Inutile de prier, que Dieu est mort

Au premier rebond, je frappe le plafond

En rumination il a été merveilleux

Bandits jour

Le chatouillement américain

L'accord de pré-marriative

Elle leva les yeux vers lui avec un dermaprobe

J'ai 13 [Black Friday] d'une fenêtre rare

Jambes dans la congestion ont été perdus

Quoi qu'il en désarroi je l'espère encore pour le désespoir.

Il est important de citer qu'il a été écrit par moi

Inutile de prier, que Dieu est mort

Nous étudions les mots croisés de la vie

A l'intérieur du Waxway

En dehors du renard était le monde entier

Oui, Virgins, il y a un TK Maxx ici

Sous-désespérions et sous-payés, je me suis tué en 1987 et renaît en 2009.It est une l'histoire de ma femme

Pity les pauvres trémies TK Maxx

Ce sont les restes de Delirium, stupide

Je me sens un sentiment palpable de feuille de thé

gilet de Rorschach était inky

L'autre par Kafma

Trop, il eff

Zeitgeist mon arse.Speak anglais pur

Peu nous a appris a duré

Le non-communauté ont rallié ensemble

Hâtivement racheté je suis allé au ciel avant ils ont remarqué

bend Ignominious dans les drains

Tranquillement non-communication

Dans la paralysie définitive, j'ai jamais eu un bain

A la fin de la proie, nous étions pleins

Illiterally elle a fini

Ultra-matily il me serra dans ses bras

Acid Reflux m'a tué

Vestiges peut être vu ici.

Nourrir endly?

fronce les sourcils doubles


Dons la mante religieuse pour l'hiver

banlieue politique

question Shot-bouton

Face-agitant compromis

L'argument coulait comme du vomi

Déclencheur de la plupart des jours

Panier et colis arrivé, cheval mort

Dévoré les bancs tout à la fois

La nouvelle anormale.
 Je suis franglais sur la tete
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Islamic-Clothing-for-WomensIf we had a law like the French about conspicuous religious clothing would it affect Indian women wearing saris and Jewish people in Stamford Hill wearing special clothing?
I expect some  do but should we compel them ?

I feel it is really Muslim clothes they hate


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The headlines



To interpret the headlines on the newspaper,
Think that if  the first is  about sexual harassment in Universities
That means no catastrophe natural or human worth reporting on
We’ve had enough of Brexit,British,burkinis,bathing and bombs.
Not that harassment is  unworthy
It’s on a different level from a suicide  bombing
Or the USA Presidency.
Soon the holiday will be over,the heat will go
No need to iron my dresses
Time to  find a jacket
Give  some clothes to Oxfam
Stock up  with baked beans and novels
Wonder how it will be alone in darkness again
Don’t say “men are like buses”
Thousands might come along but I don’t care for them.
And  vice versa.
The grieving grieve for the unique,the one they knew
What would it be like now to get to know another man?
After all,there are benefits in being alone for people like myself
I am too aware of my effect on others and that is not easy to live with either way.
Yet it is sad so many people are lonely; but marriage can be lonelier than being alone.
For our individuality we pay a price
Some join a church and play at belief.
Some take to drink or drugs or go mad.
Ironing everything seems to help… it’s productive.. unlike reading  about Quantum Field Theory.
A woman I know has gone overboard and can’t stop cleaning.Wish it was me but I get tired!


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W.S.Merwin in the Paris Review

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From LaSauvageJaune on Twitter


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Hackneyed no more


At first  bounce, I hit the ceiling

As a rumination it was wonderful

Bandits  day

The American tickle

The  pre-marriative agreement

She looked into him with a dermaprobe

I have a  rare window -Window 13 [Black Friday]

Legs in the congestion were lost

Be that  in dismay I still hope for desperation.

It is important to  quote that it was written by me

Needless to pray, as God is dead

We are  studying  the crosswords of life

Inside the Waxway

Outside the  fox was the whole world

Yes, Virgins, there is a TK Maxx here

Under-despaired and underpaid, I killed myself in 1987 and was reborn in 2009.It’s a the story of my wife

Pity the poor TK Maxx hoppers

It’s the Delirium Remains, stupid

I feel  a palpable sense of  tea leaf

Rorschach’s vest was inky

The Another by Kafma

Too much, eff it

Zeitgeist my arse.Speak pure  English

Little taught us lasted

The  non-community have rallied together

Hastily  redeemed I went to Heaven before they noticed

Ignominious bend in the drains

Quietly  non-communicating

In the final  paralysis, I never had a bath

At the end of the prey, we were full

Illiterally  she ended

Ultra-matily he hugged me

Acid Reflux killed me

Remains  can be seen here.

Feeding endly?

Double frowns


Dons the  praying mantis for winter

Political commuter

Shot-button issue

Face-waving compromise

The argument  flowed like vomit

Shutter  button off most days

Cart and parcel arrived,horse dead

Devoured the pews all at once

The new abnormal.

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Moonlight Monologue for the New Kitten Péter Kántor

The old kitten is replaced by a new baby kitten
the old dog by a new pup
like a dead Monday by Tuesday.

They stroke the new kitten in their laps
so that their excess affection won’t go sour,
so that it will love them in return, like the old one did.

But for me they aren’t replaceable,
not the kitten, not the Monday, not anything else;
for me they never die.

They only distance themselves, or dwell in me
disappearing into the distance: they dwell in my heart and ears,
like the Moonlight Sonata dwells in a piano.

Gone? No new rain rinses the shower-scent
of an old Monday from me,
no matter how hard it pours, hisses, stream
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Black Cat Rainer Maria Rilke, 1875 – 1926

A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:

just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.

She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once

as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.

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Serious art that is funny




Carolyn Forché, someone who has never been accused of being a funny poet, has said “irony, paradox, surrealism . . . might well be both the answer and a restatement of [Theodor] Adorno’s often quoted and difficult contention that to write poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric.” But what did the philosopher and critic Adorno mean by this fatuous statement? No poetry? Or just a very, very serious and earnest poetry? Because, let’s face it–earnestness is almost always bad art. Good art makes us think; it has more questions than answers. Often, but not always, satire does this too. But earnestness almost never does this–that’s not its job. Earnestness is comforting. It wants to hug us. And we want to be hugged sometimes. But sometimes we want to laugh while poking holes in self-righteousness and oppression, whether it be literal political oppression or oppression of a quieter sort – cultural and aesthetic oppression. Irony and satire are such a good antidote to oppression because oppression needs to be earnest (or at least look earnest) in order to be feared by those it seeks to cow. Oppression cannot work alongside irony because it believes in its own righteousness and a monolithic concept of truth that must be asserted to the oppressed with a straight face. Irony and satire are the tools by which the oppressed get to make fun of the oppressors without the oppressors getting it.”

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I object

What happened  in Nice last week when four policemen forced a Mulsim woman to remove some of her clothing on a beach was a shock.I  am sure it happens in secret in prisons and other detention centres but to see someone  doing it in public was like watching a  porn film where a woman is humiliated.
A burkini is not a dress that can conceal a gun or bomb.And I saw in Windsmoor I can get a  jumpsuit  in the Sale.If I wore that with a tunic top would that be unacceptable.? I imagine it’s already quite hard for Muslim women to go to the beach.
What about the torture in Guantamno Bay? Do we make Americans strip on the beach?
The drones in Pakistan,the  constant drones over Gaza,which do we pick on? It seems to me that this action will not help in France.They have  poor record on racism and anti-Semitism
[ they shocked the German invaders in rounding up Jews faster than was intended and with  some pleasure whereas the Danish Government managed to save almost all of  the  Danish Jewish people by taking them in ambulances to hospitals and taking them to Sweden in boats]
OK, you can’t flaunt giant crucifixes around your neck.Can you carry rosary beads?Can nuns wear veils? Where to draw the line?Why would it bother people if I said the rosary in Paris ?
Surely it will make Muslims  more angry and afraid ; all women and decent men should be angry

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Where nude police with guns strut stiffly by.

He says we’re going to bed this afternoon
As melancholy  clouds  droop from the sky
I like the sun to  fry, to heat my womb

I like the flowers each with its  dull dead blooms
On burning   grass with him, I sinned to  fly.
He says we’re getting bail this afternoon

If there is no sun, there is no  moon.
If  we cannot stalk, then we can lie.
I out my sins  to  thrive, to bring  down Rome

I    scorn the  beach, where Europe showed it’s ruined
Nude starched police with guns strut  stiffly by.
He says we’ll have  the climax   S & hemmed,

I sing in tunes invented by my clones
I would be dumb  yet how the grey ghosts sigh
I  hear the sunbeams screaming in the Zone


If  it’s   very hot I have  clothes my own
Burkinis  are  the   big hits of today
They says we’re going to Jail this afternoon
I  hope that God will speak  and  throw us down

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Hermaphrodites can do it all and tweet!



Every cloud its silver lining has
Get your sheets white using mega Daz
Finders may be keepers in some hands
I keep my hair on with elastic bands.

Whiskas cat food’s  quite enough for me
The cat eats  all my dinner  in the tree
Remember  not to roll on mossy banks
Rolling stones may tumble on your flanks

I had a bird in my hands just the once
My parents looked at this and ,cripes, they winced
They made my punishment fit my so called crime
So now I live free doing my own Time   [jail in UK]

Too many cooks can spoil my broth today
For soup’s unsuitable in summer gay.
I’m marrying a   clever maid who’s also sweet
Hermaphrodites can do it all and tweet!

You may be cutie pie and like free love
But I prefer an eagle to a   dove
Yet love  needs payment , even  round the bend
In the end  lies the beginning  of the penned

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Get it off


She asked me where I had my hair done,so I said,
I am wearing a wig.
Why, she asked
I am waiting for  an armed policeman to come and take it off.
Well,stone the crows, she cried.Are you feeling well?
Well what?I said rudely.Well cooked,well heeled,well drunk
My,you’re good at talking, aren’t you?
Is that a rhetorical question ,I demanded.
Who was the Rett Oracle? she wondered.
I am sorry.I meant,do you really want to know.
I can’t  remember,she answered.Look, here are the police.
Four police with guns came over and stood round me in a sort of square circle.
Get it off,madam, they shouted,
I am Jewish,I told them
Well, you can’t wear religious dress.
Is a wig a dress?
That foxed them
Anyway,I told them.I am an atheist
You’re a Jewish atheist,they told me.
Atheist,  fetishist,pantheist.Can’t a poor old lady wear a wig.
Not if you are Jewish,they answered.If you were  a Methodist you could.
Well,I’ll convert.
But  it isn’t instantaneous.
Just then I saw my husband  coming with his Canon Powershot.Make a video, I screamed.
This is my chance at becoming famous.And rich.
So I turned to the police and said,
Can we start from the beginning again?
They shouted,get it off.So I took my knickers off .That was how I got into the News.Fortunately ,I wasn’t wearing trousers.I was wearing a bikini after watching  the French news.So it’s ok to go downtown just in your bra.Because it’s not religious you see.Though soon it may be and we can go out nude.We’ll be forced to.Call this a democracy? It makes me puke.
So anyway I was on the News in just my top bit and now I am famous.I hoped for fame as an intellectual but you can’t have it all.I thought I was shy before but now I know I am.I’ll have to take the veil if it is legal
Life,it ain’t half queer.All because I had a bad hair day.Never eat your hair for breakfast.It clogs up your innards
It makes me wonder what will happen next.
When I was a child the police made you put your clothes ON.Now they make you strip.
Anywaym,it wasn’t really a wig.It was my cat with a  sun hat over her.I pass for Jewish mostly but  Moses would disagree.He was Egyptian  so he’s passed for ages.
Ten bloody commandments.And so say all of us

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5 ways to start writing a poem

security passover.jpg


5 Ways How to Write a Poem

5 Ways :How to Write a Poem

Okay, so there are probably about a million ways how to write a poem, but the five methods below help me when I’ve been stuck in a rut. If you have other ways to get those poems started, then feel encouraged to share in the comments below.

Here are 5 ways how to write poetry:

  1. Capture a moment. One trap I can sometimes fall into is that I try to write the big poem or the poem filled with ideas (like love, hate, etc.). What always works better, for me anyway, is to focus on one moment that expresses an emotion or works as a metaphor for a bigger idea.
  2. Steal a conversation. My first chapbook includes a poem titled “Eavesdropping,” which is basically several conversations I overheard while in airport terminals. I took notes in the terminals and worked on the poem while doing my laundry at a laundromat. Listening to others can kickstart poems, because you’ll hear things you would never say or think yourself.
  3. Describe something or someone. Specificity strengthens a poem, and it’s hard to get more specific than throwing all your attention toward one thing or person. The only trap with these poems is that they can sometimes read like lists.
  4. Respond to something. Response poems have been around forever. In fact, an argument could be made that all poems are response poems. To what could your poem respond? For starters, you could respond to another poem, a piece of art, something someone said to you, a cool-looking car, etc. Nothing is off limits.
  5. Use someone else’s line. This is kind of like eavesdropping, I suppose, but there are poems that will take a line from another person’s poem and make that the first line. In this tradition, it is also good form to mention the poem is “after (poet’s name here).” How this can help is that you’ve already got a great line out of the way–and just need to write the rest of the poem.
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Firework Display

image rockets

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Jesus wept


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Be a better writer


Jennifer Egan: On being willing to write badly…

[Be] willing to write really badly. It won’t hurt you to do that. I think there is this fear of writing badly, something primal about it, like: “This bad stuff is coming out of me…” Forget it! Let it float away and the good stuff follows. For me, the bad beginning is just something to build on. It’s no big deal. You have to give yourself permission to do that because you can’t expect to write regularly and always write well. That’s when people get into the habit of waiting for the good moments, and that is where I think writer’s block comes from. Like: It’s not happening. Well, maybe good writing isn’t happening, but let some bad writing happen… When I was writing “The Keep,” my writing was so terrible. It was God-awful. My working title for that first draft was, A Short Bad Novel. I thought: “How can I disappoint?”
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Emotions and desires with syntax meet


Poetic form, oh architecture  sweet,
Sonnet,terza  rima,villanelle;
Let me   sense your truth in  sentence  neat

Emotions and desires  with syntax meet;
The sentences,   like waves, each softly swells.
Poetic form, oh architecture  sweet.

Like Shetland lace, the  patterned forms repeat
Oh,draping shawl, be not obsessive hell.
Let me   sense your truth in  sentence  neat

Our language starts as  babbles and small  greets;
From interactions, we  learn words  as well.
Poetic form, oh architecture  sweet.

Poems and music , each  has  rhythmic beat.
Each may give us peace or vital thrill
Let me   sense your truth in  sentence  neat

Underneath the oak trees take your seat.
Read aloud  or silent,as you will.
Poetic form, oh architecture  sweet;
Let me   sense your truth in  sentence  neat



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If this be love,then let me have your hate.

If you be true then let me hear your lies.

For this, my heart, your message comes too late.

For now my need is for the thoughtful wise.

If this be marriage,let me have divorce.

If this be holy, hasten I to hell..

For love comes in its time without such force.

And of its message ẃho am I to tell?

If this be love,then let me dwell alone.

If this be love, I will be forever chaste.

Your love is like a bomb. that breaks my bones

A love that lays your world and mine to waste


Love can shake us to our inner core.

Hence of your love I wish to hear no more

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Writers’ studies




Julian Barnes

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Where nine writers work


Nigella Lawson from article below


Writing Spaces: Where 9 Famous Creatives Do Their Best Work

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noun: parody; plural noun: parodies
  1. 1.
    an imitation of the style of a particular writer, artist, or genre with deliberate exaggeration for comic effect.
    “the film is a parody of the horror genre”
verb: parody; 3rd person present: parodies; past tense: parodied; past participle: parodied; gerund or present participle: parodying
  1. 1.
    produce a humorously exaggerated imitation of (a writer, artist, or genre).
    “his speciality was parodying schoolgirl fiction”
late 16th century: via late Latin from Greek parōidia ‘burlesque poem’, from para- ‘beside’ (expressing alteration) + ōidē ‘ode’.
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Where is the boundary?

If there is bad poetry   and good poetry how about grey poetry?


The poem was not a diamond  nor a pearl
Nor was it even moonstone  they surmised
But  in the weekly news, it got a mention
Which gained the author looks of great surprise.

The postman and the milkman lingered longer
The  dustmen were all eager to commend
They rescued other writing from recycling
They told the author it was in demand.

Or if not now, then maybe in the future;
Like Ted Hughes, we ought not to destroy.
The driver’s  done an OU course in writing
Everything from Pontefract to Troy.

The postman wrote us verses  every Xmas
The milkman gave us readings from our palms.
The dustmen read the Times  if it was folded
If it was creased, then they were up in arms.

Save letters, lists and diaries when handwritten;
Even the old  table where you write
Perhaps your  golden pen from Haifa
And the Esterbrook which knew your daily plight.

I don’t know where Sylvia’s stuff was quartered
But now it fills  great rooms  with gravitas
Innumerable academics sift it
Has all her suffering brought her down to this?

So build a shed and make it dry in winter
Get heavy duty bags from Shangri La
Every single sentence you have written
Put it there before you cross the Bar

In your Will,do mention your grey  verses
Leave all to the University of Rome
If they    don’t really  want  to shelve them
Make a university  of your home.


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Get used to how deserted spouses gasp

The art of living   is  to  stay relaxed.
The art of living’s not to keep or grasp.
Ignore the signals of the phone and facts


Ignore the peeling paper and the cracks.
Ignore the buzzing of the angry wasps
The art of living   is  to  stay relaxed

Don’t bother  how the  other folk  react
Do not  extend your  hand, in case it’s clasped
Ignore the signals of the phone and facts

Keep your suitcase  in the  porch and  packed.
Get used to how deserted spouses gasp
The art of living   is  to  stay relaxed

Remember  phones  de facto can be tracked
Remember all you’re breaking is   their  trust
Ignore the signals of the phone, and facts

Don’t let  the ten commandments keep you fixed
Facades, in the end, all come to dust
The art of living   is  to  stay relaxed
Ignore the signals of the phone, for I will fax




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A tyrant’s spell makes ruin seem like fate

Writing poems is easy,in the end
For they exist already in the tongue.
We  remove excess, and inappropriate,  mend.
Hence what is left cannot be written wrong.

The longer and more complex is the poem
The easier for the poet to  sculpt to shape
But brief and succinct verses  hide, or roam.
Empty is my paper and I  mope.

Or are words  a  mere random heap  of stones
A poet ,  a builder of a drystone wall?
Skeleton,  or heap of  beggars’ bones
Awaiting  flesh , for which desire they call?

Maybe a hidden body in the woods,
A hand protrudes and dogs run all a-bark
Lazarus waiting  for  his unique   God
Who alone  provides the  living spark

Frankenstein or Saviour, who can tell?
Construction  may obscure  and then  too late;
Both  good and evil can  be written well.
A tyrant’s spell  makes ruin   seem like fate

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One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

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Neurosis and wealth




This came to my mind because someone remarked on how many books I have as if it were a sign of mental disturbance.However, if I were more wealthy and had a larger house then the books would not look excessive in number.Michael Frayn has  I believe 30 metres of bookshelves on his Richmond home.
Does it also imply that tidiness is more important than any other issue?
Of course ,if the books were near a fire or impeding someone crossing the floor then it would be dangerous.
I wonder if this applies in other parts of life?I imagine a depressed person who is well  off can afford to pay for private psychotherapy if they want to whereas a  poorer person has to take the 6-week offering of the NHS.Someone I know lied and said she was suicidal in order to get urgent treatment.Not that it helped!Otherwise some folk wait for 6 months maybe because they will get better or will kill themselves and save the NHS some money
But maybe having friends and social support helps more and I hope that is something we can have regardless of our position or wealth.Many people put barriers to friendship by not realising they can be friends with people of  other colour or ethnic group… and they don’t think it is unusual.Here in London it would seem odd if we were all the same.I find many Europeans are kinder and friendlier than Brits born here.

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The most vital element in poetry is rhythm






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Our fascination for bad poetry



I suppose,moreover,it’s never easy to tell
To coin a phrase,what is new and great
From what is bad
And it’s darned uncomfortable sitting astride this fence
I suppose it has to be nice,full of cliches and perhaps rhyming
And rarely scanning;
Or it’s about sort of hackneyed type of stories
With nothing new  under the sun in them
And  with  a few too many adverbs, prepositions and no nouns like names
Just to get the ball rolling,here’s my point of view
Would you like it read out at your third wedding?
Or your one and only funeral
Don’t keep me guessing.I like a quick response
I am not easily bored but when I am bored it’s easy to stay that way,kinda thing.
When I feel paralysed and stare at the  things piled on the sofa
And wonder how to sort them out..
Ah,well,many a mickle makes a muckle
And lions roar while cheetahs chuckle
Bite your own knuckle.Oh,fuckle.

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Sunset over Gaza


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A rolling stone


I have an axe to grind with you
A rolling stone made me review
My posture and my backward view
Let’s begin now and start anew
That sharpish pain in my  butt hurt
I never meant to start to  flirt
As old as time, a woman erred.
She liked apples eaten bared
Avoid  the Nazis like the plague.
And keep quiet, be still and vague
I fear my shadow and yours too
A far,  far cry from  hearing Holst
From insult and  those injured ghosts
May God preserve all wholly roasts.
Another day, another pound
Why not use  me Underground?
I am rolling in the moss
A bolder  stone  would soon be tossed.
A cliche lost is never missed
Did the snake in Eden kiss?



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He who owns the camera owns the zoom

He who pays the piper calls the tune
He who owns the camera owns the zoom
We used to make hay  down in sunny Froome
While shepherds watched their flocks  outside the town
Laughter is the antidote  to loss
If you’re hurt then it’s ok to curse.
Many hands make lights work after dark
If you have a car, you   need a park
If you die make sure that you are clean
All that’s well ends with a happy cheer
Many like to drown their guts in beer.
A bird in my hand nipped me with its beak
My bladder’s full so I must take a leak.
My clothes are cleaner than a Bishop’s Dream
If you meet one ,all you do  is scream.

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I can’t stop getting it

I can’t stop getting it
The Radio Times,lost , unread.
The newspapers all writ with blood
I can’t stop getting it.
I get that you are gone for good
I get my tears may cause  the flood
I can’t stop getting it.
The mustard, yellow, in its pot
For my taste,  too wild and hot
I can’t stop getting it.
The cutlery I bought to cheer
Those new plates, the bottled beer
I can’t stop getting it.
You think I’m smart,
I have no heart?
I only like  pure numbers cold,
I write while   sentences still dart
I write because  we are apart
I can’t stop getting it
The LRB, Arthritis Care
The Oldie,Damart,what men wear.
The Guardian Weekly,Africa
Apartheid, Sharpeville.what you saw.
I can’t stop getting it.
I’ve got it all.I’ve got  the warmth
I’ve got the memories  of calm
I’ve got it all,and yet, and yet
I’ve got nothing,I’m bereft.
I can’t stop getting hit.
I can’t stop getting it.
Save me with your wit.
Your mobile features,not your phone,
The abject utterance of your groans
The trolley in  the A & E
How you died , right next to me.
I held your hand and sang the psalms
You smiled at me ,at last you calmed
I can’t stop getting it
The groups of doctors just outside
Listening to me sing you  right.
The nurses  stopped ,like frozen film
That was heaven,not a prison
I can’t stop getting it.


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Happy to do nothing,nothing seek

Rich deep silence brings pleasures unique
From  peaceful green of  trees where small  birds  hide.
The work within the mind  may be complete

About our souls, we each must be discreet
Even to those  who’re  living by our sides
Rich deep silence brings pleasures unique

Happy to do nothing,nothing seek
Innocent as  young,beloved bride
The work within the mind  may be complete

Ignorant of Latin,Hebrew,Greek,
The heart needs no such learning to decide
Rich deep silence brings pleasures unique

I listen to the  world around me speak
Underneath the turmoil,love’s alive
The work within the mind  may be complete

In our society,  sensitive means freak.
Yet, by our intuitions, we may guide
Rich deep silence brings pleasures unique
The work within the mind  may be complete

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IMG_0003 - Copy - Copy - Copy - Copy (2)
noun: cliché; plural noun: clichés; noun: cliche; plural noun: cliches
  1. 1.
    a phrase or opinion that is overused and betrays a lack of original thought.
    “that old cliché ‘a woman’s place is in the home’”
    synonyms: platitude, hackneyed phrase, commonplace, banality, truism, trite phrase, banal phrase, overworked phrase, stock phrase, bromide; More

    • a very predictable or unoriginal thing or person.
      “each building is a mishmash of tired clichés”
  2. 2.BRITISH
    a stereotype or electrotype.
mid 19th century: French, past participle (used as a noun) of clicher ‘to stereotype’.
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How to make your poetry worse.Part 1

Write in form but make sure the lines don’t scan
Iambic pentameter

I love my love with all my human heart
I    bake Dan apple tart
I love his wicked  face and legs
I love to cook him  loads of scrambled eggs

Use cliches as often as possible


Every cloud its silver lining has
Get your sheets white using mega Daz
Finders may be keepers in some lands
I keep my hair on with elastic bands.


Whiskas cat food’s  quite enough for me
The cat eats  all my dinner , while I wee
Remember  not to roll on mossy banks
As rolling stones may gather on your flanks

I had a bird in my hands just the once
My parents looked at this and made me wince
They made my punishment fit my so called crime
So now I live free doing my own Time   [jail in UK]

Too many cooks can spoil my broth today
For soup’s unsuitable in summer gay.
I’m marrying a   clever maid who’s also sweet
Hermaphrodites can do it all and tweet

You may be cutie pie and like free love
But I prefer an owl to a  soft dove
Yet love  needs payment , even in the  end
In the end is the beginning  of the penned


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  1.  Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists unless laughter could be said to remedy anything.

    Kurt Vonnegut


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When shadows fall and night begins again

When shadows fall  and night  begins again
When  artificial light is all I have
I feel the grief of loss  in  biting pain

And by the evening ,energy is drained.
We list the memories of those we’ve loved
When shadows fall  and night  begins again


So like the moon ,my feelings wax and wane
And sunlight does not fall from far above
I feel the grief of loss  in    biting  pains

When no words seem appropriate to explain
The river rushes fast, but I’ve no  boat
When shadows fall  and night  begins again

At least I do not look for who to blame
But wish to live surrounded by a moat
I feel the grief of loss in   biting  pains

A premonition warned me of what came
And down I sank forgetting how to float
When shadows fall  and night  begins again
I feel the grief of loss  in  biting pain

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Books for the Holiday



How to accept nervous trembling
Shy? How to live without others and love it.Free tools  and software included.
How to waste your savings and enjoy your retirement more
How to be imperfect without really  trying.
Being  yourself and the  consequences.Free journal and virtual  pen
How to write terrible poetry for  and by experts.
Overweight? How to live with your own body and be insensitive to others.
How to be less naive than me.
Innocence, the new mental disorder and how to change in five steps with free porn and films of  the bombing of Dresden, Hiroshiman, and Coventry.DVD drive useful but not essential
How to be deaf to  the pleas of others.Useful for those who empathise.
How to invent new mental illnesses and make your fortune.{ For pharmacy researchers]


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MW Insinuate

Suggesting night by Katherine 2015
Word of the Day : August 24, 2016


verb in-SIN-yuh-wayt


1 a : to introduce (as an idea) gradually or in a subtle, indirect, or covert way

b : to impart or suggest in an artful or indirect way : imply

2 : to introduce (as oneself) by stealthy, smooth, or artful means


“They are confident buildings, but not boastful ones. They have a way of iinsinuating  themselves into the landscape, behaving as if they’ve always been there.” — Karrie Jacobs,Architect, 18 June 2013

“Pokemon Go players couldn’t catch much on Saturday. That’s because the game kept crashing. … [A] group called PoodleCorp claimed responsibility for the server crash in a series of tweets. The group also insinuated that another attack on the game was imminent.” — Ahiza Garcia, CNN Wire, 16 July 2016

Did You Know?

The meaning of insinuate is similar to that of another verb, suggest. Whether you suggest or insinuate something, you are conveying an idea indirectly. But although these two words share the same basic meaning, each gets the idea across in a different way. When you suggest something, you put it into the mind by associating it with other ideas, desires, or thoughts. You might say, for example, that a book’s title suggests what the story is about. The word insinuate, on the other hand, usually includes a sense that the idea being conveyed is unpleasant, or that it is being passed along in a sly or underhanded way (“She insinuated that I cheated”).

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 Where vultures used to roost

She was built like a brick out-house

Ya,born with a silver spoon in her mouth

Her momma was like an old brown mouse

And her pa was just a slimy stuck up louse.



She was built like an old doghouse

On the top, sharp-eyed vultures used to roost

Her brother has gone for a Dead Sea cruise

Her sister wants to let all hell break loose.


She was in for life with those smart spooks

A creepy horror in every nook

Her ma never learned her how to cook

She ain’t never even read a single book.


No aphrodisiac ain’t of much use

When the true Furies are on the loose.

Do what you can to cook that goose

Ain’t so good to blow your own fuse.
No,those Furies are on the ball

So they’ll send about  all of us up the wall

Keep running faster or they’ll grab  us all

Never turn around  if hear them call

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Very funny if you can understand the accent

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Canny- what does it mean

Canny is used a lot in the North of England and canny lass is Geordie
adjective: canny; comparative adjective: cannier; superlative adjective: canniest
  1. 1.
    having or showing shrewdness and good judgement, especially in money or business matters.
    “canny investors will switch banks if they think they are getting a raw deal”
    antonyms: foolish, reckless
  2. 2.
    pleasant; nice.
    “she’s a canny lass”
late 16th century (originally Scots): from can1 (in the obsolete sense ‘know’) + -y1.
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The rage of living



The point of living is to feel alive
Not caged  by  too high walls or steely fence
We want to love,be taken by surprise.

Our  wounded mangled self we can’t deride,
Recalling  fights and  struggles lived  through once.
The point of living is to feel alive.

We dither to and fro in puzzled ways
We feel the anguish, still and quite intent.
We want to love,be taken by surprise.

The self’s spontaneous, not a thing contrived;
Formed with love and  hate,with all intense.
The rage of living is to be alive.

When washed away by feelings glad,immense
That cross our borders without our lament
The  hope,the need of living is  our life
We want to  give and take  yet fear surprise
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When shadows fall




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Say no to a graphics tablet

duck drawing 001–cms-24272

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In those lost lands, I saw your face

In the land which dreams dwell in

where love and joy and life begin;

how swiftly the deep rivers flow

from those lost lands of long ago.

I wander through wild poppy fields

Underfoot the dark earth yields….

I see the flowering fruit trees start

Their blossoms gather round my heart…

I hear the sparrows sing with joy

And bees their busy wings employ.

In those lost lands I saw your face

And now I long for your embrace.

Are you real,am I deceived?

From this earth we all must leave.

Earth to earth and ash to ash

Glory,pride and boasting pass.

Leave me now,my dearest one

Soon I too will be called on.

Nothing lasts but truth is real

Keep the truth and your ideals..

Earth to earth, we rest in clay

We must give all self away

Softly on this earth I roam

Seeking still my love and home,

for until the very end

Love and kindnss may descend.

Soft as wings of butterflies

Tears well up and wet my eyes.

My heart has melted into yours

Thus we grow and die like flowers
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adjective LEEN-yunt


1 : exerting a soothing or easing influence : relieving pain or stress

2 : of mild and tolerant disposition; especially : indulgent


Because Kevin didn’t have any past violations on his driving record, the officer decided to be lenient and let him off with a written warning.

“In February, he pleaded guilty to a bribery count and a tax count. His attorney … has said federal prosecutors have recommended a lenient sentence in exchange for his cooperation.” — Jimmie E. Gates, The Clarion-Ledger (Jackson, Mississippi), 18 July 2016

Did You Know?

Lenient is a word with a soothing history. It derives from the Latin verb lenire, meaning “to soothe” or “to soften” (itself from lenis, meaning “soft or mild”). The first, now archaic, sense of lenient referred to something soothing that relieved pain and stress. That meaning was shared by lenitive, an earlier derivative of lenire that was commonly used with electuary (a “lenitive electuary” being a medicated paste prepared with honey or another sweet and used by veterinarians to alleviate pain in the mouth). Linguists also borrowed lenis to describe speech sounds that are softened—for instance, the “t” sound in gutter is lenis. By way of comparison, the “t” sound in toe is fortis.

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A wig for Stan


  • Stan wore a wig in bed so his cat  Emile could stick his claws into it without scratching Stan………..though the lady in the shop where Stan bought it assumed he was a transvestite.This is what happened in the shop:

    After being scratched on the head by Emile, who slept on Stan’s pillow,Stan had decided he must buy himself a wig.Seeing as it was a very cold summer it would keep him warm.He went out and took the car onto the road.
    Come on Emile,you can read the map for me to get us to the wig shop
    on the other side of Knittingham.
    Why don’t you get Sat Nav? the naughty little cat answered rudely
    Why should I when I prefer Cat Nav…. and you are always good company.
    How flattering, purred Emile,putting on his spectacles which had gold rims.
    When they reached the Wig Shop “Fakes and Fantasy” in Eastside Road Emile was so tired with navigating he went to sleep and Stan ventured nervously into the shop as it was in new hands.
    Are you alright, sir? a charming young  lady asked.
    What are you looking for? Some viagra perhaps?
    No, no! Stan muttered
    A vibrator? She offered calmly
    I get enough vibration in my old car!I am looking for a wig.
    But your hair is quite thick!Ah,I see… a lady’s wig?
    Yes,he whispered,Exactly.
    I think an auburn wig would suit you.
    The colour is no concern…I shall only wear it in bed.
    Does your wife not  mind you being a transvestite?
    I’m not a transvestite,I sleep with the cat! My wife wouldn’t mind if I wore a steel pan on my head.
    Well,whatever turns you on as long as it does no harm to anyone or the cat.It’s a free country.
    A free country ? pay my income tax gladly…for if I was not getting a pension from the Civil Service I would not be liable for tax.It’s a privilege to pay tax!
    I am glad you feel that way,the lady replied,I am a liberal myself but of the “lefter than thou” school of thought.
    A leftover liberal,he joked feebly
    And it’s no longer very free here..soon they will monitor our emails.
    I’ve not written you any emails,Stan murmured softly.
    Not yet,but most men I meet send me emails!
    Well,what’s your address,he  asked seductively.
    It’s or

    Why have you  got 2 addresses,he whispered to her
    Oh,I can’t remember.I also have a   gmail one.My user name is covetgarden.rose
    Don’t you mean coventgarden?
    Well,it’s too late now.I’ve just applied as covet!
    You should be more careful.You may attract the wrong type of person.
    Do you think there is a wrong type?
    Well,avoid a very egocentric person or one who seems to be after your money or your maidenhead.
    I am 25 years old and after a few boxes of super large tampax I no longer have a maidenhead.
    That’s why the Bishop’s banned them! He  informed her
    All I say is.. let a Bishop experience menstruation,commuting and modern tight clothes and then I shall heed their advice.
    I see,muttered Stan,You seem a very intriguing young lady.Have you ever thought of having a blog?
    No,never.I am unable to think of a blog title.
    How about,
    “It’s bleeding obvious.”?
    What is?
    That’s the title.
    I see.It’s a bit rude.
    Well,you need to draw attention to yourself.
    I have enough already,she answered lightly
    Thank you so much.I do feel I am your man despite the age gap.
    To get back to my purchase…I’ll take a long red wig that is machine washable.
    Very wise,the girl responded.I do hope your cat will like it.It’s polyester but feels very nice.
    How much is it? asked Stan.
    Half a crown,she replied.
    Here you are I have a florin and two three penny bits.
    I’ll save those for my Xmas pudding,she cried happily.
    What a good idea,Stan howled. merrily
    Clutching the wig in one hand he tried to get out of the shop without knocking over a mound of vibrators stacked by the exit.What is it with modern technology,he whispered to himself
    In my day,we never needed a vibrator,he told the assistant.
    We could vibrate naturally.
    Oh,those good old days…. when love was as natural as a flash of lightning or a shower of hailstones…
    As natural as having a very clever Prime Minister like Harold Wilson..
    Those were the days,my friend
    When we thought we could change the world
    And now we are disillusioned
    But we may as well love each other,anyway.
    They even say,
    It’s love that makes the world go round.
    So love someone today,please.
    Visit an old person or a lonely neighbour.
    Throw a party tonight!

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The fruit

 Ah,did you throw away the  ripened fruit
Because inside it hid a hardened stone?
As anything not total does not suit
Love’s ambivalence seems to you a crime

Don’t throw away my love when I  offend
For I am human too and lose my sense
As tension makes it difficult to bend
And sometimes even love is too intense.

Rather , see how much love there still may be
And balance that against my human faults
Instead ,one mark ,one sin  one thought unfree
Weighs more than years of love ,binds me in guilt.

As panic  will grow less when we just wait
In such a way , real love can contain hate
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About grieving

I think this  tip is valuable

 Anticipate, don’t ask.
Do not say “Call me if you need anything,” because your friend will not call. Not because they do not need, but because identifying a need, figuring out who might fill that need, and then making a phone call to ask is light years beyond their energy levels, capacity or interest. Instead, make concrete offers: “I will be there at 4 p.m. on Thursday to bring your recycling to the curb,” or “I will stop by each morning on my way to work and give the dog a quick walk.” Be reliable.

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My canny lass

I can see you in  the  distance in the   meadows
You’re  walking all alone,  though it is late
I’m watching you and wondering what to do.
I  always keep to roads   that run   quite straight.

I’m sorry if you’re weary and forlorn
I’m afraid to leave the beaten track.
I even have a sat nav  on my bike
Perhaps if I  shout  out,you will come back.

I think you should  avoid the fields and hills
For you are old and stiff and  mad
I phone you on your Windows  phone again
To tell you ,you are being very bad.

toBut you hasked me to  join you in the grass
To see wildflowers and  in blue   heather   lie
But  can’t you  see the dangers ever near?
Is it weakness   on my side or am I wise?

I once lay down   myself on   heathery moors
The Cleveland Hills, so beautiful a view
But later I saw I ‘d edged a cliff
So near to falling off,I never knew.

Since then I’m careful where I  walk
I  study charts and  maps and feel afraid
I get the weather forecast ,wear a mac
But is it a wise decision I have made?

I see that  you are sinking in a bog
I vault the gate and speed across the grass
I grab you and I pull you to  dry earth
I always did admire you,canny lass.

Oh,I’ll take you in my arms and get you warm
I won’t admonish you  or make a pass
I’ll give you hot  tea,check if you are harmed.
I love,I love ,I love my canny lass.

As brave as the old Vikings in  longboats
As wild as a cat demon in the hills
As  bright as a bronze shield in Northern sun
Oh,canny lass, be mine, please say,I will.


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Daisied fields

What shall I do ,the  widow asked her friend.
I feel this knife inside my heart again
What  can I do to make my sorrow end
What can I do to  stop the bloody   pain?

Do nothing, the  sweet friend  gently replied
Your task is  to  accept   your own despair
The  wisdom in your mind will work,she sighed.
Your body hurts and  for such  pain we  care.

Sit here and  count the daisies i n the lawn
No need to talk or  even think  or will.
As in this peaceful sitting for  a day
Your mind will    rest and  hope  and trust may call.

Receptive to the shivering, daisied  fields,
The heart releases; to  its  grace  we yield

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I know you well enough to wish to care

I knew you well  for  just the  everyday
The little happenings which we have shared
But in your  grief, I  don’t know what to say.

How many losses hit you on  your way?
I know you well enough to wish to care
I knew you well enough for  every day

Is sorrow  what survivors have to pay?
I’m afraid  to feel  my dark emotions  bared.
So in your  grief, I   fear what I might say.

On your hand,my hand I gently lay
I lived near you when all was kind and fair
I knew you well enough for  every day.

I ‘ll comfort you  perhaps just for one day
We’ll live this darkness hour by   pained hour
Oh,in your  grief, I  don’t know what to say.

We’ll take a walk ,and movement shall be prayer.
We’ll smell the  damp green lawns and   lavenders
I knew you well  for  just the  everyday
But  when you grieved, I   knew not what to say

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The second coming

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of i{Spiritus Mundi}
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at laSt,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?



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How to help a bereaved friend



I think it is very painful for friends to see someone suffer and sometimes you may find it too hard but don’t desert them.Maybe you can  do some chores for them or take them some food.If they feel up to it go for a walk with them.
Just have a chat if they live alone.Invite them to meet you for coffee for a short time because they can leave the Coffee Shop more easily then leave your house… possibly.
Maybe people reading this can say what positive things they did or what helped them.A lot of the trouble is  caused by fatigue.Encourage them to rest and not feel guilty.Sometimes I find I can only rest if I become ill…
Learn from them because it will help you if you ever  lose someone.
Don’t invite them round and start arguing about Brexit or Jeremy Corbyn.Talk about  music or books you have read.
Sometimes it’s hard to  eat.Invite them for tea not for a big meal at the beginning.
In the USA it seems that people often take round casseroles etc
Remember it’s a natural process and it’s not your responsibility to make them better.It takes time.You may  be motivated by your own needs and the wish to see them get back to normal but what is normal  when they have lost their partner?

Posted in reflections, Thinkings | 4 Comments

What not to do by Funeral

Things Not to Do in Helping a Person through the Grieving Process

While there are many things you can do to help people through the pain of their grief, there are also things that don’t help at all–and that could even be hurtful. Here are some thoughts on things it’s best not to do.

  • Don’t try to “fix” things, or make it all better for the person suffering the loss–no one can ever do that.
  • Don’t use cliches, or tell people that time heals all wounds. The wound of loss will never really heal, but they will learn to live with the loss over time.
  • Don’t compare one griever’s loss or experience of grief to another’s. Comparisons seem to minimize the loss or to force grievers to behave the “right way” instead of the way they are reacting–and this can retard the healing process.
  • Don’t encourage grieving people to make major changes, such as moving, changing jobs, etc. Extreme grief clouds judgment, and the people may later regret their decision.
  • Don’t attempt to cheer them up–just be there for them, and be as supportive as you can.
  • Don’t scold, give advice, lecture, etc. Let the grief run its course–and remember that everyone heals at a different pace.
  • Don’t suggest the person can replace the one they’ve lost (“You can have another baby,” or “you’ll find someone else”). This can be alienating and excruciating for grieving people to hear–it seems to minimize their loss, even though that’s not your intent.
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Durham Owls USA




Bird of the week: The killer Owls of Durham County

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