Eliterati

I wonder if I can write
the sort of poems
that the eliterati produce,
after reading the
London Review of Books,
while cooking a Rick Stein recipe,
drinking gin and tonic,
or French wine,
and serving a ten course meal
to Nigella Lawson and Charles
Saatchi
that leaves her gasping
in the most elegant yet sensual manner
her tongue flickering like an adder
across her glossily carpeted scarlet lips
while her cleavage looks as tempting
as my mother’s breast did when I
was but an infant in arms.
I think I can probably bring in Heisenberg’s
new certainty principles
and my cat;
I liked to read The Listener,now defunct.alas.
Weren’t those the days,my friends.
Ah, for just one of them now.
Anyway in Dirac’s space there are four dimensions
…….I can feel for him..
I’m almost four dimensional in my living.
I could feel myself
Looking down on my sister from the ceiling
And thinking,Is that me?
Am I who?
However I descended again after some sleep,
And I made some earl grey tea.
It was very grey;
possibly I did not let it brew for long enough.
Thst’s the main question in life;
When is enough enough?
What is exactly the right time for action
And reaction?
Judgment,timimg,execution’
That sums it up.
Tea is quite wet,luckily..
I’m parched with the literati,
The flitorati,
And the fitorati.
All we wait for now is the notoriety.
Tempus fugit.
Sobriety.
Rhymes are u

What I am reading now

At the moment I have got a bad viral infection and can’t read what I usually do.In times like this I reread favorite authors.For fiction I love Nicholas Freeling.He likes women.He likes food.He writes well.

Biography: Rev Dr Stephanie Dowrick

For other reading I have begun “Seeking the sacred” by Stephanie Dowrick.She is a person I cannot praise highly enough.Het first book was called “Intimacy and Solitude.” and became a best seller.I can’t think of how to describe her writing.She is very learned but is not an intellectual academic.She lives her work.And she writes so well I can read it anytime but especially when I am awake due to severe coughing spasms.I like her book

The Universal Heart ” as well.

Healing

For healing we need peace not strife.
The roses in their tall blue vase
give out love which never jars.
Silently they live their joy
giving peace and never war.
Fire speaks of kindness in dark days.
By its red glow,I sit and pra

The therapist at a party

Do you come here often?
Only when it’s not in my own house.
How often is that?
Five times a week.
Oh,you’re in therapy?
Aren’t you?
No,I’m the therapist!
I don’t recognize your face!
Well..I’m always crouching behind the sofa.
Oh,yes,so you are.Why is that?
It’s my training.We have to hover evenly.
When I finish my therapy,shall I be able to hover too?
Not necessarily,but you’ll be able to hoover.
But it could be years.
I know.It’s tough.
But my wife has asthma.
Does she want therapy?
No,she just needs the house hoovering daily.
Well,it will take time but we’ll get there.
I have an idea!
What is it?
I could lie on the sofa and you could pop into my house and hoover it!
Oh,no.I don’t think so!
But you can do an awful lot in fifty minutes.
But I don’t know how to use a hoover!
Well,why not enter into further therapy to overcome your disability?
I don’t think my wife would like it.
Why not?
I always get a very strong transference.
Have therapy with a hoover.The transference could be useful.You could earn more money cleaning!
Mm.Excuse me I think I can see a vacuum over by the door.See you tomorrow.Well,you won’t see me but you’ll hear me.
That’s a little unfriendly.
Well.nature abhors a vacuum.
I quite like them.I’m a vacuum flask salesman.
Really?Ten years in therapy and it never came up.
Well,I’m still enmeshed with my mother.
She’ll leave a vacuum when her image goes.
True enough.
Don’t be too hasty to fill it.
Why not?.
Wait to see how your unconscious feels.
That will be hard to tell as it’s unconscious!
Unconscious,subconscious,conscientious.
Am I too un-conscientious?
No,you are very scrupulous.
That’s a relief!
Why?
Only the best people get scruples.
How do you know that?
My unconscious tells me!

A madness of philosophers

London Town’s in a nutshell,England,and

Forty, he liked Wittgenstein,miles from Oxford’s Spires.

The river ,Russell’s life is so,
Thames flows through them both
and, I’m not sure which I like more,
He had litttle heart,except the one
Embroidered on his sleeve
What kept him circulating ?
Which makes,Wittgenstein was true
to himself,a very cold person.
London Town is,Wittgenstein suffered, covered
By miles,emotional and mental pain,miles of road.
One of,he fought in W.W.1,these is,a good
account of, the M40
and if that one,he gave away
His wealth,the way you don’t,
You may say,he did not kill anyone,
Degrees,of torture inflicted on detainees,
Degrees bestowed in ancient halls of learning.
Westminster’s part of the same syndrome
[ My son has been killed in Afghanistan.]
He was made,to stand in ice cold water.Oh, Lord,
By good,Good News for Terrorists.Three Men.
So now he is,The Pied Piper,
Someone,different,a Someone.
Was the Bible all Good News?
And next life,Pied Beauty is my favourite,
He is moving poems on greased wheels.
To a huge,he did write but was not published,
And exciting gathering.
He is going to get,after death, a Ph.D,
For driving,Jesuits madi
Did not realise how,
Tony was up the Tree
Was he waiting for the Crucifixion?
Mandelson’s knot is untwisted,
Bothering Wittgenstein and Hopkins
Two suffering men who wrote.
Can I mention the simplicityof Yeats too?
But is it Art,
All other things apart?

Cats against tea…. Emile spies again

Stan has just got back from church.He helps to polish the pews on a weekly rota.He also embroiders kneelers.He learned in the Navy.Sailors used to knit whilst on long voyages and sew too.Now he’s home and making some coffee.Ah ah,the doorbell.He ignores it.Then Annie appears tapping on the window.

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

I loved her for her mind alone

Flower are love tokens and symbolise female fertility and beauty

I loved her for her dark blue eyes,
And her Le Creuset pot.
I loved her though she was naive,
As she was very hot.

I loved her curly golden hair.
I loved her home made jam.
But most of all,I loved her brain
And how she dealt with spam.
I loved to lick her bright pink lips
I loved to bite her ear.
But most of all,her innocence,
Which made me pull her near.

I liked to lick her cheeks as well
I liked to touch her hair.
But it proved slightly difficult
For she was rarely here.

I looked at all her photographs,
I looked at all her posts.
She has twenty boyfriends now,
Whom does she love the most?
I loved her breakfast coffee pot,
I loved her tea as well.
She fed me on her buttered toast,

The rest I shall not tell

I was happy,I was sad.

Whatever should I do?
She has run off with a tramp
She met in London Zoo!

She sent me a love letter once,
And now she sends a card
I wish that she’d leave me alone
Jealousy’s so hard.

My heart has got the cramps in it,,
I’m sitting in the bath.
The water is as black as coal,
And I’m still filled with wrath,

I wear my heart

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 our 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.
Love is more than kisses and false notes.

Nature’s lowness is my theme

Winter weather,frost and sky,

See white geese and silver stars.

Two cooing doves with collars red,

Watching out for seeded bread.

From the sun ,low in the sky,

Light falls slantwise to my eyes.

Trees bud though invisibly,

Nothing that my eyes can see.

Bulbs shoot up from dark cold soil

Where worms and beetles quietly toil.

We take for granted air and sky,

Love the birds we see fly by

But who loves the worms and slugs

And those creatures we call bugs.

So in our dark cold winter time,

Praise these creatures in the grime.

Without these worms ,our crops would die.

No cornfields for us to lie,

Midst the poppies bright red flowers

Revelling in soft summery bowers.

Praise the snails and bees and ants

For these and spiders,let’s give thanks.

As the lightness needs the dark,

From darkness come life giving sparks.

Enrich darkness with our gifts.

Look not always to the swift.

Slow and patient like these worms,

Nature’s lowness is my theme

In the bin to sin

Stan was in his front garden polishing the wheelie bins with lavender wax polish.
He was not very happy as the garden was only 10 feet by 12. so the huge wheelie bins ruined it.When he got to the third one the lid popped open and out jumped his next door neighbour “Adulterous Annie”.
Hello,Stan” she whispered.”Where’s Mary now ?”
“Why?”Stan muttered into the back of her neck which he licked as he like her salty taste.
“I was thinking,these bins are so big,we could both get inside one.It would make a change1!”.
“What a strange idea” he replied philosophically.however age was no obstacle where love was involved. if you catch my drift.You can or you can’t or you improvise.
Soon Stan and Anne were in the big green recycling bin.Stan being 81 had shrunk somewhat so he took up less space than Annie did.He allowed her to kiss his left eyelid.What a lovely feeling.
Alas, all too soon for the illicit lovers they heard Mary’s bicycle bell.She was getting faster amd faster at shopping.As she wheeled her bike up the 30 yard long front path to the porch she heard murmurings and mutters,
She lifted up the green plastic lid and saw the two lovers covered in cuttings from the privet hedge.
“What the bleedin’hell are you doing in there?”she shouted mellifluously.
Well,it’s hard to explain,……………but Stan was wondering about a green funeral” Anne said mischievously.
“Funeral ,my hat!” Mary said heartily.”Get out at once”
“Don’t speak to me like that” Stan beseeched her brazenly.
“Well,it’s a bit of a shock to find your husband in the bin with another woman!”
“Wouldn’t it be more of a shock if he was in the bin with a man,or even a sheep?”
“Schmann or Schwommann,sheep,,it’s immaterial.”Mary responded
“Hurry,get out,quickly before the school exit time.what will all the mums think as they go by?”
But poor Stan could not get out,He was stuck.
“Have you got your mobile on you?”
“Yes,it’s here in my bag.
“You’d better call 999”
“What a brilliantly original non-idea!”
Soon Dave the paramedic arrived.
Mary showed him Stan’s situation.
Ever resourceful ,Dave was not bothered though the NHS budget might be getting cut.
He tied some rope round Stan’s waist and between the three of them and Emile the cat and his friend Elizabeth, they managed to haul him out.
Annie stood weeping with shame.Her silvery blue eyeshadow was beginning to run mixed with tears and black water soluble mascara from Chanel of Paris and London. Her new coral lipstick from Clinique was not as non-allergenic as she hope.Never mind,it gave her lips that bee stung look that many men admire.It reminded Stan of his boyhood days playing near High Force Waterfalls in upper Teesdale….Teesdale ,still an undiscovered and undervalued part of England,Contact the English Touring Board for more information. Holiday Loans available from Thwaites of Stockton and Darlington at only 1% interest.
Mary gave Annie a large Kleenex tissue,
“Come indoors,honey, and I’ll make you some Ceylon tea.It’s been the most thrilling event of my entire life and I’ve photographed you with my new Nokia camera phone [Prices available on request from The Catphone Warehouse,Teesside,Northern England,comes in pink and pink and…pink?How I love pink!]
I’m going to send some to the local paper.
Stan staggered upstairs covered in bits of privet ,lettuce and cabbage hearts, and carrot tops,not to mention a few dozen banana skins and a few potato peelings.
What an afternoon.[Please contact the society for the care and protection of vegetables if you wish to make a complaint about this story.}
“That’s the last time I climb into a green wheelie bin”,he thought.
“Next time we’ll use the cardboard and newspaper wheelie bin instead

From My Window in Wenlock: Trucks…

You won’t believe these photographs

Tish Farrell

The other day I was astonished to look out of my kitchen window and behold this perplexing vision on the side of a carpet truck. It was a bit like spotting a unicorn. Well, what do you think this image is saying carpet-wise? Hey, come unravel me? Anyway, it made me laugh. And some days you do need a sense of humour to live where we live.

Trucks are a daily feature of Sheinton Street, a town lane that somehow in the 1980s was upgraded to an ‘A’ road. This means it is designated as a “through road”, and that there should thus be nothing on it to impede the flow of traffic.

Anyone who has read my previous post (By the Silurian Sea) will know that while the back of our cottage mostly overlooks farm fields and woods, the front is very close to this road. Along…

View original post 254 more words

Keep a little space for grace

Well,it was the end of a beautiful relationship,

My cat left home to go to college.

I asked her to study via the Open University,

But she wants to go to Night School.

I can see the attraction,

Or should I say,I would have done when younger.

My nights are filled with dreams

I dreamed someone cooked me a lovely meal.

How do you interpret that?

You don’t interpret?

Sorry for asking as a refusal often offends,

That’s why I never got married.

Life is a question of balance,

Or is it proportion?

Whatever.You know what I mean.

What do I mean?

Well,one must keep things in perspective

And always keep the vanishing pointin mind.

Look out for the lost,

And don’t forget the shadows

Including your own.

Try to get good quality materials,

Or the best you can afford.

Learn how to listen,

Don’t stare too long into an other’s eyes.

Keep your finger nails clean

And always wear sunscreen.

Except in bed,of course.

Is there a spouse screen to protect one

From encroachment?

Loss of self may be gradual,

Or you may never have had a self.

That can happen now and then.

Keep you spaces empty

so grace can enter you

And you can put up visitors.

Grace may visit you more

If you listen with your eyes.

That’s what I found anyway

The Lyric ‘I’: Poetry and The Self

The Lyric ‘I’: Poetry and The Self.

This link will take you to an interesting discussion by a poet and philosopher called Alan Murray.

If you like a thought provoking read please hasten over there.You will be rewarded with a rich offering of thought

Peace

When wanderings take my restless mind

To places peace can never find,

When imaginations linked to fear

Push tranquillity away.

To my green garden I must go

And let my mind and thoughts go slow.

I look up at maples in the breeze,

See sunlight dappled through their leaves.

I see the apples hanging down

And blackbirds peck them on the ground.

I see the hawthorn berries ripe

Upon the hedge in gold sunlight.

And then my soulf is brought to earth

Peacefulness is given birth

I feel at one with nature green,

And all that is just now unseen

So back to everyday routines

Without “what for?” and “might have beens”

All is well and shall be so

Wherever we may chance to go.

Loss

As you disappear through the winter trees,

I see you come and go like a sine curve wrapped

around the axes

of tall trunks

and flat earth.

I want to call,”Come back”

but my mouth won’t open.

My lips are dry without you.

I’m flooded with loss already,

though I can still glimpse you now and then.

Sun,so low and silver,

looks like the moon.,

my desolate heart its inscape.

my hands its freezing soil.

Staring as darkness falls,

Nothing left now

The anniversary

Stan was wearing his best suit topped by a denim apron polishing the big windows with a microfibre cloth as he waited breathlessly for his stunning wife.Mary entered the room wearing a long purple and mauve dress which clung somewhat tightly to the curvaceous contours of her beautifully rounded body.On her feet she had some smart pewter ballet slippers and in her elegant hand she carried a huge pewter clutch bag which contained some of her many medications.She addressed Stan,”I think I can leave my handbag behind if I put my mouth spray into my bra.”
“That somehow detracts from the romance of the evening.” Stan pronounced openly.

“Well,you know,I never had a cleavage until lately and I fell I ought to make the most of it.”

“Surely I should be the one make the most of it,” he riposted jocosely.
“Of course you may.my angel,but not in the restaurant,”she answered back sweetly
“I’ll put your spray in my pocket then,shall I?”
Suddenly the doorbell rang.”Who’s this?”It was Annie,their next door neighbour. she was wearing a coral velvet track suit with matching Reeboks and sun hat .”Hi,I just came in with a little prezzie,”She declaimed.In her hand was a huge box of chocolates..”Gosh,Mary you look lovely in that beautiful long dress but you’re not going on your bike,are you?”
“No,we are having a cab,but it’s not come as yet.”
“Well,never mind.I’ll ring 999 and get them to send an emergency ambulance for you!”
Fortunately,as luck would have it the minicab appeared from the sky and it was only as they were entering the restaurant that Stan realised he was still wearing his old denim apron.
“Shall I take it off?” he pondered.
On the pro side I will look smarter on the con side I might spill some soup down my front.I wish I’d done more logic at college.So he kept it on.Mary didn’t seem to notice.She just took him for granted.If he stood on his head and sang”Jerusalem” she probably wouldn’t pay any attention.
Then he noticed that Mary was wearing an apron too.It was the same colour as her dress.What a brilliant idea,he thought.”There may be money in this.” He could start a small business,”Aprons R You” selling lovely aprons in all colours of the rainbow.
Suddenly he heard noises;he awoke and heard Mary shouting “How can you go to sleep when you are out with me?”
“Would you prefer me to recite the Periodic Table?” he snapped gently.
“I’d prefer a poem,” she cried…All right,Petal,I’ll think of one soon.In the meantime would you like a fool?” “No.I’ve got you,” she responded handsomely.
“I mean for a pudding?” “Oh,yes please.A Rubik fool would be lovely.It will pass the time.You know I get so bored.”
“Well,I do my best but it’s hard keeping up with you.would you like to read a few truth tables whilst I finish my meat.”
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small leather bound book.
“Truth tables and levitation for geniuses,” by Bertha Russell.
“Oh,Stan,this looks interesting.I’ve always wanted to fly like an angel or an owl.”
“It’s never too late to say never.” he responded.”Whatever do you mean?”
“I don’t know.Just because a sentence is grammatically correct doesn’t imply that it means something.”
“Yes,quite right.And conversely a sentence can mean something even when it’s not grammatically correct.”
“Isn’t thinking exciting!”
“Yes,indeed.I was thinking how exciting it will be to go to bed with you.”
“Wow,good grammar and full of meaning.I am yours.I am like a ripe plum ready to drop off the tree.I am a cat ready to mate.I am a song waiting to be sung.”
“Gosh,are metaphors your bete noir?”
“Je ne parle pas Francais.

Aimez vous ein Nederlander?”

“Sprechen sie Deutsche?”
Ist sein mutter immer krank?”

And so they trotted off happily to bed like two pigs in clover,as Shakespeare might have said when pissed.

The museum of my heart

I’ve got just one letter

written in your hand

One small letter.

I understand,

One is as infinity

compared to having nought.

I’ll keep this letter

In the museum of my heart.

I’ve only got one photograph

and that is very old

but to me this photograph

is more valuable than gold.

Time has hastened by.

Is it now too late?

May there be a second chance?

Let’s not accept this fate.

No matter how we falter,

No matter how we fail,

We can still forgive ourselves,

and rewrite this old sad tale.

One more letter,

One more photoed smile,

That will be sufficient

To rebirth a love grown frail.

For once our love was stronger;

Once this love was true;

Now we are invited

To create our love anew

A gorgon manque

Pin I

I used to be one of the Gorgons

Till I converted in Rome.

I go to Mass every morning

Then I come back to my ancient home

I used to be one of the Gorgons

I turned all men into stone.

When they stare at me I am tempted,

But my old power seems to have gone.

I was recreated as a robot,

To frighten the Republican men.

But though I looked steel on the outside

I an no longer an Amazon.

I used to be one of the Sirens,

But now I whistle and sing.

I ride about in an ambulance

To comfort the patients they bring.

I used to be a real beauty

Men would chase after me

But now I’m turning autumnal

They mistake me instead for a tree.

Oscar cat

When Oscar sits on the windowsill

And sees someone within,

His mouth opens wide in soundless cry,

He gives us his cat grin.

Oscar rubs around my legs

He’s such a friendly soul.

He then rolls round upon his back

And waves his long striped tail.

But after Oscar’s greetings done,

He’s off to do his rounds.

He sets off from the white door

To the long thin gardens end.

Every inch of soil and seed

Is subject to his nose.

The garden looks one way to us,

But he can see much more.

I wish that Oscar cat could talk

And tell us what he’s found.

Ten thousand spider’s weaving webs,

A slow worm on the ground.

A million ants climb up the rowan,

I sometimes watch them too.

I see the striped wasps and honey bees

In this small natural zoo.

The hedgehogs sweet have long been gone,

but we have diverse birds.

Oscar sits on my tall stool.

He watches them for hours.

Be correct or be a lover

A man who fond of lemons is

Cares not how he gives a kiss.
‘T is a proof that he would rather
Have a lemon than a lover.
A child who never was embraced
Will not marry in much haste.
It’s a hint that she would, maybe

Be afraid to have a baby.A heart which mean with kindness is,
Will rarely feel true friendship’s bliss.
‘T is a proof that some would rather
Be correct than be a lover.

Cat therapy

Emile’s pyscho-analyst

As the new day dawned,Peter Fried.. that infamous psychoanalyst woke up
to find himself in the washing machine yet again.He unwound himself
and crawled out.On the table was a note.
Dear Peter,
I washed up..hope you had a good night in the washing machine.Speak to you soon…Best wishes,Susan.

He moaned loudly at the prospect.Perhaps staying in Hampstead would have been better but he felt an obligation to spread his new therapeutic methods to the less civilized parts of Britain… such as Knittingham.But he had already met the most peculiar people who had caught him on their pan and would soon be eating him for dinner.
He looked out at the street… but there peeering into the window was Emile.
For,God’s sake Emile… why are you back here,he whispered.
I’d like to finish off your curry,Peter.
How kind of you.. please come in.
When Emile came in he jumped onto the couch.
You can’t eat it there,Emile,Peter said politely.
Well.. the truth is..I think I need therapy.Is it very expensive for cats.
I don’t recall anyone having treated a cat before.
This could make you famous,Peter.
Well,why do you think you need therapy?
I am suffering from a severe case of unfulfilled love.
You have problems with your lady cat friend?
No, no… the problem is I am in love with Susan.I dream of her every night.
And what are you doing in the dream?
What would you be doing,Peter..
I’m afraid the analyst must not reveal themselves,the cunning man responded.
And my second and more serious problem is that I am afraid I may be bisexual…I love you now as well as her.
Is there any hope that i can return from neurosis to just the normal unhappiness of life?
Well, for a start I’d stop reading Freud..And let me ask Stan whether he is willing to pay for therapy.
Is it very expensive?
I let you use my washing machine free but he must pay for the soap powder.
What, are you going to give me washing machine therapy.
Well,it may be the best for you as the mud you lick from your fur
may be affecting your brain.
Any other type of therapy?
Well, we might try Mindfulness or Meta-cognitive therapy.
That sounds very complicated.
Well,apart from that,you can keep busy and avoid coming near me or Susan…it’s the simplest though maybe the hardest cure.
Suddenly Peter woke up.. he was in bed still wearing his suit…
Oh,no!It’s happened again…. he’s addicted to his new washing machine….so does he need more analysis?

See the next episode live on Virgin TV tomorrow night..details late arriving

Never put elastoplast over a surgical wound

When I had my nose op I had to take off the dressing in 48 hours.Then my glasses were hurting me so I decided to put an elastoplast over my nose which did help.

But later on I had to get if off.. it took me an hour and was very painful..

Flu season

This is all I can do today..!

Sometimes a woman wishes she did be a man
so she might lie drowsing in bed
while the dishes pile up
and lay unwashed
the laundry basket overflows
the cat eats the meat for dinner
and the mice dance on the table just for fun

I guess there’s some reason why women can’t rest.
A wolf might appear and snatch a child
A man might lose his temper
smack the baby,kick the cat
Cos a man gets angry waiting
don’t believe his woman’s sick..
Think she’s manipulative when she cries in pain.
And kicks her when she’s dead.
Plenty more women,like buses,
another one will soon be along.

But do you really envy a man
when they have to fight and kill
Earn a living in a coal mine,doing night shift for 20 years.?
It’s not what God intended.but it seems it’s here to stay.
I don’t know if I’ll even live for one more day..

Emile and the hospital story

When the aged,wrinkled yet lively old man Stan and his immodestly shy, wildly pretty,blue eyed and brilliant wife Mary arrived at their local “hospital” in an ambulance Stan was carried into the Resuscitation Room and was lying down on a trolley…… which is like a bed with wheels.How did I get here? he asked God, who was on a shelf,impetuously.None of the staff answered.http://youtu.be/EIjTBC9pAxEA nurse came in and gave him some oxygen but no-one washed his face and hands…the nurse said they were overworked that day with all the usual drunken English folk falling off buses or off pavements or arguing and hitting each other with beer bottles,
After another four hours a doctor came and looked at the weary old fellow.
I think I’ll order a CAT scan for your head. he muttered nervously,as if talking to a spirit.
Oh,My cat,Emile, is not here,Stan informed him.
Shall I get my mistress to fetch him?
You have a mistress as well as a wife,he asked curiously.
Yes I do,You should get one,Stan said.
They are useful when the wife is at work.And it’s a very honourable position for a widow who is bored.
I think that’s immoral,when your wife is earning all your crusts,said the doctor cruelly in a very sarcastic tone..his eyes shining with demonic glee.
I don’t mind,said Mary cheerfully.After all,it gives him exercise and stimulation.And I can do my research peacefully.I have always thought the French had the right idea about love
You can say that again,said Stan!
The French had the right idea about love!
How about Revolution?
I don’t think we could handle a Revolution,said the doctor in a kindly voice,his mouth drooping slightly with fatigue.After Stan had his CAT scan they had to wait patiently for two hours for the result….the scan had to be emailed to a Consultant elsewhere,that is… at home by the TV
The CAT scan area was shut except for emergencies and had an eerie emptiness which contrasted oddly with the crowded noisy Casualty Department.Two men od different colours were arguing loudly in the Scan area.
Mary knocked on the door and told them off,much to the delight of the porter.
Later Mary phoned Anne,her neighbour and begged her to bring Emile her cat to the hospital in a large zipped bag… with a breathing space.
Anne arrived after only ten minutes or so.. loking colourful
Emile put his head out of the unzipped top and said,
What a strange smell this room has.. is it TCP?
Stan was very glad to see Emile. Anne went out and got Mary a spinach and mouse sandwich and some tea.She helped Mary to keep Stan comfortable with glasses of water,bottles to pee into,tissues to mop up the blood from his hands and face…no doubt this is well known to many of you.Several doctors too many came in…separately.One told them Stan had fractured the bone under his right eye.
Don’t blow your nose,Stan.Your eye might come out…

Wow,they don’t soften the blow,do they said Anne,her face pink with the over heated air of the
A and E ward
How far out would it come? enquired Mary scientifically
her pointed face creased with worry.But none of the staff answered
Mary advised Stan gently,
Just blot the end of your nose,honey,if it runs.You’ll be alright with me here.
Though his eye looked very peculiar

Another doctor came in after six hours and informed old Stan he had confusions in his brain.
See a psychiatrist,Stan told him rudely.Why tell me?
Emile hid his head inside the bag.

I am going to ring a neurosurgeon,don’t go home till I get back,he ordered Mary bossily
Another doctor told them Stan should see an opthalmologist….
Mary began to feel sick…and the first doctor never came back.
Perhaps he’s fallen into a black hole,said Anne foolishly as she reapplied her orange lipstick and powdered her ample bosom and cleavage.
Stan mewed musically to tease Emile.Emile purred as loud as possible…he enjoyed purring very much.
At midnight the staff nurse advised the women to go home as Mary would have to be admitted to the Cardiac Unit if she stayed much longer….. her face was as white as a goat’s belly…is that wight?
They went off in a minicab but left Emile under the trolley on a small shelf from where he chatted to Stan and operated a recording device… to spy on the staff
Stan grew more and more tired,lying all alone…pity they don’t have a lying in nurse nowadays!
Why,I feel as if I am in prison, he told Emile…I want to go home and go to my own bed…
Me too,said Emile…I have a new girlfriend called Jenny,he went on.
I look forward to meeting her, said Stan..and he fell into a dream where he was surrounded by lovely female nurses in pale pink uniforms all smiling at him……..if only it were true.
Can you dream whilst awake?
Yes, all life is but a dream..and I’m a butterfly.
And I see I am in some photographs

Stan goes rambling with Emile

Rambling through the mud

Stan had enjoyed being fussed over by the two women

but now he was feeling better he decided to take Emile for a walk.

They set off down a little track leading into a wood behind their house

.Emile would never go to the wood alone as it seemed very big to a cat.

But Stan wore a red anorak which we assume Emile can see quite well

.Emile gambolled around the trees like a lamb,even running up one or two tree trunks which is behaviour rarely seen in lambs even in hot weather.

Though it may occurr in a place like Tasmania…

one can’t be sure it doesn’t happen at all.
Thus Stan mused to himself as he wandered along between the autumn trees and shrubs

.I wonder what the odds are of me ever seeing a lamb run up a tree,he pondered

Men always like to think of serious problems such as this, unlike women who think about the curtains and the bed linen and other mundane realities.
I wonder if I can look it up on Google, he thought.But even if it has happened in New Zealand it’s

much too far for me to go to look.Rather expensive too,no doubt.

Emile walked into a muddy pool,rolled over and came out all brown and filthy.

Really Emile,you are 5 years old now.Can’t you take care?Your coat is all muddy

.Never mind, said Emile,I’ll lick it all off later.

No,you won’t said Stan,It’s about time you had a bath.

Emile murmured jubilantly

I think I’m too dirty to go in the bath,can’t I just have a wash in a big plastic bowl?

Well,economy is good sometimes,replied Stan absentmindedly.

You can bathe in the old jam saucepan,that’s nice size.

But you won’t put me on the stove and boil me,Emile taunted him gently.

Of course not.I love you so much Emile.After Mary, Annie, Lyra and all the other ladies.

Well,it’s different.One can love in many ways.In theory at least.

As you grow older your heart grows larger and you can keep more creatures in there,sheltering

cosily in your bosom.

I thought only ladies had bosoms,Emile purred.

Well,according to the Bible,Abraham had a bosom.It’s a place around your heart where you keep what you love,contrary to what some scholars say.

Have I got a bosom,Emile enquired succinctly
Do you love anyone?

Yes,I love you and Mary ,Annie,the milkman,the postman and the lady cat down the road.

Well in that case Emile,you definitely have a bosom, Stan answered confusedly.What ever will Emile ask me next ,he wondered.I don’t know if I can keep up with his development.

And so they rambled on in the last warm day of summer.

They ate some jam and tomato sandwiches which Dave the paramedic

had made for them.Emile loves sandwiches and tea from a flask.

Soon the sun began to sink,so they turned round

and wandered paw in hand back to their home

“The Pilchards” in a suburb of Knittingham near Nottingham,UK,

where Mary was trying to overcome her obsession with Wittgenstein

by learning to read the Tarot

.She’s already failed with self hypnosis, gnosis and has a poor prognosis

Still,she could become bisexual and havean affair with their next door neighbor,

the gorgeous widow Annie whose clothes are a site for sore eyes

..at least that’s what I believe.But I’m only the author.What do I know?

That’s a question I can’t answer today.Maybe in 2015.

You are my light

You’re my lodestar,you’re my light.
You get me through the darkest night.
You keep me on the path I follow
I know you’ll still be here tomorrow.

You’re my companion, another self.
You have knowledge,spiritual wealth.
You have felt and you have thought,
In meditation, souls are wrought.

You are there when I’m in need.
You don’t allow my fears to breed.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of you,
And you’ll be here when life is through.

We’ve been together since the start

And I know we’ll never part.

You are my soul,you are my love.

You are my own,my dearesr dove.

Christmas poem

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

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

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

Source: http://An English snow drop

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

M	T	W	T	F	S	S
1	2	3	4	5	6	7
8	9	10	11	12	13	14
15	16	17	18	19	20	21
22	23	24	25	26	27	28
29	30	31

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Emile’s pyscho-analyst

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Rambling through the mud

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My sudden downfall

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