Month: January 2016

Alfred is definitely a male

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Alfred is very gentle and so I wondered if he was female.But one day  I started crying and he ran to his cat flap and fled.So that will be useful/I’ll sob in bed when he comes home at 3 am.And I have no idea where he goes.

Expatiate and more

1.

I promise to love ,honor and expatiate all night

Until wrath us do part.

2.

I expatiate and I’m ok

I preach all night and sleep all day

3.

I expatiate   and therefore  I can.

4.

If your man expatiates,have him put to  sleep or how about a left hook,sorry, book

5.

In the silver moonlight,expatiate ,my friend.

6.

Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded    dustbin?

7,

What’s a wife to me without thee?

 

8.

I’m getting married in a hawning

I’ll bring, along the bills he’s going to resign

9.

Are you marrying for the right treasons,dear?

10

I ‘m an accident but I don’t mind

Daddy is deaf and mother can’t sign.

11

I said I’d never marry but he was as handsome as a cricketer, and  his balls,well what can I say.? He’s a wonderful bowdleriser.If you can’t spell that put burglar instead.

 

12

I demand the right to spring,your lordship.

13

See if I wear!

14

I have to laugh or else we’d all cry.

 

 

The memory lasts

midsummer days evoke the trancelike past
where children played in joyous, daisied fields
with buttercups so bright the memory lasts
a freedom that our conscious growth will steal.

those stones and leaves and many coloured flowers
were gathered into images that glow
yet later we forget those treasured hours
when for a while we lived in life’s deep flow

we did not look and see,but felt at one
we lived as did the birds high in the trees
now we  may write yet experiencing has gone
we look but have no   blessed desire to see

to lose ourselves in nature is a joy
which to our adult selves we must restore

In this chant and benediction,

Signs and symbols guide the route.

Love gives the soul her appetite.

Though the night is black and starless,

The inner guide is never careless.

The notes are struck,the tune is played,

Plain melodies are overlaid.

In this chant and benediction,

Healing comes for desolation.

Though the passage way is narrow,

This road is the one to follow.

Struggling through the mud and mire,

We see,in darkness, tongues of fire.

The sacred centre of our life

Is never found without some strife.

Just then, the dark and light combine.

To create a symbol for the mind

Expatiate: a new word to me

Word of the Day : January 19, 2016

expatiate

verb ek-SPAY-shee-ayt

Definition

1 : to move about freely or at will : wander

2 : to speak or write at length or in detail

Examples

“By the time the Song Festival rep finished remarks, the orchestra staff promoted the raffle, and the conductor expatiated, it was 25 minutes into the afternoon before the oboe sounded the tuning A.” — Donald J. Behnke, The Green Valley (Arizona) News and Sun, 25 Jan. 2015

“Humboldt … decided to deliver a series of lectures on the theme of, well, everything. He expatiated on meteorology, geology, plant geography, and ocean currents, as well as on fossils, magnetism, astronomy, human migration, and poetry.” — Elizabeth Kolbert, The New Yorker, 26 Oct. 2015

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Did You Know?

The Latin antecedent of expatiate is exspatiari, which combines the prefix ex– (“out of”) withspatiari (“to take a walk”), itself from spatium (“space” or “course”). Exspatiari means “to wander from a course” and, in a figurative sense, “to digress.” But when English speakers began using expatiate in the mid-16th century, we took “wander” to mean simply “to move about freely.” In a similar digression from the original Latin, we began using expatiate in a figurative sense of “to speak at length.” That’s the sense of the word most often used these days, usually in combination with on or upon.

Mary’s needles

On Monday morning Stan had to go to the shops in the centre of town to buy some special easy threading needles for his visually-otherwise wife Mary.Somehow,most puzzlingly,she had lost all of the eight packs he had bought for her in the last year.He had suggested letting his mistress next door do the hemming and stitching.But Mary was determined even though sometimes she took 14 minutes just to thread a needle.But she was very patient.One might almost say she was saintly but he did not want her to get conceited so he kept his thoughts to himself.
Now what shall I wear.? Stan thought over-anxiously.
He had O.C.D now and then… depending on what was happening in his lifw
People no longer dress up to go down town instead they dress down to go up to the town,in a very real sense.
The art of living is to choose the most simple solution to any problem and Stan recalled he only had some navy trousers,some white and a few colored shirts and one light teal colored jacket.
He chose a coral colored shirt and looked in the mirror..
I look wonderful, he thought very humbly.
Why has God kept me so youthful?
Surely not so I can seduce more women?
We know God may be merciful to scissors,or is it sinners?
Well,let’s just say God can be merciful but for some reason,we never know till it’s too late whether it’s to us.
More haste,less speed,he conjectured.
Or is it, More waste,less feeds?
He stood in the hall combing his hair with a tortoiseshell comb and brushing it with a large nail brush
He looked again narcissistically at his image.[I sure can spell.]
His amber eyes glowed like neon lights on the main road to Knittingham in winter.
His dark hair looked very full for his age.
His teal jacket had been well pressed by the dry cleaner,
Jason Weizzmen-know-all
And his coral shirt was new as Mary had been out buying him more clothes lately.She had grown tired of seeing him in one solid color,especially grey or brown.
His navy trousers were a bit old but quite alright for Knittingham.

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As he gazed into the mirror he began to feel odd.Then he saw Emile
who was standing on the chest of drawers behind him performing a dance.. solo!
Why are you dancing,Emile? Stan asked politely.
I am amused by seeing you gazing into the mirror for so long,
If you don’t hurry it will be lunchtime before you get to the Needle Shop.
Alright,growled Stan hoarsely.
At least I don’t wear make up!
Now there’s a thought…maybe I’d look better…what shade of foundation would suit me?Would I need lip balm and perfume?
Hurry up,said Emile unkindly.
More taste less greed.
What does that mean?asked Stan.
If you taste the food and eat slowly you will enjoy it more and thus need less.
Very clever,Emile.Shall I buy you some cough sweets in the pet shop.
No,I want some codeine linctus,Emile answered.
I want to go high,high.
I want to reach the sky…hi.
what will I do when my love is away
Will I be happy on my own?
Lend me your ear and I’ll sing you a song
I’ll try not to sing out of tune!

My God,Emile.Whatever has happened to you?
I blame the old chalk and opium medicine someone spilled on my breakfast.
Well,go and lie down but drink some milk first.

At last Stan got out…it had taken him two hours to get ready.
I wonder if I’ve got body dysmorphic syndrome,he conjectured emotionally
At the bus stop there stood Annie their neighbour.
Hi,Stan,where are you going.
I’m buying sewing needles for Mary.
I can lend her some,she shrieked.
Well,she has to use special ones nowadays.
Oh,so she does.I forget as she looks normal but is in fact suffering constant trouble since her Vitreous-vasectomy.. or was it hysterectomy or vivacity?.
Well,never mind.You know she’s not normal.
Who is normal?
Let’s just assume we will recognise it when we see it,he whispered warningly.
This bus is very late.I wish there was a proper seat here..my knees hurt.
I hate this plastic seat.Why has the wooden one gone?
Apparently the council are afraid of homeless people sleeping on them.
Well,everybody is at risk of homelessness with this economic crisis,They should let them sleep here.They are so cruel.
Anne shouted in a fury.
No,beggars can’t be losers,he responded.
Very true,she replied,
As they have nothing so they can’t lose it.The more you have,the more you fear losing it.
This bus is very,very late,I wish I had a horse or is it an horse?
A goat would be ok.

Speed bonny goat like a word someone flung..
Over the page to Fly.

Anne burst out laughing so her face was as red as her coat from Artigiano.Her blue tights were a perfect contrast and also matched her lipstick.
At last the bus came.They got on board and the driver called out,
You both look very merry!
Too many looks create more wrath,Stan replied warninigly.
Well, why dress up if you want no attention.the driver gloated.
Hello,darling, he said to Anne,Are you free tonight,babe?
Why? she murmured,I have two tickets for the Rolling Stones and no woman to take! he replied boastfully.
Now,if it were the Rolling Bones,I might be interested.
Your wish is my command he muttered,
I have my smart phone here,I’ll see what’s on elsewhere.
He kept trying but the virtual keyboard was playing up again.
Eventually the passengers got annoyed and asked him to start the bus.
As I’m half an hour late,I should be coming back now so I’ll do a U turn and go back to the terminus.
But we want to go into town,every one howled.
There’s many a blue word spoken as a jest,sang the driver.
Stan said,Please open the door,we shall dismount here.
Crikey,you don’t half talk posh,said the ,driver.
He leaned over and gave Anne a French kiss.
Now look here,Stan said,leave her alone.She’s my mistress.
Cor blimey said the driver,who are you,King Henry the Eighth?
I say,Stan,I can see Mary.It must be tea time.
Stan ran into the house and put the kettle on..then he made a pot of tea.
Hello! said Mary.
Did you get my needles,Stan?
I’m so sorry,Mary.I’ve had such a busy day,I never got into the town.
And where is my supper.
I’m afraid it’s still in the womb of time!
I see,it’s chick pea dahl and brown rice again or egg on toast.
But I’m not complaining.Keeping house is a big job.I know it only to well.
So they sat with Anne and Emile,who even had his own cup and saucer now.They were soon drifting into a light doze.Going down town is such hard work nowadays.

About these ads

Occasionally, so

Blind now are my hours

I feel soft ghostly hands around my throat

That want to pull me to the  darkest deep

My husband cannot leave or be remote

He wishes me to join him in his sleep.

 

I shall resist for I desire to live

Though  blind now are my hours without his face.

I have no more I hope to give

Since he withdrew from me his  kind embrace.

 

As lonely as a swan without its mate.

As tired as swallows after they migrate

I must accept my unconsoled fate

I'll  not  accept this be a constant state.

 

From my loss I shall recover when

The birds return and summer comes again

 

Technicians

Doctors  are technicians today

Their eloquent hands never  pray

They just use new machines

And ancient vaccines

To lessen our will  to decay.

 

But preserving our souls is too hard

As rituals and rites have been barred.

So we pretend we have none,

And it’s true they have gone

To the underground where there’s no guard.

 

Eloquence is no guarantee

But it suits  us when making a  plea.

The inarticulate beseech

As with  eyes they out reach

A minimum wage   and some glee,

 

 

 

 

Eloquent

eloquent
ˈɛləkwənt/
adjective
adjective: eloquent
  1. fluent or persuasive in speaking or writing.
    “an eloquent speech”
    synonyms:

    DSCF0006

    		 persuasive, expressive, articulate, fluent; More
    antonyms: inarticulate
Origin
late Middle English: via Old French from Latin eloquent-‘speaking out’, from the verb eloqui (see eloquence

When he went away

When he went away, He said,

Lehitraot,mama.

Do vstrechi.

He died but I’m still here

Yes,in my heart I feel his love.

But why did I live,

And he did  not?

Auf wiedersehen

Lehitraot.

Yes,darling,I’ll see you later,

When the sky turns black and all the stars blaze bright

I’ll see you shining in the night.

I’ll see you in my dreams alas.

Do vstrechi.

But why you and not me too?

Araka

I can’t understand.

Lehitraot,beloved.

A plus tard

Somewhere in this world,you fell

But no-one,not even God, can tell.

God was absent then or in some other place

He’s gone again

 They said He’s died too

Do vstrechi.

My breasts ache and my heart and soul;

My breasts were made to make you whole.

To feed,  to love and to console.

A plus tard

And now they ache with grief as my tears fall.

A bientot

My body trembles in the night,

As dreams may bring my lost ones to my sight.

A plus  tard

I’d walk across the roughest bleak terrain

If l I could find my loves and hold your hands again.

Do vstrechi.

The bell rings on the ancient clock

Time goes on ,it doesn’t stop.

Araka

I wish the hands of time could be reversed,

And I was not living with this curse.

People forget that I once had a son.

They think my grieving has been done.

Araka.

But grief and loss and pain will never end

Until the curtain of my death descends

Auf wiedersehen.

Meanwhil I look at flowers and birds and trees,

But it’s really you my deepening insight sees.

Lehitraot.

 The inscape of my heart is shown to few;

An artist of the lost would know this view.

I know I want to see just you.

Do vstrechi.

But for me there is no Auf wiedersehen.

Never again will you say

What you said that day

Lehitraot,

Mama. Papa

A plus tard

Tot ziens.

See you later

See you soon.

See you.

You the beloved one.

I can’t see you.

Word Maps

This was written whilst I was thinking a great deal about maps which are  mental concepts,though they may be depicted in atlases or in other ways depending on what they describe.A word is a map We need to feel reality through our senses.This is a problem with modern technology too It’s easy to read or write all day on your computer ,but not a goo d thing if you don’t have sensuous experience too.See,hear,sing,dance,touch,taste …take a chance,enjoy romance,dance.Glance,

 

POEM

A map’s a guide to find a world

Knitted by angels,plain or pearled,

And though you need a map as guide,

Keep your own eyes open wide.

I spent a year caught in a map

Until I found a big enough gap

I crawled out through this exit slit,

So here I am,like some half wit

Words can act like heroin,

You live so high ,where I have been.

But onto earth I gladly fall.

The air the sun the rain is all.

My senses are my lovers long-

My ears,my eyes,my skin my tongue.

The winds caress my naked flesh,

To dwell on earth is all I wish.

I’ll live with mice and birds and plants,

I’ll share my food with miscreants

I’ll keep my words inside a tin,

And only, now and then,go in.

I’ll live with cats and spiders three.

And like a wild flower grow quite free.

I’ ll give my words to those who hear,

And eventually I’ll disappear

Earth to earth then ash to ash

When soaked with rain I shall disperse.

My atoms wing like butterflies,

And to the Flower I’ll fly,disguised

Lessons by Vanessa Stauffer

American Life in Poetry: Column 565

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE

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This column is more than ten years old and I’ve finally gotten around to trying a little origami! Here’s a poem about that, and about a good deal more than that, by Vanessa Stauffer, who teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan.

Lessons

To crease a sheet of paper is to change
its memory, says the origami
master: what was a field of snow
folded into flake. A crane, erect,
structured from surface. A tree
emerges from a leaf—each form undone
reveals the seams, pressed
with ruler’s edge. Some figures take
hundreds to be shaped, crossed
& doubled over, the sheet bound
to its making—a web of scars
that maps a body out of space,
how I fashion memory: idling
at an intersection next to Jack Yates High,
an hour past the bell, I saw a girl
fold herself in half to slip beneath
the busted chain-link, books thrust
ahead, splayed on asphalt broiling
in Houston sun. What memory
will she retain? Her cindered palms,
the scraped shin? Braids brushing
the dirt? The white kite of her homework
taking flight? Finding herself
locked out, or being made
to break herself in.

We find God in an infinite non repeating decimal

 

What next we may wonder …. a proof that God must exist but only as a transcendental number…so one can really count on him at times of danger even though as a decimal he is non repeating and endlessly changing,just like a woman one might say.Though women are very various.That’s where the Trinity comes in handy.What would we do without it….. may God bless us and drag us out of the mire of sin we are stuck in.Amen.

Loving winter

Winter love comes when we near the end

Yet do not wish for solitude each day.

Cupid wtih his arrows may descend

He jokes with us and invites us out to play.

Winter love may come amidst the snow

When frost bites noses and nips fingers dear.

But despite age a woman out may go

To walk her lover and content appear..

The age of frost has not entered my heart

My mind  has  filled up with fine new desires

The problems come when lovers desperate

Show contempt and start a bitter pyre.

Yet winter love can grip me despite flaws

Hope and laughter circle me uncaused.

t

Hoover over the lines tomorrow

 

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I was always out of the lurch of normality,if you grasp my scheming.I had a hare brain  and no mind to speak to except  that of my doll with no head.
it fell off,unlike mine,that’s china for you.Potheads are a bad idea in general.
Please read under each line today and then  hover tomorrow.
To take the path of least consistency is hard for mathematicians
but post-Godel it’s just one more hurdle to  lean over
Play as you go where,sweetheart?
His lips paid me such service,no-one since has matched his adroitness,
yet he never knew my real name was Sylvia.
I was just one of a number of girl he loved in rotation;we were almost a constellation
and definitely a consolation to each other,united by our  hatred of the one we loved.It’s what we call  manbivalence.I never saw him naked as he wore his underserpents in bed and even in the daytime too.My therapist said I was stupid and it’s a relief after all these years of being too clever.Anyway they don’t reach one to understand one’s  textuality unless  one is  French.Lacan,Foucault, I dunno… why do they make it sound umpossible?

 

A peculiarity of language

I thought when I wrote the past post that it could be confusing for people learning English that  some people say

I don’t give f*ck about you

but we never say 

I do give a f*ck about you.

Why is that?  (setting aside the fact that many of us don’t ever use the word f*ck.I confess when I dropped a cast iron pan on my toe I did say it.)

 

The policemen of the heart

I once was labelled  an athlete

For I played the violin with my feet

I placed a cloth on my private parts,

Purely,  for the sake of  art.

But  the sound I made wasn’t so sweet

 

But because I played  worse than the best

A man suffered     from cardiac arrest.

The policemen of the heart

Took him off in their cart

So  after that I almost confessed

 

When arthritis afflicted my toe

It could not go where  toes need to go.

I took up my pen

To write music again

For the shy, it’s a good way to go.

 

Introverts  and performing arts suck

Too shy,too inward , give a f*ck.

But writing on paper

Here we can caper

And get read by the beats, if in luck

The future is fiction

Exhilarate is derived from the tongue

Of the Romans to whom Latin belonged.

What a sad notion

That most are not taught it

It helps English acquisition along

 

However, the highest value today

Is whether  a subject will pay.

Toddlers learn  coding,

As computers are loading.

And learn not  at all from their play.

 

Yet  play is vital for   satisfaction

To the sensuous world we    interact in

And  tots learn how to talk

Without much  conscious thought.

So we can learn if the  future is fiction.

 

 

 

Each day I fall to pieces

Each day I fall into pieces;
Sometimes just one or two..
I gaze  upon them gently;
Wonder what to do.Whilst I’m fast asleep
My dreamer guide will come;
And in a few short hours
I will again be one.

Sometimes  dreams are frightening
Sometimes beautiful.
Sometimes they  are warm with  love;
Sometimes  I dream of Hull.

If whilst I am  still awake,
I have acknowledged hate
The dreams  that night seem full of joy.
And then I meditate.

When we feel our badness
And open our soul up.
Along may come some angel
With a loving cup.

When we feel superior
And others are despised
We get dreams  of torment
Till we become more wise.

Dreams are our souls’ language.
Symbols convey the real.
We enact these dramas
To show us how to feel.

Inside us there is wisdom.
Inside us there is joy.
But we  need humility
To show us where to go.

 

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Note:I dream of Hull because Philip Larkin ,the poet,lived there and also I have crossed the Humber on a ferry in midwinter

Anguish in life

Nowadays it  can seem as i anguish should not be tolerated.instead we can relabel it as depression and get  it treated or simply take to drink or other  means of blotting out reality and its pains.The idea that we ought never to feel anguish,grief and anxiety can make it much harder to bear the emotions.There is a struggle within us.Yet imagine if Jesus had said in Gethsemene,I need some antidepressants.He was afraid and begged God for help.Then he was tried and executed.To call his suffering  anguish would be  an understatement.
I  don’t expect we go through such intense suffering here in the West though people are committing suicide frequently.But if we do often others are critical.My friend Rose lost her mother and after 6 months  of grief her husband said she needed therapy.That is,I imagine,because other people don;t like to see us suffer as it upsets them.
Yet none of us is exempt from pain.And that makes me believe that our answer is in helping each other.Therapy may help us but bereavement is a normal part of life.The depressed feeling and sorrow tie us down so that we can use our energy  internally to redraw the maps in our mind which guide us to and through our world.
 

Otorhinolaryngologist

http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style

 

11-Stethoscope-Getty.jpg

One user, going for a word largely on the basis of its length, suggests this medical term for an ear-, nose- and throat-doctor.

But, as another points out, “that one looks like a beast, but once you break it down, it’s pretty easy to say”.

User THLycanthrope says: “Once you know what it is, it’s much easier. “oto-rhino-laryng-ologist” is literally “ear-nose-throat-scientist”

 

From the Independent Newspaper : hard words to pronounce

My immune system’s distracted

I am afflicted by a malady  once more

So, with   King Alfred, I lounge on the floor.

My immune system’s distracted;

My kidneys uncorrected

I never heard such complaining before .

 

Alfred has gone home for his tea

But no-one is here to feed me

My appetite is gone

And empty my pan

How can  such misfortune be?

 

Bereavement is  a  truly great trauma

One might say, it’s a personal tsunami

i  could commit suttee

and burn  my own bootie.

But my religion says it  don’t allow me

 

Yet who wants me  at this stage ,do you think?

I ponder whilst opening the Quink.

Alfred’s my lone lover

Men never bother

.A tear fills my eye and I blink.

 

Shall I  merchandise    myself in   Soulmates?

Will  men flinch when  they come to my gate

As I hobble to the door

Saying,Wittgenstein,more?

Is the  Tractatus , as a  poem ,out of date?

 

i can just see the Guardian blind dates

Pairing me with a man called by fate

To rate me out of ten,

After stealing my pen

And posting my photo on “Late”

 

Or for political correctness a female

Denim dungarees are   on  sale

I’ll look lovely in those

from my hammer to my toes.

I just hope the  Great Judge gives me bail.

 

 

Perhaps I can become a third sex

A phallus grafted onto my vest.

So I will suit either/ or

Who may love and adore

My eyes which appear singularly  blesssed

 

Now I have to confess being re-covered

Would suit me quite well as ‘i have suffered

Pain from my skin

Exceptionally thin

I wonder  if one can also be re-mothered?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

t

 

 

 

 

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New China

Since you died,I’ve got a new pan

And eight china mugs

With

William Morris designs

on them

Because the old ones have disappeared

Or broken.

I wish you could see the new chair.

I look at it,

Coral red.

I am ill again.

Illness is said to be common in

“The bereaved.”

I wonder, when I will get better.

Better.Bitter.

Every day a little change occurs so

this is not the home you left.

I don’t know if I have even begun to grieve yet.

The shock of human betrayal took my mind away.

The sun shines but a frost bit the plants

I know how they feel.

I think.

Frost or fire?

 

 

He said,you’re pre-well

I went to the doctor, he said I’d pre-flu.
I said “My dear doctor what shall I do?”
Next time I went, he said “It’s pre- shock.”
And then I had pre measles,pre mumps and pre-pox
I ran to the doctor,he said ” You’re pre-well”
I said “Are you sure it’s not just a pre-quel?”
Next time I turned up,he’d gone out for a walk
It’s hard for a doctor who wants to pre-talk.
I went to the optician, who said I’m pre-blind
I thanked him for being so intensely unkind.
I went back to the doctor,and these words I said
“I’m pre -blind, pre-deaf,pre-ill and pre-dead!