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"lii" poems
Nllne ul the lnldholleriil‘ nan on Ihlll llnl?i?l the Huun 1| dialed, ?an: that mum qupnuu in egoing Enumerator. Constabulary District. **I Certify**, as required by the Act 63 Via, c. 6, s. 6 (1), that the for urn is correct, acoordin lc/4:’? 1&4”, *** FIIILIES, In. No. of nu-In Tubal wwnied Sinks u: nu 1’@f:=-=- by ad‘ Pusan: Iii‘ A Flnily. (Sec Fol‘: B at fool.) ¢ he ,3 ' .. I ~ ' @2771, cc 1/ p I ..q1??‘7"“' iz__ g to the best of my knowledge and belief. I J , . . . _ ?lfjfnjn 7 and the ?gure 1 entered LII Col. 14, opposite the muidic of the bracket. Sea pattern Table m In?tfuctiun?, page 9, Rut John Pane: I hereby runcuula or nluunsn nouaaa. Registrar-General, T. J. Bsmrxeam B#####Y, ##### J. Bnnw, FORM B. 1.——HOUSE AND BUILDING RETURN --continued. BOBERT E. M.aT£n;s0:~.', Commas loner.» "f the Heads of Families so occupying it shculd. be bracketted together in C01. 13, thus :- 2 lst December, 1900. ##### Castle,
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Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 9:50 AM UTC
Echoes of Muidic Art Found on Digital Shoal
Olas gigantes que os rompéis bramando en las playas desiertas y remotas, envuelto entre la sábana de espumas,         ¡llevadme con vosotras!   Ráfagas de huracán que arrebatáis del alto bosque las marchitas hojas, arrastrado en el ciego torbellino,         ¡llevadme con vosotras!   Nube de tempestad que rompe el rayo y en fuego ornáis las sangrientas orlas, arrebatado entre la niebla oscura,         ¡llevadme con vosotras!   Llevadme, por piedad, a donde el vértigo con la razón me arranque la memoria. ¡Por piedad! ¡Tengo miedo de quedarme         con mi dolor a solas!
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1.3k
Rima lii
i am cottongrass in a field so lightheaded im sleeping alone and i am alive             aliv e                  ali ve                                                 ali vlight                               al lii gv hte a i            e
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Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
Eriophorum
What if we let this love die and let it combust? Let it burn our souls and make the universe weep. What if we turn into dust? What if the love we thought was made from longing and craving becomes uneasy? I am terrified of all the possibilities. I'm afraid for the person I will love after you. She will have to get used to my Freudian slips of your name on romantic dinner dates. She will read hints of you on my sad poems, even the happy ones I will write for her will carry your weight. She will cry the first night we make love, because the way I hold her will never be as perfect. She will sleep with a heavy heart knowing that the next day, she has to face your ghost again. She will wear my sweaters, your scent lingering on each thread stitching them together. She will deal with all my mess. She will answer all of my 2 am drunk calls. She will let me be drunk until I recover from you, she wishes. She will laugh a lot, I will make her laugh, yes, but not smile - her smiles will always be half-hearted. She will read books on my shelves; see your love letters tucked in ever so carefully in between the pages we both loved. She will choke on the dust of our firsts and maybe have tears of joy because of our lasts. She will love versions of me I created after this destroyed me to my core. She will never know my childhood. She will try to take me in her arms when I relapse. She will carry my broken pieces, try to put them back together, and will just end up being broken, too. She will let me have the window seat. She will surprise me but will never get the same chest pains I had with you. She will take me to bridges, tunnels, buildings, and maybe supermarkets. She will just be the stop along the way because you will always be the destination. She will welcome me home with a hug, I might let out a sigh and a smile. She will settle for that because she knows you will always be my home. She will go to museums with me just to see my eyes water with pride again. She will let me write about you, just so I can empty myself of the words I have kept for you, if ever you decided to come back. She will listen to playlists I made just to **** your voice in my head. She will try to fit my needs. She will let me cry, and tell her stories about you. It will break her but she will let me. She will try to replace you. She will try. Every single day. She will fail. Every single time. It will be the worst. It will be unfair. It will be my 3 am regret while I shower with her, trying to scrub away the last time we did that together. It will be running away. It will be my destruction. I am afraid for the person I will (try to) love after you.
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Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 6:00 AM UTC
LII
What if we let this love die and let it combust? Let it burn our souls and make the universe weep. What if we turn into dust? What if the love we thought was made from longing and craving becomes uneasy? I am terrified of all the possibilities. I'm afraid for the person I will love after you. She will have to get used to my Freudian slips of your name on romantic dinner dates. She will read hints of you on my sad poems, even the happy ones I will write for her will carry your weight. She will cry the first night we make love, because the way I hold her will never be as perfect. She will sleep with a heavy heart knowing that the next day, she has to face your ghost again. She will wear my sweaters, your scent lingering on each thread stitching them together. She will deal with all my mess. She will answer all of my 2 am drunk calls. She will let me be drunk until I recover from you, she wishes. She will laugh a lot, I will make her laugh, yes, but not smile - her smiles will always be half-hearted. She will read books on my shelves; see your love letters tucked in ever so carefully in between the pages we both loved. She will choke on the dust of our firsts and maybe have tears of joy because of our lasts. She will love versions of me I created after this destroyed me to my core. She will never know my childhood. She will try to take me in her arms when I relapse. She will carry my broken pieces, try to put them back together, and will just end up being broken, too. She will let me have the window seat. She will surprise me but will never get the same chest pains I had with you. She will take me to bridges, tunnels, buildings, and maybe supermarkets. She will just be the stop along the way because you will always be the destination. She will welcome me home with a hug, I might let out a sigh and a smile. She will settle for that because she knows you will always be my home. She will go to museums with me just to see my eyes water with pride again. She will let me write about you, just so I can empty myself of the words I have kept for you, if ever you decided to come back. She will listen to playlists I made just to **** your voice in my head. She will try to fit my needs. She will let me cry, and tell her stories about you. It will break her but she will let me. She will try to replace you. She will try. Every single day. She will fail. Every single time. It will be the worst. It will be unfair. It will be my 3 am regret while I shower with her, trying to scrub away the last time we did that together. It will be running away. It will be my destruction. I am afraid for the person I will (try to) love after you.
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It's football night America no one, took a knee the day is done, we know who won Eagles, flying free It's football night, America no known controversies the game is set, never fret Patriots found, the key We'll know, when the dust settles just what, and who, will be living in America on football night we'll see
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Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 10:13 PM UTC
Patriots VS Eagles SB LII
Cantas y a sol y a cielo con tu canto tu voz desgrana el cereal del día, hablan los pinos con su lengua verde: trinan todas las aves del invierno. El mar llena sus sótanos de pasos, de campanas, cadenas y gemidos, tintinean metales y utensilios, suenan las ruedas de la caravana. Pero sólo tu voz escucho y sube tu voz con vuelo y precisión de flecha, baja tu voz con gravedad de lluvia, tu voz esparce altísimas espadas, vuelve tu voz cargada de violetas y luego me acompaña por el cielo.
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688
Soneto lii
Again, again I still feel you in my arms No more lonely nights Giving up my heart to you Forever is now
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Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 10:42 PM UTC
LII
I told him, "I know a thing or two, about a thing or two." He loved the essence of the phrase. Than he told me a story, I'll surmise it with, "Then the cop said, there'll be no fucking subs tonight!" Maybe it's too cryptic to understand, but it was an even exchange.
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Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
An Exchange (Drunken Ramblings LII)
It's Amendola not Motorola not Penszola or Pepsi-cola Pat's on a roll-a to Super Bowl-a It's Gronkowski not a Jetski not a concuss-ski he'll be back, see Pat's on a win-ski to Super Bowl-ski It's Tom Brady no way is shady not like a lady history made-y Pat's not afraid-y Super Brady It's Belichick'ed no defects not a speck stuck out his neck Kraft, Pat's exec what the heck Yes I've said it I'll take credit SB LII Pat's live not die..
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Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 8:35 PM UTC
And, I'm not a Pat's fan, go figure
Érase un cura, tan pobre, que daba grima mirar sus zapatos descosidos y su viejo balandrán. Érase un cuasi mendigo que solía regalar a los más pobres que él con la mitad de su pan. Un cura tan divertido para hacer la caridad, que si daba el desayuno se acostaba sin cenar. Érase un pobre curita llamado el Padre Julián, a quién vían como a un perro los grandes de la ciudad, pues era tan inocente y era tan humilde el tal, que en la casa de los grandes daba risa su humildad. Un día amaneció muerto, siendo causa de su mal no se sabe si mucha hambre o alguna otra enfermedad. Entonces un gran entierro se ofreció al padre Julián, donde sólo en cera y pábilo se quemara un dineral. Y se vieron coches fúnebres y hubo un lujo singular, a los ecos de las marchas de la música marcial. Y cuentan que los timbales y oboes al resonar, hacían burla del muerto pobre de solemnidad... Y que el muerto se reía pensando en su balandrán, con una de aquellas risas que dan ganas de llorar.
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608
Abrojos - lii
I. Some nights it's like hoover **** has broken right behind my eyes and there's no noise no shaky breath just wet cheeks. II. I can't make it stop and there's nothing even wrong. I'm terrified to sleep with someone someday; I don't want anyone to know.
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Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 3:29 AM UTC
Untitled LII
Discutiendo están dos mozos si a la fiesta del lugar irán por la carretera o campo traviesa irán. Discutiendo y disputando empiezan a pelear. Ya con las trancas de pino furiosos golpes se dan; ya se tiran de las barbas, ya se las quieren pelar. Ha pasado un carretero, que va cantando un cantar: «Romero, para ir a Roma, lo que importa es caminar; a Roma por todas partes, por todas partes se va».
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452
Proverbios y cantares - lii
Furnace. Flamed hot. Skin on skin. To be burned beautifully...
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Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
LII.
It just occurred to me that............??? ****** It happened, again!" copyright: richard riddle-8-07-15
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Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
Thought for the Day LII(52)-(Getting Older)
XLVIII. आंनि लोगो जेब्लाबो आयै बिबार हाजो नोँ आयै आं गाबनो मोजां मोनो गोथार गोरबोजोँ मिनियो। XLIX. अनसुलि बिमा आयै बेसे समायना गोसो नोँनि! मिनिसुलु गावदां अखाफोर फुंनि सोरां सान गोरलै। L. जोँथि सना फिथर मैला गैया नोँनि अन्नाया आयै, बेस्रां मेगन नोँनि दिन्थिनाय लामा जोँथि माथि आसिया हार्थखि गलाब बिबार मोदोमफ्रु खुदुमनाय। LI. अनसुलि बिमा आयै नोँ होबाय आंनो सोरां, आयै बहा मिनिनाय खुसिया- गोमा लाङा आयै जिउआव। LII. आयै नोँनो सानफोरखौ सुस्रांबाय, गोमो गोथां बायदि जायख्लं, सल'बाथा, गोदै सिमां आंनि मोदैयाव बिलिर बिलिर। LIII. साबायखर होयो नोँनि अनसायनायखौ मोदैनि हिरा बिलिर दानायखौ, आं मिथिबाय आयै दिनै- मादि मिजिँ दं नोँहा आंनि। LIV. नोँनि मोजां मोन्नायखौ बिजिरखनो हाया आयै बियो लैथोबादि गोथौ गोगो हाजोनि निजोरा बादि। LV. नोँनि थुलुंगाखौ नेवसि हाया आयै आरो हाया बावनो अन्नाय... बेयो समायना निजोरा बहा मोन्नो आरो नागिरना आं? XVI. बुहुमा आंखौ गावनि बिखायाव नोँनि उदैयाव आं गेलेदोँ... समायना आयै नोँनि गोसोआ गोथार गोजोँ जिउआ नोँनि। LVII. आयै नोँनि गोदै रावआ रिङो रिँदोँ रिँगोन नांगौ आंनो जेब्लाबो दिनैबो, आयै आंनि मिथिँगा अनसुलि। LVIII. नोँ एसेबां अनसुलि आयै उन्दैनिफ्राय अनबाय आंखौ दाबो, आं गाबबाय रंजाबाय दिनैबो नोँ फोरोँबाय थाबायनो आरो रायज्लायनो, सोलोँनो। LIX. बेनो आंहा मोनसे बिखा नोँखौ अनसायनो बिमा, बुजिगौ नोँनि मोदैखौ मिथिगौ अन्नायखौ नोँनि गासै।
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Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
सुमित्रा आयै: XLVIII-
XLVIII. आंनि लोगो जेब्लाबो आयै बिबार हाजो नोँ आयै आं गाबनो मोजां मोनो गोथार गोरबोजोँ मिनियो। XLIX. अनसुलि बिमा आयै बेसे समायना गोसो नोँनि! मिनिसुलु गावदां अखाफोर फुंनि सोरां सान गोरलै। L. जोँथि सना फिथर मैला गैया नोँनि अन्नाया आयै, बेस्रां मेगन नोँनि दिन्थिनाय लामा जोँथि माथि आसिया हार्थखि गलाब बिबार मोदोमफ्रु खुदुमनाय। LI. अनसुलि बिमा आयै नोँ होबाय आंनो सोरां, आयै बहा मिनिनाय खुसिया- गोमा लाङा आयै जिउआव। LII. आयै नोँनो सानफोरखौ सुस्रांबाय, गोमो गोथां बायदि जायख्लं, सल'बाथा, गोदै सिमां आंनि मोदैयाव बिलिर बिलिर। LIII. साबायखर होयो नोँनि अनसायनायखौ मोदैनि हिरा बिलिर दानायखौ, आं मिथिबाय आयै दिनै- मादि मिजिँ दं नोँहा आंनि। LIV. नोँनि मोजां मोन्नायखौ बिजिरखनो हाया आयै बियो लैथोबादि गोथौ गोगो हाजोनि निजोरा बादि। LV. नोँनि थुलुंगाखौ नेवसि हाया आयै आरो हाया बावनो अन्नाय... बेयो समायना निजोरा बहा मोन्नो आरो नागिरना आं? XVI. बुहुमा आंखौ गावनि बिखायाव नोँनि उदैयाव आं गेलेदोँ... समायना आयै नोँनि गोसोआ गोथार गोजोँ जिउआ नोँनि। LVII. आयै नोँनि गोदै रावआ रिङो रिँदोँ रिँगोन नांगौ आंनो जेब्लाबो दिनैबो, आयै आंनि मिथिँगा अनसुलि। LVIII. नोँ एसेबां अनसुलि आयै उन्दैनिफ्राय अनबाय आंखौ दाबो, आं गाबबाय रंजाबाय दिनैबो नोँ फोरोँबाय थाबायनो आरो रायज्लायनो, सोलोँनो। LIX. बेनो आंहा मोनसे बिखा नोँखौ अनसायनो बिमा, बुजिगौ नोँनि मोदैखौ मिथिगौ अन्नायखौ नोँनि गासै।
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62
Tu vida entera en dos cajas. Una de cartón, con fotos y cartas y cuadernos y ruidos sordos contras esquinas marrones cuando pasa de mano en mano. Una de madera, con manos y piernas y tez blanca al borde de la transparencia y un silencio que se extiende por metros y por años. Ojos me buscan y me encuentran y labios me preguntan cómo te hubiera gustado esto o aquello, suponiendo que yo se, suponiendo que te conocía, y no se cuanta verdad hay en eso. Solo se que dentro de años, con tu caja de cartón olvidada, cuando seas solo huesos y pueda pensarte sin pensar, en los espacios entre tus costillas y el aire que te llena, seguirá habitando un deseo, que cosquilleará, se trepará y se enredará, formando una telaraña, uniendo hueso con hueso, enmarañando tu esqueleto, pero no habrá nadie para verlo más que tu caja de madera.
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Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 7:16 PM UTC
LII