Damian: posts feature the pen and the pixel

Unknown

Upon the shimmering, azure sea,

A castle stands in mystery.

A king, tormented by a seer,

Built walls of stone to hide his fear.

A prophecy of serpent's bite,

Cast shadows on the princess’s plight.

Across the waves, on shifting sand,

He placed her far from mainland land.

"No viper swims," the father cried,

"No snake can cross this ocean tide."

So here she stayed in quiet grace,

Untouched, within this watery place.

But destiny, with subtle art,

Found passage to the maiden's heart.

Hid deep within a basket's fold,

The serpent's doom was left untold.

A single bite, a sudden breath,

The fruit of fate brought instant death.

The waves still lap the castle shore,

John Masefield

Be with me, Beauty, for the fire is dying;

My dog and I are old, too old for roving.

Man, whose young passion sets the spindrift flying,

Is soon too lame to march, too cold for loving.

I take the book and gather to the fire,

Turning old yellow leaves; minute by minute

The clock ticks to my heart. A withered wire,

Moves a thin ghost of music in the spinet.

I cannot sail your seas, I cannot wander

Your cornland, nor your hill-land, nor your valleys

Ever again, nor share the battle yonder

Where the young knight the broken squadron rallies.

Only stay quiet while my mind remembers

The beauty of fire from the beauty of embers.

Beauty, have pity! for the strong have power,

The rich their wealth, the beautiful their grace,

Summer of man its sunlight and its flower,

Spring-time of man all April in a face.

Only, as in the jostling in the Strand,

Where the mob thrusts or loiters or is loud,

The beggar with the saucer in his hand

Asks only a penny from the passing crowd,

So, from this glittering world with all its fashion,

Its fire, and play of men, its stir, its march,

Let me have wisdom, Beauty, wisdom and passion,

Bread to the soul, rain where the summers parch.

Give me but these, and, though the darkness close,

Marianne Moore

Abdulkadir Bulut

Daffodils are planted in Anamur

Around the eaves of the old, mud-roofed houses

It’s as if, rather than houses

Each one of them

Vidyan Ravinthiran

Lord Alfred Douglas (Oscar Wilde's 'Bosie')

A treacherous monster is the Shark He never makes the least remark.

And when he sees you on the sand, He doesn’t seem to want to land.

He watches you take off your clothes, And not the least excitement shows.

His eyes do not grow bright or roll, He has astonishing self-control.

He waits till you are quite undressed, And seems to take no interest.

And when towards the sea you leap, He looks as if he were asleep.

But when you once get in his range, His whole demeanour seems to change.

He throws his body right about, And his true character comes out.

It’s no use crying or appealing, He seems to lose all decent feeling.

After this warning you will wish To keep clear of this treacherous fish.

Today's Flickr photo with the most hits: Sea of Flags - Chicago mural.