Pricing Table Particle

Quickly drive clicks-and-mortar catalysts for change
  • Basic
  • Standard Compliant Channels
  • $50
  • Completely synergize resource taxing relationships via premier market
  • 1 GB of space
  • Support at $25/hour
  • Sign Up
  • Premium
  • Standard Compliant Channels
  • $100
  • Completely synergize resource taxing relationships via premier market
  • 10 GB of space
  • Support at $15/hour
  • Sign Up
  • Platinum
  • Standard Compliant Channels
  • $250
  • Completely synergize resource taxing relationships via premier market
  • 30 GB of space
  • Support at $5/hour
  • Sign Up
Vastly experienced, versatile senior technical asset with a broad range of highly evolved skills from team building to high-level technology solution implementations. A courageous and tenacious leader with proven experience in business development, organisational visioning, cutting edge information technology deployments, and as a senior management liaison. Experienced at working at all levels from Start-up to Corporate, I thrive on change and take the lead to engage and drive the engineering landscape in any business An outgoing personality, with high energy levels who is customer focused but understands the need for a structured approach to business. A mature and collaborative style provides excellent communication and presentation skills and, drawing on past experience, gives the credibility to build trust. A strategic thinker, who is innovative and creative and makes technically 'savvy' decisions and encourages others to do so, whilst totally focused on success and how this drives results.

Solitude

BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
    Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
    But has trouble enough of its own.

Sing, and the hills will answer;
    Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
    But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
    Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
    But they do not need your woe.

Be glad, and your friends are many;
    Be sad, and you lose them all,—
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
    But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
    Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
    But no man can help you die.

There is room in the halls of pleasure
    For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
    Through the narrow aisles of pain.

Continue reading
1281 Hits
0 Comments

Narrow Road

The months and days are the travellers of eternity.
The years that come and go are also voyagers.
Those who float away their lives on ships or who grow old leading horses are forever journeying, and their homes are wherever their travels take them.
Many of the men of old died on the road, and I too for years past have been stirred by the sight of a solitary cloud drifting with the wind to ceaseless thoughts of roaming.

Continue reading
1264 Hits
0 Comments

Carpe Diem (Catullus 5)

Let us live and love
And not care tuppence for them,
Who sermonise and disapprove.
Suns when they sink can rise again,
But we, when our brief light has shone,
Must sleep the long night on and on.

Continue reading
1161 Hits
0 Comments

Philip Larkin - Church Going

Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle-clips in awkward reverence.

Move forward, run my hand around the font.
From where I stand, the roof looks almost new -
Cleaned, or restored? Someone would know: I don't.
Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few
Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce
'Here endeth' much more loudly than I'd meant.
The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door
I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,
Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.

Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,
And always end much at a loss like this,
Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,
When churches will fall completely out of use
What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep
A few cathedrals chronically on show,
Their parchment, plate and pyx in locked cases,
And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.
Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?

Or, after dark, will dubious women come
To make their children touch a particular stone;
Pick simples for a cancer; or on some
Advised night see walking a dead one?
Power of some sort will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief, must die,
And what remains when disbelief has gone?
Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky,

A shape less recognisable each week,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,

Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation - marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these - for which was built
This special shell? For, though I've no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;

A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognized, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.

Continue reading
1926 Hits
1 Comment

The Inchcape Rock



NO stir in the air, no stir in the sea,

The ship was still as she could be;

Her sails from heaven received no motion;

Her keel was steady in the ocean.

 

Without either sign or sound of their shock,

The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock;

So little they rose, so little they fell,

They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

 

The Abbot of Aberbrothok

Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;

On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,

And over the waves its warning rung.

 

When the rock was hid by the surge’s swell,

The mariners heard the warning bell;

And then they knew the perilous rock,

And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.

 

The sun in heaven was shining gay;

All things were joyful on that day;

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round,

And there was joyance in their sound.

 

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen,

A darker speck on the ocean green:

Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck,

And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.

 

He felt the cheering power of spring;

It made him whistle, it made him sing:

His heart was mirthful to excess,

But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness.

 

His eye was on the Inchcape float;

Quoth he, “My men, put out the boat,

And row me to the Inchcape Rock,

And I ’ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”

 

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,

And to the Inchcape Rock they go;

Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,

And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.

 

Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound;

The bubbles rose and burst around:

Quoth Sir Ralph, “The next who comes to the rock

Won’t bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”

 

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away;

He scoured the seas for many a day;

And now, grown rich with plundered store,

He steers his course for Scotland’s shore.

 

So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky,

They cannot see the sun on high:

The wind hath blown a gale all day;

At evening it hath died away.

 

On the deck the Rover takes his stand;

So dark it is, they see no land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, “It will be lighter soon,

For there is the dawn of the rising moon.”

 

“Canst hear,” said one, “the breakers roar?

For methinks we should be near the shore.”

“Now where we are I cannot tell,

But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell.”

 

They hear no sound; the swell is strong;

Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along,

Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock:

“O Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!”

 

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,

He curst himself in his despair:

The waves rush in on every side;

The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

 

But even in his dying fear

One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,—

A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell,

The Devil below was ringing his knell.

Continue reading
1321 Hits
0 Comments