I courgette
3 spring onions
Can of butterbeans
1 egg
about 1/ 4 pint milk
Depending on size and amount of veg you need more egg and milk as in a quiche
Chop onion and courgette and saute in olive oil gently
Put into a dish with butterbeans or chick peas [ even home cooked]
Mix egg,milk and seasoning
Pour that over the veg and cook in a medium oven about 30 minutes.Longer if you do a bigger quantity.
I thought our love was real , no more, I trust
Your persona was of cleverness and of heart
My judgment was disabled by my guts
I did not perceive as clearly as I must
I thought this love was real ,I gave my trust
You were biting and evasive when I asked
You took your blade and cut us both apart
I thought our love was real ,why did I trust?
You acted out fake wisdom and fake heart
I never would have known that at the start
The meaning was of power stoked up with lust
In your heart you never took a guest.
I wish you peace, be off Eternal Pest!
Philip K. Dick, from The Selected Letters of Philip K. Dick 1972-1973:
A person’s authentic nature is a series of shifting, variegated planes that establish themselves as he relates to different people; it is created by and appears within the framework of his interpersonal relationships
If you want to die because you have a severe terminal illness I just though going onto the Quicksands in Morecambe Bay is easier than jumping off a cliff.Plus nobody would see your body.Be kind.Vanish!I used to be terrified of it as a child
Don’t miss:
Coniston old pan
Coniston Owl-Man
Passing Water
Vast Water.
Herd Rot Pass
Herod’s Rut Pass
Fools’ Water
Free Pen with.
Ken Daly
Boats for Rear.
Boots on Fire.
Anorak free zone
Amble Sideways.
Carl Aisle
Glass Mere
White Haven
Sidle Water
Dare when Water?
Gulls Water.[real]
See Yellow?
No smooching with beer.
Bow Less on Windermere.Thank you
Range over Sands
Quicksand free over there.Hurry.
Rowless on Crimson Lake
Marrow in Furnace.
Sorrow in Earnest
Gullivers Stone.
Feet Path
Sheep track daily.Be alert
Gentle Home.
Convent Harry
Welcome Bay
The Kent Actuary.
Burntside Knot Hair Stylist
Golden Dale
More Came
Cairn Forth
Len Caster.
Bath Right
Ink Umbria
Date Vale Motel and Best Room for Sin
She’d never seem rainwater deeper than eyes
Mystery undisguised.
Round the rain puddle she ran and ran;
Too much for her dolly’s pan.
By reflections of trees ,she was hypnotised.
Curiousity’s often so wise
Oh,my dear sister what see you there?
I hope it’s a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide?
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sisters dear,let us float.
We’ll never see Daddy again, ‘cos he’s here
and down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel with his sharpest sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with long light brown hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two;
Eyes of one green and one blue
By the park gate side a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my dear sisters into the light.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
However the East wind does blow
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea
Don’t hope for what cannot be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool,
Held in God’s hand like a jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings must ride.
For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
Nothing and everything’s passed
“At this stage I am usually looking to shorten the lines, tighten the language, improve the vocabulary; to test out the rhythm and flow. I repeat this until I feel the poem communicates what I wanted to say. Sometimes it is difficult not to keep refining; it is important to know when to stop!
“What have you learnt about writing in the last 6 months?
So much! The Art of Writing has been life-changing! Here is my list; my aide memoir for becoming a better writer:
Metaphor.. my meat and drink.
Although I’m known for quaffing ink.
I need to play with words on line.
But writing proper poems takes time.
And I have no time to waste,
so I write by copy and paste.
A line from Donne a line from Blake,
George Herbert who-for goodness sake!
A bit of Shakespeare tossed and turned,
My poetry salads don’t yet earn.
Into the breach we’ll go dear friends
The Waste Land never seems to end.
To be or not to BBC ?
Shall we sometimes disagree?
Chaucer I have not yet read.
Is it good when one’s in bed?
Look,stranger,on this island now,
It’s illegal for you to milk my cow.
And ,also, we do not roast our geese.
Even when we have a feast.
Turning and turning in the gyre,
I think that church has got two spires.
The lake at Innisfree’s still there.
Is that where the Queen said prayers?
Who’d have thunk that Hughes and Plath
Never signed their autographs.
I like her poem about a mirror.
Some of them are full of horror.
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
On a brick or turtle dove.
I’m too tired to kiss you now,
I’ll massage your back and then I’ll bow.
The bed’s too small for all of us
I suggest Someone tries the bath.
If you put a duvet in
I believe you are your twin
When did Herriot plough the fields?
Was Dover Beach where my skin peeled?
I forgot to put my sunscreen on,
Off they all go one by one.
The lamp in outline is a sailing boat
When I draw it in two dimensions on the page
On it I travel to my furthest thought.
On jewelled Sea in blueness deep I float
Waiting for the guide I have engaged
The lamp in outline is a sailing boat
Where is he whose poety I quote?
Vanished,gone and left me in his rage
Shall I travel to my furthest thought?
Talents and rich appetites I sought
To make a pattern on my empty page
The lamp in outline is a sailing boat
So much fantasy, such dreams I wrote
To find the self which had been kept encaged
The lamp in outline is a sailing boat
On it I travel to my furthest thought.
The cello has a tender singing voice
Allows the feelings which we cannot say.
Among composers Bach might be our choice
The cello sings rich lyrics with her voice.
Rostropovich, Proms ; he played, of course.
Soviet armies marched, the Czechs were dazed.
The cello has a sorrowing truthful voice;
Speaks our feelings when we cannot pray.
Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate,
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few.)
You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods …
But there is no road through the woods.
.
If you want a certain thing, you must first be a certain person. Once you are that certain person, obtaining that certain thing will no longer be a concern of yours. – See more at: http://www.special-dictionary.com/proverbs/source/z/zen_proverb/#sthash.urq6ZfOl.dpuf
– See more at: http://www.special-dictionary.com/proverbs/source/b/biblical_proverb/5.htm#sthash.jj1cA4kD.dpuf
From Google maps.I like the part at the far right which looks older than the other part
When soft winds blow and air strokes our bare skin.
When days are long like melodies of youth,
when light wakes up the soul from out her sin
Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth?
When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown;
When water’s short and all plants are forlorn’
Then do not meet disaster with a frown,
For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born.
When winter’s here and all is quiet and still
And nothing seems to move or grow or speak
Then we shall learn the limits of our will
for through the soil the first green shoots will break.
For seasons change and actors come and go.
Yet through such changes, life is what we know
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/books/what-to-read/the-worst-poems-by-7-great-writers/
These are really funny and some are dreadful
We often don’t hear what people say even when we speak the same language.Sometimes it’s lack of attention,sometimes unconscious motivations when we don’t wish to know something.And in a foreign country we might try to understand by imagining it is English with a peculiar accent.I come from Lancashire and I am often asked if I am foreign.
À cœur vaillant rien d’impossible.
A curve ain’t ruined when impossible.
A curved ale wants ruin dim but possible
A curve ain’t tuned till impossible
A curved elephant reined in, possibly.
Accurately veiled ruins are impossible
À l’impossible nul n’est tenu.
Al.I’m possibly null; nest tonight?
Al,it’s impossible now,it’s not you.
A limp ,oscillating bull Not any who?
À quelque chose malheur est bon.
At Selkirk choose Mal;hurry,man
A kilt shows Mal’s hairs live on
A Sulker chose Mallory’s a bun
Après la pluie le beau temps.
Apprella,who’s she? Get the boat times.
Appeals and pleas elbow time
I pray that we get the boat on
L’arbre cache souvent la forêt.
Large cache,Susan,now for it!
Arbitrary dash;savant rolls in the forest
Library cash,Sue vents, let’s forget;
Aussitôt dit, aussitôt fait
Aussie toes date? Aussie toes fey!
Ossified totes date…Fay!
Also taught Dee,also taught Fay.
Autres temps, autres mœurs
Owe Tom,owe,Maire?
Ought we tamper,blight her hair?
Ought her stem cells to merge?
Over the top,over the murder.
Motor-man, a tremor?
Ode to Tom;ode to more?
It’s Autumn weather, geese fly by,
Autumn rust,red,gold,so gay
Drystone walls edging fields,
Apples gathered,holly berries
Flash so brightly
Look like flowers
Sun shines sideways,shadows long
Of trees appear.I dwell among
Woods where gentle beeches sing,
Swaying with the sideward wind.
See their roots, all intertwined.
Feel their geometry in the mind.
Look up now into the sky,
See the V formation high.
Geese fly home at end of day.
My heart is moved by patterned dance
In this peace and great silence
My mind widens like the sky
And in this moment I would die,
So I would stay with this still vision
Of geese set out on autumn mission.
Snails in rain pools slither near
My feet upon the terrace here
And look,upon their whorled backs
All the sense of life is packed.
And yet so easily Life’s destroyed
When blind foot steps into the void.
Like a child past reason waits for return
A hare jumping aghast from fiery corn
Like an impotent singer whose voice we spurned
What a child losing Mother has learned,has learned
Like a sinner suffering that pain which burns
Like the old and lost and all humans forlorn
Like a child losing hope of mother’s return.
A hare leaps up high,high from the fiery corn
Blood red the sun; blow the ram’s horn
Normal Distribution Cumulative Density Functions (CDFs) with standard deviation = 1.0 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Stan(d) Off (Photo credit: cenz)
English: Example of two samples with the same mean and different standard deviations. Red sample has mean 100 and SD 10; blue sample has mean 100 and SD 50. Each sample has 1000 values drawn at random from a gaussian distribution with the specified parameters. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Illustration of Standard deviation (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Stan was teaching social statistics to a group of elderly neighbors.Since he was 109 it gave them all hope to see him demonstrating his prowess with various techniques.He was planning to do some logic and philosophy too.Annie was sitting by the door so she could answer the bell if any paramedics turned up for tea.
I’m not going to calculate ” the standard deviations” he murmured.”I just want you to grasp the general purpose.”
“Deviations,they’re not normal are they?” enquired his neighbor “Henry,an ex-English teacher.”So how can they be standard.It’s confusing..”
“Are you thinking of deviants?” Stan enquired calmly yet firmly.”Certainly not,at my age I’m a bit past that!””Still it adds a bit of excitement to the class.” he thought.
How do words in ordinary language relate to those in Statistics?”asked Henry kindly.
“They are just more precisely defined in statistics.To say someone is a deviant is a rather vague term.”
“No,it’s not!My neighbor is a deviant.He always dresses entirely in yellow.”
“Well,that must be hard to do.Certainly unusual.” Stan agreed boldly.
“But in another country that might be the norm.So it’s a matter of context.In statistics it’s more boring.There’s a formula.It’s totally independent of context.Have you ever wondered why so many mathematicians have more than a touch of Asperger’s syndrome?”
“No,it’s not something that wanders through my mind much”replied Henry
A shudder passed through the room at hearing the word “formula“,which perhaps they considered something of a deviant!Anything with letters and numbers mixed together is certainly not welcome in many people’s minds, along with their more unusual sexual tastes,desires and inclinations which were kept secret even from themselves in many cases.
“Time for tea.” called Annie,hoping to divert their attention.She carried in a platter of mouse sandwiches kindly donated by the local ambulance service and some iced Victoria sponge she and Stan had made
the day before.
“Just a quick word about next week.We’ll take a look at ratios and proportions and maybe see how that relates to the concept of rationality.”
“That sounds fun!” Annie called encouragingly.Henry decided to act on a deviant desire and fell onto her lap.”Oh,dear!” she gasped loudly as the chair collapsed under her.”Why can’t you be deviant at home?”
“My wife won’t let me!” He kindlily answered.
“And look,” Stan continued,”we’ll have to ring 999.This chair is in fragments.I thought for one day we’d be able to avoid calling them out!”
“Well,life is not controllable.” said a quiet but fierce looking lady with sharp green eyes.”That’s what makes it tolerable“
She then greedily consumed a large piece of iced cake .
“I can stand the thinking if the cake is good” she whispered to her shy friend Amy.
”That’s rather a feeble argument,”Amy retorted.”You can’t really compare cake and statistics.”
“I’ll compare anything I like!” the green-eyed woman snarled loudly.
“You do what you like but you must keep a sense of proportion!”
“Now then,have you rung 999?” Stan queried of Annie.”Yes,here they are,and they’ve got a stretcher for the chair!”
“Well,that’s certainly unusual,even deviant“,Stan thought anxiously to himself.”Where do they get their funding? Is there a fund for distributing money to help chairs which are not normal?
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/speaking-figures
“In her evocative memoir, The Names of Things, the Egyptologist Susan Brind Morrow points to the origins of letters in the observation of nature, how the scuttle of crab claws on sand, for instance, influenced the hieroglyph for “writing.” To use words at all is to use them figuratively; we breathe metaphor, we swim in metaphor, we traffic in metaphor—and the verbs in those three phrases illustrate my point.
Poetry’s project is to use every aspect of language to its maximum effectiveness, finding within it nuances and powers we otherwise could not hear. So the poet needs to be a supreme handler of the figurative speech we all use everyday, employing language’s tendency to connect like and disparate things to the richest possible effects. In poetry, figuration is at its most sophisticated: condensed, alive with meaning, pointing in multiple directions at once.”
Some say it in poems,some say it in clothes,and some keep quiet
http://www.webexhibits.org/poetry/explore_obscure_triolet_examples.html
Trees swaying in the wind
Leaves
blow
down.
Birds flying through the sky
look
for
lorn.
Winter edges ever nearer.
Frost and fog will soon appear.
Cats sleep cozy by the fire
I clean the mud off my bike tires.
Trees swaying to and fro
sig
nal
love.
.
Birds flowing on air currents.
You’re my dove
How my heart sings 