There’s a scurrying sound of something, burrowing,
Down in the depths of the dungeons, hurrying,
Skittering, pittering-pattering, scattering
When there’s a footstep, hear them chattering:
‘Here come the lords, and here comes the vassal,
Tripping their way through Cockroach Castle.’

Here come the ladies, all in their finery
Tripping and sipping the wine from the winery,
Trailing their silks, their satins and bustling,
Up in the ballroom, while the rustling
Army beneath the sounds of their razzle
Is down in the depths of Cockroach Castle.

Spilling their millions up in the glooming
Out from the flagstones, terror is looming,
Up on the awnings, hung from the ceiling
Under the swish of the skirts they’re stealing,
Dropping in hair, and burrowing faster,
Cockroach Castle is set for disaster.

Suddenly all of the room is screaming
Flapping of hands, the roaches are teeming,
Myriad hordes in the Carbonara,
Candles are tipped from the candelabra,
Choking smoke from the candles guttered,
Flames leap up from the ones that stuttered.

Clothing and flags and the awnings razing
Silks and satins flare up, and blazing,
Roaches in eyes and ears, they’re rasping
Clogging their throats, to leave them gasping,
There isn’t a lady or lord, or vassal
To come out alive from Cockroach Castle!

David Lewis Paget

matrimoni australiani non mancano mai di farmi un po 'tantino geloso di tutte le persone che hanno avuto la fortuna di parteciparvi .Perché quando prendo una sbirciatina a un matrimonio come questo da Sarah Bamford Fotografia So solo che gli ospiti sono ancora parlando di quanto sia divertente che avevano in questo matrimonio oggi .E ' la perfetta combinazione di moda e sentimentale .e c'è molto di più vi aspetta qui .

Condividi questa splendida galleria

Da Sarah Bamford Photography.This matrimonio era pura perfezione .Beatitudine Vintage ed eccellenza fai da te.Ogni splendido dettaglio è stato creato dalla sposa e lo sposo compresi i menu .centrotavola .la torre torta .bouquet e ospite book.The sposo anche fatto i tavoli di accoglienza da vecchi pallet in legno.Tale quota coppia un uno su un milione amore e la connessione e traspariva il giorno più di ogni altra cosa .Erano così facile andare e gli ospiti ci sono svanite abiti da sposa corti dalla bellezza di tutto questo.La cerimonia si è svolta nel bellissimo giardino percorso di Seppeltsfield Cantina abiti da sposa corti nella Barossa Valley .con la reception in un epoca ispirata tendone sul prato sopra .

Questo matrimonio aveva tutto.Una grande festa nuziale vestiti da sposa splendido .musica acustica dal vivo durante la cerimonia .polaroid .e naturalmente una torta ciambella di nozze per coronare il tutto !La giornata è stata perfetta e l'amore tra Olivia e Matt era indescrivibile .. Ancora una volta .pura perfezione e ispirazione Fotografia



: Sarah Bamford Fotografia | Doughnuts : Athelstone Bakehouse | Fiori ( di origine ) : Adelaide Central Markets | Fiori ( di origine ) : Adelaide Central Markets | Venue - cerimonia e il ricevimento : Seppeltsfield
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-corti-c-49
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=118

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She had her own signature scent,
A lasting aroma, that lingers in every corner of her home
As the strong winds picked up the scent,
and move it quite a distance.

She carefully prepare the mixture from the earth
Cuss ,kuss grass, Jasmine, rose buds and roots,
Before she prepare the mixtures with that special touch

Like a fine wine from the winery,
“One more drop of Rosemary oil, she would say
This would make the scent last for eternity,

Old Granddad he would make silly jokes,
His word usages, madam chemist, a witch with a spoon,
But in the end, she would always made a special potion for him
We would carefully select the flaky mahogany woods shaving,
with combinations of fresh vanilla leaves with extracting oil with oils
Those homemade perfumes from flowers had lots of potential.

Granddad hand craft the wooded bottle stoppers with his chisel,
It was a joy to watch, the old Irish typhoon working and smoking his pipe
Old Alan baffler was Nana nickname for him

She would scold and speak harshly to us
for touching the those colorful luring bottles
“Don’t open those bottles, you malicious children
Else a witch would appear: She would often say,
For me, my nana was an old chemist,
with old decade’s wooden sticks.
Preparing the mixtures like a fine wine,

I am forever grateful for those memories
I should have follow in her footsteps,
Her secret potions, her gift,
Is worth millions of dollars today
Looking back on yesteryears , good parenting
and good memories

This is like
The study hall
Easily distracted by rubies
More may be less
tale of  two cities
Dicken's

Please listen
Diamonds are too clear
But rubies we love to
blush
Who cares to be the fairest
Rubies are the
greatest
fortune tellers flush
Like Barbara
Stan evil met Stanwick
Her sparkling candlesticks
Double Indemnity roulette
Those Rebelites statuettes

And how the ruby hooked
on her cultured pearl string
Being pushed over one ruby
My gems got
stretched
like marionettes don't sleep
you will be changed
Into the Gem Bodysnatcher

Just ditch her fake ruby cup
of coffee
Always wanted to be
reassured Ruby Jubilee
Stabbing her jeweled
pen Glamp Tepee

Her ruby could be
locked up and stored
It better be insured

People were naked
without their power
of rubies
She sat so confidently not
to be
outshined
Looking at the
moon-ruby-shrine

Monsterous devious maids
Took her for everything
Screen playact
****** just a tad glad
Redrum
The ruby cluster rash
Ceremony hot flashes
Ruby loves to blush

With Frank Sinatra
Gave Lana Turner a cluster
That was just
the starter Hey Buster

Someone is always
quicker and
****** sicker
Just light her flicker
She was the gem of
the trade
The real boot

the kicker was Jack of
all trades the shinning
But Frankly, they were the
made gem

Something you call
love but
ruby success
You said these boots
are made
for walking
that's just what
they do

One of these days these
rubies will walk
all over  you
Ruby Ms. Gabby
Miss ruby lips Tabby
Loreal and hubby I am
not mail service
Or your ruby police
Ruby slipper to be
escorted by fake Prince
welcome to sanity

Artsy Aristocrats
in the Pick-INNS
All ruby for sucker pins

Her belly went in
The functions
that
produce rubies
anything you want
But reproduce love
Over my ruby heart, you won't

Rubellite head Humpty* Dumpty
The Wall Street
the diamond
the exchange got  overly
populated
Of the Dynasty
transported
her ruby
So far__________

Catching high gems stars
The best-aged ruby
color winery Tuscany
Ruby-Tuesday
Hi ****** in springtime

Ruby fanatics
The Ruby blew out the
candles at one go
Was the grandeur
Ruby grapefruit

God/Goddess/Ruby that is
Nod/ Mistress/Hobby
Flight/Gem/Food/ don't wait to
marry him
She got the
cutest little
babyface diamonds
are way too
clear
Mommy dearest
Anna Karenina
one heartbreak for
this ruby the meanest
The beauty unbound
The rarity like no
other to
be found

well the left is dead, and the left turned into tartan, i guess the islanders
are gearing up to a male patriarch where ***** go free with jealousy
rather than queened freely;
i know the left died, but to have it third day resurrect
in scotland, i'd never think the tories flavoured
outside of plum plucked blue;
only when a politics is unappealing to quote no vote,
is a change of monarch at hand,
and then why such the left disappear almost completely?
it's one thing for tyranny to leave a listening airy cleft
where once thought reigned tyrannically un-dialectical,
but it's another cased scenario to suddenly
lever a man to contort into a female face on either
photograph or coin, so we leave the wonders of chillingly
easy rhymes of song from the 1960s to the 21st complex,
and we leave the reign almost feeding a reprimand
for the multi-cultural having no artistic endeavour
in a counter. multi-cultural will not provide a counter-culture,
given the scenario of tyranny to aggregate all into taxable citizens,
perhaps that's rome shrunk into the vatican for the alphabet to survive,
perhaps why latin is "dead" and perhaps why poetry is dead,
because the only walky talkies are women in retirement;
forget dialectics even, remind yourself of dialogue first!
in the end, like the pre-socratics, i'll be a snippet of words
to bruise myself on fame post-mortem;
of course i live in readied tyranny, no one votes
and the left of politics was taken my northern nationalists...
in the end, thank **** at least that happened!
the king wears a kilt!
and? better my youth be a foolery in the realm of vocabulary
than prancing in tutu and bra on a table in ibiza;
yes, i'll be courteously french while i age in the silent winery:
that place where you won't even hear a corkscrew.*

the politics is long, i'd rather live on nn the faroe islands,
but it reminded me of a charles in henry's nursery rhyme:
charles the first survived, slow motion:
beheaded, in ****, later did some philanthropy;
conspiracy almost ******, gaffed choking on a peanut peel, never married -
entered the nunnery via public opinion that'd never allow a scandal or a ****** birth.

intelligence is uncomfortable,
let's leave it to the pigs
or play dead among the dogs,
or levy it with questions in gushing recurrence;
intelligence is uncomfortable,
let's utilise it with someone saying:
i rather speak to someone 100 prior or 100 years after.

or as later proved: among the citizens an uncomfortable censor
was a woman, that's the thing:
misogyny and homosexuality are almost alike:
gays love to talk to women but loath to butter up a sour bread dough,
misogynists loath to talk to women but love to **** 'em;
where's the middle way buddha? where's the middle way?
socrates turning into a misogynist disguised in homosexual accents
in old age? the old man got away with acceptable norms in old age,
almost, they figured out his **** pure and minded his cranium crucible divergence
from: young boys readied for pedophiles spoke more flowers
than my wife while cooking compost of fruits!

ah! i live in a spicy tomorrow, gearing up to charles the third's
reign with talk of the amputated left limp either side of the diaphragm
equator, hence the scot nationalists,
whereby we have beauty anorexic strutting eager for a faint in a cabbage patch,
and we best test tube in pigmenting alkali,
writing songs about life, not poetry of that ideal: "from the cosmos"
of autobiographic detail of metaphysics to exclude evil from a humming choir;
or as i took to my father in sepia:
beauty in anorexia, language in bad grammar and even more a terrible spelling
that never experienced the lines of detention to conform,
and then all the moral freedoms to not think about
and when thought about, quickly attached to **** smear
girly literature;
but do i go around talking of my easily-read literature?
so why this italian pole girl ruining my diary of saved orientated ordination?
she jealous or just illiterate the she-troll of all?

misogynists are like homosexuals, although the prior have no politico thumb,
we love ******* the brains out, we hate being boyfriends
from magazines or the psychology sections of saturday newspapers editions;
plus we like our own company, which is hard to grasp;
i mean, we love women within the membrane of ****** temperatures twinning,
but that's hardly the right temperature for conversation akin to vishnu and lakshmi.

Her breath smelled of
Winery Yard,
And the mix of daisies and lilies,
When my lips caressed hers
For the first time.

- Sharlinson N.

As we drew closer to the abysmal highway
We stopped by a winery
And I found myself asking
"Is this a cemetery?"
Which is poetically ironic
Because  I imagine my former self
Is buried somewhere in that vineyard
Fore I felt the ghost of who I once was eerily imminent
Among the grape vines that reminded me of skeletons
Barren and desolate
But ripe with possibilities
For a better tomorrow

acid pools in stomachs mingling
with melatonin and valerian.
struggling to displace oneself in the scheme of things.

there is no question that Mitchum was the man,
or that Farewell, My Lovely is still too expensive for me to buy,
but I do question the length of time we spent
pondering the truth with  empty schedules and JWH-018.
we etched an identity from a corner-store drug era
filled with colorful characters and interesting flavors;
burning spare change and time probing the annals
of creativity for something to pop up and speak to us.

I know I shouldn't have stopped texting,
but you should have let the schoolyard bully stay home.
artsy flicks just don't have the same charm anymore,
and the struggle to stay seated is hard to purge,
pleading, wailing in a crowded cinema,
when we both know you could've prevented yourself
from never getting a chance to see this.
you hover still over the lights lining the aisles.

the phases of the moon have stayed loyal,
chili and tabasco are still great on a cold January afternoon,
and there is still some charm to cranking the stereo
on the stretch of highway out by Rock Springs.
Big Boss Man still asks "do you believe in God?"
before he asks an unsuspecting face for a dollar.
they still put on concerts in the summer over by The Winery,
but I haven't ever heard of any of the bands.

someone else manages The Smoker's Den now;
some kid I've never met, so I probably won't go back in.
he doesn't appreciate the comedy found in the face of Perot,
or the elusive, dark sweetness of the huckleberry.
in passing we exchanged a miraculous favor,
and in passing we managed to become different people,
in passing I walk on top of uncertain footprints,
and in passing you dream of film noir.