Hi everybody it's Sam here thank you for watching today so I'm going to show you how to make a double pop-up card. This one was actually requested by three maybe four people and it's by I was sent the video by Tannu Creative and then I also saw that Craft Store had done an earlier version both on YouTube and then I thought I would try it myself because I was looking at them and I thought there must be an easy way. I put together my way and then it started to pull on the card stock so then I had another look and I saw that Shrishri or Shrishtri Patil apologies again for getting your name wrong and she had done it very similar to how I thought to do it and she'd added an extra piece and that's what I've done. So enough of me talking this is what it is you open it up and you have these two floating panels that pop out either side and you can see how it all works here. I forgot to rub the pencil out but again I can easily just do that later on but you can see there is a really lovely effect you can have this as a landscape or it will stand up as a portrait. These are designed more for scrapbook layouts so a lot of the ones that I saw were very big so I've adjusted the measurements to make this fit into a 5x7 size. Today I'm going to do the portrait version I haven't decorated the front of this year again I've not long finished my Facebook live so I thought I'd just carry on and get this one filmed but I just wanted to show you how it would look as a landscape and you can also just have one of them and we were saying about having you know you could have some clouds or a rooftop you could have the chimney at the bottom here for Santa and you could have things popping out this way so you don't have to have both of them on there it's a really fun design and it's very easy so let me show you how. Okay so I've made this for a 5x7 card so this is a piece of 10x7 and along the 10 inch side you want to score at 5 inches just bring that down a little bit there we go just a five inches fold that in half so you've got your card blank I've then cut four pieces of four and three quarters by six and three quarters so I've decided to decorate this slightly differently so this is going to go on the front so I kept the front pretty simple the idea is is that you'll display this open I've then got that one for the back then these two are to go inside so I've done it slightly different I'm not using pattern paper I've just stamped this so I'm going to have one either side you want to stick these down first of all because you're going to stick the mechanism on top but I just thought with this one being a portrait when they lift up you'll see these little sides you know this detail and then this one's for the back so you've got your space to write your message okay so four and three quarters by six and three quarters and I'm going to get them all stuck down next you want to cut yourself one or two pieces depending if you want to do the double or the single and these are six and a half by three and a quarter along the six and a half side you want to score at three and a quarter you'll then have those three and a quarter squared sections again just score this one here and then to go inside I've got myself four pieces of three by three so I've stamped and coloured these I've done exactly the same as I did on the other card so I'm going to have this one at the top so I'm going to stick that one and that one in there and then this one is going to be at the bottom so I'm going to have that one and that one there the stamps that I've used are from card making magic versus for the to a lovely friend on your special day the floral stamp set is the woodware classic rose bunch which is this one here this is the peony bloom there's two separate sets in this wallet but it's the classic rose bunch that I've used to create that and then for the front may your day be filled with love and laughter is from this set and I think this was free with a magazine it was many years ago before I started labelling things so if anybody remembers that one let me know but um that's all I know about that one so I'm going to get these now stuck down you then want to cut yourself four pieces of two by two and a half along the two inch side you want to score at one inch and then get rid of your scoreboard we need to add these lines here so just brought a template in because you'll see it better than on that purple card so this is that one inch score line right through the middle here so everything that's got read over it is where you're going to score these two lines here are really just guides so pop it along the longer side and with a pencil you do want to make sure you rub this out otherwise you'll see it like on my one that I showed at the beginning but just mark one inch in on each side and you'll have so this is just one inch in here and then here and you'll have that half inch section so again just going to come down along the bottom here so one inch on each side and then just lightly pop a line there like I said it's just a guide so you can see my pencil marks there and pop it back this way and then you're going to score you're basically just scoring across the four squares in each corner so rather than put a pencil line I'm just going to score straight away and I'll take a picture of that template and I'll pop it on my blog okay so you can see now my score lines next you want to fold these two up towards you so they're valley folds the middle will become a mountain so you have this effect here and then these last two are going to become mountains mountain folds so just pinch them and as you pinch those this one will become a valley can you see how you're pushing that in to create this shape here now I'm going to rub that pencil line out and then just push that all back in so there you will see that shape and you want to do that four times so you have these okay so I started sticking this all down first of all stuck it down it was right but I thought it was wrong and then I stuck it down wrong and realized I got it right the first time so because of that reason obviously I'd started sticking it on here I had to redo this panel fortunately I was able to peel off the one I'd already stuck down so I quickly stamped that coloured it and now here we are again so what you want to do is with the one that you're going to have on the top is this piece you want to have this pointy end here where we folded it inside so the winged end is always going to be on the outside you want to stick that so it's kind of flush with the top I come down just a little bit because you want to make sure you're definitely not going to see it when you open up this piece here so I'm going to add my glue on these two sides here so another way to make sure you're sticking it in the right ways make sure the folded side is facing down the open side is facing up pop the glue all in there I'm just going to spread it out with my finger and then again make sure this is the right way up openings on the left hand side and then I'm just going to pop it in there come down just a little bit just so I can make sure it's all hidden and then you want to make sure that this is a right angle perfect right angle if you turn it that way about where you've got like an L shape just make sure and that will mean that this is all straight fortunately this is all going to be hidden you'll never know I stuck it down wrong then you're going to get your next one again you want to make sure your fold is facing down the opening's facing up and you're sticking it in that piece where it folds in if you do stick it other ways it won't actually be wrong it would just mean it will move differently so they may both move in the same direction or they both move inwards which means they would hit each other so you probably don't want to do that way but there are some other ways to make it kind of move again I'm going to sit this and I'm going to come down about a quarter of an inch and just stick it in there and again I'm just making sure that this is a nice right angle here so don't worry if you have stuck it down and then peeled it off you can see I have and it's going to be fine but now when it opens this is going to be stuck and it means it will move up but you won't see any of this inside okay just pop that one at the top and then this one's going at the bottom so this needs to come down this way so again you're going to get this one and you want to make sure that the opening again is facing the outside and the folds always facing in you can see here these folds are facing in these folds are facing in again popping my glue all on that triangular section spread the glue out again make sure it's the right way up and I bring it down again just come up just a little bit and again make sure that's at that right angle and then get the last one and spread that all out and stick it again just above and just make sure it's all lined up it's okay so when you open this one up these should be pointing in this way with your picture whatever it is you've got facing the right way when you open this one up you can see the arrows you want both your arrows all pointing inside to the middle of the card okay next we're going to stick these down so I'm going to flip it over and do I'm going to stick onto the left hand side first so I'm just adding my glue like so and then what I would suggest is if you line the top of this up with your mat layer and then you want to make sure that these points are just sitting next to the score line like so again just make sure that runs nice and straight with your mat layer there just going to pop something on there for a minute and then grab the bottom one again open it make sure it's the right way and I'm just going to add my glue onto these two and again I'm going to sit this one down and make sure it lines up this time with the bottom of the mat and then just pull it out until they sit just next to the score lines you don't want it on the score line otherwise it's just going to buckle them they're going to just it won't sit very nicely okay what you can also do is when you lift them you'll see this one goes up this one starts to come down so now all that's left to do is pop your glue on all of these which you can stick it now all down at the same time and then just close the card up and then whilst that's still drying I'm just going to decorate the front with some of these embellishments so I'm going to do a couple of sizes and I'm going to go for these ones here so I'm just going to pop a little bit of glue and just stick a few of these down so that's the front of the card all finished and now we can open it up and we get that lovely pop up I think it's really really good thoroughly enjoy putting this one together I love that I've just used the stamps to make like a pattern paper this time wishing you the happiest of birthdays to a lovely friend on your special day wishing you happiness in every way and then you've got your space on the back there to write your message it will fit in an envelope and it will stand up like so so that's your portrait and then this was the one I done through the live learned a lot doing this one like remembering to rub your pencil marks out and that I think it's nicer to have it depends how you decorate it but I think it works better to have maybe a planar background because then the pop-up mechanism really does pop but that's the landscape so again you can see that stands up that way or you can have that one that way so yeah which one's your favorite do you prefer portrait or landscape I think I prefer the portrait but I'm going to do this again in a six by six size as well so keep an eye out for that that one will be coming in the near future and yeah that's my take on the double pop-up card really like this style so thank you for watching as always I will share any links of the product that I've used today in the description box below if you haven't subscribed and you've enjoyed today's tutorial please hit the subscribe button and make sure you click the notification bell because that way you'll be notified every time I upload a new tutorial and also popping up now will be some more videos that you might want to watch next I'll pop some other pop-up styles there that you might enjoy thanks for watching and I'll be back again soon


Other World by F. S. Flint Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo To R. A.  The light strikes truly through the lenses of his eyes, and a fair image falls upon the retina. The wind brings him many odours, earth, grasses, trees, flowers, and the oak wood burning in the fireplaces. His ears catch the rustle and song of many things, and the taste of the cherries is subtle in his mouth. He knows by their touch the things that frame his life. This is he who am I, without my cares and weaknesses. The channels of his soul are not clogged, his life flows freely, and my heart aches at the thought of the millions of miles of space, the millions of millions of miles that lie between us. He is there, I know. I am there. Since every combination exists, he must be there. I must be there. I must be happy somewhere. And yet he is so far away that I am sure no light from the star that lights and warms him can reach me, even though it travel the unimaginable number of miles a second that prove the kinship of light and electricity. So my physics master taught me. There are charlatans, these physicists. There is room in space for every combination. He is there. And he lifts his head and gazes at the cherry blossom, and at the sky that must be blue for me to care for it, with a scud of white clouds over it, and a warm sun shining through it, and he gazes carefree. For he knows that, just as yesterday, tomorrow there will be no call upon him, no invisible gnawing bondage. He knows, I say. But I mean that I know. He knows that tomorrow will be like today and yesterday, full of work that is a pain, a pleasure, and an enlargement, with a brain and heart working together with the hands. Whatever I imagine, or you imagine, exist. I can see the lilac in great wishes about my house, and the labyrinems with their rain of gold, the chestnuts and hawthorns, and bloom of red and white. These are trees and blossoms that must be there. There are other worlds I know where I walk in not such pleasant places, many that are worse than this on which I write my dream, many that are hells where I suffer in greater agony of body and spirit than I have known or shall know. But there is also this one world where I am leaving the cherry tree and bloom that will bear in due season, to go back to my work after my morning meditation, that is more a satisfaction, a feeding of the senses, sight, smell, taste, touch, and hearing, than the probing and the solving of a problem. If the five pathways of my soul are free and clean swept, as they are, for the swift feet of sensation, thought as giants, and its words are songs and images. These I carry with me to the long room that is mine, where my books are in their clean white cases, in the wide oaken table that bears my papers, a firm and solid table whose strength is a friendly pleasure, with its drawers that slide so smoothly in and out that you think always of its maker as a brother. On my walls I have placed, there there now, pictures and drawings by my friends, which have not so much the shape of what they see about them as the form of their souls, the curves and lines, the colors, the call to mind, their talk, their actions, and the intimate, wordless conversations by which you love them. I have a chair designed and carved for me by the carpenter who lives in the house behind the ash trees, where the road turns at right angles to go through the village, the carpenter whose garden is full of verses that clamber up and over the walls and a roof of his house. He comes to me sometimes of an evening and talks of the stars, the constellations, that light, the nocturnal dreams of this faraway world. And he proves to me, taking them star by star and building them petal by petal, that they form on the whole black dome the shape of a cluster of verses.  This is the room where I write my poems, where I become conscious through them of what my wife and children and friends, my orchard, the meadows, the trees, the grasses, the flowers, the roads, the hills, and the sea mean to me. And I put it into words and rhythms that explain nothing, but that open the mind and the heart to a new sunshine and new perfumes. I had just gone out to look at the night. Beyond there, oh, how far beyond is the star I speak of, is the man I know to be myself. But yet, how different. The pollard plain trees are wretched in the damp and darkness and mud. The air bites raleigh on your ribs, and the sky is full of menace. Must I tell you of each moment of my day for you to know why I have chosen this one world of all the Marriads? How, in the morning, as the sunshine enters my bedroom, dream after dream falls for me, and I awake to the greater dream of this full life. And my brain is rich with words and visions, and my heart is eager with emotions that have grown there in the night from the seed of yesterday. Through the open inner door I hear, in the next room, the rustling and the stirring of my mate, the mother of my children. And she hears me too, I know, but we do not speak. Is there a need to? She knows the meaning of my silence, and she will not jar the full cup of my morning treasures. It is all, and yet, how much, if I see her golden head in the mirror of her room. And she turns, and seeing me watching, smiles to the mirror. For her smile seems to overwrite with the blue of her eyes, and to fill with tenderness the world I bear within me. All that field of tall grasses that is singing, with the hum of bees and the buttercups and clover, and the music of the morning wind sifting its notes through the innumerable earth-held strings. My children, too, have learned to love my strange ways. I hear their voices, and they hear me, as I pass down to my walk in the orchard beneath the plum trees. But their door does not open. Not till I have caught all the words and the rhythms with which my heart and brain are busy shall I see them. The plum trees are in bloom, and the air smells sweet with Hawthorne. If I stop and lean on my gate, I can see a mile away the blue-brown hills, beyond wide meadows, flowering hedges, cornland, and the words come to my pencil unsought, the beginning and the end, perhaps, with a phrase or two and full knowledge of the rest. Images, a rhythm, a complete passage, the outline, with some parts roughed in of my poem. A song is artless as the thrushes on the plum tree. Tomorrow I shall wake up tired and heavy-minded, with a bitter mouth and bleared eyes, sluggishly, reluctantly, I shall pull myself from my bed. I shall thrust on my shabby clothes, and wash my face in hands. Put on a collar and tie, a coat and waist coat, all in haste. Drink a cup of hot tea, eat a few moth-wheels of bread and butter.  All I meet are shabby, all go one way. Drawn on by the same beggar, I am one way. Drawn on by the same magnet, urged by the same demon. We are the respectable, and behind us, though we do not see him, driving us with his goat, his hunger, the first law of our land. He meshes us, he regiments us, he drills us to obey his time. For him we hurry through the dust or the mud through the cold or heat to the slave-pens. For him we shove at each other at the tram-cars, crowd elbow in the tubes through which we are hurled, packed and swaying. For him we sell our soul's freedom, obey men we do not respect, do trivial things that mean nothing to us, and only have meaning as part of the whole machine that we serve. Oh, irony, irony, that we should be jailer and jailed in a prison of our own making that we might destroy tomorrow. It is not labor that kills, but the lack of faith in the laborer. Tomorrow I shall pass the best hours of my day, pent up with people who do not speak the language I seek, and who would not understand it if it were found. I shall write on papers, according to rules, words that might fit my language if they were free, but they are debased and chipped and worn and crushed, and they answer words that are driven together by use, and not joined by mastery, a slave language of counters. I shall come home through the darkened streets, tired and brooding over the lost hours, and loathing the weakness that led me to waste my strength in argument that started from no point of worth, and was borne on by no sustenance, a mere frittering of words and known phrases, a reaction against boredom and dullness, and the killing of life hour by hour on a chair before a table of dusty papers and formulas invented to ensure uniformity, the wonder being that so many find themselves so well of it all, and see no wrong, and ask only for promotion.  One word of love and understanding would turn my poison into wine, but do you find love and understanding in the city? Seventeen years have I passed there, and have not found them. But you are luckier, perhaps, than I, who have always been a stranger within the walls and between them, knowing the hatred of crowds, the sneers of passers, the jeers and the laughter of the clipped and maimed and castrated. Their poor, docked lives have held no beauty, their lamps have been choked, and the guttering wick has stunk their souls out, whether they wear gold chains and good leather and cloth, or a greasy cap and torn shoddy. But on the star the light of whose sun has not yet reached the earth and may never reach it, I come into breakfast clean of body and rich of mind and hungry with a morning air. My boy sits before a bowl of purple wild pansies, and my girl has a slender green jar of red poppies whose hairy stalks spring from a blue cluster of speedwells. They have been out in the fields barefoot in the long wet grass, the metal foxtails brushing their legs with a silky touch, and they shook the jewels from the heart of the clover as they passed and sang with the birds. They have seen the robins still on her nest in the ivy-hedge, looking at them from her ivy-leaf door with the stubborn, half-frightened eyes, and they have gone on and gathered more than the poppies and pansies and speedwells, more than the prim-growsies and violets from the banks of the stream for their mother. They lie in a bowl before her, and she serves them bread and butter and honey. They have taken something too of the heart of the season into their hearts. Its leaves and grasses will always be green there. Its blossoms will always be bright. Its birds will always be singing their morning song. But more than all these, the intimate sense of a presence will always be with them. Oh, my wife, you sit there, happy in your service, giving to each as we need them, fruit and milk and eggs and bread and butter and honey. Can I ever love you enough for your understanding and your forbearance?  You have entrusted to me a treasure of many memories, and I have not been careful of them. I have opened the store and given them out to my friends, all those who would accept them, and they have grown in beauty as I touched them, and the frail bloom of them that might have perished in darkness, fallen to dust, has become a wonderful, indestructible word, and you have forgiven me. But when I love you and you love me, the glow still fused in our love. Their warmth is about us, and the chairs and tables, the pictures and sculptures, the books and bookcases, all the pleasant things that furnishing comfort our lives, love through us and in us. Oh, my heart yearns to you, and a great breath swells my chest. See, I will leave my chair, and with my hand on the door latch, I will turn and smile at your eyes that watch me trustfully. I will go and gather a rose for you, a white rose flushed with red, and tinged with a gold of sunburn, a rose with a firm heart and a lovely curve of petals. And from the tree, as I come to it, a nightingale will fly away. And when I return with it my hand and offer it to you silently, your eyes will thank me, and you will smell it, and you will gaze at the violets and primbraces the children have gathered, and your hand will seek mine almost timidly and caress it. And now in the afternoon, when the children are at their school three meadows away, hidden by hedges and a row of Lombardi poplars, and the mother is teaching them and their playmates, I sit dreaming out of Ronda in the shade. The warm sun falls on the crow feet and buttercups in the field before me. The golden flowers nod and wave and kiss as a light warm wind passes over them. The leaves are singing and faintly behind their monotone I hear the singing of children. Mournfully a cuckoo calls cuckoo.  At the gate of the garden in front of the house swings open and crashes back. A well-known footstep comes up the path. A well-known voice calls my name. Frankie, come out you stodge. Is that you, Dickie? Sit down, will you? Take a cigarette and try to live as you were meant to. Don't be vigorous after lunch. Zenay, Frankie. Fatubo, Dickie. C'est à tout. Éte-l'en et vousz quénant les joueurs. Corlion, oh pot-ceau. We laugh at each other. Come down by veil water to the cliff-walk, round to Westhaven and back by the riverside. Good, I'm with you. I'll get my stick and meet you at the gate. We swing out into the road bare-headed, three astries and flower and a labyrinum raining with gold greet us. Over the hill we go and down into the valley by the side of the river that roars like the sea over its stones. The silver oaks climb up the hill from the water's edge and are lost high up in a mist of gray silver of trunk and twig and bud and along the banks of primrose is never leave us. Oh, the strides and the breaths we take, the jest we make, and our laughter. Our silence is even a greater joy than these and our thoughts then wear the mask that our eyes put on them. Hedge of ivy and cottage garden, brown roads and woods around and above it, but our thoughts are deeper because of the mask and our silence. A brook crosses the road, we stride through it. Everywhere there are primresses along the river, under the hedge, in the garden, up the slopes and the clearings, under the first oak trees, in a small meadow between the road and river, where the road turns to go to the sea and our path to the cliff begins. Up by the pine wood our feet crunch on the gravel, our breathing becomes hard and we stab at the path before us with our sticks, higher and higher we climb till we reach the path around the cliff. Oh, the golden glory of the gorse and the golden brown of last year's bracken which holds in its heart the green curl of the new and then as we round a corner the blue glory of the sea. I have not the heart to go on, as my friend at my side crying his joy of the seagulls, describing a cormorant. Do we climb down these cliffs, catching at the grass for hold, slipping on the granite outcrop, startling a rabbit, rousing the seagulls, to wheel and squeal round their iris far below? Are these the woods of twisted oak saplings, fantastic and silver, through which the path winds? Is the blue that curtains the spaces between the branches the sea? And more than these, am I aware of the noble heart beating near me? Do I see the laughing, generous, truthful eyes? Do I hear the voice that sometimes mocks than jests, than speaks of a poem? My friend said to me as I marched by a side in the night through the mud of Waterloo Road. This is the finest draft that has ever left England. Picked men, all non-commissioned officers, held back for months. And the head of the column, out of sight, away in the darkness, roared out a marching chorus, taken up and humorously turned by the men in the rear. Windows opened, and women's voices cheered on the soldiers, who answered with jest, and offered to kiss them, and the kiss was taken, but not in a way they knew. Through the mud, through the mud they went, and at the bends of the road, the lamp of the column leader burned the blackness of red for a moment. For deep they went, strong young men, jesting and singing and laughing, with broad backs bearing their packs, and broad chest breathing great breaths of the cold, damp air, life at its cleanest, moving swiftly through the half-dead evil and the filth of the sleeping city. And when they arrived at London Bridge, and stood in the gas-lit, frowsy station, the sweat was on their face, and the hall was filled with the smell of healthy men. What was my friend doing there, the singer of beautiful things, the beautiful singer? What was any man of that company, clerk, shopkeeper, laborer, poet, doing each with the other, clothed and loaded alike and marching together, with the thought of each man's heart and brain written off, and their common manhood, trained to move in one direction and to fit one shape? What is war? What are nations? My friend has gone from me. I could not have even him. And yet in those men there was so much kindness, so much humor, and so little desire to kill. You may not believe in my other world, but it is no dream. It can be proved with compass and scales in A plus B, who will integrate space and time and prove that the sum does not contain the quantity I describe, or all the grades of good and evil for every man, forming throughout the myriad universes, a myriad perfect men and perfect minds. If the scale exists, can one note judge of another, or say it is too remote, in the instrument too vast, to exist for any purpose or use or harmony? What are uses and purposes? Can the note hear the song? Therefore, as I sit here, dreaming and writing of that other me, whom I have chosen from the myriad men who bear my nature, he is sitting beneath the cherry tree and bloom, watching the afterglow of sunset and the evening stars. He is sitting in the quiet and peace of the evening and the peace of the winds. The darkness is creeping up behind him from the hills. It is not stir. The first cold shiver of evening has not come. Perhaps in this calm, in the calm of his mind, he thinks of me. End a poem. This recording is in the public domain. Dusk by FS Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo and Eva Davis. Here where the brown leaves fall from Elm and Chestnut and Plain Tree. Here where the brown leaves drift along the paths to the lake, where the waterfall breasts the waves that are ridged by the wind. You spoke of your art and life, of men you had known who betrayed you, men who fell short of friendship, and women who fell short of love. But abiding beyond them, your art held you to life, transformed it, became it, and so you were free. And I told you of all my weakness, my growing strength to resist the appeal to my heart and eyes of sorrowful, beautiful things. In the strength of this utter husk I had permitted to grow and protect me was its pitiful measure. You said, There are cracks in the husk. It grew to your measure, perhaps once, but your heart breaks through it, and soon it will fall away from you. Like a tree, content with its fate, you would not have known it was there if it had grown to remain. The cold wind blew the brown leaves onto the lovers beneath, who crept close together for warmth, and closer still for love. The peacocks perched in the branches, hawked their harsh cry at the golden round moon that loomed over the treetops. And the sound of our feet on the gravel, for a time, was answer enough to the broken mesh of our thoughts. I said, I have wife and children, a girl and a boy, I love them. The gold of their hair is all the gold of my thoughts. The blue of their eyes is all the purity of my vision. The rhythm of their life is more to be watched than the cadences of my poems. And you asked me, Have you taken refuge behind them? Do you not fear to lose your life in saving it for them? Be brave, the water is deep.  Strike out. Cold wind blew the brown leaves deeper and deeper into the dusk. The peacocks had hushed their cries. The moon had turned her golden to silver, and between the black lace of two trees, one star shone clearly.  End a poem. This recording is in the public domain. Gloom by F. S. Flint, read for LibriVox.org by Nemo. I sat there in the dark of the room and of my mind, thinking of men's treasons and bad faith, sinking into the pit of my own weakness before their strength of cunning. Out over the gardens came the sound of someone playing five finger exercises on the piano. Then I gathered up within me all my powers, until outside of me was nothing. I was all, all stubborn, fighting, sadness, and revulsion. And one came from the garden quietly and stood beside me. She laid her hand on my air. She laid her cheek on my forehead and crested me with it. But all my being rose to my forehead to fight against this outside thing. Something in me became angry and stood like a wall, and would allow no entrance. I hated her.  Nothing, I answered. I am thinking. She stroked my hair and went away. And I was still gloomy, angry, stubborn. Then I thought she has gone away. She has hurt. She does not know what poison has been working in me. Then I thought, upstairs her child is sleeping. And I felt the presence of the fields we had walked over, the roads we had followed, the flowers we had watched together before it came. She had touched my hair, and only then did I feel it. And I loved her once again.  And I lit the lamp in my room and made this poem. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Love song for a woman I do not love by FS Flint, read for LibriVox.org by Nemo. If I were a rich man, would you smile it to me? Can your bosom that swells your blouse so firmly be bought, in all the smooth warmth of your nakedness? You are straight and beautiful. Your hair is black, and you have slender ankles. I've seen the bloom and color of your face on peaches. I felt the grace of your walk in Grecian statues. And as you go, you look back over your shoulder sideways, coquette. You were born in the age that bore me, and almost I love you, my dark goddess. But if I came to you and said to you, I am rich, I know a suburb, I know a house there, will you have it? It has a red-tiled roof, it has two gardens, it has casement windows with small leaded panes, and white curtains fluttering from them when they are open. It is furnished with old fumed oak and shining silver, and armchair stuffed with hair, with cushions of soft down, and they are covered with bright colored crissons. It has a bedroom smelling of the summer sky, and a kitchen warm with enameled saucepans and polished copper. Would you have it, knowing that on any day I might walk up that street beneath the acaches, open the garden gate, maybe pick a rose from the garden, let myself into the house with my key, and perhaps not finding you in the hall, blue tiles, a mat to hat stand, pass upstairs to the bedroom, and surprise you at your mirror, masked in the scented darkness of your waving hair, with your eyes meeting mine in the mirror, smile welcome, would there be a tense block of silence in the silent house, and a tenser, wordless message from your eyes to mine, and mine to yours in the mirror, stabbing our hearts? But I am not rich, and I do not love you, and I cannot give you the things your heart would prize, I know. In spite of the grace you have captured from the lilies, in the bloom you have taken from the red geraniums, and the curves you have stolen from the lissom ash trees, I may not tempt you. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Children by F. S. Flint, read for LibriVox.org by NEMA. These are my children, one boy, one girl. They have the beauty all children have. They have entered the trap all children enter, the trap that was set by God knows who. These are the flowers of love and spring, the apple blossom and affidils. But they do not know, children and flowers, that the ground beneath them is what it is. The sun and the rain, their laughter and tears are all that they know. I watch them at play, and I know the part I have played myself in luring them here. I, too, was once in the outer forest, and decoyed like them have brought them in to be decoys in their turn, perhaps, to my grandchildren. Will they be mine? And so it goes on, father and son, daughter and mother.  They come and caress me, they love me so. The thoughtless treacherous, eagerly lecherous, nave and husband whom they call father, the man who betrayed them to certain death. And I am their wistful comrade and watchdog. I go with them sometimes into the streets among the crowds, and I share their wonder, a child with my children. And my man's form and my man's strength is their contrite shield, and my heart is a pool of tenderness for them. For they do not know what the earth is yet, nor what the clay can be to the body. When they know, they will no longer be children. But one link, the more in the chain of treason. And so it goes on, father and son, daughter and mother. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Envy by F.S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org. Buy an email.  Amid the rumble and hoot and clatter of London's traffic. Happy pair, your left and right hands drop and find each other, and ring each other. White in the sun from hat to shoes, only the pink of your ankles showing through the white stockings. Straight limbed, firm bosomed, soft in the folds of your blouse.  I envy you. Your hands seek and ring each other. Your limbs attract each other through their clothing. And you would marry if this and that concurred. Foolish, oh foolish.  It is your virginity. You would part with it in a burst of joy, and would not know your loss perceiving it. But beauty, do you not feel it upon you? Strive to reach the grape, but do not pluck it. The gesture is all. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.  Two gaunt old hacks, knees bent, heads low, tug, tired and spent, an old horse tram. Damp smoke, rank missed, fills the dark square, and round the bend six bullocks come. A hobbling, dirt grime drover guides their clattering feet, their clattering feet to the slaughterhouse. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Prayer by F.S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. As I walk through the streets I think of the things that are given to my friends. Myths bold Greece and Egypt, Greek flowers, Greek thoughts, in all that incandescence, all that grace which I refuse. If even the orchards of England, its gardens and its woods, its fields and its hills, its rivers and its seas were mine, but they are not. But these are nothing. Give me the flame, O gods, to light these people with, these pavements, this motor traffic, these houses this medley. Give me the vision, and they may live. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. In the Cathedral by F.S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. I have not dipped my hand in the stoop nor bent my knee towards the altar far away at the end of the nave. The crucifix towers dimly above it. Is this my god? The stations of the cross are white on the dull brown brickwork. Poor naked Cathedral. One pillar alone is clothed with green marble. Oh, gloom of the aisles and darkness made darker by the candles burning in corners, hair in there, in front of the images. Why am I moved? Is this the house of my god? The voices of the priests far off near the altar have sound in no meaning as words, but they fill the church with life and peace and resignation. The music of it enters my heart. Oh, god, you need me, I know. Or why am I here? Why am I?  You cannot. Oh, god, I say it with a humble and desperate heart. I am the least worthy atom of your person, but part of you or nothing at all. And this poor woman, kneeling in her ragged clothes before her saint with the ten-lighted candles, is happier than I. Her worn and battered face is shining with certainty. She is in heaven, and I. My heart is twisted with sobs, and my eyes are weeping. And yet, as I leave the cathedral, I do not dip my hand in the stoop. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The little head-on roars over its stones towards its mouth, between two cliffs mounting up, one with a gray-brown haze of the budding oakwoods, and the line of the path that thwart them, as though cut with a knife. And the other gray with blue shale, and here and there, the gorse in bloom over the dead, brown bracken, that springs again green once more from its nef. The little head-on roars over its stones between its violets, prim-raises, and selen dines to the sea. And friends, what am I doing here beside you in the head-on? Why did I come to you with my heart ache and my cares, falsely to brighten your life with a foil of my darkness? Why did I come to your pine-woods? The little head-on roars over its stones to the sea. My life graded on in its groove, and that groove brought me to you. But see, the little head-on roared over my brain, and for a day washed the mist from it, cleared the clog of it, and the groove is no longer there. Yet I shall leave you. I shall take back my groove with a keener edge to my heartache in a different tune. The little head-on roaring over my brain to the sea. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Hack Knee Marshes by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Neema. The mist creeps up from the long canal over the fields, and the color fades from the smoke in the sky, and fades from the crimson sunset. On the wet grass men and young women playing hush, and their rare shouts break into the silence. Beyond a feathery row of leafless poplars the road lies, and the swift lights of the tram-cars leap in patterns from tree to tree. Suddenly, a roar from ten thousand throats, a hidden army of men, burst the calm of the universe, and the world reels and sinks, and the lights of the tram-cars change into constellations. Plough and Scorpion and Cassiopeia, the change again as the world sinks farther and farther, and the firmament whirls its myriad lamps through the eternal infinite darkness. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Shell von St. Ju by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Neema. The low graves are all grown over with forget-me-nots, and a rich green grass links each with each. Old family vaults, some within railings, stand here and there, crumbling, moss-eaten, with the ivy growing up them, and diagonally across the top projecting slab. And over the vaults lean the great lilac bushes, with their heart-shaped leaves and their purple and white blossom. A wall of ivy shuts off the darkness of the elmwood and the larches. Walk quietly along the mossy paths. The stones of the humble dead are hidden behind the blue manto of their forget-me-nots. And before one grave so hidden, a widow kneels with head bowed, and the crepe falling over her shoulders. The bells for evening church are ringing, and the people come gravely and with red sun-burned faces through the gates and the wall. Pass on. This is the church porch, and within the bell-ringers, men of the village in their Sunday clothes pull their bob-major on the red and white grip of the bell ropes that fly up. And then fall snakily. They stand there, given wholly to the rhythm and swing of their traditional movements. And the people pass between them into the church. But we are too sad and too reverent to enter. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lunch by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. Frail beauty. Green, golden, incadescent whiteness. Narcissi, daffodils. You've brought me spring and longing, wistfulness, in your radiance. Therefore I sit here among the people dreaming. My heart aches with all the Hawthorne blossom, the bees humming, the light wind upon the poplars, and your warmth and your love and your eyes. They smile and know me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Tube by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. You look in vain for a sign, for a light in their eyes. No. Stolled they sit, lulled by the roar of the train in the tube. Content with the electric light. Assured, comfortable, warm. Despair. For a moment, yes. This is the mass, inert, unalarmed, undisturbed. And we, the spirit that moves, we love in the mass, and it changes. We sweeten the mass, or the world would stink in the ether. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Trees by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. Elm trees and the leaf the boy me hated long ago, rough and sandy. Poplars and their leaves tender, smooth to the fingers, and a secret in their smell I have forgotten. Oaks and forest glades, heart aching with wonder, fear, their bitter massed. Willows and the scented beetle we put in our handkerchiefs, and the roots of one that spread into a river, nakedness, water and joy. Hawthorne, white and odorous with blossom, framing the quiet fields and swaying flowers and grasses and the hum of bees. Chestnuts, apples and pears, which we pillaged in the autumn of their fruit. Oh, these are the things that are with me now in the town, and I am grateful for this minute of my manhood. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lilac by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. Oh, Lilac, whiter than swans down. Among your soft green leaves, pure than snow, new fallen on the boughs. The white butterfly fluttering over your fragrance is happy. I watch you from my window and feel on my face and hair the warm wind blowing across London. I have many things to hurt me, youth gone and life and friends uncertain, and no God will take me and turn me into a lilac tree. With a world beneath me for my roots and each springtime, a myriad tender hearts for the winds to fondle, and the startling candor of my blossom for men to love.  End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Oak by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. See the grey silver of the oak boughs as they swarm up the hill slope and down towards the sea. The branches twist and twine one over the other, and the trunks, with a growth of saplings, are misshapen and crooked. The Atlantic winds have smoothed them and silvered them, and then have added the beauty time puts upon the work of the silversmith carved centuries ago. But was it for this confusion of bows, this profusion of locking twig, this mingling of leaves, one twisted tree with another, that the acorn fell and took root? Was this the hope in the seed? Must the white sails be spun in vain for the keel? Must the house lack the beam and the roof-tree? I must have space for my branches, a field for my roots, or men will destroy me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Plain Tree by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. Oh, tardy plain tree! Was not the winter long enough? The April sun has sprayed with green the gray house behind the bows, and burst the first lit golden lamps of the chestnut, its leaves fall limply away from the brown flower buds. He has dressed in pink the black and naked almond tree, bestrune the pavement with red tipped catkins, and sent the sparrows to find his pouting buds on every twig.  End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Swan by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. Oh, swan! My eyes watch you through the sallows, wounded by your cruel beauty. Oh, white splendor! You have hurt me. You do not heed us. Our music crashes through the stillness. Our shouts crack in the evening. We gather round your pool. The signets twist their swart heads and their crimson beaks and listen. But you do not heed them. You do not heed us. Your yellow feet move through the clear cold water.  Your beak meets your beak. Your necks repeat the figures two, three, eight, and zero. Oh, twine shape. Oh, triple nature. Bird, fish, and serpent.  Does your beauty tire you? The wind moves the leaves to a sweet sound. It bends this edge in the sallows. The tulips sway and the iris. But it brings to you the piece of curled waters where you are no longer. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Evil by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. The mist of the evening is rose in the dying sun, and the street is quiet between its rows of plain trees and the walls of the gardens with the laurel bushes. I walk along in a dream half aware of the empty black of the windows. One window I pass by. It is not empty. Something shows from it. White I feel and round. Something that pulls me back to gaze, still dreaming. To gaze and to wake and stare at a naked woman. Oh, beautiful. Alone in the window sitting. Is there a sign? Does she call me? What is the lure? She does not move. And I crawl to the gate and stop, and open the gate again stopping, and crawl again up the stone steps, fear driving my heart mad up to the door. Door do not open though I beat you with my fist. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Terror by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. Eyes are tired. The lamp burns, and in its circle of light papers and books lie, where chance and life have placed them. Silence sings all around me. My head is bound with a band. Outside in the street, a few footsteps, a clock strikes the hour. I gaze, my eyes close slowly. I doze. But the moment before sleep, a voice calls my name in my ear, and the shock jolts my heart. I want to open my eyes and look, first left, and then right. No one is there. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Houses by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. Evening in quiet. A bird trills in the poplar trees behind the house with a dark green door across the road. Into the sky, the red earthenware and the galvanized iron chimneys thrust their cowls. The hoot of the steamers on the Thames is plain. No wind. The trees merge, green with green. A car whirs by. Footsteps and voices take their pitch in the key of dusk, far off and near, subdued. Solid and square to the world. The houses stand. Their windows, blocked with Venetian blinds. Nothing will move them. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Moments by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. One. When I move, I am accomplishing an act, for doomed. And all the love I bear, all the hate, all the cadences my heart beats to, went through the brute who trapped the mastodon and carved its image on the tusk. Two. I put my arm out to catch yours, so I draw you to me, peer into your eyes, bear downward to your lips, and then I kiss you. Eons and eons ago, before time was, some pebbles stirred the pool to bring about this ripple. This is the end. No. This is the beginning. I hold you. Three. If I sit here longer, listening to the roar of the silence, brooding, a monster will take shape out of the darkness behind the table and swallow me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Cones by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. The blue mist of after rain fills all the trees. The sunlight guilds the tops of the popular spires far off behind the houses. Here a branch sways, and there a sparrow twitters. The curtain's hem rose embroidered, flutters, and half reveals a burnt red chimney pot. The quiet in the room bears patiently a footfall on the street. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Ogre by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. Through the open window can be seen the poplars at the end of the garden shaking in the wind.  On the white tablecloth a rose in a vase. Center of a sphere of odor contemplates the crumbs and crusts left from a meal. Cups, saucers, plates lie here and there. And a sparrow flies by the open window, stops for a moment, flutters his wings rapidly, and climbs an aerial ladder with his claws that work close into a soft brown gray belly. But behind the tables the face of a man. The bird flies off. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lament by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. The young men of the world are condemned to death. They've been called up to die for the crime of their fathers. The young men of the world, the growing, the ripening fruit, have been torn from their branches while the memory of the blossom is sweet in women's hearts. They have been cast for a cruel purpose into the mashing press and furnace. The young men of the world look into each other's eyes and read there the same words, not yet, not yet, but soon perhaps, and perhaps certain. The young men of the world no longer possess the road. The road possesses them. They no longer inherit the earth. The earth inherits them. They're no longer the masters of fire. Fire is their master. They serve him. He destroys them. They no longer rule the waters. The genius of the seas has invented a new monster, and they fly from its teeth. They no longer breathe freely. The genius of the air has contrived a new terror that rends them into pieces. The young men of the world are encompassed with death. He is all about them in a circle of fire and bayonets. Weep, weep, o women, and old men break your hearts. And a poem, this recording, is in the public domain. Wartime by F. S. Flint. Red for LibriVox.org by Nemo. If I go out of the door, it will not be to take the road to the left that leads past the bovine quiet of houses, brooding over the cut of their daily content. Even though the tranquility of their gardens is a lure that once was stronger, even though from privet hedge and mottled laurel, the young green peeps and the daffodils, and the yellow and white and purple crocuses laugh from the smooth mold of the garden beds to the upright golden buds of the chestnut trees, I shall not see the almond blossom shaming the suit black boughs. But to the right the road will lead me to greater and greater disquiet, into the swift rattling noise of the motorbuses, and the dust, the tattered paper, the detritus of a city that swirls in the air behind them. I will pass the shops where the prices are judged day by day by the people, and come to the place where five roads meet, with five tram routes, and where, amid the din of the vans, the lorries, the motorbuses, the clangorous tram cars, the news is shouted and soldiers gather off duty. Here I can feel the heat of Europe's fever, and I can make, as each man makes, the beauty of the woman he loves, no spring and no woman's beauty, while that is burning. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Soldiers by FS Flint. Read for LibriVox.org by Nemo. To R.A. Brother, I saw you on a muddy road in France, passed by with your battalion, rifled the slope, full marching order, arms swinging, and I stood at ease, folding my hands over my rifle with my battalion. You passed me by and our eyes met. We had not seen each other since the days we climbed the Devon Hills together. Our eyes met, startled, and, because the order was silence, we dared not speak. Oh, face of my friend, alone distinct of all that company, you went on, you went on into the darkness. And I sit here at my table, holding back my tears with my jaw set to my teeth clenched, knowing I shall not be even so near you as I saw you in my dream. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Zeplins by FS Flint. Read for LibriVox.org by Nemo. The bedroom is darkness. A dim cloud in one direction is the window with its curtains. The leaves of the trees outside rustle on one another. I fall to sleep. How long have I slept? A voice calls, a bell rings. The clamor and the ringing lengthen. I turn, it continues. Not mine the name I hear, and yet there is alarm in it that concerns me. Am I awake? Over my nightdress I huddle my clothes, thrust my bare feet into slippers, and run down the stairs. From a blur of female faces, distraught eyes stand out, and a woman's voice cries. The Zeplins, they are attacking us. Kingsland Road is alight. Stoke-Knowington is burning. Did you not hear the guns? Oh, what shall we do? We make jokes to reassure them. I shiver, chill, excitement, fear. Am I awake? My mind has been washed by sleep and left limp. The trees in the garden's opposite stand out behind the houses, a dark fretwork against the sky, and everywhere stillness. Yet something slinks overhead through the sky. Men will say that they saw it pass, and then a flash, a thud, a roar, a house has been cleft through three stories and burns, and children burn in their beds, and men are burned rescuing them. An old man and woman are burned to death because the staircase has been smashed away. But we do not know this yet. We have only heard explosions, and have seen the glow of fires in the sky quickly gone. We climb upstairs to the top story to see. There is nothing to see. But the silence and stillness are sinister. What has been taken away? What added? Brick and stone have become unreal, and only the primeval trees remain, with the primeval fear behind them and among them. What is that behind the trees? A flame colored circle of light that glows and grows brighter and dimmer by turns. Is it an airship on fire? It burns on, and moves near, slowly. It swings clear of the trees. The moon, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Searchlight by FS Flint. Read for LibriVox.org by Nemo. There has been no sound of guns, no roar of exploding bombs, but the darkness has an edge that grits the nerves of the sleeper. He awakens. Nothing disturbs this stillness. Save perhaps the light. Slow flap. Once only of the curtain dim in the darkness. Yet there is something else that drags him from his bed. And he stands in the darkness with his feet cold against the floor and the cold air around his ankles. He does not know why, but he goes to the window and sees a beam of light miles high, dividing the night into two before him. Still, stark and throbbing. The houses and gardens beneath lie under the snow, quiet and tinged with purple. There has been no sound of guns, no roar of exploding bombs, only that watchfulness hidden among the snow-covered houses, and that great beam thrusting back into heaven, the light taken from it. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Hats by FS Flint. Read for LibriVox.org by Nemo. The hollow sound of your hard felt hat as you clap it on your head is echoed over two thousand miles of trenches by a thousand, thousand guns, and thousands of thousands of men have been killed, and still more thousands of thousands of blood have been maimed and have drowned because of that sound. Towns battered and shattered, villages blasted to dust and mud, forest and woods stripped bare, rivers and streams befouled. The earth between and beyond the lines ravaged and sewn with steel, and churned with blood and a stink of decaying men, nations starving, women and children murdered, genius destroyed, minds deformed and twisted, and waste, waste, waste of the earth's fruits, of the earth's riches, awe and obedience to your voice and the sound of your hat is in the same gamut of void and thoughtless and evil sounds. Oh esteemable man, keeper of the seasoned ticket, walker on the pavement, follower of the leader, writer, guardian of the life policy, insured against all harm, fire, burglary, servants accidents, warden and ward of the church, wallflower of the suburbs, primrose of respectability. As you go home beneath your hard felt hat, the tradesmen do you homage, happily, the trees do not know you. You have scoffed at the poet because you are a practical man and does not your house bear you out, have poets such houses, it has a garden in front with a plot of grass and in the middle of that a flower bed, with a rose tree in its midst and other rose trees against the walls and a privet hedge and stocks and delphiniums, flowers in season. The path is irregularly paved for quaintness. There's a rustic porch and a street door with a polished brass letter box and knocker and stained glass panels showing a bird in flowers and an electric bell push but you have a key and you let yourself in to the quiet red tiled hall where the doormat says welcome and the stand receives your umbrella and your coat and your hard felt hat, a drawing room, a dining room because all your fellows have them and a kitchen all clean and neat and because the kitchen is comfortable you have your teeter with your wife and child only one child for are you not practical on the upper floor or a bathroom in three bedrooms let your furniture stand undisturbed I will not describe it a hundred shops in London show off the like in their windows as for your books they are as haphazard and as futile as your pictures but here is your comfort and you are comfortable and on summer evenings and Saturday afternoons you wander out into the garden at the back which is fenced off on three sides from similar gardens and you potter around with garden tools and are happy oh ensured against all harm waiter on the pension at sixty domestic vegetable cultivated flour you have laughed at the poet the unpractical dreamer you have seen life as bookkeeping and accountancy your arithmetic has pleased you your compound interest your business more than the earth in the heavens and if your brother suffered you took no heed or read a liberal newspaper and salved your conscience aunt aunt oblivious of the water being boiled in the cauldron but when the time came for your chastisement for the punishment of your apathy your willless ignorance when the atmospheric pressure was just equivalent to the weight of the seventy six centimeter column of mercury the water had exactly reached the hundredth degree of centigrade you felt though you feared it that the time had come that you had something called a collective honor some patriotism and those others too felt the same honorable sentiment and you called for the slaughter that sanctifies honor and the boiling water was poured on us all ants ants friend and brother you have not been killed chance still allows you to wear your bowler hat the helmet of the warrior and its degeneracy the symbol of gracelessness and the hate of beauty the signature of your sameness and innocuousness take off your hat let your hair grow open your eyes look at your neighbor his suffering is your hurt become dangerous let the metaphysical beast whose breath poisons us all fear your understanding and recoil from our bodies his prey and fall back before you and shiver and quake and thirst and starve and die and a poem this recording is in the public domain to a young lady who moved shyly among men of reputed worth by fs flint read for libravox.org buy an email the olive sky shown through the birches lace of hanging leaves the silken air was still London was beautiful a tender thrill of sunset shook throughout the evening's grace under an apple tree I stood a space and watched the birds hop on the lawn until darkness had bent all image to his will when oh upon the wrap sky donned your face be brave o moon lonely among the stars be unrebuted and radiant they will pale and earth will love you for your loveliness my brain beats madly at the golden bars that stay it and my heart would have me scale the moonlit branches where the night winds press and a poem this recording is in the public domain school days by fs flint read for libravox.org buy an email hours of a slow hot afternoon so far away vibrating still when eyes would watch upon the sill of sparrow heedless of the school hours of the book and furtive play pinches past on and then the cane and sobbing or a cheeks proud flame hours living still yet far away yet far away the teacher he only a dim remembrance but the ink stained desk of ruts and cut with many initials I can see hours packed with heat and silence oh the bark more rugged and the tree more course of yet their melody hours of my school days hours of longer go and a poem this recording is in the public domain clear patra after albe some mean by fs flint read for libravox.org buy an email silently gazing from the tower apart the queen whose night black hair is bound with braid feels in the trance of sensors slowly swayed your see oh immense love mount inner heart her eyelids close on dreams and she is laid among her cushions swooning as she rests the heavy gold chains lifted by her breast tell the mute fevered longing of the maid over the monuments float strange farewells the evening soft with shade is full of spells and while the crocodiles far distant weep the queen hands clenched and sobbing to have sinned shutters to feel the civvy's fingers creep among her hair and spend it to the wind and a poem this recording is in the public domain phantasms from louis le codona by fs flint read for libravox.org buy an email the snow falls in the gauzy night and with faint nibbuses a glow a white saint and his angel go drunk with delight drunk with delight the deep moonshine upon them streams and in their shadow following two vile scrapers dance and sing drunk with their dreams drunk with their dreams leaving the mad brown earth too soon where in their bones found time too long two skeletons take up the song drunk with the moon drunk with the moon and a poem this recording is in the public domain the shell from jose maria day radia by fs flint read for libravox.org buy an email through what cold oceans since what ancient year oh pearly shell and fragile who shall say the surge the current and the tide have they world you in their abysses green and drear far from the bitter floods you now have here made a soft bed of golden sand and gray your hope is vain long and despairing a in you the seas great moaning voice we hear sauners to its core my soul is for as from your warl in plaintiff accents poor the sob and sighing of the seas old stir so dull and slow and yet eternal well the far off stormy murmuring beaten swell from the depth of this heart too full of her and a poem this recording is in the public domain from marjousis meal new a a new e by fs flint read for libravox.org buy nemo and eva davis under my kufa veil i bring the flowers and fruits still powdered with the sun's gold showers all the gold of sudan is on thy skin oh well beloved the sunbeams gaily spin thy hair and no Damascus loom could weave a velvet like thine eyes behold at eve when the warm hour of dusk propitiously opens his silky arms i come to thee the light air dances in the limpid night and leaves and waters murmur our delight oh my gazelle of night oh my surprise darkness is dazzled holy with thine eyes ah let me plunge into them and emerge drunk as the bird that revels in the surge come nearer take their roses from my lips then when my body from its chalice slips slowly i shall from head to heel at last be naked but for thee oh unsurpassed oh my beloved behold the secret fruit of my moon flesh thou knowest has the form of the ripe date come thou wilt hear the brute of seas where birds are drunken in the storm end of poem this recording is in the public domain the poor from amil the haddon by fs flint read for libravox.org by nemo and so there are poor hearts poor hearts with lakes of bitter tears in them and they are death pale like the stones of cemeteries and so there are poor backs poor backs heavier with trouble and with burdens than the roofs of the brown casines among the dunes and so there are poor hands poor hands like the leaves upon the roads like the yellow leaves and sad before the door and so there are poor eyes poor eyes humble and good and yet to care worn and sadder than the eyes of beast beneath the storm and so there are poor folk poor folk with tired indulgent gestures who are harried by a gripping dearth along the level planes of earth end of poem this recording is in the public domain o'dolei from Henri Divinier by fs flint read for libravox.org by nemo if i have spoken of my love it is to the slow stream that harkens when i lean above it if i've spoken of my love it is to the wind that laughs and whispers in the leaves if i've spoken of my love it is to the bird that passes singing with the wind if i've spoken the echo heard if i have loved with a great love and sad or joyous wise it was your eyes if i have loved with a great love it was your mouth so grave and sweet it was your mouth if i have loved with a great love it was your warm flesh and your cool fresh hands and it is your shadow that i seek end of poem this recording is in the public domain end of otherworld cadences by fs


Alright, so you want to transition from field sales to tele-sales is a super popular topic right now That I need to talk about because a lot of people are reaching out asking a ton of questions constantly So stay with me watch through this entire video about 10 11 12 minutes on specifically what you can do to make money today now Coming from field sales straight to tell us coming to walk through several different steps of What you think about and what you should do also? In the description below you'll see a new tele-sales mastery membership It's already got over a hundred members that you can actually go in the description and click to join right away Okay, and it's got tons of videos Scripts everything else recordings of sales that you need to listen to to actually accomplish this even better All right, so I'm going to go through a few steps that you need to immediately use all right So just like when you were working the field you still need Lead flow okay, so very similar you need lead flow to actually take you from Because they're damn any of Lead flow works for you in the field right true or false it worked for you in the field If it worked for you in the field it can work for you in phone sales as well and tells us well So you got a lead flow in the field you need a lead flow again All right, so you need a lead flow and maybe the lead flow is different. Maybe it's not the exact same Maybe it's more digital marketing internet leads etc. However, you need lead flow You need it consistently. We've got discounts on live leads live transfers and Marketing services discounts on all that in our membership again in the description the link is below Okay, so lead flow after lead flow after lead flow you need you need some way to actually Dial them and the reason I bring that up and we're put we're adding some did dial up dial our discounts to the membership as Well, but the reason I bring that up is the big thing is you don't have to actually use a dialer If you don't want to you can still dial by hand with your cell phone If that's you would love what you would like to do you can easily do it that way most people don't realize that's the case I mean, I personally know call centers that I'm friends with that will have Couple agents this month. It'll do 40 50 grand this month From simply hand dialing leads. Okay, so you can a hundred percent do that All right, when you're dialing them the goal and the point is that you actually need to You need to actually get a hold of them. Okay, you need to actually get a hold of them You need to talk to them. They need to answer the phone. And so yeah, you can be persistent Actually following up and following my follow-up process when it comes to actually calling these whether that be right? Because I always recommend six calls in 72 hours. I also recommend a 12 touch Process which I've went over before and went over quite a bit. Most you probably know what I'm talking about Okay, I've got 1500 2000 videos on here. Okay on YouTube also You can actually get to where you can you know, you can change Your phone number so you can actually dial from a different number. You could also get to where you even double or Triple dial. That's where you dial Goes to voicemail. They don't answer you immediately dial back that can increase your answer rate All right, you get a hold of them the fourth one just like with field. Okay, just like with field you want to establish control and Then qualify them right so you want to establish control This is the entire process right from from going from field cells straight into phone cells and selling over the phone Okay, so control and qualify that means within the first within the first three minutes You need to actually establish control get a hold of them and then pre-qualify them in Or out so that you can continue to talk to them. Most people forget this piece. It's important I got a ton of videos on this in the membership as well. Okay, so make sure you check that out Again controlling and qualified because most people don't realize you got to get in control When you're calling someone and you're getting them on the phone I forgot to pull this out earlier when you're getting them on the phone. You got it immediately Immediately establish control if you're not in control there in control, okay? What's unique about asking questions is when I ask you a question It's human nature to do what it's human nature to ask it Which is why insurance agents that are using the phone should ask a lot more questions along the way Okay, so I only should you ask questions and I should you try to get in control immediately But you should do everything that you can to Get their attention. Most people don't realize and Harvard Harvard says Five seconds the first five seconds are important. I know that the first 60 seconds Five seconds 60 seconds and three minutes are always super important when you're talking about getting a hold of someone establishing control and then Qualifying them whether that be depending on the product and maybe qualifying them for what they currently have Their current health situation and making sure that they if you're only if you're only selling people to have a bank account And you don't want direct express or direct bill or and those other things and you only want to pay for credit cards You only want to work with people to have a check-in account, which a lot of call centers work that way That's good. That's great, but you don't want to spend 45 minutes with them if they don't have one Alright, so you want to qualify them out. That's important That's kind of common sense, but most people don't realize that because they're used to filled cells Alright, so this is normal. I'm with you. Okay control and qualify. All right. The next thing is after that, you know, you need to simply build rapport Build rapport Fact find and then present and close right so this is the whole gamut to where you literally take some time and Just like just like face-to-face cells or filled cells. You've got about a get to where I Should have not had so much spacing up here. I'm running out of space on the bottom of the board I that's that happens to me a lot. Okay, so so get to where you're building rapport you're fact-finding you're building value You're you're you're pre-closing or trial closing.  I go I go in on this Extensively in our membership and we're continuing to add things to that membership every single day I get in the links in the bio below. Okay, so if you think about field to tele-cells your current model what you're currently doing This doesn't differ that much because you think about it real quick. Okay, you're used to lead flow You're used to dialing them used to getting a hold of them But you're used to the next step being actually setting an appointment to go out and sit with them But when you sit with them and ain't that much difference And when you sit with them you're building rapport now this maybe a list is different, right? But when you when you do sit with them you're building rapport you're fact-finding you're presenting and you're closing So you're doing the same thing, but you're doing it over the phone But you're typically slowing down because the average cell Okay, I mean think about what your average cell is for field. It's probably What 45 to 60 minutes sometimes 90 minutes or two hours right sometimes longer, okay? There's no different right. Tele-cells your average cell should be 45 to 60 minutes It's gonna take some time, you know, and when you do that it's not gonna be an Immediate cell most people jump from field to phone thinking okay because I've got this thing and I can qualify quicker and I can ask questions I can be direct and I can ask if they want to buy we end up thinking it's gonna be quicker and simpler and easier in fact Actually getting them to buy on the phone is a little harder than face to face naturally Okay, because they got to know like and trust you and they may not know like and trust you because they don't know You yet. Okay, so that's where building rapport and taking some time is big because again, they need to know Like and trust okay for them to pull the trigger on whatever options you present Most agents are forgetting that not only is it tougher But it it's not quicker because you've got to establish all these things on the phone that you're used to doing in a home That you haven't done yet Over the phone. Okay, so think through that right lead flow consistent. We talk about lead flow again You're gonna need I mean when agents are calling leads. They're probably average in You know five percent closing rate for those that are curious, you know, so it's gonna take some leads All right, you want five deals you're gonna have to you know if you may have to work age leads and a combination of aged and new leads I recommend that okay because You want to you want to talk you don't have about As far as getting a hold of them you want to have about eight good Convos per day, you know, you don't have about eight good conversations per day Presentations what we call it to where okay I qualified them out and I'm having a decent conversation with them and you want that to happen to happen about About a third about 20 or 30 percent of time of people that you get a hold of okay, that's normal. That's natural Okay, so when you dial them get a hold of them. All right persistence most insured There's stats that say that most insurance agents Do not dial more than zero one or two times on a new lead But studies tell us that when you go six calls you have a 90% chance of contact Studies tell us if you use different phone numbers it helps studies Tell us if you dial different times of the day it helps studies. Tell us if you actually try Versus those that don't you're gonna see better results funny how that works, right? It isn't rocket science. Most insurance agents are lazy. That's why that's a big reason why 92% of interest agents fail. Okay, but there's more millionaires this industry in the world So it's phenomenal. You're in the right place. You're in the right vehicle Okay from filled cells of telecells lead flow dial them get a hold of them control and qualify and then go through the normal Appointment process. Okay. Now if you're like this is overwhelming, I don't know what to do There's a lot of information and I would like to have access to resources scripts audio recordings video library training Technology leads in marketing discounts what where to buy live transfers? All the process for FE all the process for Medicare all the process for all the products Carriers I should use information about that, you know, and I want a strategy call with Cody, right? Members get those things. All right, so I got a new telecells master membership Check out the description below click the link and join the membership today I want to help you and I want you to join that thing Thanks for watching feel to tell him. Hey, if you like this video, do me a favor go to that video right there It's over two hours. There's a free webinar. I did you're gonna love that video How to sell life insurance over the phone from home go there and I'll see you there our industry is saving lives It's helping people it's doing the right thing and people need our help right now more than ever Which is what that means is?


Hello and welcome to the session. In this session we will discuss a question which says that drop of the algorithm with vertices minus 3 3 minus 3 minus 1 1 3 1 minus 1 and find the length of all its sides. Now before starting the solution of this question you should know some results. And the first result is if in a coordinate plane we have two points that is the first point a with coordinates x y 1 and the second point is b with coordinates x y 2 where x coordinate is fixed and y coordinate varies then the line segment joining these two points will be a vertical line and length of this line segment a b will be equal to absolute value of y 2 minus y 1. And secondly if in a coordinate plane we have two points that is the point a with coordinates x 1 y and the point b with coordinates x 2 y. Now here the x coordinate varies and y coordinate is fixed then the line segments joining these two points will be a horizontal line and length of this line segment a b will be equal to absolute value of x 2 minus x 1. Now these results will work out as a key idea for solving out the given question. Now let us start with the solution of the given question. Now here we have to draw a problem with these four vertices. For plotting this we will take a coordinate plane in which horizontal axis is the x axis, vertical axis is the y axis. Now let us plot these four ordered pairs in this coordinate plane. First of all let us plot the ordered pair minus 3 3. Now where the x coordinate is negative y coordinate is positive so this ordered pair will lie in the second quadrant. So for plotting this ordered pair we will start from 0 as the x coordinate is negative that is minus 3 so we will move 3 units to the left of 0 and we will reach at this point then the y coordinate is positive that is 3 so we will move 3 units upwards and we will reach at this point which represents the ordered pair minus 3 3. Now we will plot the second ordered pair in which both x and y coordinates are negative which means this ordered pair will lie in the third quadrant. Now here this is the point which represents the ordered pair minus 3 minus 1. Now the third ordered pair will lie in the first quadrant as where both x and y coordinates are positive so this is the point which represents the ordered pair 1 3. Now the fourth ordered pair will lie in the first quadrant as here the x coordinate is positive and y coordinate is negative and this is the point which represents the ordered pair 1 minus 1. Now let us label these points as a b c and d where a represents the point minus 3 3 b represents the point minus 3 minus 1 c represents the point 1 minus 1 and d represents the point 1 3. Now let us join all these points consecutively that is a b b c c d d a. Now on joining all these points we are getting a polygon c c d and d a so it is a quadrant we have to find length of it. So for this we will use the results which are given to us in the key idea. So length of a b the coordinates of a r minus 3 3 and coordinates of b r minus 3 minus 1. Now here as the y coordinate varies so length of a b which is equal to absolute value of minus 1 minus 3 which is equal to absolute value of minus 1 which is equal to and y coordinate varies r to minus y 1 absolute value of 3 minus of minus 1 which is equal to absolute value of value of 4 which is equal to 4 units of b c and length of d a is a horizontal line where the x coordinate varies and y coordinate of b c will be equal to absolute value of x 2 minus x 1. So this is equal to 1 minus of minus 3 absolute value of 1 plus 3 which is equal to absolute value of 4 that is equal to the length of d a which is equal to absolute value of x 2 minus x 1. So this is equal to absolute value of minus 3 minus 1 which is equal to absolute value of minus 4 which is equal to 4 units a b c d b c which means both are equal that length of a length of d a similarly length of a b is same as length of d a question of the given question and that's all for the session hope you all have enjoyed the session.


New Year's Eve is one of the most dangerous times to be on the road and law enforcement across the state were looking for impaired drivers more than ever last night. Even with ride sharing become a more popular option to travel, 111 DWI arrests were made last night and in the early hours of the morning. That is a decrease from last New Year's when 117 DWI arrests were made across the state. Locally, four people were arrested on DWI charges in Beltrami County and three others were arrested in Crowing County. As a reminder, please plan on a safe ride home no matter the occasion.