Posts

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  In The Darkness There are light spaces in the winter dark Places for light to shine through, for stars to dance, for neons to cast their artificial glow. And the infinite space where lightening cuts through the long night storm like glass and finds a home in some dark place and lights it up. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D9JRZQDJ?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR0e-O6TOaMl2R0LwImKxhkC0WRH6Vqx2DovhbPkq1Vad9PmGyQTj3HO41E_aem_x0oi1o38ojQXK91DVi6woQ
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  Faking It The search goes on to find it that golden transformation that makes base into precious and spins a thread of gold. Yes, there’s a new alchemist on the block and he has it to a T faking gold to make gold sneaking forth to guide and gild your path with threads of gold   spun   yarns. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D9JRZQDJ?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR0e-O6TOaMl2R0LwImKxhkC0WRH6Vqx2DovhbPkq1Vad9PmGyQTj3HO41E_aem_x0oi1o38ojQXK91DVi6woQ
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  A Not So Still Life What a strange tableau, a still life  still living  in a dream. The birds flew over and looked down on it, but there was no place for them  to hang out, to roost,  to dream. So they didn’t care about the dust motes escaping into the sunlight floating like fairy dust getting themselves organised to follow their dream. Did they escape from the jar? Perhaps. Though  the bull is wondering  if they were ever inside and the birds don’t care as usual, hardly notice her dog emerging  from the mist to inspect them.  Unmistakably her dog just more amorphous than usual. It doesn’t look inclined to chase the motes or stick its head inside the loop they’re making. But the birds don’t care as usual. https://masticadorestaiwan.wordpress.com/2024/07/17/a-not-so-still-life-by-lynn-white/
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  Keeping Up Appearances I’ve always been somewhat vain always creamed and combed, groomed and preened and wanted to look my best, not a hair out of place. Is such vanity sinful? Maybe it is. But vanity was not my crime. My crime was committed on the day the hair escaped. Just one hair   out of place. https://www.vroomlitmagazine.com/issues.html But they saw it. That was the crime I died for.
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  All Gone They built the roads.   They built the bridges, the power lines and masts. But still the landscape was empty, deserted, lifeless, abandoned, hopeless. And then they built fences. They’re good at that, building fences to keep THEM out, not let THEM cross. So still the landscape was empty, deserted, lifeless, abandoned, hopeless. As abandoned as an empty shopping trolley, as abandoned as those who pushed it there in desolate desperation. And then it snowed. https://www.vroomlitmagazine.com/issues.html
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  Last Rites I’d always loved flowers and you helped me fill my garden, brought a plant each time we met. It was our little ritual a recurring theme, flowers for my garden to bring me joy. I would like to lie in that garden in the mist of the soft sweet smelling mist of them   for ever. But we all have our time, our time to live, and our time to die and only your flowers   will bloom eternally each in its season,   in their own little ritual living on beyond me. I want no funeral rituals. When I’m dead I won’t see them on my grave, won’t know that you’ve brought them for me won’t know if you haven’t. The flowers you carry   in that season should be for you, you that I left behind. Don’t let them die for me. Nobody wants dead flowers, least of all, dead people. https://www.vroomlitmagazine.com/issues.html
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  A Grey Place? This is a grey place,   there's no denying. Grey slate, grey granite, grey houses built of both. And it rains a lot, there's no denying. Vertical, or horizontal, or swirling rain falling greyly from heavy misty clouds. But when caught by a sunbeam it makes glistening slides   shimmering across the slate   and falls in bright white tails   or snakes like silver where the mountains leak it. And spills heavily over rocks, it's foaming, frothing, yellow ruffed   cascades catching rainbows as they crash then spitting them back out   in a fine spray of colours. And now there's no grey   in the dark blue, black sky   filled with gold and silver twinkles. No grey at all in this place now, there's no denying.