Different kinds of emptiness

Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn

A first look at emptiness

This is a preliminary attempt to examine the ideas about emptiness.In an earlier post I quoted Lao Tzu “Hollow vessels are useful by reason of their emptiness.”But emptiness is not just one concept.
To make an initial point,our first notions of emptiness are related to the stomach.An empty one is painful to the infant who cries until fed.A full stomach then feels pleasant.
But a stomach can be empty in a good way….and there is a feeling of desire and appetite,So this can feel good.On the other hand there is the emptiness of a stomach which has just vomited up something bad and is reluctant to take in anything new for a while.hopefully desire will return.Anxiety can take away appetite and keep the stomach empty when it needs to be filled with good food.If this continues we become ill.
Anorexics may keep themselves empty as a mistaken form of self control.
Ideally there is a movement between fullness and emptiness.We need to be empty for the right things.A woman may have an empty womb crying out for a child but by mistake she may fill up with food instead.So we need to know what we are empty for.
Empty headedness can be bad…if you have never received anything good into your mind like poetry,classic literature etc you will be a poor person indeed.On the other hand people get creative ideas when they are half dreaming,resting,in the bath and so on.There is a little more space in the mind for a new idea to emerge.But the idea will have meaning only within a structure that is already partly there within the mind.The answer to a writer’s block won’t come to someone who never writes.The block may be a creative void but it’s no good if one’s entire mind is a total void.The emptiness needs a container.We rush to fill out empty sad hearts when we feel we can’t contain them within ourselves,as holding them may be agonisingly painful.
Emptiness per se may not achieve much.But look at a new baby.They are looking and taking in both food and sensory impressions.And how the mind is growing,if conditions are favourable.
An empty table is no good to an empty stomach.A professor with no knowledge/learning will not give anything to the empty headed students to take in
Or biologically,the egg needs the sperm but the fertilized egg needs the kindness of the nurturing Womb and the ability of the woman to be there whilst development occurs over time……and for woman we could put artist or writer,speaking in metaphor.
My first thoughts end now! A need for space has arrived

Source: Kathryn

 

Winking for the beginner

Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn

Play by yourself

ou can play by yourself,but not with yourself [in public.]
You can play with words and on words though.
You can play for yourself and to yourself.
You can’t play for words or to words.
You can play about by yourself but you can’t play about with yourself. in the coffee shop.
You can play about with words and write a Play with words
You can’t pray to yourself but you can pray for yourself
You can pray to God but not for God but how about without God
You can pray without knowing
Can you play without knowing?Yes!
Can you play with God? Can you play by God?
You can pray by yourself with others and for others or about others.
You can pray with words and for words and without words but not about words
You can pray silently and play silently
You can find your vocation and take a vacation.
You can steel yourself but not steal yourself.
This seems odd.I can be odd but not seem odd
I can be funny and seem funny but not vice versa
Vice,why is it so appealing;so appalling?
Why are our vices so revealing.so revolting?
Now my dinner is congealing.Goodbye
This life is a play written by God and humanity
without much humanity though as we are too hard
We are too hard on ourselves and others and vice versa
I see where this may be going
so who is writing it?

Psychoanalysis and baking for beginners

A cat from england
A cat from england

Source: Kathryn100
Poppies in england

 

Blossom

 

Across the road the almond tree

Will fill with buds in January.

Beside the porch,spiked rosemary

Flowers its blue in memory.

Waking these midwinter morns

I long to see Spring‘s lighter dawns

Subtler changes each day bring

The time to us when dawn birds sing

They make new nests,the swans do too.

I’d like to make a nest with you.

The apple tree, quite safe we’ll be.

That shall be our loving tree.

The tree will utter forth its pink

As I write this down with my blue ink

When I look, I see the strength

Of trunk and branches green-brown length.

The roots are navigating soil

Wherein the worms and insects toil.

Another wood beneath the ground,

Is growing deep without a sound.

And its birds do not fly high

For in dark soil there is no sky.

All beings which live upon this earth

Turn to dust to feed new birth.

From the dead,the living spring.

Thus nature her fresh blossom brings.

We reincarnate and we spin,

We turn and turn and turn again.

Like electrons round their nucleus,

This was Love before the abyss.

The atom cracked and death appeared

Apples disguised,like Eve’s, I fear.

The knowledge burned in scientists’ minds,

Until they used their deadly design.

Oh,would some power the gift give us.

To navigate Love‘s nucleus.

And could we spin in joyous mode,

So choose to take that Other Road.?

We need to smash the Looking Glass

Wherein cruel Chesire Cats do laugh.

 

Riding pillion

The curate’s motorbike

Come here,Kathryn,come here quick,

‘Cos your Daddy’s really sick.

Run as fast as fast, you can,

Get the priest, get Father Dan.

Run,run went my eight year old feet,

Down the lane and up the street

I ran right up to Father’s door,

[Does God live there any more?]

“Come please, Mam said Daddy’s ill”

“Oh”,said Father,”that I will.”

Revving up his motor bike

With The Sacrament beside.

He lifted me up onto the back

And roared off up the church side track.

It was the best thrill of my life

If only Daddy had not died.

Ninety one and still loving

Sun through trees
Source: Kathryn
Source: Cat playing
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn

Oh,Stanley Brown is ninety one.

His time to procreate has come!

His lover is now having twins!

See how Stanley grins.

Oh Stanley’s cat is called Emile.

He likes mouse pie and conger eels.

He watches Stanley making out.

He’s curious no doubt!

Why does Emile not find a mate?

Perhaps Emile left it far too late.

Though he has serviced twenty cats.

And killed so many rats.

But none of Emile’s lady mates

Stayed with him past their due date.

So Emile is a bachelor.

He’s peeping through the bedroom door.

He’s watching how these humans mate.

They seem to kiss and celebrate.

They sleep wrapped in each others arms.

This kind of love has charms.

So Emile wants to go online,

To find a site called “Yours is mine.”

He wants to find a sweet,sweet wife.

And live the loving life.

We must give Emile privacy,

Just like we permit Stanley.

They must not be in photo-shoots,

No matter that they’re cute.

Annie gets up in the night.

She keeps peeing,that’s alright.

She’s peeing now for two or three.

Her kidneys are busy.

Stanley brings her morning tea,

Emile notes in his diary.

She wears a dress and looks so bright.

What a cheerful sight.

Stanley has a his pension now.

Will they have child allowance too?

Age Concern will check on that,

While Emile’s on his mat.

Do you think Stan is far too old

To father twins and be so bold?

Should he forfeit his freedom pass?

He’s not short of brass.

Oh,George Osborne is coming round.

He wants to take the old man’s crown
[an old English coin]

He wants to punish older folk.

Ain’t he an evil bloke?

He thinks he will be Camerons’ heir!

He smiles a bit like Tony Blair.

He thinks we’ll all forget his tricks.

And we’ll just take his kicks.

But Stan and Annie organize

A protest march of the Oldies.

Not many are expecting twins,

Not when the march begins!

As you grow old, don’t give up life.

You take a lover or a wife.

You organise campaigns and march

From Camden town to Marble Arch.

You sing Dylan and play guitars.

You know what’s right and it matters.

You don’t leave life to other folk.

Oh,Stan’s a great old bloke.

Politics is for us all.

So get involved whilst you can crawl.

Make protests in your own sweet way.

Go on, begin today

Read your Baubles daily

Image

  • Don’t use your foam when in company.
    Please harass me when in doubt.
    Read the novel history of diction..
    What is your affliction?
    Does he stow his cards under Mabel?
    Why did Beth have a Mac?
    Adam and Eve were unmarried and had only God to revise them
    Poetry is good for the behind
    Don’t weed my letters today.
    Please delete me,let me go.
    Please take care with stamps and rogues.
    Please stalk on the footpath provided.
    Beware of the dull.
    Are you the delusion or the prodigal son?
    Feed your Bible daily.
    Please don’t seed my hand nor foretell my date of mirth.

    Isn’t life remakeable?

The way you inhabit it

Incarnation

you are not your body,
but the way you inhabit it;
the way you encourage or discourage
the circulation of feelings through flesh.

you are not your body
but how you become incarnate through it.
how you let go the angels of the high blue sky
the way you become willingly enfleshed

you are not your heart
but the way you open it;
resembling perhaps a grateful flower in sun;
or the way you clench it and turn away
so it turns to stone instead.

you are not your mind
but the way you trust it;
the way you receive new ideas,
and open up to hear and attend;
the way how,like water, you are willing to take more in
or to give it out;
the way you accept the images thrown up
and recognise them
they are who you are
who we all are
connected by the great Mind of the universe
which is more like a watercolour than a surveyors’ diagram

you are not the stones and pebbles of the river bed
but the flowing water,the fish darting and the movement
and the way you let go
as you enter the great sea.
the way you are one and many;
the way you trust and love;
the way you flow on;
the way you disappear and yet are always part of the whole

© 2013 Kathryn

Misquotes and naive art

 

Image

Please dine carefully.

Do not rhyme this fence.

Leap off the grass.

Trespassers will be persecuted.

Do not walk during Church Service.

Please enter by the floor.

Always answer your letters defiantly.

Are you the nest of the rest?

Please help the tossed.

Can I borrow your husband?

Is this the blending library.

Waiter, there’s a why in my soup.

Shall I pay your bus fair?

Is life an affair?

ImageImageImage

 

Outside the hospital I saw Anne Frank

Outside the hospital,I saw Anne Frank

Abstract summer
Abstract summer

Source: Kathryn
 
 
Tree of life
T

Source: Kathryn

Walking through unceasing traffic outside the main hospital,
I saw Anne Frank at the bus stop,I thought
There was a young woman with seven children,
Jewish,I saw.Little ones shyly offering us their seats.
I asked if she lived nearby.
No, we live in Stamford Hill,North London
What a shame you have to come so far,
for this terminus is inside the hospital grounds,you see.
Oh,no!We did not come for the hospital.
We came to pick fruit on that lovely farm down the hill!
Yes,we have been there too, it is very beautiful,i say.
It’s easy enough on public transport,she murmured softly like a little girl.
The children gazed, demure and polite,
I could see their smiles were not so far away.
I asked her,Would it be offensive
if I gave my husband a kippah
as he is tired of his hat?
Not at all,she murmured,smiling.
Why,you can get them anywhere now…Stamford Hill,Golder’s Green
She took off the hat from her son’s head
to show me how white his skin was there.
She told me how they just came back from a seaside holiday.
Too soon ,their bus came.She’d be ready for a cup of tea or two.
I saw eight faces smile,just a little smile,you know;
enough it was and all for me.
The oldest girl waved her hand gently as the bus left.
I see this is not just a place with a hospital.
It’s got a pick your own fruit farm;it’s got woods,hills,
fields with horses,tomato filled greenhouses,large white houses.
When they close their eyes they’ll see the green and the sunshine;they’ll see the woods on the hill.
And I shall see them and Anne Frank too ;it was the hidden smile.
Why,I see it is almost the Mona Lisa too.

A smile can be such a mystery.

Emerging from a hospital,tests,blood,anxiety.,machines,..
it’s like dreaming,
it’s like being given a hint;
there’s another time intersecting with this
and history herself brushes against my cheek
with a rare intimacy
that makes me both smile and weep.
It’s always here,but we don’t see…
It’s not a hospital only;
it’s a doorway to other worlds

and what worlds,indeed.,

Vinaya Ghimire’s Interview With Me On Cyberbullying on Hubpages

Intriguing as I got banned

florabreenrobison's avatarflorabreenrobison

Image

Here I am With My Tabby Cat-I spent far too little time with her while I was fretting about Hubpages

Source: Flora Breen Robison 

 

Vinaya Ghimire interviewed me twice this year. The first time he interviewed me was for my writing and music as well as my thoughts on online writing. Originally intended for Hubpages, he published it on Wizzley, the website where I now publish. 

Next he interviewed me on my experience being cyber-bullied while I was on Hubpages, and how I eventually was banned there. He wanted to publish this interview on Wizzley too and tried to do do, but it was un-published and locked out from the website because they believe it should only be published on a personal blog. Therefore, I talked it over with Vinaya, and I have decided to publish it on my own personal blog. 

 

After the break, you will find…

View original post 2,533 more words

Lyra has a bath and Stan entertains his mistress

Image

Stan was in the conservatory re-watering the cacti and sweeping the ceiling with a new broom.Mary his wife,[or so she claimed],was in the kitchen making cheese scones and bread for their afternoon tea.Their daughter Laura was taking a bath to wash all the blue raindrops from her hair.A peaceful Saturday scene in the Midland town of Knittingham.

Just out of the blue,the doorbell rang.It was Annie their widowed next door neighbour.She was wearing a long blue satin dress with a built in train.”I’m off to London now” she simpered.”Can I give Lyra a lift in my train?”
I believe unless I have strong disconfirmatory evidence, that my daughter is still in the bath.”Stan said defiantly.
Anne entered the house and ran upstairs.There she saw Lyra wrapped in a large blue towel like object.

“Is this a towel?” Lyra asked pertly

.”I have no evidence either way.”Annie announced.

“Where did you get it from?”

“That big blue window”replied the rosy blue cheeked girl ironically.”It may be a curtain”
“Oh,dear.Have I erred?” she pondered.
“No,you look very clean to me,though one can never be absolutely certain.” Anne said thoughtlessly.
“I suppose all one can do is to keep the dirt between certain parameters that each must decide for themselves.The Tudors only bathed once a year. And King Henry Vlllth founded the Church of England just so he could get a divorce from himself,not to mention a little gold too.”
Lyra worked for a publisher in Oxford Street,They were always on the look out for new titles and for money.
“Would you ever consider writing a blue self help book,Anne?”
“You can make a good deal of money that way.Self help is in Vogue now. I was thinking of:How to divorce yourself in three easy stages using self hypnosis.

We already have :How to found your own Church.” and “How to steal somebody else’s Church in three steps.”
Anne was keen to get an interest as since killing her husband for his money,she was feeling lonely,remote and schizoid, and her affair with Stan was proving a bit slower to take off than she had narcissistically expected.
“I am already a unqualified hypnotist.”she lied intensely.
Just then they heard a strange crash.Stan had been standing on his Habitat chair trying to eavesdrop on the women’s conversation,and it had fallen apart under the weight of his hiking boots.He lay on the carpet looking pale with blood running down his aged head.”Can you ring 999 please ?” he yelped .
Lyra looked at the chair.”No,Dad it’s o.k.I can fix this with some U.H.U glue.I have some in my purple tote under all my medication.
She whispered saucily to Anne,”I’ll text you tomorrow,my darling angel.Love the dress.”Lyra was a trans sexual lesbian paramedic you see,as well as a publisher‘s clerk and also did not have other intriguing money making jobs into the bargainas the English say now and then.
Mary was in the kitchen finishing off her baking.She lived in a world of her own mainly focussed on her second hand Raleigh small wheeled shopper bicycle and its wicker basket that she bought in East Anglia or, to be exact,in Wells-next-the sea.It was now grey but still functional like many other towns in Britain and their inhabitants.She put the cheese scones and butter onto a large elliptical plate and went into the dining room followed by Emile her cat ,who was partial to a knob of butter on a Sunday teatime.
Where was his sister Emily he wondered?

Bisexuality,psychoanalysis and all that jazz

In the ancient churchyard with  large tree

no

Ancient vicarage garden
Ancient vicarage garden

The end of the affair

  • Stan has just got back from church.He helps to polish the pews on a weekly rota.He also embroiders kneelers.He learned in the Navy.Sailors used to knit whilst on long voyages and sew too.Now he’s home and making some coffee.
    Ah ah,the doorbell.He ignores it.Then Annie appears tapping on the window.”Hello,what’s up?” he enquires impatiently.Church seems to affect him that way……..odd!
    “I’m just a bit lonely as Emile’s come back to you.”
    “What about the bee you adopted.Bobbi?
    “”They’re affectionate but rather hard to cuddle,”she answered with tears in her green eyes.”They do look soft and furry but they are too small”
    “You need something bigger..how about a dog?”
    “I’d prefer a man,”she said softly and suggestively.
    “Why not give meditation a go?” Emile miaowed.
    “I’m a bit past it all now at 106,” Stan replied.”But, if you get some rainbow striped underwear from Ann Summers and some red bed socks , maybe that might help with the desirability aspect.”
    “I will not be seen dead in striped underwear,” she cried cunningly.
    “Well,why don’t you go on the internet?You could find someone younger and slimmer than me!”
    Annie looked very angry.”I’ve spent 20 years on you.Are you telling me it’s all wasted?”
    “No,it’s been useful to know how to ring 999,” he admitted wonderingly.
    “But my baking would have been quicker if you hadn’t kept coming in trying to induce me,reduce or seduce me.”he said confusedly
    “Are you losing your word power?” she asked curiously.
    “No,I said that on purpose.I’m training to go to a poetry weekend at East Anglia University.”
    “You are so daring,darling!”
    “Well,what have I got to lose? he riposted jovially.
    “And all the food is included.It’s only £3,000 for the weekend!”
    “Is that cheap?” “I don’t know.I need to look at the Index of Retail Prices or whatever they have nowadays.”
    They sat before the computer gazing at the government data and statistics with pen and paper in their hands.
    “I really enjoyed that,”said Annie,”It’s even better than sex!”
    “Thank God for that,” thought Stan with wry amusement.
    “Now I can keep her busy learning more about how to analyse data.I’m fed up with kissing her all day long.Now we can study for Open University degrees in mathematics and statistics and keep our minds lively.”
    “Quick put the kettle on Mary is here.”
    “Hello,Mary.We are studying government statistics.It’s so interesting.”
    “Yes,I know” she answered coltishly.”But a woman has another needs too.”
    “Oh,no!” cried Stan,”Not you too.” He fell onto the striped rug by the fire.
    “Oh,dear,I suppose we’d better ring 999!” said Mary to Annie.”How lucky you are here,dear.”
    “Well,I’ll make the tea.We’ll need it.”
    “By the way,Annie,your eyes are looking so bright.Like two emeralds.” Mary whispered.”Have you ever fancied a woman?”
    “No,darling.It never occurred to me.So many men.So little time.”
    “Well,do let me know if you are interested!”
    “Sorry,dear.I want to become a government statistician then maybe I can understand government the from within, as it were.”
    She ran out singing “Onward Socialist Lovers” to welcome Dave,the handsome paramedic who was at the door.
    “Dave,do you know any Statistics” she called.
    “Only vital ones,my angel,” he replied coolly.
    “How’s Stan?”
    Not dead yet“Stan called spiritedly from the blue lambswool, hand washable Mary Quant rug.”Get me some fresh tea and we can all discuss the latest health statistics.”
    Anne laughed merrily but she looked truly insincere.At least according to Emile ,who was hiding behind the television in the corner.”I wish we could have our dinner,” he murmured.But no-one heard him.
    Cats don’t like tea but nobody seems to know.Emile is hoping to write a book soon.”Cat against tea.”

The song of the earthworm

 

 

They tell me that trees are a wonderful sight
They have leaves hanging on them all day and all night.
They tell me the golden sun shines in the sky
It’s said to be so much brighter so high.
I’d like to hear birdsong and thunder and hail.
At all these pursuits worms are likely to fail.
We only make holes in the soil as we move
And we know almost nothing about feelings and love.
We don’t know why we’re here or what purpose we serve
And our earthen workplace is also our grave.
.

The world is a verb

It appears the world is a verb not a noun.
I’ve had my suspicions of course,
I know that’s how I see,
Not yet having achieved object constancy
I see afresh,which is alarming until one adapts.
I see the way you see on Heroin,
But for me,it’s free.
I never knew if mother was the same person today,
Or some new other mother.
She did have the same hands
But her eyes altered.
I gave them all the same name,
Like a folder on the computer.
Let’s see how many mothers I created!
In the end I had to go to school
To get some kind of safety net.
We had alternative explanations there
Like we were saved from sin.
But who can save us from multiple mothers?
I never let on,though I felt stressed sometimes
By all the changes.
Couldn’t things be more fixed?
Dreams end,but life goes on
Being a verb it has to act, you see.
If it were a noun it would be enclosed
By many parameters,grids like stunning geometric orgasms,
Quite beautiful to look at it but never felt.
Feeling is the art of life.
Art is the life of the feelings.
What are the feelings of the feelings?
Who understands the heart of Art?

I love you like

I love you like I’d love a black walnut.
You’re so rare I can’t eat you.
I’ll put you in my pocket
and take you with me
when I go in town
I’ll feel your crinkles and your wrinkles,
But nobody will know.

 
I love you like I’d love a comice pear.
I’ll put you in a golden bowl.
I’ll let the sun shine on you,
Till you are ripe.
I’ll put you in my bag,
Take you to a meadow of buttercups
And devour you.
And nobody will know.

 
I love you like I’d love a flower.
I’ll give you my best vase.
I’ll stand it in the window.
Then I’ll look at you all day
With my peripheral and my central vision,
Till your pattern is embedded in my brain.
I’ll sleep well and dream of you all night.
I’ll wake up and remember it all.
And nobody will know.

Love leaves

Winter in England

Maybe you didn’t know

When you teased me so.

Maybe you never knew

What your words would do.

I float across that space

Where lovers once embraced.

And thus ypu bring torment

To me  to whom love you sent.

When I close my eyes

My daytime face then dies.

I  look across dark seas

To sacramental trees.

My  dreams are full of loss.

Is night or day the worse?

When you return next here

Will love outstrip your fear?

I gaze upon your face,

Forbidden to embrace.

My arms ache deep inside,

As if in agony tied.

Torn apart by grief.

Love is now a thief.

Where has God‘s face gone

As brightly shines the sun?

The pains of life are sharp,

Cutting through the heart.

But still we turn towards love,

With all the strength we have.

Trusting in the dark,

Trusting my own heart.

I step into the void.

Love can’t be denied

Stan and the stranger

Source: Kathryn
Images made using Microsoft  Paint Program
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn

Love you at teatime

 

Cats after tea
 
 

Song of the happy husband

I find it hard to be loving at breakfast time

Listening to the horrible News

And it’s hard to be loving at Churchtime

Kneeling in those hard wooden pews.

 

 

The Bible ‘s supposed to be holy.

And it’s certainly holier than me;

For I love you so in the afternoon

When we have our Sunday tea.

 

I don’t like to listen to preaching

Avout how wicked I am

I just can’t wait till the afternoon

To sample your blackcurrant jam!

 

I know I have been a difficult person

With all my variable moods

Why not pack up a tea hamper

So we can caress in the woods?

 

I love you all the time ,darling,

But work takes a toll on my mind

But when you show me your cream filled sponge

My troubles are soon left behind.

 

I love you on a weekday

I love you  dreaming at night.

But I love you the most on a Sunday—–

Your teas are a wonderful sight!

 

When I was stuck in the hospital

Waiting for  doctor or nurse.

I dwelt in my mind on your Sunday teas

I could have been a lot worse.

 

Now my illness is over

Normal life reappears

Let’s have a special treat today……..

Let’s pretend Sunday is here.

 

Murmurs of delight

Source: Kathryn
Wisteria 2012
my name is delight i live inside the flower blossom
and run in sun across green leaves of summer trees
and love the honey bees and wings of butterflies
and dandelion heads floating on the breeze
and all sweet things enjoyed by playful children
i breath out my joy into the world i take it in
what is myself and what is other
no longer matters in this ecstasy
of silence and unopened eyes

 

 

Goodbye,I say.Goodbye

Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
By K

Standing together,
We lean forward touching foreheads lightly
Eyes closed for a moment
Tenderly we respect
The other’s boundaries.
Yet I feel your heart beating too,
As it it were me.
We lean for a few more moments like this.
Wordless.
Holding the broken places,with love.
Then we turn and walk away
Such moments last forever
In the eternity that Love creates
Foreheads touching,
Skin to skin..
Boundaries of the inner and the outer
You are another;
A real human person
Wanting nothing;wanting everything
I shall remember your smile.
You were with me once
And now we go our ways
Our own difficult journeys.

One meeting of souls
Creates its own symbol

May you be blessed
May the fire not burn you
Nor the water drown you
May the Lord keep you always near him.
May He protect your spirit.
May he give you strength always.

Stan gets a letter

Stan gets a naughty letter

Dear Stan
I hope I you don’t mind me telling you I had some problems with your last few letters.
Your spelling is now so absolutely ferocious I almost passed out in Church [The sermon was too boring so I opened your latest missile]
You seem to have forgotten all the wiles of grammar we once learned at school..Maybe you should write more letters to keep you au fate with English as she is poked about today.
And don’t you have anything interesting to tell me about.Surely something indecent must happen over and over again in your town.Why not pass it on to me.I would be delighted to be read all about that sort of thing… old age is so dull.
You never say how Mary is.Is she still riding that old bicycle from University days.I can’t imagine why you don’t get her a new one instead.Can she not drive?I think it’s unseemly to let your wife ride a second hand bicycle.The neighbors may despise you,imagining you are from the underclass and therefore ripe for abuse by all and thundery.Nowadays being poor is dangerous.
Why even your car is 19 years old.Have you never been tempted to keep up with the Jones’s, whoever they may be nowadays.A new car and a loft conversion would only be about 60 thousand pounds and your self esteem would rise like a butterfly in a thunderstorm.I say this only to help you
I have noticed you are getting thinner and Mary is getting much fatter.I do hope God has not worked a miracle and made her big with child at her age,though we could certainly do with a New Messiah.
On second thoughts,it would save a great deal of suffering if she were to get an abortion immediately… it’s less painful than Crucifixion…. you catch my drift, and giving birth at her age would be dangerous.Not to mention you gave up carpentry long ago.And pensions are low.
I hope I haven’t offended you but at 109 I doubt if you are still potent… it’s only natural we lose a little with each passing year especially when you have both a wife and a mistress as you did for many a merry year.You must have worn yourself out with pleasure.
Well,I just wanted to tell you about your dreadful spelling.Think about getting an online Dictionary.We all regret things as we age.Don’t be shy.You can tell me anything and regret it with whoever later on
Well,that’s all my news this week.I hope you get some good weather soon.

With love and warmest wishes from us both,

Joshua and Maggie.

PS.It’s terribly hot down here  in Hell!

 

Stan in trouble

 

Source: Kate
 

Although Stan was 82 he still rode his bike in the summer time.He was out in the garden pumping up the tires prior to going off to the Library.suddenly his neighbour Annie appeared at the gate.Bedecked as usual in finest Scottish tweed with a long pendant on a solid 22 carat gold chain swinging nonchalantly from her neck,with a matching ring attached mysteriously to her upper lip.”Who’re you,the Lady Mayoress” he joked.Where’s Mary?” she pointedly whispered.”She’s up with her widowed sister Joan in ScotlandStan admitted nervously.”Joan,that’s not a very Scottish name!” Annie joked.”anyway how about we sit down here on this bench for a moment”.She pulled him vigorously towards her.Stan responded regretfully “I’m afraid I can’t stop.I have all these books overdue and the library shuts in 15 minutes.”Don’t worry,sweet heart”, she cried contemptuously.”I’ll pay all your fines.I’ve just come into loads of money.”
“Oh,how’s that.my angel” Stan murmured. “I just shot Bert.If you help me to get rid of the evidence,I’ll share the loot with you.”
At the funeral,Annie was dressed in a beautiful dark brown suit from Jaeger.She went around the room making sure everyone had enough food and drink..As she leaned over towards Stan her heavy gold locket,inside which was hidden the bullet that killed Bert,swung over and hit Stan a glancing blow on the temple.
Stan fell to the ground.”Do you think we should ring 999?” someone asked sarcastically.Within minutes paramedics arrived.
“So,is it that chair again?” they clamoured.”Yes,this foolish old man fell over and the leg came off my new antique chair.I’ve only had it a few days and it’s not insured.””Did anyone ever tell you,your eyes are like deep pools in the Saragossa Sea?” The paramedic whispered into her right ear.
“Have you still not finished that Creative Writing Course?” Annie shouted.””I’m getting tired of you admiring my eyes.What about my nose?””Has anyone ever told you,your nose is the shortest they’ve ever seen?””That’s a bit boring” Annie retorted.”Yeah,maybe i should change to Art,” he ruefully moaned.”I love the way your deep blue and turquoise eye shadow is melting round your eyes and running down the sides of your nose.”
“Hurry up and fix my chair,and while you’re about it,you may as well take Stan down to A and E for a head X-ray.”
Glancing furtively at Annie in her Jaeger suit with carefully contrasting deep coral blouse and opaque teal blue 80 denier tights with 6 inch stiletto heels to complete the outfit, not to mention her raspberry coloured bra which clashed violently with the coral blouse which alas was more transparent than she realised, he picked up a hammer and began,excitedly,to mend the broken chair.”This is what life is all about,my boy” he though

 

Sympathy

Sympathy is sometimes

Norfolk UK
By K

Sympathy is sometimes good,

Especially if you are  not made of wood.

Empathy can be superior

If to metal,your brain’s nearer.

Do you want to be fulfilled?

Don’t get ground by coffee mills.

Would you like to be superior?

Do not venture to your interior.

Journeys often end in struggle.

As they make the mind more muddled.

Archaic words can be a joy,

But sometimes archaisms annoy.

Do you like tea from Ceylon?

Alas my own supply’s all gone.

Do you want to study grief?

Take your lessons from a leaf.

After short weeks on a tree

To be cast off is destiny.

Into earth the leaves return

To become food for journeying worms.

So it will be for us all,

Regarding not   your status   tall

Lyra’s song

A LOVELY LUTE

The lute
The lute
 

Lyres and Lutes

When Lyra was a tiny child

She longed to play the lute.

Her Mother was not happy

The lute is not so cute.

 

Lyra began to dream of lutes

The way small children do.

She dreamed Mozart wrote a piece

He called “The Magic Lute.”

 

She was very disappointed

When she woke up in her bed.

So Lyra began imagining

What she’d like to do instead.

 

She hummed and sang from morn till night

And one day realised

That singing was her genius.

Her voice was Lyra’s guide.

 

Now Lyra ‘s in “The Magic Flute

Opera is her thing.

She is a high soprano now.

Lyra loves to sing.

 

Baking and the Unconscious:from the cornfields to Freud.

Emile my cat
Emile
 

Stan had decided to do a some of baking.