Peyton Place
A Scenic America
Somerset in NY
We are partly into an early Spring and the horses' struts with their
heads held up. White Palominos all, majestic beauties they'd be in the
heart of the little village passing by the central square where the market
is full of life of sellers and buyers, to gawkers and talkers as well.
Nearby is the marbled-tier water fountain brimming with fish life and just beyond is the village lake, also teeming with edible fishes unlike those inside of the fountain. Edges of Papyrus and tall Cypress grass and just touching the colorful water lilies. Ahh, they've just arrived and tied up the horses so they'd be secured, here on top of the hill that overlooks the tiny village but seemingly the town life seems to have come up onto the hill, now the hill is full of life.
Oh, I forgot, the village of 'Somerset' with its old charm, thick thatched rooftops with their upper windows of English Oak, post and doorways too. Peaches, Apples Banana trees. Daffodils, daisies, roses, pansies, gladiolas, and much much more. This is truly Spring, the other seasons will be along shortly. I am here, that's why the village is here. I wanted to come home to 'Somerset' and be buried here in the Spring.
January years ago, confused far away I was with the cold.
Landed in Bristol on a snowy airport, as snowed were the meadows and frosted my mind.
A trip to say hello and goodbye to a beloved one,
taking my hand, she closed her fading eyes into her last sigh. I saw the dark face of life
turning into the beauty of an angel flying.
Sad and freezing with a bag full of mixed feelings, somebody took us to Norton St Philip in Somerset, just to have some fun. My husband and I were surprised.
Feeling blue we were, but soon the George Inn changed our sorrow into happiness.
Family shared moments for the history of our lives, photos in the white snow for a new album, nice food and a toast with white wine in the George Inn, made my trip to England a especial memory to be remembered forever in my heart.
historic George Inn
~elegance in Somerset~
locked deep in my soul
(etymology of a surname: Larcombe)
somewhere in the deepest dark of Somerset,
was a secret cumb, I know of not yet
where ancients did note
that many a Larke would wing,
for food,
to brood,
and sing
in those times a cumb was understated
with trees aplenty in it's forest,
where insects
unabated,
invite the Larke
fated
to dance with them as their guest.
as such, much gratiated,
the Larke engages in a courtship thrill,
throwing it's voice to dating,
in hope of mating,
and is satiated
by the success of its trill.
then men came to this place,
farming and deforesting,
such that the Larke could not sing,
leaving only space and doom,
and yet men called themselves
"of the Larke Cumb"
'tis still a mystery, where this might be,
twixt tarmac, concrete, or brick maybe,
but it sealed the Larke' s fate,
closing it's garden gate,
as such, was a sad sick twist really
sagger maker’s bottom knocker from barnsley
one of the last of a now dead trade
famed for his skill and precision
where ever saggers had been made
forced to redundancy’s scrap heap
by world wide non demand of his skill
lack of money and self respect
made him tired and physically ill
took up dwile flonking in somerset
became a regular girter of the team
but regular skilled work remained
his great and longed for dream
flonked by a wanton driveller thrust
which he sadly failed to catch
led to his early demise
and an unfinished match
so take note passing stranger
of his sad demoralising tale
a tragic life so swadged short
by dwile flonking and real ale
he rests beneath this stone
his driveller in his hand
the finest sagger maker’s bottom knocker
ever seen in this fair land
sagger maker’s bottom knocker from barnsley
one of the last of a now dead trade
famed for his skill and precision
where ever saggers were made
forced to redundancies scrap heap
because of lack of demand for his skill
lack of money and self respect
made him feel tired and ill
took up dwile flonking in somerset
became a regular girter of the team
but regular skilled work remained
his great and longed for dream
flonked by a wanton driveller thrust
which he sadly failed to catch
led to his early demise
and an unfinished match
so take note passing stranger
of his sad demoralising tale
a tragic life so swadged short
by dwile flonking and real ale
he rests beneath this stone
his driveller in his hand
the finest sagger maker’s bottom
knocker ever seen in this fair land
Back then she was singing the blues,
In a smaller club where the sunset-
Splashed the walls in various hues,
On a plummy street called Somerset.
I was introduced to her backstage,
In that far away, long ago place,
Before she had become all the rage,
With her jet-setter's renowned face.
Her voice then was as liquid gold,
And eyes reflected the bright lights,
And her song a melancholy tale told,
Of her dream which had taken flight!
All motion in the club would cease,
Anytime the blue lady in red sang
Her beautiful, musical masterpiece,
In a voice which, like bells, rang!
Now, in the still of a pastel dawn,
My memories wander back to Somerset-
Of those happy, sun days quite gone,
And the blues song I cannot forget!
Mells' Bells.
Not far from a little town in Somerset called Wells
there's a quiet little village, that's name is Mells
the wild garlic grows in abundance there, and stridently smells
But the peace is shattered each Sunday by bells
Mells' bells, Mells bells,
Oh God they're so loud,
Those great bells of Mells
That ring out so proud.
The noise is so loud the church uses shutters,
To suppress the great volume lest the vicar's heart flutters
And to stop a misery down Radstock who complains and mutters,
And to save those in Green lane, Devizes, as it upsets the "nutters".
Mells Bells, Mells bells,
Oh how they thunder,
Those great bells of Mells,
Rip eardrums asunder.
So beware all you travelers, down Somerset way,
Lest you venture near Radstock upon a Sunday,
Best take your earplugs to wear there they say,
'Cos the Mells bells are well hell, despite what you pray.
Mells Bells, Mells bells,
They'll make you deaf,
Those great bells of Mells
Rung by ringers so deft
(c) Ian Diddams 2018
This aspect is succinctly told by, W.Somerset Maugham from an Arab tale:
The speaker is Death:
There was a merchant in Baghdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, "Master, just now when I was in the market-place I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw Death had jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture; now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me". The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the market-place and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, "Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?" "That was not a threatening gesture," I said, "It was only a state of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra".
(A far older version forms part of the Babylonian Talmud)
For my wife Marcia,
I have always loved you
I have always loved you
Before there was a way
After there was no way
I have always loved you
Before there was the rain
At first sight, first light
Through the darkest night
After all the pain
When there was no sign
And turning away
We did not stay
And there was no time
I have always loved you
Through the world of hurt
Above mountains and in the dirt
I have always loved you
Before you were woman
The world reborn
In you’re eyes and in your form
And I not yet man
Dave Somerset 6/4/2015
A Sophisticated Drink
It stood there on the table a litre bottle of martini stuff
made in a factory in Milan and has nothing to do with
proper wine. The workers are basely underpaid, when
they ask a rise the get served martini for breakfast-.
Or perhaps I´m wrong and it is in South Africa where
sober wine workers get fired because they are unionised
and do ask for a better wage. Martini is a cheap product
that has been given a great write up, a liquid of alcohol,
water and some good smelling herbs.
The mystery is not solved who had put the bottle on my
table? In a book by Somerset Morgan an ill willed woman
put a bottle of whisky by a vase of flowers for a woman
she didn´t like, to find. The disliked woman found and drank
the whisky- straight from the bottle. She now a tart in bars
sits on men´s lap for a drink, as the ambiguity continues,
like cigarette smoke inhaled and exhaled in a deep dream
of a smoker who has recently quit.
As the wild wind and roaring waves batter the West Country,
does the Glastonbury Thorn flower today to be blown at bay?
Tis it true as Christ came to Priddy, on the Mendip hills overlooking
the fantastically fertile grazing, now flooded land of the Somerset Levels
that now drown our complacencies whether global warning is all to blame for our shame?
Old Christmas Day 6th January 2014
My cider comes from Somerset,
I likes it coz it's strong.
Tis made from apples good and sweet,
wiv flavours thats a real treat.
What's more I likes to drink it neat.
I likes it 'cos it's strong.
My world ish shwimming all around,
my legs is wobbly and unsound,
I think I'll sit down on the ground.
Black coffee, please. And strong!
~
For Heather's Competition.
What does it mean to me
New Jersey
It means smell and warmth
iI……. oops wrong sort of Jersey
Here we go start again …….
Was the home of the Lenape Indians
Till the Dutch and Swedes came their way
Followed by the British who named
It after a channel island off the UK
Was the home of many a battle
Including the American revolutionary war
Who tried to oust the British rabble
Not such an easy chore
New Jersey has many counties
21 was the latest score
Morris County was indeed a pleasant one
Rich in tradition and folk lore
THEN
Theirs Atlantic and Bergen, Burlington too
Camden, Cape May, Cumberland to name but a few
Essex, Gloucester and Hudson come next in line
Hunterdon, Mercer and Middlesex are doing just fine
Monmouth, Morris and Ocean is that enough
Pacific, Salem and Somerset I am now out of puff
Sussex, Union and Warren …….That is New Jersey
Sailing thru those unsteady waves,
Tidal of strength running every veins,
Far waiting,she, confronting those rain,
Safe and sound for him that's not in vain.
An anchor's heart,a melody start,
An eagerly love,a somerset kiss,
A seaman's passion,a strong heart,
A man's true vow,an infinity bliss.
And these are his sayings,
" Wait for my coming back,my darling ",
" For I fought those rough waves in seven seas ",
" When I'm done,I'll bring your eternity ring".
She will....she will...
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