10 February 2012

5,000th post!

Herewith the 5.000th post to appear on the Poor Mouth. Not bad going given that this crap fest has only been going since April 2006!

Although she's been dead for nearly three years now, the ghost of Mimi is still utterly astonished that I have managed to churn out so much bilge insulting the intelligence of perhaps dozens of readers over the years.

I intend to continue churning out crap for as long as I can. There may be breaks but I don't plan to quit.


Lisa Rullsenberg said...

Awh the spirit oof Mimi and much more..keep going - the photos and narratives are great.

jams o donnell said...

Why thank you Lisa!

Claude said...

Congratulations and Thank you! Great blog for poetry, music, news, visual arts and best English expressions. Plus a beautiful photos portfolio. I hope (like the Queen) it will last until I die. I would be awfully lonely if you would stop The Poor Mouth, Jams.

jams o donnell said...

Thanks Claude. No plans to quit, my mental and or physical state remaining okay that is!

Anonymous said...

So beautiful

jams o donnell said...

She was a sweet little thing Nursie

SnoopyTheGoon said...

That's the spirit, Jams. Like that of a cat what will never give its enemies no satisfaction! Good.

Syncopated Eyeball said...

No crap fest here, Shaun. Yours is one of my most favourite blogs. Glad to hear you're continuing and congratulations on your huge output. Hooray for you and 'The Poor Mouth'!
And Mimi is a beauty!

jams o donnell said...

Haha Thanks Snoopy!

Ah thankyou Syncy!

Sean Jeating said...


"I'm no proper bourgeois-kitten,
Cozy rooms I won't be needing,
On the roof, in open air,
It's a free cat's life I'm leading.

Summer nights, I'm rhapsodizing,
Up upon the rooftops stealing,
Music purrs and grrrs within me,
And I sing just what I'm feeling."

So she speaks. And from her bosom
Bridal songs are wildly surging,
Charming melodies that bring
Tomcat bachelors converging.

Tomcat bachelors converging,
Purring, grrring, snarling, mewing,
Here with Mimi to make music,
Love and drooling, ardent wooing.

These are not your virtuosos,
Who for fame do vainly jostle,
How profane! But these remain
Holy music's true apostles.

Instruments they don't require,
They themselves are flutes, violas,
Bellies are their kettledrums,
And for trumpets they have noses.

Voices now they raise in concert,
Mighty chorus, or duets; O
Those are fugues, like those of Bach
Or of Guido of Arezzo.

These are symphonies, audacious
Like caprices of Beethoven,
Even those of Berlioz,
Now surpassed in cat-commotion.

Magic tones of mystic power!
Rare, unequalled serenading!
They give Heaven shocks, convulsions,
And the stars themselves are fading.

When she hears the magic timbres,
The majestic cantilena,
So she veils her face with clouds,
Goddess of the moon, Selene.

Just that scandal-monger, aging
Primadonna Philomela,
Turns her nose up, sniffs, abuses
Mimi's singing - cold unfeeler!

All the same! They're making music,
Despite the envious Signora,
'Til appears on the horizon
Rosy smiling sprite, Aurora.

Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)

jams o donnell said...

Ah wonderful Sean!