Damian Hannon

[Damian Hannon @dochannon]

@emmahoneybone 😘

[Damian Hannon @dochannon]

@SagarH62 Derek Underwood

[Josh Gafson @JoshGafson1]

As Black Rod knocked on the door, someone in the Commons shouted 'not now, Andy'

[steve @bagshaw2112]

Omg friend just sent this and I’m dying😆😆😆 I hope this is AI 😀😀😀

[Pope Leo XIV @Pontifex]

In these days of sorrow, fear, and unwavering hope in God, I feel closer than ever to the beloved people of Lebanon. The principle of humanity, inscribed in the conscience of every person and recognized in international law, entails a moral obligation to protect the civilian population from the horrific effects of war. I call on the parties in the conflict to declare a ceasefire and urgently seek a peaceful solution.

[Pope Leo XIV @Pontifex]

Those who pray are aware of their own limitations; they do not kill or threaten with death. Instead, death enslaves those who have turned their backs on the living God, turning themselves and their own power into a mute, blind and deaf idol (Ps 115:4–8), to which they sacrifice every value, demanding that the whole world bend its knee. Enough of the idolatry of self and money! Enough of the display of power! Enough of war! True strength is shown in serving life. #Peace

[Pope Leo XIV @Pontifex]

Absurd and inhuman violence is spreading ferociously through the sacred places of the Christian East, profaned by the blasphemy of war and the brutality of business, with no regard for people’s lives, which are considered at most collateral damage of self-interest. But no gain can be worth the life of the weakest, children, or families. No cause can justify the shedding of innocent blood.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

The wakened world still lacked the noise of men,
Though in the nearest house blue smoke began
To mingle with the leaves. A rabbit ran
Over the salt short grass. The grazing sheep
Came stumbling from the hedges lame with sleep
To browse along the rough.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

All day a strong gale rushed north-west by north,
Herding stripped leaves in corners, wiping dry
The bare wet lanes, and over crumbled earth
Spreading a crisper surface, scudding by
And flicking skirts of shadow on the ground
Till breath was an adventure bravely borne.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

I've drawn this landscape now for thirty years,
Longer, if scribbles count, from lower ground,
As, climbing to the crest of it, I've found
The changing vesture which each season wears,
Striding one hillside; how the hour appears
In rain, in snow or when the valley's drowned.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

Sap in the sticks again
And birdsong growing clear
But the fine drifting rain
Retards the stripling year

As though the reluctant spring
Feared what might yet befall
Before the swallow’s wing
Shadow the sunlit wall.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

It is a hard responsibility to be a stranger,
To hear your speech sounding at odds with your neighbours';
Holding your tongue from quick comparisons;
Remembering that you are a guest in the house.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

Though time should let my pictures fade,
As I grow feeble, shuffling, blind,
I must remember undismayed,
Good fortune let me cram my mind.
My only fear I may forget:
The nerves and cells no longer play,
The plugs burn out; and leave a debt
My praising tongue cannot repay.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

They might have waited had they been aware
That I still lived before they knocked it down.
Bricked-up and blind, our terrace still stood there
As in so many streets in this sick town.
And in the top front bedroom I was born,
Familiar with each vivid place I grew
To manhood.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

The wakened world still lacked the noise of men,
Though in the nearest house blue smoke began
To mingle with the leaves. A rabbit ran
Over the salt short grass. The grazing sheep
Came stumbling from the hedges lame with sleep
To browse along the rough.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

All day a strong gale rushed north-west by north,
Herding stripped leaves in corners, wiping dry
The bare wet lanes, and over crumbled earth
Spreading a crisper surface, scudding by
And flicking skirts of shadow on the ground
Till breath was an adventure bravely borne.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

The valley's other side is ribbed with streams
That fall and hang like broken rods of glass.
The road still urges up till, on the right,
Your eye is level with wet boles of trees
And on the left, below, a well of air,
Often mist-curdled, rimmed with pointed firs.

[LisleaDramaFestival @LisleaDramaFest]

Join us for a delightful night at the theatre on Saturday 7th February at 8pm. Cabaret seating will be available, along with a fully licensed bar, interval tea and biscuits, and a tuck shop.
Tickets £10 & £5 - pay at the box office.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

’Tis early dark. The lamps are lit.
A cold wind stirs the thinning trees.
Here in the lonely gloom I sit
And mouth my timid sophistries,
How autumn counts its laboured store
And winter’s broom but clears the way
For spring’s insurgent green once more
And sunshine of a summer day.

[John Hewitt Poet @JohnHewittPoet]

Our small ship in the sound
Fast-cabled, floats secure.
Against the lambent sky
The tall peak's tipped with fire.
As if with mescalin
The light brings far bergs near.
The radio's gone dead,
There's nothing we need fear.