Tennyson trimmed continued


Silvery faded

Furze – and still light silver, O

Twinkling, fades not yet.



Without care I bear

This weight wild knit.  Rounded, large –

He springs to linger.



Form that Time reveals

Removed – awful thought, the loss,

Place warm hands have prest.



Marvel, beckoning

The sudden hand – come, touch, and

Muffled round, bring life.




Winds begin to rise:

Makes the wild cloud stir – and blown,

Whirl’d, and wildly curl’d.



Tennyson’s In Memoriam trimmed

Oh man, let it grow

From more to more, on thy face,

Vaster, wise manhood.



Love the raven gloss:

Ah, sweeter the long result,

To clasp and to boast.



The bloom, the flower,

The root’s stubborn hardihood –

Grow, net of fibres.



Upon the threshold

Of the lip, sweet wov’n web,

A natural good.



Morning, and I say –

“A heart pleasure, a deep vase

I darest not break.”


Coarsest is to feel,

Half reveal and half conceal,

Enfold against cold.



Morning to evening,

Here today, here tomorrow,

Hair perpetual.



Clasp’d after dark, not

Ghastly, a guilty thing, no –

Here is life again.


In bower and hall,

Chambers all, in rain and wind,

The bloom of delight.



Friend, brother, draw on

Thy lost Arthur, spread thy full

Ruffle, the dear waft.



Hands clasp’d in the toss

Of tangle, home-bred clover,

Bright trembling chalice.


George Meredith – Sideburns

She wept                                                                                                    Swallows

Light                                                                                                          We heard;

Low sobs,                                                                                                          Back

Called into her,                                                                                     To a summer;

Mute,                                                                                                   The largeness

Venomous;                                                                                                       Grew,

The long darkness,                                                                                       Became,

Pulses                                                                                                       Robbed us

Of memory,                                                                                               Of the year

Of silence,                                                                                             Multitudinous,

Heavy,                                                                                                           And like

Moveless;                                                                                     The upper crimson,

Regret scrawled over                                                                                Robbed us;

Effigies,                                                                                                        Mercifully

Their marriage-tomb,                                                                                The twilight,

Wishing                                                                                                       Swan sail.

Captions for Victorian beards

Fringe beard c.1870, spread from the margins.  Vintage beard, really attractive,

Top design, quilted mouse, quality textile optical. 


Me-love facial salute, covering wood-face, the dumb vacant disease chin. 


Covering dumb gentlemanly loneliness of a love-salute, Matin-bell love-salute. 


Sounding so facial when it does foot the chin, sounding dumb of brain first.


Bird atlas.  Two birds for sure … etched birds in flight.  Only non-toxic paint. 

Bird atlas.  Slightly itchy history.