When seven years come round again My self is liquified. My skin becomes a holding shell For my old self has died. As I dissolve I feel great fear And yet I trust my soul. So in the sea I lose my form, And with the waves I roll. I am at one with all the world, And yet I am nothing. My inner waters rise and fall What will the high tide bring? After my drowning I shall rise And I shall be renewed. I must submit to that strange Life With which I am imbued. I am not mistress of myself, I am this moment’s flower. In the deep waters I must trust To take me to the shore. Oh hang my arms with grasses green And dissolve me in your sea. Thus when the time comes for rebirth Regenerated I shall be.
Month: December 2016
My family in NZ


After spelling Drumpf wrong[ly] I got invited to meet Putin
After writing my blog for 7 years I got a comment.It was a spelling corrosion.
After inventinb a dislike button I received 58 in one day.Then it went up exponentially.And I should know because that’s how I taught maths
After writing 10 sonnets I was expunged from the records at my alma mater
After writing a brief article on grammar I was reported as a criminal in the press.
After spelling Drumpf wrong[ly] I got invited to meet Putin
After watching Robin Williams on TV I could eat nothing for an hour.
After trying to imitate him I got arrested.They put me on lithium for a week.What good is a week? I’d rather be put into a comma in a novel called Insulin for beginners.I wrote it myself by hand.I can’t read it as yet.A comma is a rest isn’t it?
After losing my wits I was called a foreigner and they are thowing me over the Wall when they have built it.
We had the Berlin wall once.Now that was a real wall with real soldiers.Take that Schrumptf.
Ar school they said I should use invented commas.What the bleedin’ hell are they?It’s a school.You don’t go to school to invent.You go to be orderered about and bullied and now it is £10,000 a year from age 11.What the f*ck do they want our money for?They can create it
And so I breed you farewell,my hint of readers
Her lies were enough to pleat steel.
Her expression made the tinfoil crumple all alone
Her lies were enough to pleat steel.
Her tone was enough to cut a hard-boiled man in half with no effort
Her gaze combined lust and seductiveness with a Nero-like cruelty dampened only by the rain hitting her bare shoulders
Her washing up was so noisy she gave the mice migraine.
She only washed her bra once a year as the odour tempted men even as her glare terrified them in that attractive manner known only to boa constrictors
Her singing attracted fifty tom cats to the backdoor.
Her anger was so powerful she used it to run the electricity for the whole town.
Her pastry was so delicious nobody tasted the cyanide.
New Zealand
Turn off the TV, calm down and stop trying to convert people to your religion.The Pope!
Pope Francis issues top 10 tips for happiness
The Pope also says people should turn off the TV at mealtimes
A wail down below
She heard a wail between her legs.She had given birth.She had no idea what caused it but it was very intriguing.He was human.And it was so simple.
His lies were enough to make sackcloth pleat.
He was a born denier.He could fake any commotion and lie with emotion
He was an actor,you see.Or not
Why not break the maths off and leave the arrest to me? It doesn’t make sins!
How about some data? We could correlate.Or is it co-relate?
Don’t tease the hens.They are laid up already
She made her step black with boot polish so the carpets have foot prints.Very a la mode.But what a mood she was in.He meted out her punishment.A cup of tea!Next time paint it, he said.There’s no next time she said as she ran away with the postman.And the tea
Take care of your rioting? No,take the cat for the ironing.But why? Because he’s bored stiff and lying flat.
How about a bike pump?That will do the trick and get him rowing .but there’s no water.Well have an argument then
To make me alive is not my job.I’ll take it from there.
Stroke the cat strongly weekly or weakly daily.
Fake it from me.I love you with all my parts.Eros had darts.
Take it to the gimlet or is it the hamlet? For sighing out proud,ask someone. Is Shakespeare here? If not,take Ben Johnson.
It’s a dilemma, to be sure.
Dilemma Examples from Literature
Example 1
In the play Hamlet, William Shakespeare’s leading character, Hamlet, struggles with his dilemma how could he carry out the orders of his father’s ghost to kill his stepfather to exact revenge because he married to his mother, and usurped the throne of his father. Ophelia also faces dilemma in the play, as her brother and father believes that Hamlet is not faithful to her, and would rather use her, whereas her heart is convinced that Hamlet loves her. Both of them could not reconcile to the situation following this ethical dilemma they got entangled in.
Ad hominem,eh?Why couldn’t the Romans speak English like us? They are foreigners!
http://literarydevices.net/ad-hominem/
Functions of Ad Hominem
A writer’s background is considered to be a very important factor when it comes to judging his work. A book written on a particular subject in history will be perceived differently keeping in view the background of the author. Therefore, it is important to understand that a writer’s traits and circumstances have a pivotal role to play in his feelings, thinking and the construction of his arguments.
To put it simply, the considerations regarding the use of ad hominem can explain certain arguments and the motives behind them better. Nevertheless, such considerations are not enough on their own to evaluate an individual’s opinion and are certainly not sufficient to disregard them as false or invalid. The fact is that ad hominem is a kind of fallacy that leaves a great impression on the audience’s mind. It is an argumentative flaw that is hard to spot in our daily life. Although, the personal attack that has been made on the opponent might not even have a speck of truth in it, it somehow makes the audience biased. Ironically, despite being flawed, ad hominem has an amazing power of persuasion.
The worst thing about using ad hominem purposely is that an opponent insults you publicly. Whenever this happens to you, you must recover from the humiliation and then point out the false connection in the argument, which was used a trap for the audience. Moreover, the dilemma with ad hominem is that once it has been used against you it smears your reputation. Once somebody makes such a judgmental argument about you, the audience instead of evaluating it on logical grounds take it to be true.
Cats are never restless nor much bored
I gave my cat a little pointed hat
To make him seem less serious than before
To help him sit in joy upon his mat
Tell me why does butter come in pats?
And why have polished handles on the floor?
I lent my cat a little silken hat
Wherever I go, there the cat is sat;
My tenses are amix I do deplore
Yet I’ll help the grammar please you on this writ.
Would a little cat vote Democrat?
Would liberty create the wish for more?
I lent my cat a little knitted hat
On the door I hear a ra ta tat!
From Amazon ,I’ve bought a breast of drawers
To help my puss be tidy on his mat
Cats are never restless nor much bored
They pay no tax and often are adored
I gave my cat a little cashmere hat
What would Father Christmas make of that?
What is free verse?

Example #2
Barely tolerated, living on the margin
In our technological society, we were always having to be rescued
On the brink of destruction, like heroines in Orlando Furioso
Before it was time to start all over again.
There would be thunder in the bushes, a rustling of coils,…….
The whole thing might not, in the end, be the only solution……..
Came plowing down the course, just to make sure everything was O.K.…
About how to receive this latest piece of information.
(Soonest Mended by John Ashbury)
This is one of the best examples of free verse poems. In this poem, there is no regular rhyme scheme and rhythm; it is without poetic constraints, but with a flow that gives it a natural touch.
Function of Free Verse
Free verse is commonly used in contemporary poetry. Some poets have taken this technique as a freedom from rhythm and rhyme because it changes the mind of people whimsically. Therefore, free verse is also called vers libre.
The best thing about free verse is that poets can imagine the forms of any sound through the intonations instead of meters. Free verse gives a greater freedom for choosing words and conveying their meanings to the audience. Since it depends upon patterned elements like sounds, phrases, sentences and words, it is free of artificiality of a typical poetic expression.
I have heard wild winds and I’ve heard calm
I have walked through tempests and through storms
I have seen the sun slide down the sky
I have heard wild winds and I’ve heard calm
I have seen the sky when rainbows form
I have crunched through leaves as down they lie
I have walked through tempests ,savage storms
I have watched the windblown leaves at dawn
I have seen black starlings whirling in the sky
I have heard wild winds and I’ve known home
I have sketched the patterns nature’s drawn
I have pondered on the ones called mine.
I have fled through tempests and through storms
I have sauntered on a fine green lawn
I have heard our politicians lie
I have loved wild winds and I’ve loved calm
I have watched the world from the storm’s eye
I have seen five thousand people cry
I have walked through tempests and through storms
I have watched wild winds and wept forlorn
Adam Phillips interview extract

http://bombmagazine.org/article/3623/adam-phillips
SP You talk about having a sense of reality and what an appropriate response to it may or may not be. I see video footage coming from around the world, attesting to the undeniable reality of suffering. More and more mediated suffering is available to us daily in our streams. It’s increasingly becoming part of a lived communication culture. Is this something you’re affected by?
AP Somewhere in his diaries, Franz Kafka says: “You can protect yourself from all the suffering in the world and that’s the one suffering you could have avoided.” That’s the point; there is all this suffering in the world and we know more and more about it. However, what it calls up in us to deal with, at its best, so to speak, is a kind of inured, detached horror. The sadomasochistic solution to this is to find it all incredibly exciting and gripping and to want more and more of it. That is a catastrophe created by a culture that makes suffering and exploitation bearable by making or cultivating a sadomasochistic pleasure.
What’s very difficult is to have a relatively un-evasive relationship to suffering. Were more people to have that, it might mobilize more realistic resources to deal with it. Suffering is intrinsic to life, but some suffering is avoidable. What seems to be pretty devastating is how much given suffering is absolutely there; how much suffering is actually created by us. It isn’t possible to create a world without suffering, but it is possible to make a world with less suffering. Instead, we are being invited to be excitedly horrified.
Gallimaufry

gallimaufry
Definition
: a heterogeneous mixture : jumble
Examples
The essay collection covers a gallimaufry of subjects, from stamp collecting to Portuguese cooking.
“Upon entering the gallery, one of the first things that catches my eye is a gallimaufry of vibrant, oversized collages.” — Rosalie Spear, The Las Vegas Weekly, 29 Mar. 2016
Cliches
Silence is golden but my eyes knew you
Silence unfolded while the North wind blew
There’s only a slip twixt cup and tip
Rolling cones shattered the glass.
Two zany cooks can oil my broth.
A herd in the sand is no way in a rush.
On Sundays we scratch an itch and eat our toast thinner
We went to see a Winter’s sale.I played well.I am an extract
They went to sea with no clip
Ted Hughes was a grate poet.He worked from home.
Larkin was a Siberian and poet in a Hull.
Seamus Heaney liked half rhymes,someti,
Stevie Smith lived in Harmer’s Scene with her ants
I love,says Anne.
Pick ass? Oh
Mon haystack, my mon amour.
Gaw Gann lived here.
Roll clay? In balls?
Surreal? I appeal.
How do you feel?
Service
-

Order of Service
Welcome to the funeral party.
Ghosts please remain seated at all times.
Hymn 1 :Smoke makes angels cry.Allelulya
Hymn 2 Rabid with fleas, we drink wine and get tight
Hymn 3. Now the carnival is over.
Tribute by Doctor Woebegone. [15 minutes]
Hymn 4 Holy Souls, in heaven with doves
Hymn 5 Now is the hour when we must live or die
Hymn 6 Love is the strangest thing.Love is the ideal fling
Hymn 7 I wish all of you a fast goodbye.
Hymen 8 We love smoking flies.Bravo.
Hymn 9 Time to spray love bites.
Hymn 1o This is the flower of all we lived and tried
All donations disgracefully received
For my sake turn again to life and smile by Mary Lee Hall
If I should die and leave you here a while,
be not like others sore undone,
who keep long vigil by the silent dust.
For my sake turn again to life and smile,
nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do
something to comfort other hearts than thine.
Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine
and I perchance may therein comfort you
Long ago
She heard his crying
Palpitations
Made waves sing in his ears
Sea shells soft murmurs
This song so silent
Passed through walls and fences
She heard his crying
Outside the prison
She stood in her long rough coat
She trembled and shook
He felt her presence there
Her vibrations moved him
That was how they danced
She knowed his bones.
She fauxfilled him with finesse
She knowed his bones.
She crenallated with him
She willed him with mindlessness.
She grades his rates for the witch where the going ones go to
She killed rats with her sulks.
She loved Jim like no other man on earth could.
She left him in her will.A bit later she died.
She had hated wrath all day
She took his lair off him
She was only his life
Oh, pass my wife.
Adults used sex toys to defeat armed robbers!
The Social Contract is crumbling away
The Social Contract is crumbling away
A little or lot every day
Without full consent
Great Britain is rent
Into fragments in all shades of grey.
Governments may appear to be strong
That kind of thinking is wrong
Without social desire
They cannot aspire
To make us all feel we belong
Families fight over meals
And anguish becomes unconcealed
The sacramental table
Is being disabled
The social contract must be quickly re-sealed
Now we see the same sin everywhere
Trump rides on the beast of despair
We were told to love strangers
By one born in a manger
If he is here now,then nobody cares
I’ll tell them to buy superglue.
My doctor likes reading old books
About wild men who can kill with a look
But he is quite kind
Though a little undermined
By being governed by robbers and crooks
Yet there are some decent folk too
Who mend Britain with U and HU
That is not strong enough
The cracks are extremely tough.
I’ll tell them to buy superglue.
An unusual version of Joan of Arc
Handwriting or typing, which is better for poets?
https://www.theguardian.com/science/2014/dec/16/cognitive-benefits-handwriting-decline-typing
“It’s not just a question of writing a letter: it also involves drawing, acquiring a sense of harmony and balance, with rounded forms,” Jouvent asserts. “There is an element of dancing when we write, a melody in the message, which adds emotion to the text. After all that’s why emoticons were invented, to restore a little emotion to text messages.”
Writing has always been seen as expressing our personality. In his books the historian Philippe Artières explained how doctors and detectives, in the late 19th and early 20th century, found signs of deviance among lunatics and delinquents, simply by examining the way they formed their letters. “With handwriting we come closer to the intimacy of the author,” Jouvent explains. “That’s why we are more powerfully moved by the manuscript of a poem by Verlaine than by the same work simply printed in a book. Each person’s hand is different: the gesture is charged with emotion, lending it a special charm.”
OCR online
Do not speak of empathy to me
In my warm nest I lie with morning angst
I have no wish to rise up from my bed
Slowly turn the wheels of mind unthanked
Lady Lazarus no,forI am not yet dead.
I see an image of my husband dear
His face was black while he sat on the chair
He fell onto my bosom in despair
The suffering of the old is far from rare.
Inside a rehab centre they placed him
A dying man was sent to exercise
Pneumonia and his heart made this a sin
They sentenced him to death with their cold eyes
None so blind as those who will not see
Do not speak of empathy to me
Why should we write in form?
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/resources/learning/articles/detail/89288

“Perhaps some of this opposition stems from a common misconception. Unlike other arts—and perhaps even other forms of writing—readers and writers alike often associate poetry with feeling, not technique. Part of this may stem from a misunderstanding of William Wordsworth’s famous definition of poetry, in which he begins, “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings. …” His wording encourages a reading in which poetry simply occurs and does so uncontrollably. If this is the part of the quotation that sticks with you, it’s no surprise that you might associate poetry more with emotional intensity and less with the how of its conveyance. But in the second half of that quotation, Wordsworth tempers his original statement: “… it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.” Those unexpected and powerful feelings are actually being observed at a calming distance from that emotion.
More important, Wordsworth’s statement doesn’t acknowledge the structure that serves as a scaffolding for those feelings, a framework that makes a poem more than just cathartic release. It doesn’t acknowledge form. Why would it? For Wordsworth and his contemporaries 200 years ago, form was assumed. If a poem didn’t rhyme, readers could be sure it employed some sort of metrical scheme.
Associating poetry with feeling can seem very egalitarian because everyone has feelings. Although that’s true, not everyone is a poet, and the message of this model of art is actually exclusionary: it doesn’t offer an aspirant poet a pragmatic path forward because it hides the real work behind the scenes. What is an aspiring poet supposed to do in this model—feel harder?
I want to clarify that some of the best poets have qualities that can’t be practiced. It’s that ill-defined, hard-to-put-your-finger-on something that separates merely technically proficient writing from the work we call genius. Whether we have that spark is out of our hands, but we can have all the inspiration in the world, and it won’t matter if we can’t express it well. Setting aside romantic notions of poetry and dealing with the nitty-gritty of technique gives all of us the ability to improve our poetry. We all, with practice, might move others to feel something that we have felt or to see the world as we do. If we’ve got that spark, technique gives us a way to share it. For my money—mind you, I am a poet, so that’s not much—writing in form is one of the best ways for poets to practice technique.
How to use quotes in your writing [and more advice]

Q – Quotations. Using the words of an expert, a thought leader or simply someone that isn’t you is a great way to build credibility and interest into your writing. Check out these ten expert tips for using quotations.
R – Read. Everyone who has ever given advice about better writing has said to read, and with good reason. Study more, struggle less.
S – Story. “We are creatures of story, and the process of changing one mind or the whole world must begin with “Once upon a time.”” – Jonathan Gottschall. People are enthralled and persuaded by stories. Even if you are writing a blog post or a case study, delve deeper and find the story. Think about emotional engagement, suspense and resolution.
T – Talk to people. Whether you are conducting a journalistic interview, or just down the pub with your friends, everything you hear forms part of what you write. Engage with people in the real world, listen to their ideas and be open to suggestions. You have to collate ideas, not just dispense them.
A-Z of better writing
To the tapping bird
A bird taps on this window every day,
Frail as flying leaves are in a gale.
But now he perches on the potted bay.
He feels the weather like the blind do braille.
This bird is faithful and I hold him dear.
He’s fearless as he pecks upon the glass.
We hope he has a modicum of fear,
For who knows when a sparrow hawk will pass?
I see him like a human soul forlorn
Struggling to discern his fateful way.
For soon he may be taken by a storm
But blithely he will eat, and after play.
The smallest bird has trust in the Unknown
By his example, our own way is sho




