Words float like water in a stream,
Reflected gently by sunbeams.
This stream flows swiftly to my heart
And through these words your love is caught.
The space inside my heart is clear,
Your love will find its right home here.
Your words are treasures in my night,
And in the dark, they glow with light.
Oh,let me read your notes of bliss,
And seal them with a loving kiss.
I hope this stream will always go
Where living waters softly flow.
For love is kind, and love is true.
Connections form from me to you.
And love creates an open heart,
From which all other feelings start.
Yet love is free, and does not bind.
Love is glad,and not unkind.
So if my love displeases you,
Then you can find a lover new.
I have life inside my heart
Which will sustain me if we part.
I shall wish you happiness…
And know my grief will one day pass.
But for today,let’s laugh and play.
Let’s make love inside the hay.
It’s summer and we like the heat.
Let’s celebrate with kisses sweet.
She was so beautiful that men were frightened to aske her out in case they were struck by lightning.She was a conductor, no doubt.You could see the electricity all day.
She looked like the forsythia in spring- larger than life and yellow from eating too many buttercups
She wasn’t a woman, she was an induction hob so hot the pans boiled before they went onto it.If you grasp my meaning.She sang like a spark from an angels’ chorus that flew near the sun and got smothered in that white dust I keep seeing everywhere.What is it?Dirt used to be black in my youth
A black sun gazed down on the earth.It was graduation day for comets or was it comics?Anyway we all wore black but we couldn’t see anything.Next time we shall stay in bed and read Nicholas Freeling… with torches
My boyfriend is like a chip pan.He is too hot to go near and then he’s cold and set like dripping or lard.
My mother was very warm hearted.But she hid it so well she didn’t even know herself!
Life is not a play
We create some of it
We interact
We act
We live
We see virtue
We see vice
We see better
We think better
We do better
We all become better
If we see better
He looked as if he had eaten 5 lb of raw potatoes while climbing the Langdale Pikes in a monsoon and was unable to find a w.c. or even a bush.
His face was as red as an overripe plum tomato as he read the report on his latest fiasco.. teaching calculus to illiterate adolescents without understandfing it himself;
Still he has a honours degree in Chinese so he was obviously intelligent in a way that could be described as tangential to human life in the UK
Her dress was so tight she looked as if she might pass out into the arms of the neatest man she could spot.Was this a plot?
The doctor asked me to take of my dress so I took off my glasses as well.When he asked why I said,I don’t like seeing my own body uncovered.It’s like seeing a sofa with no fabric
I have got 5 double stitches in my arm so if I find some needles I could pick them up and knit a scarf for my wriat
I feel like I do when I overdose on GNT… my head sweats and BP drops.Then I see a vision.I don’t even pray first but I do alfterwards,Hope springs eternal.God must exist.
I was waiting for a box of gauze dressings but all I got was Harpic toilet cleaner. Is it the NHS or me? No, it’s Amazon!
Writing poetry is like riding a motorbike up Scafell when drunk…. you can’t imagine how you made it.Then you have to come down.That’s prose.
A boy threw a brick at me.He said I looked like an immigrant,I asked him what made him think that so he said you are polite,well dressed and work in the NHS.
I said but don’t you want a top dermatologist here wotking 60 hours a week
He said,see you can’t even speak proper English;
What’s that?
You should f*cking well know sh*t like that
How about Jesus, I cried desperately
Who’s he?He don’t sound like a native, is he here?
I said , yes, he’s always here
Oh,f*ck, he must be a Russian.
No, he’s a Jew
A Jew?
Yes, you know like Moses.Abraham,Delilah,Bathsheba,Isiaah
I like the names, bring em all round to mine for tea
They’re dead.
Are you sure?They might be faking it
Jesus died on the Cross and his mother shouted,get down off that Cross, your dinner’s ready.He said, what is it and she said, rabbit stew with mashed potatoes
He said,I’d rather die than eat rabbits.
And did he?
Have you never been to church?
Surely they don’t kill men there!
No, but some die of shock
Electric shock?
Well, they have electric candles
I don’t like those.They are artificial
So is money but I bet you like that!
How did you guess?
Because you have knife and a gun and a label on your head saying, give me all you have now or I’ll kill you
That proves I am intelligent
Why?
I can write in sentences with the right tense
Well I have nothing except a card saying,I have weak bladder, let me use your toilet
OK I’ll have that.
It’s not worth much
It wll be when I get inside Boris Johnson’s flat
Do you really believe he will let you in?
If he doesn”t I will shoot him
I say,hang on… he might do it himself
If they all fell off a cliff we would be happy until we look for new people
Where have all the good ones gone?
Note:I did this using google docs talk to type.It has problems like grammar,capital letters at random , confusion of words but mainly I am unhappy as it produces a totally differrent type of poem when I am not using a pen or a computer
The sky is yellow, grey and white today
There is no hint of blue or summer bright
But happy are sweet Lovers In their play
By Heat oppressed we sweat now to allay
And yet I find so sweet the evening light
The sky is yellow grey and white today
What seems good may still exact its pay
We long for summer then at heat take fright
But happy are the lovers In their play
Homely was our cottage in Lyme Bay
The Charmouth cliffs half fallen were a sight
The rabbits had a little world sos afe
The Lighthouse can be seen from faraway
For ships that come too close get holed at night
Unknowing are all lovers as they play
The foreign seas are lapping at our feet Showing both their terror and their plight The sky is yellow grey,and white today
“A new selection of Goethe’s work reveals both his vast range and his unity of purpose.
Illustration by Boris Pelcer
In the English-speaking world, we are used to thinking of our greatest writer as an enigma, or a blank. Though there’s enough historical evidence to tell us when Shakespeare was born and when he died, and more than enough to prove that he wrote the plays ascribed to him, the record is thin. Indeed, the persistence of conspiracy theories attributing Shakespeare’s work to the Earl of Oxford or other candidates is a symptom of how little we actually understand about his life. His religious beliefs, his love affairs, his relationships with other writers, his daily routine—these are permanent mysteries, and biographies of Shakespeare are always mostly speculation.
To get a sense of how Johann Wolfgang von Goethe dominates German literature, we would have to imagine a Shakespeare known to the last inch—a Shakespeare squared or cubed. Goethe’s significance is only roughly indicated by the sheer scope of his collected works, which run to a hundred and forty-three volumes. Here is a writer who produced not only some of his language’s greatest plays but hundreds of major poems of all kinds—enough to keep generations of composers supplied with texts for their songs. Now consider that he also wrote three of the most influential novels in European literature, and a series of classic memoirs documenting his childhood and his travels, and essays on scientific subjects ranging from the theory of colors to the morphology of plants.”
How my heart sings 