This is not good,,,maybe  delete …no editing can help…OMG it’s horrible

Yoitu may become a really good poet
But if you don’t write we’ll never know it.
You need to play  wellwith your words;
To keep an eye  out for spirits and birds.
If you don’t dive down into the sea,
A swimmer you’ll never quite be .
You can read the best books about art,
Just get out your paintbrush and start.
A painting may not look great
But it will be something you’ve made.
You can’t just read about life,
You have to get into the strife.
God won’t ask what you thought
But whether you did what He taught.
That is to love your enemies and neighbours
And always to vote Socialist or Labour.
Jesus was a great one for sharing,
And also ~He was a great one for caring.
So he got himself crucified.
It’s always the best ones that die.
But He had  lived with tremendous intensity
And his spirit had great momentity.
It’s  always what you do that matters,
Though Life sometimes seems  rather like Satire.

Fanthorpe, “Not my Best Side”: “- Sent using Google Toolbar”

Read this,it’s wonderful!

Where there’s a Will,there’s a Kate.

Keep your sense of disproportion ready.

Don’t put it all in perspective.It is a Royal Wedding.

Make sure to see things from the right angle….A right angle! Get orthogonal today.

Where there’s a Will,there’s no Harry.

For there’s a Will,so I’ll pay

I love you,Will. I’m  a Kate too.xxx

Spring day reflections

I like to eat crumpets for tea
As I sit here right under a tree.
It’s a maple ,I think,
Though its leaves are bright pink.
I wish you were sitting with me.

I like to drink mt tea in  bed
And read what the pundits have said.
Guantanamo Bay
Is not easy to say.
Some inmates must wish they were dead.

What are we meant to do
As we read our Guardian in the loo?
It’s full of torture and horror
And more’s promised tomorrow.
What a devilish American crew .

Are we meant to become worse than the foe?
Already we’ve not far to go.
We have bombed civilians
Caused torment to millions.
And what good outcome do we have to show?

If no-one puts a comment on any thing I’ll have to paint “The Scream numero2” or just scream or moan

Riemann had two shaggy sheep.
His wife sold wool to earn her keep.
He designed her knitting patterns,
Whilst she did her lace and tatting.

Thinking of a woman’s shape
Flatland geometry is not great.
So he invented convex geometry,
What a lovely testimony!

Convex geometry’s really nice.
Though sometime it makes me think twice.
The parallel lines on women’s forms
Meet in spots  to which males are drawn.

So do you think God created Woman,
To inspire Man with geometrical cunning?
His hands caress my curving body
Whenever I am feeling ready.

But he does  not do this  out of lust
But to find my geometry, as he must,
Euclid’s ladies were all flat.
Heterosexual,I think not!

So thanks to sheep,Einstein found form,
For General Relativity is  the norm.
Space is curved just like a woman.
Strange no-one  else saw that one coming!

As I was walking down the street
I heard the bleat of horned sheep.
Oh,please don’t do that trick again
Keep the damned sheep in their pen.

They are not meant to go to town
Even when decked in my best gown.
Window shopping’s not for sheep
And all my money’s mine to keep.

And Cappucino’s not their drink
Even when their fleece is pink.
Cafe Nero is  for me,
It’s not the place for lambs to be!

As for Starbucks,say no more
They don’t like sheep by their front door.
Whatever gave you that idea?

Your thinking  seems quite insincere.

M& S  sell clothes for men
Not coats for sheep from out that pen.
I know you have a loyalty card,
But please let your excess be curbed.

If you must buy new clothes for them
Get them from E bay or Amazon.
I feel so shy and full of qualms
How shall i ever be calm?

I married you not two fat sheep,
And yet with them you want to sleep!
I know they keep us snug and warm,
But they sleep right through my alarm.

I’m always late for work these days,,
And we can’t live without my pay.
So take those sheep back on the moor
And come back here and shut the door

Mostly my readers are in some other country
Where rabbits roam freely across the pages of  books,
And bed bugs are known only to a few miscreants.
I have no readers because they already know what I know,
Though how do they know they know?
I have no readers because I’m too fat or too thin,
My handwriting is illegible,and my typing is worse.
They are dreaming now of dentists,bluebirds and Easter Eggs,
Of  their psychoanalysts hand laundering  their cashmere sweaters.
And whirling them a  sweet story in the old hoover spindryer.
Why don’t psycho -analysts use Washing Machines..
We have a new one,but it must all be done by hand.
You admire, in your reverie,my talent for creation,
And also you hate me,so you keep washing.
The love is the warp and the hate is the weft.
Together they make a garment.
My readers are all sitting in the garden watching birds.
Do you know that you know what I know?

Art is the literature of the eye.
Blood is the food of the brain.
Cunning is the wisdom of the serpent
Diagrams are the heart of the engineer.
Excuses are the politeness of strangers.
Flying is the joy of dreamers.
Green is the colour of woods in summertime.
Habits are the railroads of the mind.
Ink is the blood of writers.
Jams are the icing on the Motorway.
Kleenex is the friend of teardrops.
Limits are the edges of the friendship.
Music is the soother of souls.
Noise is the enemy of peace.
Obligations are the joys of friendship.
Queues are the neat Brit way of waiting.
Ruin is the risk of gamblers.
Splendour is the duty of monarchs.
Time is not waiting.
Unanimity is a very rare state in any group.
Value is a matter of judgment.
War is not a good way to bring peace.
Xylophones are rarely heard in my home.
Youth is full of beauty.
Zebras are officially striped and appreciated.

I think I’m a bird today.
I want to fly like a jay.
but my fantasy fell flat
As I flew int a bat.
Tra lala lala  la lay.

I think I’m an owl in the morning
When I get up but I hear myself yawning.
But my eyes are so weak
I tried to chase my own beak.
And I got caught in the news agent’s awning.

Maybe I should be a sparrow
And I could look for worms in a furrow.
But as I don’t eat meat
And have very large feet
I’d do better to hide in my burrow.

Yes,it seems I’m a rabbit
Who would ever have believed it!
I live near Lyme Regis,
Just above where the beach is.
And we rabbits have multitudinous habits.

http://www.poempoempoem.com/poets-invitation/

I don’t know why you are all so keen to know about how to have sex on crutches.After all,are you actually on crutches?No,so why do you want to know?In fact it’s impossible.That is it.Impossible!It was a joke made when I,myself, was on crutches.If you are in severe pain sex is the last thing you want to engage in.Even if you did the pair of you, each with a pair of crutches will find it hard.so why not let the crutches have sex in the cupboard while you have a chat or write a poem.

 I don’t like crutches and sticks
Or axes and shovels and picks.
So leave me alone
To cry and to moan.
Or I’ll  whack you with one of my bricks!

Original sin – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: “- Sent using Google Toolbar”

I’m no longer a practicing   Christian but I was wondering who had invented  the concept of Original sin .The idea of it seems very odd to me now.Though I can believe some societies are tainted with sin e g South Africa under apartheid,Britain and the Slave trade,the whole concept of Empire.no doubt this has puzzled theologians mightily.Certainly we have a tendency towards feelings of envy,hatred and malice but we’d see these now as a character disorder. but these things hurt us as well as the recipient of our malice.

What word can we use instead of sin?Is there one?

Every time I write of Riemann’s cat
Somebody thinks it’s real.
So now I’ll tell you of Riemann’s duck.
And of Riemann’s automobile.

Riemann played cricket at Lords
Yes,indeed it’s true!
Riemann went out to bat
And hit a duck for you.

He jumped into his new auto
And said with a wonderful smile
Please don’t tell anyone
Or they’ll put me on trial.

Don’t Worry, Be Unhappy | Real World Research: “- Sent using Google Toolbar”

Are You Letting People Help You?: “- Sent using Google Toolbar”

Short-eared Durham owls
meditating over the dale’s edge,
shadow the fields and folds
in elegant diurnal flight.

on wind’s side,careful sight
may swoop to prey
and away.

your yellow broad-eyed look,
at once both sharp and distant,
holds me.
oh,silence,
oh ,wind on green,
oh,earth,
sky.

immense your held vision,
sphere without centre.
pied geometer of flight,
sketch your descent and ascent.

trees bunched by dry stone wall
call heart home.

The trees made a wavering line
across the edge of the field
and I saw you standing beneath the oak
holding yourself upright just about.
 I asked you why you had come
and you said it was only the yellow of the buttercups
that you dreamed of all winter
that had given you strength to walk so far.
the trees gazed down benignly
there was a river at the bottom of the dip
and we used to play there once
when we were children.I don’t know
why we don’t remember the important
feelings and places.Only the daisies know
that we grow where we can.Time shot past
 like a flash of lightning,
Will I see you again?
Blue is your colour.I know something.
Grass is softer than stone pavements
And our hearts were not made to last forever,

Please release me ,let me go
For I don’t love blogger anymore.
No body ever puts  a comment
So I think I am  most likely going to chuck it.

Many hours I’ve laboured writing here,
And never shed a tear,
But now I can’t go on like this
Is this what a writer’s life is?

I think you are lacking empathy,
 For writers like my self.
Please read all the literature,
For your own mental health.

A scientist at Cambridge Uni
Has done lots of research.
After spending all the money
Empathy’s what they teach.

We once had a doctor called Toad,
Who painted his patients with woad.
The placebo effect
Had no effect
So he advised them all to download.

He provided talking therapy
I tried but it did no good to me.
My arthritic knees
Seemed to displease.
What sort of a G.P. was he?

Surely a doctor should be indifferent
To what type of symptoms are present?
But he preferred infections
And giving injections
He should have took what he was sent!

Anyway he broke all the rules
Which were plain to the most stupid fool.
So he lost his licence
And had to be silent.
A man is as good as his tools

Words for the buttercups

I was feeling too sad for words
So I went out to feed garden birds.
I slipped on some moss,
And thought  “That’s because
 The world is   dramatically absurd.”

So clearly the words had not gone.
They just needed an event to hang on.
 As I lay on  the ground
I heard  more birdsong.
The moral is, life ‘s not a con.

Words are insufficient to contain
The lovely vision of our April terrain.
The colours and shades
And the  sunlight that fades..
I don’t know  if I can explain.

An image made from music and sound
May give better coverage all round.
A vision in colour
Makes me feel mellow.
I should stay liking flat on the ground!

.

Riemann was a German geometer.
No-one else understood weird shapes better.
He found parallel lines met,
It felt strangely illicit.
But his wife did not let such work fret her.

I’m assuming he had his own wife.
And hope he had no matrimonial strife
They entertained mathematicians
Who took up different positions
 To illustrate the new  geometry  of life.

Why not read someone else’s blog

Riemann’s dinner

Riemann had a very fine mind.
But he found it hard to unwind.
So he became very disturbed,
And his mind was perturbed
By his colleagues, who were very unkind.

He invented a new kind of geometry.
For surfaces convex with cacophony.
Euclid was overthrown
Though it was not really known
Till we saw it all kaleidoscopically.

Until Riemann we believed in absolute truth.
Mathematics and theology called a truce,
It depends where you stand,
On the curvature of the land.
Our weak minds are undeniably uncouth.

Truth depends on the way that we look.
We can focus too much on our books.
We need new perspectives,
Which provide a corrective
To old views which now must be forsook,
Look to the owl as he flies,
Like a god winging across the wide skies.
His broad yellow gaze
Lets attention be paid
To all that surrounds his fierce eyes.

I had an idea.Instead of adding a poem every day,I could remove one!!Then by Xmas they would be almoet gone!!!