Wondrous paths ...

Monday, Monday

The Young May Moon

The young May moon is beaming, love,
The glow - worm's lamp is gleaming, love;
How sweet to rove
Through Morna's grove,
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake! - the heavens look bright, my dear,
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear;
And the best of all ways
To lengthen our days
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

Now all the world is sleeping, love,
But the Sage, his star - watch keeping, love,
And I, whose star
More glorious far
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake! - till rise of sun, my dear,
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,
Or in watching the flight
Of bodies of light
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear!

Thomas Moore

Echo

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To Music at night
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away o'er lawns and lakes

Yet Love hath echoes truer far
And far more sweet
Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star,
Of horn or lute or soft guitar
The songs repeat.

'Tis when the sigh, - in youth sincere
And only then,
The sigh that's breathed for one to hear -
Is by that one, that only dear
Breathed back again.

Thomas Moore

A statue for Gülsüm!

A cow in the village of Kadiruşağı in the eastern province of Malatya has been sent to a neighboring village because its owner feared she would be punished for the animal knocking down a statue (of Atatürk; Omnium) in the local schoolyard.

The accident caused the local education department to launch a formal inquiry into the matter, frightening the cow’s owner, Gül Kılınç, who said she had sold the animal, named Gülsüm, to a friend in the neighboring village of İnekpınarı to wait out the inquiry.
[...] "Officials came and took our testimony. Almost every member of the village was questioned"* [...].

* emphasise mine

More about this absolutely shocking incident at Hürriyet.

As Turkishness is unrivalled, I do fear this cow is a poor sow.

It might be interesting, though, to interview her and the author or journalist, Gülsüm might soon share a prison cell with.


Meanwhile, in a poll amongst cows worldwide, 99,98 percent mooed:
"A statue for Gülsüm!



Related articles (warmly commended):
Spreading Mr. Kemal's news (Part I of an exclusive interview with the late Atatürk)

Take it easy, Venus

It's somehow amazing, yes.
Interesting anyway; both the find and - the enthusiastic way in which it's celebrated. Well, and the name it's given: Venus of Hohle Fels.

Well, when I am thinking of Venus, I do have another picture in my mind. :)

In so far, it's nice in today's NYT to read following lead:

No one would mistake the Stone Age ivory carving for a Venus de Milo. The voluptuous woman depicted is, to say the least, earthier, with huge, projecting breasts and sexually explicit genitals.

Full article here.

... there our Paradise

Dyddgu, brilliant creature, with your soft dark hair your secret lover I invite you to the Manafon dingle. Here is no coarse food spread for you, nor gluttonous eating in a hut; nor porridge nor stirabout, the reapers' small profit: nor a bite of a ploughman's dinner, nor lean Lent meat. Nor have I invited any Englishman with his loud drunken friends, nor a labourers' feed celebrating their coming to manhood; I promise you nothing but mead and the song of a nightingale, the brown-backed nightingale with her light dancing song, and the thrush with his strong pleasant tongue. What better place than this, deep over-hung by the green birch-trees. While we lie out there under the leaves, the splendid trees hang over our celebration, and high above us the birds play in the branches. Ringed about us are nine trees, the finest in the wood; below them we lie in a round hollow, a green belfry above us, and all around the fresh white clover, heaven's flour. There two people, or three can lie by the hour untroubled, where the gentle roebuck seeks wild oats, where birds sing, where I am glad. Where the blackbird builds his thick nest, where the majestic trees stand, where hawks feed their young, there is our new dwelling of leaves, there is our ready passion, there our Paradise. There is the pale light in the shade of the hanging branches, by the still water in the smokeless air, in the tangled bushes where no meal-beggar nor scraggy cheese-beggar shows himself, there let us two go, I and my girl with her eyes bright as a glow-worm, skin white as a wave, there will we two lie tonight.
Daffyd ap Gwilym

All poems posted here so far you will find by clicking the labels for this post. Enjoy.

Full empty

In general people stick to not speaking with full mouth;
is their head empty - now, that's a different story.

Except when it's cold

Yo-no-na-ka, ho-ka-ho-ka na-no-yo
no-
na-
ka,
ho-
ka-
ho-
ka
na-
no-
yo

From wherever you look at it: The world is a warm place.

Just to increase my stats

Gardening, flowers, (romantic) poems, 'sweet' songs (of love) ... oh, what a boring apolitic blog Omnium has become - some readers might think...

... perhaps -? :) - not thinking of that everything is politics;

... perhaps - ? :) - not being aware that it is politics saying: I don't care about politics'.

End of the beforegoing.

As everybody knows I am just crazy about my stats. Absolutely crazy. 90 percent of my time I am thinking of my stats. Gosh, Jesus, Allah, Montezuma, Buddha, Venus, all gods I don't mention ... and not to forget the devine head of a dead sardine - care for my stats.

It's why I am linking to billions of blogs, visit each hour millions of them and leave myriads of comments ... such as: Wonderful! Brilliant! Nicely put! Love it! Aww, gorgeous! Amazing! etc. etc. etc. ad infinitum ...

and not to forget: would be sssoooo lovely if you found time to visit my wonderful ... eh humble blog.
Lots of love, Yours ...

End of the beforegoing.

Back to the stats I am such crazy about.
For weeks - ah what am I saying? - for months ! they have been decreasing. And that's only why the watchdogs of Monsanto are obviously thinking 'another idiot's resignating'.

Ah, gentle(wo)men: How could I risk your jobs. Forgive me, please?

You see, I thought it's only fair to give a certain President some days more than one hundred to prove that eloquency which by a credulous majority is easily taken for charisma, can be as dangerous and evil as what an imbecile son of a former evil babbit that managed / was chosen to become President of the most wonderful of all wonderful countries, could ever babble.

End of the beforegoing.

To slowly ... very slowly ... enure readers what might - if I feel like :) - (again) become a topic on at of Omnium - ah those prepositions! -, here's for a very tiny warm-up.

Maybe I am going to feel fancy to ask the most honourable Mr. Obama what he has been doing about those bucking fastards in his country during the past 100 + X days.
May be there will some other questions been asked.

Yes, I can!

Such questions won't change anything, you say?

:)

Quite. But isn't is a pleasure to call liars liars, and greedy bastards greedy bastards?

And now imagine: Those greedy bastards - most of them at least any Sunday showing sanctimoneously presence in the church of their choice ... convert to Islam / Judaism / Buddhism/ Hinduism / start worshipping the head of a dead sardine ...

Now, that would help to save the planet!

The peace of the night.

The Instinct of Hope

Is there another world for this frail dust
To warm with life and be itself again?
Something about me daily speaks there must,
And why should instinct nourish hopes in vain?
'Tis nature's prophesy that such will be,
And everything seems struggling to explain
The close sealed volume of its mystery.
Time wandering onward keeps its usual pace
As seeming anxious of eternity,
To meet that calm and find a resting place.
E'en the small violet feels a future power
And waits each year renewing blooms to bring,
And surely man is no inferior flower
To die unworthy of a second spring?

John Clare


And for those who want more,
here's a door to John Clare's poetry ...

Blue Diamond

Sometimes ... sometimes ...

Ah, why telling my thoughts in 50 sentences, when after clicking on this tiny picture of an unimposing periwinkle within a second you will know them, anyway.

Dancing Barefoot

Voilà, here's (not only) to please Jams O'Donnell Esq..

Enjoy!