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The other women  sat and gawped
As if I’d looped  on the loop  on the loop
They didn’t want   another old face
In this  so called bereavement group

One had made a great sponge cake
The best I ever ate
She handed me a tempting  big slice
Though I’m already over-weight

One  cried out she felt distressed
I asked her  when  had he died?
21 years ago she said
And I am still half alive

I waited for the group to start
I’d been there for an hour
A group they cried, we came to chat
And they had all the power

The noise their  shrieking  voices made
Made my  head feel strained
I ate the cake and sat alone
Like a goldfish that fell down a drain

Up  I got and said,I’m off
The  nun in charge was pained
The talking stopped and I said, goodbye
I shall not be coming again

She tempted me with her rosary beads
She tempted me in vain
I  thought I knew what a group might do
But to these others it was not very plain

They’ve all been going for  so many years
It’s nothing to do with the brief
For surely if  it was, they would have been kind
To another lost person in grief

Now the hairdresser’s cut my hair very short
I look  like the chemo is strong
I didn’t look in the mirror for no-one is here
And  my image  has gone with the wind

 

Could you write a poem if you tried?
It’s just a few black patterns on the page.
I  wrote this villanelle  before I died

Would you write free verse,  just on the side?
Or would the lack of form  make you enraged?
Could you write a poem if you tried?

Do you like what manners like to hide?
Would you keep your black  dog in a cage?
I wrote this villanelle  before I died

Has your ink got all glued up and dried?
Does your writing not fit  on the page?
Could you write a poem if you tried?

Write alot and weep  when you decide
My cat and I have now become enraged
I wrote this villanelle  before I died

Do  not let the critics  bring out rage
At the worst, you start a brand new page
Could you write a poem if you tried?
I  wrote this villanelle  and then ate pi

https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2009/dec/14/you-can-t-speed-read-literature

 

“Compare this classic Dickensian opening line with the skimmed version that follows, and ask yourself, is it really worth tearing through great prose like Gordon Gecko tearing through the assets of a newly acquired company?

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

– Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities (1859)

Best times/worst times, age wisdom/foolishness, epoch belief/incredulity, season Light/Darkness, spring hope, winter despair.

Charles Dickens, the skimmed version.

Notwithstanding the aesthetic pleasure derived from reading, how well can one appreciate the nuances of character and circumstance in a novel if one is reading 10 pages per minutes sans Bloomian comprehension skills? I’m not convinced that the average person can ever learn to read at speed and contemplate at leisure. Speed reading is a bit like trying to appreciate the sights of Paris while racing through the streets at 200 kmph.”