Search
1000 results for “tettig”
-
.@radiostradbroke http://www.radiostradbroke.co.uk #NewMusicFriday #Christmas #NowPlaying Marina Florance - Stop For A Moment #RecordOfTheWeek
-
.@radiostradbroke http://www.radiostradbroke.co.uk #NewMusicFriday #Christmas #NowPlaying A selection of German and English Christmas carols #ClassicalMusicInterlude #ClassicalMusic
-
.@radiostradbroke http://www.radiostradbroke.co.uk #NewMusicFriday #Christmas #NowPlaying A selection of German and English Christmas carols #ClassicalMusicInterlude #ClassicalMusic
-
.@radiostradbroke http://www.radiostradbroke.co.uk #NewMusicFriday #Christmas #NowPlaying A selection of German and English Christmas carols #ClassicalMusicInterlude #ClassicalMusic
-
.@radiostradbroke http://www.radiostradbroke.co.uk #NewMusicFriday #Christmas #NowPlaying A selection of German and English Christmas carols #ClassicalMusicInterlude #ClassicalMusic
-
The English have an #unwavering faith
In their exceptionalism, at a time
When their empire crumbles away
& only its blood dust remains. The
Old guard remains staunchly racist
With that ingrained
Hatred of all people who are the wrong
Colour. They fall over each
Other & onto their knees at the
Prospect of a new coronation. Such
Inflated importance, when all they are,
The royals included, little limited
People with no skills, no languages,
& no compassion.
#MastoPrompt #Poetry -
The English have an #unwavering faith
In their exceptionalism, at a time
When their empire crumbles away
& only its blood dust remains. The
Old guard remains staunchly racist
With that ingrained
Hatred of all people who are the wrong
Colour. They fall over each
Other & onto their knees at the
Prospect of a new coronation. Such
Inflated importance, when all they are,
The royals included, little limited
People with no skills, no languages,
& no compassion.
#MastoPrompt #Poetry -
The English have an #unwavering faith
In their exceptionalism, at a time
When their empire crumbles away
& only its blood dust remains. The
Old guard remains staunchly racist
With that ingrained
Hatred of all people who are the wrong
Colour. They fall over each
Other & onto their knees at the
Prospect of a new coronation. Such
Inflated importance, when all they are,
The royals included, little limited
People with no skills, no languages,
& no compassion.
#MastoPrompt #Poetry -
The English have an #unwavering faith
In their exceptionalism, at a time
When their empire crumbles away
& only its blood dust remains. The
Old guard remains staunchly racist
With that ingrained
Hatred of all people who are the wrong
Colour. They fall over each
Other & onto their knees at the
Prospect of a new coronation. Such
Inflated importance, when all they are,
The royals included, little limited
People with no skills, no languages,
& no compassion.
#MastoPrompt #Poetry -
The English have an #unwavering faith
In their exceptionalism, at a time
When their empire crumbles away
& only its blood dust remains. The
Old guard remains staunchly racist
With that ingrained
Hatred of all people who are the wrong
Colour. They fall over each
Other & onto their knees at the
Prospect of a new coronation. Such
Inflated importance, when all they are,
The royals included, little limited
People with no skills, no languages,
& no compassion.
#MastoPrompt #Poetry -
You would almost believe
It were still summer, the
Sun fierce in an azure sky,
And the olives swelling on
The single tree in the
English garden, the birds
Singing gentle songs.Here, he wishes time would
Become suddenly rigid,
Seconds frozen, a forever
Day that never went the way
Of all other days.#MastoPrompt #Rigid #Poetry #SmallPoems #Summer #Autumn #Time
-
We had a hollow time of it,
The #ringing of the plague bells
Up & down every street
Of every town & village,
The cathedral cities silent in the rain.We had a bloodied time of it,
Secure in the dungeons &
Torture the crown reserves
For those who speak their
Minds openly next to
The eventual scaffold
While the ravens sing.We had a deadly time of it,
Under the blade,
While the country, headless
In its lunacy, watched us
Executed in the name of
Peace. -
They scatter their bodies across
Our table overnight for us to
Find in the morning.At least at this time of the year
Most of their life is spent in the
Light.This morning we found out that
They’re fungus gnats, born from
The soil of house plants.We moved the biggest pots into
The garden then, so that they
Wouldn’t have us for breakfast. -
Raab.
Elizabeth - Truss and Queen.
Pride before the fall.
Endless wealth
Running through families and
Crowns, while millions,
Under the yoke,
Struggle to
Stay alive.
In the palaces and corridors
Of power
No-one cares about
Suffering. -
In the self-proclaimed upper
Echelons of beauty, feelings
Are way down the list of
Important things to take
Care of.There are bigger
Beasts to tame;
Socials,
Parties,
Networks,
Cameras,
The right angle,
The good side,
The bank account,
The practised sneerReserved for
The little ugly people
Trying to be beautiful
With no chance ever
Of being so.Skin is thin and
Ugliness shows through
Those twisted minds
At the top of their
Imaginary ladders. -
No room, no chapel,
No stair, no well,
No outside, no in,
No up, no down,
No side, no roof,
No door, no gate,
No decoration,
No jewels,
No gold,
No prayers,
No curses,
No blasphemy,
No damnation.Fog.
The obscure.
Everything we imagine.
This is an illusory. -
No room, no chapel,
No stair, no well,
No outside, no in,
No up, no down,
No side, no roof,
No door, no gate,
No decoration,
No jewels,
No gold,
No prayers,
No curses,
No blasphemy,
No damnation.Fog.
The obscure.
Everything we imagine.
This is an illusory. -
No room, no chapel,
No stair, no well,
No outside, no in,
No up, no down,
No side, no roof,
No door, no gate,
No decoration,
No jewels,
No gold,
No prayers,
No curses,
No blasphemy,
No damnation.Fog.
The obscure.
Everything we imagine.
This is an illusory. -
No room, no chapel,
No stair, no well,
No outside, no in,
No up, no down,
No side, no roof,
No door, no gate,
No decoration,
No jewels,
No gold,
No prayers,
No curses,
No blasphemy,
No damnation.Fog.
The obscure.
Everything we imagine.
This is an illusory. -
No room, no chapel,
No stair, no well,
No outside, no in,
No up, no down,
No side, no roof,
No door, no gate,
No decoration,
No jewels,
No gold,
No prayers,
No curses,
No blasphemy,
No damnation.Fog.
The obscure.
Everything we imagine.
This is an illusory. -
@tanweerdar
The truth is I have no
#Paternal or parental bone in
My body. My parenting skills
Are imperfect, inadequate, &
Made up on the fly. I don’t need
An invented commercial day to
Celebrate how hard we work to
Make this family function as
Well as it can. All we want
Is for all the others to be happy.
Sometimes it works, & often
It doesn’t & hurts instead.
What I really want is to be a
Person who cares, not a parent
Put into some compartment that
Says old & tired & past it.
#MastoPrompt -
The smallness of death,
The insignificance of turning
The corner one day, full of life,
And then, nothing, just an ending.The unexpected resonates
In our chest cavity to create
The fear,
The fears, for we have many;
Of age, of hurt, of a different pain,
Of death, and, worst,
Of meaning nothing. -
The smallness of death,
The insignificance of turning
The corner one day, full of life,
And then, nothing, just an ending.The unexpected resonates
In our chest cavity to create
The fear,
The fears, for we have many;
Of age, of hurt, of a different pain,
Of death, and, worst,
Of meaning nothing. -
Those icons on their self-built
Pedestals, those corrupt
Visceralities who spread
Lies as fact, do notWith their conscience, for
They have none.We might think
They have no self-awareness,
When the fact is that they do, for
Without it, this edifice of untruths
Could not have been made.And those who consent to their
Power, those who cast their ballots
In favour of these liars are
Complicit in this abuse.Abandon this illusion
Of justice. -
This is old forest land.
There is no forest here any longer.
On the scars that are roads
All things blur at speed.
In the houses that were hollows
On the hills between nature’s majesties
Life is hollow, white plaster echoes
Where greenery was, and Goethe’s
Summits of oak and ash and fir.This is not even the #semblance
Of a wood, not one hundred acres,
Not one acre, not one square inch,
Between the bungalows of pride
And their paved drives and flooding
Days. -
My moods are pliable,
My body suggestible,
The weather and other people
Drivers of my emotions,
The tension in my gut,
Those wild words in my head
And out of my mouth
When I can be bothered
To open it. -
He keeps himself self-contained,
Even with that wide smile when
He’s working the bar or the tables,
And stays inscrutable to anyone
Watching the flash of his fast hands,
His teeth, his gliding across the
Floor as if he were floating, allows
Himself just brief rests when it
Becomes too much to be constantly
In motion. But talk of family – his
Blood, his people in this space –
And the smile becomes a sparkle,
His words that of the loving mystic. -
plead
another word for beg
on our knees
submissive
last resort
negation of self
of no value
sacrifice
no self-esteem
grovelling
covered in the shit
of living dominated
no free will
lost
chained
prisoner
attachment anxiety
clutching at straws
scrabbling in the mud
detritus
monsters
rejects
dismissed
deserted -
The only vocabulary which is limited
is the one imposed on us by convention.
Writers have endless words at their
disposal. It is our task, after all, to tell
the stories no-one has thought of
before, in a language no-one has
invented before. And to tell the
stories that have been lived in such
away that they live forever. That’s
what writers do.