What a lot of tea,miaowed Emile.

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Mary dreamed she was riding her bicycle.She was going up a hill and then approaching a very complicated roundabout.
How can I look at the map when I am riding my bike,she asked herself.Anyway I don’t have a map and I’ve never been here before.She looked down and saw she was wearing some dark  blue denim culottes and red suede knee high boots with laces.
I don’t remember buying these,she thought.She felt quite hot even though she wore only an olive  needle-cord coat over a Breton T shirt.
Goodness me, she cried.I look smart.
Her spectacles clouded over as she was sweating.How will I know where to turn off when I don’t know where I am or where I am going to.
When she woke up she filled Stan’s beer tankard with tea.
What a lot of tea,miaowed Emile.
I thought it saves carrying the tea pot. I’m going to go back   to bed as I feel  a bit peculiar.
You  have got a fleece nightgown on.Maybe you are too hot,he replied.
I am trying to save money on the heating,Mary answered.I see I can save  even more money by buying 2 pairs of Hotters sandals for £97.Usually they are £127.
That saves £30,the clever animal informed her.
I think it’s quite misleading,Mary answered.It only saves money if you were already planning to buy them.I  have such strange feet I don’t like to bare them.
Do you wear shoes in bed with a boyfriend.Emile  asked.
I’ve not got a boyfriend.Emile.
But if you did?
Well.you know, an older man might not wish to go to bed with me.He might like just sitting on the sofa holding my hand and  kissing me.
OK said ,Emile.It sounds a trifle boring to me.
Don’t be so cheeky, Emile.Talking to me is not boring.
No, he said, but it’s nice running up and down your  legs in bed.
I could hardly expect a man to do  that.He might injure me.
It was just a kind of example,he replied nervously.
Suddenly the back door opened and in ran Annie from next door.She was wearing a mustard coloured track suit and orange trainers with matching lip gloss.
What a horrible colour,Mary cried.
It’s the in colour now,Annie said kindly.I am getting my hair dyed too.
Bright yellow is  better,Mary  told her.Except it attracts insects.
Insects,I don’t want those.How are you,dear.You look flushed, she responded emotionally.
No wonder. I’ve been cycling all night in my dreams.Why can’t I dream of motor bikes?
Don’t ask me,Annie told her.I am utterly ignorant.Do you need therapy?
I don’t think so,Mary answered.I need to know where I am going.Do I decide or is it my Inner Wisdom or Higher Power.I could use higher power on that bike.
Just take it one rotation at a time, Annie murmured.
I thought it was  one step.Mary answered
You can’t take a step on a  bike.
I suppose not.But I could ride up a step on the bike.
Don’t ride up a step ladder,Anne advised.How would  you get down again?
Let’s have some coffee,Mary cried.Here we are ,the kettle is boiling.
Let’s just sit and brood.
But don’t ruminate,purred Emile.It makes you ill.
Just let your mind go blank.
And so I did.

That in our schizoid age we cannot learn?

This poem is written in the sonnet form,
And yet I have my doubts about its shape
Though nearly to that structure it conforms
There may be holes where nightmare faces gape.

It looks and speaks just as a sonnet would
And talks of metaphysical concerns.
Do we conclude, as poets and readers should,
That in our schizoid age we cannot learn?

For humans now  snarl with the  teeth  of  wolves;
And lions are dressed  in cuddly warm sheepskin
Thus sense is tricked and problems are unsolved,
So,hey, we dreaming blind just carry on.

It looks like one,it feels like one,it speaks;
Yet from my words, does human feeling leak?

It is myself to whom I speak in sonnet form

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Trapped in  cultivated  ways ,we may  forget
That usefulness can also be a trap.
Am I the one who never makes a bet?
Am I  the one who always has the map?

 

We are no automata, we are flesh.
And even older brains can be rewired
Maybe we need to do what may seem rash
Light   ourselves more brilliant mental fires.

 

Reluctance seems  to  cage us with our fear.
Though ,despite our wishes, we each age and die.
Time goes and  the end will soon be here
But  is it ever too late  for  one try?

 

It is myself to whom I speak in sonnet form
Anxiety is  fierce  until we learn.