scotlandmysweetloveforever

Pese a que los resultados de la selección no fueron muy alentadores en los últimos años, el rugby sigue creciendo en Escocia y suma cada vez más jugadores en todos los niveles de juego.

Tras la obtención del Grand Slam en el Seis Naciones, en 1999, los números de jugadores en el país fue decreciendo y pese a que se alcanzó los 35 mil en aquel momento, las cifras cayeron drásticamente a 20 mil en los últimos tiempos.

Pero ahora la situación cambió y, según indican las cifras recientes, desde 2006 hasta ahora, el rugby escocés incrementó en 21 por ciento el número de hombres y mujeres que practican este deporte.

La Scottish Rugby Union (SRU) se encuentra desarrollando un plan de cinco años que apunta a volver a despertar el interés de los escoceses por el rugby y por ahora, los resultados son buenos.

En 2006 el total de jugadores de la SRU era de 24.200 y, en la presente temporada la cifra trepó hasta 30.500.
La clave de este crecimiento fue que la SRU se involucró con los clubes y se dedicó a ayudar a cada institución de acuerdo a las necesidades de cada uno, en vez de implementar el mismo sistema de aprendizaje para todos.
Prematch.

Of Alice in Wonderland

Ever drifting down the stream,
Lingering in the golden gleam,—
Life, what is it but a dream?

Everything on the earth bristled, the bramble
pricked and the green thread
nibbled away, the petal fell, falling
until the only flower was the falling itself.
Water is another matter,
has no direction but its own bright grace,
runs through all imaginable colors,
takes limpid lessons
from stone,
and in those functionings plays out
the unrealized ambitions of the foam.

Pablo Neruda

the best wishes in 2009 for you!!!

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

Pablo Neruda

The season is upon us now
A time for gifts and giving
And as the year draws to its close
I think about my living

John Denver, J. Henry (c) 1975

Distance calling u,
You're always in my heart,
Together as we once had been,
Your face fadeing away.

And still there is no word,
our lives standing still,
We are moving towards the end,
And we really ought to wait.

Because God planted something special,
Deep within our hearts,
I'll wait for your return,
With love in my heart.

Janet Kavitha

Dream of sea,
Dream of ships,
Dream of huge ocean,
Dream of men in unifom

Its my dream, dream so different,
Dream so new, dream of dark sky up above,
Dream of sea so calm, dream of sea roaring,
Its my sweet dream.

Dream of men in white, in white applet,
Dream of be one with them,
Dream so sweet, wonderfull, specail, close to my heart,
Its my sweet dream.

Dreaming to get my dreams happen.
Its my sweet dream.

janet kavitha

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

PABLO NERUDA

They set about him with a knife and fork, I heard,
and spooned it out. Dunlop, dimpled, perfectly hard.
It bounced on stone but not on softer ground-they made
a note of that. They slit the skin-a leathery,
rubbery, eyelid thing-and further in, three miles
of gut or string, elastic. Inside that, a pouch
or sac of pearl-white balm or gloss, like Copydex.
It weighed in at the low end of the litmus test
but wouldn't burn, and tasted bitter, bad, resin
perhaps from a tree or plant. And it gave off gas
that caused them all to weep when they inspected it.

That heart had been an apple once, they reckoned. Green.
They had a scheme to plant an apple there again
beginning with a pip, but he rejected it.

Simon Armitage