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Mull Of Kintyre

Mull of kintyre
Oh mist rolling in from the sea,
My desire is always to be here
Oh mull of kintyre
Far have I traveled and much have I seen
Dark distant mountains with valleys of green.
Past painted deserts the sunsets on fire
As he carries me home to the mull of kintyre.
Mull of kintyre
Oh mist rolling in from the sea,
My desire is always to be here
Oh mull of kintyre
Sweep through the heather like deer in the glen
Carry me back to the days I knew then.
Nights when we sang like a heavenly choir
Of the life and the time of the mull of kintyre.
Mull of kintyre
Oh mist rolling in from the sea,
My desire is always to be here
Oh mull of kintyre

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song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Lawyer’s Second Tale: Christian

A highland inn among the western hills,
A single parlour, single bed that fills
With fisher or with tourist, as may be;
A waiting-maid. as fair as you can see,
With hazel eyes, and frequent blushing face,
And ample brow, and with a rustic grace
In all her easy quiet motions seen,
Large of her age, which haply is nineteen,
Christian her name, in full a pleasant name,
Christian and Christie scarcely seem the same;
A college fellow, who has sent away
The pupils he has taught for many a day,
And comes for fishing and for solitude,
Perhaps a little pensive in his mood,
An aspiration and a thought have failed,
Where he had hoped, another has prevailed,
But to the joys of hill and stream alive,
And in his boyhood yet, at twenty-five.
A merry dance, that made young people meet,
And set them moving, both with hands and feet;

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poem by Arthur Hugh Clough from Mari Magno or Tales on Board
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mull Around Inside My Head

In the early morning hours
when the world is still in bed,
I come downstairs and make a cup of coffee
while my thoughts mull around inside my head.
I think of things I would like to happen
making little sketches if they did,
smile at how I could create a perfect world for me.
I think of my friends
who maybe worlds apart
and how I could be closer to them.
The scenarios I think of
I know will never be,
they are just in my thoughts
that mull around inside my head.

30 November 2008

poem by David Harris
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The Witch Of Mull

'Witch of Mull, the strangers here
Come to wreak their vengeance drear:
Call the wind and call the wrack;
Drown them, drive them, beat them back!'

Wind and wave are wild in Morvern.

'Gormla, speed! Their magic powers
Calm the deep and baffle ours:
Aid us, thou who know'st full well
Strongest brew and blackest spell!'

Wind and wave are wild in Morvern.

Magpies twelve upon the mast
Call aloud to wave and blast'
'Bonnily on Morvern shore
Shall we feast when all is o'er!'

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poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Brea

my reflection
grabs and pulls me under
heat me what else to be
bathed in brea
guide me safely in
worlds ive never been to
shield me
heal me
my dear brea
mull around
it's alright
heal me
heal me
my dear brea
show me lonely and
show me openings to
bring me closer to you
my dear brea
mull around
it's alright

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song performed by A Perfect Circle
Added by Lucian Velea
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Brea

my reflection
grabs and pulls me under
heat me what else to be
bathed in brea
guide me safely in
worlds ive never been to
shield me
heal me
my dear brea
mull around
it's alright
heal me
heal me
my dear brea
show me lonely and
show me openings to
bring me closer to you
my dear brea
mull around
it's alright

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song performed by A Perfect Circle
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Lord of the Isles: Canto I.

Autumn departs - but still his mantle's fold
Rests on the groves of noble Somerville,
Beneath a shroud of russet dropp'd with gold,
Tweed and his tributaries mingle still;
Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill,
Yet lingering notes of silvan music swell,
The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill:
And yet some tints of summer splendour tell
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western fell.

Autumn departs - from Gala's fields no more
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer;
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er,
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear.
The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear,
And harvest-home hath hush'd the changing wain,
On the waste hill no forms of life appear,
Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train,
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scatter'd grain.

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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The trouble with jogging is that the ice falls out of your glass.

quote by Martin Mull
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The town where I grew up has a zip code of E-I-E-I-O.

quote by Martin Mull
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Around 1980, I went back to painting with a vengeance.

quote by Martin Mull
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