Day: Feb 2, 2014

The man who cannot write or read a book

Though full of direct knowledge of his fellows
Whose eyes and faces are a script humane;
Though voices sing to him like Lobos’ cellos
Yet in lack and loss and woe this man remains..

In times gone by,the voice and face sufficed.
Poets read and we seized upon their lines;
But now a subtle torture’s been devised
To write with pen and letters intertwined.

This man though wise like cat,or bear or owl,
Has failed in his acquaintance with the pen.
Nor does he have the words which politicians howl.
Nor can he read more than his list of sin.

For now the map is where the mind must dwell
And of reality,no-one can tell.

Gambol through life

 

Doctor,doctor,100 per cent of the patients waiting has died.
You mean have died,surely?
No,doctor,there was only one!

Doctor,doctor,50% of the patients is men today!
You mean “are men;do learn grammar”
Well,there are just two patients!
So 50% is women.
A woman!

Doctor,doctor,33.333333% of the patients is a child.
I am unsure if it’s your grammar,the topic or the fact that 1/3 can’t be written as a finite decimal number that is making me feel queer today,
Well,doctor,be gay if you like.I am ok with that!
I seem to fluctuate.Is that normal?
Who gives a damn about what’s normal?
The abnormal?

Doctor,doctor,50% of my fingers have fallen off.
And you can still calculate percentages.That’s a miracle.
To me it’s a catastrophe.
Don’t worry,I can reattach them if they are to hand.
What a funny way you have of talking English.
Speaking English..
Speaking,talking,uttering,muttering…I don’t get you Anglos.
I’m a Jew!
Well,you are an English Jew.You wear an English hat on your noble head with its amber eyes
And you are an English Indian.You wear an England scarf around your elegant neck!
Our Venn diagrams intersect.What a miracle!
That’s two miracles already.Before we even think about Venn diagrams.
It’s the intersection that we like…
Yes,100% of us two like them.
We agree.We beat the percentages.
The odds.
Life’s a gamble

Or a gambol?

Shapely tulips catch my eye

Shapely tulips catch my eye

Red as cherries

Winter berries

Spring will never lie.

Willow buds as green as glass

Happiness

Happiness

Memories are made of this,

Sunlight slants across the wall

such loved color

my eyes follow

Delight  to me is all

Mauve and grey the evening sky.

Sun descends

Day must end

One last goose flies by

To know which

 

Each face has its unmeasurable beauty.
Inside I am astutely breaking down numbers
into their prime factors;
as I look out I see the polgons on your wrinkled skin
retain their topological invariance as you speak and gesture.
What’s that for?
Yes,my eyes say,I hear you,I am listening;
I’m a lake of warm water,Fall into me and float.
At one end I keep a Thesaurus of real and imaginary words.
They are waiting to inform me of my next disappointment
With the so called Real.

My false self is so true to herself
She has become real….
Declared as such by Royal punctuation.
My real self is waiting to get married…they are both female you see,
~So it’s going to be a really gay occasion.
We hope you can join the three of us.
I am a trinity;I am a reflection of God
in a puddle of rainwater.
There is the real self,the false self
And I who observe… A spirit one might say,for now.

The lacquer which made my pen look expensive is peeling off.
Underneath it is a crude orange..
So it has lost sophistication but gained
An edible appearance to a hungry writer.
And now I am a cheese tart in a dish on your table.
You may gobble me up and I shall see the glint in your eyes.
After a while we’ll have transubstantiation
When I become you though I shall be invisible to human eyes.
Have Faith!

The polygons look weary,Topology may describe but won’t help.
Let me touch you.Let me feel you
And see if my fingers can account for all parts of you…
See it’s all intellectual work and so for my homework
I must take you to bed and count your bits all night…
and of course you can count mine.Then we can dream
Of ripeness and late roses which bloom in winter.
Do we agree or disagree or is such language completelt inappropriate?
This is one kind of examination but not another.
the trick is to know which.

A letter or two

He gave me a fast party tickle..
I kissed his algebraic form.
He’s only a number to me.I am numb all over.
He says he’ll give me peace of mind.But did he mean a piece of his mind?
What tense are your muscles?
Is the past infinite?
Can we split the indifferent?
Was the past subjective?
Subjunctive is Latin for may be.
How about  the past, was it perfect,imperfect or inconceivable?
What is the future when not dense? Very intense..
Grimmer than grammar: the autolieography of a woman of many alarm clocks

Can a noun be irrational?Can my name be a verb?
What about an infinite sequence of jumbles?Is it useful?
What is a transcendental word?
I hate logs but like rhymes.Log-of-rhymes is my next book.
Why do letters need indices?So we can locate them?

I sent a letter to my love… which letter? A?

Oxford Holy Riddle

OXFORD HOLY RIDDLE
Gold stone from Cotswold quarries men brought
And built into a way of life for those who bought
Their lives so cheaply.And did not see
The children’s eyes,the ball,the game, the tree
Of life that grew in small backyards and gave
All to those who lithely climbed into its arms,
Why should this not be you?
O Eden, I see that you are nearer now,
In lowly homes where love is free
Than in the temple ,grove and softset brow
Of those who worship God,in churches built of gold
Now  this is simple to behold
When sun is setting, and escapes the ashes
Thrown up and floating in the watches
Of the days of voters’ eyes cast up to skies
And wondering, fearful, what will come
When all the secret deals are done.
So take the gold of Life and let it fall
Into your children’s growing souls,
And let this Cotswold town and spires
Melt into sunset’s glowing orange fires.