Day: April 29, 2015

The pirhana monologues

Hello,can you put me through to the vulva clinic?
We have no vulgar clinics here.
I said vulva
Oh, the valve clinic?
Not heart valves…
What tyre valves?
Surely you don’t treat bikes?
I run a little business on the side.
I have a little vulva right in the middle and I want to speak to the clinic.
Vulva is a very rude word.
Worse than shit?
Well. it depends on what scale of measurement you use
Like nominal,ordinal,interval or ratio?
I suppose it must be nominal.Like some privileges
We need to weigh our words then we can use a ratio scale like the scale of measurement for height…
But nobody is of zero height!
You don’t know.They could be here but we can’t see them except as marks on the floor…
So vacuuming is cruel as these folk of zero height would get sucked up.
There’s no way of falsifying it.
There’s no way of verifying it…
So it’s not rocket science.
It’s not rude.
Anyway there’s a play called the Vagina Monologues.
If they called it the Vulva Monologues it could sound like vulgar.
How about the Diviner Monologues?
Sounds good to me…
Regina,diviner,vagina,pirhana.,… where are ye?
Some men there are teeth in there that will bite off their penis…
You have to laugh or else you’d cry.
BTW what is that vulva number?
It’s in the maternity unit,as was.
Well put me through
OK no need to get aeriated.Live and let live…
It’s all nominal on the end

In risky times

When desperation makes us seek for aid
When help is needed yet it is not given/
When torment holds us till  our souls arw flayed..
When we are weary;when in pain we’ve striven

In risky times, who stamps upon this hand
That keeps me anchored to a cliff’s hard edge?
Who seems to cast me off from this dear land
And even from this final tiny ledge?

We discover Charities exist
To further staff careers and gain more “dough.”
Yet should they not be able to assist,
When humans ask for help when feeling low?

My heart is heavy,pulling me to earth.
And yet upon no person   shall  I curse

Where countless humans prayed

Maybe you didn’t know

When you touched me so.

Maybe you scarcely knew

What your words would do.

I float across that space

Where lovers once embraced

And thus you brought torment

To me to whom love you sent.

When I close my eyes

My daytime face then dies.

I look across dark seas

To sacramental trees.

My dreams are full of loss.

Is night or day the worse?

If you return here

Will love outstrip your fear?

I gaze upon your face,

not wishing to embrace

My arms ache deep inside,

As if in agony tied.

Torn apart by grief.

Love is now a thief.

Where has God’s face gone

As brightly shines the sun?

The pains of life are sharp,

Cutting tender heart

But still we turn towards love,

With all the strength we have.

Trusting in the dark,

Trusting my own heart

I step into the void.

where countless humans prayed

The butterfly

The butterfly is like a flower
which moves its station every hour.

Oh,happy is he on the wing.

The vision makes me quick to sing.
The flower is open in the sun,
And to its heart, true love shall come.
The bees shall feast and fly replete
With nectar they are now full sweet.
I sing of color and of love,
Blessings that rain down from above.
I wish to be a sweet  flower too.
Ah,that the bee could but be you.

Puck of Robin Goodfellow

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

Oscar,my cat

 When Oscar sits on the window sill
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 next rolls round upon his back,
He waves his long striped tail.

But after Oscar’s greetings done
He goes to do his rounds
He sets off  from the white back door
To the long thin garden’s end.

Every inch of soil and plant
Is subject to his nose.
The garden looks the same to us,
But he can sense much more.

I wish that Oscar cat could speak
And tell us what he’s found.
Ten thousand spiders weaving webs,
A slow worm on the ground.

A million ants climb up the rowan,
I sometimes watch them too,
I see the wasps and honey bees
In this small rural zoo.

The hedge hogs have long been gone
But we have diverse birds
Oscar sits on our tall stool and watches them for hours,