Clemency Of Prognificant Lytreses In Baste & Hurd Divination

Props should go out to the barrier reef and the back fence and the chasming of frozen quarter plash. From the high and mounted passes to arbolic imbridges, the frequent of pathos in the culture and mythic tantamount of available avenues for traverse and hop a long freight.

There is a space of exemplar consistency in the cornea of the animalir eye. The cascades, the fountains, the carousels, and the mansions in heaven. The meadows brooken tythed with sedgerose and lorilie holt. How courageous the manager of torper. His ancient and menial store. Always returning from near points nil. The mile mast, the monarch milk, and the doting modus of apparently tardy deli cleavers of a nosegay to the proper feat of probisquine receptivity.

What with no available equipped to make out glad. With a turn of the wheel there is simply the downed gait. Alrighty slant that meets with dymn in mentions passing. Quaint and contrapted the semifores of flyting triage in arbitrary lessons dusty stamp. As would come about in seeking out the penchant for no more reckless dismissiveness of the abrupt and calamitous.

If the crashing of the bill upon the emperor’s plate proves a jagged course of salted porpuquentity. As is it to assail your tastes with surfiet and to the point of blindness. Beyond sympathetic requittal. Assuage only in remorseful mulling of fruit upon the palates of head of stadium cheer squads.

Time befitting an old gray wanderer’s domain. The running passes of field and stream come to reckoning. A crackerjack sketchbook in the hand socks of the feigning auditor. A public Canty told yahoo Jimmy not to get stuck pulling sharkteeth out of the sand. That’s the way you will tout horses instead of laurels. And all will be good with thoroughbreds and doodaw

A slakers tin it make out good cup for a water fill in the spring thaw when the little wheat remain. And the year round grass peaks back through. There are bout hilly ho the prayer go out for temperance and miller’s crown. A bit of gumption yes, but the teat toll on witless cats atop drawn tourrilous poles.

Well it is of little interest but for its subterfuge. It’s grinny by the nape thick. Start, and start again. So for nimrod and runaway Jim the wild wins. And it’s nice to have baseplayers in the band. And for the blues to get an occasional banjo strum. Holy moly if only it made sense on multiple fronts all juggled about and periodically brought back to the merry need for acquaint.

Saws, and lineages. Cut and drawn. The blessed jig. What career of rampant tropicals to have the goose down by the backwater creek just watching an apple floating on the current of its stream. Slowly, much slower than falling. Lazy, in a lazy in the stream.

Cross Correspondances

Looking on my baby this morning I am reminded of the time we have come through in reaching this day. I am reminded of those who have helped us with a smile and I am reminded of those who have lent a helping hand.

A gratitude journal. A writing partner. A constructive critic. A head above the waters mentor. A discerning eye. A sounding board for ideas. A fair witness. A practical enthusiasm. A diviners’ rod. A broken in pair of shoes. An attentive child.

Point of reference. The pleeched wall of an entertaining estate. Many emboldened Sunsets of the welltrodden floor. The Linden glam of trepidatious children making out skirts in the surrender of conceits unto the acquaint with the elder. Whiles and fret. In the decisions of necessary amends.

A garland by the spin. Eloquent hand me downs of the honor and the thumb. Green and hopeful of the bounty on the gate of the festal host at the evening’s door. With exhibits of extension. All repeating to each other the signs. A pressure spot. The arm and Armada. Brings high upon the swollen sea.

High and tight. Drawn cover of rubbing paper. The sand on the smooth talking tourney. A step out for the fillybuster. Can’t have to man window breaks in the glam watermelon sugar. Gumballs, edibles, and trout farms. Woody the woodpeck. Zippy, puppy, poppy, puppy, love.

The rye discerner and her swaddles of duck. A ferning gate by the riposte of a striding cart and setti on the washboard streaming thrawl. Got to get to the church on time. Somebody call a doctor. The limbic creation test splits the hide of the soft cream. Venus in wiles. Sporting a riffy for the bag.

The conjuration catapults a lacey conscience. There are the remove and the hand me down. Saltwater strag and the knotty pine is in the river bed. With all the confluence of little Bitty bleak water lulls of current and lapping tide.

To the quick with ye wallowing toads. Throat beck great leaps of the fatted calf. Run amuck you gals of the leathern boot. There are a bang and a bulk to the bulwarks now. These stevedore cutthroats have quit the ruckus all right. Sitting on cot and floor. With arms of Summer closing fast. The seaside shanty has glibbed it’s freshet and it’s languid pulse too.

With a righteous look ahead the exit sign leers frequent. The parade has not a rears to hidder it’s camp away. No this joke has too few faces to recognize appropriate changes. One between the other, as is, and should always be.

Traveling Blues Concordance

Too many shoes to wear out on the street. Leaves the foot of your good old king sore and travel worn. To get back in the swing of things the horses are saddled. The rye canting song of jim chiminy has outside the post to get another matter on by. The rider gets to its righteousness and the woman and children race with the rabbit and the egg.

Numer, letre, and tone. These have the heights of sky and the depths of a sundry perversity to beat the time. A betting game of telephone booths. Run in leery eyed contests of a hampered van. Levee the draft in the cogitations of missed busses and lay back trains. Make romantic a windy beach with the augur of a lucred wreck. Traipse in ragtail siminy throughout the diurnal period.

Learn the ropes of the terrestrial condition. Rein in the horseplay of racing coursers. Lead the march beneath the pale moon of an early days meander. Look back high and low for that sign that this is not dissolution in the lightness of fantasy. Take each round through the gate sans indulgence and be not unaccustomed to the passion play. The days will wax and they will wain. It is the Hyperborean commitment. A trip of cats in the ramble and row of concommitant relations. A pride of the ephemeral and chaste.

To growl pleasantly upon the hillock and berm. A respite’s pace for youngsters in the brood. Wresting the gracious harbingers’ their traps. That a lady may carry the way in bringing on the hungers of a panged heart. Identifying the longing of the church for the cross.

A halted line of workhorse. The road gear and swag of a traveling manage of concerts. All the wise and rye dalliances with the favorable Mrs. To brave the conduct of the tamers and wranglers of the equine boss. Work and play. Love and sustinence. Sleep and interaction.

The packing in and packing out of treasure and debris. To see the winding hill and bend in the wood for well cared after portions of the forested country. To identify the embellished retreat for its pleeched walls of bowery and Linden and to know that like a ship at sea all is not so well with the captain and his men.

The force of the spirit can fall disparately into the hands of the self loathing. What a horrible romance it is to get lost in drink. How uncertain our culture does become in trying to lay deception upon the generations. How to believe in those generations without forgeting the self. I think the selfless can be awfully needy people. And how may we forgive if the resurgence of past transgressions is the faulty laud of persons at the heel of our own shitty provender.

Back on the road and traveling enmasse. 1,2,3 maybe 4 periods within a system of lifetimes that I can remember living without the confines of a settled home. Seasonal or year round. The lights of heaven twinkle from the edge of a family fire. The circle of wagons gets the oily treatment for the squeaky wheel. The horses receive a pleasant tide of oats in a mash. The children linger after supper and as the men tap whiskey some marm of the householders’ begins in on a song or a story.

Like it or not the days pass much in the same way throughout the seasons. One might just complain or comment on the weather or local constabulary or even recently having been snubbed at suggestion of a romantic walk by a young woman decidedly in need of her space. No more to throw a mark at the rents. To have care for a little child so curious as to the maids whereabouts for moments beyond the easy feet that have that child only so far into his journey.

Likened in the vestures of life as may permit his taking to the floor to treat with another youngin or else one of the family dogs. These also limited in adherence to the rules of the caravan and knowing the bout of digression not worthy of the trust in there compassion as beasts of the friendly persuation. Also haply glad and attentive to the banter of the clandestined folk holing up in a pocket of the woods.

This for a week while waiting for a stock of supplies necessary to end a passage South to finish out Winter. Going to be near the seaside in warmer climes and within easy reach of the smoked fish. A meal known to be of a good sustinence and resource for their traveling ilk to at times feast on.

Glad to remember and glad to have been a part. Retired for now thinking sometimes on a new start. A little timey in the country, a little timbre sounding in town. The roads and the miles extend while the night camp circles the wagons round.

Eureka Discerns Eppiphany

Eureka! The matters and consequences. That must be pro-active in the way the cross is turned, in the way it is situated, in the way that it rides.

And ride it does. Like a loaded wallet on the backs of two shoulder to shoulder mules. And you are their skinner. Westernized or not you have a dream in the band. The good life comes on around here each morning at Sunrise. Where all harmonies are set in tune with the hustle bustle goings oncoming of day. 0nly the grave arya that is Earth lays beyond. Where is the very discernment of that contentment.

How shall we go about it. The general returning to the light. Upon the morning, in the air, and on the sea. Dark soiled Earth remains pitched in the the carrying sack of the traveling sage. To greet one or another persons, as a passerby or a remittent friend. With salud! And Hola! Bien. Y tu?

I am looking for a garden and it’s gate. I can hear the birds chirping within and I know the smell of it’s flowers like a familiar lady’s posie. But I cannot find the slip that is the gate. Do I need hop on one foot, shake out my arms over my head, get down on all fours and crawl? Possibly the gaits of the walking path will lead me down a road less traveled and in exploring the melee of divergent courses I will wind up in my own little garden. With it’s waterpots, and tin cups.

I tend to enjoy the great outdoors. I also enjoy the great white North. So some compromises have needed to be made. I have needs sit by the stove to warm my feet. I have want to burrow down beneath my stack of blankets in the overnight. I care to rise with the morning and put on my Winter duds and make good on another piece of the calends round.

It would prophet me a loose goose to try and put forth my better efforts today and stand firm in my offering of the ready helping hand. To give aid to those whom are living only a partial life. To stand by those who are not fulfilled in either the reckoning or acceptance of the choices that occasionally have to be made about one’s own fate.

Prayer!

An idea. And a good one. Yes a real gooden. No, I am good.

Prayer,,,

Thanks!

Kettle Bell

Looking into the gloom in an amusing and songwriting kind of typecast need to presently go about the ruins of this late war. Without fatuous displays make good on my coventry and in God’s good service, try to at least, to bring about weal in earning my wage. If this need to attest, to query, to make good on promises and petitions. And the descritory confluency of ramshackle husbandmen speaking of womins and lambs. Also Clara, and Elsy and Bessy, and May.

That the fielding of ryeman and crossbearer go passable into the drink and are reliable beholding unto the pools of a shoreline ocean at low tide. Good enough to collect supplicant realities of the rolling sands and the cut loose bottoms. With currents of the old whaleroad coming to bouts. Drawn upon the sea from the outlet of rivers worldwide and deluvian in their release to the high spirits. Clowning the rafts and jambs in their escapement of fealty unto the campus of those broad waters.

A crow’s harbour of the woeful and right to pity. A last ditch effort to get up to snuff in the lackaday and upright and relieve the hoveled and the pinched. With the nuance of charming clatter and the charge of a hospitible drum. Hoops and solace in the turning gait of independents’ that quivels and spits, burns out and fiercely requits the display of teeth.

With every other semblance to the reel strayed out to a glen of the fielding career. The gear and the Wright’s foot. A kings’ ransom for the fearing of civility. The goat’s head soup of a cavalier and assuming despondency. How it clears the roof and supports the filch for his carrolus innurement of medicinal blends and denatured tinctures.

A breadth of cover inclement to the diaspora of run down streets. The emblazoned recalcitrant, a stuffed goose of the bonnie pike. How now brown cow. Where does your garten frail its picts? Are the wicked and parsimonious the same flagrants of repasse as the rioter and his ill acquainted dogs. Not to die outright but within the guise of the earthly church. That sovereign empowered in the creature beats and elemental scions of the dutiful and fruited.

Surrendering to the clandestine hinterland of subjugated viands of green. As if the running down of burr and tawn. Where in the sidereal cogent of placer rhymes and cordial assays makes good on the all to often henpecking of dispassionate qualms and painted glare of a south going mystic.

The book gets thrown. The laurel crown it falls along with the thorny and them gone up and died. Only the ivy seems to understand the apparent lack of penchant honesty in the tooth gnarled pugh and quarrelous hangers on. If you don’t know then you are a lying fool. Got no real need to identify with any other than the devil and his Satan stick. Always in repair and high tallying to the tune of ignorance too toward earth-centric consistency. A regularus mood disparity amongst the locus of illegitimate sinners. At taught with the steal of the official broken plate diners. Without, the gone mayers just continue to place their jimmy the crow spinners and say I me mine you stupid farce of Witchhazel and blazing beginners. When the lie ties off it is at the betrayal of its persuasion. Not too many freakshow winners left to bring in papa his review of the wicked kempt treats.

No most of those people wound up kicking themselves in the head before they could get out of the way of the mess they were bringing. Eh? What’s that? No repulse for your thoroughfare. But I thought you were assuaged in your horrendous reprieve. Don’t tell me your back here for being such a complete pain in ass was all over again. Well the sickness of disease does enjoy the voluntary slave. Much booty to go to their bouts with chainsaws and watchers and in short order bring on the remove of the shrubbery. From its reminder, from its satiety, from its mien.

Going Down On The Grange

When Winter tidyness does not the stur assuage. When borderline frequencies don’t make out their want of a king to just any olde day. When the wine imbibes and the ale fades away. Well then how about some heavy sleep. Big time dreaming hum of a bus wold rolling down the great hiway. The dream, the interlude, the bright honors of a psalmody passing through. The rapture of humdrum, homespun, verified downtime.

The freshness of Spring, you see, is a feared thing, a scurrilous far off thing. Let the bunnies and the floral honeys plan for their roosts down in the comb, yeah. But let us not wretch at the fodder of our very own imimitable handles on the hours’ conquest of respite. If nothing is to be planned well then plain and simple nothing is to be garnered from without having its way.

A levee on the honest accords of want. To need to find a taker on by the shot loe tasking of recurrent shift in the pleasures of soon somedays returning to one with the fief of one’s rider. To go out on the lawn with becks and maybe Is and to guest with both the flora and the fauna of Mother Nature’s now open again lodges.

Completely in line with your wishes, mind you, and yet with her head above the waters in a way saying. Take it and take to it well. The wrest is that of sleep and no great and obfusicating burden of redown has need to bring anymore than recourse to the simple need to draw bridges before setting to many of one’s batches out on the tables.

Can you imagine the thoroughfares all opening up, just that famished, and saying Mamma feed me. My belly pocket is so empty I am squimmish to so much as lift the 1st of your wonderful cups of tea. Must have something from the larder to go by. Cereals and their grains. Dairy of cheeses and creams, the carnivore barkers and the fire of their most conditional lights.

Links set up one by one and given to the truck and bumper. A tilt a whirl sound of hot ballsap pine. The broacher in the loping gait of accustomed foggy woodland breakdownd amidst the sunshine. A kind of magic reserved for those things top drawer. The climactic exegisis of one gone tolerant head of the bobs. A booked sooth of mindful ribs and bouts.

The japing old monkey’s 1st Son. Glad to be held up to the discernment of ordinary and enviolate realms of the environment. In both locale and voice committed to the fealty of no such overdrawn solution. To the quick with you and loud. So that you will at least remember having had it as if things or rather familiars were going otherwise.

For the duration and of a destiny to more than survive. To prosper and to let go of and to outwardly receive those gifts in the light of jests. On the floor, between friends and older than the hills in their suggestions that these quips, these pips, should be more than convenient. They should actually in fact be saved.

Courageously and with much vigor. Lest the abased seat of time should have to quake for having not been given proper time to awaken from its lengthy drowse and commit to new joya and daylit productive hours of the steppy and the smiling phase.