Your face is map enough for me
Your gaze, your smile, your frown, your glee.
If I want to know the rest
The shape your posture’s  made is best
For showing how your life is now.
A look, a gesture,  this  each show.
Till all you are is well disclosed
And I am in your arms enrobed.
Love vanishes when analysed,
And thinking too by Love’s despised
Use the means to fit the end
And then I’ll be whom you intend

• 
• A sheep at his heels, he rode  down his own well
• He laughs backwards  and flails on the chair
• Streams over the tea kettle kept it full of free water.Drink.
• If they lack a frown, smile.If they smile then laugh
• At the flop of a cat,  go to sleep
• At the eleventh lure, give in
• At the end of my cope, I went  completely la la
• At the end of the play I was left ringless.it was my late husband stealing it off me.
• At the rendering  of the wrecking order, we asked for a Turner painting
  Play the last sonnet
• As wits descend, take their decisions
• A battered  buoy keeps pancakes away
• Latter worlds left me dancing in sin
• Facts to blind, facts to shun.What do you mean, the money’s fun?

Integrity, what does it mean?
Whole, with no sin hid unseen?
We know we can trust’em,
Because they confessed’em.
Integrity, the truth is what’s seen

https://www.expressvpn.com/internet-privacy/guides/

When Oscar sits on the windowsill

And sees someone within,

His mouth opens wide in soundless cry,

He gives us his cat grin.


Oscar rubs around my legs

He's such a friendly soul.

He then rolls round upon his back

And waves his long striped tail.


But after Oscar's greetings done,

He's off to do his rounds.

He sets off from the white door

To the long thin gardens end.


Every inch of soil and seed

Is subject to his nose.

The garden looks one way to us,

But he can see much more.


I wish that Oscar cat could talk

And tell us what he's found.

Ten thousand spider's weaving webs,

A slow worm on the ground.


A million ants climb up the rowan,

I sometimes watch them too.

I see the striped wasps and honey bees

In this small natural zoo.


The hedgehogs sweet have long been gone,

but we have diverse birds.

Oscar sits on my tall stool.

He watches them for hours.

The man who never listened to the troubles of his wife

fell down the escalator at King's Cross station.

No-one met his eyes,

as he lay sickly on the concrete,

though someone did push his shiny briefcase towards him

as if hoping that was enough.

He phoned his wife but she was out

complaining about him to a neighbour instead

of painting or cooking dinner.

As he lay down there on a level with the feet

of the commuters

he noticed no-one polished their shoes anymore...

well,no-one could polish trainers of course..,

though you can wash them----

he saw the way people leaned forward as if pushing themselves

against a gale.

though it was a still warm day.

It seemed as if they were battling against a huge force,

not relating to the feeling of their weight upon the earth.

It was some spiritual force which was pushing them back

towards the Underground,hot and turgid with sweat and dust.

A sanitised Inferno,where the hell is in the collective mind
.

The force seemed to push them in and they pushed back and did

eventually make it into the street outside and into Westminster,

for we all need our rulers.

He lay there all morning musing, until a tramp came over

and asked him to buy a copy of the Big Issue.

And he stood up and bought it gratefully,

taking strength from the acknowledgement of his humanity.

He phoned the office, went home

and told his wife

he'd like to know how she had spent her morning

how she felt,how he wanted to learn to talk and listen,

and recommends now

that if you can fall off the escalator

without breaking a leg

you might be glad

to see life from the bottom up;

for he'd always looked from the top down

and was above everyone.

These reversals,though fearful,

can give us a new perspective

especially on women who are so often

on the underside of society

He's wondering about changing his life

from up to down..

and down to up.

Mothers always said,it's good to have a change.

I don't think it was their husbands they meant..

though.........who knows?

A game of musical chairs might be good

on the weekend,

if you live near a good escalator.

Escalating... it's not for the beginner

at falling.

• 
• A sheep at his heel, he rode his own well
• He laughs backwards over my sekoj
• Streams over the tea kettle kept it full
• If  they lack a frown, smile.If they smile then laugh
• At the flop of a cat,  go to sleep
• At the eleventh lure, give in
• At the end of my cope, I went  completely la la
• At the end of the play I was left wingless
• At the rendering  of the wrecking order , we asked for a Turner
  Play the last sonnet for me
• As wits descend, take decisions
• A batter  buoy keeps pancakes away
• Shattered  whirls left me dancing  wildly
• Facts to blind, facts to shun.

Where I had lain  for many dreamy hours.
But when I dressed this self-same sun had fled

Like a bulb in  winter soil seems dead
I lay inert, a lifeless withered  flower
This sun enticed me from my winter bed

I lay  in weakness like  one who’s been bled
But  with my heart, I wished  for summer bowers
Though when I dressed, flirtatious sun had fled

What is shown us, sometimes can’t be said.
The language of the heart its truth declares.
This sun  aroused me from unmoving bed

Who can’t be pushed may  yet be gently led.
The language of the body plays its share
Though when we dress, unfaithful sun is sad

What do bulbs feel when they reach the air?
What do flowers feel when they are  first bared
Warm sun entices all from winter beds
And when we dress .let’s muse on  flower heads.

It’s so easy to be good with Paypal
If you remember the password
So quick, I do it all day long.
£25 to Oxfam and $13 to some American online magazine
£15 per month to  our Samaritans and a  one off to Syrian refugees.
There’ll be more one-offs ,  I think
I won’t notice when I get my bill
Amid the Sainsburys home delivery ; the wool jumpers from Marks;
A book about Palestine ; my brother’s gift;
Green amber for my sister’s Xmas necklace;
Books for Lin and tokens for the children
Cards from Amazon
And  me being unwell, postage stamps bought on line
I won’t notice I  get the Guardian delivered and also donate online.
There are so many items on my bill, God could be living with me!
It’s even easier to sign  petitions
Demanding    my name to go  on a  list
Fo worthwhile, life-saving  political events
Or for me to like a page on Facebook.
This is post-modern charity:
A card, a password, a tick in a box.
There, that didn’t hurt too much, did it?
Did it?

CHAPTER THREE: WHAT IS POETIC TRUTH? The story of Socrates is a kind of fiction. This is not to say it is untrue. The story represents one of the great half-truths of Western civilization. It is a …

Source: Socrates as social entrepreneur: what is poetic truth?

“As French philosopher Michel Foucault (1926-1984) pointed out, there are many kinds of truth, and many different ways of speaking the truth. The problem with assuming that modern scientific (demonstrable) truth is the only form of truth is that it leads us to overlook other forms of truth, even while we make use of them. Such is the case with poetic truth. This form of truth dates back to ancient times. It was challenged by Socrates and defeated by the intellectual culture that grew up in Socrates’ wake.

Yet poetic truth never really went away. We experience poetic truths in the course of our daily lives. We use poetic speaking to articulate truths that have profound implications for our personal, social, cultural, and political lives.”

I  found my trousers inside out today.
I looked at them with puzzlement dismayed
I forgot to use my rose deodorant spray.

I should have went to church  though yesterday
We need sweet,people for free tea and hay.
I wore my trousers  upside down  in May

If we do wrong, then will they have to pay?
The cat says he is  turning  into clay
I forgot to  use an evil eye to spy

My husband is a follower of Paul Klee
He bought Picasso’s cap from off E-bay
I felt his trousers were a site too frayed.

All the world’s enraged, so Shakespeare says.
He wrote fine sonnets without any play.
I forgot to wash his  trace off yesterday

Why moon, you are not silver, Sylvia says
What are the rights of spring, I meant to say?
I   found my trousers caught Virginia’s way.
My boyfriend took them off so we could  lay.
.

Letters (1817-1820)[edit]

• I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections and the truth of imagination — what the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth — whether it existed before or not.
  • Letter to Benjamin Bailey (November 22, 1817).

• The imagination may be compared to Adam’s dream — he awoke and found it truth.
  • Letter to Benjamin Bailey (November 22, 1817).

• O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
  • Letter to Benjamin Bailey (November 22, 1817).

Wired Style: A Linguist Explains Vintage Internet Slang

I was captivated by this idea that there wasn’t just one correct language or style out there, as I’d learned in school, but that different authorities had their own subtle variations, and I could make a personal choice between them. I started exercising conscious nationalism in preferring the Canadian spellings of neighbour, centre, syrup, zed. When I learned that British practice was to put non-quoted periods and commas outside the quotation marks, just like you’d do with parentheses, I decided that I preferred its strict nesting logic and borrowed it too, despite the fact that I couldn’t justify it nationalistically. And of course, I introduced a rapid-drop policy for hyphens and superfluous capitals.

But the bigger change was in my attitude. It became clear to me that, as far as language evolution was concerned, my choice was between missing the boat and sticking around on a shore with an ever-dwindling band of curmudgeons, or riding the waves and getting to help steer.

Hence my use of singular they. Now, there does happen to be a plethora of historical evidence for it, but that’s not why I use it. I use it because I just like it. I like having a non-gendered option, because he or she and rewriting to avoid pronouns gets clunky, because I believe in respecting people’s gender identities. I use it to refer to a nonspecific or unknown person because it rolls trippingly off the tongue, and I use it to refer to a specific, known person because it doesn’t yet come completely naturally, but I like what it stands for so much that it’s worth pushing through and setting an example. Using singular they is a political decision, and I’ll fight you on it.

The sun sinks but it burns like a  great fire;
All the sky’s aflame with  fierce intent;
Who thinks of death as weakness, is a liar
Before the end  our glory must be spent.

The  graphics of the branches look Chinese
As  blackened brush is drawn across red silk
Infinite yet countable  my days
Running like a river without silt

Thus I am not transcendent in myself
But joined to all that lives I feel I am.
So in conjunction we will find our health
Ambivalence contains both lion and lamb.

The fire of  orange leaves me with a glow
As into night I with all creatures go

A tin of plum tomatoes in my hand
I stand bemused and wonder what to blend.
An onion, bay leaf, pepper, salt and stock
Will make this beef upon our taste buds knock.

I once grew lavish bush tomatoes here.
I had forty-seven plants, the snails drank beer.
But now my garden’s filled with shrubs and trees
And rarely do I see a moth or bee.

The packaged plum tomatoes  statement’s  here:
Don’t waste your time on growing insincere.
But with a catalogue of fruit  and flowers
I sit and meditate for these quiet hours.

I feel the same about your photograph
I will weep when any man shall pass.

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/what-is-the-value-of-poetry