Watch as round the streets they go
Procesion del Silencio.
Eerie in their tall white hoods
Through the streets MadrileƱo
Their respect in silence show.
Solemn march to mark Good Friday
Christ died for our sins that day
Silent, white robed, in their hoods
The eerie figures make their way
And mark this solemn holiday.
Come and join the Easter Egg Hunt
Bought to you by Cadbury
Needn’t wait for Easter Sunday
Egg hunts happen every day.
Don’t be bothering with Good Friday
Men on crosses, stuff thats sad
We all love the Easter Bunny
So much fun that can be had.
Run around our muddy woodlands
Chase around our muddy lakes
Nature trails and Cadbury’s cream eggs.
Why be sad for goodness sake!
Come and have a fun filled Easter
Cuddly bunnies, little chicks
Can’t be fussed with resurrection
Church was never fun like this.
You can fight a fiery dragon
You can solve a mystery
Face paint, games, and fun activity
Carnival and family games.
Help preserve our special places
So future generations can explore
As long as we’ve got special places
Easter’s message we’ll ignore.
Britain’s National Trust, a charity that preserves land and historic properties for the nation, was criticised last year for an Easter Activity programme that made no reference to the religious festival. Their original publicity even omitted the word Easter.
HolyĀ Thursday in Madrid
You’ll see men with faces hid
Wearing big tall pointed hoods
Penitential brotherhoods.
And you’ll see Los Costaleros
Struggling with the mighty Pasos
Images on weighty altars
Gold and silver painted thrones.
Through the crowded streets they’re carried
Shoulders struggle with the weight
Images of Jesus, Mary
Sometimes all but feet areĀ hid.
It can be a slow progression
There can be a lengthy wait
Spanish people stay up late
Their processions will continue
Late into the Spanish night.
Deserving winner from Go Dog Go Cafe Promote Yourself Monday.
The Baristas have chosen their favorite piece of writing from the March 8thĀ Pay It Forward Thursday at the Go Dog Go Cafe.Ā We are honored to share the Barista Favorite with the GDG community, the poem MaroonedĀ by Eric Syrdal who writes at My Sword and Shield.Ā We highly encourage you to go read more of Ericās writing.
Complacently we sit here
on this sorrow-soaked sand
and exchange stories of our youth
together, like second-hand soldiers
we watch the tide come in
our arms, laid gently aside
rusting in the brine
while we bicker over
sea dragon sightings and mermaid fins
no white sails appear
beyond that jagged reef
the signal fire
has long since turned to ash
weāve eaten the flint and steel
and drank the oil
while neither remembers now
who was king and who was pauper
Iāll wear this crown
and you thrown your stones
View original post 7 more words
You dreamed of a prince on his charger
Or a frog to transform with your kiss
There’d be happiness ever after
So how did it come to this?
He should have rode into the sunset
And left you there pining for him
But the mistake you both made
Was you let him move in
And now it’s all going wrong.
Men look rough in the morning
Their habits are messy and vile
The truth will be gradually dawning
Frog into prince takes a while.
One kiss ain’t going to do it
It takes more patience than that.
It takes time to smooth the rough edges
But no-one tells you bout that.
You may think you can
You may think you can’t.
Whichever you believe
Will be true.
For if you don’t think you can
Then surely you wonāt
But believe and it’s likely you can.
‘Maybe’, ‘might’ and ‘I’ll try to’
Are enemies of getting things done
Commit in your heart; say,
āI can and I will’ and the goal
Will surely be won.
Once if you went to India
They’d warn you to watch your tum
They’d speak of Delhi Belly
And other joys to come.
But now there is bottled water
You can buy it anywhere
And they don’t tell ‘would be’ tourists
That they will get the runs.
So now they moan about rubbish
They say itās everywhere
They forget itās for our stomachs
That much of it is there.
India’s day starts with sweeping
It’s done with a bunch of twigs
And then the rubbish they burn it
It’s always been that way
But those wretched plastic bottles
They just won’t burn away.
So the rubbish made of plastic
Alas will often stay.
So tourists if thereās rubbish
Before you express disgust
Just remember the problem
Is partly caused by us.
There’s a flag over Windsor Castle
To show if the Queen’s in or out.
The Union Jack flies if she’s not in
Her very own flag if she is.
It’s hard for the common people
To know how hard royal life can be
For to haul up a flag
When you go out or come in
Is really an an awful drag.
Imagine the situation
If the Royals go out
For the day, but see,
Out their car’s rear window,
That the flag is still flapping away.
“Bloody hell” says the Queen to Phillip,
“We’ll have to turn right round.
We can’t let them think we’re in when we’re out
Youāll have to get the damn thing down.”
So they have to go back and sort out the flag
You can see what a drag that must be
If they’re out for the day
But the flag’s up its pole for everyone to see.
For SouldierGirl and everyone who has known the grief of losing a child.
My grief first borne was like
A wound fresh made that bled
And nought could stem itsĀ flow.
But as it healed
I’d pick the scab
And want to see it red.
I feared that if it healed you see
I’d have to let you go.
The wound I bore
Has hardened now
I wear it as a scar
I run my fingers down its length
And know an inner strength.
I lost an hour of my life today.
Why does it have to be that way?
I’ve never ever got the plot.
Something to do with northern Scots.
So farmers in far northern parts
Needn’t milk cows while it’s still dark.
My body clock gets over ruled
For Scottish farmers, Scottish schools.
Leave our local time alone.
It’s bad enough when you cross a line.
So thanks to scots on certain dates
We oversleep or get up late.
Maybe if they get home rule
We needn’t change the clocks at all.
It doesn’t seem quite right to me
It could be solved more easily.
Why not leave the clock alone
And milk your cows a different time?
Andrew Green's Poems 