Tag: Unbolt Me

SOAPBOX TNT // Absolutely Bombastic… But Actually? — unbolt me

TATI: Tony, you’re a fan of videogames, virtual reality and other cool modern ‘toys’, aren’t you?

TONY: Pretty much! If it involves joysticks or pixels then count me in!

TATI: Oh, I hoped for this answer. Another question: Do you like ABBA?

TONY: I love ABBA!

TATI: Have you heard they’ve reformed for the Voyage […]

SOAPBOX TNT // Absolutely Bombastic… But Actually? — unbolt me

GUEST POST // Lockdown, Mate by Harry Wilding — unbolt me

I. —ckfuckfuckfuckfuck Jeremy enters Victoria shopping centre with a bladder primed to burst trying his best to walk normally even though he knows he looks like one of those racewalkers not quite running not quite walking with those strangely snake-like hips fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck he should have just gone at his mum’s but what if he’d made […]

GUEST POST // Lockdown, Mate by Harry Wilding — unbolt me

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Vagabond Song. by Bliss Carman (William) — unbolt me

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood– Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry Of bugles going by. And my lonely spirit […]

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Vagabond Song. by Bliss Carman (William) — unbolt me

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood–
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

by BLISS CARMAN (WILLIAM) (1861-1929)
Public Domain Poetry

GUEST POST // The cat who loved ABBA by Graeme Sandford — unbolt me

ABBA, the cat, who loved, never knew about punctuation, or the proper use of colons and commas; but, she didn’t have to, it wasn’t important in the scheme of things – unlike tummy rubs and wriggling strings. by GRAEME SANDFORD © All rights reserved 2021

GUEST POST // The cat who loved ABBA by Graeme Sandford — unbolt me

ABBA, the cat, who loved,
never knew about punctuation,
or the proper use of colons and commas;
but, she didn’t have to,
it wasn’t important in the scheme of things –
unlike tummy rubs
and wriggling strings.

by GRAEME SANDFORD
© All rights reserved 2021

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Gods Are Dead? by William Ernest Henley — unbolt me

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Gods Are Dead? by William Ernest Henley — unbolt me

The Gods Are Dead? by William Ernest Henley

The gods are dead? Perhaps they are! Who knows?
Living at least in Lempriere undeleted,
The wise, the fair, the awful, the jocose,
Are one and all, I like to think, retreated
In some still land of lilacs and the rose.

Once high they sat, and high o’er earthly shows
With sacrificial dance and song were greeted.
Once . . . long ago. But now, the story goes,
The gods are dead.

It must be true. The world, a world of prose,
Full-crammed with facts, in science swathed and sheeted,
Nods in a stertorous after-dinner doze!
Plangent and sad, in every wind that blows
Who will may hear the sorry words repeated:-
‘The Gods are Dead!’

by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY (1849-1903)
Public Domain Poetry