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 Dec 2016 Weasel
r
The coldness of morning
penetrates in proportion
to the lonely nights before
and the winds that blow
in from the north
like sadness wrapped
all around me
a coat without pockets
no warmth for my hands
that once held yours
like ashes without fire
and there is ice on my lashes
that burns like the last words
I heard you say to my back
as I walked away out the door.
 Dec 2016 Weasel
r
We can dream...




"Donald J. TrumpVerified account
‏@realDonaldTrump
China steals United States Navy research drone in international waters - rips it out of water and takes it to China in unpresidented act."

* Emphasis mine.  Trump's misspelling: all his, baby.

*un·prec·e·dent·ed

ˌənˈpresədən(t)əd/
adjective
never done or known before.
"the government took the unprecedented step of releasing confidential correspondence"
synonyms: unheard of, unknown, new, novel, groundbreaking, revolutionary, pioneering, epoch-making;
http://www.snopes.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/trump-unpresidented-tweet.jpg
 Dec 2016 Weasel
martin
Back in the old days before combine harvesters came in, harvest time was much more labour intensive.  All the crops were loaded by hand on to horse-drawn carts and taken to the stack yard, where an array of often beautifully crafted stacks would be built, and thatched.

It was a very busy time of the year for the thatchers, who would work from six in the morning till nine at night for several weeks until all the stacks were safely protected from the rain. After the last stack was finished, my old boss was paid the overtime due to him. He remembered that one year it was just enough to buy himself a new pair of work boots!

One year, before handing over payment for thatching his stacks, a farmer named Mr Cutting said to Jim;  "That made me sweat to write your cheque this year."  Jim quickly replied;  "Med me sweat fust!"
There are lots of cottages built in old stack yards called Pyghtle Cottage as pyghtle, pronounced pie-cle is an old Anglo Saxon word meaning a small plot of land.
 Dec 2016 Weasel
Dawn of Lighten
As the monotone of the tick comes to a halt,
The inner sense calm the nerves to numb,
And the impulses desire grasp more stimulus.

This is the very senses that one endure,
When being with people feel more alone,
And friends feel more distant than strangers.

As if drowning in the ocean sea,
And the surrounding feel like the vast night skies,
While lost in the dank forest search for singular moment.

Just know you are not alone,
But by mutual experience of empty space,
We share the common rhythm to recognize melody.
 Dec 2016 Weasel
martin
Malala
 Dec 2016 Weasel
martin
One child, one teacher, one book and one pen can change the world.

I raise up my voice -- not so that I can shout, but so that those without a voice can be heard.

Malala Yousafzai

Such wisdom from one so young
Such clarity for the truth
Such bravery in the face of danger

Dare we place upon these shoulders
the heavy burden of hope, expectation?

Already your name will live for ever
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