Day: September 18, 2016

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  the 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

I blocked cookies all my life

 

I  love you and you love me!
Believer!
Where on earth should I be?
Whenever.
I blocked cookies all my life
If you want one,ask the wife.
I eat spam, and google then,
I begin all over again.
whatever.

I ban websites for a living
But my wife is very forgiving,
Men ever!
I eat splogs and gurgle blogs
Then I cut up all the logs.
Whenever.
I’ve been married fourteen times,
They divorce me for my rhymes,
Whatever.
I eat cookies if I can,
If I can’t I get them banned,
Forever!
I’m the God of Monster Space,
I’ll destroy this human race,
Moreover.
If you meet me you won’t know
‘Cos I look like old so and so,
Whoever.
But I am mad and I’ll get you
I eat up this human zoo;
Together.
Whenever.
Can’t forgive,erhhhh.

Trust the Unknown Force that grew us

 Trust the unknown force that grew us,

From the joining of two cells;
An act of love and of self giving;
 Thus we can grow a newer self.

Trust the dark,the unseen aspects
Of the life we here do live.
Trust that there is Wisdom elsewhere;
Who to your empty self will give.

Wait in patience for the new  time
When inspiration  comes at last
Trust in darkness,silence,  lowness.
Oppostion forms the cross.

Pain is bearable in lowness,
Like the worm in earth I dwell.
When I look I see the sunrise

And I trust all shall be well.

 

I thanked him for being so intensely unkind.

I went to the doctor, he said I’d pre-flu.
I said “My dear doctor, what shall I do?”
Next time I went, he said “It’s pre- shock.”
And then I had pre measles,pre mumps and pre-pox
I ran to the doctor,he said ” You’re pre-well”
I said “Are you sure it’s not just a pre-quel?”
Next time I turned up,he’d gone out for a walk
It’s hard for a doctor who wants to pre-talk.
I went to the optician, who said I’m pre-blind
I thanked him for being so intensely unkind.
I went back to the doctor,and these words I said
“I’m pre -blind, pre-deaf,pre-ill and pre-dead!

23 Pilchard’s Avenue Knittingham KM2 0DEAR, Europe.

 

goodfriday1

Dear Anne,Please forgive me for not writing  especially  after I got such an intriguing missive from you.Emile had eaten all my stamps and Stan used to post things for me.I am afraid I have got very lazy
To save money in the long run, I have bought some nail clippers as I don’t really need the chiropodist,She came  to see Stan’s feet owing  to his diabetes.
I got a shock when I found my toe nails have gone very tough.It is quite difficult to get one foot on my knee with out dislocating my knee joints.I did it so now I am wondering if I can cut my own hair.Have you ever tried that? The choice seems to be to cut it all to  about 1/2 inch and let it grow how it will
Or just cut the sides as they seem longer than the back.
How can one get both sides to the same length? I thought of cellotaping my hair to my cheek and then measuring  say 1 inch  with more  tape and cutting off what lis below.As you know I like experimenting but  in this case it  might be trial and horror as an old physicist once said to me.
I get these weird ideas and can’t get them out of my head.
Emile’s coat does not grow ,which is extremely fortunate.imagine the expense of cuts and blow dries! He seems well and claims he talks to Stan in the night. He eats  robustly and sometimes I am tempted to  share his meal because it looks like the potted meat we used to have when I was a child.Not to mention I often forget to cook myself a meal and end up with a bowl of porridge.
I am planning to write a book for Kindle but so far all I have done is get Word 2016 as I was blackmailed  into getting more storage on One Drive and that came with Office 2016.
I also had to find my NI number in case  my book sells  because I will have to pay tax.Having done that I   have been too lazy to learn how to use it.
Now the hot spell has ended it feels really cold so I must find some socks.I bought some trousers in the Sales for £12 and they are fully lined.I  have been planning how to keep warm in winter and I had a brilliant idea.Wear two pairs of pants.  2 vests and some wool socks underneath 2  long sleeved tops and some trousers/long skirt.Then if it gets icy add a cardigan.Or two cardigans… 2  light coats and two wool hats. Then if one is too hot one can remove the layers gradually .
Which might mean being at a dinner party in  just two vests and two paits of knickers.So they will have to be in bright colours.
So far only  two men have befriended me.If  one  develops int a full relationship  imagine the thrill of  him undressing me layer by layer.He will probably die before getting  them all off.Is that what we call a  “defense machanism”?
It would be easier to ask him what he thought of Ray Monk’s book,The Duty of Genius…  a life of Wittgenstein.How many men will have read that and still the   energy to chase  women?.I suppose I’d better read the Daily Mail so I know what are the hot topics and TV  programmes like that Bakery Programme…. then they blame us for getting fat.
I am afraid I’ll have to stop here but will write again when I have bought some more Quink.
I do  hope Cambridge was not flooded last week and you are ready for the new term or is it a semester now? And  let me know about your book “Absence and the Love of God” I am desperate to read it.

Sending my  love

Mary xxx

and Emile xxxx

 

The Kingdom of God by Francis Thompson

jacobs-ladder-byzantiumimage002

 

http://www.themint.org.uk/z021.htm

245. The Kingdom of God
By Francis Thompson  (1859–1907)
O WORLD invisible, we view thee,
O world intangible, we touch thee,
O world unknowable, we know thee,
Inapprehensible, we clutch thee!
Does the fish soar to find the ocean,         5
The eagle plunge to find the air—
That we ask of the stars in motion
If they have rumour of thee there?
Not where the wheeling systems darken,
And our benumbed conceiving soars!—        10
The drift of pinions, would we hearken,
Beats at our own clay-shuttered doors.
The angels keep their ancient places;—
Turn but a stone, and start a wing!
‘Tis ye, ‘tis your estrangèd faces,        15
That miss the many-splendoured thing.
But (when so sad thou canst not sadder)
Cry;—and upon thy so sore loss
Shall shine the traffic of Jacob’s ladder
Pitched betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross.        20
Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter,
Cry,—clinging Heaven by the hems;
And lo, Christ walking on the water
Not of Gennesareth, but Thames

From Dante’s Inferno

One night, when half my life behind me lay,
I wandered from the straight lost path afar.
Through the great dark was no releasing way;
Above that dark was no relieving star.
If yet that terrored night I think or say,
As death’s cold hands its fears resuming are.
Gladly the dreads I felt, too dire to tell,
The hopeless, pathless, lightless hours forgot,
I turn my tale to that which next befell,
When the dawn opened, and the night was not.

(“Inferno” by Dante Alighieri)

Birches by Robert Frost

http://literarydevices.net/blank-verse/

This is blank verse.It is written in iambic pentameter like a sonnet but it has no rhymes

2012-01-22

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.
But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust–
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
(Now am I free to be poetical?)
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows–
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father’s trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It’s when I’m weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig’s having lashed across it open.
I’d like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:
I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.