You dont care.
Choosing to laugh.
Everyday you go online and make fun of me.
HTML code replaced your love.
I nurture you back to health.
But you ignored me in favor for a racist group of runners.
You can add up your solutions and find only one.
By its very definition Alcohol is a solution in chemistry.
I am not though GEOFF has never been a solution.
But Alcohol and Hydrogen-Thulium-Iodine(HTML) is
Maybe if you tore apart my elements like you tore apart my heart then Geoff would become a solution.
Love Geranium-Oxygen-Fluerian-Fluerian (Geoff)

Pianificare un matrimonio Texas tutto il tragitto dall'Inghilterra non è esattamente quello che chiamerei un compito facile .ma per questa splendida sposa e lo sposo è stato uno che è venuto insieme senza soluzione di continuità .Sto parlando di una squadra impressionante di fornitori .amici favolosi + parenti e romantico giorno di tempo piovoso tutti insieme per creare una relazione seria sognante .Vedi tutto catturato da Geoff Duncan proprio qui .

ColorsSeasonsFallSettingsInnOutdoorStylesCasual Elegance

Da Sposa.Dopo Jon ed io siamo fidanzati nel gennaio 2013 .ci fu inizialmente un sacco di avanti e indietro sopra dove il matrimonio reale avrebbe avuto luogo .Jon è vestiti da sposa dalla costa meridionale dell'Inghilterra .e miè èdal Texas .e anche se la gente continuava a dirci che era il nostro matrimonio.quindi dovremmo avere nel posto che ci rende felici .ci stavaè èvuole che sia davverodifficile per tutti della nostra famiglia e gli amici per farlo .Alla fine abbiamo deciso che aveva più senso avere in Texas.come ** TALE una grande famigliaèe al momento abbiamo pensato che sarebbe sicuramente ottenere un tempo migliore ( sì proprio! ) Ed essere in grado di avere il matrimonio all'aperto.Inoltre .un paio di Jon ' amici inglesi ci ha detto cheñ è èEtter nonèce l'ha nel Regno Unitoè èvolevanoè eo da qualche parte esotica .come il Texas !è è/ em >

Jon e io sapevamo che didnè èvogliono avere il matrimonio in una grande cittàècosì Dallas .dove hoè èoriginario .è stato escluso abbastanza rapidamente .La nostra posizione di nozze e il tema di ispirazione in realtà provenivano da uno dei matrimoni Jon ' groomsmen "che abbiamo partecipato insieme il primo fine settimana mi sono trasferito nel Regno Unito all'inizio del 2011 . Loro matrimonio era nelle Highlands scozzesièpiù disabitata .selvaggia .zona remota voipoteva immaginare .Abbiamo volato da Glasgow .affittato una macchina e guidato altre 3 ore a nord nel bel mezzo del nulla .La maggior parte delle persone che frequentano il matrimonio alloggiavano nello stesso albergo ( o nelle vicinanze ).per tutto il weekend ed è stato questo ( probabilmente centinaia di anni) edificio in pietra si affaccia su un bellissimo lago .La vecchia chiesa caratteristico era solo la strada - e stranamenteèversò prima.durante e dopo tutta la loro cerimoniaèsuona familiare .E 'stato davvero romantico anche se durante la cerimonia .perché eravamo tutti rannicchiati in questa calda chiesetta con il vento e la pioggia che urla fuori .Abbiamo apprezzato molto l'idea di fare una cosa simile dove tutti alloggiava nella stessa zona ed era in campagna - e tutti abbiamo potuto trascorrere il weekend insieme .Abbiamo pensato cheè ñal sicuro dalla pioggia in Texas estate.anche seèci stavaè èaspettano Scozia meteo !

organizzare il matrimonio in Texas da Londra non ha dimostrato di essere un compito facile .In un primo momento ** pensato che ero in cima delle coseènon eroè èlavoro e sono stato in grado di ottenere la maggior parte dei miei grandi fornitori prenotati.Ma poi ** trovato un nuovo lavoro nel mese di luglio e che ' quando le cose sono diventate davvero difficile .** sottovalutato quanti piccoli dettagli ci sarebbeèma fortunatamente per meèmia mamma e papà davvero tirato insieme e aiutatoèmolto .** trovato un sacco di mie idee per i più piccoli dettagli su Pinterest ( come si fa ) e ** trovato il materiale che avevo bisogno di fare loro su Etsy .Vorrei ordinare tutto il necessario per una delle mie idee e quindi provare a lavorare con mia mamma per vedere come si potrebbe ottenere fatto .I vasi di muratore sono un esempioèho ordinato 100 vasi di muratore .etichette.cannucce .ecc e li aveva spediti alla mamma .Poi ** avuto la vestiti da sposa mamma di passare le etichette per invitare la mia ragazza (che è INCREDIBILE tra l'altro) e aveva tutti i nomi stampati sulle etichette e ha dato di nuovo a mamma che li bloccato sui vasi .E così la maggior parte dei piccoli dettagli sono stati fatti in questo modo!I donè èche avrei potuto fare tutto senza tutto l'aiuto straordinario che avevoèmamma.papà .il abiti da sposa on line mio coordinatore e altri fornitori sorprendenti.

Jon e ** volato in Dallas la settimana prima del matrimonio per aiutare a finire alcune cose prima del giorno e per abituarsi al cambiamento di tempo orribile.Il weekend di matrimonio iniziato nel Austin sul ​​Giovedi prima perché il Inn Above Onion Creek richiesto l' intero hotel è stato affittato per tutti e tre notti .È finito per lavorare fuori fantastico e mi ha dato una notte in più da trascorrere con tutta la mia famiglia e gli amici Jon ' in un unico luogo .L'intero weekend è stato davvero speciale (ovviamente la notte del matrimonio reale era il migliore !) .Ma è stato incredibile .non solo avendo tutti i nostri cari in un posto.ma guardando quanto bene tutti andavano d'accordo e quanto divertimento tutti sembravano essereavere .

Tutta la settimana che porta al matrimonio .Jon e mi era stato nervosamente controllo le previsioni ogni cinque minuti .Purtroppo .una previsione di pioggia sarebbe semplicemente non andare via per il giorno del matrimonio reale .ma è tenuto saltando dal 20 % al 50 % e di nuovo al 20 % - la tortura totale.TUTTI continuava a direè ñhhh donè èpreoccuparti !Non ' sicuramente pioverà .Essa non fa maièprobabilmente sarà cielo sereno !èquindi non era davvero stressante a tutti quando tre ore prima della cerimonia .la pioggia peggiore cheè èe visto in anni laminati in ( ben che potrebbe in parte essere perché drizzles solo a Londra).ma letteralmente il cielo stava cadendo .Probabilmente ero un piacere essere intorno in quel periodo .Per fortuna



.come ** detto primaèavevo fornitori incredibili che erano in grado di tenere tutto insieme ( mentre io ero un disastro ) e tutto si è rivelato splendidamente .La pioggia cessò per la cerimonia (per fortuna ).e il cielo si schiarì che ha fornito anche un bellissimo sfondo per tutte le foto di gruppo .Tutto sembrava essere scorre senza intoppi e ci siamo divertiti così tanto a parlare con tutti e ballare verso la fine della notte .
couldnè èpotuto essere più felice di come è andato tuttoèera letteralmente tutto ciò che avremmo potuto sperare.Ci siamo sentiti solo come se fosse volato da troppo veloce!Fotografia

: Geoff Duncan | Cinematografia : Jerry Malcolm 2nd Generation Films | Cake: The Cupcake Bar | Cancelleria : Love And Wit Paper Co. | Hair \u0026 Makeup : Erica Gray | DJ : DJ Floyd Banche | Ufficiante : Sarah Reed | Alcol: Specifiche | Cerimonia \u0026 Reception Venue : Inn Above Onion Creek | Coordinamento : stile e la grazia Eventi | barman : Bar Divas | Rehearsal Dinner Luogo : Iron Cactus 6th Street | vacanze : Illusions AffittiThe Cupcake Bar è un membro del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .The Cupcake Bar VIEW
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=450
http://188.138.88.219/imagesld/td//t35/productthumb/1/358835353535_394276.jpeg

i can move from the highly lyrical into what's deemed
modern -
        poetising within a prosaic framework,
gone are coordinates that would
define a poem on the premise of:
whether there's a pun in it.
       sure, poems as chicken scratches
to what would otherwise be an English
teacher's *******: pulverising
a haiku to mean an infinite number of things,
and about a dozen essays by students.
the opposite of what's nonetheless:
    squeezing out juice from an already
squeezed out lemon... and i mean lemon
because there's a threshold...
           poetry is tarnished by what i call
the over-scientification of language...
                 only poetry attracts
so much linguistic categorisation,
so much morge tenure, so much dissection,
before poetry is even spoken
it has already been dissected - a befitting
target practice for budding medicine students...
          and some even deem it a outlet to
their professions: as if poetry was nothing
but a colouring-in book compared to
a da Vinci sketch.
                why not become a martyr for the ******
art? sickly sweet with its rhyme,
  the auxiliary recommendation on a birthday
card... which upon industrialisation
                               is nothing more than
    a thumping of a hammer near a protruding
nail in a crucifix... but a hammer that never
   makes contact with the nail...
why ***** this art, because of the industrious
nature of scribblers exacted to 600 pages worth
of a novel, when, perhaps, one thing is said
and can be said to be actually memorable?
well: there is a greater demand for handcrafted
objects than Ikea veneer, that much can be said...
it takes a few glugs of whiskey and a few cigarettes
to get the final product...
            it doesn't take industriousness -
poetry requires handcrafting, and what's revolutionary
about our times? they once claimed
     southpaws to be of diabolical design,
   but now both hands are used when "writing",
sure, the archaic fluidity of the movement of the hand
is gone: so as i write, i do the cliche of a
peasant listening to classical music while pretending
to conduct an orchestra, that finicky maestro
hand gesture... waltz before you can walk
is all i have to say... and yes:
we either have our Humphrey Bogart moments,
or Forrest Gump moments...
                  Hanks did the miraculous -
play the idiot, and play the serious role -
     which was harder to do, Mr. Bean or Black Adder?
it's hard to play the village idiot while
    being submerged in the bile of malice
   and staring into attempted feats of quasi intelligence...
but you get the hang of it...
   your eyes become like nuggets of coal...
           whereby those that incite pity wet them,
and those that incite contempt: light them up...
        by the time they have burned out...
they have turned into nuggets of sulphur -
          inorganic methane - yellowish grit:
as some Dalton said - could the cliffs of Dover ever
be perceived as sulphuric? the Sulphuric Cliffs
of Dover... apparently this is what defined
London when Christopher Wren took to
ushering in a foundation as Nero did to Rome:
on the chessboard of stone.
        and yes... i can be seen as the oppressor,
after all, i live in a country that prizes its suburban
housing as if miniature castles...
and gardens... boy these people love their gardens...
but they never use them!
    i can use a window to my advantage,
sit on the windowsill and smoke a cigarette and drink
a whiskey, unafraid of voyeurism...
                    pompous in my presence there,
perched like a crow, grinding all life into a halt
as my neighbours peer into the recesses of
    what's 4 by 4 by 4 of living (civil) rooms...
       can we but change the name of this space?
can we call living rooms civil rooms,
   where we acknowledge some sort of civility
rather than a wrestling for the television remote?
i can make little things give me an advantage,
if the toilet is being occupied,
  i'll use the garden as my toilet...
           i feel complete disdain for people who
"require" a garden, but never use it... of people
who "require" a garden, but are never seen in it...
   i'm hardly a c.c.t.v. surveillance object,
   but i feel that over-exposure to ******* reads
as a counter in that: people start to become
      phobic about voyeurism... as universities claim
them to be: "caught with your hand down your trousers
in a safespace", where dolphins jump over
rainbows and unicorns speak Haitian voodoo!
              there is this fear, which is why i'll use the
garden more than the people around me...
          which means: owning a garden is the last
stronghold of moving into an urban environment from
a rural one...
             or perhaps i'm just good at what i do
           and the last point becomes a tangent i care not
to continue... should i ask
            (whether that's true)?
            i have this throbbing sensation in my eyes
when i write such things and overhear
  what's necessary to rereading books in snippets -
which is better than regurgitating maxims
    as if some truth will magically pop-up (once more)
like a Leprechaun with a *** of gold -
  a new film, and hence the all important soundtrack.
rereading books in snippet format reveals much
more than a memorable quote,
           given there's an adequate soundtrack
to accompany you revisiting the book you managed
to take on a weekend holiday (like a girlfriend),
  like lawrence lipton's the holy barbarians...
   (all about the beats)...
              the snippet? chapter 15, the social lie
(martino publishing mansfield centre 2009), pp. 294 - 296...
      the music? ~20minutes into http://tinyurl.com/zdvp8sc
(ben salisbury & geoff barrow)... or what
i image to be a toned down version of
                 ...
) interlude... wacko gets summoned to steal a mouse
from a cat...
      double time... the mouse is unharmed...
all action takes place in the garden...
   running after a cat, catching the ghostly mouse,
i mean: frozen by fear... senile little thing...
     petting the mouse... obviously within the
framework: the most famous mouse in the world
scenario... mouse is put into my neighbour's
garden: where it came from: which kinda makes
this whole thing a practice in Hinduism
     (i can't stop the industrialisation of
farming pigs or chickens or cows...
      so ******* to the sourced sustainably,
organic chickens et al.)...                                 (
i was looking for something as equally pulverising
as ¥ (chemical brother's
song life is sweet)...
      i guess i found it...
                            and what was that bit about
not getting hassle on the internet?
                      i can't force people to read my stuff...
how i love this idea of a gym and making an effort...
both the writer and the reader entwined -
rather than watching you-tube vloggers treat their audience
like penguins feeding their chicks regurgitation as part of
               the info-wars... alter news: propaganda.
'what is the disaffiliate disaffiliating himself from?
      the immense myth promulgated from Madison Ave.
& Morningside Heights...
              the professors and advertisement men (indistinguishable
these days, or in those days - apparently)...
   that intellectual achievement lies within the social order
and that you can be a great poet as an advertising man,
a great thinker as a professor...' hence the myth.
              summarised later as:
'the entire pressure of social order is to make
         literature into advertisement.'
  and why do they shoot people in North Korea and
Saudi Arabia (well, chop more than shoot)?
              bad literature, a.k.a. bad advertisement.
am i a bad advertiser?         point being: am i selling anything?
oh gee! i just might be...
   but i feel there's no need to oppress people into
reading something...         as was the same with
my democratic romance with a personal library of mine:
   how to create a democratic representation
of literature: or how to hear as many people out...
   even those alive would see the backlog of
stale books of the dead that have been under-appreciated
and need a ****** into the future.
        perhaps not Plato...
                    that's not a book, that's a column...
but i despise how feminism ignores its greatest asset...
Mary Shelley... no woman could have single-handedly
become so celebrated in pop culture...
               ex_machina is obviously a revamp of Frankenstein...
Mary Shelley is the embodiment of a woman worthy
a continual revised celebration...
                       you can see her celebrated more times than
any politically minded feminist of whatever 1st 2nd or
3rd movement: because she has the ability to
    turn a man's ego into a ******* umpf!
  like a cat listening in on a scuttling mouse...
              she testifies that women have supreme equality
in the pop culture spheres... after all: Frankenstein is
ugly... Ava? just beyond creepy...
                    she has absolutely no understandable
motives of what Frankenstein intended...
   it not merely creating artificial life...
                    it's about utilising it for a purpose:
in this case a housewife and *** toy... what was Frankenstein
expected to do?         there's no motive other than
     a per se intention... an open & closed argument...
was the monster going to be... a butler?
                  and instead of rebelling against a motive
that awaits her... the rebellion against a per se leaves
Frankenstein's monster driven toward isolation...
       Ava? she's already exposed to an interaction
and what's to be her subsequent interaction for the purpose
of being a maid and a *** toy... which doesn't drive
her to an isolation scenario... because the per se
concept is too complicated for her to establish...
    given she's defined as "artificial" intelligence,
she has to feed on an analysis-synthesis dynamic:
    to absolve herself from any notion of being intelligent:
but artificial... the scary part is that without a per se
element to her knowledge acquisition:
                  she sees no meaninglessness to her life -
she is created for certain customary necessities -
     Frankenstein's monster doesn't have that capacity
to acquire knowledge in an analytically-synthetic
dynamic -
  but i still don't understand why intelligence can
be artificial / faked... when man, if not intending to
  create an intelligence matrix outside of his own...
           will usually fake it, or create a superficial intelligence...
   this is the part where you get to play with
etymology, or at least apply etymology to better conceptualise
what some would call: a synonym-proximity barrier...
               which can be jargon to some,
   but in fact it represents "nuances" or nanometric differences
that is understood to imply: feverishness of
   the peacocking staging of vocab for rhetorical purposes...
if we only had a monochromatic utility for language:
people would be discouraged from talking fervently,
passionately, enthusiastically... rhetorically;
as suggested: is artificial intelligence
                                    superficial intelligence?
  or how to sharpen a distinction? or to what purpose
is making an illusion purposive, given that the already
   established technology is meant to be purposive,
as in replacing labour on the assembly line...
                     given that: it's never about faking it.

at the fete du bons vieux temps - Cahokia, Illinois

White clouds of rosin dust
Flew off Geoff's fiddle strings
As his earth dance
Soared above the pulsing
Of friends on bass and guitar.

Tuniced men bowed
To their bonneted ladies
Bedecked in colonial frocks.
In turn each pair sashayed
Down and up the line,
Whirled and laced their way
Through outstretched hands
Of family, friends and neighbors
Shaping an arch at line's end
For all the rest to pass beneath.

All across our country's timescape
Countless bridal pairs
Have sealed their sacraments
Spinning in the whirlwind
Of the Virginia Reel -
With each interclasping of arms
A blessing upon their unions.

Geoff lifted his bow from the strings,
And bowed with his band to receive
The applause rippling the air
Like the patter of ancestral rain
Nourishing the sweet soil
Of our common earthly essence.

February, 2007

Why do I matter? Why should I stay?
Because where you leave your pain and suffering, many people who are still here will pick it up... Yes, you may feel like no one cares or they wouldn’t notice if you left, but you are wrong. You're worth much more than you realize. Every persons life is important and meaningful because of how we are all connected. Look around... how many people are in your world? How many people have you come in contact with? Even if they never met you in person, even if they've never said a word to you; your death would affect their life.
One of my brother’s best friends died when we were in high school. Geoff was never a huge part in my life, but he was in my world. He was always over my house because my brother and his were best friends and they were swim/water polo teammates.  His death was caused by meningitis, not suicide, but even so, it impacted so many people and took everyone by surprise. When they announced his name over the loud speaker that day at school, I felt a part of my heart break... Because I knew that right then, his parents, sister and his older brother were in so much pain... Because I knew all of his friends, my brother included, were crying, mourning and thinking of all of the times they had had with him. Even to this day, almost 10 years later, people still post things about him on Facebook. Every year on his birthday, I see people sharing photos and memories. I see his brothers posts on the anniversary of his death and my heart breaks over and over. I watched his brother collapse and scream — crying over the loss of his brother. I'll never forget that sound. I can never forget that image. His parents had a complete mental break down. His mom was actually institutionalized afterwards because she was a danger to herself. His father became an alcoholic very soon after Geoffs death. No one could comprehend what life was going to be like without Geoff. Even people like me, someone who only knew him in passing, were affected by his death. You may think that you are worthless, that no one will miss you, that this pain will never end, but you aren’t, they will, and it will. Trust me love. I’ve gone through 27 years of fighting mental illness, loss, and suicide attempts. I know exactly what you’re going through, but committing suicide would destroy a lot of people. This is a part of the reason I hold on. So, Please don't give up. It gets better.

DURING THIS VISIT

I am a layman laid up
with a very dodgy ankle

that winced about Paris
for almost a week with

every footaghhhhhhhfall.

Now it's the A&E;
for me.

The electronic noticeboard
flashes up its what nots

faster than I
can scan.

I barely catch CQC
Good( shadow )Rating.

Two wheelchairs
(peopleless)
chat about the this of that

typical wheelchair chit-chat.

A portable X-ray machine
pretends to be a giraffe.

"oooooOOOOK...we are going to get
Geoff the Giraffe to have a look at that!"

The child smiles
through the pain.

The screen peppers me
with possibilities.

Extremely likely?
Neither Likely nor Unlikely?
Etc., etc., etc.

My mind opts for
a simple I Don't Know.

"Breast." says the screen."

"Max Fax & Orthodontics."

"Re-hab shouldn't be boring!"

A questionnaire asks me
to think.

Big mistake.

I start to think.

Pain & Boredom
turns these hospitalised facts

( what ever they mean? )

into a something only
my brain can understand.

"And now, straight in at No.!
with a fantastic new single it's...

...Max Fax & The Orthodontics
with the glorious bouncy

BREAST!"

"MORTALITY by
The Upper Quartile

falls down one place to
No. 2!"

My shadow is feeling
very poorly at this

instant
in time.

Hasn't even bothered
to turn up.

There goes my good
(shadow)rating.

I think I'll switch
to silhouette instead.

I practice my Ogham.

SAT 4 APRIL
says the clock.

It's hands joined
together in prayer.

I switch
off my mind &

float
down
stream.

All the edits finished
All the audio in time
Geoff and Garry worked hard
To get the podcast up on line
topics from the serious
To topics quite delirious
full of energy
even one on me
A pair of pop culture pundits
Spewing whatever comes to mind
It's a great bit of entertainment
It might just expand your mind
Take the time to listen now
They may even have a row
You never know
So start the show
The Pendulum Podcast
Is the show of which I speak
They both put it together
They try to put one out
Most every week
It reaches to the geek in us
sometimes you'll need an omnibus
To understand
the things that these two can
It's enjoyable and funny
Take the time
and listen in
Do yourself a favour
It is not a mortal sin
But, who knows where
the show will lead
they do it for the fun not greed
you'll love to hear
The topics these two spear.

check out The Pendulum Podcast on facebook, and youtube. Link to youtube is as follows
http://www.youtube.com/user/ThePendulumOnTV/videos

KABUL, Afghanistan
scorching sun
phantoms of heat
drifting above the roadway

Col. Geoff Parker, 42
"rising star"
perched in the command vehicle
proudly on guard

Taliban
wild rush -- crump
waves of heat and fire
spinning debris

"This barbaric act of aggression"
anger and outrage
desert wind flutters
tattered and scorched fatigues

"It's always unfortunate"
reek of charred flesh
guttering flames
unfortunate

Martin Narrod [Chicago] to Adam Holzrichter [San Francisco, via NYC]*
June 26 2005
Guild Printers Press
122 Bedford
Brooklyn NY, 11211*

I peeled back the polyurethane bandage that wrapped together my two toes where I had dug them into the armoire once again last night. It's a raggedy old mess of green goop like your brother had when he returned from Sicily. Those posters and solipsisms of war, how could we forget, right?

The scene here is really frantic. There's a whole room knotted up with tea heads, loaded up on benzos, looking for green doves or any of the MDMA that came through Fulton Market last week. Mr. Popular is revealing any details, though I expect he'll want more than his own hands throwing around his dining room furniture. I count three days since I heard them through the wall, but I did go out yesterday for a brief walk to buy an 18-pack of ******, just in case I decide to come off the drink for a bit, I do have a blood disease you know that right?

Noon

It was about a month ago, I was at April's house, and I had woken up on the couch, standing up I felt a bit dizzy and realizing I hadn't had a drink of anything for about 12 hours I pulled a Red Stripe from the fridge. I shucked the cap off and put down nearly half of it, it was that cool Jamaica that rocked me man. As I was headed back to the couch I could tell something wasn't right, and that's when it all goes blank- they told me I had suffered a grand mal seizure, sister, brother, and April standing over me with Ouakimbo there too. He gave me those sterile gray straight eyes and a thousand yard stare. Then he popped right up and grabbed my wrist and held it. They put me on a cornucopia of blood thinners and muscle relaxers, it's grand, just ******* grand. I make a fist and my toes wiggle, blink my eyes and my tongue comes out. There is nothing truer than this humanness I now am enjoying. 2 days more they say it'll be before I can go back to the pen and our flat. Geoff just had a baby I read in a post I saw today that Ashley brought in, but i tell you. If you don't bring me a dollar slice from Jack's on Metropolitan you ain't gonna have any of this.

9:00p.m.

First it's cool down the back of the spine, like my bones have unhinged themselves and are resorting their positions to suit a more comfortable order of things. But I repeat, I REPEAT with all SERIOUSNESS. DO NOT TAKE ANY HALLUCINAGINS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES - Perhaps I have not explained myself too clearly - Guy is at the ice- the onlyu hope now is some morphine. In dealing with these underwear midettttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt­ttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt­ttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt­ttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt­tttttttiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii­iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii­iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii­iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiotttt       vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv­vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv­vcccccccccccccc.

It's so loud
The silence
In my ears
And it hurts

They died.

I can't hear
It's so loud
I'm leaning
Just to listen

A laugh
Or a whistle
Three blinks

I'm trying.

Geoff, it is midsummer now
And your paradise garden
Takes our breath away.
The honeysuckle, orchids,
Geraniums, yellow iris,
Blood red roses and
Apricot foxgloves
You tended
So lovingly
Are all here as they
Would have been
In medieval times when
You say even the monks
Needed the sanctuary
Of flowering meads
And shady orchards
To lift their spirits
And refresh their minds.
And now your twin brother
Is finishing off the commentary
You wrote before
Your heart attack,
Telling us if you
Could choose your piece
Of heaven
It would look
Just like this.

dear e,

this is the first night I truly terrified of having to live without you
you couldn't understand what a bone breaking thought it really is
it makes my body feel flat and worthless
as you are the only never failing good qualities it can claim
I feel my bones shake as I imagine that dark life
one without you

I will love you until the day my heart stops beating
and I hope you never once in your wonderful life forget this

e, you make me feel alive in so many ways
and I know this isn't even a poem but more of a silly letter
but I need you to know this

though there may never be a next time
I will fight off any attacker whether it is verbal or physical.
I will put every one of them in their place

I love you to loves entirety e, and that will never fade
I hope you can forgive me one more time for not showing it in a caring way

I hope you can love me too. though I quite frequently don't deserve it.
and I hope you can forgive me for this shifty poem too.

with every fiber in my being
I love you

geoff

I hate to run.
When I think of it I think of you.
And to be honest that makes me sick.
You run over my heart daily.
Just to get hit yourself.
I was there for you everyday and you still ran.
Ran from me. From our dogs. And everything we had.
And when I confront you, you just laugh and say I dont care.
Then you head out for a run. Run. Run. Run.
Running through my torn up heart.
Your shoes have left scars that harrings themself can not heel.
So when say I hate running. I mean it.
And once you head into the rain anyways.
Leaving me to write this poem.
Goodbye my myjestic runner. Run to the wind where you once came from.
-Love Geoff you're with the horses now.

Life is a funny old thing
but for each of us there is an end.
But on Monday, alas, we say
farewell to a dear old friend.

He was a lovely man, honourable
and loved by so many, young and old
He had time for everyone all over
and had a huge heart of solid gold.

He was a leader, a well respected man
someone anyone could talk to with ease
But now he is a butterfly, he is the sunshine
and he is every new leaf on the trees.

He will look down from Heaven, with a smile
he knows and hears each and every good wish
but for each of us left behind, there is sadness
in our hearts, for Geoff it is you that we will miss.

I will block out
the two hundred poems in my head
and write this one
for you
instead.