Long Efficiently Poems
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Want effective and long-lasting house plumbing? Here are few examples of the most excellent pipes for house plumbings that will last forever.
The most reliable pipes for house plumbing are ones that will persist for a long time, as well as efficiently do the job.
ABS pipes are the most reliable drainage pipes but PVC is most suitable for underground settings in commercial and industrial constructions. PVC is more heavily used in the United States, where ABS is less popular. Both work well, it all comes down to the codes and allowances of your particular region.
Water
Copper and PEX are the most suitable for the use for water services, with PEX being the most affordable by a landslide. PEX is very simple to work with and cut, as well as attach fittings too. This cuts down the price of material as well as labor time for a plumber.
Copper is more costly, and type M Copper is not permitted in all circumstances as it has thinner walls, but it can be utilized for various domestic applications. Type L copper is more easily employed for commercial and industrial settings as it has thicker walls and will last much longer.
Copper seems fabulous but needs a bit more time to operate with. The positive side of copper though is that it is a more rigorous material and is less likely to get pierced(although possible). Copper needs soldering (melting metal with a low melting point around the pipe and fitting) as well as sanding the element to guarantee it is clear of dirt and grime that necessarily builds upon the outer wall of the pipe and then implementing flux to make it more manageable for a flame to get attracted to the interior of the fitting for that watertight seal.
Cast Iron for drainage
Besides ABS and PVC for drainage pipe, you can also have cast iron pipe for your drains. These are also a more costly option for drainage (like copper is to PEX) and takes more time to work with.
This pipe also demands a bit more care to be hung from the roof as earlier discussed, it’s heavier.
When it comes to plumbing, your code is power. Whatever choice you make, be certain the hydraulic hose fittings are to code as a lot of stuff may be immediately sold, but may not be to regulations. This could lead to crashes in plumbing and accidents.
Deep pain bores into scalp as eyelids struggle to open;
Glaring sun menaces eyes as they face the sky boldly.
First thought dawns on me like elixir; I'm alive!
The vast blue sky seems to smile upon my spirit holy.
Hands try to grasp hot sand as I wade to turn on stomach.
Pitiless grains escape between my fingers, mockingly.
In tremendous effort, I crawl to nearest patch of shade.
My heart pumps heavily while sweat oozes out profusely.
Images flash; I'm pushed off yacht by lover unfaithful.
Mock inability to swim; I acted it wisely.
His satisfied grin is all I could see before diving.
Skills of past champion revived, I swam courageously.
This virgin island, is haven to me now;
Life's strong in me! Branches I shove away, decisively.
Cautious exploration; Travelers trees welcome me.
With stick sharp I poke at it, water flows abundantly!
I do drink to my content and refresh myself while hares
jump around; I whisper to them and one stops daringly.
"Angel" I mumble as I follow it; on water melon I stumble.
Food! Hit with stone; humid sweet red flesh to wolf greedily.
Twigs, I gather and "SOS" I draw on the white expanse.
Angel from hole, under branched tree, beckons me temptingly.
A red bird hovers; branches dry and green, some Ravenala leaves,
enough to give me most desired tree lodge, marvelously.
"Now, some thorough exploration." Angel nods approval.
Disgust filled heart softens and I long to hug her fondly.
On other side of island, I land in a rocky area.
Good heaven! Rainwater is trapped in a pond; so lovely.
The sun sets the direction and I venture inland.
Swarm of mosquitoes invade my burnt skin, voraciously.
I run like a mad to land among wild peppermint.
No mosquito here…repellent herbs! I deduce quickly.
Handfuls I pluck, to rub on my body at night.
My watermelon shell, now dry, serves me efficiently.
Pipik, my red bird and Angel watch "friends, how to light this tinder nest?"
Eureka! here, my heart shaped glass pendant gleams suddenly.
Settled nearly for a week now, hope never leaves me.. I'm to live!
2/02/17
2nd and 4th line of each quatrain has 14 syllable.
(checked on howmanysyllable.com)
Placed 4th on 6 winners (judged 7/02/17) Tropical Island by Shadow Hamilton
Happiness, happiness, happiness
The one thing we all seek
What does it really mean
The million tonnes of gold we hoard
Or the millions of cash stashed in a bank’s vault
Fleets of expensive cars cruising the streets
Or diamond ornaments glittering for all to see
Big parties on yachts and clouds just to please
Or a program on tevee just so they may see who it really is
All these yet at the end of the day the heart is still not at ease
The look within doesn’t satisfy nor please
So what really is missing
Happiness surely does exist
And the truth is that there isn’t a price to it
Just a smile and a honest heart spreads the enthusiasm with ease
Hearts can’t be bought but friendships can be bribed
It’s a choice we all must make
To live at ease in adequate means
Or to cheat and connive to acquire wealth built of lies
At the end of it all, the only room big enough is the one in your soul
At the end of the day
...the only compliment worth to be heard is that which you give yourself
The only true best friend one can have is the one in the mirror
For with that friend is where happiness begins
How can you love others if you can’t love yourself
How can I honestly appreciate others if I can’t appreciate myself
How can they find happiness if they don’t know what it means
Happiness is the only thing that the blind can see
...better than the ones who see
Happiness is the only thing that the deaf can hear
...better than those who hear
Happiness activates the limbs of the handicapped
While those appropriately moulded still don’t function efficiently in it
Happiness is a destination to which no one can cheat
For it requires a sincere pass in each and everyone’s mind and heart
You may cheat me with your smile
But you can’t cheat the you inside
It’s not about me, it’s not about us...It is about you
This reality is a syndicate for your happiness
Question is, do you recognise it
You can afford to buy off all your past
And keep it under lock and throw away the keys
What matters is now
...for it is here that happiness is to be found
Looking back only presents regrets
Looking ahead only presents worries
It is only when you are happy that tomorrow promises to be a blessing
Once there was a land where stanadrds were high and milk and honey flowed,
As freely, and as efficiently as if they were water.
Every year the locals took stock of how much they had improved on the
Year before and raised the bar even further.
Sure they had setbacks but they set the bar high,
Only taking notice of what the rest of the world was doing
When a bar somewhere was set higher,
Then the bar would be raised to the higher level,
Though never was the bar lowered to standards set elsewhere.
Then one day things began to change,
As the land that had disappeared under the radar,
Once more appeared out of the mist
And caught the attention of a world that was in awe of
How high they had raised their bar.
And as they flocked to in to see for themselves just how high the bar could go,
They were not shy in turning their awe into praise.
At first shoulders were shrugged and the movement of the bar was unaffected,
Until the flattery that had before arrived as a trickle became a river
And the vanity of the locals rose to match that flow.
From there it was all downhill as the locals for the first time in living memory,
Started resting on their laurels,
And the bar began to wobble,
Before falling a notch or two.
Still, there was no need for concern,
After all the bar was set higher than in other lands.
As those who came from them were quick to point out.
And anyway the locals were now too busy building their own vanity units,
To wonder how low the the bar needed to go,
Before the rest of the world stopped singing their praises and
Started saying we told you so.
And lost interest in the land of milk and honey,
At the bottom of the world,
Populated by Kiwis who for a while were sitting at the top of the tree,
With the eagles and who had taught the rest of the world
To soar to new heights.
Oh if you who came to their shores in awe,
Had only taken note and chosen a different song to sing to the locals,
How much sweeter could the milk and honey have been,
With the bar raised high enough to be seen from Mars.
Des had been my neighbour now for nigh on close to twenty years,
And from a humble retiree back then, old age so quickly nears.
His wife passed away ten years ago, so Des lived on his own;
A total independent man yet hated to be left alone.
I’d see him leaning on his gate and watching up and down the street,
so I’d wander over from my place and have a morning meet,
when Charlie, Mal and ‘Whinging Winny’ must have heard no doubt,
for they would join us in no time, destroying what we talked about.
But Father time has run us down, as we walk his rocky road,
Mal and ‘Whinging Winny’ passed away, and poor old Charlie’s slowed.
Des became my biggest worry though, being in his eighties now,
for his mind was wandering too far, and so I knew somehow -
The time had come for neighbour Des to leave his loved abode,
and be tended in a nursing home for symptoms that he showed,
but there’s no shame in slowing down when you reach a grand old age,
so I left Des with the nurses for comfort in his latter stage.
Visitors for Des were few; in fact I was the only one he had.
And to see Des in the state he is, in my mind’s rather sad.
My conversation topics now are based on his surround …
“Are the nurses good? How is the food? Are you sleeping sound?”
Des was quite contented now, and mentioned “Everything’s just right,
I get one Viagra tablet and Milo every night”.
Could this be a shocking scandal! For old men the drug’s designed,
but I didn’t push the issue yet the question’s on my mind.
I tried asking personal questions hoping Des could understand
until it was time to bid farewell, and so I shook his hand.
But this Viagra issue seemed to me to need clarification …
though I understood the Milo, but not Viagra medication.
Then at the desk on my way out my fears were quickly put to rest,
when the nurse explained the reason, for she efficiently confessed,
“Des needs a cup of Milo, to settle down at night” she said,
“And a Viagra tablets given - to stop him rolling out of bed!”
I do so love harvest thanksgiving,
That time of year which celebrates agriculture,
When church flips from being god-centred,
To remembering farmers and good food manufacture.
It’s not an Armenian or Amish allusion,
‘Cos tins are given no problem;
Natural remedies aren’t primed as better,
Than medicines, to the mind and body superior.
As a child who regretfully attended church,
I thought on that day of poverty and Christian giving:
That their offer was kind of a respectable food bank,
A silent redistribution of wealth, income and living.
No food bank is respectable, of course,
But they can channel wealth efficiently and appropriately;
And that the Church offers such for just one day,
Should be celebrated as a positive sign most definitely.
God is sometimes just such an abstraction,
Academically, he’s for the objective mind;
He’s not comforting when your needs are just so real:
Physical, emotional, psychological: he can be so unkind.
When you just need a meal on the table,
And need it supplied by someone else,
Whether by government, food bank or church,
It’s a person that's there, not divine impulse.
I thought it was moral to impose that on believers,
As a kid who just so wanted to talk and shoot,
About real mechanisms, real structures and methods,
Which made life’s systems, dynamics, art and roots.
Being grateful for food, diet and health,
Eclipses salvation humility and responce;
Eternal purpose lays as distant and non-tangible,
To people and belongings which have an unimpeachable force.
Farmers need to be remembered, given relevance,
For their labour, dedication and sheer love of the job;
It’s that occupation and training which ensures,
Our basic daily needs are met not just with contours.
The harvest basket every year means to me hope,
Nourishment for those who starve and scrape;
Church wealth rides so high and mighty on average,
That this real examination is something to advocate.
Independence Day, July 4th, had long been one of my favorite holidays.
Coming just three days before my birthday, I claimed it as part of
my personal celebration,
This particular July 4th started out in the usual happy tradition.
Our children were old enough to have their own exciting plans
and my husband Cliff and I were going to have a three day vacation
by ourselves.
He was up first as was usual and brought a cup of coffee to me in bed,
sitting beside me as we talked and finalized our plans. He teased me a bit
about the gift he was planning for my birthday.
It was month end reports at my office and I had a few to finalize
before I could feel free about taking time off. I would be gone just
a few hours and then the two of us would have a glorious three days by
ourselves. This was an uncommon and highly anticipated event.
I worked quickly and efficiently in the quiet of the office, until the
annoying ring of the telephone.
Ivan, Cliff’s friend was on the line.
“Cliff is in the hospital., come at once.”
“What happened?” I asked, knowing I didn’t want to know.
“Just get up here.” He sounded angry.
Randy, one of my fellow employees had stopped in at the office and hearing
my end of the conversation insisted he would drive me to the hospital.
Ivan met us at the front of the hospital and blurted out at my question, “He’s dead.”
Randy held me up as I started to fall. A doctor was at my side as I listened to the story.
Cliff had picked up Ivan at his home and they were driving down the street of our little
town, when without warning he dropped over in the seat. Luckily Ivan was able to
stop the car so there had been no accident.
My perfectly vital, never ill for a moment husband, had died from a massive heart attack.
The doctor gave me something to calm me as I called my children.
The rest of the day is vague but those first hours are engraved on my mind forever.
By: Joyce Johnson won an 8th
Wibble wibble wobble is a typhoon of trouble in a whirling mist of beautifully arranged but mediocre sand castles. Sand castles are great to live in. They carry the might of the ocean. The deep depth of tidal spore. And the secret passageways of the sea whisperers. But sinking to a island that was once erect is very very very interesting indeed for information of indoctrination is merely a symbolic training map to ensure that the human brain is not elevated to it's primeval logic and the capacity therefore is closed, shut, and generally imprisonment is a format through the chains and charms of entertainment booming through rays to hypnotize and halt and to wave a bended stick to stir a non used recipe. When the fortresses of Neptune are discovered by a Neptunian the possibility of an ice cracking is quite a lucid idea. Much akin to a pass the parcel game on a massive train that tootles along over historic trails. Disturbed migration. Destroyed deities. Designed by demons and dug out dignity. But the princess is the royalty from an underscore that has been ignored but soon to enlighten even the most rockiest of landscapes. In hearts. In souls. And primarily in a souk. Wearing a pretty sari and carrying a nine eyed serpent. Good. God grabbing Gaia greedily. Gestational germinations gaming. And a turret talking to a rampart. Fantastic news for a pretty little eight inch worm on a boat journey down and up the river that resembled a hooded cobra when above the earth. And jt is at this point that the figures made will be adjusting the landing strips for the era of the evening is an evening of an earthly effigy. Efficiently placed. And a time of tick tock tick. So take rosin and whirl around the buildings. Hahaha swim suit on a suitcase swimming. Hahahaha beany bran. Xxxxx restitution z. This us the p Y Q REPORTING ON THE GROUND live from 89.0 in a hail of hoses hosing horses. La la Lola. 670,001,300,201. X z x z c vb fjfkrk
Form:
Suribachi
At the base of Suribachi
Within reach of the beach,
The mountain towers as I shrink
Into guts of hate,—malignant:
With a rifle and bayonet, and grenades
And murdering hands
To choke the existence
Out of living things.
They all looked the same to me;
Refusing to quit,
Hating more than me
If that’s possible to believe.
I loathed the air to breathe.
My lips spewed spit.
I swore I would survive
Executing orders efficiently.
I question humanity, my sanity,
Victory VJ Day;
(I feel weak on my feet,—unsteady)
On that day I felt strong,—brave.
So why do I return?
The memories are unpleasant.
My conscience unmanageable,
My soul unreprieved.
The flag appears smaller
And the mountain lower
On this waterless sulfur island
In the middle of nowhere,
And the beach desolate
With no one running for cover.
My heart died on Iwo Jima.
My body alive to tell the story.
***
Notes:
1) Battle of Iwo Jima: The 'Battle of Iwo Jima' took place between the combined American forces of the United States Marine Corps (USMC), and the United States Navy (USN) against the Imperial Japanese Army (IJA) during World War II (1939-1945) from February 19, 1945 to March 26, 1945. The Americans were victorious; (VJ Day: Victory Japan).
2) Casualties: U.S.A. 6,821 dead, 19,217 wounded; Japanese 17,845 to 18,375 dead and/or missing, 216 taken prisoner. and 3,000 in hiding.
3) The memorial is to the flag raising during Battle of Iwo Jima on top of Mount. Suribachi. It reads:
"Among the Americans who served on Iwo Jima, uncommon valor was a common virtue."—Nimitz.
Dedicated to those who fought here by the Island Command AGF. Erected by the 31st USNCB. Old Glory was raised on this site 23 February 1945 by members of the Second Battalion, 28th Regiment, Fifth Marine Division.
The air is crisp, cold weather
that you can sink your teeth into.
It's midwinter with a brief break
between rainy weather fronts.
My fat limping dog and I have
got to get out of the house and
find some wildness.
He lets me know of his happiness
and I ignore his comment about hypocrites
as I put his leash on and
he drags me down the trail.
"How will we ever find wildness
under these conditions?"
he barks at me.
"Maybe this time boss?
Maybe this time you will let go?"
We walk down the trail by
the storm swollen stream and
hear the same question posed in the air.
The storm stream tries hard to break free
and wreck havoc, but,
the well engineered cement banks
give it nothing to grab hold of and it
careens on past to the sea, harmlessly.
The river's only hope to spread wildness
is another storm to raise its banks.
The grass above the banks is all of a kind,
easily mowed, and no threat to the asphalt
path we walk.
There is some hope of wildness
in the windblown debris
left over from the storm.
Perhaps seeds of a hardier folk
will move in among the grasses and
the perfect line of trees
that border the trail.
Such strangers will have to hide
and take cover before the caretakers
of the trail arrive tomorrow.
They will efficiently find all wildness
from the storm and make sure that
it is all discarded and hauled to the dump.
Perhaps I am looking for nature
in all the wrong places.
Here it has been collared and leashed
and rendered docile.
Still it fights back.
My hopeful dog directs my attention to the stream
and points to an otter that sinks when I look.
"Maybe this time, boss?" he implores.
Overhead, three noisy geese, free as you please,
as insolent as if they were twenty,
announce their imminent landing
at the county water control pond.
Not all of us are on a leash yet.