Most pictures and words from Anthony C Murphy
Monday, 31 October 2011
Sunday, 30 October 2011
ENTRANCED
Into the world
Fat and full of blood
This entered mess of you
Deep red drips to the linoleum
Then with ribbons of scarlet tissue
You were given up to me as they mothered
Her life
She went angry
To the ICU cursing
Midwives that guessed
All the previous knowledge
Now a test of their miss management
Skills not an issue, more like what do you
Call it?
Collateral damage?
No. Containment? No.
Something we would learn
Later like newborns ourselves
To this. Get the anaesthetist please
Anyone who knows what they are doing
To stop it
To help us out
Of these white white
Walls full of antiseptic attitude
A grandmother or two would be
Welcome now but no more of this red
Ridiculous floor, and please no more blood
Thursday, 27 October 2011
CURIOUS WORD 3
GYNOTIKOLOBOMASSOPHILE : noun someone who loves to fondle (usually nibble) women's earlobes
The auricle has spoken
The auricle has spoken
PRESENT CONTINUOUS
You're working
I am looking
It is getting dark
They are staying with friends
The company is losing money
It is starting to rain
You are making. I am trying
What is happening?
I am not listening
She is not having
I am not eating
He is learning
They are not speaking
I am getting tired
Time is not working
I am doing
Changing
Increasing
Rising
Happening
thanks to Raymond Murphy, English Grammar in Use, 3rd Edition
I am looking
It is getting dark
They are staying with friends
The company is losing money
It is starting to rain
You are making. I am trying
What is happening?
I am not listening
She is not having
I am not eating
He is learning
They are not speaking
I am getting tired
Time is not working
I am doing
Changing
Increasing
Rising
Happening
thanks to Raymond Murphy, English Grammar in Use, 3rd Edition
Monday, 24 October 2011
TH
.........
And would sigh at the tale
Of sunk Lyonnesse,
As a wind-tugged tress
Flapped her cheek like a flail;
Or listen at whiles
With a thought-bound brow
To the murmuring miles
She is far from now.
Thomas Hardy d. 1928
And would sigh at the tale
Of sunk Lyonnesse,
As a wind-tugged tress
Flapped her cheek like a flail;
Or listen at whiles
With a thought-bound brow
To the murmuring miles
She is far from now.
Thomas Hardy d. 1928
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