I am taking charge…

Today’s poem is a song: Dreams “Now here you go again You say you want your freedom Well, who am I to keep you down? It's only right that you should Play the way you feel it But listen carefully To the sound of your loneliness Like a heartbeat drives you mad In the stillness of remembering what you had And what you lost And what you had And what you lost Oh, thunder only happens when it's rainin' Players only love you when they're playin' Say women, they will come and they will go When the rain washes you clean, you'll know You'll know Now here I go again I see the crystal visions I keep my visions to myself It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams And have you any dreams you'd like to sell? Dreams of loneliness Like a heartbeat drives you mad In the stillness of remembering what you had And what you lost And what you had Ooh, what you lost Thunder only happens when it's rainin' Players only love you when they're playin' Women, they will come and they will go When the rain washes you clean, you'll know Oh, thunder only happens when it's rainin' Players only love you when they're playin' Say women, they will come and they will go When the rain washes you clean, you'll know You'll know You will know Oh, you'll know Stevie Nicks (Stephanie) wrote this song ‘Dreams’ about her breakup from fellow Fleetwood Mac band member, and singer and guitarist, Lindsey Buckingham. He had already written ‘Go Your Own Way’ about the split.

Today’s poem: The Moment by Margaret Atwood The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country, knowing at last how you got there and say, I own this, is the same moment when the trees unloose their soft arms from around you, the birds take back their language, the cliffs fissure and collapse, the air moves back from you like a wave and you can’t breathe. No, they whisper. You own nothing. You were a visitor, time after time climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming. We never belonged to you. You never found us. It was always the other way round.

An Anglo-Saxon riddle A wonderful warrior exists on earth. Two dumb creatures make him grow bright between them. Enemies use him against one another. His strength is fierce but a woman can tame him. He will meekly serve both men and women If they know the trick of looking after him And feeding him properly. He makes people happy. He makes their lives better. But if they let him grow proud This ungrateful friend soon turns against them. The answer is… fire

“… because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds, who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails by daring greatly.” Theodore Roosevelt, ‘The Man in the Arena’ speech, the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

The Sky is the Colour of Grandma’s Hair The sky is the colour of Grandma’s hair and puts me in mind of times with her: tents in the garden wellies, mud listening eyes that just understood. Rain’s falling heavy I really don’t care The sky is the colour of Grandma’s hair. Poem by Matt Goodfellow Illustration by Aleksei Bitskoff

An autumn poem: Indian Summer by Wilfred Campbell Along the line of smoky hills The crimson forest stands, And all the day the blue-jay calls Throughout the autumn lands. Now by the brook the maple leans With all his glory spread, And all the sumachs on the hills Have turned their green to red. Now by great marshes wrapt in mist, Or past some river’s mouth, Throughout the long, still autumn day Wild birds are flying south.

Today’s poem: White Horses by Irene F. Pawsey Far out at sea There are horses to ride, Little white horses That race with the tide. Their tossing manes Are the white sea-foam, And the lashing winds Are driving them home - To shadowy stables Fast they must flee, To the great green caverns Down under the sea.