The ansafone


Unless you are Leonard Cohen,don’t leave a message,If you are,Yes.
There  is someone here,me, but I am not going to answer your call.So that’s it
I’m afraid I have gone mad.Please call someone else.
I am feeling very tired and am in the oven to keep warm.The phone won’t fit in.
If you knew how bad I felt you would not be ringing me today.
I am writing a thesis to pin to the front door.Await events or resolutions.
Just because I have a phone does not mean I have to answer it
I have joined a silent religious order.It’s just me and God.And he speaks a different language than me.And he will never answer the phone.
I feel very sorry for you ringing me up day after day.I do not want to marry anyone,it’s not personal.
Did you know my phone bill is more than the gas?Neither did I! So phone off.I am pulling it out by the roots.I blame Sylvia Wrath.Well, actuallyI understand her totally.
Just think, a mobile phone  might have saved Sylvia… that is really sad, being alone with two infants in that terrible winter and having no telephone.You don’t have to be crazy to go mad.

Thank you, EU



I looked at my data and for the first time the European Union is the biggest number in   my visitors list, just beating my delightful  friends in the USA.
I don’t know why that should  be unless WP has  amalgamated countries like France,Germany etc.And no doubt His Majesty is peering at me wondering who is telling me what is no good and what should be kept! I’ll see him in my dreams where we clean the oven and  look after hundreds of magical cats which stops us going out.So far he  has not spoken much but that is not unusual.

Frees the taunting demons from their towers

True anguish hides her face  in times like these
Where  hate and anger blend  and  are appeased.
Where   men and women hesitate to speak
Gomorrah,Sodom,waltz, ah, Viennese.
By this display  we judge  the future bleak.
The spirits freed by  disbelief now freeze.
Atheism turns,till paganism it greets.

For humans need a myth by which to live
To say God’s dead no energy will  give.
From reawakened  pagan gods   comes  power.
Energy,  the psychopath deals  with.
Comes the man and comes the evil hour.
He sees no  problems ,asks none to forgive.
Frees the  taunting demons from their towers

Does he think he’s god and can control
The men of  darkness gathering their haul?
I fear he sees less than a beggar poor
Who leans defenceless by an empty wall
And in the wall ,there is no open door.
Yet there is a trap, a drop. a jail.
Tortures thought historic  are adored.



His nose a beak of bone in old face lined



Against  sadness:no-one here must weep
Nor lounge  about in melancholy deep
Was Van Gogh senseless to permit  his muse.
For  even masterpieces  ,was the price too steep?
We see the yellow chair  but not his views
Nor his  mind where technique made great leaps.
Nor was his journey broadcast on the news.
Against sadness.

Happiness  or joy is hard to find
When we rest, the News preys on our minds
Yet some are  cold  towards the slaughtered priest
His nose a beak of bone  in old  face   lined
Now Muslims go to Mass and join Christ’s feast
Against sadness.

What rages in the mind make men  kill thus?
In Syrian wars  the  innocents fare worse.
But these are our near neighbours so we weep
And wonder how to end the  frightening curse
The sins we once committed hold us deep
We  hold our hands out wanting to be nursed
Against sadness

Spell or trip?


 Goodbye, you cow
Speak  of the horror.
Love bee do.
You blather
A design fit for flu
Must go sweep  in the flue.
I need someone false.Not Hugh
Why,why, for now?
Gotta flow.
Kiss off
By four today.
God’s by now.
The tap is singing.
The phone has an evil book on it.
Must fun now.
Thank you,I ‘m Dutch.
You are so fined.
Weep my secrets, tease.
I  nearly love hues.
Write in the Ewe Year.

I bet she never wears a baggy fleece!

To myself,I look quite young  and daring
I wear my clothes of pink and purple lush.
My silver hair looks blonde like Helen Mirren’s
Except that mine looks  like it  needs a  wash



I wear my clothes of pink and purple lush.
My shoes are purple too I must confess
My beauteous hair looks like a  great  thorn bush.
My vest is moth-holed, like my winter  dress

My shoes are purple too I must confess
Purple heather   covers Northern  moors
My hat is  purple, like my winter  dress
Some use  such heather as a mattress coarse.

Purple heather  dresses Northern  moors
Higher than the  fiercest sheep will go
Some use  such heather as a mattress coarse
Beware of  rabid rams  so wild they  roar.


To myself,I look quite lined   yet caring
I wear my clothes of pink and purple  loose
My silver hair looks  unlike Helen Mirren’s
I bet she never wears a baggy fleece!

The pantoum again



Quote:A good example of the pantoum is Carolyn Kizer’s “Parent’s Pantoum,” the first three stanzas of which are excerpted here:

     Where did these enormous children come from,
More ladylike than we have ever been?
Some of ours look older than we feel.
How did they appear in their long dresses

     More ladylike than we have ever been?
But they moan about their aging more than we do,
In their fragile heels and long black dresses.
They say they admire our youthful spontaneity.

     They moan about their aging more than we do,
A somber group—why don’t they brighten up?
Though they say they admire our youthful spontaneity
They beg us to be dignified like them

Love knows what to do


Some folk are made of rubber
Some folk are made of glass
And when the stormy winds blow
Rubber lets it pass.


Some folk have eyes like water
Some have eyes like ice
And when we’re introduced to them
We do not look there twice.

Some folk have learned to use us;
;Some folk give us respect.
With those who cannot see us
We cannot connect.

Some folk where born to sunshine
Some folk were born to storm
And fears imagined in the mind
Can cause such dreadful harm

Oh,hold me to your bosom
Oh.hold me close to you
Some folk were made to hate and fear
But love knows what to do. knows what to do.
Love knows what to do