Squires’ Birthday Room

If you’re not part of the ‘staff’ of the Orchid Room but would like to add to the music, please take a seat in this room (by leaving your words in the comment box)  and enjoy the ambience. A light buffet is in the corner but don’t tell Squires about the cake. That will be rolled out at midnight, universe time.

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70 Responses

  1. genius bubble

    beguiling bubble
    of genius,
    glistening
    with iridescence
    like a
    beetle shell,
    never bursting,
    merely morphing
    in form,

  2. jusssht wanna shay, thatsh bubububeautiful!
    shlerp (shmack my lipsh)
    the barzz closhed two hoursh ago here. good thing thish joint is shtill open

  3. cmon shmucksh shay shumthing
    hahahaha
    whoom am i talking to? to whooooom am i shpeaking
    hahahaha

    uhoh mamu izsh walkin thish way
    duckin out

    • Sheesh ok tipota – slipped mamu a fiver – we can shtay as long as we can walk – oops!!! Where’s everybody – this planet needs to sort out a better system of day/night thingy across hemispherical dimensions.

  4. pleased to making your acquaintances. to whom do I owe the pleasure?

    • You talkin’ to me – hmmhmm – I’m a friend of the great poet Squires who I understand is partaking of a birthday this evening (tipota! where are you – sheesh, I think she’s out the window) – I’m here incognito – actually I have to be off soon as my guard is returning with the keys to my cell – if I disappear you’ll have the lowdown on whats happened Bradsky – keep it under your collar. Now where’s that cake?

  5. Happy Birthday, Paul. This one is a bit of a wink and a smile and a tip of the glass…

    *Oy! Squires!*

    Take the bloody flippers off,
    you silly bloody fool,
    I want to feel sad, not glad,
    not insane or potty or dotty
    with happy memories and grins.

    Don’t tip your hat with your
    Frank Sinatra smile,
    thrusting your Tom Jones at
    ALL the ladies and not so ladies
    that blush so as you jiggle.

    Don’t croon Eartha, Johnny
    with a laugh, sip, trip Chaplin-esque,
    to make us gasp and hold our
    breath at your outrageous cheek
    not knowing whether it’s okay
    to have a good time. Really?

    Just sit and twirl your impressive
    moustachio, your favourite ice-cream
    (pistachio) in a giant tub,
    the three legged dog asleep
    at your feet, the cat on your lap,

    and critique this debacle
    of rhyming malarkey which
    neither befits, sings or praises
    you appropriately, until
    you notice those things, unsaid.

  6. When the Music Stops

    Beautiful clown of porcelain and silk
    Gold fabric and silver filigreed lace
    Wind the key in the center of his back
    A sad song plays delicately
    A single tear lies motionless on his face

    His head inclines; arms outstretched
    He looks as if he is longing to embrace
    Soft is the whir of his machinery;
    The music box invisible
    As he moves with awe inspiring grace

    When the song ends he stands frozen still
    Gone the tinkle of his beautiful chime
    Silent, the whir of his mechanism
    Silence is louder than music
    It speaks of the life within the mime

    He is one of many in the collection
    But his is the favorite song
    Trembling with sadness and beauty
    Only he can make you close your eyes
    And weep silently for his perfection

    That I could have been a porcelain doll
    With only a single tear I might cry
    Your hand would have wound my heart
    I would have played the violin
    As the painted sadness slipped… from my eye

    The jester will quietly cease moving soon
    His embrace comes to a coda and stops
    His efforts of animation ended
    His beautiful music silenced
    They will carry and lay me in my box

  7. Sorry, I dropped off to sleep there for a bit over on the couch! Where are we? Is it time for that cake yet? Let’s light those candles and sing!

  8. Happy birthday to you,
    Happy mirth day , you too.
    Happy earth day Paulus McGrinnington
    Happy birthday to youuuuuuu.

    Hello.

  9. A grey fedora sits on a mahogany stool in front of the piano…no one dares to remove it so the piano remains silent. Well, this is a party, not a wake and I can play Happy Birthday on my guitar. “Happy birthday to you…hope you forget all your blues…hope there’s a girl in the cake too…Happy birthday to you”.
    Excuse me, I have a bowl of punch to spike.

  10. I see you. Don’t think you’re beyond seeing, old man, high up there in the larch, swinging your legs and whistling and throwing larch cones at the pretty girls who walk underneath, grinning like a cheshire cat.
    I see you.
    I hear you, Squires, laughing softly as you stir up a storm in a virtual teacup, as endless and looping as those very concentric circles that you went on and on about, looping and endless. All for fun yet so serious.
    Your time machine stands in the corner. Someone has filled it with boxes left over from a jumble sale and wrapped it in christmas lights. We’ll sort through it one day when it’s rainy and we’re bored.
    I know you know we loved you, pain in the arse that you could be, linking arms tonight and drunkenly swaying to a strange sort of Auld Lang Syne of Happy slurring purriness, bouncing about in black and orange stripes and doing a crap rendition of the hokey-kokey.
    I smell you, uncle, sea salt and cigarettes swirling quietly around the bookcases while I type, mingling with every word~ urging me on.
    That piano, the one with the famous musicians, the one where we all took a turn and sang and danced and that duck, that poor, strangely placed duck. I’m laughing now, properly laughing.
    Yeah,
    all those things.
    Cheers.

  11. I had forgotten that I even had a WordPress account….the joys of the great wide internet…ah well…F. or fg….it’s no difference to me. I’m the same old chap with the guitar. I tried to upload a picture of myself (not that my mug is that pleasing to the eye) but just so nobody would think I was hiding…I’ll be fifty next month so I’m celebrating right along with Paul today…Woohoo!! yadayahyahyahyah I may break forth with an ode to the platypus in a moment.

  12. Someone nailed that poor duck’s bill to the bar, I had to set him free. I see a bird high in the rafters…a white bird, long, sleek and elegant…not a heron…perhaps it is an egret….certainly not a regret…for it brings…joy in its wings…

  13. A Toast

    Sand and stone, leaf and loam
    Mountains of the earth
    Come now spirits, flesh and bone
    Requests a new rebirth

    Ice and steam, flowing stream
    Primordial Ocean vast
    Trident in Poseidon’s dream
    Perform my will and task

    Wind and breath, life and death
    Whirling fear and breeze
    Do not leave my plea bereft
    Spirits come to me

    Dancing flame, secret name
    Burning in the soul
    Candle spire and forest fire
    By my will controlled

    Bowl of earth and water
    Dried by wind and flame
    Painted magic pottery
    Perform my will the same

    Come you muses of the mind
    Grapes of wrath are crushed
    Into ruby colored wine
    Tears and fears be hushed

    Stirred with eagle feather free
    Let my words soar high
    Hear you muses, come to me
    Teach my soul to fly

    One with all the elements
    Mingled in this drink
    Let me speak with eloquence
    My words inscribed in ink

    I spill words and wine like blood
    To the corners of the earth
    Make my message understood
    Give my soul rebirth

  14. The duck’s in the jacuzzi with Eartha, F. Try not to look. It’s not pretty. And a toast for Gwen – champagne with a frosted strawberry in the finest crystal glass.

    Ebby? The Time Machine… could we? If we wished hard enough?

    F? Could you play a simple thrum in B minor? I would prefer someone with a sweeter voice would sing but then, like he said, the jewellery don’t come free. (Sssssh, no sadness from me.)

    This day.

    Is it okay that we choose this day,
    this day of all days to remember you?

    This day when we gather up the smiles,
    the wonderous, the obvious, the sublime

    and rhyme our thanks, pay respect,
    pray that our voices reflect this

    love for someone who loved this
    place, these people, those words

    this other world where we played
    and cried, philosophised

    because of you, today, and every
    other day, we toast this,

    your birthday,
    our day.

  15. gingatao.com said…
    Perfect. His prayer is the one true measure of a man, F.G. A truth old codgers like us have to face daily.

    F.
    I summoned you up for a purpose my dear friend…here…we are having a party for you. And from one old codger to another…there’s some spirits in that punch too!

  16. Beneath the grey fedora materializes the ghost of Paul S., smiling behind his whiskers and winking at the room as he sits at the piano….ah, THERE is the birthday boy…I see him clear as day…

  17. I regret that did not embed as I wished it to…but please click the link. It’s Paul.

  18. Wakes to the new day and wipes the chocolate dust from his eyes. Wanders back to the Squires Birthday room and finds a smile on his face and a sudden thump thump thumping. It is not a hangover thump thump thumping or a Kangaroo thump thump thumping. Hope you had a lovely day Paul.

  19. So…my birthday is the 19th as well…of next month…at which time I will be one-half century old…but I am celebrating today with you my dear friend and all your friends. I love you my brother…I do not say “loved” “for how can any man say I died yesterday”…a quote by John Donne…indeed the author of Death Be Not Proud was never more appropriately quoted. I am here today for you as you were with me so many days and times…a constant source of inspiration and friendship.

  20. thish izsh show bee you tee full, bartender, another round fr evryone, shome cawfee and cake fr me pleash

  21. I must have passed out – and awake to these wonderful words – haven’t missed the cake, where’s that hair of the dog. What a celebration for the birthday boy 🙂

  22. Happy Birthday, Paul. As ever, thank you for your brilliance, your wit, your inspiration, and for being one-of-a-kind you. I will never forget you.

  23. It’s 8 minutes until midnight and the time machine in the corner is flickering…or is it just the flames from the candles on the cake? Oh, WHAT A CAKE!!! It’s HUGE and beautiful! Gee, and I thought I was just joking about there being a girl inside…there may be a troup of girls in there!

  24. happy birthday, Paul, from America

  25. Whoopee…happy birthday to you…

  26. Haaaaaaaaaapppppppppyyyyyyyyyyy Biiiiiirrrrrthday McPaulus – hip, hip, hooorayyyyyyyy!!!!!! Hic!

  27. i miss you squires… no one sits so beautifully in the corner of the room at SpeedPoets,

  28. With your absence “out there” in the blog-o-sphere I have lost most of my desire to update my blog. I now realize how much I wrote on my blog because I knew you were reading- I could feel you laughing. Something happened when you died- the blog seems to have died as well, or at least has been put on hold. I have less desire to post my writings “out there” because now you are “in here” (said pointing at my heart). I miss you very very very much Paul.

    • I know what you mean, she whispered. I feel like I’ve been socked in the stomach. I can’t get my breath back, my voice back, my words back. She coughs into her cocktail napkin, looks around nervously. He’s watching us, isn’t he?

    • My sentiments exactly. I’ve lost a lot of inspiration to write. My apologies to everyone in the room. I wanted to come celebrate Pauls birthday with his friends, but found it too hard yet. I will celebrate his life…I will. Just need some more time….and a shot of scotch.

      • yes, tina… the time has come and gone… tho still that empty spot exists… i came by to say yes, i remember squires too… a true poet spirit who blessed us all… and continues to… i come to celebrate his life… and yes, a shot of smooth scotch does sound delischhhh….

  29. Well it was a fabulous party I must say. We drank right up that bottle of 2003 Glaymond Zinfandel from Barossa that I opened to celebrate McPaulus and #zinfandel day…not a lick of it left to blog about tomorrow! Ah well, what’s left to say?

  30. sneaking into the room, tossing daisies into the air, sniffing at the empty bottles and grinning at the piles of passed out bodies.
    yeah – you always knew how to throw a party GingaPaul.
    now come dance with me and let’s roll down a few more hills, letting the leaves and grass and daisies tangle in our hair. Happy birthday my friend.
    much love
    Kota

  31. thank you for the invite… i really wanted to come to celebrate, but still found it too hard… my heart just wasn’t in it… death is so permanent but the spirit so strong… so i’ve come a few days late meeting a lot of shadow squires people and not hardly a stranger among us… you can find me sittin at the bar, sipping whiskey and singing along out of key out of touch with my feet barely on the floor… come sit next to me and tell me another pirate story or tell me that story about the piano on fire… anyone will do… there are so many left overs to choose… ms pie

  32. I am beyond excuses; I got sidetracked without you bugging me to write…’Cause as it was said you were an inspiration. And you still are…after all a poem is no more than the space between your intention and my interpretation, flown on the wing of the albatross crossing the oceans
    seas of color.

  33. I always come late to the party, but I figure that way I don’t miss any of the action. This is beautiful,

  34. I miss you, Paul. I miss how much you knew about writing, how much you knew about music and all the things you saw and felt about life. I won’t forget you. Ever. Hope you had a great birthday sitting on your cloud playing Thelonius Monk on your harp. XXX

  35. Paul, Dad, Fedora….I am late to the party, and I have missed it…I have done you a disservice, I haven’t wrote in so very long..I just couldn’t. I tried, but it hurt. Writing for me, has never hurt…but every time I picked up the pen, I thought of your words, your clever, crafty ways…I know you don’t want my tears, but they’re here, and they’re shimmering…

    I promise I won’t let the burden of the hurt weigh me down anymore.

    (((((YOU)))))

  36. Hey, some joker tried to reset my password at WordPress…and I don’t know why…is that you ghost of Paul S.? I see the twinkle in your eye! Anyway, it brought me here so I just followed and came along…might as well sit and enjoy a beer…a cup of coffee and a song.

  37. ‘Motor Way’

    I would take
    one second, spent with you;
    if that was all
    you
    could give

    I would read
    every book
    in the universe, to find
    just one word,
    from your lips

    (you have my breath
    let me have yours)

    But perhaps…
    …I could rewrite,
    the night sky’s dreams
    so the tiny mirrors
    (inbetween us)
    never die

    (you have my death
    let me have yours)

    SarahA

    Happy Birthday, you!

  38. i have a joke, ahem(cough)(sorry), about death. well not a joke really, an idiocy perhaps. like you see an old friend somewhere and you say hi! how are you? hows the family? Say, is your cousin zeke still dead?”
    and the friend says, “oh yeah still. he’s been that way for a long time now”

    i forewarned, dont look at me that way, har! (sip)
    what did you say?

    well, the point is, paul may pop in, and he isnt still dead. you know it, i know it, we all know it.

    to put it plainly, his works are working still, and as time passes, the
    shimmering words and the glimmering jewels and the musical tones will outlive us all

    Here’s to Paul on (i think it’s his) 48th birthday? Cheers! we still love you dearly my friend….

  39. Happy Birthday Paul……

  40. La Cuckaracha La Cuckaracha…where’s the party and the girls? La Cuckaracha La Cuckaracha…I will give them all a whirl…I’ve got rum and Coca Cola…I’ve got little tiny feet…So let’s play some a rock and rolla…get them moving to the beat! Aiiiieeeeee!!!

  41. Wake up you frizzled frazzled bedecked bedazzled old ghost of a gallant man…tonight we are knights dressed in armor befitting Galahad…we shall toast the stars with fiery flames and burn the meteors down! We shall lasso the moon and drag it screaming breaking yellow pieces on the ground! HA! Maestro! Play another tune and turn up your piano loud! Let’s twirl your stool and break the rules and bring some life into this crowd! We shall dance the flaminco with Narnie and tap around my Mexican hat with clikkety clakkety shoes and shake the world like a wooden roller coaster until we skake the blues! Fire up that time machine and burn the engines red as yankee firetrucks. Whoop and hollar and for a dollar I’ll play the guitar…chime in if I get stuck. “Drinking and dreaming knowing damn well I can’t go…I’ll never see Texas L.A. or old Mexico but here at this table I’m able to leave it behind and drink till I’m dreaming a thousand miles out of my mind…”

  42. hello fg, Sarah, Tina and F.
    ’tis lovely to see you.
    I’m on my way to the bar –
    can I get you a drink?
    Gabrielle and Tipota have talked me into getting up
    for a dance but I’ll be needing
    a double to loosen up.
    I’ve got a really cool 7 letter word too
    if you’d like to see it!

  43. does anyone else hear that voice whispering listen? or is it the cognac? perhaps it’s time for a beer. anyone else want a Stella?

    and does some one have a poem-thingy to share? I’m all ears.

  44. For Paul

    Ideas whirring like wheels turning
    never chilled into inactivity
    his words were the gift
    he shared with generous heart
    and talented soul.
    Much missed
    I get really pissed
    when I realize he’s not just missing
    but really gone.
    Not missing in action
    but stilled.
    No new projects to follow along behind
    hoping for crumbs of creativity
    to fall nearby.
    There is nothing to celebrate
    in another year without him
    except
    the fact
    he was once
    here.
    On the page
    bravely
    daring us to follow suit
    to mix intellect and art
    anywhere near the way he could,
    seemingly, without effort.
    Paul’s Orchid Lonely Hearts Room
    where he is loved and missed
    always.

  45. Death is nothing at all

    Death is nothing at all
    I have only slipped away into the next room
    I am I and you are you
    Whatever we were to each other
    That we are still
    Call me by my old familiar name
    Speak to me in the easy way you always used
    Put no difference into your tone
    Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
    Laugh as we always laughed
    At the little jokes we always enjoyed together
    Play, smile, think of me, pray for me
    Let my name be ever the household word that it always was
    Let it be spoken without effort
    Without the ghost of a shadow in it
    Life means all that it ever meant
    It is the same as it ever was
    There is absolute unbroken continuity
    What is death but a negligible accident?
    Why should I be out of mind
    Because I am out of sight?
    I am waiting for you for an interval
    Somewhere very near
    Just around the corner
    All is well.
    Nothing is past; nothing is lost
    One brief moment and all will be as it was before
    How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

    Canon Henry Scott-Holland, 1847-1918, Canon of St Paul’s Cathedral

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