Day: December 9, 2014

Christmas poem

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Unce Bill and the Angels

I lost my hand in an accident
Down in the old coal mine.
And now I can no longer pay
To sit down and to dine.

I wander round the roads and streets
Where us childer used to play.
And as I walk I’m wondering
If I’ll get fed today.

Yet,I know there’s magic for I saw.
Ten thousand angels filled with joy.
Their voices ,soft like molten gold,
Just as the Bible had foretold

I saw three Shepherds in our street
Though here we have no flocks of sheep
I saw three Magi coming here
They were stood right over theer.

One had gold and one had myrrh,
Frankincense the third King bore.
As I’ve no job to tie me down
I followed them to Bethlehem Town.

And in a manger lay the Christ
As round the world, the rich folk diced.
Mary touched my wounded soul,
Jesus’ birth has made me whole

You see the tramps beg by your Malls.
You don’t see Jesus Christ at all.
Yet I,a tramp,a worthless man,
Have seen the heart of Bethlehem.

Riemann’s cat

 

Scrodinger's cat?
Scrodinger

Two whole worlds.

One small cut.
One little chink.
Hard to find.
Very,very hard.
One small place
Where a very little cat
Could slip right through
The geometrician ‘s cut.
Cat could slip right through.
Just,slip straight through.
Joining it’s own reflection
On the opposite side.
The mirror’s other side.

And if I caught that tail,
If I caught her little tail,
She could pull me through,
She could pull me through,
So she and I too
We’d be on the other side,
The wrong way round,
On the opposite side.

So when you looked in,
If you looked in,
You would see me there,
Looking out at you,
From the opposite side.
From the opposite side.
And the cat beside
Looking very small,
Very,very small;
But very,very real.
How do you think you’d feel,
If I was looking out,
Staring at you
From the opposite side?

I can’t get back.
I can’t find Riemann’s cat
and without that pussy cat
I can’t find Riemann’s cut.
I think I’m in a trap.
I cannot find that cat.
So she can’t find the cut
To get me back,
She can’t bring me back
To where I was before.

Oh,how queer,
To have two of me in here.
I hope I’ll get on well
With my other self,
Behind the looking glass.
No one looking in,
But two are staring out.
From that other world.

I am looking out,
I’m looking out
To see if you are there.
One of you’s with me
That makes the total three.
Oh,dear me,
I should not have grabbed
Little pussy’s tail.
I didn’t really know
Where she meant to go.

“Where have you been?
Where do you think you’ve been
To get so filthy black,
And where’s your pussy cat?”
She never came back.
Never came back
From the opposite side.
Mammy thought I’d lied.
I don’t tell lies,
But I can see my cat
Staring out at me.
Staring out at me
From the other side.
From the opposite side
Of my looking glass.
My lovely looking glass
Has trapped my tiny cat
On the opposite side.
On the opposite side
On the other side

Bionic therapy with Annie and Emile

 

 

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Peter Fried,the Bionic psychoanalyst  ,who had recently arrived in the fine  midland town of Knittingham, had noticed that whilst he was practising “free floating attention” with his patients an image of a cat peering in the window behind the couch was troubling him.He hoped it was not some hallucination transferred from the Unconscious of one of his patients into his consciousness.

Still,having a black cat looking in the window was by no means the most unpleasant optical illusion he had ever suffered.In a way,it was quite sweet.
He was back in his “home” flat boiling some eggs for his supper when the doorbell rang.He opened it cautiously with a sort of excitement. mixed in.There stood a strikingly attractive woman wearing a purple coat and a red hat with matching red ballet flats and a bright green designer handbag from TKMaxx.[£29.99 and well worth it]
Hello,I thought I’d introduce myself,I live across the street next door to Stan and Mary..my name is Anne..How are you settling in?
She walked confidently through his flat and into the new  dark teak kitchen with its gleaming work surfaces and marble pastry rolling strip…. though Peter never made pastry himself.
Eggs!Are you a curry lover?By pure chance and serendipity I have a tin of vindaloo sauce here.I could pour it over these eggs.

Should we not remove the shells first?Peter asked with a just hint of humour.
Definitely,leave it to me.I’ve brought some naan bread and some brown rice too
How did you know I was boiling six eggs?Why Emile told me,of course!

Emile….is he black?
Some people call him black,others say he’s mixed race.
Let’s not argue about semantics or political correctness,he replied discourteously.
I don’t even know what semantics, are she screeched softly into his left ear.
Well,that is no barrier to arguing about them,he replied diplomatically.
Well,it’s senseless, she answered kindly.”I am not a person who enjoys an argument.Go and sit down,read the paper and I’ll finish preparing the curry dinner.

Is it common around here to have an unknown woman come in to cook your dinner?Peter asked Anne.
No,it’s the height of sophistication,she said judiciously.It’s just with you being new I wanted to meet you to see if you need any assistance in your work.I don’t need money,I like to serve the community in some way.Of course I am Stan’s mistress but as he’s in a bad temper today I’ve not seen him.I suspect he is growing tired of me.

Are you married,Peter asked her.
No,but I was once.My husband ran off with his brother’s wife,so we decided to pretend they were both dead.
That’s intriguing,said Peter,I am married but my wife developed an allergy to my skin.She could not bear to touch it so it became awkward… very awkward.
Fancy, and you a therapist too,she murmured softly,So where is she now?
Oh, she lives on the Isle of Man,near Peel.I do go to see her now and then… and there are lovely sunsets over there… you can see the Mountains of Mourne.
Are you lonely, she asked him very emotionally.

No,I see seven patients a day..
But that’s not the same as having a wife or a friend.
Since my wife’s allergy,I am afraid to touch another woman.
How sad,cried Anne…I have very thick skin.Would you like to touch me? she said seductively

Perhaps another time,Peter said in a kindly way,But thanks for being so generous.I am touched by your amiability and femininity and your kindness in introducing yourself.
Let’s eat the curry before we die of hunger.
They sat down at the kitchen table to eat the egg curry when they saw some amber eyes gleaming at the window.

Oh, dear,There’s Emile again.
Will he tell Stan?
Probably,but actually Stan no longer wants me.Yet Emile adores me.He will be jealous… he’s a cat,but he has the feeling of a man.
And indeed Emile’s eyes were gleaming like those of a tiger… he began to speak through the window glass.
Would you mind if I had some curry? Stan never makes it… I love spices
Why not? said Peter.
Emil’s plan was to get near Anne but first he had to eat the vindaloo egg curry.He took a mouthful..my,it was hot.His eyes began to water and his nose ran…. all round the room.He mioawed piteously
I need a hanky.
We shall have to ring 999,muttered Anne.
What! Do they tend to cats?
They usually have some hankies for cats….
So without any further ado,she took out her Samsung mobile phone and rang.
I don’t know how I shall get on living here,thought Peter.
He ran across the room and jumped into the washing machine with the tea towels and kitchen cloths.
Will he escape?
Buy the next chapter…only three shilling and sixpence or free with the Daily Wail tomorrow…order now for next life delivery!

 

The accident in the garden

 Snowdrops

Snowdrops

Earthworms
Earthworms

My sudden downfall

I went out to fill the birdbath

I slipped on some muck on the path.

I fell backwards so fast

I flew through my past.

And lay twisted between anguish and wrath.

I had a new phone in my bra.

Is that not what bras are made for?

But the handset had a fault,

So I cried “come here,Walt”

Though my husband is, in fact, called Rob Roy!

My left leg was twisted beneath,

I lay soaking wet by the trees.

I was alone in the house,

As my dear spouse

Was at the doc’s with his wheeze.

I managed to get onto my feet.

I guess I looked very downbeat.

I got into our home,

My bum covered with loam.

I felt  definitely unneat.

Now I’m in fairly bad pain.

I can’t go outside there again.

Still it could have been worse,

As i said to the nurse.

It’s these earthworms that should take the blame.

I found sleeping last night was not easy.

The delayed shock made me feel queasy.

So I was reading Sylvia Plath,

Instead of having a bath.

That made me feel even more cheesey.

Oh,I wish I’d not gone outside.

I could have lain there all night ,and then died.

But my husband came home

And he cursed my new phone,

Then he ate up all the cat’s food deep fried.

Waxy flowers in the snow

 

Waxy flowers poking through

Snow so white
Flowers bright.
Made me think of you.

I see once more your dark  brown 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