Seeds are tested

Lightness,brighntess,sunshine make us smile
We wish for summer every single day
Yet seeds are tested in the winter  soil

In the planting many men must toil
As men must work while children learn in play
Lightness,brightness,sunshine make us smile

And many seeds are fried in olive oil
To sweeten and make spicy meaty prey
Lightness,brightness,sunshine make us smile

Like human beings ,seeds  must suffers trials
Be tested by the heat and by  disgrace
Lightness,brightness,sunshine make us smile

A moment comes when seeds burst from their vials
They grow with fervour and  enlarge,embrace
Lightness,brightness,sunshine make us smile

We all alike must wait on love and grace
Suffer and be tested by the fates
But in the end the darkness is our friend
As down its deep stair we will  each descend

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I can see

I can see a gentle winter sun
Setting like a softness of pink down
As if a gentle wind made sunset come

The watercolour  mauve has overrun
Wishing to play love to winter’s frown
I can see how  winter  hurts the sun

Overhead  it’s soft grey tinged with plum
This is no right garment for a clown
But  gentle winter winds made sunset come

A blueness planetary makes  our dome
As if a verb is subtly changed to noun
I can see how  night clouds flirt with sun

All the pink is falling,falling ,gone
The sun is just a monarch with no crown
As if a low dark wind made nightfall come

My heart is watered as the colours run
Combining,dying,falling,night has won
I still see a  shadow of the sun
As if a mother wind at night fall came


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What is this war for?

Now the Requiem precedes the war
And nobody knows quite what this war is for.
Unless it is to show the world contempt
From so called Christian leaders who’re hell bent

We talk about how great we are and fair
Yet  British soldiers roasted Kenyans over fires.
And who  has seen no burning child napalmed
Used in Vietnam  for peace and calm

We ,the warriors of Viking stock,
Conquered half the world  and natives mocked.
Now we claim we’re better than the rest
I wonder how the Holy One will test.

Judge  not all  by stereotyped ideals
When we ourselves have fractured what is Real

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Learning from experience



Learning from Experience.” International Dictionary of Psychoanalysis. . 12 Dec. 2017<>.

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An Old Testament of Endurance

Air,bitter they call it,whispers to the sweet planes of my face,
Shrieks shrill to my cavities,ears,mouth and nose;penetrates all that’s open;
Probing like a surgeon’s knife,to see what healing damage it might do.
A frozen finger touches my heart;
Seems like the ice is inside me sending urgent warnings.
On that high inner mountain,you’ll feel nothing at all…
You’ll be the snowman, a bloody icicle;
An Old Testament of Endurance;
A legend like the pale polar bears, snuffling uneasily around the summit
Touching a woman’s heart is the quickest way to gain her attention
I’m looking at you;you’re in pieces.You’re a puzzle,a jigsaw with two double dynamos;
A broken racing bicycle crossed with two ice skates.
Ten motorboats crashed into a yacht and abandoned on a Swiss lake in winter.
Can I leave you scattered like this?
You’re a man in a penguin suit;
Diplomatic, attached with the coldest reserves.
You’re a spy from the court of the Vatican City
A screaming Pope;
An unbaptized demon.
A lost angel with no hands;
A half hung side of meat;
An unbroken rampant horse deluded by winds east.
We were split,one from another;
Split in ourselves too–thoughts and emotions
Are raw like meat,weeping as they are pulled apart into islands.
I see there’s a cold window between us.
I rub it with my damp coat sleeve,like children do,licking on it;
And see your eyes gleam in hope like greenish diamonds.
Yet I can’t touch you, until we learn how to melt glass.
Are you trying too as you smile weakly,
desperately holding onto this impossible slippery glass?
We’ll try  to reach you at the bottom of whatever frozen ocean you sigh in. to
Here you are,a flat and two-dimensional Prospero.
You rise like a non-U-boat already firing at the upper orders.
Here you are walking through what seemed like ruins
And you are not just alive, but burning.
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A symbol is a well

A symbol is a well  with water sweet
Like the Bedouin  wells in deserts  harsh
Never drained,  with wisdom it’s  replete

Wisdom rises up from layers deep
Not like salty words from shallow marsh
A symbol is a well  with water sweet

What we  learn is ours to live and keep
Life is saved for those who’re overparched
Never drained,  with wisdom still  replete

Keep  a guard upon the treasure heaped
Where jewels decorate the Moorish arch
A symbol is a well  with water sweet

Confident in love we take the leap
We must not ever keep a lover harsh
For  we’ll be drained, our life blood  he’ll  deplete.

What we get, we have in no way earned
But in our feelings, we have love well learned
A symbol is a well  with water  fleet
Never drained,  with wisdom it’s  replete

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About symbols in poetry




Something in the world of the senses, including an action, that reveals or is a sign for something else, often abstract or otherworldly. A rose, for example, has long been considered a symbol of love and affection.

Every word denotes, refers to, or labels something in the world, but a symbol (to which a word, of course, may point) has a concreteness not shared by language, and can point to something that transcends ordinary experience. Poets such as William Blake and W.B. Yeats often use symbols when they believe in—or seek—a transcendental (religious or spiritual) reality.

metaphor compares two or more things that are no more and no less real than anything else in the world. For a metaphor to be symbolic, one of its pair of elements must reveal something else transcendental. In “To the Rose upon the Rood of Time,” for instance, Yeats’s image of the rose on the cross symbolizes the joining of flesh and spirit. As Cleanth Brooks and Robert Penn Warren write in their book Understanding Poetry (3rd ed., 1960),“The symbol may be regarded as a metaphor from which the first term has been omitted.”

See also allegory and imagism.

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On that Day

The weary Britons saddened  and dismayed
Thought isolation would bring peace and calm
So they opted to leave Europe Voting Day~

Alas,the act was real and not a Play
The Normans and the Anglo-Saxons warned
The weary Britons saddened  and dismayed

Is God not coming down   to cut  away
The  chains that tie us to the French alarms
We raved to leave old Europe Voting Day~

Britons are a mixture  strange and fey
Some of us are Celts with Viking arms
Oh. angry Britons saddened  and dismayed

The arms of God have broken as we preyed
Let refugees drown and our own  poor burn
We opted to leave Europe Voting Day

It seems   our average reading age is nine
The government,  considerate, post on line
The British poor,  inebriate, must pay
For not knowing what the EU  was that Day

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What did you mean?

Come to night school and learn to breed properly
My sister never does a rite wrong
Why not learn socially and be a statistic?
Make Britain hate again.Become a fascist in three weeks of lessens   and  take our Tictocks at the end
Do  you fear Vulgar Factions? Don’t come  to Britain for a holiday.
Are all mathematicians irrational  or is  it just  certain numbers?
Why are women not  like men and other unanswerable dilemmas.Ten weeks for £10.Toast and Certificate in Frame.
Do you  creed the Daily Fail?
How to have an  Eastern horror.Come to Clacton and fry.
Learn  to write and moan both at once.
Are you shy? Come to East Wanglia. We  hate talking.Free dinners and bath on weekends.Food on bequest.Read my will
If you hate me, you’ll hate my blog more than words can say.So  don’t

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