Month: April 2016

He went deaf in one eye at 57

?He was a blight on  poor eyes.
Are you a parasite on pores and eyes?
This is  a site for sore flies.
This   writing and sure tries teachers swerves,
How many pleas make us dread men?
Can you cook an octopus’s tail?
Can you afford to tweet?
Is anyone following you on Bumbook? If so,wear a saddle.
What horses are best for scholars?
My pleas swell on  twelve beers.
If I am white then  you are wrong.
How many  goads must a man   be pricked by?

My cat with flat feet

I once had a cat with flat feet.

which in addition loved to bleat. like a sheep.

The vet offered therapy

but I just laughed merrily…

Alas then my cat learned how to Tweet!

He got mentioned on the BBC news.

Journalists were keen to know his views

He smoked a cigar

He called me,Mama.

He loved to help me polish church pews.

Later on he desired to worship in a Church.

I sympathise but didn’t know which

Was the best to receive cats,

Rats,mice and bats…

And how would the sermons be pitched?

Did Jesus come to earth to save cats?

Should women spend a fortune on hats?

I think far too much..

I guess it’s my crutch.

Did Jesus desire to save the gnats?

Email me if you know at

overthinkersanonymous.kate@gurglemail.com

brighterthanthou@godwit.com

iamabook@reading.pan

Or at Purrfectlady@mewing.com

“We’re all in this together spirit”

Morale of the workers is lowered
by tales of accountants and lawyers
triumphantly finding new ways
of helping the affluentia
to evade the normal tax payments.
Morale is crucial to any nation
undergoing a crisis.Recall the
“We’re all in this together spirit”
of the war years.But now,it’s disheartening
for the 50% living on less than the median wage
of about £25,000 per annum
let alone those just above it
to read the stories of “Grey areas”
“Offshore accounts”,”Charities” set up
from which they take just a “low” wage.

To come through a crisis
We need to feel we are all working
And living together.And we need to acknowledge
Very many people work full time
And are still in poverty..still needing
Housing Benefit..so we are subsidising the firms
which employ them on low wages like this.
Yes,the poor children do feel the cold,
They do indeed feel hunger.just like you and me.
And they do worry about parents whose hope
Is to win the Lottery.
Those children feel emotions just like all children.

Alienated now,we’ll not have too many chances
To grab them before they take to drugs..
Or worse,prostitution.

We are all in the same boat
But some are taking up more of it
And we want to know why.

 

Emile meets a dog

Leggings

Stan and his  strange yet talented  and loving wife Mary went to the Garden Centre to use a gift token Stan had been given on his birthday by his cousin Marian.They wanted to buy a big pot of mixed flowering plants to put on the porch of their 4 bed  quarterly undetached executive style home.Stan used to fill such a plant pot or indeed several himself ,but what with teaching Emile to swim,balancing the account book and cooking a dinner every day he was too busy.Not to mention cleaning the windows in the conservatory with his microfibre cloth which he did weekly.And all the baking too..he was missing out on going to the University of the Blurred Age.Emile their talking cat always went with them for a drive but he stayed in the car in case a dog might see him and bite him.Stan said,Emile,would you like to sit on my shoulders,then you could come and have some coffee in a saucer?
No, thank you.said Emile,I don’t want a dog to jump up on you!I will lie down under the seat and have a nap.You can bring me some icecream back..I love ice cream
Stan and Mary went into a huge greenhouse which also had a cafe at one end.How wonderful the orchids looked.. such delicate colours and what delicious and sweet perfumes they could smell.They sat down by the orchids and had a large cappuccino each and a very small scone with strawberry jam.
My goodness,what big mugs,Mary mused.Why don’t they standardize them?This must be half a pint!In some coffee shops this would be “Huge”
Well,just drink part of it,Pet,if it’s too much for you,” Stan replied abstractedly as if he were trying to digest a bitter fact
What are you thinking?,.she enquired gently.
This is the question most men dislike…maybe because they are not thinking and if they are,it may be they are thinking of something a wife or partner would not want to know. like where is Satan?
I’m wondering what colour plants to get.Stan acknowledged quietly yet intellectually.
I always like blue, she informed him.After 69 years of marriage he still did not remember…but it made life more fun… and more surprising.,The next moment they saw Emile. arriving.He was standing on the back of a large handsome black labrador dog which accompanied two men.
Emile!he called,What’s going on?
The two men came over.
Hello,one said,I’m Bert and this is my brother Bart.We found your little cat crossing the road.He said you were in here.Then Max,our dog,said Emile could ride on his back to avoid the mud by the gate
Thank you very much,Max,Mary said in a trembling voice.
But how did you get out of the car,Emile?
You forgot to close the window and I could see a lovely tortoiseshell lady cat across the road so I decided to pop over.Emile said triumphantly.

But you don’t know the Highway Code yet,Emile!
Stan groaned, as it was one more thing to teach Emile.
Isn’t it lovely seeing Emile riding on Max’s back? asked Bart.
Do you mind if I take a photo?
Feel free,Stan replied.Allow me to buy you some coffee.
Thank you,said Bert.Two double esspressos please.And two scones with Cornish cream and blackcurrant jam,thank you
Stan went to order whilst Max and Emile did a tour of the cafe and had their photo taken by several surprised people sipping coffee and tea simultaneously.
My goodness,said Mary,I wonder if this photo will be in the local newspaper next week.It’s a positive symbol of love and peace.
Though of course not all dogs are as generous as Max.Not all cats are as bold as Emile..
Max wagged his tail and smiled upon hearing this.
If you’d like to help your dog to smile please email me at one of these addresses below.Cats can also be enabled to smile though this requires patience
patiencehere@coolermail.com
katepeaceplan@yodelmail.com
The clothes  are on sale at most Garden Centres in the UK
diesel-italy-2013-2014-fall-autumn-winter-mens-preview-collection-lookbook-denim-jeans-jackets-fashion-colour-mutation-02x

In the gaps

  Sunday again;
Hailstones rush sideways,
striking the windows
with small fierce blows.
In the gaps between
two white butterflies zig zag
like motorized wild flowers;
One colour,two forms. I see now
two aspects of Nature:
hard,destructive,stern;
frail and delicate.
Both are coloured the same white.
Hard to tell sometimes which we are seeing
But we can all distinguish between a gentle touch
and a bitter blow.
As the day dips into night my heart falls too.
In these dreams I look for the lost
in the snowy steppes and the ices of the heart.
A white petal falls.
Cherry trees bloom again
Russia in love.

The dog it was that died

Still here

Copy of Self in draeing,Kathryn 2Oliver Goldsmith, “An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog” (1766)

Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene’er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,
And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wondering neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.

The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied:
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.

Rhapsodic,lengthy,terse.

We’re told it helps to write thoughts down;
Express our grief  somehow;
And if our  feelings are intense,
These words  from deep springs flow.

A sonnet or terza rima
A ballad or free verse.
We have a choice of many forms
Rhapsodic,lengthy,terse.

A practised poet may be blessed
Or so the lay-folk feel
But gifts come with a price to pay:
Experience must be real.

She wrote down all  her grief and woe
By symbols dignified.
The poems received an awed review.
The poet it was who died.

 

Your tender hands

 

 

I have loved you and I’ve held you.
Many years,you have been mine;
As the time has come for parting
Let’s embrace for one last time.

You know you have to leave me,
Though you desired a longer stay.
Let me hold you in my arms now
For just tonight and perhaps one day.

Then I’ll watch you travel on,sweet.
We take this last step all alone.
I’ll be here beside you watching.
I shall feel when you are gone.

May you accept, may you surrender.
May  you reach the promised land.
Into this earth my tears will fall, love,
As I recall your tender hands

Endings take time

A baby too soon shocked from mother’s womb
May linger on for several painful days.
The life force is as strong as is a lion;
And infants too are subject to its sway.
A tree cut down when full of summer leaves
Will struggle on and take a month to die.
And so it is with friendship which is scorned;
Our grief takes time to dissipate and fly.
Bereft of love and child and human touch,
Be careful when you slip from human grasp.
The knife that pierced the heart will cause no gain;
And should we live we feel a bitter pain.
Though cunning wiles and tricks may give the lie,
When you have used them,your  heart too will die.


A child that was

 

The hole sucks me in,with its deep darkness
The Fall was never healed.
Can I resist the call of the killers?
Will they kill me with kindness or with hatred?
I try to hide but no place feels safe anymore
I negate my writing and hide my pens.
Pain degrades  Writing deleted returns in imagination
 I can do little but I try
 Black gravity is the monster in my soul…
 Sway not the tree
 On whose strong branch the leopard drapes himself
 But let the moon speak in silver tongue
 as the leaves rustle
 I am invisible
 except as a home for ants
 Who steals my words.
 I am no more than a punctuation mark or a short title
 I am near the end of my sentence.
 I’ll be hanged by some inverted commas
 From the oak tree.. burning in the sun’s borrowed fires
 I can’t see your face now.
 Just shapes in grey fog
 Like the doctor without feeling for my child.
 A child,that was..
 that would have been…
 that has gone.
 I am uncertain
outside the circle,
outside the circle.
the circle
of
your arms

Phish in the Jordan with me

Is he male and a terror? No,I mean  is email  an error?

I googled all night  with him.Am I with child or just wild?
I  got phished out of the river Jordan
He has broken my tart with his  drink
And deliver us from hacking.O,Lord
Please flaunt me tonight and tomorrow.
The doctor want half my nose and  £3,000… Is  this a new rite de passage?
Deport me now,please let me row.I don’t love your ancient door
I don’t love wolves  by the score.
My floor is always hoping for you to step on it
I love you so clutch.
He was schizo -affectionate.. he was in two binds about me
His personality was ordered but we don’t know by whom.Anyway he was so orderly it was a disorder if you can blunderstand  that.He’s incuriable.
Be my stitch.I’ll never cross you.
It took me all fray to thread a  beadle.My button skipped off and my houses fell down.
My  wonderwear was impeccable.As  white as a blow.
Shred the horned beef and wish with dashed potato.
Sausage and Mass?
He’s gone to Expression now to clear his whole for tomorrow.

Ersatz raps

This is meant to be read aloud… it’s a sound poem.I made up some words too..

Source: K

Oh,I see the wolf listening..he’s so gentle or is he decentral?
Oh,Ah,kerbumplof.
Shrieks,calling for mate
Bang my soul up
In your bedroom
Ker pluf
Thor.War
Storms of lightning
Hail you
AAAAAAhhhhhhhhh
Me,oh,me oh,me stuck here in my groove
Give me electric shocks;the silent treatment.Sulk for me, please,Argentina.
Screech,scream,I felt you watching.
Touch me with a feather
Dust me!
Glug!
I see the wasps round your coat
They hug you and nip your neck
Bong!
Don’t come near me again
Wolves are not
Welcome!
I sigh for mein mutter
She’s a nutter,
utter
Sob
Scream
nightmare
Thud!
You hate me!
Never call again when you’re already here
You are not welcome.
I close my door
on your foot boot
Oh,yes.
Thunder and lightening
Go home now
This is a poem as likely
ill conceived
Eagle flies while I am
Falling down a mountain…
Scree burning.
I never want to see you again,babe.My duck.
Please be a love and leave me.Cheers
That’s ok.I understand you.
Asp,gasp
Per bot fly!
No thud
No dach
sounds whimper.
It’s time for my tea and biscuit
I cooked it twice
but you were
ab ab a aaab aa absent aahaa
sent!
No.No.no
I can’t believe you!
Cut this string and let it all hang out again
Oh,bogger.Go to bed
Now
How
Mein eschreitschzung.Flightschzung.Nachtschzung
blung.blung
blot me out
I’m an ink stain.
I like your fingers, so clean and curving
I’ll mark you and give you homework
Och,aye
It’s well come
Crooning mouse traps
See Rockefeller
drop out and
Bring a bag of sylvia plath’s
scrap paper.
did she know?
Did she know?
Did she sweat
Bang?
Thud.My sky fell in onto the millpond
Don’t smoke near me
I’ll get burned
For I hate you
Or just want your hat and an E for
flatness
Droom,droom
Dee
Bag
bug
Ted went to bed
where he spent his honeymoon
with another woman
Not with the second one
Mathilda
It’s finished us all off
Brang.Blong
Eschreitchzung
Fleightschztung
Herr Meightschrung!

The brightest bulb for hours

Now the brightest bulb has flowered it’s downhill all the way to the mountain peaks,the cataract and the cliff hangar
He is not the toast of happenstance. He’s a control freak and a manic depressor par strict and tense.
She is not the sharpest wife as yet but she can cut a man in half with a sentence,nay even one word… I keep it  secret.It is secret.
Lily is not the happiest sheep in the flock but soon her ram will come.
Nothing impersonal is alien to her.
Foam for the Foe,we say.
He needs nothing to freeze her cat except a thermometer.
I have nothing to write a poem about so I need therapy to give me a Lear or two.
I developed a neurotic transference because I could not spell erotic at that time.Anyway,psychotic,erotic,pneumatic, what’s the inference?
It’s all Greek to me but maybe you can transmute it into my head
He has nothing up my sleeve,mother.
Nothing censored is worth writing to Rome about
Now we never err but we never care either.It’s all  one schizoid  world
Splintered  personally into a million diamonds,worth a fortune but good for nothing.
Freud liked his eggs re-baked.Not re-laid.
Freud lost his libido in his forties.We  believe he was unconscious mostly,
Say whatever comes into your head everyday and you will soon be unpopular as well as neurotic.Unless it’s erotic.
Our dearest wish is to die,Freud averred.Unfortunately they won’t let us.
We require no stimuli at all.Peace is all we need.Not love.

Stan and Mary’s bloomers

Stan woke up feeling unusually  fresh and lively on Monday morning.He gently extricated himself from the bed where his cat Emile was sleeping on a pillow beside Mary his kind and gentle  yet tryingly brilliant and intellectual wife.Stan took a photos of the two with his Panasonic Lumix camera and took one of Annie ,his mistress, walking past in a lemon coloured light wool tweed suit

Lemon wool is rarely seen on sheep,Stan thought to himself,though he dreamed of lemon coloured sheep once after he got food poisoning and spent half night on the wc or crawling to and from his bed.
He flew down the stairs because he saw the postman coming and then he opened the door quickly in case it was a rude book he was expecting.
.The postman handed him a parcel wrapped in grey plastic.As it was soft it was not a book unless it had no cover on
He opened it and to his astonishment he found two pairs of old fashioned ladies long legged bloomers or possibly they were short leggings or jeggings as we say nowadays;
He rather hoped they were bloomers as he had always found that they turned him on more than g strings and bikini panties often worn now judging by the lingerie departments of  the Department Stores where he often lingered languidly, longing for more  love and romance even though he was 99 years old
.Altogether the the bloomers were a very winsome type of garment…c. as long as they were underneath a dress,perhaps a long flowing gown embroidered with daisies or roses.Stan did not find leggings and cropped tops made him  desirousas he preferred some mystery in women’s appearance which gave him a fantasy [often unreal] about the perfection  and shape of the body beneath
He made Mary some tea and took it upstairs on a little tray with painted naive owls decorating it.She was awake and looking very charming in a fleece nightdress with robins and butterflies embroidered onto it by her own hands
Hello,babe,Stan said winningly.I have just opened a parcel but it is for you.
What is it,she asked tentatively.
Just some big knickers,he said tactfully.
Oh,yes.They are for the play we are putting on for Xmas,,,, the Importance of being Furnished by Kasper Milde
Furnished with what?
With clothes,she said soothingly.Like women used to wear.So I shall wear a pair of whalebone corsets and these bloomers.
What about your top half?Will your bosom be bare,he teased her jocosely.
No,dear.Not here…I’d never live it down
As an artist I think if your art demands a bare bosom you must bare it or die.
Well,she said,I don’t think my mother had a bare top.She had a corselet with a built in bra and then a petticoat made of rayon with lace edging.And a woollen vest too.And an underdress.
Oh dear,Stan answered sadly.I hoped you’d be half naked…
You can see me fully naked here ,she informed him in a gentle and humorous manner…
I know.dear, but it’s not the same alone here as it would be on the stage.. that excites me a lot.I guess it’s my age.
You would not be able to ravish me in public, she said grinning at his reflection in the mirror opposite the bed end…..
Well,we could pop out in the interval,he mused to himself… it’s 15 minutes or so.
That’s not enough for me,she told him firmly
How  very kind dear.I am so glad you’d like me for longer than that.
I am just being practical,she murmured, we older ladies take more time to get going,as it were.And a vibrator never excited me.Where is the romance and humanity in plastic or even in vegetables?
Years it takes them to get ready for it,Stan thought dolefully.No wonder I have a mistress.Even she is only turned on about once a month…
Still there was always a possibility that sooner or later one of them would want him to stroke their backs and call them darling or buttercup or some other tender word.How he hoped today would be the day though the lemon tweed suit made it seem unlikely Annie would be at home.He smiled at Mary and offered to make her a bacon buttie.. who knows what might happen after that… and Emile is listening and hoping for a display of human passion as long as nobody died in bed  and disturbed his cosy nest

Goodbye

7486380_f260

Mary stood at the bus stop in her chocolate wool winter coat which Stan had always loved very much.
It hangs so well,he had told her.
The optional imitation fur collar had been removed as she preferred natural garments made from wool with no ostentation.As a matter of fact she has one of Stan’s woollen vests on under her gold silk top.Her hair fell in light blonde curls around her pensive face and her eyes looked as if she were seeing a mysterious vision of the Matterhorn in midwinter while on heroin.
Suddenly she realised the bus was there and she put her card up to the machine before looking for a seat.The bus was rather full so she sat down next to a youth with an i phone hanging from his hand.Suddenly it rang.His chosen theme was, Please release me, sung by Tom Jones.Mary smiled as, if she were near Tom Jones she would need no invitation to free him.The youth began to speak rather louder than normal.
Mary tried not listen but it was impossible.She was too hot as well..Wearing Stan’s vest was a mistake as the bus was overheated.She turned pink like sunrise over ICI in Billingham  for, perceive it or not, the pollution had a beautifying affect.
I’m sorry I wore your vest,she told Stan.
I should have given them away but I was trying to save money on heating.Still I will be home soon.Oh,for some fresh tea.
Where’s your microphone, the youth demanded in a  light voice.It must be one of those new tiny ones,I guess
A microphone? Mary said curiously.
Yeah, he cried.I assume your phone is in your pocket.
Actually it’s in a pocket in my knickers,she informed him in a manner resembling that of a mildly dotty scientist.We used to wear these knickers in the gym at school.
Did you not wear a top? he enquired,his eyes running over her hourglass figure like  pure rainwater water falling off High Force in Teesdale. in  a summer storm.
Well.I didn’t have a bra until I got my grant to attend university,she told him sensitively.
Well,that’s news to me,he said.So you had to wear a bra at University? That was before feminism,of course.Did you burn it later?
Certainly not,said Mary.I’d been longing for one but my mother didn’t seem to notice my development which was her way of coping with adolescent girls.Of course my brothers may have noticed but they were too nervous to tell Mother I needed any support.We were all so shy and afraid.Anyway be quiet now,I want to speak to my husband.
Have you had your phone on all this time? he asked anxiously,worried about her bill.
No,I don’t need it to talk to him,she responded.
Why,where is he? the youth enquired sardonically.
He’s on my knee,Mary informed him.In this bag.She pointed to her hessian shopping bag.
I have just been to the Coop for him.I ought to have got a cab as he is quite heavy.
Jesus Christ,cried the youth,hastily pressing the bell before leaping off the bus into a small pond that had been created b Hurricane Desmond.He swam away into the cold night.
Well. that shut him up,Mary said to Stan.
Mary,don’t become less gentle and kind,Stan said in her ear.
I can’t be gentle now,she said.It’s a nasty tough world without you to help me and tell me what you think of Jeremy Corbyn.And do I need to have a roast dinner at Xmas or just some toad in the hole?
I am sorry,sweetheart he murmured.Maybe you need assertiveness training.
I’ll just get more aggressive,she replied.Micro-aggressive perhaps.
You’ll need more than micro in this era,he continued.Mary forgot to get off the bus and found herself in the Leisure Centre by the River Tranter
What about the river,Stan, she asked.Would you like me to throw you in
.A policeman standing near by ran over.
Madam, is it suicide or murder, he asked her awkwardly.
No,it’s a life sentence,she said humorously as she put her hand up her skirt to get her phone.
That’s a silly place to keep your phone he said.
Anyway don’t call a cab,I can run you home in my car.Have you got any China tea?
I could kill for a hot drink.
I have some lapsang souchong,she told him.Do you fancy that?
I do called Stan from the bag.The policeman passed out.
I told you not to get a boyfriend yet,Stan continued to Mary.
I’ll do whatever I feel like,she said rudely.I could use a comforting arm around me.
Stan sobbed as only a holy soul can.
She said,quickly
Don’t worry.I’ll get Emile to sit on my knee.Goodbye for now,darling.
Goodbye whispered Stan faintly.
Good bye…. goodbye.

 

Her eyes faltered.

It appears the world is a verb not a noun.
I’ve had my suspicions of course,
I know that’s how I see,
Not yet having achieved object constancy
I see afresh,which is alarming until one adapts.
I see the way you see on Heroin,
But for me,it’s free.
I never knew if mother was the same person today,
Or some new other mother.
She did have the same hands
But her eyes faltered.
I gave them all the same name,
Like a folder on the computer.
Let’s see how many mothers I created!
In the end I had to go to school
To get some kind of safety net.
We had alternative explanations there
Like we were saved from sin.
But who can save us from multiple mothers?
I never let on,though I felt stressed sometimes
By all the changes.
Couldn’t things be more fixed?
Dreams end,but life goes on
Being a verb it has to act, you see.
If it were a noun it would be enclo
sedBy many parameters,grids like stunning geometric orgasms,
Quite beautiful to look at it but never felt.
Feeling is the art of life.
Art is the life of the feelings.
What are the feelings of the feelings?
Who understands the heart of Art?

“Everyone who moves here should be made to dress the way we do”

guys-in-suits

The above remark was made to me by a friend  in a  phone call.She is thinking of Muslims but other ethnic.religious groups  do wear distinctive clothing. I  only dislike face coverings because it’s frightening to see such things when we know we have terrorists about.
Jewish  men in Stamford Hill have worn the dark clothing which  is similar to what their grandparents wore when they fled Russian pogroms over 100 years ago.So should they have to wear jeans or emigrate or be i mprisoned? Shades of the Spanish Inquisition…

Here is what many young women wear nowadays.In fact they often wear shorter or crop tops too.Do you feel Muslims and Orthodox Jewish women would like this?

Many of us wear  jeans and anoraks.I  am unsure if my friend is thinking clearly.Will the police arrest folk wearing heads-carves or big black hats? Women wearing wigs or headscarves to hide chemotherapy side effects could be in trouble.I know in France they have outlawed any Muslim headcovering. Would that stop me wearing a big headscarf if  I felt like it?

How about the many Indians here? Must they wear  jeggings and jeans?

sari

And how would a religious Jewish man get on dressed as below? I suppose if they wore forced to bare their heads that would suffice but .why should they?We have always been very tolerant in dress.I hope we will continue to be

men-in-suits-072213-06

We feel our love absurd

Art though my own and may I now love thee?
Art though my own and shall I  thy wife be?
As waiting long  lays waste to love and joy
Art though mine,  or with me do’st thou toy?

O treat me not like  stuff disposable
O treat me not  as one intolerable.
For if  thou touch then thou hast made a claim.
And from  my heart, to lose is to be maimed.

For  women are not like  to sheep or goats
We have hearts to feel what thou hast wrought
And if  thou come to steal then   thou’rt a  thief.
One of many  causing women grief.

Do not touch with hand or with sweet words
For  if thou  lie, we feel our love  absurd

 

Losing

Have you ever lost your handkerchief,
And then mislaid your hand?
Have you ever lost your ball point pen?
I completely understand.

That’s why I got this  laptop
and painted it bright red;
So I will never loose it
When it’s time for bed.

As I am so very small
I sleep beneath the lid.
I sleep in a long nightdress
Just like my mother did.

Well,sleeping in a laptop
Is not for everyone
You need to be both flat and thin
Claustrophobia’s not on.

I can give you my advice;
But it’s never worked for me.
So I’m agitated when
I need tranquillity.

One day it’s the thyroxine,
Another it’s aspirin
The calcium channel blockers
Have been found in the bin.

I woke up today at 4 am
The beta blockers fled;
The ibuprofen were laughing
At my computer bed.

I never lost the GNT
I can go up with a bang…
But please don’t call my doctor
Unless I’ve lost my hands.

I’m typing here with my big toes
They need some useful task…
And yes,I have just lost my heart.
I knew you‘d understand.

The Government say I’m fit for work
When I take all these pills..
Yeah,my life is wonderful
When they cure  my ills.

But somehow I don’t feel myself
with all my channels blocked…
I seem to be a new woman
Though I recognise this frock.

Oh,lay me down on our green earth
and make a bed for me;
For if I lose my pills again
The stress will half kill me.

And what’s the use of half a maid
To any loving man?
If he loves,he loves the whole…
As much as any can.

Oh lay me down just like a sheet
and then you won’t see me;
For sleeping in a laptop
Is  quite flattening hobby.

I leave my books to Oxfam.
Clothes to the BBC
So when they make a comedy,
You’ll think that you see me.

I knew my mind was going wrong.
My tongue became too sharp.
So silence is the best way out
Until I learn the harp.

No doubt I’ll be in Purgatory
For making grown men weep.
So  most men will all be happy
When I take my final sleep.

Oh,sure I have a few good points..
I can cook and knit;
And now and then I make a joke
As if I’ve lost my wits.

Generous,kind and gentle,
I have oftentimes been named…
But my late born assertiveness
Seems to accrue blame.

On my grave  lay a simple cross
And plant some daffodils
And,no, don’t see a lawyer
For I have lost my Will

 

Save rage as

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When I pressed the button
To save my latest words,
“Save rage as” came on the screen
And my mind went blurred.

Save my rage  for later
Save it from distress
Save my rage as powder
Put it in a keg.

Save my rage for humans
Save my rage for God.
Save rage as important.
Is saving rage so odd?

Save rage for a scapegoat..
Don’t show it where it’s right.
Why not hurt a scapegoat
Who will go in the night.

Save my rage for praying
Save my rage for God.
Save my rage for lovers
Who like milk go bad.

Save as rage for holy ones
who boast their worship proud.
Save as rage for followers
Who talk of God so loud.

Save a rage for victims
Save as rage for poor.
Save as rage for children
Who live without a door.

Save as rage for rulers
Save as rage for fools
Save as rage for women
Save as rage at Cruel.

Save as rage for torture
Save as rage for mad
Save as rage for politicians.
Save the world ,dear God.

The Pope visits Lesbos

 

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http://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/apr/16/pope-francis-flies-to-lesbos-to-highlight-humanitarian-crisis-in-europe?utm_source=esp&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=GU+Today+main+NEW+H&utm_term=167435&subid=9545527&CMP=EMCNEWEML6619I2

 

The refugees / “prisoners” were given showers clean clothes and proper food before Pope Francis and   the Head of the Orthodox Church Bartholomew I visited.Their conditions have deteriorated greatly in recent weeks

Malice and force

1.If malice or envy were tangible and had a shape, it would be the shape of a boomerang.
Charley Reese

2.

When we are civilised we’ll buy a nuclear bomb

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I had a little missionary for my tea
I’m feeling very hungry,don’t you see?
I put a lot butter all over him
I must confess he was really far too thin.

Tomorrow morning I’ll boil an egg
Otherwise I’ll go outside and beg.
I have no missionaries in the house
But one is lurking outside near my dormouse.

It’s been a custom in my native home
To catch any missionary who there roams.
We believe we absorb their virtue best
By roasting them and having a big feast.

You see we are very backward here.
It must be genetic,so I fear.
We like to enjoy a very mixed dinner.
A few green leaves and more boiled sinners.

When we are civilised we’ll buy a nuclear bomb
And maybe a computer and a thousand million guns
We’ll start a war and kill a lot of folk.
You can’t break an egg before you boil the yolk

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Grandiloquent

 By Mike Flemming
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grandiloquence audio pron   \gran-DIH-luh-kwunss\
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Definition
noun
:
a lofty, extravagantly colorful, pompous, or bombastic style, manner, or quality especially in language

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ampersand

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Examples
The grandiloquence of the columnist’s writing gave him a reputation as a blowhard, but his opinions were deep and carefully considered.
“It seems that the only thing that flows more freely than money in Washington is the grandiloquence of the partisans in each party.” — Daily News-Record (Harrisonburg, Virginia), September 29, 2014

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Did You Know?
Grandiloquence, which first appeared in English in the late 16th century, is one of several English words pertaining to speech that derive from the Latin loqui, meaning “to speak.” Other offspring of loqui include eloquent (“marked by fluent expression”), loquacious (“full of excessive talk”), and soliloquy (“a long dramatic monologue”). Grandiloquence comes (probably via Middle French) from the Latin adjective grandiloquus, which combines loqui and the adjective grandis (“grand or great”). A word that is very similar in meaning to grandiloquence is magniloquence—and the similarity is not surprising.Magniloquence combines loqui with magnus, another Latin word meaning “great.”

The eyes of love

They lay down in awe and fear,
Of what their love was bringing near.
They gazed into each others eyes
And so did tantalise.

 

They lay down to gaze into
the eyes and soul of one who’s true.
They gazed until ,when overcome,
They were united into one.

Their souls and bodies were conjoined,
And thus their hearts were well entwined;
As honeysuckle on the walls,
In joy’s sweet arbours does grow tall.
Their loving lips and eyes and hands
Gave pause to time’s soft flowing sands.
and as they touched and gazed and longed,
The birds sang out in glorious songs.

Which is me and which is you?
Are we one or are we two?
I give you all myself today,
So this shall be our way

All my heart

Ways of musing
about literature
made the writers’  muse smile
she didn’t like real women.

Her teacher at school  became
contemptibly jealous.
She wasn’t caring
so we were told tactlessly
what to read and what to shirk
but she dismayed  us for our
uncertainty;  books  matter;
even  that we  revolved slowly
in some  planetary action
for human salutations
This remade  powerfully—
the way  to live
or to live improperly was
to read
  art works with the eye of truth
and they affected me,
and  ironised
other ways of seeing
the ambitions of over-egged theory
and hence our being.
I was educated to love with all my heart

Mary misses the train

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Photo by Mike Flemming

Annie went onto Mary’s patio at 10 am and  began  to water her many  tubs.The watering can was filled with rain water though the weather was now  a  little drier.Emile ran behind her admiring her  tight  black jeans from Calvin Klein and her red blouse from Bowlands of  Wrath.Suddenly the bedroom window opened and Mary leaned out.
Hi Annie,I have not gone away after all.I
Why not? asked her caring and dear  neighbour loutishly.
Well,I completely forgot because I was out last night meeting a man from Soul-mates and got home so late I slept right through the alarm.
A pity you didn’t bring him back,said Annie licking her lips.
I cant  bring any man here so soon,Mary   informed her.I rang the hotel and cancelled my booking.With the weather so  odd even Blackpool Illuminations would not cheer anyone up.I didn’t know which clothes to take either.
Isn’t it interesting that as we get better off we get problems like that,remarked Annie. When we were young we had so few clothes we had no trouble  packing.
Mary laughed.My first year after University I bought two cotton dresses  in Woolworth’s.I thought they were  ok but later discovered they were almost transparent.Anyway we wore them  and threw them away.But now few women wear dresses.Look at you in those jeans and you a pensioner!
Annie gazed up to Mary, revealing her  thick Revlon skin polish and L’Oreal cream  rich foundation in golden grey-beige.Her parted lips were coated in moisture rich coral lipstick by  Mussolini and Co. of Argentina and Vienna.
Mary was wearing a long nightgown made of pure nylon decorated with photos of cats of all breeds.Emile had given it her for her birthday.He had managed to type it into the google box on his laptop paying with Stan’s credit card from the Bank of Vichy and Nice,France.
I want some tea,Mary said.Soon she appeared in a  polyester house dress from Daxon of Paris and the Ruhr. lt was covered in   pictures of snakes.
Why,those snakes are rather horrible, Annie said.
I know snakes are in fashion but I shall avoid them.I saw some trousers in Marks but they might give a man the wrong impression.
That is sexist ,Mary told her shyly.They might give a lesbian the wrong impression too.
Oh,dear. Isn’t life hard now when we have to be so careful what we say.I wonder if it is because of social alienation and the rapid changes in demographics that we need rules when before we knew all our neighbours and they knew  us.With strangers we need more rules.
I agree, said Mary defiantly.And I just saw a book called “Compassionate Assertiveness Training”She laughed.
Shall we send one to Donald  Trump.Can you  believe what America is like if a man like that can be President?
Well,it’s a democracy so if Satan lived there he could stand if he had  the money..
The two  women suddenly fell silent.Emile was puzzled as they rarely paused like this once they got going
Is he the anti-Christ, purred the little cat.
Satan or Donald Trump? asked Annie.
Well …. we’ve never seen Satan as yet…But we must watch out in case he comes here to punish the weak and the sick.
Well that gave them all a moment of wonder before Mary grilled some bacon and cut some bread from a loaf she got   in  the Victoria Bakery.
Here you are,she said to Annie,handing her a sandwich.Better eat anyway,whatever happens.Give me some  hot tea,quick
And so pray all of us.
For he’s a Bally Woodfiller,
He’s a Wooly Sad Triller
And all day so are us.

Too late to pray

I’ll tell you   a story  later;
listen to the News.
an easily endurable life
is acquired
at a  party;
it’s too  late to pray
for what we have lost.
people  disagree
uncertain & saddened.
even worse
is  possible.
misunderstanding
i am not you
yet i am as young as Jesus
we can be still
to be  still
the difference is moving
between  He that died
and the One who remains
contemporary strife
looks  unlike the 40s,
this is a creative   mytery
what we have in bed
are the  morals of hogs
and the ethics of the middle  peace
pleasuring  the trumpeting of harlots
donning their  golden robes
sparring with rugs on their heads
can YOU believe it
Cordelia?
Crown me now