Using my own images I have tried to match the subject image with a poem that for me reflects the subject, atmosphere, sentiments, emotions or location.
1A "Blue tits" - North hill- Ron Blundell
1B “Hope” is the thing with feathers"
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
2A "Moon and Hands" - Minehead seafront - Ron Blundell
2B The Moon is distant from the Sea
The Moon is distant from the Sea –
And yet, with Amber Hands –
She leads Him – docile as a Boy –
Along appointed Sands –
He never misses a Degree –
Obedient to Her eye –
He comes just so far – toward the Town –
Just so far – goes away –
Oh, Signor, Thine, the Amber Hand –
And mine – the distant Sea –
Obedient to the least command
Thine eye impose on me –
3A "North Hill war relic" - Ron Blundell
3B "The Way through the Woods"
They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.
Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate,
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few.)
You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods.
But there is no road through the woods.
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate,
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few.)
You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods.
But there is no road through the woods.
1865 –1936
4A "A Scottish ruin" - Ron Blundell
4B "Crumbling is not an instant's Act"
Crumbling is not an instant's Act
A fundamental pause
Dilapidation's processes
Are organized Decays —
'Tis first a Cobweb on the Soul
A Cuticle of Dust
A Borer in the Axis
An Elemental Rust —
Ruin is formal — Devil's work
Consecutive and slow —
Fail in an instant, no man did
Slipping — is Crashe's law
5A "Chestnut or Oak" - Ron Blundell
5B The Oak’s Wisdom
The oak tree stands in silent grace,
Its branches reaching to embrace,
The sky above, the earth below,
A symbol of what we can know.
For in its strength and solid form,
The oak tree teaches to transform,
Our own lives with growth and care,
To reach up high and stand up there.
And in its branches, we can find,
A wisdom that is truly kind,
For in its leaves, the oak tree tells,
A tale of life that rings like bells.
So let us listen to this tree,
Whose wisdom can help set us free,
And let its teachings guide us all,
To stand up tall, and never fall.
Its branches reaching to embrace,
The sky above, the earth below,
A symbol of what we can know.
For in its strength and solid form,
The oak tree teaches to transform,
Our own lives with growth and care,
To reach up high and stand up there.
And in its branches, we can find,
A wisdom that is truly kind,
For in its leaves, the oak tree tells,
A tale of life that rings like bells.
So let us listen to this tree,
Whose wisdom can help set us free,
And let its teachings guide us all,
To stand up tall, and never fall.
By Anonymous
6A "Minehead harbour" - Ron Blundell
6B Minehead Remembered
Have you heard the grinding of the stones upon the beach?
Have you seen and heard the paddle steamers beat?
Have you sat upon the fountain and heard the springboards bounce?
Seen the sparking of the water reflecting in the heat?
Have you heard the sound of baskets sliding out the racks?
Heard the sound of shouting children running out the back?
Tasted chlorine salted water, tasted sweet refreshing rain?
Dived 15 deep blue feet and swam back up again?
Can you remember Kingsley Taylor, Sammy Jay and Locks Bazaar?
Wondered at the hills in Dorrien Café and at the old taxi car?
Have you smelt the coke coal cooking walking out the dump?
Caught a fish in deep dark claypits and felt clay between your toes?
Have you explored the brick yards heaps and sat on Sunny Island?
Can you feel your woollen costume, can you feel the beach hut boards?
Can you taste the Fortes Ice Cream, feel the cold hard wicker chair?
Have you stood upon the stage only to stand and stare?
They have never known the things we shared in those days of long ago
They have never swam the “55” or jumped off “top”
They have taken it away and buried it down deep
Theirs is the profit motive and of course it counts a lot
But we are the ones with golden dreams for when we sleep.
Ron Blundell
7A "The cannons roar" -Living history Dunster Castle -Ron Blundell
7B Old Ironsides
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon’s roar;—
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more!
Her deck, once red with heroes’ blood
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o’er the flood
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor’s tread,
Or know the conquered knee;—
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!
O, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every thread-bare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,—
The lightning and the gale!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon’s roar;—
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more!
Her deck, once red with heroes’ blood
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o’er the flood
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor’s tread,
Or know the conquered knee;—
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!
O, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every thread-bare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,—
The lightning and the gale!
Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.
8A "Departure and goodbye" - Minehead Station -Ron Blundell
8B "Pershore Station, or A Liverish Journey First Class"
The train at Pershore station was waiting that Sunday night
Gas light on the platform, in my carriage electric light,
Gas light on frosty evergreens, electric on Empire wood,
The Victorian world and the present in a moment's neighbourhood.
There was no one about but a conscript who was saying good-bye to his love
On the windy weedy platform with the sprinkled stars above
When sudden the waiting stillness shook with the ancient spells
Of an older world than all our worlds in the sound of the Pershore bells.
They were ringing them down for Evensong in the lighted abbey near,
Sounds which had poured through apple boughs for seven centuries here.
With Guilt, Remorse, Eternity the void within me fills
And I thought of her left behind me in the Herefordshire hills.
I remembered her defencelessness as I made my heart a stone
Till she wove her self-protection round and left me on my own.
And plunged in a deep self pity I dreamed of another wife
And lusted for freckled faces and lived a separate life.
One word would have made her love me, one word would have made her turn
But the word I never murmured and now I am left to burn.
Evesham, Oxford and London. The carriage is new and smart.
I am cushioned and soft and heated with a deadweight in my heart.
by John Betjeman
9A "USS Oklahoma memorial - Pearl Harbour" - Ron Blundell
9B "That Day of Infamy∼ December 7th, 1941"
Zeros burst through bluest skies
__Like stealthy birds of prey,
Set to swoop and pulverize
__Pearl Harbour’s soul that day;
That day of scarlet rising suns
__On warfare’s wicked wing;
That day the blaze from bombs and guns
__Unleashed the Reaper’s sting.
Black billows swallowed brackish air
__In draughts of sooty smoke
From splintered ships in Hades’ glare
__Where sulphur rose to choke
The life from lungs and hope from those
__Who saw the devil dance;
That day the guile and gall of foes
__Slew every fighting chance.
__Like stealthy birds of prey,
Set to swoop and pulverize
__Pearl Harbour’s soul that day;
That day of scarlet rising suns
__On warfare’s wicked wing;
That day the blaze from bombs and guns
__Unleashed the Reaper’s sting.
Black billows swallowed brackish air
__In draughts of sooty smoke
From splintered ships in Hades’ glare
__Where sulphur rose to choke
The life from lungs and hope from those
__Who saw the devil dance;
That day the guile and gall of foes
__Slew every fighting chance.
Remembering the bold who paved
__The path that kept us free.
Remembering all those who braved
__That day of infamy.
__The path that kept us free.
Remembering all those who braved
__That day of infamy.
by Susan Jarvis Bryant
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or.
10A "Spitfire over the Medway"
10 B "High Flight"
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
- John Gillespie Magee Jr.
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
- John Gillespie Magee Jr.