From: Twittering One on
Is þes middangeard missenlicum
Middle-earth is made lovely in unmatched
wisum gewlitegad, wrættum gefrætwad.
Ways rich and rare. Across the hall
Ic seah sellic þing singan on ræcede;
I saw a creature singing-nothing wilder
sio hæfde wæstum wundorlicran.
In the haunts of men. Her shape is strange.
Niþerweard onhwyrfed wæs neb hyre,
Her beak hung down, her hands and feet,
fet ond folme fugele gelice;
Slung up like a shouldered bird-she waits
no hwæþre fleogan mæg ne fela gongan,
Song-hungry in the hall of earls her hour
hwæþre feþegeorn fremman onginneð,
Of craft. She cannot feast or fly about,
gecoren cræftum, cyrreð geneahh
Drink man's delight (she dreams of skill,
oft ond gelome eorlum on gemonge,
A task, her art), but begins to dance
siteð æt symble, sæles bideþ,
On a road of hands-brash mute plays dumb,
hwonne ær heo cræft hyre cyþan mote
Gathering glory while a beautiful haunting
werum on wonge. Ne heo þær wiht þige
Song sails through her strange foot-
þæs þe him æt blisse beornas habbað.
A gift of sound. How her long dangling
Deor domes georn, hio dumb wunað;
Legs chant is a wonderful riddle.
hwæþre hyre is on fote faegre hleoþor winlicu woðgiefu. Wrætlic me
þinceð,
Jeweled, naked, proud of rings-
hu seo wiht mæge wordum lacan
She sings like a mighty sister,
þurh fot neoþan. Frætwed hyrstum,
Guardian of air, bearing bass brothers
hafað hyre on halse, þonne hio hord warað,
Droned on her neck. Let the song-lifter,
baru, beagum deall, broþor sine--,
Truth-shaper, name this creature.
mæg mid mægne. Micel is to hycgenne
wisum woðboran. hwæt sio wiht sie.
~ The Exeter Book of Riddles,
Riddle 29

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From: Twittering One on
"Night Song ...

The breath of the unmoved. An animal face
Grows stiff in blueness, its holiness.
Enormous is the silence in stone;
The mask of a nocturnal bird. The soft triad
Fades into one sound. Elai! your countenance
Bends speechless over bluish waters.
O! you still mirrors of truth.
On the ivory temple of the lonely one
The reflection of fallen angels appears."
~ Georg Trakl

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From: Twittering One on
"Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard,
If seducing Eco, pleading for The Bard,
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
We match, love, a tennis game we net of Thyme.

That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry,
Dare I ask again, thy hand, I ask to marry,
And make my eyeballs roll with wonted sight
And wake my nights with trembling delight ~ !

I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first,
Feeling under sheets, O, quinch my body's thirst.
Without Thee, my belly's as cold, touch to know ~
As if I'd swallowed snowballs, my shivering toes."
~ Twittering

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From: Twittering One on
"O, where is that Leonardo,
O, do you know ~ ?"
~ Folly

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To feed an animal in need, every click gives a bowl ...

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From: Double-A on
On May 4, 9:38 pm, Twittering One <mournenwo...(a)aol.com> wrote:
> "O, where is that Leonardo,
> O, do you know ~ ?"
> ~ Folly


"Is no one dreaming of Leonardo anymore ~ ?
No blog updates ~ !"
~ Molly