╰☆☆June☆☆╮'s photos

Neptune Quay, Ipswich Marina Thank you for your visits and comments, have a great week ahead

Colour Me....a poem by Sneha Murali Colour me beautiful, colour me wild Colour me loved, colour me mild Colour me red yellow green blue Colour me a tinge, colour me hue He said, She Bled. He lied, She cried He said 'paint me red' She said 'colour me dead' He sped, she pled. He washed colours with hate instead Colour me simple, colour me plain, colour me before I'm erased again Rubbed, dubbed, snubbed and scrubbed Outline me before love fills me up Before pain is painted on my canvas Before hurt is stained on my facade Colour me strong, colour me long Colour me temper, colour me wrong He cant be; He wont be my dismay Broken brush and bristles, faded away Colour me beautiful, not just beautiful But lovely, pretty, nitty, gritty, graceful Colour me rainbow, colour me trance Colour me just one, just one more chance. *******************Thank you all for your visits, much appreciated ************************

The Palace of Westminster, also known as the Houses of Parliament or Westminster Palace, is the meeting place of the two houses of the Parliament of the United Kingdom—the House of Lords and the House of Commons. It lies on the north bank of the River Thames in the heart of the London borough of the City of Westminster, close to the historic Westminster Abbey and the government buildings of Whitehall and Downing Street. The name may refer to either of two structures: the Old Palace, a medieval building complex most of which was destroyed in 1834, and its replacement New Palace that stands today; it has retained its original style and status as a royal residence for ceremonial purposes. Thank you for your visits, much appreciated

T. S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" is a foundational text of modernism, representing the moment at which imagism moves into modernism proper. Broken, fragmented and seemingly unrelated slices of imagery come together to form a disjunctive anti-narrative. The motif of sight and vision is as central to the poem as it is to modernism; the omni-present character Tiresias acting as a unifying theme. The reader is thrown into confusion, unable to see anything but a heap of broken images. The narrator, however (in "The Waste Land" as in other texts), promises to show the reader a different meaning; that is, how to make meaning from dislocation and fragmentation. This construction of an exclusive meaning is essential to modernism. If you would like to hear an audio discussion about the poem, go here... www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00hlb38 f Thank you for your visits and comments, much appreciated

This is a macro of a fly... Richard Burton narrates the War of the Worlds youtu.be/dRV7CUU5tFk Journalist: For three days I fought my way along roads packed with refugees, the homeless, burdened with boxes and bundles containing their valuables. All that was of value to me was in London, but by the time I reached their little red brick house, Carrie and her father were gone. Forever Autumn The summer sun is fading as the year grows old, And darker days are drawing near, The winter winds will be much colder, Now you’re not here I watch the birds fly south across the Autumn sky, And one by one they disappear, I with that I was flying with them, Now you’re not here Like the sun through the trees you came to love me, Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away Through Autumn’s golden gown we used to kick our way, You always loved this time of year, Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now, ‘Cause you’re not here ‘Cause you’re not here ‘Cause you’re not here Journalist: Fire suddenly leapt from house to house, the population panicked and ran – and I was swept along with them, aimless and lost without Carrie. Finally I headed Eastward for the ocean, and my only hope of survival – a boat out of London. Like the sun through the trees you came to love me, Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes, As if to hide a lonely tear, My life will be forever Autumn, ‘Cause you’re not here ‘Cause you’re not here ‘Cause you’re not here Journalist: As I hastened through Covent Garden, Blackfriars and Billingsgate, more and more people joined the painful exodus. Sad, weary woman, their children stumbling and streaked with tears, their men bitter and angry, the rich rubbing shoulder with beggars and outcasts. Dogs snarled and whined, the horses bits were covered with foam…. And here and there were wounded soldiers, as helpless as the rest. We saw tripods wading up the Thames, cutting through bridges as though they were paper – Waterloo Bridge, Westminster Bridge…. One appeared above Big Ben. Journalist: Never before in the history of the world had such a mass of human beings moved and suffered together. This was no disciplined march – it was a stampede – without order and without a goal, six million people unarmed and unprovisioned, driving headlong. It was the beginning of the rout of civilisation, of the massacre of mankind. A vast crown buffeted me toward the already packed steamer. I looked up enviously at those safely onboard – straight into the eyes of my beloved Carrie! At sight of me she began to fight her way along the packed deck to the gangplank. At that very moment it was raised, and I caught a last glimpse of her despairing face as the crowd swept me away from her. Like the sun through the trees you came to love me, Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away Through Autumn’s golden gown we used to kick our way, You always loved this time of year, Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now, ‘Cause you’re not here ‘Cause you’re not here ‘Cause you’re not here Journalist: The steamer began to move slowly away – but on the landward horizon appeared the silhouette of a fighting machine. Another came, and another, striding over hills and plunging far out to sea and blocking the exit of the steamer. Between them lay the silent, grey Ironclad “Thunder Child”. Slowly it moved towards shore; then, with a deafening roar and whoosh of spray, it swung about and drove at full speed towards the waiting Martians.

Your Relationship With Nature....A poem by Francis Duggan Your relationship with Nature speaks volumes about you Do you only see Nature as a means to financial gain or are you one of those who Love Nature for her beauty and love her wildlife and her trees And her rivers, lakes and mountains and her fields and flowers and bees? Your relationship with Nature tells of the sort of person that you are Do you see Nature's protectors as those who have gone too far In their dispute with the developer in their fight for every tree If this be so you support the environmental vandals or so 'twould seem to me? Your relationship with Nature about you more can say Than all of your friends and enemies can or so 'twould seem that way For your apathy to Nature tells of your inner strife And your attitude to Nature is your attitude to life. Your relationship with Nature says far more about you Than anyone else of you can say as their words may not be true For if you love Mother Nature and with her live in harmony Then you are working for the good of all of humanity. Thank you for visiting, great to see you Merci

Texture by picmonkey C'est un moment difficile pour les plantes dès maintenant. Le printemps est à peine arrivé, et le sol est très froid et humide encore. Les agriculteurs ont un très mauvais moment .. cultures périssent, les prix alimentaires vont augmenter, et plus et plus .... Avoir une belle journée

Texture by picmonkey Tantric waves dancing at night... a poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet. Behold tantric waves dancing at night the moon over them, what a sight! Moments will soon pass, day is near, Dark is beautiful, get it clear. Darkness in the deep depth of the soul lightning strike my heart the heart that is asleep The rainbow, a breathtaking sight! So are the stars, twinkling at night. Angels are about, have no fear, Dark is beautiful, get it clear. To read the rest of the poem click here f

Sprowston Manor was built in the 16th century as a manor house and is now part of the Marriott International group of hotels. The hotel is located at Sprowston near the city of Norwich. The golf course at Sprowston Manor replaced the hotel's original layout in 2003, incorporating an additional 20 hectares to produce a course measuring 6500 yards, with a par of 71 and including 70 bunkers. Thank you for your visits and comments, much appreciated