Annie the nubile ex-mistress of Stan and colour fancying neighbour of Mary has persuaded Mary that as Stan has run away she should find someone else.Mary is doubtfulFirst of all,Annie cried,you need some brand new delicate shoes.No man will be charmed by those chunky ,comfy flatties.Nor do your socks show sophistication.Though a farmer might be happy with themShe herself wore a pink tweed suit and some high heeled boots in purple patent leather over a blue silk pair of socks.
Well,Mary,answered,I thought I should be myself because they might be annoyed being tricked.I would be.
That’s their problem said Annie somewhat rudely.
Well.where do I get the sort of socks a man would like,if indeed all men are the same in that way?
I’d stick with silky black ones,said Annie kindly.Then some smart black pumps.That simplifies life.
But if I look at Soul-mates online the men will not know what shoes I have got on nor socks
That’s true,said Annie.At least until you meet one if you ever do.
Anyway if it is called Soul-mates,why does my body matter?
Don’t be so literal,dear.You know it’s just a way of indicating they want a lover.
Well.in that case it’s my lingerie that matters more than my shoes.
See here,said Annie bossily.With those shoes and socks nobody will want to see your lingerie.
Just as well ,said Mary calmly.I don’t have any.
Are you telling me you have no underwear on,Annie cried with shock in her tone.Your trousers will need washing more often!!
I am wearing some woollen vests and underpants I got for Stan,Mary said shyly.I like wool.
What do you think a man will assume if you wear that?
That I can’t afford to have the fire on,Mary queried timidly.
He might think you are transgender.
I have heard of transcendence but not transgender,Mary admitted ruefully.I did used to have a purple bra, she continued distractedly.
Anyway, what about my learning and job as a maths prof?
Don’t put anything about maths on the form.They hate clever women.
Surely they are not all the same,Mary answered.Mary Archer is very clever and she’s been married 50 years
You can’t generalise from one example ,Annie informed her statistically
How about my love of Wittgenstein?Shall I mention it?
If you wear men’s woollen underwear and love a dead,gay philosopher it will cut down the pool of men available.
I don’t think I’ll bother,Mary whispered.I don’t like fishing.I’d rather have a cup of tea.
Really.said Annie.I don’t know why you decided to try this.
I never did it was you.I am quite happy as I am given the dangers of this world.
And so say most of us.Amen.
When my love's gone and doom hangs over head
When life runs like a river to the sea
Then shall I take new lovers to my bed.
And with their carnal touch consoled be?
When true loves lie and break my woman's heart.
When life seems grey and rocks bestrew my path.
Then, shall I my life of evil start
And on the world shall I bestow my wrath?
When true loves lie and wreck all loyalty.
When puzzlement makes all the world seem mad.
Then I shall upend causality
And let myself do deeds which make me glad.
For I will not retaliate in hate
Despite my grief, a new life I'll create
The small birds are singing above me
Two hearts are entwined in my dreams
I shall need to be here when you call
For I have a vocation for life.
And I need to write at least fifty poems
Before autumn weather arrives
The man in the raincoat bereaved
Had a large parcel for me.
It was the book of your mother’s new poems
Just as I saw in my dreams
There were sonnets and tercets of sorts
I did not recognise others at all
I wonder will my cousin call
I so want to see him arrive
After a meta- journey by horse and by cart
Is the poetry reminiscent of me?
My nightmare and all of my dreams
Contribute to the themes of my poems
The illusions I create in my dreams
Have their voices and they play their part
But illusions are not aimed to decide
They are soporific nightmares on TV
I roam all around in my rhymes
Till a metaphor arrives to oblige.
I wonder if the schema of dreams,
More often our wishes distort;
So it is transcribed in our poem
What possibility drives
The collection of folk I call me?
But it may not be this me at all.
As rolling stones gather no moss
At this point in time, one must get started
Or the best part of the day will be gone.
I think many poems are gross
Like many young lovers are parted.
And I’m answerable to no-one.
Actually, I don’t give a toss.
My vocation has been somewhat thwarted.
I could just eat two sponge cakes or one.
Many folks suffer a loss
And maybe some are hard hearted
Actually I just ate your scone.
Writing like this is like floss
Ing your teeth when they are bartered
I feel like a biscuit or ten
How to Write a Bad Poem in 9 Easy Steps
I thought writing bad poetry came naturally but read this!
“The power of the metaphor, simile, parallel… figurative language is not only a good way to put things into perspective, but metaphors are easier to remember than a complex set of interactions. This is a way to grasp deeper meaning from perhaps a very mundane, or complex identity.
It builds an understandable identity with which to contrast that is easier to grapple and engage in, in the process building pathways in your brain that would have been stopped cold otherwise.
And poetry exercises this muscle by encouraging figurative language providing a sounding ground for your ideas, feelings, reminiscences by putting them into a concrete perspective.