Their eyes drew me,
And their eyes draw me again
Into a pool of winter light
Golden from the low sun.
I swim in it
Like a hawk flows on the wind
Over the depths,
Of life.
Contained by a white china cup,
I’m your reflection now
Drowning in the slanting sunlight
Like a stone in a lake.
Falling deeper until I find
the creative mud
with which I mingle
no longer a stone
but a soft flowing stream of sensations
which meets with joy
the earth’s depths and presence.
And something new will grow.
by kathrynbraithwaite @ 2012-

 
Shall I compare thee to a delta y?
Thy beauty is more wondrous that the number pi.
Thy smile could make me infinitely pleased.
Thy eyes glow like an lemma that’s been freed.
Though my wealth may be infinitesmally small,
Yet we could make love all night beneath this wall.
We might dwell inside a tent of tangents to a curve.
No human failings can shake my divine,my holy love.
On thy green eyes I’ll gaze forever in the wasps’ nest in the woods.
No bites deter me for you are my heart,you are my dove!
Don’t think,don’t hesitate,you are forever my tender Good

After Fifty Living | Blogging about Baby Boomer and After Fifty issues

• 
  

• 
  Stan was wearing his best suit topped by a denim apron polishing the big windows with a microfibre cloth as he waited breathlessly for his stunning wife.Mary entered the room wearing a long purple and mauve dress which clung somewhat tightly to the curvaceous contours of her beautifully rounded body.On her feet she had some smart pewter ballet slippers and in her elegant hand she carried a huge pewter clutch bag which contained some of her many medications.She addressed Stan,”I think I can leave my handbag behind if I put my mouth spray into my bra.”
  “That somehow detracts from the romance of the evening.” Stan pronounced openly.
  “Well,you know,I never had a cleavage
  until lately and I fell I ought to make the most of it.”
  “Surely I should be the one make the most of it,” he riposted jocosely.
  “Of course you may.my angel,but not in the restaurant,”she answered back sweetly
  “I’ll put your spray in my pocket then,shall I?”
  Suddenly the doorbell rang.”Who’s this?”It was Annie,their next door neighbour. she was wearing a coral velvet track suit with matching Reeboks and sun hat .”Hi,I just came in with a little prezzie,”She declaimed.In her hand was a huge box of chocolates..”Gosh,Mary you look lovely in that beautiful long dress but you’re not going on your bike,are you?”
  “No,we are having a cab,but it’s not come as yet.”
  “Well,never mind.I’ll ring 999 and get them to send an emergency ambulance for you!”
  Fortunately,as luck would have it the minicab appeared from the sky and it was only as they were entering the restaurant that Stan realised he was still wearing his old denim apron.
  “Shall I take it off?” he pondered.
  On the pro side I will look smarter on the con side I might spill some soup down my front.I wish I’d done more logic at college.So he kept it on.Mary didn’t seem to notice.She just took him for granted.If he stood on his head and sang”Jerusalem” she probably wouldn’t pay any attention.
  Then he noticed that Mary was wearing an apron too.It was the same colour as her dress.What a brilliant idea,he thought.”There may be money in this.” He could start a small business,”Aprons R You” selling lovely aprons in all colours of the rainbow.
  Suddenly he heard noises;he awoke and heard Mary shouting “How can you go to sleep when you are out with me?”
  “Would you prefer me to recite the Periodic Table?” he snapped gently.
  “I’d prefer a poem,” she cried…All right,Petal,I’ll think of one soon.In the meantime would you like a fool?” “No.I’ve got you,” she responded handsomely.”I mean for a pudding?” “Oh,yes please.A Rubik fool would be lovely.It will pass the time.You know I get so bored.”
  “Well,I do my best but it’s hard keeping up with you.would you like to read a few truth tables whilst I finish my meat.”
  He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small leather bound book.
  “Truth tables and levitation for geniuses,” by Bertha Russell.
  “Oh,Stan,this looks interesting.I’ve always wanted to fly like an angel or an owl.”
  “It’s never too late to say never.” he responded.”Whatever do you mean?”
  “I don’t know.Just because a sentence is grammatically correct doesn’t imply that it means something.”
  “Yes,quite right.And conversely a sentence can mean something even when it’s not grammatically correct.”
  “Isn’t thinking exciting!”
  “Yes,indeed.I was thinking how exciting it will be to go to bed with you.”
  “Wow,good grammar and full of meaning.I am yours.I am like a ripe plum ready to drop off the tree.I am a cat ready to mate.I am a song waiting to be sung.”
  “Gosh,are metaphors your bete noir?”
  “Je ne parle pas Francais.”
  “Aimez vous ein Nederlander?”
  “Sprechen sie Deutsche?”
  Ist sein mutter immer krank?

The summer,the summer, I’ll say it again,
I don’t even care if it’s sunshine or rain.
I like walking for miles on the edge of the sea,
Though I don’t usually have just raw fish for my tea!

The summer in England is like a good wine.
The gardens are brimming with marvellous design.
This summer I feel is for pleasures divine,
So why have you stolen that big red road sign?

The summer is my favourite time of the year.

I love tending to your whims and have love here to spare.
I like to give you all my sweet tender care,
But I didn’t expect Rodney,your pet polar bear!

In the summer the days are longer than long,
Which gives you much  time to   plot doing wrong.
You are out selling street drugs and planning more raids,
And most likely seducing many pretty young maids.

The summer and the sunshine is what we prefer,
And going on the merry-go-rounds at the Fair.
We love to eat ices and drink lots of wine,
If we had some food too,I could feel quite benign

Our English complexions are famous world wide
And giving directions we are good at beside.
We have many virtues , of that there’s no doubt,
But vice is more fun, as the French have found out!#

This exceptional  bright summer is driving me wild,
Like the weather,I am usually both gentle and mild.
I loved ambling around near the top of Great Gable
But there wasn’t enough room for the chairs and the  table!

This rare English summer is lovely to see,
Especially the leaves on our copper beech tree.
The rose in the churchyard is out in full bloom.
It’s the first time I’ve ever made love on a tomb.

The quiet and the peace are the things I like best.
A velvet green lawn, and somewhere shady to rest.
I prize very highly our lush countryside,
It’s just all these English folk I can’t abide.

This summer is passing with sunshine and showers
it’s the best weather yet for the fruit and the flowers.
The long summer evenings will be over too soon,
I just hope in the winter we can make love in your room.

Oh ,the country in England is bewitchingly fair,
I would happily spend far more time there.
The fields are all full of ripe barley and wheat,
Though I wish we had sometimes had cooked food to eat.

In summer in England we still can get low,
And then we need somewhere more exciting to go.
But busting the safe in that posh jewellery shop!
I wish that you’d heard when I asked you to stop.

In summer  like winter ,men get deep desires,
so they like to meet ladies for loving soirees.
I adore all  those diamonds you stole just for me,
But I can’t wear them that much or my husband might see!

In England, in summer, we all work too hard,
But in your case, I thought that the work could be shared.
I helped you to crack all those ciphers and codes
Now I wish I’d stayed at home scanning odes.

I did all that code breaking just for interest and fun,
I never thought we would have to  go on the run.
You think we’re a modern day Bonnie and Clyde!
When we were arrested, I nearly died.

I must accept my considerable share of the blame,
Without you my summer would not be the same.
We had so much joy, and such fun and such games,
I wish we’d not given the policeman false names.

The prisons in England are the best in the world,
And so are the police stations too,I have found.
I hope that my lawyer arrives in good time,
Because if she doesn’t, it’ll ruin my rhyme

Painting

‘via Blog this’

as yesterday’s
paradoxical
insights
bring my soul
to wakefulness
somehow
then becomes now
and you are here
in this garden
I hear your melody
on the southerly wind
singing gently
you affect my eyes
with
dew,like
my dark red
roses.
you affect my eyes
my eyes,
my eyes,
you affect my eyes with dew
like the dark,
dark red roses
do.

John Donne As A Metaphysical Poet | Classic English Literature Notes