Category Archives: Peace

World Peace Day, Lunch and A Butterfly

Happy singing round the world today on World Peace Day

Lunch was an omelette using leftovers from the weekend (Toulouse sausage, chicken, potatoes and freshly chopped chives from the herb garden) and it was delicious.

Left-overs omelette

A very short walk in the sunshine this afternoon to attempt to wake up my exhausted bones just tired me further but we did see this beautiful Butterfly, a Small Tortoiseshell.  Click on any photo to see the beautiful furriness of this gorgeous creature.

Yesterday I posted a recording of one of the songs that my choir will be singing this evening at the Concert for Peace in Truro. Here it is again. Do have a listen!


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Lo Yisa Goy, Autumn Rain and Garden View

I told you a couple of weeks ago that my choirs were leaning a new song for our part in World Peace Day tomorrow. Here is a recording sent to me today by our choir leader.    

After a couple of sunny days a front is moving through and so we have had Autumn rain. Here is a poem by Mary Oliver to celebrate  Rain

Last Night the Rain Spoke To Me – Mary Oliver

Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying,

what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud,
to be happy again

in a new way
on the earth!
That’s what it said
as it dropped,

smelling of iron,
and vanished
like a dream of the ocean
into the branches

and the grass below.
Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
I was standing

under a tree.
The tree was a tree
with happy leaves,
and I was myself,

and there were stars in the sky
that were also themselves
at the moment,
at which moment

my right hand
was holding my left hand
which was holding the tree
which was filled with stars

and the soft rain—
imagine! imagine!
the wild and wondrous journeys
still to be ours.

Here is a view from indoors of our Tinner’s Hound in our rainy garden. He is still laughing!

Tinner’s Hound by David Kemp



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Spider, Frog and Singing

It has been very Autumnal in the garden today and I noticed several spiders busy in their webs. This was the only successful photo though as they were constantly on the move.

Araneus diadematus

European Garden Spider or Cross Orb-Weaver

A frog has turned up in a tub of water on the patio. There are stones there so he can get out but I am hoping he is okay.

Green frog

The new singing term started with The Inglehearts tonight and was such a joy. We have all missed our session. Tonight we learned a new song for World Peace Day on 21st September when we will be performing in Truro.

Lo yisa goi el goi cherev

Lo yil m’du od milchama

Lo yisa goi el goi cherev

Lo yil m’du od milchama

Lo yisa goi el goi cherev

Lo yil m’du od milchama

Lo yisa goi el goi cherev

Lo yil m’du od milchama

Nation will not lift up sword against nation, nor will they learn war any more.

Thank you, Claire.


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In Print, Violets and Sunset

This morning I found the May issue of Cornwall Today in the shop and our project has a wonderful six page write up from Kirstie Newton with fabulous photos taken by Sally Adams.

The article about our project

I spent another couple of happy hours in the Cornish Studies library today finding more images for our exhibition and our programme – all very exciting and this evening we went up to St Agnes Beacon for a quiet walk together, no-one else around and found some peace.

Violets on the cliff top

We watched the sun set.

Sunset from St Agnes Beacon


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Shadows, Flower and Bob Hicok

When the sun shines into our sitting room in the evening it lights up the glass Agapanthus that we bought on The Scillies years ago and sometimes, as now, the shadow has colour in it.

There are Marguerites in flower in a neighbours’ garden. This is the centre of one. Aren’t the colours lovely?

I subscribe to Knopf Poetry throughout April, a month of poetry. This one by Bob Hicok came in a day or two ago and is brilliant! We are all HUMAN!  As my lovely SIL says – we both get the poems -” I love the subtle message of “We’re all PEOPLE, people!” ”

We’ve come a long way toward getting nowhere
My obsession with Jews is an obsession
with one Jew. I look at her walking
and wonder what anyone could have
against Jews, at her sleeping
or hunting for her keys in the morning,
which she does often, lose her keys
when she has to go to work, suggesting
she doesn’t want to, and maybe this
is the problem with Jews:
they don’t want to leave. Or they eat
lots of chicken. Or worry the black
of their skirts doesn’t match the black
of their tops. Or like children more
than babies. Or fret over their mothers.
My Jewish problem is figuring out
why America in 2016 has a dab
of 1930s German Fascism to it—
people at political rallies
yelling crap about the Jews.
If I thought it would do any good,
I’d go to Topeka or wherever
and bring Eve with her troubled wardrobe
and her love of chicken and fascination
with children between two and thirteen,
when they can talk but before
they’ve begun planning the murder
of their parents, bring her face-to-face
with the screamers and ask, So these
are the freckles you hate? I would—we have
a lot of Amex points and I’ve never been
to Topeka or wherever, and I’m sure wherever
is very nice. And whenever we travel
to wherever, whatever people say
and however they say it, Eve’s freckles
will be the same, kind of cute
and kind of Jewish,
just like all her other parts
that do and do not have freckles,
in an inventory I alone
get to take, though trust me—
after repeated inspection, I can attest
that underneath it all, she, like many
of the people you know or are,
is ticklish, wrinkly, sexy, scarred—
since Jews really are relentless
when it comes to being human.



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Rhododendrons, Daffodils and May Swenson

After singing again today, I went for a solo walk in Burncoose Nursery Gardens. I love the feeling of personal peace I get in there with nothing but the beauty and the scent of the flowers, varieties of bird song and the chance to think. The magnolias have just about finished but the Rhododendrons are now in flower and gorgeous.

Most of the Daffodils have gone over too as the Bluebells start to bloom but these few caught my eye and reminded me of  line in a poem, ‘the yolk coloured mouthpieces’ – just what these blooms have. Below is the whole poem by May Swenson.

Daffodils – May Swenson

Yellow telephones
in a row in the garden
are ringing,
shrill with light.

Old-fashioned spring
brings earliest models out
each April the same,
naïve and classical.

Look into the yolk-
colored mouthpieces
alert with echoes.
Say hello to time.


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Pudding, Peace and Ted Hughes

The lovely Mr S has been working on the interior of the boat for the past month, out from 9-6 each day so when he came home early today, we went out for a treat. Here is the Lemon Meringue Pie that was my choice of dessert.

I bought these letters today as the Es were back in stock. I have put them on the window sill in the sun room, overlooking the back garden.

This poem, April Birthday by Ted Hughes,  is for a young friend whose birthday is today. Happy days, N. I love the idea of Spring, being ‘like  a whole circus tumbling through a hoop.’  I love the ‘blossoms bombing’. I love the trees staggering under their new load of young leaves. I love the poem as you may have gathered!  Hope you do too, Natalie.

April Birthday – Ted Hughes

When your birthday brings the world under your window
And the song-thrush sings wet-throated in the dew
And aconite and primrose are unsticking the wrappers
Of the package that has come today for you

Lambs bounce out and stand astonished
Puss willow pushes among bare branches
Sooty hawthorns shiver into emerald

And a new air
Nuzzles the sugary
Buds of the chestnut. A groundswell and a stir
Billows the silvered
Violet silks
Of the south – a tenderness
Lifting through all the
Counties of England.

When the swallow snips the string that holds the world in
And the ring-dove claps and nearly loops the loop
You just can’t count everything that follows in a tumble
Like a whole circus tumbling through a hoop

Grass in a mesh of all flowers floundering
Sizzling leaves and blossoms bombing
Nestlings hissing and groggy-legged insects

And the trees
Stagger, they stronger
Brace their boles and biceps under
The load of gift. And the hills float
Light as bubble glass
On the smoke-blue evening

And rabbits are bobbing everywhere, and a thrush
Rings cooly in a far corner. A shiver of green
Strokes the darkening slope as the land
Begins her labour.




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