Happy Weekend

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Tolstoy’s favourite books

StillLife2http://www.openculture.com/2018/02/leo-tolstoy-makes-a-list-of-the-50-books-that-influenced-him-most-1891.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+OpenCulture+%28Open+Culture%29

 

Open culture offers a  lot of free courses and books.It is well worth visiting it

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Lyra’s a Bohemian girl


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Lyra's a Bohemian girl
She makes even dead men's hair curl!
She wears vintage skirts
And old blue denim shirts.
She has whopping golden earrings
And black fishnet stockings.
Lyra carries a black velvet tote
Full of the latest poems she wrote.
Lyra's a Bohemian girl.
She makes even her own hair curl.
Lyra's in love with an ancient Emperor,
His unreality does not prevent her.
She believes she is an Egyptian Queen
She sees Mark Antony in her dreams.
As she lies there covered in face cream,
Her unconscious plans more wondrous schemes
Which cause her psychoanalyst to despair.
About a man who isn't actually here.
But the Emperor's mad desire
Has set Lyra's Bohemian mind on fire.
Desperate Freud got a bucket of cold water
And threw it over this delirious daughter.
He was,at the end, unable to maintain
The distance and silence he claimed.
Lyra made even Freud go crazy.
Lyra is one highly desirable Bohemian lady
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Late winter

Radio plays Bach
We wait for snow to fall
I like the winter

The fire is hot
I look at  Oldie cartoons
I am smiling now

Humour is the best
I can’t tell jokes very well
But I am learning.

A very old man
Gave me his seat on the bus
I must look fragile.

My hair is too short
I look like a prisoner
My man liked it long

I don’t like my hair
But I can’t see it myself
I have no mirror

Why think about that
When the world is so cruel?
I am not perfect!

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Cats listening to Leonard Cohen

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My Indian friend in Norfolk

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Funny sign

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Who could begin?

When  the  so called “good” fall into  sin
And contemplate the idiot shades of grey
What is there to lose and what to win
When   past belief is thrown into the bin;
When there is no clear cut path or way
So painfully we wonder where to go?
How   endure the skinless feel of  day
As long the seconds stretch and love goes slow?
Is silence best, as what words could one say?
Who could begin?

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I must be a stone


He was with me then
As I searched for a new place
In which I could live

But he does not speak
He is my companion
He wants to help me

I don’t believe yet
That he won’t come home ever.
But I just pretend

When I am with folk
They tell me I am stronger.
Oh,comparisons!

Yeah,I need no-one
No words of comfort or love
I must be a stone.

My stoicism
A wonder to the  heavens
My dead face fakes   peace.
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