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'Sex appeal is 50% what you've got and 50% what people think you've got' - Sophia Loren, Baby keep a little 2 for me, Bed Knobs & Brass Tacks, Eeeeeeee by gum, Elsie and Jack, Eye yam what eye yam, Humour, Just like a car you're pleasing to behold, Love loves to love love - James Joyce, Man who wears tight pants shall always know where his focus is - Cloud Proverb, My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;Coral is far more red than her lips' red;And yet by heaven I think my love as rareAs any she belied with false compare.― William Shakespeare, Never love anyone who treats you like you're ordinary - Oscar Wilde, Pick out a pleasant outlook Stick out that noble chin Wipe off that full-of-doubt look Slap on a happy grin, poem, Poetry, Present Perfect, Sex is an emotion in motion.― Mae West, The bags under my eyes are Prada darling
At last the time had come, to bridge a vast and curious gap,
One thousand miles its span, two paramours parted by map.
They came across their one true love, by silvery screens’ fair light,
Virtual avatars hotly resplendent — and my, what glorious a sight!
Jack: Beaming urbane Adonis, beer-can muscles ripped so to impress,
Elsie: Rabid redhead Jessica Rabbit, bust battling in earnest to flee dress.
As weeks turned into months, all their quirks, fears and desires
Had endearment holding fast whilst fevered libidos moistened cries.
But as meeting day did loom in June, Elsie began to fear a farce,
Had Photoshop fakery fixed-up a face once akin to a wrestlers arse?
Jack too trod paths bestrewn with doubt: Would Hilda Ogden stand and wave?
An escape plan (Stan) might well be wise, for dignity to be saved.
Deception was the game both played: guilty traits the couple shared;
Gilt lilies paired, flawed features spared, in masks the two ensnared.
And so ‘twas ‘pon a summer’s eve, the lovers at last locked eyes,
With sun-drenched giggles of relief, they thrilled at what they spied.
He: Strutted some, flexed biceps, rumpy bum cheeks tight and firm;
She: Bambi-blinked, steep patent heels, duck pout and miniskirt squirm.
Sultry siren sighed: ‘God’s gift in a tin!’, her can-opener curves full of wiggles,
Tinned man: Erect as she wobbled, tent-pole hobbled, eliciting yet more giggles.
Post-mirth, whilst scoffing pre-coital scran, she eyed fake tan dripping slow,
With tangerine jets’ myriad rivulets, exposing his pale skin below.
Jack noticed crows feet spreading wide, and a rookery about her jowls,
Yet neither cared for mounting flaws — Oh! — enamoured more by vowels.
Passion restrained for eternities long, was no longer fettered or bound,
As back to Elsie’s gaff they sped, flung themselves upon carpeted ground.
Clutched clothing slid way down south, coy inhibitions disrobed in a beat;
Utterly flustered fake eyelashes flagged, one peeling away in the heat.
Now down to his bulging boxers, Elsie gawped at a prize-winning schlong;
But abashed at his stash, with a grin, in a flash, he whipped out a sock two-foot long.
As layers of camouflage fled to the floor, scars of old were merrily dismissed,
Two torsos’ stretch marks went unnoticed, cellulite lumps then gently kissed.
Dizzy digits grasped Heaven hard, as bouncing they jumped in the sack,
They’d waited forever and a day, ‘twud seem, to dive in and have a good crack . . .
. . . At loving in 3D delight at last, mitts free below board and above,
Bob Hoskins bobbed-up (Jack husky in lust): ‘Just watch me dodgy hip love.’
Cartoonish, her bra was stoutly packed: chicken fillets stuffed to the brim,
He cared not a jot, just ducked as they flew, then threw a maniacal grin.
His Newman-blue contacts went askew mid-plunge, result: teary balls (oh aye!),
So he expunged his lunge to pop them both out, donning bottle-top glasses, all shy.
‘Holy Moses!’ he cried as she bellowed sweet nothings (hearing aid on the blink);
‘Load the bean canon up,’ she boomed in his face, ‘fire me over the kitchen sink!’
Laughing with force at her fierce command, Jack’s loins then gave dear thanks,
So, mirthful (yet with reprimands), he stonkingly spanked her Spanx.
The guffaws bust his back: A brace in peril! So she loosed the strings with a grunt;
His stomach it grew: Nine inches gone feral. Thought she, ‘He’s sure got some front!’
Unfettered Jack tugged with Herculean might, support tights well clear of her feet;
As Elsie opined with legs now entwined, ‘Spray-on chest hair all over me sheets!’
Unclasping the harness that hoisted his buttocks, so lofty and high in the sky,
She gamely caught cheeks on the downswing, as Jack kissed his bum lies goodbye.
Her fake Croydon Facelift then lost its grip: a bust clip midst enthusiasm;
He didn’t notice and she didn’t care — on the verge of her fourth orgasm.
Face-sucking fury in a fevered rhythm: Elsie’s tongue beat Jacks gums like a mallet;
‘Pon taking a breath when lips parted though, twixt her teeth was an NHS palate!
Boasting seven bright pegs bold as brass; clamped in lippy lips grip they did gleam:
With unfurnished gums on parade (oh, the shame!) Jack let out a desolate scream.
Her silence reigned regal; the air it stood still, as he howled and began to cry;
Then she spat out his teeth, shrugged with a nod, and deftly popped out her eye.
Jumping for joy he kissed love-handled hips, saggy tits flung o’er his shoulders;
Elsie gave a wink then tickled his balls pink: two humongous knee-length boulders.
Hanky-panky was rife through the night, ‘til conked-out at last they did snore;
Flat on their backs (naughty bits now relaxed), they caught forty-winks (or more).
At dawn’s murderous light such a scene was revealed; eyes adjusting to the glare:
Two Golem-like creatures, bared gums and a squint, their faces so full of care.
They’d travelled from fear to eternity — bashful worlds up to heavens above;
Though time stamps its tales ‘pon old hides, my dears, life ever remains, in love,
So dispel fears of shame and doubt good folks, for if true love is meant to be,
No masks need be donned, no veils of deceit . . . the truth will always set you free.
What a marvelous tale Esme! But it kind of fell apart near the end. 🙂
Seriously though, it was so good, it had me in pieces! 🙂 I hope it has me in stitches later so I can be put back together!
I really love how it just kept getting sillier. But your witty and wild Aesop fable is very true. Although I am not sure I’m ready to toss anybody’s breasts over my shoulder, I have always felt a freedom to having sex with someone like…well…”now that we’ve had sex and you’ve seen me naked, there really is nothing to hide anymore”. It’s a good feeling!
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”now that we’ve had sex and you’ve seen me naked, there really is nothing to hide anymore”. – Apart from being completely mental that is.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I’m kidding Swarn, you’re only half nuts, and you’re very sweet with your nuts too (good grief), also, you don’t hide it (but hopefully do hide your actual nuts at least while at work). Anyhoo, enough about you, falls about – thank you for enjoying the tale, these days the pressure to look like the media (social certainly playing its part) demands is high; I’m not against people making the most of their bits and pieces at all mind you and I do enjoy a bit of glam, mirror, and lights, but we’re all human underneath (apart from Professor Taboo, of course), and life takes its toll one way or another – sexiness is very much about who the person is – there’s no imitating chemistry between people, it’s either there or it isn’t, and if you don’t love their mind as much as their body you have no inkling of just how sexy someone can truly be.
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LOL…I guess I should have said there is nothing to physically hide!
I agree that I think the cosmetic changes we might make to ourselves also can give us a sense of control over how we portray ourselves, or maybe how we want to portray ourselves. Sometimes you need to dress super formal to impress maybe in a job interview or maybe you are going out to see Rocky Horror picture show and you need to do your best Frankenfurter…but in the end the sexiness is perhaps the courage and the sense of fun you might to want to dress like frankenfurter in the first place, or the way you know how to pick out a smart ensemble. It’s kind of like I guess the difference between “dress up” and “disguise”. Wearing a disguise is because you want to hide who you are, whereas dressing up is because, who you are is someone who likes to dress up. You aren’t hiding behind anything, just showing a different facet of yourself.
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Well said sir. I’d like to hold a masquerade ball for all the Cloudsters – see if we could guess who each other be through speech and gesticulation alone, that would be very interesting methinks. Sorry it;s taken an age to sort the comments out, I’ve been stretched a tad thinner this week – looks elastic.
Thank you once again Swarn.
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It’s okay. It was like a nice surprise to see you on my notifications, since I forgot I made this comment. lol
I’m not sure what kind of party you are talking about here. Last time I gesticulated over a woman at a party I was slapped in the face and thrown out. I guess what I think is socially acceptable is different from other people sigh
gesticulating all over the cloud
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I always see you coming you know.
Esme falling about for this is quite true, upon the Cloud
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I always see you coming
You must have been at the party then too and watched me gesticulate.
Swarn thinking Esme is just a big voyeur upon the cloud
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Not that big, thank you.
On the theme though, I knew all the words to the following song when I was eight years old. It has some great word/play going on in there. I shall sing along now . . .
When you tell a story
Amorous or gory
You can tell it best if you gesticulate
Suppose the mighty Sinbad
Meets a Djinn who’s been bad
They can guess the rest if you gesticulate
A tongue is a tongue
And a lung is a lung
In a tale you can shout or sing
Without the gesture? Nothing!
Should Scherazade
Undulate her body
That can be expressed if you gest…
Can be assessed if you gest…
She’ll be undressed if you gesticulate
If I tell you I was walking by the sea
and found a genie in a bottle, that’s trite!
Right! For practically everyone has seen a genie someone had to throttle…in a bottle!
etc. . .
Esme singing away at the top of her lungs that are lungs upon the Cloud
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I would have loved to know you as a child…of course I would have been a much younger child, unable to comprehend you. 🙂
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HAHAHAHAHAHA.
Esme Cloud shoving a dummy in his mouth and pointy at his pooey bum.
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Good one!
The truth emerges and love prevails.
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Thank you sir – bows One must always reach for the stars – beams a smile out
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God’s gift in a tin!
I like that. A lot. Going to slot it right in next to “Sex on a stick.”
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It’s the ‘God’ angle isn’t it? I knew it. Hahahahaha. No, I’m pulling your leg John, and coincidently I use the term ‘sex on a stick’ regularly myself. Excellent taste, as ever beams. (When things are unpleasant they become ‘poo on a stick’, but it isn’t used in reference to people, rather more circumstance. Not literally poo on an actual stick circumstance I should add in case Prof T gets over-excited and drags a glass table in.)
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Elsie (played by Deborah) and Jack (played by Burt) star in this 2019 remake of a 1953 motion picture.
What better way to convey your absolutely brilliant poem than to line it up (and down) along Freytag’s Pyramid:
exposition (x-rated positions)
rising action
climax
falling action
resolution (with or without an eyeball or two)
EXPOSITION — 3 stanzas
At last the time had come, to bridge a vast and curious gap, One thousand miles its span, two paramours parted by map.
They came across their one true love, by silvery screens’ fair light, Virtual avatars hotly resplendent — and my, what glorious a sight!
Jack: Beaming urbane Adonis, beer-can muscles ripped so to impress, Elsie: Rabid redhead Jessica Rabbit, bust battling in earnest to flee dress.
RISING ACTION — 25 stanzas
As weeks turned into months, all their quirks, fears and desires Had endearment holding fast whilst fevered libidos moistened cries.
But as meeting day did loom in June, Elsie began to fear a farce, Had Photoshop fakery fixed-up a face once akin to a wrestlers arse?
Jack too trod paths bestrewn with doubt: Would Hilda Ogden stand and wave? An escape plan (Stan) might well be wise, for dignity to be saved.
— — — Insert () 19 astonishing stanzas of pulsing sustained thrusts here.
Her fake Croydon Facelift then lost its grip: a bust clip midst enthusiasm; He didn’t notice and she didn’t care — on the verge of her fourth orgasm.
Face-sucking fury in a fevered rhythm: Elsie’s tongue beat Jacks gums like a mallet; ‘Pon taking a breath when lips parted though, twixt her teeth was an NHS palate!
Boasting seven bright pegs bold as brass; clamped in lippy lips grip they did gleam: With unfurnished gums on parade (oh, the shame!) Jack let out a desolate scream.
CLIMAX — 2 stanzas
Her silence reigned regal; the air it stood still, as he howled and began to cry; Then she spat out his teeth, shrugged with a nod, and deftly popped out her eye.
Jumping for joy he kissed love-handled hips, saggy tits flung o’er his shoulders; Elsie gave a wink then tickled his balls pink: two humongous knee-length boulders.
FALLING ACTION — 2 stanzas
Hanky-panky was rife through the night, ‘til conked-out at last they did snore; Flat on their backs (naughty bits now relaxed), they caught forty-winks (or more).
At dawn’s murderous light such a scene was revealed; eyes adjusting to the glare: Two Golem-like creatures, bared gums and a squint, their faces so full of care.
RESOLUTION — 2 stanzas
They’d travelled from fear to eternity — bashful worlds up to heavens above; Though time stamps its tales ‘pon old hides, my dears, life ever remains, in love,
So dispel fears of shame and doubt good folks, for if true love is meant to be, No masks need be donned, no veils of deceit . . . the truth will always set you free.
🙂 ❤ 🙂
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Hahahahaha, yes, Burt and Deborah minus the sand and plus giddiness. Burt is a fine name for a character, I think I’ll pencil it in for somewhere does so. (For the 2019 roles I would cast Greg Davis and Tamsin Greig).
I’m exceedingly impressed by your employment of Freytag’s Pyramid Bill, well done that man! It works a treat, just as you have sectioned it off (no euphemism), though I suspect it’s rarely been rolled out connected to such a high spirited piece. Horizons are there to be broadened mind you beams
For those of you unfamiliar with said pyramid, have a gander here – https://www.quickbase.com/articles/an-online-resource-guide-to-freytags-pyramid
Thank you for all the effort put into the comment and also for giving it an ‘absolutely brilliant poem’ tag. Hugely appreciated!
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Reminds me, where did I put my ball satchel? 🎯 This was so entertaining Esmeralda! I do think there is a lot of worry for nothing. As long as she’s naked I’m pretty good with that! This was a little Mrs Doubfire ish. Love it when teeth come out. At least to their surprise the genders were what they were looking for…You rocked this my friend! Thanks.
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“This was so entertaining Esmeralda!” – I’ll happily take that as a fine compliment indeed Jim! bows low The gender potential for mix-up could have been used, but that’s more of a future potential rather than a here and now, as in order for the humour to work without distressing folks we need to be at a rather more enlightened point in society. So a century or so away I reckon.
‘As long as she’s naked I’m pretty good with that!’ – esme puts a note down to get Jim a T-shirt with this printed on the front. Hahahahahaha.
I’m chuffed you were rocked sir, thank you!
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Oh. My. Goddess. You are too funny!! There’s got to be a place in the annals of literature for this masterpiece. So fun and true, from both perspectives! Though I cannot imagine putting real chicken cutlets in a bra. 🤮 I assume you mean the foam ones, though I really hhad to cast back in memory to remember that that was the name some people called them! And a sock, oh my God. If I had seen that, that would’ve been the end of it for me! But they were clearly meant for each other. 🥴😘
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Hahahahaha. Yes, the fillets are named so but not animal in composition, that’d make a very poor vegan of Esme methinks, falls about. Fake bird boobs for a bird in a nutshell (tight squeeze!).
‘And a sock, oh my God. If I had seen that, that would’ve been the end of it for me!‘ – Never say never, and he might have made an impressive puppet out of it, you never know – esme laughing loudly.
Too funny. ‘Tis an affliction, I make the best of it – grins.
Thank you Bela for sharing your mirth and enjoyment at the piece with me! Hugely appreciated. ❤
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That it was. A masterpiece! 😘
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❤
Esme most honoured upon the Cloud x
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An absolutely brilliant poem by far more than many measures,
So I’ve more marginalia 🙂
rhyming couplets for the writhing couple.
allsome alliterative allspice.
metaphorical metta-phonics.
antithetical anatomical antonyms.
gaius-valerius-catullesque.
inesmeable.
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Thank you Bill! An apology for tardiness all tardigraded I was, but here I am now and your wondrous prose has led me to rediscover a few lines I had long forgotten, yet are really quite perfect as some kind of intro to my book;
‘To whom am I giving my charming, new, little book
polished just now with the dry pumice stone?
Cornelius, to you: for you were the one
who thought this rubbish was something,
even then, when alone you dared to unfold
the whole age of the Italians in three papyrus rolls,
incredibly learned, by Jupiter, industrious sheets.
Wherefore, take it as yours, whatever it is, this little book,
however it strikes you; and you, o Muse and patron Virgin,
let it remain through the years beyond our lifetime.‘ – Gaius Valerius Catullus 84 BCE–54 BCE
Elements of his other work do seem to fit in with some of the tones within the tome as well, hahahahaha.
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Among many cherished volumes we have rescued from the local book orphanage (library discard sale) — at the agreed adoption price of $0.50 —is the lovely
CATULLUS
Edited by ELMER TRUESDELL MERRILL
LATE RICH PROFESSOR OF LATIN IN WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS
1893
https://archive.org/details/catulluseditedby00catuuoft/page/l
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I am mired in envy sir!!! Yet pleased it has found a good home with you both. I must photograph more of my own old tomes and give them some air on the Cloud for people to see. $0.50 . . . by the Gods of all sizes that’s a fine price too!
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We look upon our orphan books as growing up here and then taking wing. When I saw a lead-in to your book, well, I just knew it wanted to fly over the pond of proverbs and mingle with the tomes of home, since all paths lead to home. Which is to say, we love to share wares of bookage. That’s what. The only question, how to post this tome without disclosing addressage? “May” we send it to Number 10? Throw it into the nearest cloud? A business locale? 🙂
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Ooooh! That’s so kind of you both ❤ I'd not accept for free, but I will do you a firm swap if you agree? I shall send one of my own ye olde tomes in return. I'd like it to be a surprise ideally, however you have a large collection so I will check in advance. How exciting! I took down your emails addresses in case shady sorts poss by the Cloud (shadier than you lot I mean points at the muttering crowds), I shall be in touch by said email afore the end of the day. Thank you, we are all three of us kindred book adoptees, which is lovely. x
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Early afternoon here means early evening there, yet still Saturday — a propitious time to reflect on the lives of our tomes, as it were. What you hear is the sound of imagined voices bouncing off book spines — music of the tomes, I shall call this a vlog (volume log) 🙂
Oldest at 162 years of age:
McGuffey’s new [-sixth] eclectic reader: exercises in rhetorical…
Title that rings truly esmeesque:
Elsie’s Holiday’s at Roselands (Elsie Dinsmore Series #2) 1898.
A book I just thought about that Lisa and I both read and enjoyed enormously:
Elizabeth Jordan, First Port of Call, 1940
A volume that is also a post on BillZiegler1947:
A.M. Lightner, The Rock of Three Planets, 1963
https://billziegler1947.com/2015/11/21/the-rock-of-three-planets/
A reference on English Talk: The Oxford Book of English Talk, 1953…
Several thousand more tomes clamor onto the stage — a hasty retreat must I effect… 🙂
Words shouted as I exit:
“A library so large that it requires four (4) cats…”
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“A library so large that it requires four (4) cats…” – Hahahahahaha. Or two dogs and a keen-eyed yet lackadaisical sloth. Nice list sir. I see your tomes points to her eyes and raise you the following;
(No idea of my oldest (possibly 1700’s)- I have picked the three closes to hand but shall start with the oldest of said three)
Oeuvres de Jean Racine – 1826 (languages other than the English tongue are not penalised upon the Cloud, for we all need sanctuary at times!)
Sesame and Lilies – John Ruskin – 1906 (Him chatting on about his thoughts in a nutshell)
The Life and Remains of Henry Kirke White – 1835
And from the latter, I give you my favourite of his verses; written to a lady (Dear Fanny) as an explanation of his character – and in truth, I like him for it!
Henry Kirke White – My Own Character.
Dear Fanny, I mean, now I’m laid on the shelf,
To give you a sketch-ay, a sketch of myself.
’Tis a pitiful subject, I frankly confess,
And one it would puzzle a painter to dress;
But, however, here goes, and as sure as a gun,
I’ll tell all my faults like a penitent nun;
For I know, for my Fanny, before I address her,
She wont be a cynical father confessor.
Come, come, ’twill not do! put that curling brow down;
You can’t, for the soul of you, learn how to frown.
Well, first I premise, it’s my honest conviction,
That my breast is a chaos of all contradiction;
Religious-deistic-now loyal and warm;
Then a dagger-drawn democrat hot for reform:
This moment a fop, that, sententious as Titus;
Democritus now, and anon Heraclitus;
Now laughing and pleased, like a child with a rattle;
Then vex’d to the soul with impertinent tattle;
Now moody and sad, now unthinking and gay,
To all points of the compass I veer in a day.
I’m proud and disdainful to Fortune’s gay child,
But to Poverty’s offspring submissive and mild;
As rude as a boor, and as rough in dispute;
Then as for politeness-oh! dear-I’m a brute!
I show no respect where I never can feel it;
And as for contempt, take no pains to conceal it.
And so in the suite, by these laudable ends,
I’ve a great many foes, and a very few friends.
And yet, my dear Fanny, there are who can feel
That this proud heart of mine is not fashion’d of steel.
It can love (can it not?)-it can hate, I am sure;
And it’s friendly enough, though in friends it be poor.
For itself though it bleed not, for others it bleeds;
If it have not ripe virtues, I’m sure it’s the seeds;
And though far from faultless, or even so-so,
I think it may pass as our worldly things go.
Well, I’ve told you my frailties without any gloss;
Then as to my virtues, I’m quite at a loss!
I think I’m devout, and yet I can’t say,
But in process of time I may get the wrong way.
I’m a general lover, if that’s commendation,
And yet can’t withstand you know whose fascination.
But I find that amidst all my tricks and devices,
In fishing for virtues, I’m pulling up vices;
So as for the good, why, if I possess it,
I am not yet learned enough to express it.
You yourself must examine the lovelier side,
And after your every art you have tried,
Whatever my faults, I may venture to say,
Hypocrisy never will come in your way.
I am upright, I hope; I’m downright, I’m clear!
And I think my worst foe must allow I’m sincere;
And if ever sincerity glow’d in my breast,
’Tis now when I swear—.
The paper in this one is lovely and rough at the edges; his remains remain in one piece too here as the cover is intact, which is more than I can say for good few of my orphans.
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Heartfelt thanks for introducing gentle vivid words that speak to us centuries after their placement on crisp and flowing leaves. Words written in analog form are analogous (couldn’t help myself there) to sounds carved into vinyl that resound fidelity through the warmth of an orange glow within a vacuum tube — or carefully incised logarithmic ticks on a slide rule that convey a visual display of every number hidden from view in every electronic calculator. Kindest regards to Jean Racine and John Ruskin (fine name wordage 🙂 ) Henry Kirke White (Hello Hank! I heart your lovely and rough at the edges paper, doncha know 🙂 ),
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You really should consider channeling your words from rivulet to stream, under bridges and o’er dell into a book of prose you know Bill. If you haven’t considered it, then do, if you’re too tired to be bothered I get you entirely, hahahahaha. I’d buy it for one and I’m sure others would. Do you have another blog to the usual one I visit in which you write pomes and the like? My memory, as you know, is dull as dishwater ten days old, but I have a feeling you might.
Hank. Hahahahaha, aye a hank of fine paperosa if ever I saw one is good old Hank. – beams
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Encouragement fuels (never the fossil kind, mind you) my writer’s soul. Hence does my soul runneth over from “rivulet to stream, under bridges and o’er dell” 🙂
Lisa tells me that I am already writing a fine book, that a proper-sized tome is champing at bits and bytes in the woodwork 🙂
Ancient memories from the previous millennium now gather dust and moss here:
https://315glenroy.wordpress.com/
I’ve also a fairly large collection of sketches that are presently clamoring for a worldwide audience of at least several potential readers. Photos from 1961 as well (annotated even). A third blog seeking nascenthood, that is what.
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Encouragement. Yes! We all need a bolster (not one that causes blisters or takes up most of the bed, mind) to produce our finest creations, and I’m pleased to hear Lisa has informed you and therefore Esme and therefore all who pass this Cloudy way that you have a book in motion, marvellous. Do open the doors on a third blog for your sketches, I’m intrigued, and one can never have too many blogs or biscuits. I also see I have been to your second blog previously, therefore some of my marbles remain intact. Thank you Bill (and Lisa for input, impact and imparting of info). x
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Love it! 😀
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Thank you Meeka!
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Meeka grinning like a loon –
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Hello, Mz. Cloud
I have a memory of you making jewellery. If I have a ring design in my head, can you make it?
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Hmm, well that depends on what kind of ring you were after and what it would be constructed of sir. Email me with what you’re after here theclockworkjewel@gmail.com
Esme waving at Mr P upon the Cloud
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I emailed you a picture 🙂
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