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Low sun shines
Glistening holly leaves,ah
A wood pigeon passes
All the trees shiver
And the ends of shrubs waving
Makes me think,goodbye
Leaves like littls stars
Bare wood like burnt sienna
With its glowing orange tinge
Why are shadows long?
The sun blinds me in winter
Then it creates a moving image
Knows not of Syrian hell
But God remembers, suffers
God descended to this world
He dies with victims
Why the torture
Fighting inevitable~But why such sadism/
Weep as the trees lean
Sparrows nests shudder, remain
Life is here again
The doctor was in error
Deep down the crab was growing
The hogweed fertile
Yes, he was forty
Is that old or young these days?
Yes, he has gone now
His boy is at school
He screamed for forty minutes
After,”Dad is dead”
Total loss, a pool
Grows larger with each tear
Stars and rainbow meet
Try to catch a tear
They are not like mercury
They can disappear.
All the tears to shed
Like an old coat we grow out of
Who will they become?
Oh,God, the birthing
A fatherless child is near
Thanks to the deep freeze
No Sylvia Plath writes.
The spaces will not lean on
Their new solitude.
See night descending
Tear sacs burst while new stars sing:
And all shall be well
If we seek by will power sacred fire
We may be well consumed and turn to dust
Do not seek, do not to this aspire
Our wish to grasp endangers true desire
As certain as real loving’s doomed by lust
If we seek by our will sacred fire .
Do not hope I am an unjust liar
I do not care, believe it if you must
Do not seek, do not to heights aspire.
Pilgrims suffered as they trod the mire
They learned by their hard journey we are dust
If we seek to grasp the sacred fire .
If we draw too close to those red pyres
God may cloth us in his golden mists
Do not seek, do not to heights aspire
This life’s not easy and it is not just
Do not leave too early, lacking trust
We cannot seek by will the sacred fire
Never seek, be lowly, don’t aspire
All of Eastern Britain will be having heavy rhymes tomorrow and the next day.
The West Wind will bring refrains in its train.
The North Window sews daily
Free verse is due to arrive in the afternoon in London çausing consternation as we usually pay a heavy price for anything free
Forms of poems will be ghosting across the City but are not for sale.
Cursing and swearing insects are set to invade poets’ brains on Friday bringing relief from good behaviour with no guilt.Count me out.
Seven plagues are said to be on the way but so far they have only reached Calais.And do we care?
British rain will fall on Thursday. Foreigners will not get wet until their reign arrives
and /or they are turned out after the Referpendulum.
And to think I am still foreign myself!
Who defines the words we use.Who says who is foreign? It’s getting like Nazi Germany.Shall I wear a star on my head?
Fragmentation of memory is a memory disorder in when an individual is unable to associate the context of the memories to their autobiographical (episodic) memory. The explicit facts and details of the events may be known to the person (semantic memory). However, the facts of the events retrieve none of the effective and somatic elements of the experience. Therefore, the emotional and personal content of the memories can’t be associated with the rest of the memory. Fragmentation of memory can occur for relatively recent events as well.
The impaired person usually suffers from physical damage to or underdevelopment of the hippocampus. This may be due to a genetic disorder or be the result of trauma, such as post-traumatic stress disorder. Brain dysfunction often has other related consequences, such as oversensitivity to some stimuli, impulsiveness, lack of direction in life, occasional aggressiveness, a distorted perception of oneself, and impaired ability to empathize with others, which is usually masked.