Night,night
Day: April 27, 2016
Trees in time of health
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Old drawing
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I need some edge,some definition.
The sky looks like a Turner painting.
At the high point it’s brighter,even golden cream
Like the top of a bottle of Jersey milk;
then it dims down to a bluey gray
with a slight threat in it
like a blacker gray…It’s
Too warm today for snow.
I swept brown dried leaves from the step..
Had to move my bike.
Then I hid them under the hedge
So they can keep some insects warm in the winter.
But mainly I don’t want to bend down to collect them,,
I’m tired or lazy after the weekend.
I still have a dress here I was ironing just a week or two ago.
Now it will be put away till next summer.
Here’s a denim jacket with flowers all over…
I did wear it but it won’t look right now.
I washed my hair.It feels soft and pleasant.
I like that feeling.I am wondering what you are doing.
Are you listening to music or resting?
Or sitting looking down the road at wet fields?
I think I’ll make some tea.
I need a focus for the day which also has a feeling
Like those late watercolors
Everything merging
Until one thing dissolves into an other.
Some people like it but today
I need some edge,some definition.
I need someone to give me boundaries.
Time 4 pm
Kettle boils and a neighbor’s cat peers by the locked cat flap…
Wondering why she can’t get in.
I turn away.
Now the sky is without any gold
It’s sixty shades of gray.
It’s clouded dark and soft
Like your hair might have been
But I could never have touched it…
You were always too far away and moving.
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A single one remains
I saw the sun rise over the North Sea
Accentuating coloured fishing boats.
The beauty of the dawn gave hope to me
A restful pleasure made my soft eyes dote.
The peace of this small town has caught my heart.
Scenes from ancient times come close again
The gulls swoop down and sketch their flying charts
Remote as ever from the realm of man.
The shingle beach,the Church where Britten lies
The in and out of tides of salty sea;
An exact match of houses,hill and skies;
The amber shop, the chip shop,the oak tree.
In my mind I walk in love again;
Though of the two, a single one remains
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Being alive is joyful
Who has never felt grief
When a small gesture would have helped
but it has, unknowingly, been with held?
How many people have the imagination
to guess what’s in your mind,
And to embrace you rather than push you away?
No-one, No-one.No-one knows.
No-one knows these numbers.
No-one knows these names.
No-one knows how many feel diffident,
Nor how many feel shame.
Being alive is joyful!
Being alive is pain!
Being alive is all we have,
We’ll never be alive again.
I look into your eyes today
I sense your pain and woe.
I look into your eyes just now
And tell you that I know,
Being alive is lonely.
Being alive is good.
Being alive is pain indeed
For flesh is not like wood
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Chaste by good fortune
Stan woke up with a sore throat.
He had to write his wife a note.
He could not speak without much pain.
Oh,dear,he’s got a bug again!
Mary made him lemon tea.
He listened to the BBC.
He read the paper front to back;
Did Su doku,called the quack!
This is Dr Browne right here,
but only gurgles could he hear!
He drove straight round to visit Stan,
He felt concern for this old man!
Stan was lying in the hall.
Dr.Browne asked,Did you fall?
No,said Stan,I hate my bed.
I thought I’d lie down here instead.
It may be draughty,never mind.
Dr Browne is very kind.
What about this long settee?
It looks quite like a bed to me.
I hope you are not feeling gay!
Oh,my my!.What did you say?
I mean it seems a trifle odd
To compare a settee with a bed.
I wonder if you love me, Stan?
Stan said,Doctor you’re a man!
I only love the sweeter sex!
Dr Browne looked very vexed.
Doctor I never knew before.
You are gay.,Oh,zut alors!
Yes,but I am very chaste.
I never go below the waist
So you just hold hands and kiss?
Yes,my man,it’s utter bliss.
But were do you meet your lovers gay?
I find them mainly on E-bay!
I place small adverts in the Times.
I joined a club for tasting wines.
Some I meet by chance alone.
Can’t you settle on just one?
But you are unfaithful to your wife?
You do not lead a saintly life!
Oh,Mary is not keen on sex,
She sits in bed and sends out texts.
Once our Lyra had been born,
She treated me with utter scorn!
I’m not God, I do not judge.
He gave Stan’s arm a little nudge.
Don’t you want a tiny hug?
It really may scare off that bug
So Stan and Dr Browne embraced.
I assure you it was completely chaste.
Stan went off to make hot drinks
While Dr Browne admired his Quinks.
Do you use a fountain pen?
I use my Shaeffer now and then.
I got it when I went to college.
Through that pen has passed much knowledge.
But now my mind has gone quite blank.
I’d like to be completely frank.
Was all my learning utter waste?
Not at all,it kept you chaste.
While you had your head in books,
It kept attention from your looks.
But now you’re empty,Je t’adore.
With that he made for Stan’s front door.
Stan was gobsmacked by this visit.
He called to Emile:Oh,what is it?
Even though I’m 93
All I meet want to love me!
English men are mainly very queer.
Oh,said Emile,Oh,dear,dear!
Cats don’t have much time for hugs
They chase the frogs and sleep on rugs
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Words go weeping
I’m but an adverb passing by,
She says she loves me,does she lie?
I’m parsing all her bills and notes,
And then I’m listing many quotes.
The plumber’s fixing up the nouns,
In case some name should chance to drown,
and in the cellar stands a box
For storing wolves and sheep in flocks.
Where have all the nouns gone to?
O,dear Lord, one’s in my shoe.
Put them on the washing line,
While I create a new design.
Grammar needs to be revised,
For many rules are now despised,
and words go weeping through the day,
as no writers want to play.
Do you like the perfect tense?
Does creation still make sense?
Latin was not hard to learn
Now I’ll try Swedish in turn.
After that, if I’m still here
I will study atmosphere.
Hebrew is all Greek to me.
Why not construct a language tree?
Everything must be combined,
Or our dear world may all untwine.
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Hope
And if you are someone who still carries hope in your heart, kindness in your eyes and generosity in your fingertips despite terrible people happening to you, thank you. You are one of the few truly pure things left in this world, and you deserve to be protected.— Nikita Gill
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Dinner
Main course
Codswallop in batter with nude potatoes and peas
Roast teeth and Yorkshire pudding with speaking broccoli
Rascal’s Lamb with Hint Sauce
Lasagne with chips,tea bread and butter thrown in.
Corned beef smash and cabbage
Pudding
Roly poly jam with steamed air.
Lemons on mice.
Oranges sliced and baked in a stone dish with marmite
Full flat yoghurt with fruit of the day
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How are your eyes?
Aldeburgh from the Daily Telegraph
Have you ever wondered why some people have a light in their eyes and others don’t?
There is a saying that the eyes are the windows of the soul
Some people have dead looking eyes.
Some have eyes brimming with tears
Some have dry and stony eyes like shingle on a beach.Though in Aldeburgh the shingle beach is lovely when the sun shines on it.One place I love and get a light in my eyes.
From Beautiful Suffolk
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Air strokes our bare skin
When soft winds blow and air strokes our bare skin
When days are long like melodies of youth,
when light wakes up the soul from out her sin
Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth?
When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown
When water’s short and all is arid and forlorn’
Then do not meet disaster with a frown,
For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born.
When water’s short and all is arid and forlorn’
Then do not meet disaster with a frown,
For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born.
When winter’s here and all is quiet and still
When nothing seems to move or grow or speak
Then we shall learn the limits of our will
for through the soil the first green shoots will break.
When nothing seems to move or grow or speak
Then we shall learn the limits of our will
for through the soil the first green shoots will break.
For seasons change and actors come and go.
Yet through such changes, life is what we know..
Yet through such changes, life is what we know..
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Old wall
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The loss of self
When we absent ourselves from presence in this life
When we dwell more on pictures in our minds
It neither matters if they feed our wish for strife
Or whether they fill needs of better kinds.
We know that wish fulfilment comes in dreams
And also in our fantasies by day
Anxious worry fills our mind with schemes
Guilt and shame impede us from our play.
Creative thought requires the loss of self,
And needs our empty soil to plant its gifts
So throw out selfish fancies for this wealth
Wel’l let ourselves be slow so mind can shift
To waste our days in suffering or false pleasure,
Is to give up what is true but can’t be measured.
Is to give up what is true but can’t be measured.
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Cafe la la
All day menu
Oven chips au naturelle [rubber.]
Greased bacon on fried lead
Sausages with scrambled leg.
Toast and mutter with marmaduke’s ram
Whitby Chinese Slippers [smoked]
Staithes’ herring [ the last one]
Robin Hood’s Bay scallops. [ Korean]
Tea and coffee with silk or thwack.
Fruit juice or water free for £5 deposit
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To unwind slow
What kind of camera shows the changing light
Upon the yellow blossom as it waves?
The wind has dropped ,the breeze is here, but slight
And on the flowers I in languor gaze
The red leaves of the acers now unfurl-
Two side by side but different in their glow.
The light accentuates them as they curl
And so gives them the time to unwind slow.
Without the breeze the colour is varies less.
It’s flatter, less like Monet, yet still bright.
And as a grey cloud sags across the West
It puts my dreams of colour into flight.
Yearn not for special tools to catch the world.
Just watch a single leaf as it unfurls
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Sell the piano
- Bums to spare.Apply without.Got your own?Sell here
- He ran over an ass in the road,It was dead
- Clump of frog and cluster of toads make it murder on the road
- Guilt bumps on cheats give away fear
- A nun in the coven?
- Burn the handle and descend on the hope of angels’ wings
- Churn the midnight oil,
- Burn your badgers and go to jail
- Burn your chips and eat them anyway
- Learning to rub her up the right way
- Turning the midnight royal
- Turning up the crack,
Bury the crotchet or sell the piano
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If we feel
All the fears we push away
Will come back later in the day;
Or when we go to bed at night
They will waken us in fright.
Befriend me,each one seems to say
Like small children fallen at play
When mothers come a sweet sweet kiss
Returns our children to their bless.
But where is mother now?,we think
As from our eyes the teats we blink.
Let the bag of tears be drained
Let them ease our awful strain.
Be your mother,be yourself.
Be kind and careful of your health.
Mother lives inside our hearts
If we feel then that’s a start.
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In the sun
Gently dancing in the sun Wildflowers grow; they bloom, are gone. With no thoughts,they have no cares; Yet their lives are gentle prayers. May I walk in such a way That I am alive to this day. So I see with widening view, And joy and sorrows embrace too. Then my time will come like yours... And of us nothing shall endure. As to the earth our bodies go, All are one;it shall be so
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God helps those who help them selves to most
No human being comforts my sore heart
No human being looks with favor on my doubts.
Yet still I ate a tasty apple tart
And went to bed in nothing but a clout.
No human being loves me as I am
No human being wants to comfort me.
Yet still today I shall have cakes and jam.
And drink ten mugs of boiling China tea.
No human being looks inside my soul
No human being cares about my cares.
Yet still today I’ll eat a bacon roll.
And spray some perfume on my golden hair
For God helps those who help themselves to most.
So I shall talk with his lamented Ghost
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Love shall be our song
Underneath the deep sky,darling,
You shall be the one.
You were with me in the dark
When all the rest were gone.
When the trees grow their green leaves,
I’ll love you all night long.
When the flowers fill the cornfields
Love shall be our song.
Poppies red.and linseed blue
Shall decorate my dress.
Hold me in your arms tonight
While I my love confess.
Meadows filled with buttercups
Fill my inner eye.
I love the scent of minty leaves
When my mind is all awry.
I see the sun through closed eye lids
And rose scent’s in the air.
Wherever summer joy comes from….
We have had our share
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Origin of etymology
Etymology from Online Dictionary
etymology
ˌɛtɪˈmɒlədʒi/
noun
noun: etymology
-
the study of the origin of words and the way in which their meanings have changed throughout history.“the decline of etymology as a linguistic discipline”
-
the origin of a word and the historical development of its meaning.plural noun: etymologies“the etymology of the word ‘devil’”
synonyms: derivation, word history, development, origin, source
-
Origin
late Middle English: from Old French ethimologie, via Latin from Greek etumologia, frometumologos ‘student of etymology’, from etumon, neuter singular of etumos ‘true’.
How my heart sings 