The Guardian poetry moodmatcher gave me this:

Light-winged smoke, Icarian bird,
Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight,
Lark without song, and messenger of dawn,
Circling above the hamlets as thy nest;
Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form
Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts;
By night star-veiling, and by day
Darkening the light blotting out the sun;
Go thou my incense upward from this hearth,
And ask the Gods to pardon this clear flame.

Not a bad match, really (though other comparisons with Henry David may make me queasy).

Try other games on the Guardian website - so far I'm quite stylish and well into music, but haven't got a clue about tennis. Well, I know that.

Alternatively you can submit a topical haiku - I got stuck on "Clinton" and gave up almost immediately.


YES - it's a grim, rainy day and I've got time to spare. So got me a subscription to London Review of Books. Not quite sure why, but hopefully it won't let me down.
Alas! Tomorrow is another working day and I'm knackered by the mere thought. Not sure if I'll be around these shores much next week. (Got a date with Alex Kapranos Thursday night.)

posted by charlotte at 20:40 - comment