My husband was the first child, and only one for many years, of his parents.When we got married they used to come to stay.I think it was my choice of menu  that was a bit of a problem.I was unused to making the more sophisticated type of recipes.We used bought jellies at home and Carnation milk.
But they were very brave.After I made a curry they ate it with no fuss and then said it was the first time they ever ate rice not in a pudding.Then when I  used some Instant Whip to make a dessert, his dad called out:
I’ve never seen a green pudding before.[Maybe it was lime flavoured.]
Then his Mam was like,
Shut up, Ron.Stop passing remarks.
She was always correcting him,
So then he laughed and asked for a cup of tea.No doubt I had the wrong sort!
After that we had to play games as we had no TV or we went for a drive later when we got an old car.Going for a drive was quite popular then as nobody was used to having a car.
My Mam in law could be cruel in obeying social niceties..Before his Dad died we took a week off and drove them all over Dad’s favourite places.On the way back from Richmond he wanted to pee.He was very frail and ill and she told him to wait so I then told my husband to drive to a village with a public convenience. [I have a weak bladder so I knew]
We took him to Whitby but he stayed in the car.I recall it was very misty.I stayed with him while   Mam and my husband went for a walk by  on the beach.That was her favourite thing, walking on the shore whereas Dad preferred the dales and moors.
Now to think I am the only one left.Nobody to eat my cordon bleu apple mousse or beef in ale.I think I’ll be going back to that green pudding.Instant Whip sounds like Fifty Shades of Grey.
In a hurry? Give him/her an Instant Whip…I don’t like that,our Kath.No me neither.
It was a more innocent time though cruelty was common.

I feel your presence though you never speak
In your last three hours, I held your hand
Your mind  endured with will  its  final task
To reach the entrance to that “Promised Land”

But now I sense you  in these dingy rooms
I cannot touch you though, it makes me sad
I cannot hear you speak or  hear  you  sing
Nor smell the honey with which you were clad

I  wept when looking for your old cartoons
And came down here to get a break
They seemed   most you of all the books you had
I have no letters nor any sort of sake

Where do I go now, I ask  your ghost
There is no answer, yet I feel love close.

I’d  like some new hair for Xmas
What I have got is too sparse
It covers my head
But not  that of my bed
I think I shall  need  a new purse.

My husband was good  with his visage
He looked like a man from the moon
He sang in the bath
Unless it was wrath
That made him change his own tunes

His skin was like rubber but thinner
It was stronger than mine is by far
I am so sensitive,
Please do not mention it
Or the police may think I’m bizarre.

I went into the best cafe in town
And when therein I let myself sit down.
I ordered a large and precious drink
Made from coffee and elastic  ink.

I sipped and gazed at all the gadding crowd
Speaking  tongues  like angels well endowed
Clutching phablets showing films and fun
They walk into the lamp posts now and then.

I  gave the waitress  my  last £5 note
On which some ancient wording was once wrote
She threw it down and said, it’s out of date
The plastic ones are all we now can take

I had only a bus pass in my purse
Now I’m in jail and writing worser verse.

PS the errors in grammar are deliberate!

Shall I compare a  kitchen knife to thee?
Thy cut is sharper than best Viner’s steel
Thy tongue is longer than  the roots of  trees
Thou serpent,  get thee to my heel.

Thy cold remarks, thou preferst thy cat to me
And I gave thee tender love both day and night
A fool , an idiot would love  better than thee
So get thee hence, be distant from my sight.

Boastful of thy organ’s latent  powers
Thou wished to found a noble dynasty
Aladdin’s lamp, when rubbed, did glow for hours
The same cannot be said, alas, of thee!

A stronger  man would  be less arrogant
Those who do beat those who find they can’t

Oh, light bulb foreseen by our God
Save us all from darkness’ rod
You are our Saviour as foretold
In prophecy by ancients bold.
We will worship you at night
When sunken is the sun so bright.
We’ll watch TV and Kindle fire
No more to play shall we aspire.
We’ll wear ourselves out watching screens,
As from a can we eat baked beans
We’ll send for pizzas with our phones
With which we never feel alone.
We might talk to our partner dear
Though texting them is easier.
We see the neon street lights gleam
Where once we saw the moon’s cold beams
And in bed we read our books
With a kindle or a nook
We put beneath out pillows fair
Iphones which we long to hear
Can one have too much new light?
From technology, some take flight
For gone are seasons, and their fruit
As our computer we reboot.
New potatoes all year round
Avocados once quite rare
Now are seem ‘most everywhere.
Melons, grapes and fresh green peas
As the birds sing, life’s a breeze.
Oh light bulbs, fluorescent tubes
Electric candle, light is cubed.
We thank you for extended days
Maybe we’ll find time for prayers.
God is great in mystery
No light bulb can help us see.
In silence, darkness, meditate
Wonder what will be our fate.
As retribution for our wrongs
Satan stabs us with his prongs
He needs no more light in hell
The fiery furnace cooks as well.

In order to be happy, you must write,
On paper with a pen and bottled ink,
A hundred villanelles about your plight

If you use  thesauri, keep it tight,
For too much intellect will make men think
In order to be happy, you must write

Don’t use Latin phrases, just emote.
Here and there insert a proper link
To a hundred villanelles about your plight

Never check for errors what you wrote.
Wash your hair twice daily in green quink.
In order to be happy, you must  float

If you’re wise then soon you’ll see the Light.
Stare at it and ask it how it ranks
A hundred villanelles about your plight

Once I was  so fat, my hair was lank
It still is but I don’t care a plonk
In order to be funny, you must write,
A hundred villanelles and then take flight.

All the men who help me on the bus
Will  get a big surprise one day quite soon
If I dress like Brigitte Macron does

I cannot wear the heels but have hair mousse.
To bare my knees would be a shock and crime
Distressing  men who help me on the bus

I have  red culottes, blonde hair to muss
Chanel soap and all  the French perfumes
Should I dress like Brigitte Macron does?

I  need no underpinnings and  no fuss
“Brazilian” waxes  make me  swear and fume
Disturbing  men who help me on the bus

Once my legs were thin  like blades of grass
My hair was blonde, my bosom caused men gloom
Would I dress like Brigitte Macron does?

My eyes were blue, they lured  men to their doom,
For all I did was make them  clean my rooms.
All the men who help me on the bus
Will cry  off if I dress like Brigitte Macron does

Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough
For widows and their masculine counterparts.
Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.

No arms left now, that never will rebuff.
No eager lips to whispering love impart
Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough

People say, of course, the going’s rough
The coming’s gone and nothing shall gestate
Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.

Never more to share cartoons and laughs.
Never more to be a chosen mate
Loneliness, the word’s not wrong enough.

Did we know the heart of what we had?
Did we learn the art of love too late?
Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.

You have gone and closed is the gate
In mad ball,  I roll with love and hate
Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough
Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.

The humid heat is here for the first time
Conplaining people gossip as they wait
The clouds have shadows, wonder where is mine.

Late spring  stutters just before it’s gone
The rosebuds cluster near my garden gate
The humid heat is here for the first time

We can’t see our shadows, they’re behind
Our flaws and faults combine as if to mate
The clouds have shadows; wonder where is mine.

Do I want to see my shadow’s crimes?
Can it be I’ve left it far too late?
The humid heat is here for the first time

To change perceptions is an act divine
For when we see, we open Heaven’s gates
The clouds have shadows; wonder where is mine.

Virtue and perception correlate
New perceptions’ cause internal gales
The humid heat is here for the first time
Light and shade, our longings are sublime

The kitchen looked as clean as I’d expect.
I was  a fool to  move the old knife rack;
All I  do is  make hot toast and text

I moved the rack, my fantasy was wrecked.
In hygiene, seems I show indecent lack!
The kitchen looked as clean as I’d expect.

Only within maths was I correct.
I seem to live in  fantasy, not fact
For what l I  do is make hot toast and text.

Now my actions  must become direct
I ‘ll approach the greasy crumbs with tact
The kitchen looked as clean as I’d expect.

My health and reputation showed their cracks
I see now it is action that I lacked
For all I  live on is hot toast, quite black

Over the Formica, I put lots
Of powdered soap then hit it with an axe.
The kitchen looked as bright as Labour wrecked.
For all we have is Socialism  banjaxed.

The barbarian is here, just see his eyes
His lack of dignity  and long, long ties
The Empire is corrupt and so it dies

They may bomb   Korea and deny
That errors had been made by their own spies
The barbarian is here, open your eyes

He never listens though he does reply
“I and Thou ”  is a conception wry
The Empire is corrupt and so it dies

He’s not alone,he has his sleek allies.
Yet no-one is his equal or defies.
The barbarian is here,  don’t meet his eyes

The  need for trophy wife, one more to buy
Beauty is a construct for the guys
The Empire is corrupt and so it dies.

The way ahead imagined, we deride.
The children  laugh, yet see the adults  lie
The barbarian is here, follow his eyes
The Empire is corrupt and so unwise.

• 
• Mirth is the latest thing

  No other quality can bring

  such great joy and happiness

  To our story.

  Mirth is the greatest joy

  Far better than cars and toys

  No other virtue can send

  such a sweet message

  Of God’s glory.

  Mirth is the only worth.

  Mirth us like heaven on earth;

  so why not join in and laugh.

  DON’T VOTE TORY

  Right, must dash……

  Let’s have a bash.

  Let’s create a brand new story.

  FAST!

  a

He cooked his own goose with one stroke and hit the nail on the head.Which is more than one can say for her and the cat that bit the hand that fed it

There’s no smoke without a fire, as the farmer said to the pig.
In my view, I’m not a racist I’m British and proud of it.My name is Danish but so what.It might be a misprint
The empire was of great benefit to the natives on all sides.
Well, look at it with my lack of perspective.

As I walk warm moisture dampens me
The air is hot yet rain is falling too.
A sauna bath for everyone, for  free

I wonder at  the pleasures of a tree
Its leaves enjoy the rain  if they feel blue
As I walk warm moisture bonds with me

My feet are sore and evermore will be
But why complain, there’s nothing I can do
Bar a sauna bath for everyone, for  free

With my  glass eyes, I now can  read and see
And I have not been stricken by the “Asian” flu
As I walk warm moisture blends with me

My legs are damp , let’s hope it is not wee.
Incontinence seems worse than  seeing you
A sauna bath for everyone, for  free

The cows moo and the birds  sing, they’ve no clue
The owls are near and  go ” Too wit to woo”
As I walk warm moisture bonds with me
A sauna bath for  the British, all for  free

How to move away from us and them
Including men and women in these thoughts?
There has to be some way of learning when.
The “I and Thou” of Buber can be taught.

When we’re  feeling anxious and oppressed
The enemy without is one we blame
Life seems like a  crude, unfeeling test
We suffer from a vast, eternal shame.

Yet as the days of battle grow and grow
And parents shudder when the cell phone rings
We wish it did not have to be  just so
And hope for Victory and the anthem strong.

But every war that’s lost seems just to  breed
A new war for defeated men to lead.

PC I think men are more likely to fight than women