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There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
Although most are probably long dead, they seem happy, even excited. Perhaps they will toss triumphant hats. The wind might favour their team, even steal tossed hats, but not hope.
From the glistening trees the chorus of what was said became me, before I registered the sacrifice. Now from the yes, a small face looks up mute. My eyes are still selfish and my ears hunt a magpie's repertoire. She spills it on the blue page.
The chant of the unseens — ripple in a magpie's throat — as the sigh of a city's prayer cushions — forgiveness has the weight of faith and cloud. And then rain, symphonic on tin, washing walls of doubt.
Vile denunciations and allegations waft across the vast expanse of space and time. Flatulent Dutch ovens of bigotry aloft fly, as adult, equal love's tagged 'sin', not raft to finding solace, as surely as the Made seeks the Maker's consoling deeps. Published 21 November 2011
This place is bigger than any kingdom. It opens out, boundary-less, to everyone everywhere. It doesn't matter how many come, and the skateboarders will always get a seat at the banquet, where they will taste the wine and food, learn to sing with the host and rejoice in his good.
When I last saw you, still horizontal, interrogating the floor, you'd begun reversing Kafka — a slow transformation from beetle to vertical human. Powered by a new locomotion, you steer yourself towards the stereo; music erupts into your world, is taken entirely for granted.
Waiting, something opens without our willing it, without force ... A vastness of silent notes accompanies us, a symphony we have longed to hear of belief far beyond our interpretations ...
Christmas for crabs; their island blooms with a rare largesse of flesh mashed to pulp on rocks — such 'palatable human refuse'.
Vile denunciations and allegations waft across the vast expanse of space and time. Flatulent Dutch ovens of bigotry aloft fly, as adult, equal love's tagged 'sin', not raft to finding solace, as surely as the Made seeks the Maker's consoling deeps.
There was a man in the land of Uz whose name was Job; and he was essentially a blameless dude, and unarrogant, and he was blessed with seven sons, and three daughters, which is a startling number ...
Grabbing my hand you drew a line on your chest, moving on to make the sign of the cross. Or so it seemed. Priest! You want a priest? I said, puzzled yet pleased to read your mind. You rolled your eyes, looked up to the ceiling, slowly shook your head.
145-156 out of 200 results.