#dorset - Hello Poetry

. returning to my childhood home in thought returning to mallard quacks tolling and the hour toiled by ever thirsty church bells cold damp rock house with ammonites and belemnites coiling in the walls and a cooling ichthyosaur futilely trying to swim in the silty soil struggling to catch prey beneath the foundation its darkness is rummage . a flush lawn planted nilly and obscene monkshood mint cotton grass and ling warm mentions an evening fire and the family room i'm mooding through the memory and it grooms apart organic birthing not river not smoke rat sized earwigs take to the air heat over the boiling tar garage roof and i return home back through time child swinging on thick vines suspended by the yew over the stream the willows dapple and paddle the fir trees return fierce sproutings of involving shade ridding the house of the intruder new extension riding time back and the caravan my parents would later park on concrete is swallowed the storms of a bad year return the old wall at the property edge and the cottage reforms an ancient pace with its surroundings . it's no longer my families claimed place re-seemed with ghoulish history the workhouse returns and files with hard poverty the wall punches through in what will be the kitchen and the cottage runs through long with the neighbours space dormitory takes the whole upstairs length and the legend of the garment thief drops ghost and rumour to live again and then all this too flees out of history . rushing back through time and this all sinks into the levels swamp life takes over and the ammonites moisten with anticipation prehistory is sprout to begin .

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Sep 23, 2025

Sep 23, 2025 at 10:08 AM UTC

neth-jones

. . . . s t o n e . c o t t a g e

. returning to my childhood home in thought returning to mallard quacks tolling and the hour toiled by ever thirsty church bells cold damp rock house with ammonites and belemnites coiling in the walls and a cooling ichthyosaur futilely trying to swim in the silty soil struggling to catch prey beneath the foundation its darkness is rummage . a flush lawn planted nilly and obscene monkshood mint cotton grass and ling warm mentions an evening fire and the family room i'm mooding through the memory and it grooms apart organic birthing not river not smoke rat sized earwigs take to the air heat over the boiling tar garage roof and i return home back through time child swinging on thick vines suspended by the yew over the stream the willows dapple and paddle the fir trees return fierce sproutings of involving shade ridding the house of the intruder new extension riding time back and the caravan my parents would later park on concrete is swallowed the storms of a bad year return the old wall at the property edge and the cottage reforms an ancient pace with its surroundings . it's no longer my families claimed place re-seemed with ghoulish history the workhouse returns and files with hard poverty the wall punches through in what will be the kitchen and the cottage runs through long with the neighbours space dormitory takes the whole upstairs length and the legend of the garment thief drops ghost and rumour to live again and then all this too flees out of history . rushing back through time and this all sinks into the levels swamp life takes over and the ammonites moisten with anticipation prehistory is sprout to begin .

59

A Finn-Dorset clone, Now not the alone. Born on 5 July in 1996, She died on Valentine's Day in 2003. The celebrity sheep she died at the age of six, Produced not from the common ovine *** Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer created her, read on. Named after Dolly Parton, 'Coz of her admired ***** Somatic cells were taken from a sheep's udders, Extracted not without the sheep's jitters. This sheep was the donor. However, these cells were enucleated, And the enucleated nucleus was handled. Injected it was into a Finn-Dorset's embryo, Oh yes, the embryo was without a nucleus. This sheep was the recipient. Without a folly, born was Dolly, Resemble she did the donor. Not only in its visible phenotype But also in its invisible genotype. Differ she did but only in her mitochondrial DNA. Her birth did open a new portal, Now pet lovers get their pets cloned.

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Oct 11, 2019

Oct 11, 2019 at 11:16 AM UTC

Atul

Oh Dolly

A Finn-Dorset clone, Now not the alone. Born on 5 July in 1996, She died on Valentine's Day in 2003. The celebrity sheep she died at the age of six, Produced not from the common ovine *** Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer created her, read on. Named after Dolly Parton, 'Coz of her admired ***** Somatic cells were taken from a sheep's udders, Extracted not without the sheep's jitters. This sheep was the donor. However, these cells were enucleated, And the enucleated nucleus was handled. Injected it was into a Finn-Dorset's embryo, Oh yes, the embryo was without a nucleus. This sheep was the recipient. Without a folly, born was Dolly, Resemble she did the donor. Not only in its visible phenotype But also in its invisible genotype. Differ she did but only in her mitochondrial DNA. Her birth did open a new portal, Now pet lovers get their pets cloned.

24

Vivid forget me nots feign sleep, their tired eyes tinged pink. The soap and chlorine at Lyme Regis bay doth stand to make me think About the way the rushes grow and what lurks amount the reeds, what gently dazzles behind closed doors and what we doth concede. Is the laurel leaf unfathomable? Is nature that way too? For I feel that I don't understand what every body seems to. The humbled bumbles rumbled buzz Satin saints upon our door We wonder what was here, And what was there before. The streaming stained glass waterfalls, were they always there? The sickled moon stands amorous, clotted clouds about his hair. Stately sit the beaded stars in a wash of sky, And still I sit, Still I sit, Sit and wonder why.

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Apr 16, 2014

Apr 16, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC

Misser

Why?

Vivid forget me nots feign sleep, their tired eyes tinged pink. The soap and chlorine at Lyme Regis bay doth stand to make me think About the way the rushes grow and what lurks amount the reeds, what gently dazzles behind closed doors and what we doth concede. Is the laurel leaf unfathomable? Is nature that way too? For I feel that I don't understand what every body seems to. The humbled bumbles rumbled buzz Satin saints upon our door We wonder what was here, And what was there before. The streaming stained glass waterfalls, were they always there? The sickled moon stands amorous, clotted clouds about his hair. Stately sit the beaded stars in a wash of sky, And still I sit, Still I sit, Sit and wonder why.

26