A passport to love

While her potato was baking Rosa decided to wash her hair.The first thing she found was Persil Silk and Wool wash.She poured it over  her head and rubbed it in.Just then the new doorbell rang.Today it was playing Puppet on a string ,made famous by Sandy Shaw.She opened the door and found her fellow academic Charlie Blogge  outside.
What is that strange concoction on your head,he asked?
I am waiting for a thunderstorm to rinse it off, she admitted shyly.
Have you  no piped water,he asked furtively.
Yes,but I am on a meter.I save money by bathing in the rain, she said softly.
That explains a lot,Charlie thought
Do you use an antiperspirant?
Why are you asking questions, she said sheepishly.Do I smell?
He approached her gingerly and sniffed loudly.Delightful ,he cried.What is it?
Rose and wisteria water in a bed of lettuce…sorry, that is the menu for my dinner party.
Am I invited ,he asked gently? I can lay the table
It is  not a carpet, she said humorously.I am doing mock turtle soup which is a jelly and then lamb chops with mushrooms and garlic.After that ,I have decided to make a Russian cheesecake with almonds.
Why,can’t you buy any Russians in Waitrose ? Why did you decide on that?
I said,Oh Lord, where is the Penguin Jewish Cookery book and immediately it fell onto my head.It is quite small,luckily.
Wow, that’s odd he said  curiously Why did God do that  yet not kill Hitler?
We don’t understand.Maybe we can’t understand however he would not have dropped the North Korean cookery book onto my head.
What sort of food do they eat? Charlie asked
I imagine it’s rice and veg ,she murmured.
What a lovely voice you have, Rosa.It reminds me of High Force Waterfall in Upper Teesdale  in a drought
That is a very unusual compliment,Rosa cried anxiously
He bowed politely.It’s no more than you deserve, he responded.By the way, I  have decided to get married.
To whom, she asked curiously?
Can’t you guess, he teased her.
Animal,vegetable or mineral?
He took her in his arms and whispered, will you be mine?
As long as I don’t have to boil your hankies I shall accept on one other condition
What is that?
We buy a very big bed
Don’t you want to snuggle up to me? he asked rashly.
No,I want an electrified fence down the middle!
By gum, she’s gone mad, he told himself
You must  stop following Donald Grump. It’s all walls and fences
You are right she said, we’ll build a wall down the middle and then we’ll need passports before we make love.
Well,said Charlie,you certainly have some unusually  creative ideas.
And so say all of us.

 

 

Mary reads a manual and admires L.Cohen on youtube

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Mary sat by the window ,which she had meant to clean, reading Windows 8.1.The Missing Manual.The one great advantage of this new Windows system was that it seemed one no longer needed to instal anti-virus programmes.So much time is taken up by looking after older versions that Mary was not surprised that Chromebooks were now very popular.Yet even so,she enjoyed learning new skills and it’s not as if they are like the theory of quantum physics or even studying nonlinear algebra and baking cakes.
Stan her husband had taken Emile ,their naughty cat for a spin on his old sports bike which he still used when the feeling came over him and as they were only a mile from the edge of the mysterious town of Knittingham they were soon cycling through a deep green, quiet forest where Kings once hunted deer and no doubt chased women… or was it “hunted chaste women”?
Mary had decided to stay at home as she was expecting a new vacuum cleaner to arrive.She kept one eye on her book and the other on her neighbour Rick who was very handsome despite being 113 years old.He was hanging his washing on his large front hedge which was unusual in winter.Most of the people in the road had tumble dryers or heated rails.Some even hung their washing outside on lines to let the blustery winter air dry it and kill the germs which might survive in a low temperature machine wash
Maybe I should do some washing ,Mary thought.How about I do my annual sheet changing.I made a big mistake deciding it was to be in the winter,but,alas it is hard to change a routine.Am I a cyborg,she thought nervously,licking her lips till they were damp and red.
Maybe I should clean the kitchen floor too,she thought as she drew an elongated ellipse with some mud that had fallen of Stan’s shoes as he passed by.She looked down pensively at the pattern the mud had made on the lino.I wonder if I can predict our fortune by studying this pattern deeply,she wondered.Some people do it from the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup,so why not from mud.There seemed no logical reason why mud splatters should be worse than tea leaves.It is simply a pattern through which the Unconscious can send a message to us.
Why it could not speak in ordinary language nobody knew and nobody ever will.Not all questions have answers.How strangely dull life would be if that were so.Don’t you agree?I don’t.Not always

.Mary had just seen a short story relating a dream a woman had that she had fallen in love with a strong healthy hippopotamus and taken it home.Unfortunately when they went to bed the weight of the animal had made the solid oak bed collapse onto the purple and orange carpet.Unable to give up her love,she had spent the rest of her life trying to build a new bed out of sawdust.It seemed not unlike the labours of Hercules in a new form
Mary was sceptical.I can’t believe a woman could love a hippopotamus,even in a dream,she murmured.But even if it was not a dream but a conscious invention,what did that say about the person writing it?That she always fell in love with men who were too heavy for her and who pulled her down onto the carpet to make love whenever they felt the urge regardless of whether she was as flat as a pancake or even dead
A lion,yes, Mary mused,but never a hippopotamus.I mean,they have no expressions on their faces and could they drink tea in bed and chat?Unlikely.Still, other people’s dreams are a mystery.Even our own are but we can sometimes take the hint.
Suddenly she heard the doorbell ring.Who could it be now?
Alas it was only a Mormon trying to convert her which was no good as Catholics can’t be Mormons as well.They are what one might call mutually exclusive groups.As I have no wish to teach algebra I shall stop here.However if that disappoints you,why not read
“A survey of modern algebra ” by Birkhoff and MacLane.I did and see what has happened to me!

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Occasionally, some of your visitors may see a monster here

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How else explain that man in Cohen’s suit

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I eat my egg and chips  whilst  wise men  frown
They give advice and rush to  bring me down
An Oxbridge educated woman  can’t eat fries
So in McDonalds ,they have placed their spies

How else explain that man in Cohen’s suit
And on his feet, black polished Chelsea boots?
Such men would eat in foreign Restaurants
Not linger in Mc Donald’s penitent

Yes, all these people here  must be sent as   spies
From Oxford,Cambridge, even MI 5.
Yet I do not abandon my fried bread
Despite the Quantum Theory  wandering in my head

It’s probable that they are   eying me
Come ,thou loon , Len wants a cup of  tea

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With strange dejection, people stare dismayed

What strange selection have the parties  made
That Trump and Clinton are the chosen two.
In disbelief ,we stumble,   thinking frayed.
Such strange selection have the people  made
Their  Presidential choice ,discussed, displayed
The Reign of Night,Oh Hell, what  can we  do?
With strange dejection, people stare  dismayed
That Trump and Clinton seem the chosen two.

The triolet

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https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/triolet-poetic-form

“Though some employed the triolet as a vehicle for light or humorous themes,Thomas Hardy recognized the possibilities for melancholy and seriousness, if the repetition could be skillfully employed to mark a shift in the meaning of repeated lines.

In “How Great My Grief,” Hardy displays both his mastery of the triolet and the potency of the form:

     How great my grief, my joys how few,
Since first it was my fate to know thee!
—Have the slow years not brought to view
How great my grief, my joys how few,
Not memory shaped old times anew,
Nor loving-kindness helped to show thee
How great my grief, my joys how few,
Since first it was my fate to know thee?

The first line, “How great my grief, my joys how few,” is, in its two subsequent appearances, modified by the movement of time in the poem. Initially, the line assumes a declarative position, indicating the subject and tone of the poem, one of grief and love lost. By its third iteration, after several queries to the person being addressed, the line takes on the added weight of the speaker’s astonished grief that the addressee has not, despite the years, recognized the speaker’s profound sense of loss.”

I miss the self

I miss the self that I became with you
I miss your gaze as  broad as any hawk’s
I miss   your words that were with love imbued

I miss  your heart  and all our loving new
I miss your humor and  your potent thought
I miss the self that I became with you

I miss the words we fashioned   from  our view
The new ideas by which truths were taught
I miss   your words that were with love imbued

I miss the imitations you could  do.
Politicians were with laughter caught
I miss the self that I became with you

So much more, the more our knowing grew
As the depths new understanding brought
I miss   your words that were with love imbued

Context,frame,perspective all made new
From   the  flesh a  tenderness   was lit.
I miss the self that I became with you
I miss   your words that  made our love   anew