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  1. WINNER - 65310827 - ibap
  2. 65377017 - csleahey
  3. 65400290 - ArtemShilovv
  4. 65408977 - not-logged-in-1e0faaeb7f188ef4c1fc
  5. 65416436 - not-logged-in-e3e1ef5853104ce68015

WINNER - 65310827 - ibap

sidents in the walls of the mausoleum. The hollow bang on the wood and his ventriloquist really had a slightly eerie effect, even though he was telling it as a joke.

Afterwards I went to Chelsea Hospital and saw Grinling Gibbons' Charles II and the great painting by Verrio and Cook of Charles II in front of the hospital surrounded by allegorical figures. It has just been cleaned. You must certainly see both these and I hope also Saint Law-rence's church too someday soon.

Your reference to your walk to the sea brings back a lot of memories to me also: really Pett is becoming a kind of Atlantis or Eldorado to me richly charged with vivid pleasures. It was very fine and yet there was a hard wind from the sea on our day. How different from the heavy scented day you describe. How I look forward to seeing Pett again (Pett level, too) beyond your profile, or over your shoulder. past your adorable hair. What good news that the rushes are growing again - as you said they would. Do you know the Princess Toutebelle? She is a character from a fairy tale who was turned into a palm tree by the Yellow Dwarf on the day she was to marry the King of the Gold Mines. I think I shall try and write something about her and put her into a Pett landscape. If I do I think you might like to do some illustrations. A blend of the pale rose and the owl with one-eye (standing for the two levels of reality, in the garden and in imagination) would be just what is needed. What do you think? Something like this would not require much effort and it would be fun.

Here is an evening poem about Pett: called, At The Rectory.

Cool elongated phantoms fall
Sideways across the lawn
Plaintively recognising frailty
And moaning the lack of physical love
No bodies hot and rocking,
Shunted and bruised by zephyrs these
Phantoms falling vague away
Unruled by Gravity
Which gives such weight to lovers and their flesh

And here is a poem which I have only just finished but which I started in Paris and continued in the train on my way back.

Voices and footsteps from the street
Echo in this one o'clock
An owl sits on the Eiffel Tower
Its wings caress the sleepy poet

65377017 - csleahey

-sidents in the walls of the mausoleum. The hollow bng on the wood and his ventriloquism really had a slightly comic effect, even though he was telling it as a joke.

Afterwards, I went to Chelsea Hospital and saw Grinling Gibbons' Charles II and the great painting by Verrio and Cook of Charles II in front of the hospital surrounded by allegorical figures. It has just been cleaned. You must certainly see both these and I hope also Saint Lawrence's church too someday soon.

Your reference to your walk to the sea brings back a lot of memories to me also: really Pett is becoming a kind of Atlantis or Eldorado to me richly charged with vivid pleasures. It was very find and yet there was a hard wind from the sea on our day. How different from the heavy scented day you describe. How I look forward to seeing Pett again (Pett leel, too) beyond your profile, of over your shoulder. past your adorable hair. What good news that the rushes are growing again - as you said they would. Do you know the Princess Toutebelle? She is a character from a fairy tale who was turned into a palm tree by the Yellow Dwarf on the day she was to marry the King of the Gold Mines. I think I shall try and write something about her and put her into a Pett landscape. If I do I think you should do some illustrations. A blend of the pale rose and the owl with one-eye (standing for two levels of reality, in the garden and in imagination) would be just what is needed. What do you think? Something like this would not require much effort and it would be fun.

Here is an evening poem about Pett: called, At The Rector

Cool elongated phantoms fall
Sideways across the lawn
Plaintively recognizing frailty
And moaning the lack of physical love
No bodies hot and rocking,
Shunted and bruised by zephyrs these
Phantoms falling vague away
Unruled by Gravity
Which gives such weight to lovers and their flesh

And here is a poem which I have only just finished by which I started in Paris and continued in the train on my way back.

65400290 - ArtemShilovv

sidents in the walls of the mausoleum. The hollow bang
on the wood and his ventriloquisn really had a slightly
eerie effect , even though he was telling it as a joke.

Afterwards I went to Chelsea Hospital and saw Grinling
Gibbons' Charles and the great painting by Verrio and
Cook of Charles in front of the hospital surrounded by
allegorical figures. It has just been cleaned. You
must certainly see both these and I hope also Saint Law-
rence's church too someday soon.

Your reference to your walk to the sea brings back a
lot of memories to me also: realy Pett is becoming a
kind of Atlantis or Eldorado to me richly charged with
vivid pleasures. It was very fine and yet there was a
hard wind drom the sea on our day. How different from
the heavy scented day you decribe. How I look forward
to seeing Pett again (Pett level, too) beyond your profile,
of over your shoulder. past your adorably hair. What
good news that the rushes are growing again - as you said
they would. Do you know the Princess Toutebelle? She
is a character from a fairy tale who was turned into a
plam tree by the Yellow Dwarf on the day she was to marry
the king of the Gold Mines. I think I shall try and write
something about her and put her into a Pett landscape.
If I do I think you can do some illustrations. A
blend of the pale rose and the owl with one-eye (standing
for two levels of reality , in the garden and in imagina-
tion ) would be just what is needed. What do you think?
Something like this would not require much effort and it
would be fun.

Here in an evening poem about Pett: called , At the Rectory.

Cool elongated phantoms fall
Sideways across the lawr
Plaintively recognising frailty
And moaning the lack of physical love
No bodies not rocking ,
Shunted and bruised by zephyrs these
Phantoms falling vague away
Unruled by Gravity
Which gives such weight to lovers and their flesh

And here is a poem which I have only just finished but
which I started in Paris and continued in the train on my
way back.

Voices and footsteps from the street
Echo in this one o'clock
An owl sits on the Eiffel Tower
Its wings caress the sleepy poet

65408977 - not-logged-in-1e0faaeb7f188ef4c1fc

sidents in the walls of the mausoleum. The hollow bang on the wood and his ventriloquism really had a slightly eerie effect, even though he was telling it as a joke.

Afterwars I went to Chelsea Hospital and saw Grinling Gibbons' Charles II and the great painting by Verrio and Cook of Charles II in front of the hospital surrounded by allegorical figures. It has just been cleaned. You must certainly see both these and I hope also Saint Lawrence's church too someday soon.

Your reference to your walk to the sea brings back a lot of memories to me also: really Pett is becoming a kind of Atlantis or Eldorado to me richly charged with vivid pleasures. It was very fine and yet there was a hard wind from the sea on our day. How different from the heavy scented day you describe. How I look forward to seeing Pett again (Pett level, too) beyond your profile, of over your shoulder. past your adorable hair. What good news that the rushes are growing again - as you said they would. Do you know the Princess Toutebelle? She is a character from a fairy tale who was turned into a palm tree by the Yellow Dwarf on the day she was to marry the King of the Gold Mines. I think I shall try and write something about her and put her into a Pett landscape. If I do I think you do some illustrations. A blend of the rose and the owl with one-eye (standing for two levels of reality, in the garden and in imagination) would be just what is needed. What do you think? Something like this would not require much effort and it would be fun.

Here is an eventing poem about Pett: called At the Rectory.

Cool elongated phantoms fall
Sideways across the lawn
Plaintively recognising frailty
And moaning the lack of physical love
No bodies hot and rocking,
Shunted and bruised by zephyrs thes
Phantoms falling vague away
Unruled by Gravity
Which gives such weight to lovers and their flesh

And here is a poem which I have only just fnished but which I started in Paris and continued in the train on my way back.

Voices and footsteps from the street
Echo in this one o'clock
An owl sits on the Eiffel Tower
Its wings caress the sleepy poet

65416436 - not-logged-in-e3e1ef5853104ce68015

sidents in the walls of the mausoleum. The hollow bang
on the wood and his ventriloquist really had a slightly
eerie effect, even though he was telling it as a joke.

Afterwards I went to Chelsea Hospital and saw Grinling
Gibbons' Charles II and the great painting by Verrio and
Cook of Charles II in front of the hospital surrounded by
allegorical figures. It has just been cleaned. You
must certainly see both these and I hope also Saint Law-
rence's church too someday soon.

Your reference to your walk to teh sea brings back a
lot of memories to me also: really Pett is becoming a
kind of Atlantis or Eldorado to me richly charged with
vivid pleasure. It was very fine and yet there was a
hard wind from the sea on our day. How different from
the heavy scented day you describe. How I look forward
to seeing Pett again (Pett lavel, too) beyond your profile,
or over your shoulder, past your adorable hair. What
good news that the rushes are growing again = as you said
they would. Do you know the Princess Toutebelle? She
is a character from a fairy tale who was turned into a
palm tree by the Yelloe Dwarf on the day she was to marry
the King of the Gold Mines. I think I shall try and write
something about her and put her into a Pett landscape.
If I do I think you do some illustrations. A
blend of the pale rose and the owl with one-eye (standing
for two levels of reality, in the garden and in imagina-
tion) would be just what is needed. What do you think?
Something like this would not require much effort and it
would be fun.

Here is an evening poem about Pett; called, At the Rector
Cool elongated phantoms fall
Sideways across the lawn
Plaintively recognising frailty
And moaning the lack of physical love
No bodies hot and rocking
Shunted and bruised by zephyrs these
Phantoms falling vague away
Unruled by Gravity
Which gives such weight to lovers and their flesh

And here is a poem which I have only just finished but
which I started in Paris and continued in the train on my
way back.

Voices and footsteps from the street

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