COMPOSED WHILE SICK

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Oh,little town of Bethlehem divided by a wall,wail,wall
Hark the herald angel’s twang He’s from Gateshead,am I wrong?
Silence is golden,but my heart’s still blue. I had pneumonia,how about you?
Away with a stranger,no ribs in the bed. I saw his hanky and it was bright red.
God test you sorry gentlemen,let bath salts now be sprayed.
Silent knight,  hear our plight
We three kings all staring and bare.
Oh,come all ye hateful.
I saw an angel in the tree.I looked up and there he be
There is a green pill close at hand and it will give me rest
A tranquilliser it may be but some find brandy’s best.
What a friend we have in Yehoshua.He will speak when he is born.
There is no rose of much virtue.Only humans can now sin.
The holly killed the ivy.When they were both unsown
While leopards sllcked their locks by night,all pleated as we found.
Pale  victorious St Hat Trick

Our Rulers

William the Conjuror
William Jews First
Henry  the last shall wee first
Mathilda  the Truer
Stephen the Plain
Henry  came Second
Richard  the Flying Heart
John Magnum Started
Henry Curtains
Edward Assist
Edward  More
Edward  the Heard
Richard Who Beckoned
Henry the Horse
Henry Desist
Edward  got Hoarse
Edward went Past
Richard  the Curd.
Henry O’ Heavens
Henry O’Weights
Edward of Wax
Mary the Cursed
Elizabeth Last Tudor
James  Rue It
Charles Blew It.
Uncommon   Health:Oliver Crammed Hell
Charles  this Minute
James Stuart
William   O’ Hairy
Queen Anne
The Gorgeous
William   the Coarse
Victoria O’Reined

 

Nobody was going to examine her with a microscope

 

Mary was sitting looking at the execution of Mary Queen of Scots on TV while also mending some moth holes in her skirt.The only thread she got into the eye of the easy thread  needle was blue  but nobody was going to examine her with a microscope, she told herself gently
She also was thinking of her winter coat.Was raspberry really a good choice? Would dark grey  not be more useful?After all she often sat down  on garden walls while taking photos or even on old wooden  benches.What she needed was a folding cushion  or a small thick towel.No wonder women have such big  handbags.
Annie  her neighbour  came in the back door with a bag of broken biscuits.
Look at these!We used to get them in the market years ago.So for old times sake I have hit these with a hammer!
What sort of  hammer,Mary asked.
Why, are there different kinds?
Yes,but I expect yours is just the usual medium size.
Actually it was Ben’s.When he ran away he left it behind.
I suppose it was too heavy to fit into his suitcase.Where do he run to?
I don’t know,said Annie but as his sister in law went with him they might have gone to Australia.
Do men in Australia often love their sisters in law? Mary pondered
Who knows? The point is nobody would recognise them.Although if I went on  Saga holiday I might!More people travel now.My friend Jim went to Borneo  last yearm said Annie in a tone of wonder
So if we became lesbian lovers we could not hide in Borneo!Where could one hide now with all this travel?
Disguise might be best,Annie whispered.You could dress as a man!
You must be joking ,at my size.
Well, there are  plenty of fat men!
But would they have a shape like mine?

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So the two friends while away Saturday afternoon, both now darning Mary’s other clothes.
Why don’t you just buy new clothes,Annie  murmured kindly.
I can’t afford this quality.I shall have to keep combing Emile until I get enough fur to make into a thread.Then I can knit a scarf!
How ridiculous,You’d need a herd of cats to get enough,Annie informed  her with pity.
What a lovely idea,Mary cried,But Emile might be jealous.Or he might enjoy meeting a lady cat… or two.
I don’t think you could have more than six cats here and with food and bills it would be cheaper to buy wool
Still,a ball of wool is not so good to sleep by as a cat,Mary pondered slowly.And it has no loving eyes to look at when one comes in from the shops.
I suppose just  holding  wool in the hand might be very soothing,Annie retorted logically.
Otherwise we could join Soulmates she continued fluently.
Would men be attracted to a lady with darned moth holes in her clothing? Mary enquired humorously
Well, it  would show you were economical and thrifty,Annie cried sensitively
Surely that is not the main reason men choose a woman partner, said Mary wonderingly.
I suppose they like a woman with a gentle sensitive  nature.Annie screamed
Well.Denis Thatcher didn’t,Mary informed her delightedly
So true, but was she different once?
No, he wanted to be dominated.Mary decided.
I wonder if  he liked being whipped,Annie thought having read 5o shades of whey
She could have used the Government Whips, Mary chortled.
Both the women burst out laughing so much that  the sofa fell over and flung them onto the thick  red  and purple  striped acrylic carpet
That sofa  us unstable,Annie shouted.We could have died
Perhaps it’s us.Mary shrieked
Emile ran out into the kitchen and bit a piece out of  the Xmas cake.
I can’t help it, he mewed.They are both getting madder by the day
And so say all of us
Emlle’s a jolly good yeller
So pray  for all of us.

 

 

Using Microsoft Paint only

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Reality’s too little or too much

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Between the wish for  changlessness and thrill,
We seldom will be satisfied for long.
Neither is controlled by human will.
As into  stormy life, we all are flung
Self-deception  shields us from our doubts
We choose to pre-select what we will see.
Pretend to know what our life’s  all about
In  our little boats  on stormy seas.
Then  later we choose danger for its spice
And with daring climb the mountain with no ropes
We resist the offer of    advice
Till ,with broken bones, we sadly mope.
Reality’s too little or too much
So ,on our path, our hearts will surely lurch

Beware nicking leaks

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  • Beware flicking leeks
  • Between earth’s flock and a charred waste there’s a stench of blood
  • The sting   of the deeply glued bee
  • He fell between two Schools of ought
  • With you ,me  and the bed’s  ghost, there are three in our barrage
  • Beware of  freaks offering lifts
  • Beware the  lies of March
  • Beyond poor, then?
  • Beyond  the wail ,I heard a moan
  • Between me and a hired nerd was a laptop on wheels
  • As big as a house on speed
  • As  heavy as a lead knife
  • Big brother is snatching
  • Blog freeze today
  • A pig  flew from  the underground at Finsbury Park

Across our mother’s universal face

The worst of wars occur within the home
The earth’s  a mother  whom we treat with scorn.
Although on foreign trips we   gormless roam
We care not how  our  holy mother’s torn.

The planes’ emissions do not disappear
Our waste  is thrown  to devastate   all space.
The universe is bounded like  a sphere
The noxious  decorates with  thoughtless trace.

 

The condoms and the women’s  bloody cloths
The petrol fumes,  the plastic bags, the base
Are scattered like a  demon’s  tortured wrath
Across our mother’s  universal  face
Can we avert    the death of earth, this  fate?
Will we dawdle  till it is too late?

 

The body’s conscious self

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Daisy Behagg explores the idea of the body’s conscious self

 

Daisy Behagg explores the idea of the body’s conscious self

In ‘Four Essays on the Body’, I wanted to write a poem that treated the body as the whole being. Rather than, as we so commonly do, viewing the body as vehicle for a somewhat abstract concept of the mind, I wanted to communicate something of the body as a conscious entity

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Religion and extended metaphors

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Sarah Roby on religion and extended metaphors

Quote:

Reading poetry has since restored my faith in metaphor and how it can extend deeply and cleanly over individual poems, sequences and collections. While writing ‘The Recurrency of Peter Body’, I was interested in exploring the connection between the fallibility yet constancy of the human body and representations of Peter the Apostle. Fortunately for the poem, this connection struck me as obvious. And as I researched – returning to the King James Bible, reading the frescos of Masaccio and paintings of Caravaggio – the resonances revealed themselves, as if inevitably.

However metaphor is not an end in itself. I’m with Derrida in the belief that metaphor is “a basic way of knowing”. It’s active in pressing towards definition – through comparison – and hence towards understanding. So in the poem, for example, I’m also interested in where, in a secular society, we locate our ‘church’. If, as the poem suggests, we locate it with the individual – in the body – then what are the implications of this? It might suggest individualism, egotism maybe, hubris… which is kind-of