Month: September 2014

Poem written using an automated love poem service

Images made  by me using Microsoft Paint program old version
cats and newspapersYour skin glows like an old lemon which someone left in the fridge for two years or more.
It blossoms as rudely as the nastiest weeds in springtime.
My yearning heart rises to your thunderous voice and leaps like a pig at the whisper of your name,Hardknut.
The evening ascends like a lion riding  on a great Kentucky Fried Chicken Wing.
I am calmed by your old vests that I carry to clean  the car headlights with in fog
And I hold them  in my hand when I have run out of Kleenex tissues.
I am filled with dismay that I may need to dry your tears of shame with old worn out knickers

Yet you ignore mine as ever.You appear to forget I am a woman.

As my right eye falls  down onro my blue shawl,alas it reminds me of our unmade blue bed once more.
I shall not forget it for my self esteem is low and falling
and it’s a year since I changed the sheets.
In the hushed yet noisy night,I listen for the last tweets of the autumn and look forward to an icy winter of miscontent
sleeping with the cats on the internet highway
My overheated heart leaps into my  hot  green mouth.
My lipstick is fading away with shock.
I wait in the faint moonlight for your secret bank check
So that we may strive as one mad being
in search of a  golden ring
Symbolic of ambivalent married love that has passed its sell by date
But still has some intrigue remaining.
I never met anyone as dreadful,sweet and ugly as you.
I love you,Nameless.You are mine forever

Or so I believed foolishly..but I prefer a cat now.

cat2 alone

Satan on holiday… but lo,the police are here

Image

Stan had  met Satan in his mirror many times.And it was obvious the poor devil was terribly depressed.He said he was no longer needed as humans were more wicked than he ever was.Stan wondered how to help.
He went into the bedroom and looked into the mirror.At first he thought it was empty but the he saw Satan asleep in a ball.
Hi there,he called.Satan woke up.
Hi Stan.
Stan said
I’ve got an idea.How would you like a drive to Sheringham?
I dunno,I feel too depressed.
I think you need a change said Stan.He picked uip Mary’s solid gold powder compact and opened it.What a lovely scent,he murmured,closing his eyes and remembering all the times Mary had taken it out to put on more lipstick or powder her nose.
Now,see here.I have mirror here.If you can get behind this,I’ll put you in my pocket and Emile will sit by me in the car.
Without a pause Satan leaped into the gold compact and Stan could see him in the mirror.He popped it into his front pocket until he realised the devil could not see out.
He opened it and placed it in his pocket but with the mirror sticking out.
They drove off in Stan’s old Triumph Herald with perhaps a few angels looking on.
Sat Nav,said Satan… is that how to find me…
No.it’s satellite navigation.It gives me a route to the seaside.
Bloody waste of money…what is wrong with a road Atlas.
It’s all progress.Stan told him.
Or might it be something more serious?
All of a sudden a police car came by and asked Stan to stop.
Why are you sending signals with that mirror,the police officer enquired..
To be continued

Houses built of gold and sin

Ante mortem let us trust

For in the grave we turn to dust
Yet in life the poor are cursed
Our treatment post mortem is just.

The worms and beetles care no more
For the rich than for the poor.
They are happy to devour
Bankers,despots,every hour.

Ante mortem, greed does win
Houses built of gold and sin
But God,who lives in each within,
Cares no more for gold thann tin

If post mortem we are judged
Why does the rich person grudge?
Why do we refuse to budge
Right until the final nudge?

Throw away your heavy goods
Live like daisies by the woods..
Fear not hurricane nor floods
As daises grow even in mud.

More dependent on all power
We trust in madmen’s city towers.
Yet One told us to live like flowers…
And enjoy this  life  but for an hour.

Perception is not privilege.
We each have the wits to judge.
See and note where you have smudged
What your creation would allege.

Post and ante, even now
The currents of our hearts allow…
The inner sea which has its flow
To take us where we need to go

Stan meets Satan in the mirror

ECG

Stan was standing on the patio behind his bijou home when a sudden heavy  downpour of water drenched him all over.
This is like a monsoon,he murmured to Emile who was also wet and drowned looking
A head  and neck appeared over the dark wooden fence.
I’m awfully sorry,old boy.A pipe has burst in Annie’s loft.I tried to fix it myself.
I don’t believe it.You are Stan Brown.It must be 50 years since I saw you.
Stan was hiding his surprise at seeing Rudolf Hairnet,his former logic tutor at an ancient foundation, in the garden of Annie,Stan’s beloved colourful mistress.
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. nowadays.He gazed into his wife’s full length mirror.
To his surprise, he saw Satan looking out.Although he knew this was possible for Catholics he had never met Satan before.Not that he was keen to,exciting as it might be.
How do you get behind the mirror,he asked  Satan 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 in the universe.
Yes,indeed,Satan answered.It’s bigger than Everest
Are you here for any purpose,Stan enquired.
Yes,your home seems more intriguing than most and I like to watch you in bed with that flame haired woman… is she your paramour?
I see,said Stan,You are a voyeur par excellence
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 painfully
Are there no she-devils about who might oblige you?Stan asked him thoughtfully.
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!We have many things but love and humility are not there.
Why,you are beginning to sound almost human,Stan told him.We want love 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  drooping organs to Rudolf.
Are you ok? I was worried that the drenching had knocked you off balance.I have out 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? he enquired grammatically.
I was on my mobile,said Stan defensively.
But where is it?You had nothing on ? On second thoughts,please don’t tell me .I’ve heard some strange stories but arsing about with a y 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 for a good cup of tea.
And that is what I need to recover from writing down this very odd tale…
And so does Dave the poor  innocent young paramedic from heaven who is just arriving as we leave these two dear old men sitting by the mysterious burning shrub….

Wind dismays the flowering rose

Apples hang low near the ground.
robins chirrup all around.
sun on glowing maple leaves
gives a red glow that deceives.

Autumn air is flowing near,
though it's still bright summer here.
wind dismays the flowering rose
as with arrogance it blows.

Leave me one flower for my eyes.
Leave me roses,as I sigh.
Leave me not my dearest one.
Soon enough we shall be gone.

What remains is love alone.
If your heart is not of stone,
Fear not sorrow,fear not woe.
Into this earth all must go.

Some recently found Bible pages

Source: Kathryn

And it came to pass

And it came to pass that they ate their dinner
and that she did washeth up.
And she did leave the dishes to drain
Whilst she put on the washing machine.
and the man was very pleased.
And it further came to pass
that she gave the man some delicious apple pudding
and he was more pleased.
And then it came to pass the he f ell asleep
By the fire.
And the Lord God,said
who is this man that sleepeth by his fire?
And he said,I shall waken him up
And the man awoke,
And God spake unto him
How is it that the woman laboureth in ye kitchen.
And that thou sleepeth here in an armchair.
and the man said,
but Thou didst order women to labour.
And the Lord God said unto the man
Why dost Thou remember so selectively what I have said?
And the man said,
I knoweth not and therefore I will help this woman.
And the Lord God said,
Why do’st thou not think of it thyself ?
And the man said in reply,
It was Thou that made me,O God.
And the Lord God was displeased with the man.
so he called down a plague of blue butterflies
To prevent him from sleeping.
And when the woman came in
she was much pleased to see these butterf lies
and so she fell onto the man

And she gave herself unto him
And the cat was very pleased.
For it thrilled him to watch humans mating
and gave him hope
That the Lord God would take his rib and make a mate for him.
And indeed it doth seem to have happened
Judging by all the cats staring in ye old window here
And by their ecstatic yelps
That the Lord God was very generous with them
and made them many mates.
For truly there is no jealousy among them
And they mate freely and happily
and never have rows about the washing up..

as they eat straight from the can.Amen.

Thanks for all the food we eat.

Please leave our Earth neat and sweet

 

Love was oh,so long ago.

Waxy flowers poking through

Snow so white
Flowers bright.
Made me think of you.I see once more your dark gold hair,
Soft as snow,
On my pillow.
Now my bed is bleak and bare

,
Your face turned to me,flower to sun,
I loved you.
You were true.
Fear by love was overcome.

I saw the cyclamen in snow,
Pink and red,
Now frozen,dead.
Love was,oh,so long ago.

But never gone from in my mind.
Thoughts so deep,
Upwards seep.
Love was gentle,love was kind,
You’re always in my mind

Off the graph

The end is nigh 2

Please do not talk on the giraffe.

Please do not stalk on the pass.

Please do not walk on the graph.

Please, who’s not balked at the crass?

Please leap off the double bass.

Please keep off my ass.

Please weep onto the grass.

Please take my words for a canter.

Please meet my aunt and arrest her.

Please leave the belle a stone

The end is nigh .

Please do not land me upside down

Please never send me your frown

She loves Stan and his cat

Oh,Stan is feeling happy.
His wife has gone away.
She’s gone out to Australia.
She won’t be home till May.

Oh,Stan has got a mistress.
She lives next door to him.
She is very curvy.
She won’t go to the gym!

Her first name it is Annie.
She loves Stan and his cat.
She wears far too much makeup.
Her lips are very fat.

She wears bright coloured stockings.

Her handbag’s apple green.

She wears a dark red jacket,
In case she meets the Queen.

Stan loves Annie dearly.
He loves his wife as well.
What will be the outcome?
I’m damned if I can tell.

They’ve been in this threesome
For twenty seven years;
Even though Stan’s mother
Said it would end in tears.

Mary is Stan’s wife.
They only had one child.
Her name is little Lyra
.and she is very wild.

She looks like a crazed tiger.
Her eyes are very sharp.
But Lyra’s a musician.
She plays an Irish harp.

Stan wanted more children,
But Mary went off sex.
She never lets him love her
Except via a text.

She called him her sweet baby
.
She called him little lamb.

Stan gets very angry.

For Stanley is a man.

He wants to join with Mary
Like couples usually do
.He wants to unite with her
But she always has flu.

So now she’s giving lectures
In the southern hemisphere
So Stan makes love to Annie
And swigs ten pints of beer.

The cat Emile is watching.
He keeps a daily log.
Stan has bedded Annie
Right there on the rug.

He’d vacuumed it that morning
To Emile’s great surprise.
The antics performed on it
Have opened Emile’s eyes.

Now they go to the kitchen
And microwave a meal.
Then Stan says to Annie
“I love the way you feel

A day trip to Oxford: A Mini Literary Tour + Student Eats

Such lovely photos

Patricia's avatarBHH

“I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful. One almost expects the people to sing instead of speaking.” – W B Yeats

J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Oscar Wilde, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Jonathan Swift, Lewis Carroll, Phillip Pullman are some of the famous Oxonians novelists, essayists and poets to have taught and studied at Oxford University. It’s mind-blogging when you think about it, and I couldn’t help but feel so humble and small afterwards. On its own, Oxford itself is impressive.  Beautiful medieval buildings and alleyways and a High Street of charming shops, so quaint!

OxfordBuilding

I visited last Saturday with two friends, one of whom spent four years at Oxford! She got us privileged access to some non-visitor areas!  It was an exceptional day of exploring and sight-seeing. Below are the literary stops we made (Alice’s Shop, The Bodleian Libraries,The

View original post 321 more words

Love dies like a tree

It takes a long time for a tree to die.
Though its trunk be almost severed with the axe.
There was plenty of sap above
Then the leaves began to wither
and fall though it was spring time…

It takes a long time,to forget.
Not to remember
How to live.

First the tree stops growing.
It pauses,as if waiting for a message.
Then,as I said, the leaves turn brown.
It all takes time.Time to stop waiting

The leaves drop,then the smaller branches shrivel.
Humans also find that when ill, the hair may stop growing
And the finger nails.
We sacrifice the less important pieces of ourselves.
Even the most.

The small branches shrivel and dry out….
Yet the tree still looks alive.
Then gradually we notice it’s drying out;
it’s branches are parched and soon the trunk dries too.
It may split in places and insects make their home there.

It takes a long time before the trunk dies.
From the top down it dies.
The sap is too limited in quantity
To climb the trunk….
So the sap stays near the ground.
Eventually the whole tree seems dead
Yet in the roots there is still subterranean life.

The tree has died and is now brown and leaning a little sideways
No longer magnificent in display.
Time is all it needed
After the sharp cut…
And sometimes the roots are strong enough
To begin to send up new shoots
Another tree may grow..
I have seen that.

People ,of course ,die more quickly.
We have no roots.
And what of love,how does love die?
Like a tree,like a tree,like a tree.

Stan and Mary meet each other in town and discuss 48 hour antiperspirants

Mary Brown had spotted her 98 year old husband Stan; he was across the road with a young blonde and stunning lady.She ran across the road risking being flattened by a n large bus which was only yards away.She knew Stan was very fond of women despite being married to her.
Stan,hi!Who is your pal? she enquired quietly
Why,this is Sabrina Smith.She is a mathematician from Stanford. in the USA… on a year exchange visit here in Knittinghan.
Why,hello,Sabrina Stan loves clever women… and in your case,you also have beauty as well.I am Mary.
Hi Mary,Stan told me you were out buying some Vaseline in the pharmacy
.He invited me to have coffee as I am alone today.
Oh,damn,I must have had a senior moment.It was that Jazz Band that distracted me.She refrained from saying why the jazz band was so intriguing to her.
Come on,ladies,hurry up,said Stan as he went into a brand new coffee shop staffed by delightful Turkish people.He ordered three cappucinos plus some milk for Emile who was in his backpack peerinr out benignly as if he were a baby kangaroo in his mother’s pocket.
They all sat down by the windows and gazed at the folk passing by in some rather unusual clothing.Unusually horrible is what they were thinking as the fashion for jeggings and leggings seemed to have been greeted warmly by the British women on view.And without a tunic one could see all they had on public display.
Sabrina was was wearing a short pink velvet dress and green shoes.
Don’t you find velvet very warm in the summer?,asked Mary.She was wearing a long cotton dress and some open toed sandals.
Well,it’s cotton velvet,Sabrina told her.Most is made from polyester now.I made this myself so I could choose the fabric
I have never learned to sew,Mary told her nervously.I was afraid of the electric sewing machine…Still,it’s probably cheaper nowadays to buy your clothes ready made.
Soon the women were engrossed in a discussion of their favourite fashion shops and styles.
I like a wool coat in winter,said Mary..I find down filled coats seem to make me perspire too much…even feel faint at times.
What kind of anti-perspirant do you use,Sabrina asked…
I tried Mitchum.I see it lasts for 48 hours.Does that mean you have no need to wash your armpits every day?
I must confess that puzzled me,Sabrina told her gently.
Anyway,it’s my face which sweats.I can’t put antiperspirant there…
No,it is likely to give you a rash and anyway the body needs to sweat to get rid of toxins,Sabrina informed her scientifically..
I don’t mind it sweating lower down, like on my legs,Mary said.But it’s embarrassing giving a lecture on why e is not an algebraic number with rivulets of water running down my face washing off my foundation cream and powder,
Yes,that is a real problem,Sabrina said wisely.I never knew anyone still wore powder.I like creme de mousse foundation myself.
Meanwhile Stan sat and gazed at Emile..he rolled his eyes.
I came here to talk naughtily to Sabrina,not to listen to women discussing sweat and antiperspirants.
Well,life is what happens when we are busy washing out our pans,Emile told him nastily
I don’t think that is quite right,said Stan.I have already washed all the pans and hoovered the ceilings…
Well,you see, much of life is out of our control.That’s why people like to take the Bible literally.They prefer to think End Times are here, than to realise life is always changeable and unpredictable.Any thing seems better than uncertainty.
How have you found teaching topology,Mary asked Sabrina.
I find it’s more fun than teaching logarithms,she continued,and exponentials…
Yes,I love teaching topology… and functional analysis.
Blimey, thought Stan, this is even worse than sweat and antiperspirants.
I use lily of the valley soap,he cried,interrupting the ladies.
Why,are you gay? asked Sabrina
No,I just use whatever Mary is using.
Why don’t you buy him some soap smelling of parsley,she asked Mary.
Why, can you get that? Mary responded.Coal tar is one we tried but he hates it…I think for men there’s not a lot of choice…
But,Sabrina cried,A man smelling of lilies of the valley might cause a disturbance,even a riot.
Why should women have all the lovely smells and men smell of coal tar and smoke?Stan asked.men like flowers too,you know.
The ladies looked at him with wonder as they sipped their lovely cappucinos.
I never thought of that before,Mary said.
Neither did I,Sabrina added.. this is not related to my work but my lover is a psychologist and he’s like to know about it.
Alright,ladies… time to go.Emile needs his dinner.So off they went all wrapped in their thoughts like a feather in a pillow…
Not what anyone had expected…but change is good for us,surely? Now we can wonder what sort of soap Dave,the delightful paramedic wears.. and does he use a 48 hour deodorant?

Bread

Take up bread making……. it’s so satisfying

marymtf's avatarA Wondering Minstrel I

 

My darling daughter in law gave me this recipe, and she got it from her next door neighbour. My D-I-L tries everything. She’s not afraid of trying something new. You have to have a cast iron pot that will be okay in a hot oven.
 
Mix three cups good flour, pinch salt,  one sachet dried yeast (original recipe had half that but the full dose works, rises better and not too yeasty) and  one and a half cups warm water.
Mix well with wooden spoon, but don’t knead and don’t stress.
Cover with glad wrap overnight. Next day: With wet hands flatten the dough onto floured baking paper and fold it into the middle from three or four sides.
Chuck it back in bowl, this time on top of baking paper lining the bowl. After a couple hours when it has risen again, tip it into a very very hot…

View original post 96 more words

The mirror of our souls

My actions are the mirror of my heart
And what I do to others makes my soul.
But myopic,narrow gaze can wreck at start
The chance of growing to a greater whole.
Sometimes we think we look without
But see projections of live fantasy.
We do not like to linger long in doubt
Fearful of what true sight will make us see.
We love a person whom we do not know.
we fit them to a picture in our mind
and if the fit is wrong we feel a blow
As if the world itself has been unkind
We must do work to help us truly be.
Perception’s just the Latin word for see

Emile’s nerve

IMG_Rosy nights 2

Stan was happy for a few moments when he woke up.Then he realized Emile
was not anywhere to be seen.Mary,his wife, had already gone out as she wanted to catch a very early train to London.She needed to visit the British Library.She urgently wanted to find evidence that Wittgenstein wore a hat in bed as this was an important idea in her new study “Wittgenstein ,guilt and hats.. a new theory”
Stan went searching around the house but Emile had vanished.Usually at 8 am he would be dashing about pretending to chase flies and giving a balletic performance worthy of Sadler’s Wells…
I wonder who Sadler was,Stan muttered as he filled the kettle with fresh cold water and put some Earl Grey tea into the teapot.
Then, a strange,uncanny feeling came over him.He looked up and there was Emile crouched on top of the highest cupboard in the kitchen.
Emile,he cried,What are you doing up there?
I’m training to be a spy,Emile replied nonchalantly.
But how could this kitchen be of interest to the Intelligence Services?
Well,the cat murmured,I am practising hiding.Hiding is very useful.
You gave me a terrible shock,Stan said.I had this feeling I was being watched.I wondered if it was paranoia.Then I saw your gleaming eyes.
So,I need to get some dark glasses,Emile whispered.
No,I would still feel that horrible feeling…. someone is staring at me.And how were you planning to get down from that high ledge?
I’m not sure,the cat mioawed faintly
Well,the first lesson for a spy or even a detective is,
Never go anywhere unless you can make a quick exit,
As it is,I may have to ring 999.
Just then the front doorbell rang.There stood a man with a white beard and moustache.
Hello,he said holding out his hand in a pleasant manner to shake Stan’s. hand
I am called Peter Fried.I have just moved into one of the new flats across the road.I am a psychoanalyst.I have taken on another flat to use as a consulting room and a waiting room
A psychoanalyst! Do we need one round here? Well,Good morning,I have just brewed some tea.Would you like to join me?
How kind,said Peter.
I say,old bean,did you know there’s a cat on top of your cupboard?
Yes,that is Emile.Today he has surpassed himself in wickedness.How I will get him down I don’t know.
My training analyst used to say,What goes up must eventually come down.
That seems a bit weird for an analyst.To what was he referring… something to do with sex I don’t doubt.It’s all sex with you people.
Yes, some of us are very peculiar…that’s why we enter the profession.
What I meant was,if Emile got up he can get down.How did you get up,Emile?
I leaped,answered the tense animal.
Can you leap down?
I’ve lost my nerve,replied the poor creature pathetically
Well, as it happens,being a therapist,I always carry few spare nerves with me.I’ll climb up this stepladder and throw you a new nerve.
And without waiting,Peter climbed the ladder.He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a golden thread.
Here you are,Emile,Catch this in your claw.
Emile caught the golden thread and wrapped it around his neck.
Can you leap down now? enquired Stan.
Emile leaped down and landed with a splash in a bowl of hot soapy water in the sink.
It’s a good thing I wasn’t making chips,laughed Stan anxiously
Come here,Emile and let me dry you on this old towel.He put Emile
in front of the fire and he and Peter drank mugs of Earl Grey tea.
I have got a mistress,Stan told Peter.
Why tell me? Do you want therapy for your inner conflicts?
Oh,no.I’m far too old for therapy or indeed for a mistress.I was wondering of you would perhaps be interested …she just likes to spend a little time with an intriguing man.. talking, drawing graphs, interpreting data,making tea,calling the ambulance.. you know…she is most charming and intelligent company. When I give lectures on Statistics and Modern society she organises all the rooms and the chairs and so on..She likes our paramedic,Dave.and is always sending for him to mend chairs and open tins.
Is she not married?
No,her husband fell into the wheelie bin during the night and alas he was taken away with the rubbish.
That is a strange story.Are you certain it happened?
No,it could be he grew tired of her and ran away.Then she invented this story,
Well,this may be a quiet suburb but I can see there is plenty of material here for me to write my next book:
“Deceptive appearances and the fascination of apparent dullness.”
Oh,that sounds very unusual….please lend me a copy.
Well,I’ve never believed in true dullness.There is always a story hidden in every house and home.
See,I’ve just met you a man of 98 yet you have a wife, a mistress and a crazy cat.. and I’ve only been here for one day.Imagine what else I may discover here. after a few weeks
They heard a siren.
Oh,no!We’ve not even rung 999 and here is the ambulance…. Mary will be so angry..You see Dave is bisexual.
My goodness,are you having an affair with him. as well?
No way,shouted Stan.My life is tough enough already.He can be bisexual or even trisexual but I’m not interested.
What does trisexual mean,enquired Emile.
I have no idea but I thought it sounded good,admitted Stan.
Peter stood up.
I think I’d better go home and start to see my patients.It may calm me down.
Now .goodbye,Emile,Put your nerve somewhere safe.We don’t want you to lose it again.
Thank you,darling cried Emile.I think I’ve formed an erotic transference with you already.
Peter rushed out in terror.
Is it me or is it them?he wondered.
I thought it would be quiet here on the edge of Knittingham but I think now wherever you are there will always be something unexpected happening.But I hope Emile will not begin to follow me around.I shall have to buy a lady cat and then Emile might fall in love with her instead.So off Peter went whistling a Bach cello suite and wondering how to cope with life in a suburb.. clearly it was not as dull as he had imagined.Dullness… does it exist or was it merely invented?

fi

You were always too far away and moving

 

 
 
 

 

 

The sky looks like a Turner painting.
At the high point it’s brighter,even golden cream
Like the top of a bottle of Jersey milk;
then it dims down to a bluey gray
with a slight threat in it
like a blacker gray…It’s
Too warm today for snow.

 

I swept brown dried leaves from the step..
Had to move my bike.
Then I hid the leaves under the hedge
So they can keep some insects warm in the winter.
But mainly I don’t want to bend down to collect them,,
I’m tired or lazy after the weekend.
I still have a dress here I was ironing just a week or two ago.
Now it will be put away till next summer.
Here’s a denim jacket with flowers all over…
I did wear it but it won’t look right  any more.

 

I washed my hair.It feels soft and pleasant.
I like that feeling.I am wondering what you are doing.
Are you listening to music or resting?
Or sitting looking down the road at wet fields?
I think I’ll make some tea.
I need a focus for the day which also has a feeling
Like those late watercolors
Everything merging
Until one thing dissolves into an other.
Some people like it but today
I need some edge,some definition.
I need someone to give me boundaries.
Time 4 pm
Kettle boils and a neighbor’s cat peers by the locked cat flap…
Wondering why she can’t get in.
I turn away.

Now the sky is without any gold
It’s sixty shades of gray.
It’s clouded dark and soft
Like your hair might have been
But I could never  touch it…
You were always too far away and movin

Mary wants a woollen vest

Dotty cats

Winter had almost come to Knittingham,yet owing to the late summer and wet autumn,many trees still had their leaves,,,,,,,,,,,some were even green.Stan and Mary were sitting in their mock Tudor cottage style kitchen eating muffins and honey.

Wow,it’s so cold,Mary remarked.Now,Mary I have told you before that Wow is not a word I expect to hear from such a highly educated person.Stan said wistfully

Bollocks,Mary answered in a tone not unlike the late Rose Nordloch,philosopher extraordinaire who was famed for her obscene talk.I am thinking of buying some woollen vests,she continued nastily.Good grief!

What is it, my darling Stan said nosily.Mary was looking at a catalogue of ladies clothing.

They are £39 each,she said wonderingly.If I get three it will be nearly £120 plus postage.

Can’t you just buy one and wear it all winter like the Tudors did,Stan demanded charmingly

I think it would get smelly,Mary answered benignly.We should get wool vests from the Government to save us from going to A and E with double pneumonia,she continued softly…Shall we mention it at the Labor Party meeting?

No,no,Stan cried,I want your lingerie to be a secret…
A woollen vest is hardly lingerie,she retorted…
Everything a lady wears under her dress is lingerie….bras,knickers,pantaloons,petticoats,vests,corsets,suspender belts…………………..But some lingerie is more sensual…Stan said wistfully,recalling the brown silk underwear Mary used to wear before feminism made most lingerie a No,No!
Anyway,Mary said,we are too old for sex….

but not too old to have a few fantasies,Stan thought… and woollen vests did not feature in his… he preferred lace and silk with a hint of perfume..

Emile came in and he too asked for a vest and some underpants… .. but suppose I wet them? he fretted as cats do

Well,you can’t have a nappy,Emile.Stan informed him courteously
I have no desire for such things,Emile mioawed angrily…where is my food?

Oh, yes… it’s in the fridge,said Stan.He took a large goldfish out of the fridge

Where did you get that from? Mary asked fearfully….Oh,that tom cat down the road knocked a fish tank over and he gave Emile one.

But they are pets!She shrieked…. ring 999.

Dave the bisexual paramedic strode in.

It’s Frank,the gold fish,said Mary.Is he dead?

He is not quite dead,Dave answered…get a bowl of rain water.He put Frank into the bowl and Frank began to swim…

Well, that’s a bloody miracle,Mary screamed…

Just call him Lazy Lazarus.Dave quipped…he was in suspended animation.. fish are very clever.Would you like me to clean out the kitchen or fetch in some coal for the scuttle?

Thanks but not today,Dave.We were just discussing vests.Do you wear one?

Oh,yes.he said, and I wear a short petticoat too.

Very wise,Mary informed him.Underwear keeps me warm.

And it makes me hot,thought Dave…. but he said nothing.He kept his sex life almost a secret.

Vests,thought Mary.

To buy or not to buy

That is my question

Shame.. is it the most painful emotion?

I don’t know if it is possible to answer this question.Shame is definitely distressing.Guilt is painful but I believe it usually relates to an act or something we said to hurt someone whereas shame is related to our whole self,our existence as a person… and if we feel bad about that then we do suffer.
I am just rambling on but what comes to my mind are occasions when we have been out with some friends eating a meal in a pub or restaurant when one of a couple starts to tell of all the bad things the husband or wife has done.Is this because they can’t summon up the courage to talk when at home?
And some of the things were criticised about were ridiculous.. like a wife who had had a Freudian analysis in about two years berated her husband who had begun before her and still not finished.As they were well off it wasn’t the financial aspect.But is that not sadistic to reveal your husband’s lengthy therapy to others who are not that close…
The very fact that this woman did that made me wonder how deeply her own therapy had gone.. which seems to imply I expect people to be improved morally by having psychoanalysis.I am unsure why I think that except that if you have dealt with your own neuroses ,your shadow etc.,one might imagine you’d have more sympathy for others’ struggles… and thus be a better person…. in general..
I can’t put down many examples because I would not want anyone to recognise themselves but I do wonder about the ethics of blurting out criticism of a friend or partner in front of acquaintances.
If you genuinely wanted help, and both agreed ,it might be better.. just to share a problem to put into words a shaming doubt
This leads me to something like the following idea…Why do we treat so called loved ones worse than other people?I believe it might be because we expect more from them,perhaps irrationally get angry or anxious when we don’t get our expectations met. I have a friend who tried to hold her husband by her fantastically good cooking.Unfortunately he had grown up with a mother who had servants and he was completely unaware of her efforts.I knew as I was also just married and doing a lot of extra work… but my husband had to travel a long way to work so that was my contribution.I had enough energy then to cook and entertain people… not cook the people,cook for them,I mean…..
Ahaa,that makes me laugh…
Once I opened the oven door and a flame shot out and set my hair on fire…I never knew about cleaning the oven properly as my mum was a single parent of 5 children and never had time for cleaning.Cooking,sewing,knitting.. yes… sheets changed .. yes..
Maybe I should have used my brain!
I went back into the living room and carried on serving the meal.
Maybe that’s why my hair has gone wispy…
What makes us feel shame?Is it rejection? That a friend no longer likes us? But they may be rejecting us because they fear closeness and intimacy with anyone,not just us.So they move on from flower to flower like the butterflies…As they say, what people do and say might tell us more about them than about us… possibly.
I suppose some people feel shame if their dad is sent to jail but others regard it as normal..Some feel shame if they wear second hand clothing but that is fashionable now.. to go to jumble sales in wealthy areas where people change their wardrobe every . year..
Well.I’ll leave it there for now and embroider it later.i meant brood on it later.

Stan is spying on his wife again

Photo1043

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    Mary was just running out of the front door when she realised she had not combed her hair.She looked around and found a small brush labelled,”For nubuck and suede shoes”.Peering into the old mirror she ran it though her gold and silver hair,powdered her nose with her Estee Lauder natural beige foundation in powder form and slapped some coral lipstick on with haste.. and accuracy.
    Right,that’s it,she thought.Enough to show willing.
    She met her old friend Maureen at the bus stop.
    Have you been seeing Joel again? Maureen asked naughtily.
    No,I’ll be damned if I see him again,Mary said shyly.He told me he was living alone in a large house up the hill,then I met him with his wife.Who was he trying to fool?
    Maybe he hoped you would not notice?
    Not notice what?
    Luckily the bus came down the road and stopped beside them.They jumped on and ran to the back. for a gab.
    Are you going shopping?Maureen asked.
    No,I am going to take some photos of the jazz band playing on the pavement by the bank… but I told Stan I was going to the pharmacy to buy some Vaseline….
    Why,does he not like you taking photos?
    Not when an old boyfriend of mine is in the band.
    Exactly how old is the boyfriend?
    About 69 I guess.
    Well he’s not that old!
    He is an ex I should have said.I knew him in primary school and used to ride his tricycle.He was my first love.We were only 5 years old.I think it was his red curls and the tricycle that attracted me… but we split up when we were 6.
    Surely Stan would not be jealous;it is 63 years ago,
    And to me it was like last year!Well. you know time does not exist in the Unconscious.
    How wonderful.
    Yes and no.Good memories can be there but also pain can seem as if it just happened even when it is from 50 years ago.
    Have you had a lot of men admiring you,dear?
    How would I know?There could be thousands if they were too shy to speak.
    You know what I mean!
    Not so many.. I had my second when we were 10.He had golden hair and long eye lashes and lots of games in boxes.He was very sweet but we were to young to be engaged so I decided to give men up and study mathematics instead as that has its own icy beauty…
    Wel,,nice meeting you.Have you dyed your hair;it’s got brown streaks.
    Oh,dear,Mary thought.Is it shoe polish? But who polishes suede shoes nowadays?
    Stan was following Mary on his Face Bike.He was watching her from behind the bike racks in front of the HSBC Bank…
    Mary had had many bikes in her life.. what would a fortune teller make of that,he asked himself.
    Still,she had no idea Stan was nearby as she wandered nonchalantly along the grey pavement in her Rosella dress and Gabor suede Mary Janes..
    Now then, where shall I go to take the photos,she thought…maybe I’ll sit outside this Coffee Shop and pretend to feel faint if anyone asks me to buy coffee…
    she opened her bag and took out her Kindle Paperwhite… she was reading,
    Creative Imagery and Healing… and also Cars and Peace by Leo Wholeshaw.. a futuristic novel set in North London.In the first chapter a grandmother has been beheaded in North London.
    That’s a bit far fetched,Mary had thought when she read it but in fact Wholeshaw had been right on the ball when he wrote his e book and self published it on Cramuzon for £3.89…I wonder if I’d like to write a novel Mary mused… just then she saw Stan on the other side of the road talking to a blonde bombshell dressed all in pink.
    I see,she thought.He didn’t know I’d be here as the pharmacy is half a mile away.
    who is watching whom?Well.the morals be lacking but my grammar is correct

 
 

Where once a cat

The apple tree,now bare of leaves,
Still bends in worship to the sun.
The sap flows down into the earth
Its fruiting year is done.

Where once a cat sat on the branch,
And children played below,
Now only sparrows hunt for crumbs,
and patterned snails slide slow.

The sun is setting to my left;
where is the slivered moon?
The day is deeper than a dream,
and over all too soon.

Oh,come,my lover,to my bed
And hold me in your arms.
I’ll rest against your fragile chest,
Whilst you enjoy old charm

My brilliant clothes idea for women

This is the idea.Always buy clothes made from fabric which drapes well unless you are Twiggy.

Or,wear what you like and to hell with worrying how fat your bum looks….

That’s it.

Cliches of the week

 

Incense makes the  nose glow longer
Absent power  erupts ironically
See a face on the whole?
He had my waist up his sleeve
Did Achilles do  a deal?
He was  an acid guest at rhymes
Bacon  doesn’t  do it for me..
Reactions speak louder than words
After my own heart left,I felt  half dead.
Swearing at  dirty laundry is not a job for a woman
We were bent  into drapes by the windows to confuse  the neighbours
All sets are inconceivable contradictory  and infinitely boring
All dressed up and nowhere to glow,I thought….. then I saw his face.. right out of my bind
I was  not here when I wrote this

 

With tender puzzled eyes





A day of sudden changes.Clouds

cross the sky

like whales swimming North in rows.

The sun was bright,dazzled my eyes

with gold and silver.

Wind cut across my face

like a slap from an angry father..

Those who love can also seem to hate us too..

The lure of that small childish body

tempts them to divert their anger towards it.

When the ones who hurt you

are also the ones you love,

it’s hard to know which direction to run in;

but it usually turns into a circle.

Retreating turns into a new arrival.

Straight lines might be better. though

On a spherical earth

difficult to find.

Even parallel lines meet

In their Riemannian geometry.

So we can never get away

Sometimes the best we manage

Is to increase the circle’s radius.

Though how is hard to know.

Do you love me or hate me?

Do you want me to stay or go?

What do I want?Do I have a me?

The memory of warmth draws me back

Like a cold lonely beast leaving the jungle

To lie down with a what appears to be a lamb,

Surprising the farmer up early to milk his animals

Finding a strange new one

Looking with tender,puzzled eyes

into His Human Face.































	


	



			
				


			

			
I want a winter lover
		
	
	

		












New River












In summer time when  sun does shine


I’m  happy on my own


I gaze up through red maple leaves


All transparent in the sun.


But when winter comes I’m lonely


Sitting here beside my fire.


So I want  a winter lover


To make my  spirits  higher.


Oh,my winter love  come to me


And I’ll gaze deep into your eyes


The light that shines in there


Is so much warmer than my fire.


We’ll  stroll  through wintry  woodlands,


Where elegance  lies bare.


The branches struck  by sun


Now feel  the frosty grasp of air.


I’ll love you all  the winter time


i”ll love you in the dark.


I’d like dwell  within  your arms,


To love   in London Parks


When summer  comes I’ll disappear


To roam across the dales


I’ ll sleep on heather moorlands


And send you  loving  mail.


I can’t be tied  in summertime


I must be roaming free


But ,if  you accept   this need of mine,


Then how happy I shall be.


 


 


 













	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
Mary gets worried
		
	
	

		
Mary was feeling a bit off colour.Then she found a scary looking thing on her neck…

Stan,she moaned,come here!

What is it my duck.Stan cried.Are you alright..

No,Mary replied,I just looked in the mirror.

Well,dear,you still look young to me,the dear old man replied… still I suppose it must be hard for someone who was o nce very beautiful.

No,it’s not that,she responded faintly.

What is it then?Did you see Satan?

Not directly,she told him gently… but I saw this funny looking thing on my neck…

Have your lovers been biting you,he enquired caringly.

Stan,I have no lovers.

I find that hard to believe,he replied.

I am your wife,she told him.

Are you really?I forgot…Well,if you’d like a lover I am ok with that.I am getting past it.

Well considering your behaviour you have not got a leg to stand on….

Mmmm, he murmured,I am a man,you see.

I know you are a man… I married you for that reason.

How kind.If I went in for a sex change op,how would you feel?

How would YOU feel she said.They won’t be wasting money on that any more.Why you have to wait 6 months for cancer ops.

Only if it is a “non-worrying cancer” which nevertheless

” must be removed before it invades the nearby structures” they reminded each other.

I am wondering if this thing which you claim is a love bite is in fact a cancerous lesion…

I know.I was wondering.And they’ve not done the first yet.

I think we should see the doctor.

I want to do more than see him.I’d like to speak to him.

What will you say?

Hello,you are my doctor,are you not?

That’s a bit pedantic..

Take a decco at this thing on my neck,which by the way is not a result of having sex with a vampire.

Do you always decide what to say before you go?

No,I usually write my concerns on a sheet of paper and hand it to him, being as I am a disordered  avoidant personality.

That’s a good idea as he hates people rabbiting on.

Does he?

Yes,he told me off for asking how he was!

How he was what?

That’s just what he said.I say, are YOU the doctor?

Just because two  people say the same thing it does not follow that  they are the same person.

But it is a strange coincidence… is it not?

Well,I suppose I’d better ring the surgery.

Hello, we are closed right now,Please go to Hell.The doctor has gone mad…

Did they really say that?

No, he can see you at 11 pm tomorrow in the woods…

I can’t wait…

Well,said Emile,you will have to wait.That’s what you always tell me…

Emile,you are a very intelligent cat.

Thank you miaowed the furry beast in a jolly voice.

May I come to the doctor’s with you.

Wait and see,said Mary rudely.I have a lot on my mind . I am getting too irritable . I might upset somebody.

A lot of people get irritable when stressed,said Stan

Yes, cats do as well, concurred Emile.. then they scratch holes in the carpet and gnaw the furniture….

That explains a lot,Mary said.I think you need a tranquilliser,Emile…. even cats can have nervous troubles…You may need therapy if we can afford it.Then you can study mentalising and read Peter Fonagy.What fun that will be,not.

	


	



			
				


			

			
Feeling blorgy
		
	
	

		


















If you store plenty of words in a word freezer you will be able to write a poem or letter very rapidly.Alternatively,you can store some dried words in polythene bags in a cupboard and add some moisture like tears to them when you want to write.This gives you some information about our era; that we spend time now,preparing for a fictive future and if you do store words they may be out of date before you use them.

The best way to always have words at hand is to read a lot of novels and poems.Even reading newspapers can teach you new words.

You don’t need to make an effort to recall them.Your mind will remember the ones that are for you.

You might try inventing words.I have done that but I’ve not kept a list.Sometimes it’s for fun; sometimes it’s to fill a space..

I am feeling blorgy today.. I feel like writing a blog with a guy but could also mean having a blog orgy…. could we do that?

We did have a blog tea party once but having an orgy could be tough at a distance…Still,who knows? Keep me informed,please.

You recall a song,feeling groovy.. well put blorgy instead of groovy!













	


	



			
				


			

			
The looking glass is truth
		
	
	

		
















Note














I like the idea that we are healed when we see ourselves truthfully


I think it’s odd that we pay psychotherapists to tell us our defence mechanisms and self deceits,but we don’t like it when friends point them out,free,without charge.I find religious imagery is     useful to a poet as a metaphor


Poem


God’s Son was here on earth.


A  young girl gave Him birth.


His words remind us of our worth,


Give hope of heavenly mirth.


He brought the gifts of love-


To cure our bad eyesight.


But we don’t want to see,


To have the painfulness of light.


We love our flaws without knowing,


Even when the effects are growing.


We rage when someone points them out,


We’d rather stay in dark and doubt.


Than have our weakness showing


But when you seek advice


From someone kind and true,


They tell us that our hearts will be


Healed when we can bear to see


The mirror’s total view,


The looking glass is truth


It’s painfully acquired.


But, oddly ,when we face the glass,


A transformation comes to pass,


And our souls change from black to gold,


As Alchemists foretold










 











	


	



			
				


			

			
“This Being Human is a Guest House” – Rumi
		
	
	

		
This is a very interesting blog


Jo Ann Brown-Scott's avatarthe creative epiphany





RedSeaMoon



Mixed media titled RedSeaMoon by Jo Ann Brown-Scott copyright 2014



This being human is a guest house.



Every morning a new arrival.



A joy, a depression, a meanness, some monetary awareness comes, as an unexpected visitor.



Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, 



who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture,



still treat each guest honorably.



He may be clearing you out for some new delight.



Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.



RUMI, 13th Century Poet and Scholar



Sometimes I wonder how I would have managed to paint if the context of my life had been different…if things had been less to my liking in my life, would I somehow have struggled to rise above it and paint anyway? Would I still have been a painter, or maybe even been a better painter, if I had been forced to deal…


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