Seligor's Castle, fun for all the children of the world. Little BoPeep
Seligor's Castle, fun for all the children of the world. Little BoPeep
Hurt No Living Thing
Hurt no living thing,
Ladybird or Butterfly,
Nor moth with dusty wing,
Nor cricket chirping cheerily,
Nor grasshopper, so light of leap,
Nor dancing gnat,
Nor beetle fat,
Nor harmless worm that creeps.
By Christina Rossetti.
LITTLE BO PEEP HAS LOST HER SHEEP AND DOESN'T KNOW WHERE TO FIND THEM. LEAVE THEM ALONE AND THEY'LL COME HOME WAGGING THEIR TALES BEHIND THEM.
LITTLE BO-PEEP HAS LOST HER SHEEP, INSTEAD OF LOOKING FOR THEM, SHE IS HERE IN THE CASTLE LOOKING FOR THINGS TO DO. Shush don't tell anyone xxx.
SELIGOR'S CASTLE PRESENT'S SPIKE MILLIGAN
Terence Alan Patrick Seán Milligan KBE (16 April 1918 - 27 February 2002), known as Spike .Milligan, was an Irishcomedian, writer, musician, poet and playwright. He is also noted as a popular writer of comical verse, much of his poetry was written for children, Silly Verse for Kids was published in 1959
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
SELIGOR'S CASTLE ALONG WITH LITTLE BO PEEP
Miloš Macourek was born in 1926 at Kromeriz, Czechoslovakia. After
studying at a school of music and drama, he held various jobs as a
factory worker, scene shifter, warehouseman, publisher's editor,
university lecturer on literature and art, story editor for
Czechoslovak Films, and lately also as a screenwriter. Apart from his children's books. He writes poetry
and prose, as well as plays.
Jacob's Chicken by: Milos Macourek (1926-2002)
chicken is a chicken, you all know how a chicken looks, sure you do, so
go ahead and draw a chicken the teacher tells the children, and all the
kids suck on crayons and then draw chickens, coloring them black or
brown, with black or
brown crayons, but wouldn't you know it, look at Jacob, he draws a
chicken with every crayon in the box,
then borrows some from Laura, and
Jacob's chicken ends up with an orange head, blue wings and red thighs
and the teacher says that's some
bizarre chicken, what do you say children, and the kids roll with
laughter while the teacher goes on, saying, that's all
because Jacob wasn't paying attention, and, to tell the truth, Jacob's
chicken really looks more like a turkey,
no wait, a peacock, it's as big as a quail and as lean as a swallow, a
peculiar pullet, to say the least, Jacob earns an F for it and the
chicken, instead of being
the wall, migrates to a pile of misfits on top of the teacher's
cabinet, the poor chicken's feelings are hurt, nothing makes it happy
about being on top of a teacher's cabinet, so, deciding not to be
chicken, it flies off through the open window.
But a chicken is a chicken, a chicken won't fly too far, hence it ends
up next door in a garden full of white cherries and powder-blue
currants, a splendid garden that proudly
shows its cultivator's love, you see, the
gardener, Professor Kapon, a recognized authority, he is an
ornithologist who has written seven books on birds and right now is
finishing his eighth, and as he puts the last touches to it, he
suddenly feels weary, so he goes out to do some light gardening and
toss a few
horseshoes, which is easy and lets him muse over birds, there are tons
of them, so many birds, Professor Kapon says to himself, but there
isn't a single bird that
he discovered, he feels down, flips a horseshoe and dreams a
love-filled dream about an as-yet-unknown bird when his eye falls on
the chicken picking the baby-blue currants, the rare blue currants,
that darn it, he didn't grow for chicken feed, now that would make
anyone's blood boil, the professor is
incensed, he is furious, he seems unable to zap the chicken, so in the
end he just catches it, flings it over the fence, the chicken flies
off, and voila, Professor Kapon follows, he flies over the fence in
pursuit of the chicken, grabs it and carries it home, quite an unusual
chicken, that one, bet nobody has seen one quite like it, an orange
head, blue wings and red thighs, the professor jots it all down, looks
like a turkey, but then not quite, reminds one of a sparrow but also of
a peacock, it's as big as a quail and as lean as a swallow, and after
he has written it all down for his eighth book, the professor, all
quivers, bestows upon the chicken his own name and carries it to the
A chicken is a chicken, who would fuss over a chicken, you think, but
this one must be well worth the bother for the whole zoo is in an
uproar, such rarity turns up perhaps once in twenty years, if that
often, the zoo director is rubbing his hands, the employees are
building a cage,
the painter has his hands full and the director says the cage must
sparkle and make the bed soft, he adds, and already there appears a
nameplate, Kapon's chicken, Gallina Kaponi, it sounds lovely, doesn't
it, what do you say, it sounds,
actually. . .how about it, the chicken is having the time of its life,
it's moved to tears by all this care, it really can't complain, it has
become the zoo's main attraction, the center of attention, the zoo has
never had so many visitors, says the cashier, and the crowds are
growing larger by the minute, wait, look, there is our teacher with the
whole class standing in front of the cage, explaining, a while ago you
saw the Przewalkski horse and here you have another unique specimen,
the so-called Kapon's chicken or Gallina Kaponi that looks some-what
like a turkey but not quite, resembles a sparrow and also a peacock,
it's as big as a quail and as lean as a swallow, why, look at that
gorgeous orange head, the blue wings, the
scarlet thighs, the children are agog, they sigh, what a beautiful
chicken, ain't that right, teacher, but Laura, as if struck by
lightning, pulls on teacher's sleeve and says, that's Jacob's chicken,
I bet you it is, the teacher becomes irked, this silly child's
ridiculous notions, what Jacob's chicken is she prattling
on about and, come to think of it, where is Jacob anyhow, again he is
not paying attention, now wouldn't you know, there, just look at him,
there he is, in front of an anteater's cage, watching an anteater when
he is supposed to be looking at Kapon's
chicken, Jacob, the teacher yells at the top of her lungs in a
high-pitched voice, next time you'll stay home, Jacob, I've had enough
aggravation, which shouldn't surprise anyone, for something like
that would make anybody's
Miloš Macourek — một trong những nhà văn,
kịch tác gia và đạo diễn điện ảnh hàng đầu của Tiệp-khắc — sinh ngày
2.12.1926 tại Kroměří˛. Sau khi rời trường âm nhạc và kịch nghệ, ông
làm nhiều nghề để kiếm sống: công nhân nhà máy, người kéo màn sân khấu,
thủ kho, biên tập viên cho nhà xuất bản, giảng viên đại học (về văn
chương và mỹ thuật), biên tập viên cho hãng phim... Ông bước vào văn
chương với tập thơ Člověk by nevěřil svým očím
[Không tin vào mắt mình] (1958). Trong những năm 1960, ông viết kịch
bản cho nhà hát Na zábradlí và các hãng phim Barrandov và Krátký. Ông
đã thực hiện 29 cuốn phim (phần lớn là hài kịch và truyện cổ tích), 7
loạt phim bi kịch và 5 loạt phim hoạt hoạ cho truyền hình. Ông cũng là
tác giả của hàng chục cuốn phim hoạt hoạ đoạt giải quốc tế. Đồng thời,
ông đã xuất bản 10 cuốn sách, trong đó có những cuốn được dịch ra 14
ngoại ngữ, chẳng hạn cuốn ˇivočichopis [Sách loài vật] (1962), và Mach a Ÿebestová [Max và Sally] (1982). Ông qua đời ngày 30.9.2002 tại Praha. I was lucky enough to find this picture script at www.tienve.orgthankyou
MP3 Playerwith tunes for you!
And now a small poem from India written over a hundred and thirty years ago.
Realizador: Shelly wain
País: Reino Unido
Based on the poem by Edward Lear. a cat lady sits alone in the
Strange creatures twitter and hum. Suddenly a warning cry is
"The Cummerbund is come".
"You will never believe this but Seligor actually tried to find what Mr Lear was talking about but of course, his rhymes were mostly Nonsense so that explained everything."
She sat upon her Dobie, To watch the Evening Star, And all the Punkahs as they passed, Cried, "My! how fair you are! Around her bower, with quivering leaves, The tall Kamsamahs grew, And Kitmutgars in wild festoons Hung down from Tchokis blue.
Below her home the river rolled With soft Meloobious sound, Where golden-finned Chuprassies swam, In myriads circling round. Above, on tallest trees remote Green Ayahs perched alone, And all night long the Mussak moan'd Its melancholy tone.
And where the purple Nullahs threw Their branches far and wide, And silvery Goreewallahs flew In silence, side by side, The little Bheesties' flagrant air, And of the angry Jampan howled Deep in his hateful lair.
She sat upon her Dobie, She heard the Nimmak hum, When all at once a cry arose, "The Cummerbund is come!" In vain she fled; - with open jaws The angry monster followed, And so, ( before assistance came,) The Lady Fair was swallowed.
They sought in vain for even a bone Respectfully to bury, They said, "Hers was a dreadful fate! (And Echo answered "Very." They nailed her Dobie to the wall, Where last her form was seen, And underneath they wrote these words, In yellow, blue, and green:-
"Beware, ye Fair! Ye Fair, beware! Nor sit out late at night, - Lest horrid Cummerbunds should come, And swallow you outright.
Note. - First published in Times of India, Bombay, July, 1874. By Edward Lear.
My friend from India who has his own fabulous websitesover there. You will see contacts for him all over the Castle and Dreamland. He sent me this email, when he read that I had placed the poem on this site.
HERE IS HIS EMAIL FOR YOU TO READ.
Thank you for the poem Dorothy. (My Posh Name) Do you understand it all? Because more than
half the words used are Hindi. Cuumarbandh means a belt or a wide sash. The picture
on the banner is my fathers (As this site was originally started to publish
his philosophy of life!). The picture on the right is a fantastic sculpture
in granite that stands in front of the Patna Secretariat. It depicts
India's freedom struggle and the march to Delhi against British Rule.
Interesting? Wishing you all the best weatherwise, otherwise and anywise,
best regards, dadazi
Isn't that a wonderful message, it is so good to talk to the people who do the same thing as yourself, which is of course trying to keep the children of the world happy. Hooray for dadazi and seli.
This poem by Edward Lear is also on the Gutenberg site
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
THE STORM IN THE POOL
"Ah! it's a weary world," sighed Mrs Newt, shaking her head, and
waggling her tail mournfully in a small puddle - all that was left of
the home pond after the long summer drought.
Even the stone she sat on was uncomfortably hot although it was late in
the afternoon, and the long shadows from the chestnut tre were
spreading over the baked mud of the dried up pond. It was
just the time of day when Mrs Newt usually enjoyed a good gossip with
Mrs Frog but the long hot day had made her peevish. Even the news that
the Toad baby has pushed little Wog-wog, Mrs Frog's favourite child-
off his pebble, "and he hardly more than a tadpole, poor mite!" only
made Mrs Newt more depressed. "Ah! things aren't what they
were in my young day," she moaned. "No discipline, that's what is
wrong. Too much of this new fangled self expression. What we are all coming to, I
don't know." And she slid down into the water to slap all the little
Newts, just incase they needed it. This made her feel much more
cheerful, so she p[opped up again quite hopefully to hear the latest
scandal about the young Croaker, the gay young bachelor of the pond,
and "no better than he should be!" It was such a spicy tale, "so very shocking," that Mrs Newt did not notice the first few heavy drops of rain from the thunder-cloud overhead.
The long drought was over at last; the rain was falling now, not in big
drops, but sheets. The pond was soon a whirlpool full to overflowing.
Mrs Newt was washed off her stone, Mrs Frog also.
The little Newts came to the surface struggling and calling for help as
the flood bore them away to the other side of the pond. Their mother
screamed to them to keep their heads although what they really needed
was to keep their feet, for they were being washed steadily - in
spite of their struggles towards the yawning black mouth of a large
drain. Just as it seemed nothing could save them, even
disciplined! young Croaker (who had been idling neat the side of the
drain side of the pond) jumped into the reed canoe, and with a few
strong strokes of his paddle he was at the drain's mouth before the
frightened little Newts, and he skillfully blocked the entrance just
in time. He soon had each of the infants safely hauled up into his
boat. There they had to remain until the rain ceased, and
the pond, quite a lake by this time, was calm enough to allow Croaker
to paddle home against the curent.
Mrs Newt was very thankful to have her dear children safely back
again, although she smacked them all round for being the cause of her
fright. Later, Mrs Newt said to Mrs Frog, " that it all went
to show how necessary it was to keep one's head, for the children were
not what they were in her young days, and they all needed discipline.
accompany everyone on their journey through life into the
wonderful world of food and drink that you could eat even if you
weren't very, very hungry. Seligor has searched around the wonderful
You tube and found some beautiful Sea Shanties, My mum (Seligor) used
to teach me these songs when I was a little girl. Her elder sisters
even taught me how to do the Hornpipe.
Enjoy the songs
Seligor chose for you and say thanks to the
people who put the video's together, I wish I could do them for
myself... maybe one day eh! Take care, Diddily Dee Dot. xxx
These are a few of the songs for you to watch and listen too. among the treasures of the deep are:
Santy Anna. Haul Away for Rosie. Go to Sea Once More.
Muppet Sea Chanty! The Pigs Calypso. Horizon Tides. Magic Dance.