Day: March 17, 2016

I see more clearly where my comfort lie

When death and loss and grief fill up my heart
And behind an icy wall I am entrapped
Where should my work of holy healing start
Where is the hidden place where loss is mapped?
As on the earth I walk amongst the trees
And on the grass I lay my sleeping head
I make my friends from stinging wasps and bees
Who comfort me on this my own deathbed.
Yet do not sun and moon still shine as bright?
Do not men and women tender lie.
Does not this small glowworm give me light?
Do not courting tom cats saunter by?
With wider vision spreading from my eyes
I see more clearly where my comfort lie

Love me like a tea of finest brew



Oh,take me hold me,love me like you do

With kisses sweet, commend me  to your heart

Love me like  a tea of finest brew.

Love me like a coxes pippin tart.

oh,dance  me,swing  me, let me feel alive.

And let me feel your melody anew.

We get what we desire yet don’t deserve.

When one  is made from  love between the two.

Oh. lend me your  maths textbooks for   a while

I love  irrational numbers like a child.

and transcendental  pies do me beguile

i  feel tonight  my numbers dancing wild.

So ambiguous is  my attitude to men

I wave and then I particle again


	


	



			
				


			

			
The nasturtiums
		
	
	

		
Stems of  long nasturtiums  catch my foot;


For from the red brick path I let it slip.


And spiders  fill the long neglected hut.


I peer though windows and regain my grip.


 


The yellow flowers are eaten with the leaves.


Mixed with oil and lemon they taste good.


Yet  a maternal gardener in me grieves


For I have watched them since they were in bud.


 


The truth that I evade again explodes


That little buds and flowers  will  have to  die.


And even as these flowers  grow more bold


They’re still a crop, and so with grief I cry.


 


Yet life is process and goes on and on….


Even when particular loves are gone

	


	



			
				


			

			
Avoidance can be a grave error
		
	
	

		
I went to the doctor today


I was full of pathos and terror




I was ignorant of what he would say….

but avoidance can be a grave error.

He looked in my eyes with an egg box.

He took my blood pressure and weight.

He said,have you seen any  alarm clocks?

I said,yes,but I  have only seen straight.


He tapped on my skull with a teaspoon

And remarked that my head sounded hollow.

I said,well there’s plenty of room

for all the ideas I  will follow.

He heard my pulse buzzing bee-like

And asked if I kept my  heart still.

I said,yes,it has a few flea bites…

but it disobeys the commands of my will.

He said, we must give up our egos

and trust in the great dark unknown..

And attempt to give money to beggar

As by our dried fruits we are known.

As far as my health goes,I’m perfect.

I’m average,ideal .I’m  the norm.

But in everyday life I am perplexed

As all the old rules are long gorn.

Thank you for crossing my hands,dear.

II need all of your silver and gold.

Love in its depths wipes out fear.

But don’t believe all you are told







	


	



			
				


			

			
Trusting the life within
		
	
	

		


In that silence, I heard sparrows chirping

In the still green hedge.

I saw the lake and your reflection

And my reflection.;

and did the sparrows see

as the sun shone slantside

over the steeply falling bank?

Dd they see this natural mirror?

And my mind’s mirror

gave me new reflections

in the reverie

Of the dreaming evening,

As I slid slowly down

Into soft slumber;

Trusting the life within,

Trusting you;

Trusting myself;

and in my reflections

I see you too,

smiling in welcome;

smiling the beautiful smile,the true smile of love itself.

The embrace of the dreaming world

comforts

and holds us

as we breathe gently

in the sweet air

of love

	


	



			
				


			

			
Love is clear to me  now like the face of a new born daisy
		
	
	

		















What was so wrong about asking




































About your absence from this world

And trying to grab you back

holding onto your coat tail

Eternity’s long enough already

We don’t need your vapour trails.

Was it a wicked thing to do

As you floated so far away

To reach out to touch you once more

I admit I never knew you kept score.

When I beat you at chess so long ago

Were you already packing bags

to throw out the door?

I knew it was the real thing

But some men never do.

You have your expectations

And your tests and rules

But we never learned those

In our higher math schools.

We learned rigour and icy vision

We learned definition and precision.

But what use are they in loving

I didn’t know how to steer with no maps

You were off anyhow.

The orchestra stoped playing

When they saw the gap.

You can’t fly forever

But I do be leaving you.

In the circumstances

What else does a woman like me do.

You can smile and squeeze your eyes tight

Suck in those cheeks and hide your love.

What’s coming after you’s an eagle or a crow

Not a dove…it’s black I know

When you toss it all away then

Seems like it’s long past time

and emotion to call it a day.

Come again…..you must be crazy


Go tell it to a new born daisy.











































	


	



			
				


			

			
Mary wants a woollen vest
		
	
	

		















English: Lingerie sale, T. Armstrong & Co. store.
English: Lingerie sale, T. Armstrong & Co. store. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


 


 


 


Winter had come very early 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 with Earl grey tea in mugs.

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 as yourself….why waste your learning?All those years climbing over walls in Oxford and dating  clever doctors from Harvard…

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 loudly.

Good grief!

What is it, my darling Stan  said nosily.Mary was looking at a catalogue of ladies clothing. and lingerie which had come i nthe post

They are £39 each,she said wonderingly.If I get three it will be nearly £120 plus postage.Just imagine,I may be unable to afford wool vests.

Can’t you just buy one and wear it all winter like the Tudors did?her loving yet  irascible husband replied

I think it would get smelly,my dear,even if I wore  my anti -perspirant,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 Labour Party meeting? I can get it on the agenda.

No,no,Stan cried,I want your lingerie to be a secret

A woollen vest is hardly lingerie,she retorted..  sounding like a character from Barbara Pym‘s novels.

Everything a lady wears under her dress in lingerie he murmured gently….bras,knickers,pantaloons,petticoats,vests,corsets,suspender belts.stockings,tights,trouser liners,lace,fine silk,short underskirts,long underskirts……..nightiesBut 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….we are too stiff and we are too shy now as well

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…. maybe a little embroidery….a dying art.Emile came in and  asked for a vest  too and some underpants…

Suppose I wet them? he miaowed in a panic.

Well,you can’t have a nappy,Emile.Stan informed him.

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 now and ask for an ambulance

Dave the bisexual paramedic strode in looking merry.

It’s Frank,the gold fish,said Mary fearfully……………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. almost frightening Stan to death!

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? he asked the old dears.Or read you a poem by Sylvia Plath

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….I’d love a silk one as I am a transexual  transvestite too,so I believe.

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

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

Vests,thought Mary.

To buy or not to buy?

That is my question









	


	



			
				


			

			
Stan cuts Annie’s hair
		
	
	

		








































abstract war on terrorStan was in the new black and cream kitchen cooking the Sunday dinner.As usual in the North it was roast beef and Yorkshire puddings.Stan was very good with Yorkshire puddings.They ate them with gravy before the main course just to maintain tradition.Even Emile,their talking cat, loved a pudding soaked in thick meaty gravy..

Suddenly the kitchen door burst open and in rushed their neighbor Annie… covered in blue paint.

What’s happened to you,Stan enquired cautiously.Surely you are not house painting on Sunday?

No,I never paint myself,she responded.I was in the old shed and a stray cat was up on the top shelf.It leaped off knocking over this tin of paint.I’m wondering how to get ot out of my hair?

What type of paint is it?

It’s emulsion paint.

Well,I’m afraid you can’t get it out!

I can’t go around town with blue hair,she cried loudly,even a touch hysterically.

Well,all I can think is that I could cut off a little of your hair.

OK, if that’s the only way to get rid of that damned paint.Can I stay and eat with you,babe?

Of course,sweetheart.Now here are some pinking shears.

Have you no ordinary scissors? she cried fractiously.Oh,bleedin’ ‘ell!!

No,we lost them.But pinking shears will give a layered effect.

Stan began cutting the lefthand side of Annie’s hair.Then he went around to the right….his left or her right?

She looked in the mirror,The left is a bit longer,she murmured vampishly.She falt like cussing and swearing but she didn’t know enough bad words so far in her life.

OK I’ll cut off a bit more.Stan whispered into her neck.

Oh,my God.The shears slipped,it’s gone really short,he shouted.

All Stan could do was cut the remainder of Annie’s lovely hair so it was only 2 cm long all over.

Suddenly Mary came in,

I didn’t know you were a hair dresser, she said sardonically to her errant husband.

Well,Annie got paint in her hair so I’ve trimmed it off.

Trimmed it..it looks like she won’t need a cut for about two years.

Annie began to sob noisily ,terrifying Emile who was hiding behind the flour bin watching some ants.

Well,Stan answered, it will be easier to wash and dry and she’ll have no need for rollers etc.Why,I could do it for a living.

I think it looks charming.

Why pinking shears?Mary whispered.You could have used my dressmaking ones.

Well,too late now mioawed Emile sarcastically from the bookcase filled with the entire Penguin cookery book collection over thirty years.What a pity it took up so much space in the tiny kitchen.

I think her hair looks sweet,said Stan bravely.

Meantime,you have burned the puddings again.Just like King Alfred and the cakes.Men are only good at savory and meat dishes.

It takes a woman to cook puddings and cakes.But Yorkshire puddings are savories.

I wonder how Wittgenstein would have classified them ? cried Mary enthusiastically.

Not Wittgenstein again,moaned Stan in mental torment,can’t you move onto some other philosopher?

Whom do you suggest? she said grammatically.

Try Carnap or take up gardening.

Oh,Carnap’s more of a logician,Mary said defiantly,

You see I love Wittgenstein as a human being.

Are you committing adultery with him ?Stan demanded thoughtfully his eyes bright like lasers.

That’s a wild exaggeration,He’s dead,Mary muttered.And he was,er,gay!

How do you know? That’s what they all say,shouted Stan angrily.

But what about you and Annie? Mary said venomously.

Well,I get lonely with you lecturing all day and studying Wittgenstein and mathematics all night

Surely you could wait till I come home? Mary said sharply

I suppose so,though a harem has always been my dream!

I think you are a bit past it now at 99,said Mary.

That’s not what I think, said Emile quietly.Cats and men…how do they do it?

Meanwhile Annie had washed her hair an it dried in tiny uneven curls all over her head.

It looks quite fetching,they decided as they sat down to eat the charred Yorkshire puddings.

What an exciting Sunday especially for Stan who enjoyed touching and playing with women’s hair.

I wonder if it’s a mental illness?I’ll have to look on the internet.Still, better than panic attacks, he thought

consolingly as he carried the roast beef onto the dining room where the women were discussing religious topics including a curiosity about why Christians were so anti Semitic despite Jesus’ wish for people to love each other.and besides being God,He was also a Jewish person too.

That’s interesting,Stan thought,here people think he’s English!What a weird world it is,to be sure.God was not a white Eton educated man.He may have been brown with a long black beard and a moustache.Did he smoke?

Only when he thought nobody was looking!Then he had flames coming out of his ears,Well,it made him laugh,you see.It’s Sunday soon so get ready.The Lord is nigh and he has a new hat on too


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Satan’s holiday part 2
		
	
	

		















Stan was very worried that the police had caught him.He didn’t realize that ,with the low  sun, the mirror in his pocket was flashing out coded messages to aircraft.He got out of the car and walked over to the police on the grassy verge of the road

I’m so sorry,it’s just my wife’s solid gold powder compact.See?

Have you got your marriage certificate with you?

Well,no.I didn’t know we in the UK needed to show them to the police. demurred Stan

It may belong to your wife but you are a man.Men don’t carry them.We never saw one before.Young women never use then,

Certain men might of course..actors or politicians.I know Tony Blair wore make up.

That’s irrelevant.Give me that compact.

Stan pulled the golden compact out of his pocket,still open.

The police man stared into the mirror.His face turned pale.He handed the compact to Stan and ran back to his car asking the driver to take him to the nearest boiling Tea Shop.

Stan looked at Satan and grinned…

What did you do?

I just held up a photo I have of him in bed with a sheep….need I say more?

Did you enjoy seeing that? Stan asked thoughtlessly.

Not much.~I prefer your flame haired mistress with her perfume of Araby.She’s something else again.

So you can smell then? Stan enquired.

Oh,yes,said the devil.Sure I can.I just can’t touch or be touched.

So Stan started the car and off they went;all the lights were green and not a single police car was on duty.

Soon they reached Upper Sheringham.The people here are very long lived.I know it’s the best place to live in the UK;then they turned down the old High Street and parked by a gambolling shop full of lambs.

Now what?

Will the sea cheer up a sad old devil or make him suicidal?The cliffs are not very high.




We must await the next  piece of the story with interest and patience.

Email me with ideas at

merrymaryminds@hotmail.com









	


	



			
				


			

			
The past has a task to fulfill
		
	
	

		
ballard_2










http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jan_Hendrik_van_den_Berg

“The past has a task.As long as this task is not fulfilled,the past will,in spite of every control,appear in the sense of the unfulfilled talk.To be cured means to be able to move.”

“The past is not possession of a past time,the past is what it was,what it is, appearing now.

The past that is real,is real now.It’s being real in this way is not without meaning.The past plays a part;it has to fulfill an actual task for better or for worse.If the past has no task to fulfill,none at all, it will not be there.”

J H Van Den Berg

“A different existence.”

http://www.janushead.org/10-2/Romanyshyn.pdf







	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
Satan goes on holiday
		
	
	

		








Image








Stan had  met Satan in his mirror many times by now..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 curled into 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 when theyw ere younger,.

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..I’m sorry,said Stan.I didn’t realise.You must admit it look suspicious.Are you a spy?A spy!That’s ridiculous.I am just an old English man.


You have an odd accent,the policeman remarked.


It’s Geordie,said Stan.


Forget Geordie.It’s  you I want,

To be continued











	


	



			
				


			

			
“To See a World…”
		
	
	

		


This is like Hamlet… full of quotations.In other words much of it has passed into common language


William Blake




“To See a World…”


(Fragments from “Auguries of Innocence”


To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand 
And Eternity in an hour.

A Robin Redbreast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
A dove house fill’d with doves and pigeons
Shudders Hell thro’ all its regions.
A Dog starv’d at his Master’s Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A Horse misus’d upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fiber from the Brain does tear.

He who shall train the Horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
The Beggar’s Dog and Widow’s Cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The Gnat that sings his Summer song 
Poison gets from Slander’s tongue.
The poison of the Snake and Newt
Is the sweat of Envy’s Foot.

A truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for Joy and Woe;
And when this we rightly know
Thro’ the World we safely go.

Every Night and every Morn
Some to Misery are Born.
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight.
Some are Born to sweet delight,
Some are Born to Endless Night.  


	


	



			
				


			

			
You are gone
		
	
	

		






 


In the sunlit bare twigs


brown and golden


like my hair


blackbirds make a flurry


wings stuttering as they hover.


.Here in the spring garden


I feel your presence


You are just behind me


But if I turn


You are gone


You never speak


Except


through the whispering branches


and the nodding bluebells


Old honesty heads agree


As the seeds are glimpsed


through the papery dead heads


Wonder if they will ever fall to earth