If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
Write this. We have burned all their villages
Write this. We have burned all the villages and the people in them
Write this. We have adopted their customs and their manner of dress
Write this. A word may be shaped like a bed, a basket of tears or an X
In the notebook it says, It is the time of mutations, laughter at jokes,
secrets beyond the boundaries of speech
Laughter dies out but is never dead
Laughter lies out the back of its head
Laughter laughs at what is never said
It trills and squeals and swills in your head
It trills and squeals in the heads of the dead
And so all the lies remain laughingly spread
Sucked in by the laughter of the severed head
Sucked in by the mouths of the laughing dead.
So swift the hours are moving
Unto the time unproved:
Farewell my love unloving,
Farewell my love beloved!
What! are we not glad-hearted?
Is there no deed to do?
Is not all fear departed
And Spring-tide blossomed new?
Mud is Beauty in the making,
Mud is melody awaking;
Laughter, leafy whisperings,
Butterflies with rainbow wings;
Baby babble, lover's sighs,
Bobolink in lucent skies;
Ardours of heroic blood
All stem back to Matrix Mud.
Mud is mankind in the moulding,
It’s like being on the cusp of victory
The finishing line is clearly within your grasp
The path is clear and ever bright
Ahead of you, there is no one in sight
Intense excitement is building at every second
Convinced that you will win
This elated feeling of happiness
Is rising from within
Every time I do a smell
I think it's cool, somehow just swell,
I turn around and look to see
If they caught on it was me.
I cast a frown and act confused
For all to know I'm quite bemused,
I quickly learned this is the key
To then bleat out...it wasn't me!
I feign a gaze of sad and hurt
I was in a love affair with art, which had lasted for most of my life,
As beauty graces bush tree and field, whenever hued blossoms are rife.
I started painting at a young age, and had actually sold quite a few,
And had held an exhibition, like the plum sunsets sometimes we knew!
While many considered me a success, something vital was yet lacking,
As a quest for sunshine gold, unerringly sends chill winter packing.
Being something of a perfectionist, I wanted my works to look alive,
I wonder if the day will dawn
That I will wake to find
My life is not revolving round
The world I left behind
The days turned into months
And now the months have grown to years
But still the thought of you
Can turn my laughter into tears
We’d found a love so special
But we lost it all somehow
Beside an ebbing northern sea
While stars awaken one by one,
We walk together, I and he.
He woos me with an easy grace
That proves him only half sincere;
A light smile flickers on his face.
To him love-making is an art,
And as a flutist plays a flute,