human nature, his
characters are presenting a morality play
He cannot subdue them, cannot force decadence
on his characters, they are whiter than snow –
how much does this irk him?
I would love to know...
Terry Pratchett ‘Unseen Academicals’ Doubleday 2009
poem by Margaret Alice
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Miracle Disclosure (Revised)
Reading ‘Good Omens’ – Antichrist Adam Young and
his gang have fun with Tibetans and Flying Saucers –
in conjunction with The Science of Discworld which
‘David Attenboroughishly’ explains evolution as if it
were an already proven and therefore universally
accepted Gospel Truth – while it
is still only another childish theory, a speculative
hypothesis no better or worse than Creationism, but
creating the same reputation for itself by launching
attacks on other theories and posing as the Modern
Age equivalent of Miracle Disclosure; while ALL
these theories are illusion
made-up narratives explaining mysteries of existence
with no entitlement to claim any final revelation of the
true state – sanctimonious and condescending tones of
New Western Materialism sounds even worse than the
Middle Ages Inquisition – and in our universe ALL
being as speculative and unprovable as each other!
“Good Omens” – Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman,
Corgi Edition 1991
“The Science of the Discworld 1” Revised Edition
Jack, Pratchett, Terry, Stewart and Ian Cohen
Kindle – bought from Amazon
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Damien-kid
Hunting for recipe books in the bookshop, I bought
Good Omens, what FUN, the Damien-kid playing
Spanish Inquisition, dunking the witch, a little girl
tied to a chair, in the pond until the Inquisitors so
hot, they dunked themselves
Never thought of playing this when I was small, just
danced around in my mother’s wide dress and sang
songs, my brothers’ gang sat on the rafters, tried
sleeping in a hole in the ground though it got too
cold and they crept back inside
A theme running like gold thread through the book
all tapes turn into Queen’s music if left in the car for
too long, Freddy Mercury replacing the classics to
the demon’s chagrin, brings on fits of laughter;
Sister Loquacious switching the babies
So Damien’s hell-hound changed into a sweet little
doggie; both demon and angel lamenting imminent
Armageddon as heaven is too boring - its highlight
the Sound of Music* and hell’s excitements too
painful - both trying to save the world
Since human beings are the source of real grace and
real heart-stopping evil*, both demons and angels are
needed – the secret is, they only exist inside the
human mind, once humanity is destroyed, they
also lose their existence
Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman,
Corgi Books,2006
* Quoted from p.93
Damien –The Omen – An ominous film
The Sound of Music – A film about the life of Maria
von Trapp, changed her story too much, read the book,
though the film is good fun, don’t watch it over and over
too much syrup makes people go funny in the end
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Love all
I love all
I am being loved by all.
This land is holy
Saintly delightful
Wonderful and marvelous.
Here in this land
You make your kingdom
And kept me as
Emperor millennium.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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FootPrints In The Sand
footprints in the sand
heading that way as it
leads away it leaves a
tale.
a tale of pain a tale of sorrow
a tale of hurt a tale to be told
whispir in my ear a tale of a
new generation
a generation of determination
where love is an everyday thing
and not as rare as a blue moon
so foot prints in the sand
your tale was heard as it hit
the nation pure like solid gold
so though your mist wash away
your tale live on till today
poem by Robert Roberts
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All The Emotion Evoked
Now where shall I take the high tide of emotion
seeing that I have finished reading the story of
Tiffany Aching - the book is too short; the great
promise of it beginning when she demanded a
full-scale hearing while every element seemed
to be against her - which made me shudder on
her behalf - turned benevolent universe MUCH
too soon and with the odds not stacked against
her victory was too easy and she was given all
help, suddenly she was such a sure-fire winner
riding the tide and I no longer identified with the
protagonist - my heroines always have to suffer
much longer with more challenges to overcome
I was ready to face a lot of pain - just to find the
ride too short, too few obstacles, the bride-to-be
was a special witch great at dealing with ghosts;
all misunderstanding solved too easily - I prefer
complications and intrigues for a sweet heroine
but Terry Pratchett spun a beautiful tale - to be
embroidered - until it contains all the pain I can
imagine - he remains my favourite author - all
the emotion evoked will be used to experience
and recreate fairytales old and new in my head
I Shall Wear Midnight - Terry Pratchett -
What a Wonderful Book!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Fairy Tale High
On a fairy tale high
Don't you believe that your dreams all come true
The fairy tale world inside can bring it to you
You just have to wish, and you'll take off and fly
On a fairy tale high, fairy tale high
Fairy tale high, fairy tale high
On a fairy tale high
Just look around you, the dark clouds are far
Stand on your tiptoes, and reach for a star
As stardust comes sprinkling, it will brighten your eyes
On a fairy tale high, fairy tale high
Fairy tale high, fairy tale high
Fairy tale high, fairy tale high, fairy tale high
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Burning Embers
Fly through the glass of a window pane
fall through the sky feeling the rain
Walk on broken glass your tell-tale heart
Look through the bars of a dirty jail cell
soar to heaven dive to hell
Listen to your tell-tale heart
Setting fires in the ghost twilight
we see you dress we bolt with fright
You see an apparition disappear
Jump to the table, jump up the stairs
stand on the rooftop, looking out through the air
Walk on broken glass your tell-tale heart
Lenore, am I dreaming
How can death keep us apart, mmmm..
Lenore, I see you burning
And I'd walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Heart
heart
Heart
heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Abbherence!
A man was on the floor
Selling coco at the shore.
Making meal & money, he's happy.
Looking at d stars, he laid airy.
But the tale had a twist
Wid no legs, he held tight his fist
And the hatred tale started.
His fingers ran through pages
He knew history since sages
Giving lectures he spent the day
Moon or sun, knowing not from where came d ray
There lied in tale a twist
With no eyes, he held tight his fist
And the hatred tale started.
In a garden blossomed a flower
Reason being aroma, all wanted it ever
Few hours hence, it was plucked
Days later, dry it looked
That is where the tale took a twist
This' one more in that list
And the hatred tale started.
The hatred tale that had a twist
When few couldn't hold tight their fist
That hatred tale still in place
When some flawed life as they couldn't race
When a man wins if he thinks he can
& flower that spreads cheer before it dries
WHY SHOULD A LOSER END LOSER? ?
poem by BhanuPrakash Singh
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You speak to me and say
Cherish
The brilliance of the day,
Come what may
The warmth descending from our sun
Which coddles each and everyone
The breath of life on this planet earth
Until our death, from our inconsequential birth
Thank you, Oh great uncaused first cause,
Whoever you are, wherever you may be,
Because
I am so glad to be around
To hear each and every sound
See each and every sight
Experience every single day and every single night
To breathe each and every breath
From my birth until my death
And waste not one single second
Of your great gift - this is my bond.
poem by Terry Brewer
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It is a fool's prerogative to utter truths that no one else will speak.
quote by Neil Gaiman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Among So Many
. . . In a dark street she met and spoke to me,
Importuning, one wet and mild March night.
We walked and talked together. O her tale
Was very common; thousands know it all!
'Seduced'; a gentleman; a baby coming;
Parents that railed; London; the child born dead;
A seamstress then, one of some fifty girls
'Taken on' a few months at a dressmaker's
In the crush of the 'season' at ten shillings a week!
The fashionable people's dresses done,
And they flown off, these fifty extra girls
Sent — to the streets: that is, to work that gives
Scarcely enough to buy the decent clothes
Respectable employers all demand
Or speak dismissal. Well, well, well, we know!
And she — 'Why, I have gone on down and down,
And there's the gutter, look, that I shall die in!'
'My dear,' I say, 'where hope of all but that
Is gone, 'tis time, I think, life were gone too.'
She looks at me. 'That I should kill myself?'
'That you should kill yourself.' — 'That would be sin,
And God would punish me!' — 'And will not God
Punish for this?' She pauses; then whispers:
'No, no, He will forgive me, for He knows!'
I laughed aloud: 'And you,' she said, 'and you,
Who are so good, so noble' . . . 'Noble? Good?'
I laughed aloud, the great sob in my throat.
O my poor Darling, O my little lost Sheep
Of this vast flock that perishes alone
Out in the pitiless desert! — Yet she'd speak:
She'd ask me: she'd entreat: she'd demonstrate.
O I must not say that! I must believe!
Who made the sea, the leaves so green, the sky
So big and blue and pure above it all?
O my poor Darling, O my little lost Sheep,
Entreat no more and demonstrate no more;
For I believe there is a God, a God
Not in the heaven, the earth, or the waters; no,
But in the heart of Man, on the dear lips
Of angel Women, of heroic Men!
O hopeless Wanderer that would not stay,
('It is too late, I cannot rise again!')
O Saint of faith in love behind the veils,
('You must believe in God, for you are good!')
O Sister who made holy with your kiss,
Your kiss in that wet dark mild night of March,
There in the hideous infamous London streets,
My cheek, and made my soul a sacred place,
my poor Darling, O my little lost Sheep!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Em 3
about you
what shall i say about you?
ah, i prefer my
silence
this is my cure about
you
yes, my silence
it shall speak about
you my silence
my very own silence
to speak about your
long silence
now we are at peace
in our silence
both shall speak about
us yes our silence
our marital silence in
the silence of our bed
the root of all our
troubles freud say is in
the silence of our beds
two beds now
four meters apart
speaking in silence
the silence of the house
and the chairs
and the staircases
and the carpets and
the ticks and the
empty glasses or those
cold coffee and
frozen butter.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Destiny
O! Fortune-Teller,
Who inscribed consternation
In your eyes after reading,
The lines of my hands?
Tell me what tale you have read,
Tell me at least whatever the tale is
Whether there will be an end of it or not.
O! Fortune-Teller,
Tell me at least something
Whether there will be an end
Of the tale or not.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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My Daddy
My daddy was never there for me.
My daddy always drank.
My daddy told me I was worthless and unworthy of his time.
My daddy was the one who made me, but also broke me.
My daddy never came to my birthday parties.
My daddy came to my 5Th grade graduation drunk as can be.
My daddy would walk into my room every night with a belt in his hand.
My daddy was the one who shattered all my dreams.
My daddy wouldn't let me sleep until he hit me.
My daddy would tell me I'm nothing but a piece of crap.
My daddy was the one who tore my life into pieces.
My daddy is not my daddy any more...
He can be your daddy if you'll take him.
That man I called my daddy, he never was truly a daddy.
But he was still my daddy.
poem by Davina Teeling
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When the least they could do to you was everything, then the most they could do to you suddenly held no terror.
Terry Pratchett in Small Gods
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coloured By Octarine Light
Started on Dodger the new novel by Sir Terry
Prachett, the magic of storytelling moving my
mind into a fantastic realm and I'm off - my
spirit riding the story in seething emotions
and feelings
Images conjured in lines of artifice varying in
degree, pedantic words put in the mouth of a
protagonist, no matter - it remains delightful,
the awareness that this story was woven by
a past master
Of social commentary, the author's spirit illu-
minating lines that would have fallen if uttered
by anybody else, my heart pliable in Pratchett's
hands, the novel coloured and shaped by the
octarine light
Shining bright after years of bringing the Disc-
world alive; following unnatural speeches my
eyes ride every line creating a musical tune
by rendering the emotional tones in the
musical score
Of the text - all other noise is intrusion, not
registered while taking in the book I hold In
my hands - dreaming within the London
of a Charles Dickens, presented within
the eldritch perspective
Of a masterful Pratchett…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Break the Silence....
Oh! Dear women
All over the world
Speaking the language of silence
Break it, Let the world recognize
You, the women all over the world
Break the silence
Fastened your mind
Let it pronounce the autonomy
Of your heart, of your will
Aloud, agile and ablaze
Break the silence
To let you feel
You are still alive bevy
Crack the crotchet which smash your life
and Join hands to procure rights
Break the silence
To liberate self and
Reject those…
Feathering acclaims
Spot those lurking witty wolf
To ingratiate until death
Break the silence
You had been
Promoting from
From the womb
Let us not carry it along
Till the tomb
As if a shroud
Break the silence
Abandon abeyance
Lest you will be questioned
Not only by your self
But by your dear beat
Dear, Break...
Break the silence......
Let they not inherit our
Mute, muss, musty silence
Let us not see them crown
Sterile, dumb, stolid silence
Sandhya
21.07.2009
poem by Sandhya S.N
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The fairy tale of my life.
There is something
in my mind
waiting to come out
I don't know what it is,
a fear, maybe a secret wish
A wish for love, for personal success
A wish for happiness in the end
Of a fairy tale,
My fairy tale
The fairy tale of my life.
poem by Sofia Politidou
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