Neville Chamberlain
A political stain.
He thought Hitler
Was someone littler.
Winston Churchill
Liked to lie still
He had a black dog
To guide him through war’s smog
Clement Attlee’s
Home was cat free.
It’s a funny name
But he was a great man,all the same.
Anthony Eden
Was misleading
He started a war
Not sure what for.
Harold McMillan
Is very unlike Bob Dylan
He kept his cool
And knived the fools
A force far deeper than our anger Elemental as a storm Annihilating all before it Terror makes our rage perform This force thinking self is threatened Runs to rise and to protect, Most murderous when we’re most alarmed Rage an enemy detects. Over-riding other feelings Depriving of the power to think Like a nuclear tsunami Disconnecting human links. Reddened vision,focused,narrow; Eyes locked onto enemy’s All the wider context losing, Wipes out our good memories Like a mother tiger fighting, And the cornered eagle’s force; We will destroy what we think other Without bitter,pained remorse. Nature made such to protect us; Yet our perception can be wrong. Once the flood of feeling takes us All reflections seems too long Later, if we see our victims, Will we know that we have erred? For hate deceives ourselves and others When our inmost terror’s bared. How can we step back and ponder, See life from a wider view? How can we become less blinded, So we see our world anew? Succumb not to final despond Succumb not black despair. Often there are those who see. Often there are those that care. Tempered by reflective wisdom Rage can change when understood. When we find another being Who helpd contain our frightful flood.
If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away. Henry David Thoreau
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/h/henry_david_thoreau.html
I’m in deep now,never been this deep before
The world’s hollow like a shell and I’m out its door.
In so deep, the ocean has its own startled floor.
I’m down,down.down.never been so dark , so more
I can’t rightly tell how I got where I am
I think I had an accident,fell over, then I swam.
Sometimes it’s a loss, be times it’s my man.
I guess I have to stay till my time is done
I don’t know if the joy is worth the pain
Would I choose to relive it , if I was born again?
The dark joy is the amazing gain.
But the sorrow is damn sad, let’s admit it plain.
I’m in deep and it’s over my head
What was I thinking of,when I fell out of that bed?
I look up and the sea’s so turquoise like that mist is red
When we get good and mad and wish some loon was dead.
At first, it was all just black,black pain
But from the bottom of the well, I looked up with awed love again.
That’s when I recalled,feelings are plain and sane.
Joy is much greater when we’re in the danger zone.
I dunno if I’m ever comin’ out.
We can’t control it,ain’t that what life’s all about?
I’ll never love with innocence again,nor not feel doubt.
But I’m no teapot and the devil ain’t got my spout.
I’m swimming and the ocean’s so mysteriously bright
Down here we don’t have no day nor no night
Fish nudge me with big grins and teeth white
Sea flowers fondle me and whisper,turn off that light
Ronald Laing
Said he rang
I split him off
Cos I felt rough.
Wilfred Bion
Liked his iron
An odd name
Eckhart changed.
Melanie Klein
A tough spine.
She blamed the child
For being genetically wild
Anna Freud
Was self employed
Doing analysis
For folk with paralysis.
More than one-third of the people killed in the Nice truck attack were Muslim http://nyti.ms/29M93Ov
The Lord’s my Shepherd,I’ll not scratch.
Oh, raise me with words
Underneath the arches,I’ll sit and eat my shoe.
Scarlet ribbons made her glare.
Guardian angels set heaven alight.
Wraiths of our fathers ‘ living bill.
God blessed our Hope
Yesterpray.
Welcome to the Communist State of Diarrhea.
You keep sewing your way.
In search of lost crimes with Marred Cell Pouffe.
A still small choice .
Ezekiel,why are you Lear?
My fiance was a Jew until he met me.Then there were three.His mother made a big impression one me… with her shoe!
Don’t believe all I write.I have blurred derision and fantasy.
The Lord’s my shepherd,so he taunts.
Rene Descartes
Split us apart
Body and Mind
So unkind.
He said,I think
Therefore I am.
I wink
I am a lamb
The body’s a machine
Quite obscene
I can’t love when you are mean
Blaise Pascal
No rascal
Lay in bed
His thoughts to thread.
Blaise Pascal
Was my pal
My heart ‘s no reason
For treason.
Blaise Pascal
Formidable
Number played
Where ere he laid
We think grieving must have a pattern
So mother knits a jumper following her pattern
And grief must have one too.
We’re all different sizes
So knitting patterns do have a bit of variation
Knitting a coat for your cat or dog
That needs a quite other pattern.
But much as we like our patterns for predicting and ordering our lives
Maybe there isn’t one for sorrow.
Maybe killing yourself might be over-reacting
Though many spouses die close together naturally.
Starving ourself might be too much
But nobody else knows,except the lost one,
What in us might govern our grieving.
With quarrelling too there are wide variations
I hurt my sister,in a week we make up.
But for others it brings 40 years of silence
Maybe apologising is seen as failure, as a wound to our self
Whereas for some it’s a welcome means of relating again
For some things,like our British weather, the patterns are unstable
Or don’t exist.
So we feel our way like the blind do through a cave,touching with our fingers
Trying to guess the route.
And some people hurt us by saying.YOU WILL NEVER FEEL BETTER.
And others by saying,stop moaning.
And they say,NEVER STAY IN BED.
When that might help us for a few days….
It’s as if they think that if we depart slightly from their path we will go mad or die.
But nobody knows
Do we need permission to be sad?
Do we need a licence if we groan?
Can a human turn into a stone?
Is inflicting vision ever bad?
When suppressed feelings drive us mad
May we loose that hidden undertone?
Do we need permission to be sad?
Do we need a licence if we groan?
Who would need these licences when glad?
Who would not succumb when overthrown
Who would like to hide beneath a stone?
Who would have a carapace be sewn
Do we need permission to be sad,
From anyone whose laughter makes us mad?
Grief , a rain of loving tears flows down
To match the weather that I see without.
I’ve known good fortune, that I never doubt
So may I wear my sorrow’s tear- jewelled gown?
When winter comes with frost and fearsome frown
Then icicles will droop where my lips pout.
Grief , a rain of loving tears flows down
To match the weather that I see without.
I fear not that the seeds of life will drown
Though they are soft and never scream or shout
Yet etiquette is broken by each bout
So I must buy a long dark widow’s gown
Grief , a rain of loving tears flows down.
http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/rondel-poetry-form
If you wish to write a rondel prime (or supreme), add a 14th line. In fact, rondel prime sounds pretty cool.
“Some Good”
Every day, there is some good;
every day, there is some bad.
Don’t worry about what you had
or waste your time knocking on wood,
because this life’s misunderstood,
and there’s no reason to get mad–
every day, there is some good;
every day, there is some bad.
Crime happens in all neighborhoods,
though in some crime is just a fad.
If you live somewhere safe, be glad
you’re well off. Elevate your mood–
every day, there is some good.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
It came out quite well in French.
Je ne suis pas “English”, je suis comme vous, unique.
Catégories patriotique je critique.
Comme tous les gens qui habitent sur cette île.
J’ai os celtiques encore danois est mon sourire.
Un Indien, Juif certains appellent “astucieux”
Norman, Viking, mêlé à physique.
Je ne suis pas “anglais”
Je ne veux pas blesser plus tous ceux
Qui sommes moqués jusqu’à ce qu’ils perdent leur doux repos
Un mélange de conception génétique des aides
Nous sommes une seule espèce dans cette maligne du monde.
Nous sommes ici parce que deux personnes aimantes ont choisi
Pour partager leur esprit et leur corps tout dévêtu.
Je ne suis pas” anglais.”
Dois-je comparer tous les autres avec ma règle?
Dois-je mesurer et déployer plus d’outils?
Dieu lui-même fait folklorique de l’argile et de l’air
Nous a donné ce monde si étrange mais équitable
Je ne veux pas être un imbécile anglais
Mais chercher à comprendre et à être scolarisés
Je ne suis pas “anglais”
Eye in the sky, and the air is cool
The cat is black, birds running all day
And sit down here, finally with the “Totty”
O my foolish thoughts snatched from hell.
We are angry at each bureaucratic mill
O the cold zone, because I’ve never understood, such as:
The air is hot and flashy :air a’spark
Saturn demoted her knees
Dash this spring, spring Sample.
I check in this city, and the date May tree.
Oh, a pair of tiger cat astray bed.!
So Joseph lived in the life of a prostitute of the will,
From the sky in Arizona, even more stringent in the Luftwaffe
The New York Times
Geschrieben am 1. August 2016 um Katherine
Augen in den Himmel, und die Luft ist kühl
Die Katze ist schwarz Vögel den ganzen Tag laufen
Und sitzen hier unten , und schließlich mit dem " Totty "
O meine törichten Gedanken aus Teufel entrissen .
Wir sind wütend auf jeden bürokratischen Mühlen
O der kalten Zone , denn ich habe nie verstanden , wie zum Beispiel:
Die Luft ist heiß und schrill Luft a'spark
Saturn degradiert ihr kniete
DASH diese Feder , Feder Sample My
Ich überprüfe in dieser Stadt , und das Datum Mai-Baum .
Oh, ein Paar von Tigerkatze Irre Bett.
Also wohnte Joseph in das Leben einer Dirne des Willens ,
Vom Himmel in Arizona, sogar noch strenger in der Luf
Lumina caelum, et frigidus aer
Cattus niger curre avibus exponere tota die
Et sede hic: et tandem cum “totty”
Eiecistis O stultas cogitationes meae rapuisti.
Nos singulis iratus est bureaucratic molas
O zona frigida, quia numquam intelligitur, ut:
Caeli a’spark aer calidus et argutae
Saturnia degradauit knelled eorum
IMPETUS hac penna, pinna Sample meum,
Ego reprehendo in civitate illa, et date May frondosum.
O par felis tigris lectuli erraverunt.
Et habitavit in meretricia vita voluntatis,
Caeli in turpis, etiamnum acrior aer.
Title : Pourquoi?
Author : Hellon
And…
as a rusting boat slouched sulkily
against the evening sky
and pebbles terraced
the shoreline,
I meandered at the ocean’s edge
gazing towards a far-off horizon
wondering…
…WHY?
@Hellon 29th July 2016
1.Archimedes helped the Greeks make weapons.
He got his ideas in the bath.
So if you want peace,don’t take a bath.
And never go out with anyone called Eureka.
I expect she got blamed for not warming his towel.
Maths is still used in warfare.Research in the USA may still be funded by the military as it was in the 60’s…..I know
2.Zeno liked tortoises.
He invented the paradox of the tortoise and the hare….
Don’t go there.
I told you.
3.Euclid liked triangles very much.
Freud did too.
What do we conclude?
Three is harder than two.
Four is even harder.
Permutations and combinations.Lead me on………..
Heidegger’s IQ was so high
He saluted the Nazi’s sans sigh
He stuck to their line
Beyond reasonable time
The zeitgest sank ;Europe must pay
Heidegger seduced Hannah Arendt
When she was at first his student
Today it’s called
Sexual harassment.
Politically incorrect
But moreover she was Jewish.
So no doubt he thought it was a favour.
A child would have been Jewish!
Kerfuffle,kerfuffle,I feel very ruffled
The dog’s in the manger today
Kerfuffle,my duffel,my thoughts are still muffled
I don’t know what I ought to say.
Carfuffle is Scots and it stifles my hots
The dog has gone out for its pay
My man bought a gun and I heard a loud shot
I ‘m not going outside to play.
Commotion,demotion I hate all emotion
I’m as cold as an iceberg depraved.
My man is a liar,the church lost its spire
Now we must have false delays/
What a word is to me, it may not be to thee.
That’s all I wanted to say.
I’ll go to the city and find what I see
Then somebody else must make pay
The sky is stark ,the air is cool and still
The black cat’s run,the birds unfold all day
I sit down here and with a totty pray
Ye cast o’ foolish thoughts, you raped my will.
We’ve each enraged the bureaucratic mills
Oh frigid purse, I never meant to pay!
The sky ‘s a’spark,the air is warm and shrill
The saturnine demoted knelled their way
With this feathered pounce, my sample quill,
I cite the cheque and date it leafy May.
Oh,tit for cat, the tiger’s bed ‘s astray.
And now life’s settled by a harlot’s will
The sky ‘s a shark, the air is sharper still.
Between the world of nature and our eyes
We place a boring screen of thoughts like flies
So miss the joyous flight of circling birds
By interposing far too many words.
How often do we gaze into a face
Imprinting on our heart its dear embrace?
How often are we fearful of that touch;
Is its love and hate now far too much?
When do we hear the music of a voice;
Leaving our ears empty for this choice?
As receptacles for our own bursting thoughts
We pour them into orifices caught.
So depriving are we to our own dark hearts
We fail to let all’s thoughts play their right parts.
I was listening to a lecture by Adam Philips about Hamlet and he gave me the idea of thoughts as characters or the cast of a play
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Fuffle was first used in Scottish English, as early as the 16th century, as a verb meaning “to dishevel.” The addition of the prefix car- (possibly derived from a Scottish Gaelic word meaning “wrong” or “awkward”) didn’t change the meaning of the word considerably. In the 19th century carfuffle, with its variant curfuffle, became a noun, and in the 20th century it was embraced by a broader population of English speakers and standardized to kerfuffle. There is some dispute among language historians over how the altered spelling came to be favored. One theory holds that it might have been influenced by imitative words likekerplunk, where the syllable ker– is simply added for emphasis.
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Wittgenstein
Drank wine
Like cats
To pat
Alfred North Whitehead
Was very shortsighted
He worked out with Russell
Their minds used to jostle.
Principia Mathematica?
I’d rather wear a catheter
Iris Murdoch
Drank dandelion and burdock
She wrote of the Good
Right where she stood!
We don’t have hate crime here in Dent
For we ‘re reet up the dale
The road’ s that steep ,it scares the sheep
And blocks the Daily Mail.
We don’t care what race God made you
If you will sup our ale
Some can’t take the bitterness
Southerners shall turn pale.
If you are blonde,please don’t abscond
We like the Viking cast
We also like the thick black hair
With which our doctor’s blessed.
We liked mixed races up the hills
And we like them down
We go to bed, and swing the lead
While the old do frown.
So some kids have big blonde curls
And some have straight black hair
Some have eyes like damson sloes
All exceeding fair.
Up here in winter it’s not fun
For all we do is knit
We can’t get down to any town
So must employ wa wit.
The evenings long ,we pass with song
Just as do the Finns
The women knit,the men all spit
Straight out into the bins.
We’re making wa first album now
It’s called the Magic Newt
We combined Handel and the blues,
Jazz and our steel boots.
We also like to rock and roll
And ,man,wa rocks are big
So if you come to old Dent town
Don’t try to steal wa pig.
The cooing of doves
In this humid heat of June
Reminds me of days with you.
The M25
Makes a circle round London
Beyond that are fields.
In a green valley
Near the home of Henry Moore
The river murmured.
We drove through a ford
With your mother and father
That still thrills me.
But not one of you
Can share that memory now
Dad went the first
How he loved the shed
In Henry Moore’s big garden
Full of shells and rocks
The shed’s clear window
Showed a sheep track up a hill
Green,now far away.
Little miracles
In his last stay in our home
National Garden Day.
He made me chuckle
As he wandered down ginnels
While Mother went,Tch.
We used to lose him
But usually he turned up
Until the last time.
They went to London
Then ate in Swan and Edgars
Stories to take home.
You were like he was
Funny,kind and wandering
Off the beaten track.
I knew I’d lose you.
But that made no difference
To my sorrowing.
Now I recall you
To save these sweet memories
And to answer me.
How will you cry out?
Would you send a collared dove
To coo from our old tree?
How my heart sings 