Del.icio.us......

What can I say???? I tried....I tasted....and it was delicious! Like Oliver, I'll think I'll be going back for more.

RSS experience

Initially I found the RSS exercise quite confusing. Think I'm going to have to practice a lot more on this though. I was able to add some feeds to my blogsite but am wanting to explore what other sites I can add. Following the exercise as set out was helpful

RSS and Newsreaders

Wow! What can I say about this????? With Kathy's help I find myself completely blown away!!!!!
With this technology its instant up-to-date, up-to-the-minute information and news. Also extremely useful as far as the library as an information provider service goes. Just when I think technology can't get any better....it does!!!!!

Technology!

"Technology is such a beautiful thing
Especially my Mp3.....it makes me sing
From smooth jazz fusion to progressive rock
Out with my earphones - to my ears they do dock
And now I'm in a world of my own
Just me, my Mp3 and my cool earphones
And tons of music to make me soar
Believe me folks, technology's no bore!"

Yippee-Ki-yay folks! Here is another gritty, thought-provoking poem that I believe we can all relate to.

It may interest many of us to know that, here at Takapuna, we have a "hospital wing" in our library. I kid you not. My poem for this week details with this and hopefully ends with the possibility that many of our "patients" can be rehabilitated back into circulation.

This poem is entitled "The Mending Bin."

"In our library there's a spot that is filled to overflowing
The problem's not abating, its expanding and a-growin'
A tidal wave of books that is seeming never ending
Head in one direction to a bin that we call "mending."

These books they bear the scars of mistreatment and abuse
I'm sorry folks, but really, there is simply no excuse
On every page there's found heroic tales of derring-do
How can people be so thoughtless as to treat worse than poo?

Sure, we can accept that some books they do get old
But to mutilate with scissors or leave them to grow mould?
We all must stand aghast at broken spines and coffeee stains
They look so sad and forlorn, I can really feel their pain

The survival rate is good if torn pages, mindless scribble
Chances getting slimmer with chewed covers, sticky dribble
Just as well we have a team that's good with sellotape
Who lovingly repair our books and nurse them back to shape

So once again our books are sent out to everywhere
Like you, I would like to see the mending bin quite bare
The question is; are people really up to do the task?
And treat our books with love and care or is that to hard an ask?

WHOAAAAA RICH!!!! Yep, I'm REALLY on a roll here folks! I just can't help it!!!!! Here is yet another great and groovy poem from yours truly Rich the Cool Guy.

Here's something that we can all relate too. Cold dark bleak morning. Flopping haphazardly out of bed. Dragging yourself to the shower. Trudging off to work. No spring in your step..... Yep! You guessed it.....it's MONDAY!!!!!!

This poem captures the essence of what Monday is all about and it is dedicated to everyone out there who endures this odyssey week after week after week.....


" Up at 6
Can't believe I'm awake
No strong black coffee
I'm a goner by 8

From 8 until 9, I try to be inspired
Despite the fact, that I'm incredibly tired
But from 9 through to 10
Need rest. Oh when? Oh when?

10 to 11, I'm at my work station
Wish I were a bear, having 6 months hibernation
And 11 to 12, the midday fiesta
Can't we please close shop and have a siesta?

So at 12 to 1, a break! How terrific!
Doesn't help me at all, I'm sooooo soporific
I have my lunch, into the chair I sink
Is there any relief? Can I catch 40 winks?
To stay awake I try to read
But my eyelids are coming down at very high speed

From 1 until 2, am I awake? have I dozed?
I am seriously, seriously comatozed
Between 2 and 3, I'm starting to go under
The situation's desperate, I really need to slumber

The infinite stretch between between 3 and 4
Means a titanic effort not to snore
The long minutes till 5, tell me I'm barely alive
Only 30 minutes left....can I possibly survive?

By 5:30 my eyes are as heavy as lead
So its off home for me now, to my slippers and bed
I try not to think of a new day dawning
Look! Already that's got me yawning...."

REPEAT BACK TO VERSE ONE....and start all over again......

Here comes another one..........

Anne and Sarah reminded me sometime ago of an ongoing problem that many of us experience day after day. The Bus. What's all the fuss about the bus you may well ask? This poem spells it out. The short sharp stanza's convey the crippling and debilitating effects these machines have on us, and raise the question of why it's called a bus-stop and not a bus-go.

"Don't know about you, but I'm depressed when I wait
Twiddling my thumbs because the bus is late
Would get home more quickly wearing roller skates.

I sit at the stop in rain and sunlight
The empty road tells me things are not looking so bright
Looking and looking my bus is nowhere in sight

There is a timetable, but oh to what purpose?
My bus is no sleek and ultra fast porpoise
But rather a lumbering and very slow tortoise

Some buses they pass, but mine's not here
I'm starting to grow a beard I fear
Time marches on, seems I'm not going anywhere

To help pass the time, I try not to frown
But rather to sing, let the words resound
The wheels on the bus go round and round.....

Will I get home? My hopes realised?
Will I get moving? I may be surprised
Or stuck at the stop become fossilised?

I'm sure you have noticed a distinct lack of flow
Like the proverbial snail, my bus is on a go-slow
And Rich, at the stop at an all time low.

With growing finality, I'm resigned to my doom
"Where is the bus?" just deepens my gloom
Never mind drowning in a sea of exhaust and fumes.

And when finally in the distance there comes my ride
I reach for the joy that is deep inside
Home to my slippers, a toot and my pipe."