https://hbr.org/tip/2015/09/to-get-more-done-let-your-mind-wander

My mind wandered out of my body
And flew over the fencing next door
I saw with its eyes
Ten invisible spies
Lying on my old shed floor.

Sometimes we daydream of winning
The lottery or football pools
Selfishly dreaming
And following it scheming
Ia  sensible only for fools.

But day dreams spontaneously flowing
Can bring us creative ideas.
Archimedes was in the bath
Andrew Wiles on a path
When genius  became suddenly  near.

I dreamed I was knitting a sweater
From the hair of my friends’ Russian cat
A pattern was given to me
With a big mug of tea
Till the cat leaped  off me   to chase a rat

It was a mouse that  it chased round thr table
But mouse does not rhyme well with cat
So reality must alter
Or  poetry  will falter
While the cat sits benign on the mat

My doctor is sometimes sarcastic
But irony’s more of his mode
He looks at computers
And sits on  the routers
What does this activity bode?

I lie when I say he’s sarcastic
He’s as well spoken as any nice man
I will not mythologise
Nor will I patronise.
I am kindly and therefore I am.

He says, you  look well when I meet him
Crossing the waiting room floor
He is  extremely civilised
Enigmatic, not horrified
When He gets up and opens the door.

https://www.vocabulary.com/articles/chooseyourwords/irony-satire-sarcasm/

Quote

Sarcasm is insincere speech. Your mom asks if you’re excited to start cleaning the kitchen and you say, “Yeah, right,” when you mean “Heck no.” Take this exchange from The Hunger Game

http://www.isitironic.com/ironiq.htm?IroniQ=4474

You can ask for a judgment on whether something is ironic.

Example:

I was having difficulty opening a small bottle of “liquid bandage” to protect a cut on my finger when I cut another finger on the cracked lid of the bottle?…

• 50% IRONIC
• 50% NOT IRONIC
• Vote now!

» View This Ironic Question & Vote

http://www.dailywritingtips.com/what-is-irony-with-examples/

From the article below

http://www.almanac.com/content/first-day-fall-autumnal-equinox

The British seem to be obsessed by the weather.But often that is  because we need small talk and ,especially at the moment, we don’t want to talk about politics,Brexit,Syria, and  other terrible wars and disasters.The weather has been unusual recently being much warmer than normal so  that gives us simple to talk about when we meet neighbours in the street or at the bus stop.
But ought we do this when we are in some people’s eyes wasting time? Well,I think it is a good idea to talk to neighbours and people who live alone.Mind you living in the South  of England I feel some of the ways people behave down here are shocking like inviting you to look at their holiday photos but not letting you sit down.And if you do sit down they can look put out.Then they moan about awful  foreigners!I prefer the foreigners.
In fact ,I was treated as a foreigner when I came here.Even now people ask me where I come from.I think I’ll say China next time

http://www.newstalk.com/What-makes-a-poet

This is a  difficult question nowadays when most poetry id free verse and often incomprehensible to many people.Anyone can call themselves a poet thought ironically the best ones may not.

http://mentalfloss.com/article/62431/16-famous-authors-tips-writing-better-poetry

William Wordsworth famously loved to set out on foot at all hours of the day to clear his mind, and even went on a walking tour of France in 1790.

They are waiting for our partitions.
Hail glorious St Brexit.so  bad for our isle.
Say but the word and my sole shall be heeled
Popes all Polish   get unreeled
And  says God ,thou shalt Remain.
England needs  a sovereign vagrant.
To God’s feat we will say naught.
My identity is being human.
I will wash your  torn bare feet.
Jesus wants  me to Remain here,
far from Brexits so displayed.
If I need to spend a penny ,
I agree  that Jesus paid.
And f  tell you in this country
You are free to get  eggs laid.
Crazy,hazy,well It paid.

Oh,John Joe was a farmer’s son
They lived up in the hills.
When he went to tend his sheep
He  gazed  on cotton mills.

The rivers ran with water pure
And so provided power
Yet over these dark  and ruined towns
The heathered hills did tower.

Mary was a local girl
She walked out on the moors
She wore a dress of silky cloth
Printed with tiny flowers.

John Joe saw Mary dear
When he was dipping sheep
She peered over a dry stone wall
And saw the new lambs leap.

Her hair was long.Her hair was gold
Her eyes singularly blue.
In John Joe’s eyes she was so fair,
What was a man to do?

He watched her walking all alone
Was she sad or sick?
He showed her how his dog behaved
He showed her shepherds’ tricks.

Then one day,he held her hand
As they walked to the Pike.
They stood up there and gazed all round
So John thought he would strike.

He bent down on his right knee
And spoke to Mary then.
I’ve loved you ,Mary, since we met
I hoped we’d meet again

Mary smiled with her blue eyes;
Her lips were pink and bright.
I love you too and love the hills
And. love the summer light.

The next year they were married
Mary wore white lace.
She looked so happy then
To know she’d her own place.

The church bells rang,the people sang
John and Mary wed!
And naturally, when the  evening came,
At last, they went to bed.

When Mary lay in John Joe’s arms
She knew this was her home.
And so for many. many years
On those loved  hills they roamed.

They cared for sheep and hens and goats
They cared for children three.
They never had a falling out
But talked beneath a tree.

From youth to age the years went by
But John still loved his bride.
And Mary too was happy
With her  John  by her side.

Their faces,lined, were full of cheer
Their hair as white as snow
And everywhere that JJ went
Mary too did go.

Until the day came for his death,
He lay down in the grass.
Mary ran and held him close
And thus dear John did pass.

The muffled bells rang from the tower
John Joe was carried in.
The parson prayed and hymns were sung.
The sheepdog made a din.

In the dark earth, John was laid
While Mary wept and cried.
What will I do ,my  own sweet John ,
without you by my side?

So Mary grieved and wept and sighed
And thus she spent two   years…
The loss was great and bent her back
with the weight of care.

For when we open up our hearts
We feel both joy and woe.
This is the pattern of our love,
Which like  a river flows.

On Richmond Hill,he made a pass
On Richmond Hill there is no path as fresh as a ram’s horn.
In Richard’s till he felt an ass.
On witches hill she baited breath
With quiches will she him impress?
She met him in the garden where the waiters glow.
He sat her by   a hoarding where disclaimers show
Ye Hanks and Braids, your hairs in bloom
The Yanks and Knaves of sunny doom
Sundered by the churches, I sit and scream for Lou.
Charlotte’s  wisdom tried her heirs.
Careless bliss, come  by me soon
Harlot’s wisdom  left him bare.
Speed bonny oath,like a swear on the wind.
She jumped off the hedge and came too in the corn.
She jumped up a ledge and roamed free  with his horn
The fishing hens of England go out to pee  and nip.
The clock    rang.It says,please wind me up.Can’t it amuse itself tonight?
The clock rang twelve.It only does it to annoy me.After it finishes it’s nearly one.Bong.

http://hazlitt.net/feature/there-has-be-less-school-interview-nicholson-baker

This website has many interesting interviews and podcasts

Charlie Blogge had gone away to visit his aged parents for a few days down in Cornwall so Rosa Benchez was alone except for her three cats and four houseplants which she had just brought indoors.Though she could have writtena  bit more in her book
Linguistics and Peace on Earth.
Can plants feel emotion? she asked her oldest cat, Lucy who was a pretty tortoiseshell
Definitely ,said Lucy.I have known plants to get depressed when in a dark corner.
Oh,dear,said Rosa,it’s the weekend so the surgery is shut.I hope these plants do not go into a downward spiral in their mood now that the days are shorter.I suppose I could ring 999 if they were desperate.
They won’t allow plants in the hospital,Lucy mewed.
Why not,asked Rosa angrily.That is sheer discrimination.We pay our contributions.
But the plants don’t pay ,do they.Lucy retorted cheerfully.Cats don’t get free healthcare either.
Socialism made a big mistake there, cried Rosa.Since the English prefer animals to people they would have won the  Election if they proposed free pet care on the NHS
Imagine, it would have created more jobs as well, she continues academically.And plant care is needed as plants can feel ill at times.
Yes,we can, cried the Peace Lily.I feel ill knowing there is not much peace in the world.
Humans don’t realise they may win a war but the conflict makes their health suffer even if they are too old to fight.And within families it is just as bad.
You are so right,Peace,Rosa said thoughtfully.We always assume it is our inner conflicts that make us neurotic or physically ill,but it may be that at the back of  our minds we are aware of all the wars, the refugees, the suffering.Outer conflict makes us all sick to some degree.And quarreling relatives and people who can’t apologise.
Do you have any rain water,Peace demanded.I feel thirsty.

Is that enough,Rosa cried.I can make you some weak tea if you like.
Oh,go on then, the plant told her.Give me a teacup full of tea with no sugar. nor milk How about you, she carried on turning to her sister Pax.
OK.Pax told her.Whither  thou goest…
She’s Jewish,said Peace to Rosa.Her real name is Ruth.But nobody uses it as Pax is shorter.She won’t grow on the Sabbath,though.
Will you miss talking to the trees in the garden while you are indoors? Rosa asked, before any more Bible references were offered.
Yes,definitely.Can you buy a few tall,male looking plants like bamboo or even grape ivy?
We like a mixture.All living beings like a mixture of friends.
How about human friends or even cats,Rosa said tactlessly
Yes, as long as they talk in soft musical voices.And we don’t like to watch violent films on TV nor to see cats fighting on the sofa.,Peace informed her.Violence hurts our inner core
And so say all of us

http://news.stanford.edu/news/2011/october/poetry-troubadour-songs-101211.html

My heart takes root in her and grips with its nail,
holds on like bark on the rod,
to me she is joy’s tower and palace and chamber,
and I do not love brother as much, or father, or uncle;
and there’ll be double joy in Paradise for my soul,
if a man is blessed for loving well there, and enters.

– Arnaut Daniel, 12^th century

I fear you calling me
I fear you spoiling me
Underneath the  heartache
Fanny’s ploy.
Fanny’s goy.
God didn’t bake those little green  apples.
On Rich Man’s Hill.
The rich man’s pill?Cockayne
Lull her sigh angled flight
Singe a psalm with me.
Singed my pan again
This is no way to say good’s nigh.
Take this schmaltz
Make this false
Dance me to the band above.
Dance  me with your hands of love
The pose of Tralee.
The clothes of a bee.
Annie’s rung.
Annie’s Jung.
Zany blung

[Leonard Cohen] “… So one day, a few years ago, I was in a car, on my way to the airport. I was really, really low, on many medications, and pulled over, I reached behind to my valise, took out the pills, and threw out all the drugs I had. I said, ‘These things really don’t even begin to confront my predicament.” I figured, If I am going to go down I would rather go down with my eyes wide open.”

Leonard Cohen On Psychotherapy

One notes that psychotherapy is not part of the joke.  As Cohen told Stina Lundberg in a 2001 interview:

I don’t trust them [psychological explanations]. As I say in that song: “I know that I’m forgiven, but I don’t know how I know; I don’t trust my inner feelings, inner feelings come and go.” I think that psychological explanations can be valuable and that psychotherapy can be valuable for some people, but the fundamental question of how and why people are as they are is something that we can’t penetrate in this part of the plan, that we simply cannot grasp, and the feelings that arise – we don’t determine what we’re going to see next, we don’t determine what we’re going to hear next, taste next, feel next or think next, we don’t determine, yet we have the sense that we’re running the show. So if anything is relaxed in my mind it’s the sense of control, or the quest for meaning. And my experience is that there is no fixed self. There’s no-one whom I can locate as the real me, and dissolving the search for the real me is relaxation, is the content of peace. But these recognitions are temporary and fleeting, then we go back to thinking that we really know who we are.

And he told another interviewer in 2001:

For one reason or another, I didn’t have any confidence in the therapeutic model. Therapy seems to affirm the idea unconditionally of a self that has to be worked on and repaired. And my inclination was that it was holding that notion to begin with that was the problem — that there was this self that needed some kind of radical adjustment. It didn’t appeal to me for some odd reason.⁹

Asked if he had tried psychotherapy, Cohen told another interviewer,

I preferred to use drugs. I preferred the conventional distractions of wine, women and song. And religion. But it’s all the same.¹⁰

For the record,

Cohen did go to a therapist once, actually — out of desperation. He was so depressed that he called a friend and asked if she could arrange for him to see her therapist straightaway. Then he drove to St. John’s Health Center in Santa Monica “at about five miles an hour,” barely able to negotiate the traffic. When he got there, the therapist asked him to describe his feelings. After Cohen had finished, she said, “How can you stand it?”¹¹

Samsung and Delilah
Sam sung  it by her.
Eve and the Apple
She gave him her nipple
Believe me,he’s supple.
Sony at times with intermittent towers
Sony wonder I am mad after living with UHU all my life
Nokia  than thou? I’ll goggle later
Nokia or ring the bell below
Nokia or we will not hear you calling me
Nikon,babe.I am all fears
Nikon my door anytime.
Microsofter by a  thin layer  of molecules
Google with fluoride mouthwash
Frugal by nature.
Alcatel  it off and then what will you do?
Alcatel something was wrong.
Motorola   the lawn for me
Motorola for the Sabbath meal
LG needs you.Say when.
LG is the son of BG
Siemens they never met after all
Siemen don’t see it like women.
RIM  is grim says Finn.
Sorry,  I can’t answer your call.My Samsung  has  over-deleted itself and I am hot with fury.

When You Don’t Know What to Write, Write About Your Insecurities

http://www.writermag.com/2015/02/18/poetry-quotes/