MP MIKE KANE LENDS HIS SUPPORT TO OUR HISTORIES' DAY

MANCHESTER HISTORY FESTIVAL 6th June 2016

The Wythenshawe History Group is  holding an all-day event at Wythenshawe Library on the 6th June - details below.  If you are in the area (or country) or know people who are interested in local history and would like to come along and support it, please pass these details on.   

The Group (I am its Chair) is attending Manchester Town Hall on the 11th June where we have a stall and will be running presentations and displaying some of the artefacts we have in our collection, some dating back from the seventeenth century.  It would be great to see you on either (or both!) of these days.  Many thanks,  Stephen.

                      

INVITATION

As part of Manchester Histories Festival, the Wythenshawe History Group would like to invite you all to attend our Local History event at the

 Forum Library, Forum Square, Wythenshawe M22 5RX

on 6^th June between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m.

We will be in the Reference Library, first floor,

Conference Room (classroom) 1.

There will be people at hand to discuss all aspects of Wythenshawe’s history together with resources and artefacts to help you explore the origins of the ‘Garden City’ estate. There will also be presentations and displays about the beginnings of modern Wythenshawe. 

Refreshments will be available.

Please tell everyone you know about the event.

Everyone is welcome and we look forward to meeting you all.

The Wythenshawe History Group

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON WITH HAT

  Always like photographs of  the former Poet Laureate with a hat.  Was he ever at his most sensual and erotic in the poem (sonnet) below?


Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal, Now the White
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry* font:
The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danaë  to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

No Second Troy

No Second Troy

Related Poem Content Details

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

Why should I blame her that she filled my days 

With misery, or that she would of late 

Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways, 

Or hurled the little streets upon the great, 

Had they but courage equal to desire? 

What could have made her peaceful with a mind 

That nobleness made simple as a fire, 

With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind 

That is not natural in an age like this, 

Being high and solitary and most stern? 

Why, what could she have done, being what she is? 

Was there another Troy for her to burn?

Persephone Jones

Persephone Jones

Despite what I tell the neighbours
You were never kidnapped
You just walked out
And I can't ever blame you
For I was such a lout

And when I came to my senses
Sober and chastened
Like a private eye I
Finally tracked you down
To where you were seeking shelter
On the shady side of town

And I begged for your forgiveness
And swore that I would change
Until finally I convinced you
To give me one last chance

But I fell by the wayside and
The temptation was too strong
And despite all my vows I'd change
I did you one more wrong

Without fuss and in silence
You just turned and walked away
And my world was turned upside down
And night replaced the day

But you can't doubt my persistence
And I came back and begged forgiveness
"Persephone, please please please!
Look I'm on my knees, I'll do whatever you say,
I'll change, I promise, just don't go away"

But you told me in no uncertain terms
That I'd really crossed the line
And I begged you for one final chance
And swore upon my worthless life
That I'd do whatever you wanted
If you would stay my constant wife

I listed all the ways I'd change
And for the first time ever
Asked about your needs
Which were small but as countless
As pomegranate seeds
And your eyes watched me intently
And you finally agreed
But subject to conditions
That you firmly put in place
That you'd stay with me only sometimes
As you needed your own space

I had no other choice
But to reluctantly agree
we sealed the deal with one kiss
And you returned, in part, to live with me

For six months I bask in summer
When you're back with me at home
But bear the bite of winter's teeth
When you leave to live alone

Such is the nature of our deal
You return in spring but leave in Fall
But I'd rather be some part of you
Than be no one at all.

Stephen Evans 2016

THE TEA CHEST, BUXTON

Going to the Spoken Words evening at the Tea Chest, Buxton, this evening.  Andrea and I thought it might be fun if we read a poem the other had written.  Hope I can do justice to Andrea's.

I've been busy writing several poems but I think I'll fall back on a couple of ones I've previously read.  If you're in the area, join us - you'll receive a warm welcome.

AUTUMN REMNANTS

Autumn Remnants

Too soon this year has aged
Too soon the day
Too soon the leaves have fallen
Too laden the ground
The woodland lies silenced within autumn's
Shroud

A breeze shakes the leaves
Shakes the leaves from the boughs
Like many hands waving
Waving farewell
The birds are all exiled
Empty their nests
Too many partings
Too little time
Leaving the remnants of memories behind

S.  Evans

COFFEE CHAINS...

COFFEE CHAINS...

Doctor Foster got mugged in a Costa in Gloucester,

by a barista imposter.

You're nobody's hero if you drink in a

Caffe Nero.

Drink in a Wimpy?

No, to put it simply...

Coffee Republic?
I know I am a simple chap,
But is this country on a map?
Some South-American dictatorship?
The thought of which would make me sick.

Would you try Apostrophe?

Only to pop in for a pee.

Pret a Manger?
I'll remain to them a stranger.

How about a Burger King?

Only to learn why the caged birds sing...

Well how about... Ahem... the golden arches sign?

Only if resigned,

To be sued for stepping out of line,

A prospect which  I must decline,

So with fingers crossed,
Behind my back,
I'll say their coffee's simply  fine
In fact I'll say it is divine.

Meet you in a Starbucks?

Go and get f@@ked!

© Stephen Evans 2012

LATE IN THE EVENING

LATE in the  evening

At Tintagel most fitting

Like Isolde and Tristan

Upon the high cliff top

The sun's slow decline  to

A scarred charcoal line

Its terminal rays sad setting the distance

Drawing an end to the day and our time.


The warmth of the summer left too far behind us

The weakness of will and the skin's soft corruption

Worn down to the bone and hardened to stone

Holding the fossil that had once been your hand

And the churn of the shingle and the waves' wanton crashing

Crushing the tired last trace of the day

The chill of the sea-mist

All ceasing of colour

Replaced by a shroud of a permanent grey.


(c) Stephen Evans 2015

What Do You See?

What do you see

When I'm sat in my chair?

Do you see the young man who never would sit down

And never have been caught dead in a chair

Who would rather set it alight and be up for the fight

Or do you see the drained old man without the wit or care

To free himself from his comfort snare?


I feel you measure me with your look

However softly sent

Within our share of living room

The afternoon has waited too long and has left

I ponder these questions I never dare ask

I haven't the courage to hear your answer.

(c) S Evans 2015