Month: January 2014

Textured lichen

Fascianting

Steve Schwartzman's avatarPortraits of Wildflowers

To say textured and lichen at the same time is to be redundant, but I wanted to emphasize the fine details in this patch of lichen as well as the roughness of the tree bark it was on. Notice also the rosy color in the upper part of the lichen, which I don’t recall ever seeing before.

This photograph comes from the same December 18th walk in the Upper Bull Creek Greenbelt that brought you the preceding pictures of leafminer trails and a colorful agarita leaflet.

© 2014 Steven Schwartzman

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Stan in hell

  • Bright lake

    Stan was standing on the patio when a sudden downpour drenched him all over.
    This is like a monsoon,he murmured to Emile who was also wet.
    A head appeared over the fence.
    I’m awfully sorry,old boy.A pipe has burst in Annie’s loft.
    I don’t believe it.You are Stan Brown.It must be 50 years since I saw you as a student… you were hopeless at logic too.
    Stan was hiding his surprise at seeing Rudolf Hairnet,his former  tutor at an ancient foundation of learning and sin, in the garden of Annie,Stan’s beloved once more [now he has swept out his sacred space and put a bolt on the door.]
    Why not pop in Rudolf,he said.I’ll leave the door open and go upstairs to change my clothes.Be with you in a moment.
    Stan went upstairs and removed his clothes.His body was now as thin as when he reached his full height of 6 ft 6 inches but alas it had less muscle and more fat..He gazed into his wife’s mirror.
    To his surprise he saw Satan looking out.Although he knew this was possible for Catholics he had never met Satan before.
    How do you get behind the mirror,he asked gently.
    God only knows,said Satan morosely.
    Why not ask him?
    I’m too proud,the poor devil replied in a bleak voice.
    Well,we all have our pride,Stan told him,though no doubt yours is the biggest  size in the universe.
    Yes,indeed,Satan answered.
    Are you here for any special purpose,Stan enquired.
    Yes,your home seems more intriguing than most and I like to watch you in bed with that flame haired woman.
    I see,said Stan,You are a voyeur.
    That’s one way of describing me,Satan said,no woman will come to bed with me so I am trapped here behind every mirror in the world.I can see it all but never take part.
    You must be very lonely,said Stan
    Yes,the dark spirit muttered.
    Are there no she-devils about who might oblige you?
    I don’t seem to fancy them so much.They are all as bad a me,I want kindness and tenderness not just lust.After all,one might satisfy that with a vibrator… we have them in hell you know!Free/
    Why,you are beginning to sound almost human,Stan told him.That’s what we want too.If only you would apologise to God I am sure he would forgive you and let you come into the real world of others instead of being trapped in there
    Stan heard a noise.He turned round displaying his bony frame and his organs to Rudolf.
    Are you ok?I was worried that the drenching had knocked you off balance.I have put your kettle on the fire to make you a hot drink and phoned 999 for aid.
    But we don’t have a fire,Stan responded.
    Well,you do now said Rudolf,so let’s enjoy the flames while we can.
    To whom were you talking in there?
    I was on my mobile,said Standefensively.
    But where was it?You had nothing on ?
    On second thoughts,please don’t tell me.I’ve heard some strange stories but arsing about with a why,hi phone is not one I wish to dwell on.
    That’s logicians for you.No interest in the wilder shores of life ,Stan told himself as he went downstairs and joined Rudolf in a good cup of tea with sugar and biscuits
    And that is what I need to recover from writing down this very odd tail…
    And so does Dave the poor young paramedic

    Kindly refrain from reblogging or re- tweeting as amusement often offends.

    Please read with baited breath.You may catch something.

    Do not email you comments to me at :kitswits@hellsangels..co.uk

    nor at  :cleverlady@hotmail.hell.com

Levinas,books etc

free_animal_angels_screensaver-131729-3

I have received several books now written by or about Levinas.As you guess,they are quite hard so my time is taken up reading.The most hopeful one,The          Cambridge Guide,is not here yet.but I think it will be more understandable than the others to an ignorant person like myself. I am unsure what I’ve done but this  is coming out very much to one side so I shall just say.Hello and continue with my studies.I like this shy lion picture.

PS.Just got the Cambridge Guide and it looks quite approachable.

Related articles

When God spoke

 

I’m a thin skinned person

On a thin skinned, spinning earth.

We’re living on the surface,

Creating more financial worth.

My skin is getting thinner

I am feeling far too much.

My skin is very fragile,

I may need to have it patched.

The earth is full of danger

But we build on it like fools.

As if my skin would thicken

If I covered it in jewels.

Inside the earth are fires

Which rage like infernos.

But we build nuclear reactors

In places we don’t know.

We build our human cities

As if we are in charge.

Banks,buildings,bridges growing,

The built world has grown so large.

The earth has a thinner skin on,

But we don’t want to know.

We just want our human cities

To grow and grow and grow.

My skin is getting thinner

I feel life far too well.

I don’t want to write poetry

But I feel that I must tell.

My skin is getting thinner

I’m at one with Mother Earth

She groans and labours loudly

Like she is giving birth.

Her skin is getting thinner

Is it something she will shed?

As adders are reborn

When we think they are dead.

But if we have too many cities

The earth has no space to move.

We’re like acne pustules dancing

Without energy or love.

The skin is getting thinner

The world is going to split.

And the energy released

Is a fierce charge to transmit.

We split the atom once

And opened the abyss.

But when we split the atom

Who knew about all this?

My skin is far too permeable

I’m feeling too much pain.

I want a thicker skin

To survive on this terrain.

The world groans and she labours

And she destroys cities and trains.

She’s giving birth to her own self

As she struggles,works and strains.

Her self is something fearsome,

She is not civilised.

When God spoke from the Burning Bush,

We covered up our eyes.

My skin is getting thinner

I feel the heat again

My skin is getting thinner

I’m feeling too much pain.

We won’t allow for any detours

The morning sun attracts me

From the avenues of sleep

From my tiny clock I see

It’s almost half past eight.

But you keep rolling my way

And I’ll keep rolling yours,

And we won’t allow for any detours.

 

 

I drink my tea and coffee

From a very special cup

you gave it to me long ago

And from it I shall sip.

You keep rolling my way

And I’ll keep rolling yours,

And we won’t allow for any detours.

 

 

We were once so innocent

And now we are so wise.

I see the sun reflecting

in the mirror of your eyes

You keep rolling my way

And I’ll keep rolling yours,

And we won’t allow for any detours

 

 

Our lives are growing longer

And our eyes are growing weak.

And please forgive me now

I have to take a leak.

You keep rolling my way

And I’ll keep rolling yours,

And we won’t allow for any detour

 

Why and how Sylvia Plath disappointed me

Image

 

Until last year I had read only  the most famous of Plath’s poems like “Daddy”.Then I read many more and also many works of criticism and explanation.And then I realised she was one of the  most gifted poets of her era. But alas, her maturity as a poet coincided with the breakdown of her marriage.And so her talents were used to  express mainly rage and then meaninglessness and death.

Was it only the tragedy of  her life situation that brought about her mature voice ? I believe not. And so I grieve that her wonderful works were full of rage and destructiveness…. what would she have written otherwise.I also believe that her motives in marrying Hughe were mixed…. and so  were his to her.Marriage is entered into too lightly and without understanding.I almost feel arranged marriages were better sometimes

Now maybe it  is wrong of me to say this but I know we all are acquainted with anger, envy,jealous and other painful emotions .But  I believe to cultivate them is not moral. And to utilise them in Art is something dangerous and maybe destructive. And without specifying any religion or  ethical system I believe acting ethically is more important than art, music,writing and so on…not that there is always a conflict.

I may appear to counsel perfection but I merely grieve for the loss of a genius and what she might have written if she had been given support and help when left alone with two  tiny children in a foreign land.

If we have gifts let us use them for good and for the encouragement of our  human companions on this  planet and not for harm,destruction ,stealing wealth and creating evil

The Sylvia Plath Effect

http://www.neatorama.com/2008/03/18/writers-who-suffered-from-the-sylvia-plath-effect/#!scilW

I mentioned the writer Plath in my last post.I came across this article… but it is unfair to label this problem as “The Sylvia Plath Effect” as most of the writers referred to lived before Plath.But women writers,are potential writers used to find it very hard to construct an identity which could include love,sex and family and also being a writer and an agent  in one’s life rather than just a subject in someone else’s…. perhaps a husband’s/At one time women gave up on love and marriage and were  able to be writers but it seems a pity.

Now,that may seem a privilege when most women inn the world struggle to survive.But writers and artists are not a luxury. We need them to express what we cannot; to venture into new parts of life.to express what is below the surface .Not that all art is of equal value.I myself would be very happy if Rr.Wagner had fallen of a horse and tacked his skull  before he wrote “The Ring Cycle “and his other loaded musical works. Music is in any case not  always of moral benefit/We are too familiar with the top Nazis loving Mozart not to be aware of the dangers of believing  art is  always a beneficial thing. Plato was very wary of it.

Nor do I naively believe that all that happens is the direct will of God/Even god would be irritated by

The Ride of the Valkyries” and other such inflaming nonsense.I feel it’s blasphemous to mention God at all but looking back at the 20 th century we see his face turned away.

I do believe that Plath’s suicide was a very bad thing because  any such event seems to produce copycat suicides.. indeed Plath’s husband’s mistress also gassed herself and their child…a dreadful imitation.Tread carefully indeed when you imagine love is a simple and easy sweet there to be grabbed.Assia Wevill  plotted to seduce Ted Hughes.

I am very much against planning or plotting to gratify  one’s self at the expense of another and in fact she destroyed her own life compounding grief and woe.

I believe in  our society it is accepted that women can use their gifts but not at the expense of their duties.Men are also affected by the need to work and support their families when perhaps they would like to imitate Gauguin…!

Mal a la tete and other English problems

 

Please read my introductions.

Humor from essays.

The main purpose of sex is multiple onanisms.
Children are deceived half way through a womans bicycle.
Sex should not cause rubble in bed.
Married folk can kiss on the Sabbath only.
Please do not whore coal in the bath.
In the UK sex is overcome by talent.
Please repress yourself in the kitchen.
Do not split up before dinner.
Men need to buy flowers as a sign of wear.
Change is feasible on a weekend.
Free sex is not at A and E.Joy is to be had at the. Doctor`s.
Witch doctors,you mean?
Men need all.
Women have it.

So why all the problems?

Stan’s love life :not dead yet!

enmglish garden

English garden
English garden
English garden

Source: K.
English poppies
English poppies

Stan’s birthday
Stan Brown was in the new conservatory admiring the windows he had just polished with his microfibre cloth.His 82nd birthday was coming up and Mary,his stunningly attractive yet irritable and over educated wife had insisted on celebrating a party and had already baked a hugewhole orange cake[see internet for recipe]He heard a sharp tapping on the door.There lay Annie their next door neighbour spying through the key hole.

“Are you on your own?” she queried tersely.

“No, but I’m suffering from existential anxiety” Stan lied politely.

“Well,I just saw Mary on her second hand but excellent Raleigh shopper bike going to the market or the Charity Shop.”

“Well,I have the cat here”,he spontaneously whispered loudly as if he were free associating for Freud himself

“Let me in,and make me a coffee” “She’s a queer one” the cat Emile thought inconsolably.”where’s my Carnation cat milk?”

“Real or phantasy?” he answered suavely yet civilly.”Won’t it wash off your brand new coral lipstick from Chanel of Paris?” “no to mention your factor 60 sunblock.”

“Bleedin’ hell!” she murmured romantically. to herself,”How does he know it’s Chanel?Is he a spy or what?Is he in M.I.7?”

Stan got some instant coffee and debated whether to add a little LSD to add some mysticism and magic to their morning!No,a breathing exercise would be cheaper he concluded after 39 minutes of obsessiveanxiety

He sat down in his favourite old wooden Habitat chair.

“Did you know Habitat is going b..b bankrupt?” she brightly yet surreptitiously stuttered turning pink with happiness and the menopause.

Suddenly Annie sat down on Stan’slap and began to kiss his right eyelids.

“Careful,my angel!” he muttered.

He was savouring the annoyingly uncommon pleasure when the chair fell to pieces as it frequently did at such times. throwing the elderly but versatile couple down onto the new Mary Quant patterned pure NewZealand lambs wool carpet.Suddenly they heard the peal of Mary’s bicycle bell.Shortly she walked into the room.carrying 78 bags of groceries for the bithday party.

“What is going on now ?”she murmured seductively.

“I’m so sorry,Anne,please accept my apologies,he has this thing about chairs.It’s a fetish,I believe,according to Sinaldo Floyd.””

“Have you got your mobile?” shrieked Stan agonisingly,”I can’t get up.”

“What cannot stand up must forever remain lying down” As my old philosophy tutor at Cambridge used to say,muttered Mary.

“Why,that’s bit extreme,” said Anne uneasily.”MY tutor said “Who cannot speak must forever remain silent.”

“Oh,who was your tutor?” “Elizabeth Ansconbe!” Anne admitted furtively.”Mine was Iris Murdoch!” called out Stan!

Later than soon,slightly, they heard a silent siren.It was the emergencyambulance.

Dave,the paramedic bounded into the room.

“It’s this chair” said Mary urbanely.”Can you mend it for me?My husband can’t manage without it!”

“Anything else,madam?” Dave queried anxiously.

“Any coal to fetch in,tins to open,blocked toilets?”

“Later maybe.”

Dave looked at Anne.”Your eyes look like two deep pools in the Caspian sea.”

he whispered.”Are you on another creative writing course?”she quipped urbanely.

“Yes, we’re on eyes at the moment,what is that eyeshadow you have on.” “This is called winter teal” She admitted uneasily.

“Did you know I’m a transvestite?” he admitted happily her.”Yes”,she replied dishonestly.Anne like to give an impression of omniscience owing to her ontological insecurity and her quizzically lacking theology.

Unfortunately that very frequently gave men the wrong impression.

Mary cried out to Dave,”Get on with it,my sweetie!” So he took out a big tube of glue from his jeans’ pocket and set to work on the chair.

“Oh,dear,Stan looks a bit odder” “!No,he looks prime to me.” “Is he an integer?!” “No, he’s a transcendental real number” “He’s a number all right.”

“Never mind,we’ve just got new wheelie bins so I’ll put him out with the rubbish,”

Mary joked on hearing Anne’s remarks to Dave.

But Stan was not yet dead.He merely had fallen asleep.

He dreamed of his days at Oxgridge University studying illogic and unreason with Rudolphina Catnap,the famous philosopher.Oh,happy days!

Dave made the ladies some Ceylon tea in the fabulous oak kitchen with its pure linen curtains in raspberry beige. and its black enamel sink with matching double oven and microwave.”Why no halogen?”Iris Murdoch might have asked.

“What is a human life,”he pondered.He was studying logic aas well aswriting.

He began to tremble like a leaf inthe wind to use a fresh new cliche.

“Help” he called,”I’m having a panic attack.Hurry I’m dying“

“You can’t have a panic attack,” shouted Mary.

“Paramedics heal themselves.”

“Does God heal those who heal themselves he wondered as he lay under a pile of broken china?”

“Where’s the blooming tea ? called the women politely.

The gay nurses wink

My husband stole my shoes yesterday

As for his own,he’s reluctant to pay.

I hope that’s the end

I shall go round the bend

If my clothes keep on going his way.

 

For  what will the doctors all think

If he wears underwear that’s pale pink?

He will say he’s going blind

And that was all he could find.

Then I shall observe all the gay  nurses wink

Following the movement of light

You really should look at these

janetweightreed10's avatarMy Life as an Artist (2)

It’s always lovely to see daffodils after a long winter:)

I took these photographs, using my digital camera last year.    They show the movement of light on a windowsill in my flat.

Frame 1

Image

Frame 2.

I didn’t start using a camera until eight years ago, and although I prefer to paint from life, I have found the digital camera to be a superb tool.

Image

Frame 3

It allows me to capture the movement of light and shadow, however it is not a replacement for a sketchbook……it’s an added tool.

Image

Frame 4

photographs, especially your own,  are excellent to use as jumping off points for paintings.

Image

Have a lovely day, and remember to look at the http://www.artinthealgarve.com website.     There are still places available for the April watercolour workshop,  suitable for all levels including total beginners.

A Bientot

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Write well and read with care and thought

A little knowledge cannot do us harm

And on that base with certainty we build

For learning has a wonder and a charm

As with new words our avid mind is filled

 Image

Now poetry and songs can  give us voice

For others who with us share this dear earth.

To dwell in silence is of course a choice

Yet sharing is a means of giving birth.

 

The news is filled with death and with wrong deeds

Our hearts lurch as we read the frightful words

Our blood boils and our minds gain speed

From articles ill thought that do no good

 

Write well and read with care and thought

Lest you by evil also are o’erwrought

How to live my life?

 

Source: My own

Humor charms

think my vocation is sacred
I keep seeing visions of God
He’s like a bright light
Exceedingly right
Does anything seem to be odd?

I have a calling to follow
I just do not know the details
I pray and I wait
By yonder lychgate
Do vocations ever get into the Sales?

I would like it if I could buy one
I’ll give you all the money I’ve saved
Sell my idea?
My dear,no fear!
Just consider how well I’ve behaved.

Everyone has a vocation
To be who they know that they are.
Yet I am not me
Without you to be
Here in my arms by the fire.

I’ll get an answer tomorrow
As I dream of God during the night
She will give me an image
And the much needed courage
To go on till I see the Light.

The problem is one of translation,
For God speaks in symbols not words
Symbols are wells
in which truth dwells.
And the Spirit swoops down like a bird.

Why not find your vocation?
It’s possible whatever your age.
Attend to your dreams
and how your life seems
Vocations are now all the rage

© 2013 Kate

Not dead yet and other English humor!

“Not dead yet” was a phrase that was part of a comic act here on TV… it’s that odd humour here in England.

If we meet we say:How are you?

And this is what we say

Fine thanks.In the pink.

Feeling groovy.
Could be worse I suppose.
Think I’ve got that bug that’s going round on the flights to the UFO
Still here…I think
Still alive,just about.
I would have fallen over in front of a bus except the dog would miss me.
Not dead yet.
Could be better.
Why do you ask?
Have we been introduced?
You look vaguely familiar.Are we married?
I think I met you once on some waste ground behind a pub!
How kind of you to ask.
Is that cat glued to your head or is it  a transplant
Do you come here often or just when you are overwrought?
Who did you say you were?
Have we met or are  you  famous?You look familiar.I must be in love again
I;ve booked a hotel in that place that’s been flooded. for 2 weeks.How are you?
I say,old boy.How nice you asked.I’m fine I just got married again..I I have a lot more news…..ah,well.I never liked him much really,the bastard.
Where have you been all my life?
Fuck off or I’ll bite my nails and scratch my face with a twig off this old oak tree.
Do you know anyone here?You are my son!   I  just can’t believe it

Even Stan’s cat weeps

Tigger
Stan was sweeping the garden path.He had a stiff broom with a small head that was useful for cleaning the edges of the steps.Emile, his beautiful cat was sitting in the old apple tree gazing down on Stan.
“Is it time for coffee yet,”Stan asked himself.He had forgotten to put on his watch.
Suddenly he heard a shriek.He peered through a hole in the fence.His neighbor Anne was lying on her back in some mud.
“Hang on,I’ll come round!” he called.
There was a gate in the old fence which was rarely locked
since she loved to drop in on Stan.
“Oh,,how are you feeling?” he asked her anxiously.
“Bloody annoyed.I’ve only just bought these,”Not your daughter’s jeans” and now I’ve torn them,” she replied politely.
“But you don’t have a daughter!” he informed her loudly.
“I know that.It’s just they are better cut for the mature figure.”
“Your figure is not mature.You are quite slender.my dear,” he murmured lovingly.
“Well,I never feel happy with it!” she said mutinously.
“Whereas I am very happy feeling it,” he responded romantically.
Tears came into her green eyes lined with purple eye shadow.Alas,it was not waterproof and purple rivulets ran down her cheeks across the peach blusher with which she had valiantly decorated herself earlier.
“Can you get up?” he asked tenderly.
“Yes, but it would be nice if you picked me up.”
He leaned over her and licked the purple streams of tears off her cheeks.
“I hope it’s not poisonous,” she murmured.
Then with the aid of Emile,he lifted her to her feet and helped her into her large trendy kitchen.
The kettle switched itself on as they entered and a robotic voice asked if they’d like coffee.
“God in heaven,what the hell is that?” he cried confusedly.
“It’s my new computerized hot drink maker.After that fall I think a double espresso would be good.”
Emile ran in and asked for coffee too.
“Emile,you usually have milk,”Stan reminded him softly.
“Well,coffee is a new taste for me but I like a little.”
the cat whispered sweetly.
“I’ll give you some of mine in a saucer,” Stan replied.
Emile began to sob.
“Why Emile,whatever is wrong?”
“I want a cup and saucer just like you” the cat howled.
But you have no hands,Emile,” Stan reminded him.
The poor cat was crying loudly now.So Stan rang 999.
“Can you please send the emergency ambulance round.the cat’s crying and all his hankies are in the wash.”#
Soon Dave,the transvestite paramedic appeared.
“I love your light teal kitchen,” he informed Annie,
“And your eyes look like two deep pools in a coal mine.”
She slapped his cheek naughtily.
“Have a look at Emile” she ordered him sweetly.
He turned to the cat who was sitting on the dark pine table.
“Here,Emile,I got you some Kleenex for Cats in Sainsbury’s.” he said gaily.
“I want a real hanky,”cried Emile.Dave took a clean hanky from his own pocket and dried the cats tears.
“What made you cry.Are you feeling bad.”
“Yes,I want to go to Cafe Nero,” Emile mioawed.
“Who told you about that?”
“Another cat down the road has been and he said it’s lovely for people watching.”
“The town is not safe for cats like you,Emile.”
Dave urbanely replied,
“But when summer come I’ll take you to the out of town
Marks and Spencer’s.They have a cat’s coffee corner upstairs.”
“Wow,isn’t it amazing,”Stan wondered out loud.
So Dave poured out the coffee and they all sat down and
discussed Ray Monk’s Life of Wittgenstein.
Ray has discovered that Wittgenstein liked cats but as he moved around quite a bit,he never owned his own cat
though Elizabeth Anscombe let him play with her three cats now and then.
We may all be different but most of us value the love of a good cat.Even boiling their hankies and ironing them is very nice.We all have this problem though.
Where can a cat carry his own hanky?
Do cats need shoulder bags?
What would Wittgenstein say?
Nothing is my guess.
Whereof one cannot speak…..
T

She met his eyes on Sunday and his why’s on Monday

lily pond 2He rolled his eyes on the television.Je ne pays pas license.
She met his eyes down the street en passant
His eyes narrowed as they passed through the Thames Barrier,quod errant demons tantrum
His eyes were askew as they sailed in the dinghy down the river bed.Que sera tara
His eyes said,hello babe.Non erat liberace
His eyes roamed about wildly.Kyrie eleison
The cat’s eyes were missing as they drove down the main road.Ite missa pest
His eyes were all over her and she was a full bosomed lady of ample means.Heilige snacked
Her eyes never mated with his although he gave her a large glowering look.Stile nacht.
Your eyes are not sharp enough,the teacher said as I broke the lead in my pencil.Mal a la tete!
His eyes melted the ice round her heart as they caressed her with tender pity.
Oh,mio solo
His eyes spoke volumes but noone wrote it down so it is lost to posteriority.Amen
Her eyes were as hard as diamonds but in reality she was a soft touch.O mio sho low
My eyes dropped and I looked ashamed of myself.Kyrie illusion
My eyes stammered all down his face.Que sera?
Her eyes ran and so did she…. that seems logical to me.QED
My eyes watered and the plants were rejuvenated.Non tolerante les diables.
Your eyes are too bold,the doctor said.Wear dark glasses and keep away.Niger est superiore
I put my eyes on hold and then forgot!Esta la vista de pleurs
Do eyes count? Numinousity
Are eyes free? Liberare mei
My eyes twinkled when I read his letters.Je l’adore.
My eyes are just stars really.Visible retinae
My eyes are in bed today,Ou est le trouve?

How I began on the internet

 

garden 2

When I was at University I spent  years studying mathematics.But I always liked poetry and novels.My school thought I should study English Literature,but to me that wc as not a creative activity.The way we were taught was to criticize books,plays,poems by many famous writers [mostly men!]

Three in one

Praying

I didn’t want to criticize only.I wanted to write but I never thought I could.I followed my career as a mathematician until my vision deteriorated.I could not read mathematical symbols anymore.Still it had earned me a living

YOU IS SO MUCH FUN,ME IS NOT SO DONE YOU IS SO MUCH FUN,ME IS NOT SO DONE

I began going to an Art Class as I wanted to  see as much as I could. in case my vision got worse,I was so  very  embarrassed because all the others were very good whereas I had no idea what all the terms meant [Even for pencil drawing ].I was afraid but I kept going and did learn to look at the world differently.At that time I .I had not got a computer.Later I could not get to the class but did more here at home

Two cats

Two cats

I bought my laptop and after some time I discovered digital art.I had no books about it so I just played.I found Microsoft Paint inviting and simple.Later I found Artweaver and Paint.net which I used to manipulate my photographs

Lily pond

Lily pond

I only took photos because by error I bought a phone with a camera on it.Next time I’ll tell you how I wrote my first poems

6419415_506e1f1602_m

I like blue

6419534_5a28508448_m

When you said love

When you said love,it was not what women hope
For cutting out my heart was no mean feat.
Your wicked love and hatred telescoped
You looked on me as just a piece of meat.
When you were riled,you let your temper rip..
When you swore rage not love I had  dark doubt.s
From Cupid’s cup, you merely took a sip.
You left the cup upturned in  dismal drought.
When you repent,you never let it show.
When you do wrong,you keep your mind alone..
But truth and pain admitted are no blow.
But  hate locked in will cause both tears and groans.
Your charm had won me like a butterfly
Your humid hatred   makes me flutter by.

Are you offputting or outtaking?

 

6422289_64198f440b_s1Do you have trouble mating with people’s eyes on the bus?
Are you unable to make the small talk?
Do you hate to sit at round tables?
Do you forget to sweep you partner when you get home from work?
Do you love systems of all types and types who possess symptoms?
Do you feel wry at parties?
Do you prefer staying at home with a cook?
Do you like to meet people one by one in alphabetical order rather than in groups?
Do you like to use only seven letter words?
Do you like writing offensive letters?
Do you constantly apologise and speak in a whisper?
Are you always putting of sex?
Or is sex offputting to you?
Do you eat cat food to save cooking?

Do you often wreak havoc?

Well,eff off.I don’t want to hear from you.Ciao!

Elegy for Mihalyi Csikzentmihalyi

Mihalyi was a saint of sorts;

he improved, with his search for understanding,

the lives of so many yearning writers;

the lame in spirit heard his Zen like words.

He could not have imagined the journey

From Hungary to Zurich to Chicago

A glimpsed mandala led to the heart of the impossible image

How did he learn to trust the flow?

The Rhine flowing down to the North Sea

May start as some minute spring

At the confluence of the gravity of water and earth.

And those then who have cast their nets into that sea

May bring in treasures not found in the business of cities.

At the first sighting,the image seemed hazy

Then the words began to flow like current through a wire.

Like a river cutting slowly through rocks of marble,

like an unknown sage from the Himalyan Alps

who had kissed the lips of his muse more than once

As she floated like a ghost, no,more like music

Tracing concentric spheres into the air

Till the universe was singing.

What was most human was his appetite,his love.

Touch the hem of his garment,follow your flow

Cut your path through the hard darkness until you find

The sunlit sea you were made to swim in

Gaze lovingly

??????????

They lay down in awe and fear,
Of what their love was bringing near.
They gazed into each other’s eyes
And so did rhapsodise.

They lay down to gaze into
the eyes and soul and heart so true.
They gazed until,when overcome,
They were united into one.

Their souls and bodies were conjoined,
And thus their hearts were well entwined;
As honeysuckle on the walls,
In joy’s sweet arbours does grow tall.

Their loving lips and eyes and hands
Gave pause to time’s soft flowing sands;
And while they touched and gazed so long,
The birds sang out in glorious songs.

The eyes are mirrors to the soul,
and love will make us grow more whole.
Gaze lovingly on humankind and hold care in your mind

Your face tells me you lied when love you wrote

I wear my heart displayed upon my face.
Attentive readers find their meaning there..
Where feelings thought too deep to be embraced
Can shine demurely where they do not scare.

As Freud observed we're never quite disguised
Betrayal is our body's real motif
The message comes conspicuous from the eyes..
Bright sparkles or your tears of blackest grief.

The answer to a question seemly leaps
So Yes or No is visibly revealed.
The blush that spreads so fast across the cheeks
Both bold and shy unable to conceal.

Your face tells me you lied when Love you wrote.
Yet let us part with song as we are poets.

Stan wants Mary to swear…….not for the pure!

 

Trees over lily pond 2
In case you hate the story.. look at the image

You are too prissy,Mary,Stan told his wife.Everybody uses four letter words know except you.
What is so special about four letters,she replied mathematically.
I can’t say ,said Stan.
Is it because they are expletives s have to sound like bullets being fired.For example
“Fuck off, you old shit bag”
Sounds different from
“Kindly go away,old thing.”
That is true,said her 98 year old husband,
So why do you want me to swear?
Well,now you have a tablet computer and a chromebook you need an iphone and you need to talk like the young do as well.
I phones are very expensive and you know me,I’m crap at finding where I leave the fucking things.
Now,Mary,control yourself.I am your husband
What the hell has that got to do with it.
You should be nice.
So whom do you wish me to swear at?
I’m not sure.Maybe when you sing in the kitchen you could alter the words of the songs..
As I waltzed out to fuck at 8 pm
The lambs were coming too all over my thumb
I heard a neighbour complain of all this crap
So I’m going to Waterstone’s for a map

Something wrong with the meter here methinks,said Stan.
And somehow,swearing does not seem to blend with your personality and gentle quiet nature,Mary,darling.
Cut the crap.It’s too late now.I’ve become addicted.
But how many four letter words are there?I might find it limiting.
Some fofurletter words are not swearing
like
tame,kind,wind,fluff,hair,lips,nips,twit
but some are like
fuck,shit,crap,twat.
So twit is ok but twat is not,the demure old lady replied.Anyway don’t you know any more?
Damn!
Perhaps we’ll have to buy a book and learn some new ones but to whom shall we say them
Would your mistress,Meldickadivsa know?
Well,I can ask her.
But is it sensible?
If women want equal rights it’s not the same as being compelled to use words that only workmen used to use.
It’s like saying we can’t have public conveniences for women;they will have to use the gents!
What will they use the gents for, one of them queried.
For sensual gratification and relieving tension.
Is it legal?

Anything is legal as long as you don’t pay!
That reminds me of Russell’s Paradox.
Oh,my God,don’t say you are on to Russell!
It’s more like he is on to me.
Whatever do you mean,Stan said.
He is trying to invade my mind.
Well,make it password protected!!
How do I do that?
Go online and find out.
Perhaps we can password protect your tongue to stop you saying all those words like twat!
But I don’t want to stop.
In that case you must invent some more or they get boring you see.
Flaff off you crum!
Eff doff you runt!
Don’t you leak to he like trat
Why egger nuts?
Clean your organ in the mawnin.
What is so runny about swap?
Goody bell,the vicar is beer!
Lie down and he won’t bee us on the door!
It’s very dirty down here.
Get the vacuum out!
The vacuum is clean,it’s the carpet that’s full of nap!
I blame you,
For what?
Basting my rhymes in wine.
Well,it’s time for wee now.
Go and but the skittle on the stove.
By George,I feel terry funicular!
I’ll put some neatener in your wee.
I’ll come here again!
Stop that askance!
Can’t I rake a glance?
Show you can pot?
Pot what?
The wee pot.
You are very mod!
Blank you so crutch.
Puck off,it’s time for twerk.
Oh,my dear!
It’s being so near.

what makes ’em leer

Yet like blue glass

No depth is like the deepness of your eyes
No warmth is like the comfort of your smile
Yet sometimes love turns out to be unwise.
And joy can change to feelings dark and vile

Yet like blue glass your eyes compel my gaze.
Your lips invite us to to conjoin with mine.
Have I learned  so little wisdom in my days?
Am I a fool top pass this warning sign?

Yet hope is ever rising in the heart.
Despair is not to be embraced too soon;
and if God wills that our two ways must part
I'll face the error and receive my doom.

For humans must  all give and take of love.
So  tender like the  flutterings of a dove

Penance?Oh,my.

6422289_64198f440b_s1
Bless me Father,for I have sinned

What did you do my child?

I was hurt by a comment someone made.So I told them.

Seems quite fair to me!

Really,Father?

Any more sins?

Yes,I write rude poems.

Leave some with my housekeeper.i’ must read them

And I ate a biscuit last week,Father.

What had the biscuit ever done to you?Had it bitten you?

No,Father.

There you are.do as you would be done by!

Next please.

But you didn’t give me any penance,Father.

With your temperament you don’t need penance.

Thank God it’s got some advantage then

For blasphemy it’s £10

How much for fornication?

£100.

Yes,please.That will d