Cambridge

SCORN

Otis_Inf's Universal Unreal engine 4 Unlocker | *ini tweaks | Reshade 5 | Hotsampling

Feel free to visit my VOLUME ONE account.

Up until a few years ago I used to be able to make a 15 minute drive west of West Palm Beach and do a little walking around nature in the old "shellpits". I would usually take a fishing pole and a camera and fish for bass and take photos of native orchids. That property was leveled and now, million-dollar estate homes occupy the land. I tend to get a little stir crazy if I don't get out into the natural world so ths past Saturday I set forth at the crack of dawn to the Wakodahatchee Wetlands, a water reclamation area in Delray Beach a half hour south. It is actually, in an urban area and accessible to many.

I am neither a wildlife photographer nor bird photographer so this new subject provided a worthy challenge. Many of these photos were taken with an old Tamron 350mm catadioptric (mirror) lens. Although most nature photographers scorn "cats", I like the lens for its pictorial effects, the "donuts" bokeh.

“’It’s a ground zero’: Prince George city council shuts down hotel for six months”

“A Quebec Street hotel that’s been described as a hot spot for nuisance and criminal activity has been shut down for six months.”

Malachi 1:13 “You also say: ‘Look, what a nuisance!’ ‘And you scorn it,’ says the Lord of Hosts. ‘You bring stolen, lame, or sick animals. You bring this as an offering! Am I to accept that from your hands?’ asks the Lord.”

I Am

John Clare

I am — yet what I am none cares or knows;

My friends forsake me like a memory lost:

I am the self-consumer of my woes —

They rise and vanish in oblivious host,

Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes

And yet I am, and live — like vapours tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,

Into the living sea of waking dreams,

Where there is neither sense of life or joys,

But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;

Even the dearest that I loved the best

Are strange — nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man hath never trod

A place where woman never smiled or wept

There to abide with my Creator, God,

And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,

Untroubling and untroubled where I lie

The grass below — above the vaulted sky.

texture time texture

spotted while walking along Washington Ave., Crown Heights Brooklyn

Have you ever had one of those days? Mine started off great with a lovely morning coffee date with my dog on the deck. I have some new friends that joined us as well. Magpies. They were waiting for their peanuts and we sat watching with amusement as the animated scavengers indulged a few candid moments with us.

I puttered in my yard for a while. My yard is huge. My husband and I have invested a lot of very hard work over twenty-five years to make it into a refuge. It is very beautiful. Over the years it has become a place where we get the odd visit from an assortment of wildlife. Porcupines; Jack Rabbits; many generations of Squirrels; Ducks; Woodpeckers; many varieties of birds and probably while we are sleeping in our beds, coyotes.

I love gardening. I love creating spaces with plants, shrubs, perennials, trees and for a quick punch of color, hundreds of annuals. My favourite bush is the Hydrangea. I have at last count 45. In the summer they put on a show until the first frost arrives and then exhausted, they go back to bed for another year.

I heard there was a sale on at a greenhouse on the other side of the city so never to be deterred by the distance I loaded my dog into the truck and off we went.

I found the perfect accompaniments to add to the garden and started loading them into the truck. I saw a lady hobbling to her vehicle in the parking lot and walked over to give her a hand. I started chatting with her. She told me she had two knee replacements and that the first went south on her. It required six additional surgeries and she was now permanently in an equine position.

I cried almost all the way home. I wish I had never stopped to chat with her. I need both knees replaced. I have been waiting for a very long time for the surgery and have wasted a lot of time worrying about it.

Anyways, that is another story.

I got home with my new plants and my husband and my daughter met me on the driveway and helped to get my plants on the deck ready for planting.

The sun was shining. It was an incredibly gorgeous day and I couldn't wait to plant. It takes me at least twice the amount of time to do anything now but I press on, trying to be grateful for what I can do, rather than get hung up on what I can't do.

As I was walking around trying to find the very best spot for the plants I turned to look at the darkening sky. OMG! Where did that come from. We literally had minutes before the angry sky turned into a deluge of torrential

rain and as another test of my character to top it off the Gardener's dreaded angst - HAIL. Oh man, it hailed for at least ten minutes and then like a woman scorned, came back with even more vengeance.

When it was all over the black cloud moved on its way and the sun came up like nothing happened - except it did.

My garden... As we walked around the yard looking at the destruction I started crying for the second time today.

My Hostas! My flowers! My garden! Obliterated! Leaves, blooms, branches scattered everywhere amongst the piles of hail. I was devastated!

Then I saw something fluttering in amongst the flower petals. A tiny butter yellow butterfly. I immediately knew it was in peril. I put my hand out and it hopped onto my finger. A tiny creature. Its body was torn almost in half and its wings were shredded.

I felt such compassion. It was not long for this earth. ...and for the third time today I wept.

It is evening now and the neighborhood is settling down for the night. I cannot stop thinking about the lady in the parking lot or the butterfly and me and my surgery. Life can change so fast.

Give me legs to run and wings to fly! There is still so much I want to do. Until then, I will go to bed and wake up and take my morning coffee out on the deck with my pup and delight in my Magpie friends. Oh and then I guess I will have to clean up the garden.

I wonder what time the Greenhouse opens tomorrow...

Feel free to scorn this but I like it:)

A woman scorned... makes for pink undies?

Model - Tripod

RP - Clifton Forge

Taken at AM Radios Beneath The Tree that Died

Welsh Lakes (94, 131, 1028)

View On Black

Sonnet 29 - William Shakespeare

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Shot on location in Native Soul

For my watcher Baz ♥

like a bureaucrat scorned ;-)

Milton Friedman

HPPT! Public Education Matters! Resist!!

prunus mume, japanese flowering apricot, 'Okitsu-akabana', j c raulston arboretum, ncsu, raleigh, north carolina

VIEW LARGE ON BLACK

I love the stillness of the wood:

I love the music of the rill:

I love to couch in pensive mood

Upon some silent hill.

Scarce heard, beneath yon arching trees,

The silver-crested ripples pass;

And, like a mimic brook, the breeze

Whispers among the grass.

Here from the world I win release,

Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude,

Break in to mar the holy peace

Of this great solitude.

-Lewis Carroll

To a friend, who these days enjoys solitude, and yet remains open-hearted enough to allow my intrusions.

Scorned as an invasive species that in the 100+ years of its introduction has successfully colonized all of North America, this is an otherwise colorful and intelligent bird. Selfridge Boat Launch.

Labyrinth: The Queen and Prince of the Fairies (Titania and Camden)

Hear my cry,

In my hungering search for you,

Taste my breath on the wind,

See the sky as it mirrors my colours,

Hints and whispers begin.

I am living to nourish you, cherish you,

I am pulsing the blood in your veins,

Feel the magic and power of surrender,

To life. Uisce Beatha

Every finger is touching and searching,

Until your secrets come out,

In the dance, as it endlessly circles,

I linger close to your mouth.

I am living to nourish you, cherish you,

I am pulsing the blood in your veins,

Feel the magic and power of surrender,

To life. Uisce Beatha

~

Anúna - "Cloudsong" (Riverdance)

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y8VCx3KZxo8

~

Once upon a time Vin and I had started a roleplay world inspired by Jim Henson's Labyrinth; in particular what happened AFTERWARDS. We've decided to create the characters that inhabited this world of the Underground and its King/Queendoms, and bring them to life. It all started with Jareth and Sarah's children and their epic love stories...and it has epically continued on and on through the generations.

What this world means to Vin and me...it is more than words can say. We put our souls into this world and what it represents. But it is our pleasure and excitement to be able to bring them to life.

Many, many lifetimes ago (long before Jareth and Sarah even existed), the Gods ruled over their own domains as they always had done. Among them was Titania: Goddess of Life and better known in the Underground as "Queen of the Fairies." She created the Labyrinth and brought life to the realm.

When the day came that The Raven rose up to destroy her Labyrinth and terrorize the inhabitants of her realm, Titania summoned the first Pure One (someone who is blessed and bestowed purifying powers upon by Titania) to stop him.

For many years Titania watched her beloved fey (the humanoid inhabitants of the Underground such as Jareth and his descendants) from afar but never got involved by interacting with them. It wasn't until many generations after the first Pure One and The Raven that Titania, having lived a lonely life thus far, finally had her unexpected chance at happiness.

It was Camden, a Raven prince and future High King of the Underground, who happened upon the fairy goddess one day. Camden's passion and love of the Labyrinth fueled his connection to the goddess who had created it.

After courting his beloved goddess in the ways of the fairies, it developed into a beautiful bond which saw Camden ascend to become a demi-God at her side. Together, Titania and Camden had many children; some who stayed in the Underground after their parents' departure back to the fairy realm which led to the mingling of fairy blood in the Houses.

(Special note: In our world, "Cloudsong" is Titania's song and was sung by the original Pure One ((Amalie)) who healed the Labyrinth after The Raven's ((Ciaran)) raze and has become the most iconic Pure One song to have existed.)

~

Special thank you to my baby for creating this scene and poses! It was meant as a challenge (really, ALL of our Labyrinth pictures are), and I think it came out quite lovely.

134/365

As I wandered the forest,

The green leaves among,

I heard a Wild Flower

Singing a song.

'I slept in the earth

In the silent night,

I murmured my fears

And I felt delight.

'In the morning I went

As rosy as morn,

To seek for new joy;

But oh! met with scorn.'

- William Blake -

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Elysium%20Tartarus/220/48/22

Steps back from Upper Silesia towards the West: as we know, the Gagarin has become an adult and delights us in its various guises on many journeys.

There were three of us travelling and the train was standing still in the station for changing the crew. That can be take time, Cargo has even much more time as others. Our third colleague went by car to a petrol station to get three lattes for us. It was fatal, because the train was leaving exactly during this time. Kędzierzyn-Koźle was not closed!

25.03.2022

Poland, Lower Silesia, Prudnik station

311D-020, PKP Cargo

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."

Sing me a song, you're a singer

Do me a wrong, you're a bringer of evil

The devil is never a maker

The less that you give, you're a taker

So it's on and on and on, it's heaven and hell

Oh well..................RJD!!

A Bit of fucking DIO for this day!! <--------don't know what ur missin!

Back to work...catch up at some point....Happy weekend..xoxo...and a big thanks to my dear friend D for the use of his bonfire photo....=)

having a break at lovely CK's Corner Gallery - coffee is stil hot @ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Sunstream/230/8/44

"This sorrow weighs down on my shoulders

This fear is getting harder to hide

You'll leave me alone in this darkness

Left to hold out

Against the tide"

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfAkh7ZM5o8

This song is deeply personal to me and reflects a journey within I may never have the words to share. No matter the scorn I will rise up - I will be my father's daughter - and I will stand against the tide.

“Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.”

- William Shakespeare

Its summer, y'all ;)

Lets dance :D

www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8I-7Wk_Vbc

Have a wonderful week :)

And thank you...for always stopping by

A Big Hug xxxx

youtu.be/iV3X4_P3C2k

To dream the impossible dream

To fight the unbeatable foe

To bear with unbearable sorrow

To run where the brave dare not go

To right the unrightable wrong

To love pure and chaste from afar

To try when your arms are too weary

To reach the unreachable star

This is my quest

To follow that star

No matter how hopeless

No matter how far

To fight for the right

Without question or pause

To be willing to march into Hell

For a heavenly cause

And I know if I'll only be true

To this glorious quest

That my heart will lie peaceful and calm

When I'm laid to my rest

And the world will be better for this

That one man, scorned and covered with scars

Still strove with his last ounce of courage

To reach the unreachable star

Los Angeles 1948. A sleepy movie town full of movie star wannabes, corrupt cops, beach bums, and scandals. Stepsister to San Francisco and scorned by New York it was a destination for grifters, loafers, and dreamers—the kind of place where a guy could drop into a cheap bar to forget, and end up remembering too much. L.A. 1948, a place where big schemes were too often met by dashed dreams.

Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.

Inspired by Emily Carr's painting "Scorned As Timber, Beloved Of The Sky"

Our share of night to bear,

our share of morning,

our blank in bliss to fill,

our blank in scorning…

[E. Dickinson]

in explore 2jan09 - highest position: 75 on saturday, january 3, 2009

youtu.be/bSt4myecN_c?si=SrbAN9t9kWQJScE5

Thought all of you in the deep south blizzard could use some extra heat...

I’m not a native Texan, but anyway, here goes:

Texas Chili

No Beano

2 dried ancho chilies

2 dried guajillo chilies

2 chipotle chilies in adobo sauce

1 tbsp Mexene chili powder

6 cloves fresh garlic

1/2 cup beef stock

1 tbsp apple cider vinegar

1 tbsp brown sugar

4 Strips thick cut bacon

1 1/2 pounds boneless beef short ribs cut into 1” cubes

Kosher salt/ground black pepper

1 red onion - fine dice

1 sweet onion - fine dice

1/2 red bell pepper - roasted, peeled, fine dice

12 oz Texas beer

1 tbsp ground cumin

2 tsp smoked paprika

2 bay leaves

2 Roma tomatoes (canned) hand crushed

Toast the ancho and guajillo chilies in a dry skillet over medium heat for 4-5 minutes until fragrant and lightly smoking. Pour enough boiling water to submerge chilies in a covered bowl and steep for 30 minutes. Drain completely.

Place rehydrated chilies, chipotle, chili powder, garlic, beef stock, vinegar and brown sugar in blender and puree thoroughly.

Season beef cubes well with salt and pepper. Cut the bacon into 1/2” lardons and render over low heat in cast iron Dutch oven. Remove and reserve the cooked bacon. Sear the beef cubes in batches in the bacon fat. Once all beef has been seared, remove and reserve. Sauté onions in the same pot until softened and translucent. Add the bell pepper and continue to cook. Return the beef and bacon back to the pot. Reduce heat to low.

Add the chili paste mixture to the pot

Add all remaining ingredients and simmer on low for 2 hours, stirring occasionally.

Do not add any beans lest you be shunned and scorned.

Psycho Barbie

+P s y c h o B a r b i e + - 2 0 2 0 (New)

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Blakefield/24/191/1008

Neck Tattoo - +Psycho Barbie+ [Scorn Tattoo] Black

👾👾👾👾👾

youtu.be/xmUZ6nCFNoU

EarCuffs - ~ Quadratus Demise Mainstore ~

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Astrid/147/74/228

~ Q.D - Valstrax Spiculum Earcuffs ~

The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade.

Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon.

The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree,

and I laid myself down by the water and stretched my tired limbs on the grass.

My companions laughed at me in scorn; they held their heads high and hurried on;

they never looked back nor rested; they vanished in the distant blue haze..

I gave myself up for lost in the depth of a glad humiliation - in the shadow of a dim delight.

The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom slowly spread over my heart.

I forgot for what I had travelled,

And I surrendered my mind without struggle to the maze of shadows and songs.

At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes, I saw thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile.

How I had feared that the path was long and wearisome, and the struggle to reach thee was hard!

-Rabindranath Tagore (Nobnel Laureate Indian Poet (1861-1941)

Stark's Corners United Church (1898) in Stark's Corners (Shawville), Quebec, Canada.

Still holding Sunday morning services, it was originally erected in 1898 as a Presbyterian church.

On June 10, 1925, 70% of Presbyterian churches in Canada, the Methodist Church (of) Canada, and the Congregational Union of Canada entered into a union to form the United Church of Canada.

Stark's Corners was once known as Murphy’s Corners but was renamed Stark’s Corners after the Stark family took up residence in the vicinity. The Starks donated land for a schoolhouse, cemetery, and Presbyterian Church. Stark’s Corners once boasted a number of amenities, including a general store, a cheese factory and a post office.

Westbrook Centre, Cambridge. Final in this series!

And the world would be better for this,

That one man scorned and covered with scars,

Still strove with his last ounce of courage

To reach the unreachable star

Mr. Skully is an alright fella. He just does his thing on Rialto Beach as the people pass him by and see that peculiar erosion, giving him his distinct appearance. He doesn't judge, scold or scorn. He just waits patiently for something... Someone? Whatever his fate, please.... Don't step on Mr. Skully.

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned...

Can we chat a minute? Friend to friend?

I've had a little thing on my heart for awhile that I really wanted to talk about so I'm taking a stab at it.

I've been a Christian my whole life. I know a lot of people hear that word and immediately cringe, break into hives or avoid direct eye contact. It's developed a bad connotation over the years, huh?

I get it.

I grew up in a very legalistic church that believed women shouldn't wear pants and that submission to a man meant doing whatever they tell you to do. Fraternizing with people who were not Christian was frowned upon as if you'd somehow contract their sin like the Black Plague. 'Burning in hell' was a phrase I heard more times than "I'd like to buy a vowel, Pat" and hate was most people's spiritual gift.

So, naturally... I grew up with issues. Major issues. Some might even label it religious trauma from the rigid dogma that was spewed from the pulpits I sat under.

I could tell you stories of people I grew up with and in my extended family who were abused physically, verbally and emotionally but told to keep quiet to 'save face' or thought speaking up wasn't submitting. It still happens today.

And it breaks my heart.

Don't get me wrong, my parents were great. Some of the kindness most thoughtful people on the planet who didn't buy completely into all that. They had their issues that they passed to me because their parents passed it to them but I've done everything I can to break that pattern in my own kids (a post for another time) and in my own heart.

But this isn't a post about the danger of religion or the dysfunction of a family. This is a post about Love.

If you're read this far... stick around for the good part. :)

Man has corrupted religion. Many have taken a book written by the God of the Universe and weaponized it to scare people into doing what they are told. It's not about love, it's about control.

But Jesus wasn't about that.

In fact, Jesus rebuked the Pharisees REPEATEDLY for worrying more about laws and rules than the people who were in need and hurting around them.

He SAW them. And He sacrificed himself for them.

He has always been for US.

Jesus doesn't care how you dress or how you look.

Jesus doesn't care about the color of your skin, nails or hair.

Jesus doesn't care where you live, or whether you bathed today.

He NEVER shied away from the sick, the hurting, the lame, the blind, the broken, the criminals... He SOUGHT them out.

And He loved them. Just like He loves you and me.

If you're a victim of religious trauma, I am so sorry. My heart absolutely breaks for you. That someone would take the Greatest Love of All and use it against you.

I know what it is like to lay in bed at night terrified by the words echoing in your head that you will never be good enough. To be frozen in fear that God was going to punish you for any infraction big or small. To be scorned for being female and looked upon as less.

Its wrong. It's cruel. And it is in NO WAY what Jesus would do.

So I guess I came here to say this...

It's not about church or religion.

It's about a relationship with Jesus. You and He.

And if you need someone to talk about that with, I'd love to chat.

Because He does love You for who you are. He looked down at His creation and thought the world needed one of you.

Think about that.

I didn't write this to preach - in fact, quite the opposite. The world is full of hurting, unseen, broken people who need to know that they are genuinely loved by God. And you really, truly are.

Love y'all.

THE BATTLE - FIELD

Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,

Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,

And fiery hearts and armed hands

Encountered in the battle cloud.

Ah! I never shall the land forget

How gushed the life-blood of her brave--

Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,

Upon the soil they fought to save.

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still,

Alone the chirp of flitting bird,

And talk of children on the hill,

And bell of wandering kine are heard.

No solemn host goes trailing by

The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;

Men start not at the battle-cry,

Oh, be it never heard again!

Soon rested those who fought; but thou

Who minglest in the harder strife

For truths which men receive not now

Thy warfare only ends with life.

A friendless warfare! lingering long

Through weary day and weary year.

A wild and many-weaponed throng

Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,

And blench not at thy chosen lot.

The timid good may stand aloof,

The sage may frown--yet faint thou not.

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,

The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;

For with thy side shall dwell, at last,

The victory of endurance born.

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;

The eternal years of God are hers;

But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,

And dies among his worshippers.

Yea, though thou lie upon the dust,

When they who helped thee flee in fear,

Die full of hope and manly trust,

Like those who fell in battle here.

Another hand thy sword shall wield,

Another hand the standard wave,

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed

The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.

by William Cullen Bryant Monday, April 5, 2010

Built for New Elementary: www.newelementary.com/2021/07/aron-gerencser-mocs-lego-mo...

—Now let me tell you why I said that.

Try to put yourself into an experimental mood.

Stop right here and try to review everything

you felt about that line. Did you accept it

as wisdom? as perception? as a gem, maybe,

for your private anthology of Telling Truths?

My point is that the line is fraudulent.

A blurb. It is also relevant that I know

at least a dozen devoutly intellectual

journals that will gladly buy any fourteen

such lines plus a tinny rhyme scheme and

compound the felony by calling that a sonnet.

—Very well, then, I am a cynic. Though, for

the record, let me add that I am a cynic with

one wife, three children, and other invest-

ments. Whoever heard of a cynic carrying a

pack for the fun of it? It won’t really do

I’m something else.

Were I to dramatize myself,

I’d say I am a theologian who keeps meeting

the devil as a master of make-up, and that

among his favorite impersonations he appears,

often as not, as the avuncular old ham who winks,

tugs his ear, and utters such gnomic garbage

as: “Nothing is really hard but to be real.”

I guess what the devil gets out of this—if he is

the fool he seems to be—is the illusion of

imitating heaven. If, on the other hand, he is no

fool, then his deceptions are carefully practiced

and we are all damned. For all of us, unless

we are carefully warned, will accept such noises

as examples of the sound an actual mind makes.

Why arc we damned then?—I am glad you asked that.

It is, as we say to flatter oafs, a good question.

(Meaning, usually, the one we were fishing for. Good.)

In any case. I may now pretend to think out the answer

I have memorized:

We are damned for accepting as

the sound a man makes, the sound of something else,

thereby losing the truth of our own sound.

How do we

learn our own sound? (Another good question. Thank you.)

—by listening to what men there have been and are

—by reading more poets than jurists (without scorning

Law)—and by reading what we read not for its

oration, but for its resemblance to that sound in which

we best hear most of what a man is. Get that sound into

your heads and you will know what tones to exclude.

—if there is enough exclusion in you to keep the

pie plates out of the cymbals, the tin horns out of

the brass section, the baling wire out of the strings,

and thereby to let the notes roll full to the ear

that has listened enough to be a listener.

As for the devil—when he has finished every imp-

ersonation, the best he will have been able to accomplish

is only that sound which is exactly not the music.

John Ciardi, “ ‘Nothing Is Really Hard but to Be Real—’ ” from Person to Person (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1964). Used with the permission of the Ciardi Family Publishing Trust.

Source: The Collected Poems of John Ciardi (1997)

Scorn - UUU - Reshade

Contrast as of late has consumed me with winters scorn. I've found contrast in colors can be dramatic and shouldn't go unappreciated. I'd like to thank my virtual friends for commenting/fav'ing as of late. You're part of the driving force that allows me to persevere the cold and to capture these moments in time.

you are suffocating me

with your love

marziya

dont you know

shooting my

fragile predicament

your grandfather

flickr pro

haunted fleur de least

has raised her eyebrows

anthony posey from mardi gras

switching to lilting prose

uncle fred miller

is not one of those

though a few of his friends

are new now public foes

wear tight sweatshirt and panty hose

a camera in hand missing person

cousin lefty where he is

no one knows

jeff and leyla

style and fashion

in periodic throes

from dragony flys

photostream

recycled graphics

some awards that flows

wanda brown eyes

in disgust her nose blows

feeding fishes to the crows

new orleans lady

in sadness going

melancholy and morose

holga headed monster

friar tuck

yogically touching his nose

with his toes

these few lines

of pedestrian verse

written by

bollywoods most wanted

firoze

no feasts no hijdas

only bandra blogs

to dispose

more misery bad business

to add to my wolfish woes

in memory of jeff lamb and fred miller ,,my dear friends RIP

31 March 2018

as time has elusively flown

for friends that passed away

into the other world my verse

mourns ..what we possess today

is on loan nothing we own

in the end barefeet we have

to undertake the long journey

all alone no malice no hate no

scorn the soul to the celestial

skies airborne ..to an unknown

zone ..beyond the twilight in

search of a Moonstone ..

no calls no connection

no internet no facebook

no twitter just memories

of Flickr no mobile phone

the soul is no more accidental prone

from a cuckoos nest it has overflown

but such are the ways of the world

they remember you place daisies

lilies tulips on your tombstone

oh fred oh jeff to me you both were a milestone

ON EXPLORE 1/10/2009 #332

Il faro di Punta dello Scorno, visto da alcuni ruderi in prossimità del Semaforo, nell'estremo lembo settentrionale dell'isola dell'Asinara, fu costruito nel 1854 dai piemontesi per volere di Alberto Lamarmora, cominciò a funzionare nel 1859. Il farista ha vissuto li fino al 1977 poi il faro è stato automatizzazato e oggi il suo aspetto è un po' decadente ma non per questo privo di fascino inserito come è in un superbo paesaggio naturale fatto di colori e di profumi....

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The subject of Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain on Piccadilly Circus, London, is the Greek god Anteros but is generally mistaken for his brother Eros.

In Greek mythology, Anteros was the god of requited love, literally "love returned" or "counter-love" and also the punisher of those who scorn love and the advances of others, or the avenger of unrequited love.

Photographed for the Scavanger Hunt group www.flickr.com/groups/introvert-extrovert/