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This is what I have observed.
This I have seen to be true -
You are not responsible
for their unhappiness,
nor for their disappointment.
These are their's.
These are from older seeds.
This is the greatest lesson.

The next is like it.
You cannot control
whether they are happy
whether they are content
with the resolution.

So what can you do,
but what you know to be right,
what is said to be fair?
Do not test this
by their response.

This too is wisdom.
This too is a sadness.
Some folk will not be pacified.   Some are intent on rage.
Too little of this is false
Too much of this is true
I'd love to dismiss all of this mess
as just some more fake news
Response to morning news.
Lichtenstein crashed into Monet's garden under the mistaken impression that a pulse of pop would compliment the oil on water, but instead his WHAAM missed its target and his POW wept hot, bleaching the aqua white with noise and ripping the lilies to shreds.
'Oh, Claude,' he cried, 'it's a masterpiece!'
Prompted by a friend's painting which looked just like this.
He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses ****** out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she ******
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains

Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was

Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall

Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop

In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage

In the morning they wore each other's face

by Ted Hughes
https://m.poemhunter.com/poem/lovesong/
Movies are
at their bested
tightly scripted
bravely casted
boldly dramacted
richly promoted
highly rated
Poetry
Some movies move me.
Don't be quick
to stop and search.
Do slow and speak.
Do stop at the curb.
Do sit.
Do commit to shape
a future city nation
where more space is given
to a wider conversation
with a newer translation
that's truer in comparison
than any black and blue
blunt force confrontation.
Stop.
Listening to ill-conceived political solutions to social problems.
Steve Page Mar 7
The apple sits
helpless
and waits
and once its mates
have given it up as past it's best
once the rot sets in
and it starts to lose its ripeness
that's when the aroma rises
the fruit flies arrive in droves
and they feast on what's left
as the apple dreams
of pressed cider sisters
as the flies persist
in their feast
and it sits
at its core oblivious
of the fermenting opportunity missed
An image prompted by a line from Bohemian Rapsody
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