The silence seems more friendly than before
It’s like a melody felt in my ear
This love has taken from me, my own fear
When silence was an omen with dark door
The flowers and all of nature, I adore
Gone are paranoia and its seers.
The silence seems more friendly than before
It’s like sweet silent music to my ear
I am drawn to love you more and more.
Hypnotic like the sun on Windermere
A misty air arising as we peer
The silence is more friendly than before
I’ve been beside myself ever since I was in the hospital. When will I get inside myself I wonder? I understand why people believe in spirits because you can really feel as if you are not inhabiting your own body that your spirit is on the ceiling looking down and watching your body moving about.
This used to happen to my husband quite a lot and also sleepwalking very very strange. I had a noise in the middle of the night and he wasn’t here so I went downstairs and he was in the kitchen with his striped dressing gown on putting water into the kettle. I asked him what are you doing and he said I’m making the tea.
I realised he was actually faster sleep and somehow I’m honestly getting upstairs into bed
Some people have killed while they were asleep like that fortunately he never tried to strangle me
And where are you when people look at your face and they can see that you are not present but you’re not consciously fantasizing but you are not there in some sense,
So I wonder about these old expressions like she was besides herself when she lost her engagement ring,
I’m interested in having a lot of old sayings the body is involved whereas I don’t think it is in modern phrases
My heart was in my mouth
Some of these things are wonderful I like them very much
The chattering cacophony of cars
Underneath the silence of the stars
The echo of lost voices,faces, smiles
To which our little heart is always loyal
The horns that shriek, the trains that wreck the track
The vision of the lost who can’t come back
The loaded wagons and the violin
The orchestra that plays as we go in
The crackling of the ice the skaters skim
The refugees whose clothing is too thin
The scream of Munch, the horror he foresaw.
The end of Europe in the first World War
The decorated War Memorials grim
Reminding us that no-one ever wins
Drowned by words whose owner could not speak
Disordered and untimely they came down
Her mind had lost its senses, its critiques
She did not wish to see a world so bleak
She lay there like a fox on bloody ground
Crowded by the slobbering hounds she shrieked
I asked if Su Doku would bring her peace
She beat me with a heavy pan all round
Her mind had lost its pity in her grief
I begged her use a hammer,kill or tease
She cried out, oh, my wi fi has gone down
She drowned in mobile phones which could not speak
She begged me to cook dumplings with the beef
Atora still make suet, it’s renowned,
Her mind had lost its legacies, its reach
I bought a bunch of roses from a clown
The thorns a sharp reminder of her nouns
Spared the words this woman could not speak
Our silence gave me comfort, yet I weep
My husband is naughty a very naughty man
He throws down the newspaper on top of his beer can
He buys himself a sandwich in a nasty cardboard box
And puts trash in the laundry basket with his woollen socks.
He takes off his pyjamas and chucks them on the floor
He uses hankies frequently, so I have to buy lots more.
He wants to have thick sauces on top of all his food.
And when he has a hypo his speech is very rude.
I gave him such a shock when I learned to curse and swear
But we really need to, as “eff off “is everywhere.
Why even in the Bible there are some wicked words
I’ve not read it all yet, except Psalm’s I have heard
I mean to finish reading it and then when I must die,
I’ll come onto a cloud and shout, Oh pi is in the sky.
For transcendental numbers give a hint divine.
Although you can get it better with a glass of dry, white wine.
My husband drinks draught Guinness and then he falls asleep
He hollers and curses when the oven timer beeps.
He eats a piece of kipper and cried out,Oh, dear God!
Nobody caught this b*gger with a U.K. fishing rod
He wants to move to Whitby and walk upon the sands
Sit in the audience and hear the big brass bands.
He wants to see the sun rise and to see it set…
So please send God some gelatine in case the air’s too wet!
Each of us likes our own quiddity;
As it makes us unique,don’t you know?
And if we are felled by liquidity
We must be sure not to get drink up the snow.
Our fingerprints, our eyes and our shadows
Are not shared with anyone else.
So as we lie in the butter-cupped meadow
We must ensure we will never be false.
Quiddity’s a word that the toffs use
Anglo-Saxon is thought non de trop.
O Temper O Celtic O Flores.
Norman said he told me so.
Per ardua ad astra perggun tree
Eton men all speak in Greek.
So tell them to eff of if flumshee
The English sure know how to speak.
At dinner with folk from the Gunnament
Be sure to say ,eclectic’s inchoate.
But when you’re at home with your fundament..
Do keep your self esteem well afloat.
Why is the tongue of the Bible
Not something the rich like to speak?
Maybe the eye of that needle
Has made them more fluent in Greek.
Even the poor can have chutzpa
As they fry up a bagel in lard.
Oy vey, the Messiah is out there.
So give away on your new debit card.
Good Lord,God must speak Aramaic
Or Hebrew and/or HTML
For the commandments may be somewhat archaic;
But their translation has given us all hell.
’ll go to Sodom Gomarrahm
I’ll get some prayers; rite after death.. whose I go to Confession; it’s smashin’m
I wish we could still buy “Indulgences”
Oh, God, be fair to aged present! Give me oil for my lamp, keep me burning. Is desire a sin, and for ” whom”?
We should meet others without memory or desire especially in a “brothel”
He asked for a whore more in bed.
Can’t get up, tired.
Speaks bad Englis I am now a ” sinner” having committed more than 1,000 sins right here on my pages.
They are called posts officially! But we all know about mass deception and wholly disunion.
Dear God,
Decide with me;You see the evil minds
The darkness weeps; bairns in me confide
When mother’s helpers fail and contort glee,
Smoke all the kippers and make a cup of tea.
Drafts blew off my clothes and cinders burned all day;
Earth’s toys grew thin; its stories passive,grey.
Change and replay is all around for free
O Thou who changest notes, save some notes for me
Come not with terriers, nor as king with wings
But underwrite the good, with healing and new strings,
Tears for wholesome souls, new heart for every bee
Come to lines of sinners, and be derided by a flea
Thou on my shed in early youth laid tiles
And, though it seems ridiculous We’ve reversed them all meanwhile,
Thou hast not written me, as oft as I‘ve written Thee,
Yours sincerely, Lord
Is keeping a blog a necessity?
Is reaping the whirlwind atrocity?
Please make a full answer with brevity
Or my wits may explode with sheer levity.
Is marriage a mistake far too hasty?
Is washing the bed sheer depravity?
Please prove your email’s veracity.
Or my Company will be very nasty
Why do we sin with tenacity?
And have sex when we have no elasticity?
Do write down your thoughts without acidity.
And reflect your emotion in tranquility.
A game is such fun when in amity
And is fair except when played in emnity.
Please kiss your own arse with great dignity.
I speak here in jest without bigotry
Spot the cliches!
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times in a very real sense.Mary dreamed Stan was in heaven enjoying the company of Wittgenstein,Jesus and Pascal , not to mention Lady Jane Grey Ann of Cleves,Juliet,Cleopatra and an angel.At least at this point in time he can’t sleep with them ,she thought as she woke up.Though did that matter? Can men be faithful and monogamous? Look at Leonard Cohen.Was he better off flitting from flower to flower? Was he so stunning that women threw themselves at him and he could not resist?Sometimes people are actuallyafraid of intimacy or feel life is short and want some new experiences.Was he a wolf? It t akes one to know one
It was indeed almost the worst of times when Mary remembered she had no food in the house except cat food for Emile.He was all she had now as her daughter Lyra lived in Australia and Stan was in heaven, she hoped.
Here I am, she thought, pondering unanswerable questions and not looking after myself .It is probably best to err on the side of buying food and going out rather than lying in the bed wondering if life has any inherent meaning. or if we must create our own.
Even discussing that with someone else would be better.But men folk don’t want to discuss serious topics with their lovers.
It was an even worse time when she recalled a man who once loved her leaving her because she asked him if he knew what post-modernism was one night after going to the cinema to see a comedy.She realised then that she would have to play a part,To act like a woman.So far it was but moderately successful owing to her myopic view of life
If only I had kept quiet, she told herself,I could be lying beside him now enjoying a few kisses and hugs and asking him how to light the electric fire.Still ,there’s many a slip twixt cup and lip
Now then, said a loud voice.
Stop ruminating and get up. One stitch in time saves nine
Who are you to say that to me, she called nervously ?She wondered of stress had driven her round the bend.She had begun reading a book which said mental illness in not an illness like flu.It is a reaction to bad events and other life strains.
It doesn’t matter who I am,just do as I say, came the answer
Mary recognised the voice.It was her dad who had died when she was 9.
Dad, she called, why are you here now?
Because Jesus told us to love our family, he revealed pleasantly.
Why now after all these years? she persisted.I have missed you.
I always did have a bad sense of direction,he told her.But do as I say.You won’t recover easily if you never get up.Stan is here but he is busy cleaning the gold cutlery for an angel.
Alright, but I never knew there was cutlery up there, she murmured as she put on her new clothes.She had bought some purple trousers and two new jumpers.One was pink and one was teal.The trousers were exceptionally comfortable being in a last years sale by a famous label..She then found some Weetabix in the cupboard and some long life milk.As she drank her tea she admired the acer’s brilliant red leaves.
Almost too bright, she thought.It’s due to the hot September.Plants are affected by their environment and so are we.Especially by bad or hot tempered men and women
Poor people may have more than in the past but they tend to live in the ugliest areas of the town with no gardens nor parks.
And seeing the better off walk by wearing expensive clothes it is surprising there are not even more muggings.
She recalled seeing a man with a Rolex watch and gold earrings on talking on his new iPhone as he wandered through the Mall.I suppose we think everybody else is like us; we don’t mix with very poor or very rich people on the whole.Unless we are one of those two types.
Mary went outside and found a neighbour wheeling in her bins.
Thanks ,Tom, she cried.I wondered who it was.I am very grateful.What is post modernism,by the way?Nobody will tell me.
Emile was watching from the window sill.
I knew it was Tom, he mewed.
But you didn’t tell me,Mary replied.
You didn’t ask.
Tom wandered off ,while Mary admired the autumn trees lining the road.Tom turned back and looked at her but she didn’t notice.
Time for coffee, she muttered and went inside again.She was embroidering a table mat which said “Rumination is for the birds”.Where it had come from was a puzzle.
Oh, brilliant leaves are now turned duller red.
The first day of our Brexit winter time.
From the sun bright colour had been bled.
What seemed innate was stolen then instead
As life is taken when we pass our prime
The shimmering leaves are now turned brownish red
Oh,sadly know the leaves face sudden death
Torn from branches where boys used to climb
All the foliage flies in one last breath
Mystics hear the still small voice of God
When all is lost and meaning ‘s but a line
Those high leaves for tramps shall make a bed
When we had it,what was it we had?
We hear the Word when we have paid the fine
Once lovely leaves are now turned dull and dead
For only sun expressed what had been fed.
Continue reading “Oh, brilliant leaves”
The sun took down the grey cloaks from the sky.
Those clouds deprived us of her brilliant light
This light will please my spirit and my eye
The branches of the trees gleam from on high
And on the shrubs the leaves shine in my sight
The sun dismissed the grey cloaks of the sky.
Nature, though deceptive, cannot lie.
She ,like us, swings from the dark to bright
Her light has pleased my spirit and my eye.
An artist paints, her picture poetry.
Through her work, the hidden world delights
For sun dismissed the grey clouds from the sky.
A sculptor plays with marble till it cries
The truth we need to feel and then to write
Creation raises spirits and our eyes.
Yet even in the darkness,poets write
Maybe like the past, by candle light
The sun has dried the grey clouds in the sky.
New light caresses spirits prone to sigh.
I look up our small street,
To see if you are coming.
I don’t know what time it is, .
But I think I hear you humming.
You sang sweet songs for us .
And you could whistle well.
You wore an old tweed jacket
You loved us, we could tell. .
I look out there each day,
But I can’t see your tall, thin shape.
I saved your Woodbine packet, It made me feel some hope.
What does death’s door mean? Where has Daddy gone?
When will be the welcome day, When we hear his songs again?
I’ll sing like him all day,
I’ll dream of him all night.
I hope he won’t be angry,
If his cigarettes won’t light!
He can’t write his own songs now. He went too far away, too soon. I’ll write down what I think he sang,
And I’ll invent the tune.
I hear him singing now,
.He dwells inside my heart.
And though I still can’t see his face, I recognise his Art.
Mary had ordered all of her groceries but she forgot to put tea on the list So she sent Emile to the corner shop with a note tied to his collar Please give the bearer your best tea. Emile went off and managed to get into the shop after some children who were getting sweets with their pocket money or debit cards He went up to the counter and mewed, Mother has sent you a note. One of the children laughed Is your mother a girlfriend of Mr. Kumar? No, she is not, Emile growled with a loud throbbing voice Mr. Kumar led Emile behind the counter into his living room and spoke to his wife She asked Emile to sit down as she went into the kitchen and poured him some tea from her China teapot .Do you want it on a saucer, she enquired thoughtfully? Yes, please, said Emile. This is very kind. He leaped onto the rug and began sipping the Ceylon tea. This makes a change, he murmured. I didn’t know you could just walk in and get free tea! After a few minutes, the shop door crashed open and he heard Mary’s voice Oh, Mr. Kumar, I am so stupid. I sent Emile out to buy some Twinings tea and he has not come home! What shall we do? She started crying and dabbing her eyes with Stan’s hanky. Come through, he whispered politely. Do not weep, dear. All is well Mary came in and saw Emile drinking his tea and winking at Mrs. Kumar. Emile, you stupid cat. I was going crazy worrying.I’ll strangle you! Is it my fault, he replied. I only gave them that note you sent. But is it not obvious what I intended? she said plaintively These days you never know, the cat muttered. I try to be obedient as far as I can. Mrs. Kumar came out and gave Mary a cup of tea. Sit down, dear. Worry is so bad for you. Why did you not phone us? Since it was just a packet of tea I thought Emile could carry it. He is very intelligent normally. Yes, I am, thought Emile as he looked at Maisie, the Kumar’s lovely cat who was asleep on a chair. I wonder if I can wake her up, he asked himself. Does she drink tea? Would she like to start a family? It’s not too late for me to become a parent. Maisie opened her eyes What’s that cat doing here? I only came for the tea, Emile told her. But you look very beautiful. Shall we meet tonight I’m washing my fur, she told him with a smile How about tomorrow? Have you got a phone? No, he said, I’ll just caterwaul at dusk and if you are free I’ll be under the red maple tree waiting for you Good grief thought Mary. This cat is very cunning. Just one chance and he is making the most of it. Mr. Kumar gave her some tea and she wandered home in a daze after asking them for a drink on Sunday. My social life is looking up but there’s no-one who will hug me. If only Emile were bigger! His legs are too short!I should get a donkey instead
I studied grief as it were a place
I found the hidden pathways of the lost
I learnt its secret corners and its space
For every kind of grief there is a cost
How shall I pay the price for what I’ve learned?
For I am old and I have spent not saved.
Do we ever get what we have earned?
Who will teach me most before the grave?
The cow will moan and cry for her lost calf
The mother who miscarries knows the pain
Then those we love most dearly must depart.
We will never know the like again.
Woe and joy are knitted very close.
We must take them both in unknown dose.
Mary was making a beef and beer casserole. But her casserole dish lid was too high for the small oven on her gas stove
What shall I do, she asked Emile.her cat?
I don’t know, mother, he told her.I never cook
I’ve told you before,I am not your mother.
Well, you feed me and wash me and keep my bed clean
I did that for Stan.I hope he didn’t think I was his mother
He was older than you, the cat informed her boldly
Yes.indeed he was 50 years older than me!
I know what to do, Emile mewed. He stood by the phone and pressed 999
Soon the bell rang. In ran Dave, the transvestite paramedic dressed all in white as if for tennis
What’s wrong now, he enquired?
I can’t get this casserole dish into the oven, said Mary
I know what to do. Have you got either a pyrex plate or a cake tin with a loose bottom?
Mary looked into her cupboard and found a 6 ” plate
Dave put it on top of the dish having removed the high domed lid.
There we are, he cried. What number shall I put the oven on?
3 please, said Mary. You are so creative, Dave. Brilliant
Would you like to come back in 3 hours for a meal?
I’d love to, Dave cried. Unless I get called out by someone who needs me to find a knife and fork so they can eat their dinner
Would people really do that, Emile whispered?
You would not believe what people demand when they ring 999.
And so say all of us
I have not seen forsythia glow so bright
The flowers exult in yellow on the shed
Even in the darkening of the light
For many days my mind has been upset
I did not know where I had lost my head
I have not seen forsythia glow so bright
My eyes were focussed where our terrors bite
Without love’s consolations in my bed
Even in the darkening of the light
Barbaric words of humans hate incite
As the Prophets sadly have long said
I have not seen the sun glow quite so bright
The dirty look, the eye so sly, the night
The terror in our dreams, the bloody heads
Here they come, in darkness, in our flight
Come my dearest,take me as I’m read
By words expressed, the dangers have now fled
I have not seen forsythia glow so bright
Now the darkness dances with the light
I meant to write a poem of revenge
To hurt the one who shot out glacial words
I knew how to begin but how to end?
Through the Oxford. my sharp eyes had lunged
My vile emotions then were further stirred
I meant to write a poem of revenge
First he wooed me , showed his cultured friends
Sweet the words and soft the voice I heard
I knew how to begin but how to end?
Would retaliation my heart rend?
Down the vultures rushed ,carnivorous birds
As he wooed me with the words he wrung
My arm was disengaged by unseen hand
I could not write, impossible cruel words
I meant to write a poem of revenge
Lady of Macbeth, who’d wash in blood
When evil can be overcome by good?
I meant to write a poem of revenge
I hated once but Good controlled my hand
I do not like this stone within my heart
Its jagged edges tear the living flesh.
Devoid of feelings yet it causes pain
Who will cut it out, with blood to wash?
Why do people turn to stone inside?
Something is preserved, we are not dead.
And yet it’s useless even full of harm
I lie here weeping on my unmade bed.
On its stony surface evil dwells
Alien forms of life take up this home.
And, all unknowing, we live our sweet life.
Until we’re brought to earth, no more to roam.
Oh do not let me die, I want more life
Where is my surgeon with his sharpest knife?
Daddy where were you when I was sad
I bought you Woodbines in Mather’s corner shop
I carried your boiled egg with salt on plate
You lay in bed adorned with wreaths of smoke
Uncle Herbert died when I was five
Not many of Dad’s brothers left alive
But Bert was old and all his children grown
He lay inert, the coffin dark, the stone
I saw yours and Grandad’s too, the oak
The Cemetery filled with men and broken hearts
Baffled grieving we would love seek
And for Mum’s mother’s grave, we tried to look
We too will lie down in the earth
In communion with our parents ,love and birth
His beauty moved me like owl at prayer
I’d better share my love of birds on here
He touched me like a marble falls down drains Thank God we then had lots of heavy rain
He told me he was angered by my face
I drowned on his tweed jacket spiced with mace.
I read so fast the teachers were amazed
My secret was adrenalin and haste
I never loved my neighbour as myself
For I was deep in love with someone else
We think we long for love but I might say
Intimacy rots if we can’t play.
I ate my words but could not them digest
The cruel hint, the sentence over -stressed
As if I tried to pierce another’s skin
Which was already dry, and too,too thin.
Better edit what we say with care.
Even those we love we must not scare
Take for granted nothing we adore
But walk in that pale sand, by sea, by shore .
Do not sink into the mud and dross
Despite we each must carry our own cross
For aid is near but cannot reach the deaf
The silence speaks, it does not cause distress
On the sands, we watch small children play
Bringing blood back to our faces grey.
The clouds are large like galleons on the sea
The sails are rounded swimming on the blue
The earth seems small and humble company
Some take fright and into dark they flee
Blinded by the size,ignored the clue
The clouds are whipped like icecream into goo
I see a dream that hangs high on a tree
A crow stands on its head, the small birds rue
~The earth seems small ,unreal yet company
God wrote us a letter,that is key
We staggered to the fire,we burned with glee
The clouds disguise the sin of our envy
The dying god hangs through eternity
Shall he be raised, shall we his promise see?
The earth seems small and humble company
Oh, do not let us kill the sacred tree
Fragmented it wlll split the Trinity
The clouds are beads upon a rosary
The Cross beseeches.words are heresy
This is a very old article in the Guardian newspaper
But it seems we’re still in the same situation of trying to be happy all the time or as much as possible
Where are you going this morning, Mary enquired her best friend Annie.
?
I’m going to take “The mathematical l experience” to Jane’s house. I’m giving it to her daughter
How can you take an experience round someone’s house?
Well all your experiences have made you into the person that you are and so they’re always with you wherever you may go. But this one is actually a book. I think Jane’s daughter will enjoy it. Maths degrees can be very boring when they do not discuss history or social context.
Well it would be no good to me, said Annie unless someone like E Nesbitt rewrote it for children the way she did Shakespeare’s Plays. Maybe set it to music
I think E Nesbit is dead but it would be wonderful if someone could do that. What source of music would it be? Possibly something like Stravinsky
Now what shall I wear ?
Mary donned a pair of thick trousers but they seemed very tight .
Have I put weight on, she murmured confusedly?
No those are leggings, they must be winter leggings. You can’t go outside in those. Not unless you want to be an object of hilarity and scorn
Why n?
They show that your knee has collapsed which is not a pretty sight and also they may be too clinging around your female organs.
I wonder what the difference is between being clinging and too clinging?
It needs the expert eye of a woman who loves clothes.
Suppose I wear a very long jumper over the top Mary replied plaintively.
Well lt won’t hide your knee but then who is going to look at you now? I suppose someone might look at your face my
Only a very old partially sighted man would look at me now I suppose Mary replied feverishly
Maybe a horrible neighbour will notice and pass a remark
Mary told her we can’t live our lives trying to escape the rude remarks of horrible neighbours. In any case it’s all in our paranoid imaginations. Everyone is through caught up in their own thoughts to notice these details
Anyway stop talking I’m getting tired.
That’s the trouble with being old Annie replied. Nearly everything is too tiring whether it’s talking
getting dressed or washed. Or especially vacuuming the house and garden
Not to mention the pavement and the roof.
Mary gently picked up the mathematicak experience from the table in the hall
She went outside and across the road to where her neighbors Jane lived.
Hello Jane. I have brought a book for Rosa.
Jane looked at the book and said that’s very kind of you Mary but Rosa has decided to change to social work.
That’s a big leap from mathematics said Mary randomly
Well Rosa is concerned at the state of the world and she was trying to escape by going into the world of mathematics but unfortunately it didn’t work for mainly because she’s never been very good at mathematics but also it seems inhuma to spend all day with numbers and symbols.
So now she wants to help people who are suffering as they’re always on her mind anyway.
Wow said Mary she must be a very thoughtful intelligent girl with a very kind heart
Come in said Jane and Mary went in followed by Emile her little cat
Hello Rosa she cried I brought your book but your mother says you are no longer doing mathematics. Would you like me to get you something by Richard Hoggart ?
I’d love to read The uses of literacy the teenager replied sumnily. No one will write a book like that now.
I’m sure I can get a copy on eBay Mary told her ignorantly; that’s where I got this mathematical experience book.
You can take this anyway because you might keep mathematics as a hobby.
Thank you very much Rosa replied people it may help me to understand why otherwise sane people go to university to study mathematics.
Archimedes didn’t go to university, said Emile the cat. Then nearly everything that’s been invented was not invented in a university and maybe that’s the problem of our time. By the way how did you teach your cat to talk?
We didn’t teach him to talk and the vet says it’s probably genetic
One of his ancestors must have been able to speak English and he has inherited it although listening to the conversations between me and my husband Stan might have helped him.
Yes it did the cat informs them and I miss Stan very much. I pray for him every night in front of that statue in the living room
That’snot the statue of God it’s a sculpture by a woman from Suffolk.
Well it looks like God to me, Emile replied. He just gazed admiringly at the mantle piece where the sculpture of a tiger sat.
But surely if that was the god that Jesus was preaching about God would not have appeared as a tiger.
No God may have been quite gentle then but since the 20th century and the 21st century his
It’s brought out the more aggressive and destructive side of his nature.
How can you talk about God like that?
I just open my mouth and it comes out.
Surely way ought to have a gate on our lips
And so ought all of us
Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Rain and shadowed clouds would suit our mood
When we are the warp without the weft
As if we are the pen and no ink’s left
As if we hunger yet there is no food
Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Our mind slows down and all we do is drift
Evil thoughts into the soul intrude
Like we are the warp without the weft
Let the eye and all its muscles rest
With wider focus we may cease to brood
Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Do not try with will power nor it test
Relaxation brings back knowledge of the good
We take it in like babies at the breast
We must not test the will but let it go
Trust the ocean and eternal flow
Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Sometimes sunshine brings its golden gifts
How my heart speaks 