#richard fleming

[didanawisgi]

Dr. Richard Fleming on the Dangers with experimental Covid Injections

According to Dr Richard Fleming the evidence shows that this the SARS-CoV-2 coronavirus is engineered with Gain of Function (GoF) including mechanisms creating an Inflammo Thrombotic Response (ITR)…

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Sonnet: Richard Fleming, 'The Attic'

The attic, once unreachable, taboo in childhood, is a temple laid to waste. I climb the ladder, face the overdue clear-out of debris with a mild distaste. A View-Master, kaleidoscope, a kite, a rocking-horse in much need of repair, a reel-to-reel recorder I’d recite poems into as though speaking them ‘on air’. I dust them off, then pack them in a case and glimpse in a chipped mirror on a shelf,…

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Sonnet: Richard Fleming, 'The Masters'

They deemed us empty vessels to be filled with formulas to memorise and dates. We kids thought school was just time to be killed until we’d spill out through the ornate gates. A motley bunch, those schoolmasters of old: the idols, the degenerates, the mad: we learned that we must do as we were told or get struck by a well-aimed blackboard-pad. Four years at prep, then four years in long pants,…

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Sonnet: Richard Fleming, 'Curtains'

He draws back curtains on a winter’s day. It’s eight a.m. A charcoal sketch of treesconfronts him. All the world is greyand unappealing. Nothing guaranteesa lowering of spirits as do sceneslike these. He peers outside. The thuggish skyscowls back at him. Of all his small routines this is the worst: he knows that, with a sigh, he’ll draw these selfsame curtains yet again in no more than a few…

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[batgovernor]

Richard Fleming, 'Sunset'

At sunset he ascends the crooked hill to ruminate on times past and to weep for friends long dead and lost friends living still. Each time he climbs this hill it grows more steep. A day’s end is somehow akin to death as time bleeds out and cannot be revived. He stands on the hill’s summit, out of breath and wonders how on earth he has contrived to be the last survivor of his peers, avoided heart…

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Short poem: Richard Fleming, 'Now'

The future’s inconceivable. The past is irretrievable. So all we have is now: that’s it, yet half the time we miss that bit. ***** Richard Fleming writes: “Four short lines, two rhyming couplets, succinct, hopefully not preachy, just something that we need to take to heart and not forget.” Richard Fleming is an Irish-born poet (and humorist) currently living in Guernsey, a small island midway…

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Sonnet: Richard Fleming, 'Sunny Afternoon'

Book discarded, like excess baggage shed by someone who has rapidly pushed on into uncharted regions far ahead, he sleeps in an old deck chair on the lawn. Gulls circle, skaters on an ice-blue lake, while he dreams on, oblivious, his face unshaded by a hate which, when awake, he wears with equanimity and grace. What does he dream? Is the unreal more real than those pale gulls that spiral high…

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Odd poem: Light verse: Richard Fleming, 'The Equestropede'

George, wishing to proceed at speed, built the world’s first Equestropede. This fusion of a horse and cart, a tribute to the welder’s art, had a strong engine, 12 hp, which meant George travelled speedily. It ran on oats and gasoline, a strange concoction, unforeseen by Elon Musk and the X folk who would have seen it as a joke. George, Michelangelo reborn, treated the neigh-sayers with…

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