tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21133270120844508172024-02-21T08:58:59.675+00:00Written In Exile"Swearing great hope, the exiled risk across the globe,
and dream of riches and revenge." -- Spes Fallax -- Lucius Annaeus Seneca or pseudo-Seneca, trans Doyle --Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.comBlogger232125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-18293779239430416302012-11-20T10:27:00.001+00:002012-11-20T10:28:30.539+00:00Dear AnonymousMay I call you dear Anon?
I am flattered by your attention --
or your clever program's efforts
but I just want to say --
I have no need for fashionable sheepskin slippers-to-be-worn-on-the-street
I can't use vi*gra as I am not appropriately equipped
I don't have a payday so such loans are not helpful
and
You are very thoughtful offering to increase my traffic!
(I worked for years to combat Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-56913196157985204172012-10-14T09:01:00.001+01:002012-10-14T09:01:39.603+01:00Sunday Trees
x Died and gone to heaven ...
... trees in the new garden. x
x
Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-15499326305329385412012-09-16T14:43:00.000+01:002012-09-16T14:43:10.745+01:00We're still dancing<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-34604445504194758272012-09-16T05:45:00.002+01:002012-09-16T05:45:26.143+01:00Sunday Trees
Two poplars and a spiral staircase next to the Palais de Tokyo, Paris.
(three, actually)
xIsabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-87366560509549953352012-09-09T14:21:00.001+01:002012-09-09T14:21:29.992+01:00Breakfast Mag
Breakfast, 1921, Fernand Leger
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Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-59067953937578393952012-09-02T16:21:00.001+01:002012-09-02T16:21:08.876+01:00Irises<!--[if gte mso 9]>
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Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-67345221597812034352012-09-02T09:31:00.000+01:002012-09-02T11:26:31.265+01:00Sunday TreesIt is spring in Australia, which means the national flower is on show. Fondly known as 'wattle' to the locals, it has an elegant name for the rest of the world: mimosa. Wattles grow in many varieties across most of the continent and some of them have a delicious scent. This one was blooming in Melbourne last month:
Oh yes, and because it is Father's Day Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-66485648336254183762012-08-31T09:44:00.001+01:002012-08-31T09:44:12.011+01:00
Dear Friends, Readers and erm ... Countryfolk
(if you can figure out which country I should be referring to, please let me know)
Thank you all for your messages, emails and calls seeking my whereabouts. I am touched by your kindness and care.
I apologise for causing concern and/or irritation at my absence.
I entreat the Muse to sing to me again soon. All Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-43768503216211704712012-04-02T05:20:00.001+01:002012-04-02T05:42:06.768+01:00Mums know best ...
image ParkeHarrison, via The Mag
Mum always told me to keep my room tidy
the dust, she said, would eat me alive
Thanks to Tess for the prompt. More bunnies here: http://magpietales.blogspot.com/Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-58777363947364550812012-04-01T09:20:00.000+01:002012-04-01T09:20:15.951+01:00Sunday TreesIsabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-28655940247192607302012-03-27T08:16:00.000+01:002012-03-27T08:16:40.673+01:00Teapot Tuesday
Sticky Fingers
We glued my miniature furniture back together
Sticky fingers remain
Why miniature when no one will squeeze into such a tiny seat?
Sticky fingers
Why glue?
Sticky fingers
Thus we are held in miniature, secured with bondage of a chemical intractable nature
Sticky fingers
The miniatures restored, seats for miniature animals taking miniature tea
Sticky fingers
Only a Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-67912037897841572692012-03-25T06:21:00.000+01:002012-03-25T06:21:37.612+01:00Sunday Trees
like sculpture, don't you think?
oIsabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-11929400447148078622012-03-18T03:16:00.001+00:002012-03-18T03:16:00.039+00:00Sunday Trees
Sunlit Flats
Walk with me along the smooth pavement of the footway
where the sun makes zebra-patterns with the tree shadows
and I will show you the light glittering on upper-storey windows of silent flats –
voices are never raised
Here the white paint always gleams:
dustless Saturday afternoons wait
while the natives (dressed by Harvey Nicks) drape on sofa and mantelpiece
and Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-17884271836719624712012-03-16T10:40:00.000+00:002012-03-16T10:40:27.757+00:00We are a ship travelling across a desert sea
We are a ship travelling across a desert sea
We are a ship travelling across a desert sea:
passengers disembark at ports in time
some tours join in a crowd of couples and families
some lone transports slip alongside and move with us for a wave or two
then slip away turning across the current
We have our own captain's table for the chosen ones –
the receiving line
the fancy dress
the setIsabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-2470458983045182032012-03-13T08:06:00.000+00:002012-03-13T08:06:48.300+00:00Teapot TuesdayA miniature tea set from the Victoria & Albert Museum:
on miniature table.Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-36322812678211084942012-02-28T07:14:00.000+00:002012-02-28T07:14:34.406+00:00Teapot TuesdayThe travelling teapot:
We lived in a hotel for 8 weeks when we first moved to Port Dickson. I loathe tea made in a cup with a jiggly bag because it is never strong enough and it just doesn't taste quite right. We found this teapot in a local shop for MR 2.00 - (Malaysian ringgit) which is about 30p. Most of the time it lives in the cupboard, coming out with the suitcases. Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-27237878209398469782012-02-26T18:26:00.000+00:002012-02-26T18:26:50.324+00:00Tales from Exile - The Siege Mentality
image courtesy of The Mag
The supermarket as temple.
I've written before about the tendency to throw myself on the floor of the Waitrose supermarket around the corner from the hotel we stay at in London. We're here again, twisting between delight and something close to misery as we scan the shelves of edible jewels that we are denied in exile.
Totalitarian rulers know Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-66120771469373154202012-02-26T08:46:00.000+00:002012-02-26T08:46:19.260+00:00Sunday TreesBrought to you from sunny London ...
... winter tracery at St Mary Abbots Church, Kensington High Street.
Spring is creeping into London. We walked to our hotel through the quiet back streets of emerging spring.
xIsabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-76472496652897038842012-02-21T05:37:00.001+00:002012-02-21T05:37:00.090+00:00Teapot Tuesday
Tea for One
Tea for two may be divine ... but sometimes
Tea for one is simply sublime
x
Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-34795688005726365072012-02-20T06:19:00.000+00:002012-02-20T06:19:28.545+00:00Eisenbikes Eisenbikes Eisenbikes
Image courtesy of Tess at The Mag. Original photo by epic mahoney. Other visions can be seen here.Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-27250080794376715862012-02-19T06:49:00.000+00:002012-02-19T06:49:44.391+00:00Sunday Trees
voices from the whirlwind
oIsabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-55583382487882422082012-02-17T03:02:00.001+00:002012-02-17T03:02:00.608+00:00430 O Sacred Face! (Poems of Exile)
O sacred face!
O sacred face worthy of Bacchus or Apollo,which neither man, nor woman can observe with safety!
O fingers which long to stroke –
even those of a young boy or maiden.
So fortunate, the woman who nibbles at your neck;so fortunate, whose lips are bruised by your lips.
Happy the girl who rests her heart on yours
and who would tire her tongue in your tender mouth.
Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-35077086536701372832012-02-16T04:49:00.000+00:002012-02-16T04:49:00.116+00:00The Sun, Veiled
The sun, veiled in dust, hangs tethered to the sea Even such a barrage balloon cannot stop the day unfurling.
xIsabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-44505841834387364572012-02-15T07:09:00.000+00:002012-02-15T07:09:24.826+00:00435 I am not in love (Poems of Exile)
I am not in love
A certain someone (if you would believe it) is in love with me,
not only a little, She dies of love: she is consumed.
And thus, she will grant me favours I shouldn’t ask –
I would show her love always, but believe me: I am not in love.
Perhaps Seneca can offer an antidote to too much chocolate and excessive sweetness?
xIsabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2113327012084450817.post-21248049332989402662012-02-14T07:05:00.000+00:002012-02-14T07:05:49.043+00:00Teapot TuesdayWe are particularly blessed today as the Supreme Council for Public Holidays has decided that we all need to get more exercise and a Sport Day has been declared. (I am not one to talk but the local population has an obesity rate of about 85% and diabetes problems to match.)
It is mere chance that this year, the inaugural Sport Day coincides with St Valentine's Day.
In true Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4