Beware the chides of larch

Epimedium setosum_18-2.jpgTo avoid plagiarism. I shall have to use words noone has ever used before.But then nobody would understand me.
OK avoid sentences written by others…. that could be hard too

The bot was culling ,the title sucked
Malware,Macbeth,,malware
Caesar beware the tides on Mars
Who caused Sylvia?
He rewired marriage in Venice

 

How do I know if someone has written that before?

Overwrought [Cambridge dictionary]

pexels-photo-669015.jpegoverwroughtadjective

UK  /ˌəʊ.vəˈrɔːt/ US  /ˌoʊ.vɚˈrɑːt/

Safer than thou

pexels-photo-1021693.jpegHer hems looked as if she had studied all of non-Euclidean geometry and wanted us to know it
Her  orange pleated culottes  were unpleated after an hour on the bus
Her velvet trenchcoat would ensure she would lose,  single handed, WW3 before it  even began
Her knicker length denim shorts  and shrunken T shirt made groping  a dreadfully un-PC temptation to the men selling ripe mangoes and pears.And the women too.
Her head was extraordinarily big so  she was  fortunate in having  two large feet and a a yard [with a brick lavatory, once the last word in elegance]
He said her thesis was on Quantum Dramatics and Lunar Division.I don’t believe a word of it
He said , in  general it’s a real nativity.
Her trench-coat had holes  all over for drainage.Suitable for ladies with hot gushes
In bed she wore a velvet sheath and long  loves
If you have cramp. wear a loose  light dress and kippers
She had a T shirt with her IQ printed on the front.In Chinese.Was it wise?Was it fair?
I had one made saying,Je suis le moron de Tel Aviv. I don’t  know any Hebrew.And they don’t know me neither.
Her underwear was absolutely pure silk unfortunately as she suffered from  cystitis and often could not wait.Wear towelling knickers and a big skirt and you will be completely safe from men,bugs and fashionable desires

Gather ye coal dust by T.May.

Photo0390.jpg
I took this photo in 2008

Don’t believe him, it’s  just a contincnce trick
She shelled pea shells in the she store
Gather ye coal dust by T.May.
He’s a psychowrath and sociodeath  made into one
That’s not  a man,it’s my husband.
He’s my brother-in-flaw.
Can  I carry my sister?
She was my aunt by barrage
He tells lies as if he was born to tweet.
If he is a liar, I’ll eat my cat
He’s as honest as the ploy  is wrong.
He tried to talk me into his shed.
I don’t know what the Eskimos know
{ that line  occurred to me in a dream, and I was singing it]
If all goes well,I’ll be wool soon
He was my sweetheart for a shower or two
I don’t like delta x.It comes and goes and yet all calculus depends on it.Talk about  quantum dramatics!
Why do x,y, and z stand for the unknown? I’d prefer names like John,Mike and Fred
dJohn/dFred =3 times round the houses at the speed of fright
I never understood physics and I don’t know y.
He was a mutation alright.He had no strings on his violamb
She used to eat cake for its interference and i-songs

The poet contemplates the nature of reality

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/145594/the-poet-contemplates-the-nature-of-reality

 

The Poet Contemplates the Nature of Reality

On the side of the road a deer, frozen, frigid.
Go back to your life, the voice said.
What is my life? she wondered. For months she lost
herself in work—Freud said work is as important
as love to the soul—and at night she sat with a boy,
forcing him to practice his violin, helping him recite his notes.
Then the ice thawed and the deer came to life.
She saw her jump over the fence, she saw her in the twilight,
how free she looked. She saw her eyes shiny as marbles,
as much a part of this world as the fence a worker
pounds into the earth. At night she still sat with the boy.
He’s learning “Au Claire de la Lune.”
Do you know it? He has established a relationship
with his violin. He knows that it takes practice to master it:
the accuracy of each note, to wrestle his feelings to the listener.
But he’s impatient. Sometimes what he hears and feels
are not always the same. Again, the poet says.
She knows if he tries to silence his fervor, he might not ever know
who he is. The poet contemplates whether a deer can dream.
Rich blood-red berries on a branch, pachysandra in the garden.
A soft warm bed in the leaves.

Yet shadows give the depth and height to life

 

 

A gentle growth of fragile spring time plants
Takes our minds off wasps and biting ants
In Nature we can see the cruel and kind
As we do in our own human minds.

The shadow hides behind the perfect form
Soon the flower will wither, all forlorn
Yet shadows give the depth and height to life
The shadow and its form are man and wife

We look for sunny days and pleasures green
To love in meadows and inside our dreams
But winter will descend despite our pleas
As soil and earth desire the cold to grieve

Look at what opposes  love’s desires
Then let your  human heart burn in the Fire.