"When I sit to take a bath I'm always moved to wonderment, That what chills the finger not a bit Is so frigid upon the fundament." Ogden Nash
I fought at Doggerel Banks, I fought at Second Molasses. I fought at local banks, I fought lads and lasses.
Jack and Jill Went down the hill To fetch a pail of water Because everyone knows you need a very long rope to lower a pail from up on a hill and a pail of water is easier to collect from a stream Jack did not fall down And break his crown Because the ground is level so Jill did not come tumbling after Because she also was on level ground Up Jack did get - not, he had no need, as stated he did not fall down And home did trot - not, had no need And went to bed - not, as he had home did trot - not To mend his head - not, as he had not home did trot etc etc etc With vinegar and brown paper - not See above why not Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
She was an Iranian poet, who was controversial for her time in both her writings and film directing. https://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/2015/march/reborn-forugh-farrokhzad
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep By Mary Elizabeth Frye Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die.
Great poem but please, low hanging fruit crying out like a balloon saying "Put a pin in me" Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
(Dredged up from the fringe media aftermath of the U.S., not Chilean, 9/11) Mode Of Failure At the moment of failure, just when that flaw now somehow chosen key has fit its customary role in tales sure to find themselves soon amended by demand of contingency's illusory need, the first affected floor gives into the air beneath the second shoe, which is that floor itself in fall; and not the top, and not the bottom, and not the center of levels, not any marked or noted place one could in hope have known, pretend to have shied from in good time, saved others by foreboding's glory's grace. No omen had risen from the awkwardness and table clutter of diplomacy's cutlery and negotiation's enabling lies to face to face, some oceans over, the assumptions' wide subvocal mutter unnoticed, and without bearing regardless, the floor unknown in any case. What seemed inevitability in approach stepped off all sense, and found no sense, and had no story after, no life in words such as we lived and will live, such as a single lifetime lends to living, then and then and now just stopped, and nothing towards. We do not know how the tower of Babel fell, what piled it down, sowed confusion of tongue among all witnesses, blighted all with estrangement, sent each to their own understanding and separate town with a story, a story of an old God and a new building, untellable. Words fail the blow of the old hammer anyway, fail the split of ways, and these the common words. New redundancies of incomprehension a teller's slight of mind, a show of what it is to live through days of talking as anyone does all day any day now, and after one stroke never again. The God's eye CAT scan view shows only, at first, a small blurred patch where the little void began: the missed step, the puzzled grope, the sudden bloom of almost fear, throat's almost mild panic's catch at what had always been and walled and routed, what had no need of hope but founded other's, braced the outward lean. And they say that little blur marks nothing fell itself - a burst and bleed soon caught, the wound a nick - but what has pulled the pin on desperation, pronounced what sending will echo sure and avalanche in damage; make of skill and story rubble, storied tower broken brick.
born 19.6.32 -deported 24.9.42 Undesirable you may of been, untouchable you were not. Not forgotten or passed over at the proper time. As estimated, you died. Things marched, sufficient, to that end. Just so much Zyklon and leather, patented terror, so many routine cries. (I have made an elegy for myself it is true) September fattens on vines. Roses flake from the wall. The smoke of harmless fires drifts to my eyes. This is plenty. This is more than enough. Geoffrey Hill
Childish Nonsense? The boy stood on the burning deck, (true, boys tend to do risky things like that) his feet were full of blisters, (true, they would be) the fire burnt his trousers off, (true, it would) he should have worn his sisters. (true, her trousers would have been burnt off instead) One fine day in the middle of the night, (true/false) two dead men got up to fight, (true/false) back to back they faced each other, (true/false) drew their swords and shot each other. (true/false)
Middle of the night other side of world Actors in Walking Dead Typo. Should be back to bark, trees in grave yard Both cheated and had also brought pistols Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!