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

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

Stan 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

I owe it to myself to keep my life secret (wordscat.wordpress.com)

Stan and his ass (wordscat.wordpress.com)

Annie breaks into Stan’s sacred space (wordscat.wordpress.com)

YORKSHIRE PUDDING – not just for roast beef (debbievfood.com)

27 Reasons Yorkshire Is God’s Own County (buzzfeed.com)

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

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

Dizzy

Satan goes on holiday

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

Rules for impatient inpatients

No mobile groans are allowed in this hospital.

Please faint on the bed only.Or if pushed,faint onto the nurse’s station.

No lipstick to be worn at night by spirits
.
Do not attack the doctor.He is only a pest here.

Pills must be swallowed when you drink your own water.

Do not undress in this cubicle.Undress outside before entry.Leave your clothes in the bin for people to steal on demand (X ray unit]

Kindly tell us your name before we drug you.

If afraid please report to the nurse in rhyming verse
.
If no night nurse is available please die after 8 am.

If you must have sex in the ward, please do not scream or moan as the other patients may be jealous.

If you have no relations please ask the doctor to oblige when he finishes his rounds.

If you feel weak,do not use your Kindle Fire on the bed

After a heart attack do not resume sex until you get home unless you had the heart attack here in which case please feel free to continue either or both..

Sex is a form of exercise but also can create chaos in public.Try walking instead with or

without a partner.

If borderline kindly make your mind up whether you love or hate the pest doctor

If we have to freeze your nuts off, we will do so with levity.

If you have no bosom,you are probably a man.Wards are now mixed so there is no.

problem apart from a shortage of braziers.

If you have any loose nuts,please leave them in the hands of a female nurse prior to surgery.

Cover all your parts before the Royals visit.

Please leave me all your money before you leave the ward when about to pass over

Sex changes by an operation or sometimes naturally.

Are you bored in bed?Get out and walk up and down the corridor to annoy the visitors.

Kindly do not drum your fingers all day.Use a drumstick.

If you have erosive dermatitis, please dry carefully.

If you have an egg please donate now.Fertility counts.

Owing to a world shortage of egg cups,we now use mugs to eat from and saucers for our tea.

Do you have any further problems?Please weigh your words before you start
None of the staff understand the government…so please do not mention David Cameron if you wish to go home on one piece.

Pies are sold in the conservatory.We do not know why.

In fact we know hardly anything but don’t worry,we’ll treat you barbarically anyway.

Be a stoic and keep still.We all die one day.Or night.

Stan in hell

Stan was standing on the patio when a sudden downpour drenched him all over.
This is like a monsoon,he murmured to Emile who was also getting very wet.
A head appeared over the fence.
I’m awfully sorry,old boy.A pipe has burst in Annie’s loft.
Wow,I don’t believe it.You are Stan Brown.It must be 50 years since I saw you as a student… you were hopeless at logic then
Stan was hiding his surprise at seeing Rudolf Hairnet,his former tutor at an ancient foundation of learning and sin, in the garden of Annie,Stan’s beloved once more [now he has swept out his sacred space and put a bolt on the door.]
Why not pop in Rudolf,he said.I’ll leave the door open and go upstairs to change my clothes.Be with you in a moment.
Stan went upstairs and removed his clothes.His body was now as thin as when he reached his full height of 6 ft 6 inches but alas it had less muscle and more fat..He gazed into his wife’s mirror.
To his surprise he saw Satan looking out.Although he knew this was possible for sinful Catholics he had never met Satan before.
How do you get behind the mirror,he asked gently.
God only knows,said Satan morosely.
Why not ask him? Stan offered.
I’m too proud,the poor devil replied in a bleak voice.
Well,we all have our pride,Stan told him,though no doubt yours is the biggest size in the universe.
Yes,indeed,Satan answered.
Are you here for any special purpose,Stan enquired.
Yes,your home seems more intriguing than most and I like to watch you in bed with that flame haired woman.
I see,said Stan,You are a voyeur.
That’s one way of describing me,Satan said,no woman will come to bed with me so I am trapped here behind every mirror in the world.I can see it all but never take part.
You must be very lonely,said Stan
Yes,the dark spirit muttered.I am.
Are there no she-devils about who might oblige you?
I don’t seem to fancy them so much.They are all as bad a me,I want kindness and tenderness not just lust.After all,one might satisfy that with a vibrator… we have them in hell you know!Free as well.
Why,you are beginning to sound almost human,Stan told him.That’s what we want too.If only you would apologise to God I am sure he would forgive you and let you come into the real world of others instead of being trapped in there
Stan heard a noise.He turned round displaying his bony frame and his organs to Rudolf.
Are you ok?I was worried that the drenching had knocked you off balance.I have put your kettle on the fire to make you a hot drink and phoned 999 for aid.
But we don’t have a fire,Stan responded anxiously.
Well,you do now said Rudolf,so let’s enjoy the flames while we can.
To whom were you talking in there?
I was on my mobile,said Stan defensively.
But where was it?You had nothing on ?
On second thoughts,please don’t tell me.I’ve heard some strange stories but arsing about with a why,hi phone is not one I wish to dwell on.
That’s logicians for you.No interest in the wilder shores of life ,Stan told himself as he went downstairs and joined Rudolf in a good cup of tea with sugar and biscuits
And that is what I need to recover from writing down this very odd tall story…
And so does Dave the poor young paramedicKindly refrain from reblogging or re- tweeting as amusement often offends.

Please read with baited breath.You may catch something.

Do not email you comments to me at :kitswits@hellsangels..co.uk

nor at :cleverlady@hotmail.hell.com

Thank you for obeying me.You will ge rewarded in Devonn.

Mary is worrried:tales from the UK

On Saturday afternoon after luncb ,or midday dinner as we said up north before winning places in posh universities which stole our native language, Mary began to feel very nervous, as she was going to the hospital with Stan on Monday for his next appointment with Dr.Range Rover.
Mary was puzzled.She felt almost happy last week about seeing this kind hearted and gracious well dressed female doctor.However she had been shunted sideways onto a male doctor who was almost totally silent.. so much so that he seemed to absorb Mary’s questions into his sponge of a brain without feeling the need to respond.
Why do I feel so apprehensive this week? Mary asked her dear black cat Emile.
After all.I was happy to see her or to even have a biopsy last weekend.Why have I changed in my feelings so much in a week?
Does it matter? purred Emile.
Maybe your mood is affected by something else.. like fatigue or housework or the ravages of age… [he was well read]
We don’t always know why we feel a certain way but I feel it’s good if we are willing to accept these negative moods.Even I have my moods when the fish you get me is not the right sort and you don’t give me my cat’s handkerchief neatly ironed.
You are so wise,Emile,especially as,being a cat,you never have to endure these interviews with consultants in horrible outpatients clinics.So you must have a wonderful empathy for humans
This lady doctor tomorrow is exciting me,cried Emile loudly.May I come with you inside your Grace Kelly handbag.
What’s wrong with my shopping bag? Good grammar,by the way..
Well,she wil be surprised if you take a heavy shopping bag even if it has a Mondrian design on it… she may get suspicious.. even paranoid.If I am in your handbag she will not realise.
Not unless you miaow,mused Mary benignly as she smiled down at him her singular eyes gleaming like the headlamps on a Roller.
I like to know the reason for things,she continued somewhat frantically.I think therefore I might be eventually.I am not yet,for sure.
Does everything have a reason,shouted Stan querulously from the hall…
Well ,it does,but it might be beyond human understanding like the Burning Bush..
We can only perceive what our language permits unless we are poets,mystics or artists and even then it’s tough to venture into the unknown,unthought or unknowable..
languages develop in societies and learning your language embeds you in many cultural assumptions without you realising it.You think it’s reality when it is just one perspective.
How true,screeched Annie their neighbour from outside the open patio door.

She stopped there in her teal velour tracksuit with pink bra peeping and with unusually orange lipstick and toning turquoise eyeshadow and on her feet were striped trainers with red lights on which might give men the wrong idea about this pure and rich lady
You seem to be overthinking,she said to Mary.Are you sickening with the heat?It’s like loving too much, which may be co-dependency.
That’s a very silly pc word,said Stan rudely.We are all dependent but men can hide it until their wives run away with the milkman and they get a shock not knowing how much they’d miss her changing the sheets and buying their underpants and socks.And ironing their hankies
Surely that’s not the main reason a man might miss his wife,cried Mary as she carried in the tea tray with a big white insulated teapot.
Well,you can go on the web and find a virtual sex partner or even buy a dummy woman. but it’s tough to find a devoted woman who knows what you need to function.
Why don’t you buy your own underwear and use tissues?,asked Emile
Well,Emile,I put out the rubbish and wash the heavy Le Creuset pot.I see to the car and bikes.I paint the fence and even bake cakes.
Mary washes the clothes and changes the sheets unless she has an idea to write down.She kindly does all the worrying for both of us and I remain calm like a lighthouse.We complement each other ideally.. and we love each other and a few others as well..without giving away our secrets
That’s one waay of describing it,thought Mary without commenting out loud
Anyway,I am still wondering why I feel nervous about Dr Range Rover….
If you accepted the nervusness it might ease,said Annie wisely in her highly pitched voice like a car siren going off at night
Just then the doorbell rang.It was Dave the bisexual transvestite paramedic.
Emile phoned 999 saying Mary was having kittens, he said rapidly.This really must stop;inter species sex is not allowed here like most sexual activity
He was speaking metaphorically or is it metonymically,Stan groaned.
Now you are here go and make us a fresh pot of tea and admire my new tea caddy.I bought it for Mary last week in that new ironmonger’s shop in town.
At your service,sir,Dave said politely,his flowered dress waving in the breeze.
Do you know anything about Dr Range Rover,Dave? Annie murmured
What is her reputation etc
Some people like her, Dave said,Usually men.she’s not so good with women..
Well it’s too late to change thought Mary so I shall have to willingly endure the agony of meeting her again as I cannot leave Stan on his own with her…
why who knows what might happen? She might become his mistress as he likes several nowadays. despite nearly being too thin to live…
God only knows, a little voice said.
Hello,said Mary.I’ve not heard from you lately.
Well,I am still here looking after you
Thank you, Lord,I love you, Mary shouted joyfully to the surprise of Stan and Annie, not to mention the cat Emile who was unlearned in the religion of his owners.
I thought you were an atheist,Annie said with horror.
I am an atheist and I still believe in God.It’s what we call a paradox..Mary cried graciously….
What would Wittgenstein have said?
Whereof one cannot understand,therof one must be patient and tolerant,.
Why does Mary need to understand all her feelings…Stan wondered
When it’s raining she doesn’t spend hours wondering why and similarly if it’s raining in her heart she must take it like parched grass…she thinks too much.
Too much for what? Her sanity perhaps which has at times bei.ng doubtful but that has made her very understanding to those who find life hard.Everyone has value,even mad,nervous half blind, supersensitive, vulnerable,stout arthritic female mathematical geniuses like Mary.She enriches the tapestry of life in a very real sense as someone once said
And so say all of us,she’s a jolly good Fellow of All Proles College,Oxenford..you know how famous it is!Or soon will be.

Obnubilate is a word I detest

A new word to me is obnubilate.

A few more like that and I’ll emigrate.

I’ve lived all my life

Without using it twice.

And as for the cloud,it’s real obstinate.

Oh, obnubilate me now,my sweet Lord

Draw a cloud over my evil thoughts.

Give me a sitar

Or a metal guitar

And I’ll leave all my sins here unbought

Obnubilate is a word I detest.

So I am writing in with a request

Vow never to use it

Or else we’ll confuse it.

Obdurate is a word I pretext.

William Blake > Quotes

William Blake quotes from Goodreads website

“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.”
― William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

tags: inspirational, wonder

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“It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.”
― William Blake

tags: betrayal, disappointment

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“A truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.”
― William Blake, Auguries of Inno

For many are the actors on life’s stage.

Judge not by appearances alone

For many are the actors on life’s stage.

With facades carved and gilded like rich stone,

False faces may conceal a dangerous rage.

To ask a friend for help is very wise

For they can see without love or desire

Emotion will contort a lover’s eyes

And thus the eye itself may be a liar.

Too foolishly we fall into love’s arms.

It’s tempting for affection laden hearts

By exaggerating judgement of his charms

We ‘re ntering a sea without its charts.

Love may make the world rotate anew;

Yet endangers both our values and our view.

Word of the day

March 16

obnubilate \ahb-NOO-buh-layt\

Share the Word of the Day

Definition

verb

:	becloud, obscure

Examples

The writer’s essay includes some valid points, but they are obnubilated by his convoluted prose style.

“Early street lighting had the disconcerting effect of obnubilating as well as illuminating urban space.” — Matthew Beaumont, Nightwalking: A Nocturnal History of London, 2015

A Poison Tree by Wm Blake

I was angry with my friend;

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears,

Night & morning with my tears:

And I sunned it with smiles,

And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night.

Till it bore an apple bright.

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole,

When the night had veild the pole;

In the morning glad I see;

My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

My Pretty Rose Tree – Poem by William Blake

A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said ‘I’ve a pretty rose tree,’
And I passed the sweet flower o’er.

Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.

The Sick Rose

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http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172938

BY WILLIAM BLAKE

O Rose thou art sick.

The invisible worm,

That flies in the night

In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy:

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy.

The spirit freed by man

Ariel, the spirit freed by man,

From Tempest to the work of Sylvia Plath

Made famous as a horse on which she ran

In such bitter, suicidal wrath.

Or was this a rebirth that never came

The risk she took, a gamble, careless,wry.

For death of body is no children’s game

And from a husband brings a hellish sigh.

Was this a test to see if we survive;

As madmen may stick knives into their hearts

To see the blood is real and so derive

A knowledge that they live and are a part?

The test we make to see if we’re not dead

May kill us and so end the work of God.

Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.

How softly sweetly,gently flowers pose

Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.
Their intricate petals form a shield
Yet bees with striped force shall make them yield.

Appearances,both natural and contrived,
Mixed with the wiles of human nature thrive.
As, knowing not, we pluck the apple rare
And bite its flesh,with teeth we have to bare.

We too deceive the innocent who pass
Not seeing watchers hid behind the glass.
The windows break,the deep earth quakes;
Seized is the maiden ,he her virtue takes.

Beneath the surface,force and fierceness thrive.
What fearsome, burning God enjoys our lives?

The heart’s interior

When you are far,
so
far
away,
The longest night,
The shortest winter day,
will be places where
I might die.
The heart's interior
no-one else
Can view.
When you are lost,
I cannot find
your face...
Its outline on the pillows,
My fingers shaped to trace...
The new design,
the stellar rhyme,
Where have you gone?
You slipped from out my arms.
You slipped away.
Was night or day
Ever cut by such a narrow line?
In your embrace I lay.
You seemed so strong.
Yet,sighing, took the path away.
I can't see where
Is
it
night?
Or is it
day..?
I tried to write
to bring white light,
It's dark, and still.
I long for you to come.
Oh,will we ever quite
Find out our way?
Or is that pure illusion?
As we stagger through
the wandering furrows
in the fields
They shoot us down.
What is this confusion?
The war goes on
The world goes round
The mirror gapes at each new clown.
But in a crack, a seed may grow..
I can't see you,
But yet,I know

With fragrance I entreat

If I were to choose a flower for my love

A rose of perfect form would be my choice

A rain of roses from the sky above

Would certainly express what I can’t voice.

I could well choose a daisy with no thorns

I could choose lush lipped tulip for design

But never would I send a flower forlorn

Should you reject this loving heart of mine.

But,no,I choose these roses for your bliss

For Blake wrote of a tyger not a cat;

Yet if I am made bloody by a kiss,

I ‘ll wrestle with the daemon you’ve begat .

The rose with other name would still be sweet.

May my passage to your heart be sure and fleet.

And cultivate my hatred with my tears?

Shall I give home to grievance and to woe

And cultivate my hatred with my tears?

Shall I remember carefully each blow?

And add this sorrow to my anxious fear.

I thought by hating you I would have peace

And surely I had reason without doubt.

Yet rumination gave me no release..

For wisdom and compassion it did flout

I remembered then past love and shared sweet words

I gave them freedom in my anguished heart.

I did it for your sake, yet then occurred

A sweetness, joy and gladness in all parts.

To forgive,repent and let go of such grief

Helps us more than hatred’s legal briefs

Deer Descending

From American Life in Poetry: Column 573

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE

Philip Terman is a Pennsylvania poet who, with his family, lives in a former one-room schoolhouse. And whenever there’s a one-room schoolhouse you can count on just a little wilderness around it. This is from his new and selected poems, Our Portion, from Autumn House Press.

Deer Descending

Perhaps she came down for the apples,

or was flushed out by the saws powering

the far woods, or was simply lost,

or was crossing one open space for another.

She was a figure approaching, a presence

outside a kitchen window, framed

by the leafless apple trees, the stiff blueberry bushes,

the after-harvest corn, the just-before-rain sky,

a shape only narrow bones could hold,

turning its full face upward, head tilted to one side, as if to speak.

I want my life back.

Morning settles around her like a silver coat.

Rustling branches, hooves in flight

My beloved is mine

https://youtu.be/zz75P1pziM4

My Love, Antonia

Your skin glows likea comical pear in deep sunlight;
You smell as sweet as the unlaundered clothes in a Charity Shop
without even a deodorant to your name,
My yearning heart dotes on your lilting voice
and leaps like a seasick kitten at the whisper of your Latin name,
Antonia.
The evening descends softly over that great Wren Cathedral in the City.
I am calmed by your body chemistry;
I carry your odour into the twilight
I see the moon beams and I hold your gloves next to my table napkin at dinner
so I can steal some food for tomorrow and leave no fingerprints.
I am filled with such tremulous joi de vivre
May I dry your tears of ink and buy you a biro ball point and some artificial tears?
As my left ear falls onto your breast,
it reminds me of your three dimensionality and your solid geometry.
And your perfect symmetry.
I have waited too long saving up for a diamond.
In the hushed noontide, I wait for the last drones of the USA to pass over
or may be it’s just a herd of wasps.
My heated hands leap to put on your sweet blue shawl
I wait in the crystal moonlight for your sentimental piece of verse,
so that we may drive as one,leg to leg
We discourse spitefully on the spiritual nature of true love.
I have more than once tried to roll your stone away
but your tomb is impenetrable without angelic help.
Oh,Jesus, another nightmare.I am glad to meet you..
I could hardly wait..
And this is my girlfriend,Antonia.
My sweet Lord,
Really want to know you,but it takes so long,I know.
I’m in Heaven..
Here’s Nye Bevan..
And Lord Beveridge

The oxymoron class

There is a sentence often spoke

In jest or repartee:
“See how the cookie crumbles,mate.
Why don’t you have more tea?”

But my cookies don’t crumble
They bend in multi-ways.
Why here are some I made for you
Only yesterday.

You want to know why cookies bend?
Well,mine are made from rubber.
They look impressive on the plate…
As good as any other.

But when you pick one up to start
And press it in your hands
It does not crumble,but just falls
Into a thousand rubber bands.

The guests suffer embarrassment
As they gaze down in dismay.
But the children and the dogs and cats
are happy as they play.

I gave my lover,one cookie
I gave him three or four
But he was never satisfied
Until I gave him more.

Then when I met him later on
He seemed to be in pain…
And claims his doctor told him off
For eating food again.

So now I’m having lessons
In how to bake real fakes.
It’s called the Oxymoron Class
And you should see our cakes.

I made one,I made two,
I made fifty four.
But now the freezer’s full right up
So I can’t make no more.

I want some crumbly cookies,
But mother doesn’t know.
She has gone to heaven…
Oh,how I miss her dough!

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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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I went to the doctor today

I was full of pathos and terror

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

William Blake

“To See a World…”

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William Blake quotes from Goodreads website

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BY WILLIAM BLAKE

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