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Always sleeping.
Keeping me waiting.
Good for nothing
But hating.

Wake up and get on with it
You old
Sack of ****.
Heat goes away
and we remember our austerity
with turned up collars and rotten ideas,
grey respite seems to like us,
invites us to thrive in a familiar taste,
but real or imagined,
passion fruit and mango
stubbornly linger

As I search

among the used shoes

at the thrift store

I know

I am getting closer and closer

to Truth.
Someday I will find
that footwear dream-pair...
at the right price.
Move along.
This has nothing to do
with Marxism...

The good people of Cuba
are simply fed up
with not having access
to Netflix,
legal marijuana
and transgender bathrooms.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

**** the Faience !
English generally uses various other terms for well-known sub-types of faience. Italian tin-glazed earthenware, at least the early forms, is called maiolica in English, Dutch wares are called Delftware, and their English equivalents English delftware, leaving "faience" as the normal term in English for French, German, Spanish, Portuguese wares and those of other countries not mentioned (it is also the usual French term, and fayence in German). The name faience is simply the French name for Faenza, in the Romagna near Ravenna, Italy, where a painted majolica ware on a clean, opaque pure-white ground, was produced for export as early as the fifteenth century.

 Jul 19 Rich Hues
Northern moon and quiet cold days
Are broken by the thunder's call
She walks barefoot on the banks
Dressed in her moonlight shawl

Whispered voices and starlit talks
Are safety from this weary world
Kiss your breath and adorn my heart
Amongst the clouds I don’t feel so small

My saving grace and calming rain
A hanging lantern inside my dark
Her cradled arms chase away this pain
And forces silence from the banging voice that haunts my thoughts
Battered bookworms
turning a familiar turn
(always left)

For those that leave:
your threads become part of the tapestry,

a picture writ with deep love, excitement, applause,
dire fears and tiredness,

here be dragons and arrows in eyes

but despite the hamfists
of some intrusive hands,

there to see forever
Sea calm,
Crew slept,
Dark side,
Sea kept,
Tide raced,
Waves crept,
Crew woke,
Sails prepped,
Coiled spring,
Waves leapt,
Crew swept,
Left behind,
They wept.

For the sea has no respect
For the nautically inept …
A Cornish poem about the sea.
By Cornish Poet Clive Blake
Lawrence Hall

                                  When in Babylon
                       Don’t Do as the Babylonians Do

King Nebuchadnezzar died young, and that’s
From a lifetime of smoking those ziggurats
Doggerel is itself; I don't know about catterel.
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