Cats nigh!
Foxes’ gloves
Damn,de lion!
But her cups?
Pull her podium
Car Nations united
Dream grass of home
Blue Belles are here
Pull her,go now’m?
Wild nasty hermans in my garden
Baying tree.What next, singing fogs?
A lorn? Come live with me and be my love.And I will never mow [n] at all
Where were the Japanese in April? Acer,trace her but don’t deface her I bee see choo choo
Month: Aug 2016
The problems of sin when one’s partner has gone

You know, I think I want to go to church again and I must go to Confession before I go to Mass.But the trouble is that when you have no partner your opportunities for committing sins are greatly reduced.Especially if you don’t fo out much
You can’t have a row with them about what TV programme to watch or which side of the bed you sleep on nor about whether they pull the duvet off you in the middle of the night.So you can’t blame them when you feel tired.
You can’t get angry when they ask you to wash their trousers again either or about them wearing a cashmere sweater in bed.Also you see less of their relatives and they were always good for producing sins like envy,rage,jealousy and so on.In fact their relatives change and become saintly so it’s even worse.I suppose that might make me sin.
It’s really hard,though, to commit a sin now so Iam wondering if I should get a partner purely for the purpose of becoming a sinner who can them be saved by the Sacrament of Confession.I always thought it was odd because if God exists he must know our sins.. i n fact he might know more than we do.He must.
With that in mind ,I wonder about going into therapy as surely that would make me aware of all the questionable things I have done.Which is better therapy or getting married? I suppose if I married a rich person they could pay for psychoanalysis for me but it would be a sin to marry purely for that reason.Is that Russell’s Paradox?
Or if I got 2 cats I could be unkind to them and not let them sleep on my bed.But I have to admit I cannot be unkind to cats.And I don’t like dogs in the house.Too much work.You might as well get married again as have a dog to care for.Although dogs don’t wear clothes and can’t shout and scream and demand sex at 3 am.Barking is not quite the same
.I suppose I could become a Quaker instead because it might be tough to find husband who is happy for me to study Wittgestein and Sylvia’s Wrath.My hair is no longer what it was.. my eyes are still blue but now I have a scar on my face.I thought maybe no-one would notice but the dentist said,Wow,he’s done a great job hasn’t he? Fantastic,There’s just a little lump here…. what little lump? She’ll have me back in Dermatology as soon as take my teeth out.It was a little lump that began the whole damn business as it was a bit like a Russian Vine invisibly covering [ part of ] my face.Well I can proudly say I had 23 injections of local anaesthetic in my face but the surgeon was very handsome.Greek…
Anyway I went out today with no sun cream on and that is really wicked when you’ve had what I had but the hypothalamus gland needs sunlight so my brothet tells me.I have three brothers plus my aide P so I have plenty of men to tell me what to do or not to do.Still you can’t marry your brother can you? I wonder what the priest would say about that.I rest my case.By gum,it was heavy.I’ll take to drink
I am in the depths of repair
There’s many a true word spoken by pests
A rolling stone blathers no rot.
How many rooks are boiled in broth?
If you don’t grow there now,you never will
I am in the depths of repair.
My therapist says I am schizogenic. He wants to take my photo but I am keeping it in my vest
Why was Freud not very observant?
Jung was taken in by the Nazis.They were his shadow.
Heidegger wrote “Being and Time” ans he took his time leaving the Nazis.If that’s intelligence what does it say?
My husband asked me if I had any cigarettes.I was smoking mad at his mistreatmentI said don’r need cigarettes.I am a cigarette so he picked me up and sucked my big toe.IHe didn’t try to light it fortunately.I could have exploded and the whole rehabilitation centre would have been blown up which is what it needs when they put dying men there with no doctors , no drips and no common sense.
Title : Boy in Blue Bandages Author : Larry Chamberlin
From Poetry and Quotes

– – – – – – – – –
Along the boulevard medium
(we call it the neutral zone)
Lacy Blue Ribbons
mark each oak as being
aligned with children
fending off abuse.
Do people even know?
Or do they misinterpret,
not caring about message
or whether another child
ends up in the ER
wrapped in bandages?
Perhaps if the children
were encircled instead
in bright blue bandages
and set along the road
pitiful and helpless
passersby would get it.
You’d hear then
a momentary sigh;
“Oh well, what can be done?
I mean, there’s just so many”
and they, each and every,
will drive on by.
Holy Sonnets: Batter my heart, three-person’d God
John Donne
Riemann’s Mind
We dare


Loose in the fields of green…
Oh, my own lover!
He was such a bold flirt;
with his love unclaimed,
he could recite George Boole
he was one of the old Cool.
He never reached his goal.
so with my bling and some flair
I hoped he’d open the enchanted bud
To the music of his lyre.
I’ll pray this for him:
that he should find what he wreaks
and write it down with a stylus.
Really he is the allurement of angels
He was my epiphany
Make it up, as the clocks clang..
It’s not really you…it’s just an affliction.
I can do nothing for my calves
It’s because of all the punning I did once.
I can’t even lump a stone over a wall now.
My arms are as weak as Trojans.
I never suffer viruses to be declassified.
Like I said,just wink and say a prayer..
In God we dare.
Hearts in heaven




Talking to you
What can I do?Abolish it!? Make it illegal ?
You know what I mean..
Well,how do you know that.
We both speak the same tongue.
Pity we don’t speak in tongues!
That would be more confusing.
But exciting!
Do you believe in the Holy Spirit?
I believe in all spirits wholly.
Tell me.
I don’t think the Spirit minds.
What!You have spoken to him?
No She spoke to me.
So he’s female?
In the Kingdom of Heaven there is neither male nor female.
That will be boring.How about in the Other Place?
I don’t think the Bible mentions it.
What would we do in heaven with no love?
We love without bodily intercourse.
Will we have hearts?
It depends on how we live.If you have no heart on earth
then it seems you’ll have none to take with you.
That seems logical…but scary.
Well,anyone can grow a heart…
How
Love your neighbour and your self..
What if I can’t love?
Just act lovingly… use your imagination.
My mother always said I had no imagination
Well,imagine that.
I can’t.That’s my problem.
It’s poetry,innit?

Someone has just realised that in psychoanalysis the way the therapist speaks and the manner it is done in are as important as the words. In other words,it’s poetry. Surely that is true in all relationships?
Bless me , rather!
Ble
I was thinking about going to Confession last night but nobody talks about sin anymore
1.So I copied my sister’s photograph in a dress she made herself without asking her.
2.I forgot to put my watch on so when I visited a friend I stayed far too long but it was partly because I could feel a kind of force from her pulling me in..
3.I forgot to sweep the path after my neighbours pulled down a lot of virginia creeper from both houses so no doubt I have trodden a lot of bits of wood and things into the house.However since it is my house is it a sin?
4. I read the Observer online woth an adblocker on because I have got the paper one delivered so refuse their requests to turn off the blocker…I am invited to donate but there’s no where I can say,I have paid for the paper edition.
5.I wrote a letter pf mild complaint to someone who was very rude to me.But that is a good thing as I am usually too much the other way.Nevertheless is it a sin?
6.Isn’t it boring?
7.Much as I covet my neighbour’s husband I have not lured him away.Even if I tried to If feel I am too old for him.He’s only 28… so he claims.I could adopt him I suppose.
8 I have dusted my pot cat but I hope I did not worship it when I was daydreaming.
9.I looked at some lace underwear online.So far that’s as far as I have gone…Do men like it?
10 I fear I have not done enough to interest Father Brown.So my intention is to worship a my calf tonight and my other calf tomorrow.Then I shall worship a china duck which is in the hall on a shelf.Then I will tell myself a lie and be unfaithful to myself by reading a romantic novelette.Then I will tell my husband if he wants me to move to Ealing he will have to get a car.A chariot of fire is not something the neighbours will be pleased to see in this suburban desert.But it would be just typical of my husband to spend our savings on one saying,It seemed a good idea at the time.
At last I have sinned… gossiping about my husband..That wil do for next week’s Confession
Yet all human lovers
I didn’t know I’d love you
With both my heart and mind
Every love is different
Each is a special kind
I didn’t know I’d miss you
In quite the way I do.
For we can’t feel emotion
Before its time is due.
And are you missing me now
Despite angelic hosts?
They may care for you , my sweet
But I think I cared the most.
Yet all human lovers
Must part and go their ways.
Some may die and fall to dust
Some may go astray.
I didn’t know I’d love you
And hurt invade my heart.
I didn’t know that you’d love me.
But we would have to part.
From mother and her bosom
From father and his strength
We lose and gain throughout our life
Whatever is its length.
I didn’t know I’d miss you
With all my loving heart.
But . as we’re made of fragile flesh.
We must sadly part.
If you had been a sadist
If you had been unkind.
I would not now be grieving
And losing my own mind.
So maybe I should be grateful
For being found and known.
I wish you were still sitting here.
And I were not alone.
When we feel so lonely
No-one else will do.
It’s not that I am just lonely.
I’m lonely, just for you.
In the wet and stony
Pathways we must go
We must keep on walking;
Be patient when we’re slow.
The inner force is working
To make new maps for me.
Wherever they shall guide my steps,
With you I’ll long to be.
Whom once you loved
For onto me you brought down from above
A torment bitter and hard words unkind.
Used to friendship from within your books
Irritation grew as you did look;
You threw your poisoned arrow at my heel.
Whom once you loved you then began to hate
If not perfect, then intolerable I must be
And then you cursed me with this sorry fate
Our child was born and him you’ll never see.
Illegitimate and born in desert grey.
I carried him alone from death’s dark way.
Fiction and chance
- hance

I went to the doctor last week and he said,
Who’re you,dear? I said
I beg your pardon,but you know me already.
So he said,
Oh, my dear,I thought you were new patient
So I asked him if he needed glasses.He said
Look here,I am the doctor not you.
I apologised profusely and said it was just a way of showing I cared.He smiled.
Anyway I said,it’s my head doctor.It feels unstable.Is it going to drop off?
Not literally,he replied.It’s all the upheaval about Brexit.
Brexit,what’s that? I asked politely.
Why,surely you heard the News?
No,I’ve stopped reading the paper and only get it because the newsagent is so kind.
What about the News,he enquired
My TV is too small and I can’t be bothered to get a new one.
Well,I’ve never heard of unstable heads before,he said.
Now’s your big chance.If you study me you can write an article and be the generator of a new disorder.Mind you, if I recall the last 15 years of strife and war in the Middle East feeling the head is about to drop off is probably normal
Well, keep it under your hat,he cried.We need patients who believe they are ill
Maybe that’s my problem,I wear my hat under my head.
That’s not a hat it’s a scarf, he informed me scientifically
I’m afraid to wear it on my head in case people attack me in the street thinking I am a Muslim.
Perhaps that explains your problems,he chortled?
I was born here because my mother was here
Her folk fled from Co.Tyrone as Catholics were unpopular and had no vote etc
To think,he said,you would not be here if Catholics had been given their rights 150 years ago, he mused.
It’s a funny world,I said.None of us are here except by chance.
God must love Probability.
And so pray all of us.Ah,men!
Thomas Traherne
Till you can sing and rejoice and delight
The paragraph below was written by the mystic Thomas Traherne.You can see more here and also you can look in Wikipedia if you want some history.He wrote many poems which you can access through site like Poem Hunter
I love the idea of the sea flowing in our veins.
You never enjoy the world aright, till the Sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars: and perceive yourself to be the sole heir of the whole world, and more than so, because men[sic] are in it who are every one sole heirs as well as you. Till you can sing and rejoice and delight in
God, as misers do in gold, and Kings in sceptres, you never enjoy the world.
Till your spirit filleth the whole world, and the stars are your jewels; till you are as familiar with the ways of God in all Ages as with your walk and table: till you are intimately acquainted with that shady nothing out of which the world was made: till you love men so as to desire their happiness, with a thirst equal to the zeal of your own: till you delight in God for being good to all: you never
enjoy the world.”
― Thomas Traherne
I’ll have to give up writing villanelles
I’ll have to give up writing villanelles
My rhymes are strained so why not stop this game.
I’ll write the tales of cats who went to hell
I thought if I wrote dozens in a spell
I’d get more skilful and relax again
I’ll have to give up writing villanelles
My inner critic says we’re going to move to Hull
I don’t know if it’s Larkin being famed
I’ll write the tales of cats who went to hell
I guess the housework made me feel unwell
I didn’t do it but I saw it, all the same.
I’ll have to give up writing villanelles
Maybe my ideas need to gell
And that’s not easy with a villanelle
I’ll write the tales of cats who went to hell
I ought to write some words that I can sell.
Or letters to the papers, all insane
I’ll have to give up writing villanelles
I’ll write more tales of cats who went to hell!
Zest from Merriam Webster word of the day
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A home for the Unknown
The “habit” of perfection makes no sense
We may achieve perfection perhaps once.
It hurts the doubtful minds of the intense.
Around our hearts we need to build a fence
To keep away such spiritual cons
The “habit” of perfection makes no sense
Even if we live as monks or nuns
We do not leave the world when robe we don
We hurt the painful minds of the intense
We may give away our gold and even pence
But find our narcissism’s still not gone
The “habit” of perfection makes no sense
Work and individual effort’s part defence
We can try to make a space for the Unknown
Otherwise we harm the stricken hearts of the intense
To claim that we live perfectlly offends
And with it our salvation’s all but gone
The” habit” of perfection makes no sense
It hurts the doubtful minds of the intense
We walked the Cleveland Hills when love was new
The places I associate with you,
Durham in the deepest, whitest frost
The places that I dream of what we knew
We walked the Cleveland Hills when love was new
Saw icy windows in your parent’s house.
The places I associate with you
Lincoln floodlit, threw me to my knees….
We crossed the Humber in midwinter lost
The places that I dream of, that we knew
Christmas time your mother felt the so blue
We walked the sea edge Redcar,Saltburn first .
The places I associate with you
But where’ve you gone and why is there no clue?
I travel in my dreams ,with you impressed.
The places I associate with you,
The spaces where we travelled ,where are you?
I long to see your face just one more time.
I long to see your face just one more time.
I didn’t know that day would be the last.
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.
You’d smoke a cigarette and write some lines
About the mountains that we’d climbed or passed
I long to see your face just one more time.
On Ingleborough we had made designs
But heavy rain came down and we were lost
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.
We turned around as if it were a crime,
For we knew such decisions have a cost
I long to see your face just one more time.
I teased you on the muddy slopes in mime
I could not speak for I had seen your ghost
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.
In Dent or up in Teesdale will you come?
Or by scarred boats in Staithes, eternal rest?
I long to see your face just one more time.
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.
The end of love?
Poetry School
Use your old smartphone as a wi fi tablet

I lost my phone a while back and it was a bit small for me.I have just found it so was intrigued to discover what it can do. without a SIM card.You can still look up maps etc while it is on your wi fi.Also you can use skype but I think you have to pay £12 for 3 months.If you take it out you can connect it to the wi fi in a coffee shop ot a BT Wi Fi hot spot..You can still make an emergency call with it even without a SIM card.
You can use the camera too but the photos here were taken by Mike and he is a keen student of light and how to draw with it.
I wear an apron aand a pretty dress
I wear an apron, though a feminist
I don’t believe I must forgo my dress
To keep it clean while copying Julia Child….
Yes,I wear an apron I confess.
And here’s my yeast so I can bake my bread
You say I should not sink to women’s craft?
Did I not teach to aid the working class?
To me, it’s you who sink with words so daft
I’ve no to wish show I’m equal to a man
Nor to a woman either,for you see
My wisdom says my choice is to pursue bents
And only doing this will make me free.
As I don my apron I connect
To all who like to cook,whatever sex.
Adlestrop by Edward Thomas
http://www.thehypertexts.com/Best%20Poems%20Ever%20Greatest%20Poetry%20of%20All%20Time.htm
Edward Thomas is not as well-known as some of the other poets on this page, but “Adlestrop” was among the top ten most requested poems at Poetry Please, so he continues to have fans. “Adlestrop” is a somewhat mysterious poem, because nothing really happens and yet it seems extraordinarily sad. Thomas was a literary critic, biographer and book reviewer who became a close friend of Robert Frost when he moved to England. It was Frost who persuaded Thomas to begin writing poetry around 1913-14, and Thomas was on his way to meet Frost when he wrote the poem below. Thomas was also close to the “tramp” or “hobo” poet W. H. Davies, and help bring him to the attention of the reading public. Thomas died at the battle of Arras in 1917, so all his poems were written within a very narrow window of time. It is said that he decided to enlist at the age of 37 after reading a pre-publication version of Frost’s famous poem about indecision, “The Road Not Taken.” Thomas died never having seen any of his poems in print.
Adlestrop
by Edward Thomas
Yes. I remember Adlestrop—
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.
The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name
And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.
And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
Amiri Baraka: Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note
Lately, I’ve become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelopes me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad edged silly music the wind
Makes when I run for a bus…
Things have come to that.
And now, each night I count the stars.
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.
Nobody sings anymore.
And then last night I tiptoed up
To my daughter’s room and heard her
Talking to someone, and when I opened
The door, there was no one there…
Only she on her knees, peeking into
Her own clasped hands
What is poetry,anyway?
Poem: “The Advice,” by Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset.
The Advice
Wou’d you in Love succeed, be Brisk, be Gay,
Cast all dull Thoughts and serious Looks away;
Think not with down cast Eyes, and mournful Air,
To move to pity, the Relentless Fair,
Or draw from her bright Eyes a Christal Tear.
This Method Foreign is to your Affair,
Too formal for the Frolick you prepare:
Thus, when you think she yields to Love’s advance,
You’ll find ’tis no Consent, but Complaisance.
Whilst he who boldly rifles all her Charms,
Kisses and Ravishes her in his Arms,
Seizes the favour, stays not for a Grant,
Alarms her Blood, and makes her sigh and pant;
Gives her no time to speak, or think’t a Crime,
Enjoys his Wish, and well imploys his time.
I wish that I had kissed you ten more times
I wish that I had kissed you ten more times
I didn’t know how soon you had to leave
I’d draw upon your lips my best design
I tell my love in words, which is no crime.
I didn’t show you all you might receive
I wish that I had kissed you ten more times
If I had bought you bottles of best wine
Would you have stayed and kept me unbereaved?
I’d draw upon your lips my best design.
I know you were perceptive and read signs
Eyes a-crinkle green as sun washed leaves
I wish that I had kissed you ten more times
I’d hold your mind and weave your thoughts to rhymes
Until the truest love poem arrived
I’d draw upon your lips my best design.
I’d write you letters ,much love I would leave
With my mind and body I perceive.
I wish that I had kissed you ten more times
I’d draw upon your lips our own design
My dearest heart

Mei tearens, farwol myn leafste hert.[ Frisian][
With tenderness,farewell my dearest heart
.Met tederheid, vaarwel mijn liefste hart.[ Dutch]
Med ømhed , farvel min kære hjerte . [Danish
Med ømhed, Farvel mín kerti hjerte. [Icelandic]

Riemann had a very fine mind.











