Month: March 2016

Our own Roman Games?

Birdfall

Birds,unlike humans, can  fly across the barriers

Avoid the checkpoints,need no identity papers, permits

Or gold star.

Brothers,why were you separated?

Why could Palestine not be left as one

where ,as in Andalucia before the madness

of Inquisition,you lived together 500 years of peace

Until Christian conformity and suspicion

Tormented and killed you both?

It is we you should be fighting against

Not each other

Are you  our  own Roman Games?

You ,in the  Arena we watch on our screens

We can  turn them off but you,brothers and sisters,

are still there.And your children.

What remains   for any of us?

Flow of words

logorrhea log-uh-RI-uh, n an excessive flow of words, prolixity [Gr logos word + roia flow, stream]

We assume that words are used to communicate but when we are with someone who never stops talking we realise it is not communication in the usual sense..Usually there is an interchange,a sharing of thoughts but I knew one person who drowned one in her words.I believe then it is,ironically, a way of keeping people at a distance.I found it wearing.

Have you ever met loghorrea?

Which is rather like diarrhea.

It’s a long stream of words

With no end ,till absurd.

So if you have it then please keep well clear.

 

It may be a type of desperation;

An error in fruitful communication

A fundamental disorder;

A horse with no ride

Alas,utter demonisation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It rankles within

We try to forget those who harm

With words which cause us alarm..

For it rankles within,

May even cause sin.

Like a snake which may bite or may charm.

 

A festering wound must be cleaned

The poison is otherwise a fiend.

The cut may give pain,

But while pus remains

Septicaemia  lurks unredeemed.

 

And as with the body,the soul

Poison will spoil thus the whole.

We must loosen our hold;

Our resentments unfold.

To  perceive all, we must become bold

 

 

 

.

 

 

Rankle

Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day
March 9

rankle audio pron   \RANK-ul\
uk-suffolk-blythburgh-church-ahnfpy

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Definition
verb
1 :
to cause anger, irritation, or deep bitterness in
2 :
to feel anger and irritation

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Examples
The ongoing roadwork has begun to rankle local owners who worry that the closed-off streets are hurting their businesses.
“That goal should sit well with many neighborhood residents—but it might rankle some landlords.” — Avery Wilks and Sarah Ellis, The State(Columbia, South Carolina), 26 Sept. 2015dots
Did You Know?
The history of today’s word is something of a sore subject. When rankle was first used in English, it meant “to fester,” and that meaning is linked to the word’s Old French ancestor—the noun raoncle or draoncle, which meant “festering sore.” Etymologists think this Old French word was derived from the Latin dracunculus, a diminutive form of draco, which means “serpent” and which is the source of the English word dragon. The transition from serpents to sores apparently occurred because people thought certain ulcers or tumors looked like small serpents.

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Ruthless foreigners

ACC02433GRE
A terrified child clings to a rock on the shore as a group of Syrian refugees arrive on the island  after travelling by inflatable raft from Turkey. The Eastern Mediterranean route from Turkey to Greece has overtaken the central Mediterranean route, from North Africa to Italy, as the primary one for arrivals by sea. From January to June this year, 68,000 people arrived in Greece, compared with 67,500 in Italy, accounting for nearly all the arrivals in the period.

The New Yotker

Famous novels to re-read

 

Don Risotto

Dead on the Nail

Far From the Shabby Cloud.

Oliver wished.

Anne of Green Fables

Pilgrims’ Coatless

Robinson’s views are?

Gulliver Unravels

Tom Moans

Do you miss/kiss  her?

Trysts with  Brandy

 The  Quorum

Lemma

Frank with Wine.

The Green Light.

The Bed on the Screen.

The Life of   Bath.

Where Angels Fear to Wed.

Not Anger,Abby.

In  The Middle Grease.

England’s Rabid

 

 

 

 

 

Charms like a bee

abstract summer

I was un-ready for anything,
with no charms, like a bee.
Each fresh day is torture..
When you don’t hate me.

I was as tame as a mango,
I was alright in my mind.
Each night was  a daydream
Where you were  so kind.

I was harmed by your molars.
They were sharper than whales.
Each claw brought the moon out.
As you cut your nails.

Rolling stones gathered
Your heart is not mine.
I’ll give you what you wish for.
It ‘s a half  true design .
.
As long as the clock speaks
As long as the rose.
As long as the bike pumps..
I’ll remember your nose.

As long as my patterns;
As brief as they are;
As long as my brain’s dead…
I shall parsnip a star.

I love a good proverb.
I love no cliches.
When you find some Wisdom
Do not never pay.

Justice long as a ruler,
Sharpened to a screw.
When you are more kind,then
I may leak what I brew
.
As long as the flat Earth
As wise as it’s broad.
The moon in the water
Heard the crow caw.

Please hear my tall story
Sing  with my cello.
I may fail at  the Wife Class
But I can  still say,Oh,no!

I went to the Church belle,
And asked for a clue.
The finger on the dial
Keeps pointing at you.

The music of laughter,
The joy of details,
I went by the river
But the moon never paled
I know the  sky’ s tilted
My muse is in me.
Don’t sting like a daisy
Nor  wail  like  the sea.

Why do people paint?

 

http://painting.about.com/od/inspiration/a/JFresia_miracle.htm

I think anyone who has a  little time would benefit from art classes even though I found it terrifying.Learning anything new makes us anxious.And there was a rude ex-teacher  who was a pupil who would make nasty comments  on my efforts! Even so,I learned more than I thought but have not spent  enough time on it as writing takes my attention more.

I do notice now my efforts are often humorous like this church below.

 

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Though winter reigns across the land

 Winter may reign across the land

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And frost and snow abound.
But I smelled the roses’ scent so sweet
When  you were  then around

I loved my love in summertime
Yet loving was easier then.
But when that winter cold smote us,
I loved my love again.

The deepest snow,the heaviest frost
Did not keep me away.
Come summer sky or winter fogs
I’d love you every day.

The sweetest flower that ever bloomed
Was not as sweet as you.
You were my garden of delights
I loved you through and through.

When spring arrives we see the buds
Of flowers that will  soon bloom,
I know sweet love  opened us,
Like flowers in   warm sun.

Trees so tall

Trees so tall their
wind turned branches stroke the air.
leaves still green,
still stretching sunward
will burn red and gold soon.

Wood pigeons cause a flurry
by the birdbath,
as I pass they indicate surprise
with strange cries.
Look up at the sky,
it’s blue again
no clouds.
a silver plane flies north,
are people looking down at us?

If only love made time last
would like this morning
to be longer,
for our turning earth
to pause for a moment.

How dear you are to me.
I stretch my hand
to touch you,
as if you are a leaf
bathed in light.
no shadows on your face,
no shadows in your eyes
but smiling with the beauty
seen by those who love.
Come kiss me now ,my dove.

Displaced worry

cat gazing at flying objects
cat gazing at flying objects

 

I was musing about all the articles on health in the newspapers today.We are probably more healthy than our ancestors.There is more diabetes because THEY CHANGED THE DEFINITION.

Diabetes is not clearly demarcated.. we go from normal blood sugar to high to diabetic.The cut off points are sometimes changed when doctors believe it’s better to treat people who in the past were not regarded as diabetic.

The other aspect is that being anxious about our personal health  might be a way of avoiding anxiety about bigger issues in politics and our social world.And the fact that life now may seem meaningless to many people.Religion has its downside but it did give a meaning to life and structure in which to live.But now I am told people who go to church often don’t believe but want to meet people not God.

Pre-dead

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!

Birth control

All I know is that diaphrams are a form of birth control.
I am puzzled by that because we all have diaphragms, yet some of us have no control of any kind.
If your diaphragm doesn’t move you can’t breathe so you can’t procreate.
No,you’d be dead!
A very strange form of birth control.
Maybe you can just faint and then your husband can have his way with you.
But would you want sex with someone unconscious?
It’s another case of a-symmetry.. a man can have relations with a faint woman but if the man faints that’s the end of it.I suspect!
How disappointing.
I suppose you  might use a carrot instead.
Well,it would be a form of birth control.
And girth control.
How come?
Sex is exercise,isn’t it?
Being alive is exercise!
Keep moving in any way you can,.however irregular.
Regular is better
But anything goes today except death.

 

 

We can get to know the strangers

Through one person,
We can  get to know the strangers,
The loved,the lost the lone;
And touch them with our hearts;
Or we can turn away.

We,like the trees,grow from one soil,
From one earth,
Warmed by a shared sun.
To that earth we all return.
Now,through my touch on the keys,
I send you this,my love.

From Proverbs

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Whoever isolates himself seeks his own desire;
    he breaks out against all sound judgment.
 A fool takes no pleasure in understanding,
    but only in expressing his opinion.
 When wickedness comes, contempt comes also,
    and with dishonor comes disgrace.
 The words of a man’s mouth are deep waters;
    the fountain of wisdom is a bubbling brook.
 It is not good to be partial to[a] the wicked
    or to deprive the righteous of justice.
A fool’s lips walk into a fight,
    and his mouth invites a beating.
 A fool’s mouth is his ruin,
    and his lips are a snare to his soul.
8The words of a whisperer are like delicious morsels;
    they go down into the inner parts of the body.
 A rich man’s wealth is his strong city,
    and like a high wall in his imagination.
 Before destruction a man’s heart is haughty,
    but humility comes before honor.

In the deep waters I must trust

When seven years come round again
My self is liquified,
My skin becomes a holding shell
For my old self has died.
As I dissolve I feel great fear
And yet I trust my soul.
So in the sea I lose my form,
And with the waves I roll.
I am at one with all the world,
And yet I am nothing.
My inner waters rise and fall
What will the high tide bring?
After my drowning I shall rise
And I shall be renewed.
I must submit to that strange Life
With which I am imbued.
I am not mistress of myself,
I am this moment’s flower.
In the deep waters I must trust
To take me to the shore.
O hang my arms with grasses green
And dissolve me in your sea.
Thus when the time comes for rebirth
Regenerated I shall be.

I love the shade of you

I love the color purple.
I love all shades of blue

But most of all,my dearest,

I love the shade of you.

I love the color circle.

I love to paint the dew.

But first of all,before I start…

I’m studying your hue.

I love to see the sunlight

Gleam across the trees;

I love the green,I love the shade

But it’s you I want to see.

Your loss went through me like a knife.

I found the message on your door,
You don’t love me any more.
Once you said “Oh,je t’adore”
Confusin’ ,musin’ losin’.
Why leave your message on display?
It’s been pinned up there all day.
I feel it’s such a cruel way.
Posin’,.musin’,.choosin’.
Can’t you tell me face to face,
Are you so short of human grace?
A brief letter would show more taste.
Deludin,broodin,floosin’.
Let me learn a lesson here.
I will not live my life in fear.
I’ll just shift into high gear
Illusion,fusion,musin’.
Once I thought that you loved me.
You announced it on the BBC.
Was it just publicity?
Amazin’,fazin’,crazin’.
Everybody has one life,
Sometimes filled with woe and strife.
Your loss went through me like a knife.
But,thank God I’m not your wife!
Musin’,choosin”,loosin,boozin

The tide turns and life alters..

Have you ever had a dream,
That you were all alone?
Have you lived with someone handsome,
With a heart like a cold stone?

Have you drowned in deep,cold rivers,
And been lost in shadowed caves?
Have you lived with too much fusion,
Till you drowned in ghostly waves?

The waves run down the sea shore,
Then up they come once more.
The tide turns and life alters..
Deep on that ocean floor

.
You were so beautiful and silent,
Like a sword without its sheath.
I should have let you take me,
The way you took away my breath

Emile takes Stan to the vet

 

  • IMG_0012
    Stan realized it was time for Emile to have his annual flu jab.He stopped polishing the back  windows and picked up the phone.
    Hello,it’s Stan here.Can I make an appointment for Emile?
    Yes, come today if Emile has had a bath
    Are you joking?
    Yes,the receptionist responded cheerfully.
    Actually he did have a bath and now can swim breaststroke! Stan faltered.
    How amazing,she said sweetly.
    Stan got out Emile’s travelling basket.He put some copies of The Independent inside
    in case Emile was bored..
    Here,Emile,I’m taking you for a ride in the car.kindly step into your basket,you dear creature.
    Can’t I sit by you and wear a seat belt?
    I fear it’s illegal as yet.
    OK,grand-dad,Emile answered jauntily.He climbed into the basket and sat up staring out boldly with his great amber eyes.
    The doorbell rang.
    Hello,Annie,Would you like to come to the vet’s with us?
    Annie looked down at her violet velvet track suit and purple trainers with real gold 9 carat laces.
    Yes,I’ll sit in the back with Emile, she muttered
    After ten minutes they arrived  at the vet’s and parked the car under an elm tree.Stan carried the basket steadily not wanting the poor cat to fall in an undignified manner.
    Annie looked at her green nails.
    Do you like my nail varnish,Stan?
    To be honest,I prefer shell pink,he said softly.
    Why is that,darling?
    It is more feminine! Stan informed her laddishly
    Feminine!But you can see I’m feminine!
    I’d  like you to be even more feminine,he chuckled
    Oh,yes ,agreed Emile,So do I.
    You men,she cried sweetly,never satisfied.
    I wouldn’t say that,my America,my Newfoundland!
    What’s up? Swallowed the dictionary.
    It’s a poem,actually.And it’s what Ted Hughes called Sylvia Plath,
    You’ve been reading again.It’s bad for you.
    Don’t you like to be my new found land?Stan enquired jocosely
    A bit late to ask now,she murmured seductively.
    Next moment they were in the empty waiting room.Then,ala. a man came in with a big black dog.Emile stared fiercely and the dog whimpered and lay down on the floor.
    The vet came out and asked Stan to bring Emile in.Emile gave a yell at the dog before Stan shut the door.So,said the beautiful young vet,how is pussy today.
    Emile remained silent.
    He’s fine,just needs his flu jab.muttered Stan.
    Come now,Emile come out of there.But Emile was clinging to his basket with  his sharp claws.
    Are you afraid Emile?He asked kindly
    No,I’m not afraid,I’m just acting how vets expect cats to act.
    So Emile speaks English?
    He knows French too.
    Je t’aime Emile.
    Bedankt,madame.
    Stop showing off and get out of there,she doesn’t speak Dutch.
    Mein mutter wast immer krank,cried Emile.
    Get out now!
    Emile came out slowly and stood by this good lady.
    She looks a bit like Annie, he whispered.
    The vet took out a small needle and swiftly injected Emile.
    What a good boy,she sang,would you like a jelly baby?
    A jelly baby!Cats don’t eat jelly babies! Emile said proudly
    Well, have a go! the vet replied
    Emile stalked back to his basket,put on some glasses and began to read the editorial in The Independent.
    Stan was hoping to make a suggestive remark to the vet,but Annie came in.
    Hurry up,there’s a thunderstorm coming.Her nails were now pink.
    Did you change your nail varnish? he asked her.
    No,the green was artificial nails!I took them off.
    Can I have some claw varnish.demanded Emile
    What color?
    I fancy teal,Emile miaowed.
    Teal!How ludicrous!
    What about red?
    Too pretentious.
    I don’t think I’ll bother then,the cat said languidly
    We men don’t have to bother about such things.
    Well,you are lucky said Annie.
    I hate makeup and nail varnish,blow dries and manicures but I don’t feel feminine without it.
    You feel very feminine to me said Stan,running his hand softly along her forearm
    and patting her behind!
    Stan!Not here in the road!
    Why not?enquired Emile.It looks ideal to me if you go behind those bushes.
    Annie jumped into the car and drove away leaving Stan to carry Emile to the bus stop for a tedious journey home.Then she reappeared,opened the door and said,come on now
    let’s all go home.I’m sorry I drove away.I’m feeling a bit blue today.
    They got in and arrived safely home where Stan brewed a big pot of tea and let Annie sit on the sofa with her feet on a  cushion.He rubbed her head gently.Lovely,she purred.
    I like having my head stroked.

    So do I,said Emile loudly but alas they were too busy to hear or care.So Emile fell asleep and dreamed he was only a character in a story written by a character on East Enders.

 

 

Stan’s mind starts to wander

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  • Stan put on his hat and went down the spring green garden where a blackbird trilled.The sunlight was very strong,almost glaring in intensity.That’s an interesting word,more commonly used to describe the angry expression on the face of an adult who believed he is a position of power,he thought.
    It pains most people to be glared at, he reminded himself.
    Stan’s wife Mary had a habit of humming or even singing as she went about her day at work or home.Usually sshe didn’t realise!
    He recalled the day she came home from her Art Class to amuse him with a tale of a very wealthy and dominating lady who had suddenly glared at Maru and shrieked,
    Is there something wrong with you?
    Mary said,
    Yes, there is actually. but I don’t usually talk about it except with the doctors.
    Why not ? shrieked the woman nastily in her dominatrix style
    Well,I thought it might upset folk to hear I am terminally ill but in your case I’ll make an exception.
    Well,I don’t give a f*ck, you are annoying, me was the reply that she received.
    Even if you are dying right now that is no excuse for humming in the class.
    Well,said the teacher,I always thought you were a very superior person,Nancy,but now I hear you insulting my newest pupil in public I believe I was mistaken.
    Oh,Mary had told Stan, it seems that humming” Neasden” in the class, albeit unconsciously. is far worse than to be seriously ill.
    There is no sense of proportion now…surely anyone can see there is no comparison though I prefer hearing the Trout Quintet,myself,he had told her
    Fortunately Mary’s illness had been completely cured by a new drug and she was able to continue her Art and riding her bicycle.Nancy was too proud to apologise but after hearing Mary was going to recover completely she had offered her  a quarter of a broken chocolate biscuit at coffee time.
    You are too thin, she admonished Mary,but I have come to like your humming and am even thinking of trying it myself.How do you do it?
    I can’t say,Mary answered,it just happens.
    I see,said Nancy.Perhaps I’ll go to a singing teacher.
    I hope she does instead of coming here,Mary thought as she still glares at me wherever I sit.She’s a bit like those pictures of Saints whose eyes seem to be on you and follow you wherever you sit in the room  in a judgmental way.
    Stan’s mind was wandering as he gazed over his fence.He remembered when he first met Mary when her bicycle had been stolen from outside a Public Library and he had helped her to look for it.In fact it was he who had stolen it in order to have an excuse to speak to her.How singularly blue her eyes were when she smiled graciously at any man nearby.As her conscious mind was on a branch of mathematics it left her unconscious free to seek what it desired free of all constraints thus causing mayhem until June when term ended and only the ancient postgraduates were left in the deserted city free to play with non-linear diffferential equations all day blong

Stan and the angel

  • Stan had eaten too much pizza because he was extremely ravenous from doing the washing. and hanging it up on the mulberry tree in his long garden Now he felt lazy and haphazardly fey and other worldly and liable to have visions..Now and then he saw an angel whom he called Yael in his home.But having looked up Yael on a website he realised she was not a very nice woman unlike his dear wife Mary.So he was planning a new name for the angel with her permissiom
  • Do you mind if I change your name,he enquired gently when Yael came in through the French window.
    Well,what to? Yael asked him familiarly
    How about Ysabel? Stan offered.It’s got just an extra b and s.
    Or how about,Sybael?
    You seem fond of b and s, the angel answered in confusion.
    It was just mere chance,said Stan somewhat defensively.
    Ok I’ll take Sybael,the angel said loudly .
    I want to change my name too, said Emile the cat of Stan.
    How about Mebiles or Melibes or Eimbles….
    I don’t know, pouted the cat haughtily.
    How about Semile,said Stan.Though it has no letter b in it, he brooded
    They all pondered quietly as the sun shone in through the window and made a lovely lacy pattern on the wall.
    In came Mary,Stan’s sweet old wife and his computer aided extension too.
    You are very quiet,she murmured.What’s going on here ?
    We are tring to find a new name for Emile,Stan told her as Sybael waved her wings about.
    It seems very draughty in here,Mary said.And Emile can’t change his name because it will change his personality.
    I didn’t know I had a personality,the little cat purred noisily.
    It is what is most characteristic of you.For example, if you always hurt those you love then you have a cruel personality or you have got diabetes.Some people want love but they are too harsh and demanding.
    So true,Stan added pensively as he thought back over his life.
    Anyway,I have some awfully strange news,Mary went on.
    You just won’t believe this but Dorothy Grey who lives at the bottom of the hill has just had a heart attack.
    How come
    She had an online love relationship with a rather peculiar but intriguing and clever elderly man who turned out to be a sadist in disguise.So when she ended it he flew over and attacked her with an air gun and some cat’s claws which he had bought from a cat market
    Is he a wizard,asked Emile.
    No, he flew on a stolen magic carpet from Persia.
    Persian carpets,I’d love one here said the cat greedily
    Actually it’s a kind of plane,said Stan. knowledgeably
    How boring ,said Mary angrily.
    Anyway Dorothy was so shocked her arteries spasmed and she is in A and E now on morphine,she added…
    What a shame that she got that instead of a spasm elsewhere….Stan muttered thinking of Freud and fountain pens.
    But who’d have sex with such a horrible old man? Mary asked in puzzlement.
    An equally horrible old woman,maybe? Stan riposted laughing.
    Any way it all goes to show the dangers of online love, he informed the room.
    It’s not real love,is it, because in real love the other person is as important to you as yourself.Mary said theologically.
    Well. now Eros is a kind of love,too.But many old men just want their washing done and a companion.Eros has departed from their world.
    Sybael smiled and then flew out of the window.
    What was that noise, said Mary anxiously.
    Just an angel’s wings,said Stan quietly
    If only Dorothy had seen an angel instead of that harsh old man she might be much better now.Mary mused.
  • But not everyone can see them.Their world seems full of horrible old men and beautiful young women
    Emile winked at Stan and then ran out to chase a butterfly amongst the scented tulips.. there were lots of angels there every day but only he knew that.
    Angels don’t like big modern cities but they like old abbeys and cathedrals and moorlands and mountains  and places where such things used to be before post modernist architecture took over.
    And cat’s claws are not meant for scratching your loved ones either.And online dating should be avoided except with atheists and agnostics.They are less judgemental about women’s place and roles.It’s strange how harsh many religious people are.Harsh and unforgiving.Very strange it is,thought Stan as he boiled the teapot on the stove.
  • Let’s all have a nice cup of tea,he murmured.Angels too.5346929_e6134c3279_m

Mary’s clothes and songs

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http://youtu.be/IEVow6kr5nI
Just before Stan’s funeral a heatwave began.Mary realised her outfit, which her sister had  kindly chosen was too heavy for summertime.
She called into a small department store full of delightful garments.Unfortunately most were more suitable for a nightclub than a chapel.A black dress caught her eye.It had a somewhat low neckline which was decorated with a deep gold band.
Mary decided it was more suitable for Queen Cleopatra than a British woman.After a few minutes she found a lovely thin black jacket and a long drapey skirt.She rewarded herself with a large cup of coffee and observed the scene around.
Many of the women were wearing the dresses Mary had thought were for dancing and nightclubs while the rest wore jeans with T shirts saying:
No Size Fashion
or
Free women now!
Stop staring!
Most of the women were rather plump so their busts stuck out with the words going up and down some invisible contour lines across the small mountain range their bosoms resembled.No wonder when the counter in the cafe was stacked with almond and chocolate croissants.Definitely an occassion of sin and for sin.
The next morning Mary showed her new outfit to Annie who had called to help her.
You can’t wear that,Annie screeched musically .The skirt is blue!
Well if it is it is dark blue,Mary cried.It looked black in the shop to me.
You will have to go back and change it.And you must buy some makeup too..
What,for a funeral?
Yes,said Annie who was wearing pink and purple eyeshadow from Pax Wacter combined with sun protective foundation by Minxette in deep beige.Her lashes were dyed purple and her brows had been groomed in a way which gave the impression she was constantly in a state of severe surprise or shock.Her thick juicy lips were painted a lurid orange from Revlon of Timbuctoo and Shanghai which meant that any man who kissed her would never be able to conceal their sin from their wives or partners.How hard life can be at times.Or even all the time for some of us.
You must dress entirely in black and it will make you look pale but don’t worry you can have some of my makeup
Will the colour suit me,asked Mary plaintively.
I think you can wear any colour now your hair has gone that horrible shade of pale.
You are a bit rude,Mary said but I  can take the hint.
http://youtu.be/Mb3iPP-tHdA
After Annie left Mary phoned an old friend of hers and asked him what he thought of her clothes problem.
Black and blue will look very good,he told her.As long as it’s dignified and dark the colour is immaterial.
That’s nice,Mary thought,as she hated shopping and was unsure how much income she would have as a widow
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Being practical a dark blue skirt is something a woman can wear any time whereas black is not so good in the daytime unless you are a business woman.
Mind you,after you visit any town centre in Britain you will see sights of women in strange and tight clothing that will both amuse and appall you though most of us are used to it now,I expect.
My goodness, Mary said to herself,what hard work it is losing a husband.I should have hired a boat and thrown him into the sea or even buried him in the back garden.That would have been better than all this kerfuffle.So she decided to turn her mind to higher things.
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I must admit to a confusion of the sublime and the ridiculous here but that is how it has been lately,including an ancient hymn being labelled as sexist.

A poem about mothers

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American Life in Poetry

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE

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In my limited experience, mothering and worrying go hand in hand. Here’s a mother’s worry poem by Richard Jarrette, from his fine book, A Hundred Million Years of Nectar Dances. He lives in California.

My Mother Worries About My Hat

Every spring my mother says I should buy a straw
hat so I won’t overheat in summer.
I always agree but the valley’s soon cold, and besides
my old Borsalino is nearly rain-proof.
She’s at it again, it’s August, the grapes are sugaring.
I say, Okay, and pluck a little spider from her hair—
hair so fine it can’t hold even one of her grandmother’s
tortoise shell combs.

Terracotta dishes

I ‘ve had to buy some smaller dishes

The old ones are too big for  only me

I weep as in the bowl I  gently wash

The ones we used  to use when we had tea.

 

Here’s a terracotta  Spanish pan.

We  filled to entertain our friends.

Y0ur dish of onions and lamb;

Tomatoes added to the blend.

 

Here’s a souffle dish  for  six  or eight .

Cheese or lemon,  you enjoyed them both.

And here are all the dinner plates.

Too separate from these, I’m   feeling loth.

 

I don’t know if I’ll cook for friends again

They’ve not cooked for me just lately.

Are they afraid I’ll steal their man?

They  state their reasons so politely.

 

In the guide for widows I was told

Prepare to lose some friends and then some more.

I don’t want their men so  mild yet bold

I’ve closed   the windows and   I’ve locked the doors

 

I feel they compliment me as they think

I’m so  alluring  I can pull again.

But I have  had enough of  loveless links.

I don’t want any  cast off ,needy  men.

 

I dry the pyrex and the copper.

I dry the lids and  muse on  colours

What shall I have for my supper?

What  healthy diet shall I follow?

 

I just want to be with you one hour.

A   cup of Earl Grey of tea, a chance to talk.

But I accept that will be nevermore,

Like my hand in yours on our  long walks

 

I didn’t know that you were dying

The doctors are afraid of saying.

I wish you were  in my arms, just lying.

I’ve tired of churches and of praying.

 

I felt that tendon in your  gentle hand

You turned  around and smiled so brightly.

Then the curtains of  your death descend.

You slipped away so  soft, so quietly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So nice?

 

 

 

https://litreactor.com/columns/happy-grammar-day-10-facts-about-grammar-you-can-use-to-annoy-your-loved-ones

 

The meanings of words change all the time. Some words even shift to mean the opposite of the original meaning and then shift back again. Take the word nice, for example. From Bill Bryson’s Mother Tongue:

A word that shows just how wide-ranging these changes can be is nice, which was first recorded in 1290 with the meaning of stupid and foolish. Seventy-five years later Chaucer was using it to mean lascivious and wanton. Then at various times over the next 400 years it came to mean extravagant, elegant, strange, slothful, unmanly, luxurious, modest, slight, precise, thin, shy, discriminating, dainty, and—by 1769—pleasant and agreeable. The meaning shifted so frequently and radically that it is now often impossible to tell in what sense it was intended, as when Jane Austen wrote to a friend, “You scold me so much in a nice long letter . . . which I have received from y

In each flower

 
Walking on this quiet path

I see trees leaning their patterned branches into the wind.

I see old walls;

Gravestones lined up against one wall.

I see a sparrow

and some greenish lichen where the wall protrudes.

How good this silence sounds

To my inner ear.

Like Hopkin’s silence

Elected,now exalted…

Sing to me

And  I will hear you.

Speak to me and I will praise you.

In each lineament of this world

We see you.

In each flower and leaf

Your name is written.