Knitting and Poetry

http://www.poetrysociety.org.uk/content/knit/

Dylan Thomas - In My Craft or Sullen Art

In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.

Flying Saucers and Communion Wine

Today, whilst munching on a bag of sugar filled flying saucers - I had a flashback.

There I was, St Mary's Church, Fawdon, circa 197... something ... kneeling at the communion rail participating in the taking of the bread and wine. Real wine, but sadly, someone, somewhere at some point past had the bright idea of substituting real bread for those plastic looking, wafer articles.

Which had a tendency to stick to the roof of your mouth.

Which resulted in a frantic grab of the chalice and much gulping of wine.

Which very likely explains why I much prefer white wine.

But what were they thinking? It's doesn't look like bread. It doesn't taste like bread and it damn well isn't bread.

Why? Just why?