We three kings with lorry with car
Well, leopards watched their socks in sight
O little Wall round Bethlehem. please do not tell lies
Wraith of our fathers living will
Love your neighbour and an elf
Woo as you would be won by.
When firey eyes are smiling
A herd is my weapon
I walked in the ally of the ladder of wrath
Please make me taste but not bet
Deat God,I have lost my way.Dear Person try Google Traps
http://uk.businessinsider.com/habits-of-boring-people-2017-7/#boring-people-cant-make-others-laugh-3Extract:
“Good conversationalists don’t have to say the right thing, they just have to say something the other person can feed off of. Conversations are like a game of catch and if you don’t throw that ball back, game over
I did not love him though I tried
The more I knew, the less I liked
He only talked about the News
Telling me his fascist views
So he was boring.
He never took me out to eat
Gave me tinned pies of dubious meat
He asked to see me in the nude
I thought that was extremely rude
And he was boring
I cooked him a perfect meal
Bought some mace and spices real
I made him chips and chicken curry
He gulped it down; he choked, why hurry?
He seemed so boring
One day he told me he was off
Then he gave a frightful cough
He fell down, he was quite dead
My cat bit him on the bed
For he was jealous
I wonder why I’m too polite
I’m on the phone from morn till night
I cannot end the boring chat
I must be mental, how is that?
Am I too passive?
So if you phone, me tell me News
Tell me why the kitten miaows
Tell me funny tales and jokes
Give me your cigars to smoke
We must be human
When ah got ‘ome he said
Put wood in th’ hole
I didn”t got to College to learn to talk like that,I shouted
Whur did ye go to?
Lady Target’s Bowl
So what are you mitherin’ us about now
They don’t say mitherin’ down there
That’s their loss
My,. you sound like Richard Dimbleby
Who he?
Well, let’s say he never went to Lady Target’s
Why not!
It was only for women.
How sexist <Give is a barmcake, our Kath.
Here y’are,Dad.
Ye’ve not buttered it.
Ye never said
Am sayin now
Oh,put the lid on it
Why not put a cork in it?
Close the door on it
See ye can talk proper,after all.
So wood in th’ ole is improper?
You sound like Fowlers Modern English Usage
Who’s he when he’s at home?
He must be proper
Like some verbs?
Ah did learn Latin in Church at Mass
D’ye think God would like that? Ye should be prayin’ Kath
It was prayin’ in Latin
So God likes Latin?
Adveniat Regnum Tuum
Sicut in Coelo et in Terror
I’ll seek it anywhere!
Fiat Voluntas Tuas
Notre pere, qui est Hosiah
That’s not right!
Au ciel de ma maman, je t’adore.
So is it wrong?
Not in fuzzy logic.
I didn’t send you to Uni to learn fuzzy logic
That’s true but we Iearned it by osmosis
Ae ye kiddin’?
Aye,I am.I learned it from Professor Blogge
Ah’ll kill ‘im
That’s a sin
Who’re you,Saint Peter ?
Get thee hence
Gi’ us a nicker
Be careful. The PC police are outside
What, a b$gger
There are two!
1. Saying/ word: Barm
Meaning: Bread roll
2. Saying/ word: Put wood in th’ole
Meaning: Shut the door
3. Saying/ word: Corporation pop
Meaning: Water
4. Saying/ word: It’s cracking flags
Meaning: it is so hot outside that stone pavings are breaking
5. Saying/ word: Use yer loaf
Meaning: Think for yourself
6. Saying/ word: I’ve not got out fort do
Meaning: I don’t have anything to do
7. Saying/ word: A’v cum b’out any money
Meaning: I’m afraid I haven’t got any cash on me today
8. Saying/ word: Stop skriking
Meaning: Stop crying
1. Saying/ word: Ratchet
Meaning: Cool
2. Saying/ word: Mitherin’
Meaning: Annoying/pestering
3. Saying/ word: Wot you sayin’?
Meaning: Hello, do you have anything interesting to say?
4. Saying/ word: Proper reet good
Meaning: That is very good
5. Saying/ word: Give us a nicker
Meaning: Please may I have a pound
As in little boats ,we ride a stormy sea.
I see your writing on this birthday card
I am sad
As I hold out the card , I see the skin on my arm
Looks decorative like sand and shingle as the tide flows back
And surges up again.There are patterns on my skin
I could devote my life to finding the right equation
A wave equation
Or topology? Ribbed rubber like old sheaths
Stitched together by the wind and sun
I might put paint on them and sell my arm at auction
You’d have to buy me as well
And feed me.I am a food avoidant personality
It’s the latest, it’s a new disorder
I live on weetabix and cheese
Chips with salt, no fish
It’s a wonder I have a skin at all
But if I say.no
You have to believe me
Exactly what he said,we can’t recall
The software that he left has uninstalled
Not by any human agent here
Allow the dread and do not turn from fear
We know just how he overcame St Paul
On a journey Paul heard a fierce call
Why do you hate Jesus and his toil?
Bitter is the blood and taste of gall
Demons ugly from old trees will hear
Exactly what he said,
Give yourself but only God gives all
Do you believe these narratives enthrall?
Jesus, symbol,suffering, human, here
Every human swims among their tears
Everybody suffers, must endure
Even in the magic Shopping Mall
Exactly, what he said?
Oh.God is dead.
Stan was wearing his best suit,topped by a denim apron, and wad polishing the big windows with a microfibre cloth ,as he waited breathlessly for his stunning wife.Mary entered the room wearing a long purple and mauve dress which clung somewhat tightly to the curvaceous contours of her beautifully rounded body.
May I have your seat I’m feeling odd?
I recognise you,you’re Almighty God
Where’d’ye get that suit and that top hat?
Oh,Leonard Cohen wanted one like that
Do not strike me with your iron rod
God is inside , lives in holy blood
We connect,respect and so we should
Jesus is the beggar ,cold and sad
Give her help in our iron habitat
May I have your seat , Lord Krishna said?
Love and hate would toss us if they could
Get perspective, rise above the flood
Climb the mountain pikes, abhorr the flat
We need to change positions, where’re ye at?
Another point of view won’t drive you mad
May I have your seat ,I looked at God
https://www.newstatesman.com/culture/poetry/2016/06/love-affair-between-science-and-poetry
Extract
Frontiers in Neurology reported that the expression of science through poetry could enrich and better kids’ understanding of science education, in schools. According to the research, it encouraged use of their imagination to deconstruct and reconstruct their learned knowledge. Critiquing and analysing thus could facilitate learning.
Emily Dodd, aficionado and writer of scientific poetry and screenwriter for CBeebies science programs tells me: “There’s something to be said for communicating science creatively and seeing how much knowledge is retained or if people are interested enough to look for more information afterwards.” What she wants to know is why we lose that desire to understand and how we can bring back that desire and the joy that comes with discovery.
This very tendency to reduce things to their minute components is science’s premise and so it is sometimes criticised for losing sight of the wholeness and larger human meaning. John Keats, who trained as a surgeon and apothecary before committing himself to poetry, famously said:
“There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.”
This roughly translates as science ruins the beauty of things by dissecting it into its components. It’s worth noting, though, that Keats was a part of the Romantic era wherein poets were confronted by the Industrial Revolution and the idea that science and technology would pave the way for the future was for them, terrifying.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe is perhaps the biggest exception to the norm. A German, and born in 1749, he was a writer and a scientist but he always regarded his contribution to the science of colour far greater than any literature he wrote. His work includes poetry written in a variety of metres and styles, prose and verse dramas; memoirs, an autobiography, literary criticism, papers on botany, anatomy, and colour and four novels.
One of his biggest passions was the study of clouds and in an act of pronounced love and respect between a poet and scientist, he wrote a poem about each of the different classifications of clouds (nimbus, cirrus, cumulus and stratus) and an ode to the scientist who devised them, Luke Howard, as a declaration of his admiration for Howard’s scientific skills.
“To find yourself in the infinite,
You must distinguish and then combine;
Therefore my winged song thanks
The man who distinguished cloud from cloud.”
Is it tomorrow yet?
What shall I dream of tonight?
Shall I sleep in my own bed or in the cat’s?
Am I the cat’s mother?
What are the patriot’s games?
Is Ireland a Jewish State as Jesus was a Jew [ maybe he still is]?
Can anyone be a Catholic? How can you tell?
Can I be buried with glee?
Do you like Jennifer Warnes?
I love her with all I have
Praise be the Chord
I made an old friend laugh a lot when I suddenly switched from Educated English into my broad Lancashire accent.She was thunderstruck.I’ve never spoken like that before in front of her.I sound like Thora Hird.. I look like her.Am I her double?
Where the cow slips there slip I
How come this beauty?
Where the bull rings, there ring I
Ravel your duty
There’s no deliverance
From heeding life at once
To learn love’s wisdom
Photo by Mike Flemming copyright
“There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilization—these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendours.” To embrace this account of the human person, which is of course a traditional Christian one, is to decenter the world of politics—not to ignore it, but to shift it toward the periphery, to see it as among the second rather than the first things. (Lewis, The Weight of Glory, p 46; Jacobs, p 56)
C S Lewis ,best known as the author of Narnia, was an Oxford Don who wrote about Christianity [Mere Christianity]
Oh, mother, father take me back
I’ve lived the pain, I ‘ve felt the rack
I wanna see Jesus.
Take me to that wall they built
Let me see where blood’s been spilt
I wanna see Jesus.
Oh, take me back to where I was
The enemy may well be us,
Not Jesus.
What did all those sermons do?
Did they say he was a Jew?
Oh, Jesus.
Did he want the First Crusade
It is his blood the priest creates
Lord Jesus.
I don’t like the way things are
I am getting tired of war
Kill Jesus.
What has human wisdom done
From Wittgenstein to Abraham?
Cripes, Jesus!
Does research improve our lives
As for grants, the scholars strive?
Ask Jesus.
We may have chemotherapy
Radiation, history.
Where’s Jesus?
You’d think that after all the years
We’d have used up all our tears
Sweet Jesus.
Love your neighbour as yourself
Give 1% of all your wealth
Aye, Jesus.
Do what’s better, not what’s worse
I see another fragrant hearse.
It’s Jesus.
See the plastic Crucifix
See him dying with dry lips
Bend your knees, confess your sins
Otherwise, the Devil wins
Not Jesus.
We destroy the good we hate
Envy writhes and with pride mates.
The progeny will wreck the earth
Eden’s burning as drones pass.
No, Jesus.No Jesus.
Know Jesus.
“Before, says Peretti, she was “very scared of showing people I had a disability. For a long time, I tried to be better than a ‘normal’ person. It was stupid. Now I know that we are all different, and we only have to be ourselves. I am this way: a writer, a woman, a person with a disability.”
Like a child afraid of the dark, the unknown filled her with dread. “Now I know that no one can control the future. We don’t know what will happen tomorrow.”
For Mafalda, a keen goalie, letting in a goal because she doesn’t even see the ball coming and being ditched by her oldest friend, are particularly unexpected. Without self-pity she crosses “having a best friend” off her list of essential things. “I thought, for a long time,” says Peretti, reflecting on her own attempts to suppress her need for human connection, “that it was very hard for other people to be close to someone with a disability, or problems in general. But it wasn’t hard for me to be with marginalised refugee children. It’s not hard to be with someone who needs help.
“Being lonely was a great fear of Mafalda’s, and of mine. It is a sort of death, being lonely. Finding a true friend, a real friend, is the most important thing for Mafalda – and for me as well.””
On those too bumptious to repent.”
Accustomed to religious dread,
It never crossed our minds He meant
Exactly what He said.
Perhaps He frowns, perhaps He grieves,
But it seems idle to discuss
If anger or compassion leaves
The bigger bangs to us.
What reverence is rightly paid
To a Divinity so odd
He lets the Adam whom He made
Perform the Acts of God?
It might be jolly if we felt
Awe at this Universal Man
(When kings were local, people knelt);
Some try to, but who can?
The self-observed observing Mind
We meet when we observe at all
Is not alariming or unkind
But utterly banal.
Though instruments at Its command
Make wish and counterwish come true,
It clearly cannot understand
What It can clearly do.
Since the analogies are rot
Our senses based belief upon,
We have no means of learning what
Is really going on,
And must put up with having learned
All proofs or disproofs that we tender
Of His existence are returned
Unopened to the sender.
Now, did He really break the seal
And rise again? We dare not say;
But conscious unbelievers feel
Quite sure of Judgement Day.
Meanwhile, a silence on the cross,
As dead as we shall ever be,
Speaks of some total gain or loss,
And you and I are free
To guess from the insulted face
Just what Appearances He saves
By suffering in a public place
A death reserved for slaves.
The death of God implies he did exist
And of his sayings many were possessed
The still, small voice, the burning bush, its fire
The prophets ,Moses ,Jesus, Jeremiah
On God, a snail without a shell , we trod
On his face of love, we left much blood
The quick of human flesh was dragged and torn,
Oh, tortured people, God lived in your forms
Tear your finger nail side,see it bleed
Imagine pain both dreadful and unseen
Where was God’s own dwelling place, we cry
To the lowly, he was in the sky.
God was buried live in earth which shrieked
My people,where are they, ah can none speak?
A number of Jews who survived the death camps went to their old homes in Eastern Europe.I am not saying which country
They were buried live.The earth heaved for hours
Ballispipes(voice box)
Ballybant(belt)
Bant(twine)
Banterin(haggle)
Baokes(beams)
Barm-bo(barm dumpling)
Barmy(Silly)
Barrowfells(barrowfields)
Barst(burst)
Bat(hit)
Beawt, bowt(without)
Beylin(Boiling)
A kettle beylin on het fire means home
A place of greater safety, allus known
Mi mam wer mekin bread and dad wer heah
I live now cos mi daddy drank that beer
T’cat wer sat down on our old rag rug
I was in ‘t kitchen peeling spuds
We had ehn old gas cooker and a sink
Otherwise we’d only pen ‘n ink
Mi ballispipes are useful as I hum
Hopin’ song will bring mi daddy home
But now and then they cause some people wrath
Like a woman in my Wensday morn Art Class
She shouted ,is there summat wrong wi’ you?
Where to start, is Confession ever new?
Abaht mi singin’ I don’t sing bi will
I think it’s daddy, he is wi’ mi still
Oh daddy I don’t miss your ballybalt
On my bum it left eternal welts
Yet you sang me lullabies and I rode on ye back
A livin’ ,breathin’ ,human haversack
This photo is from Mike Flemming’s Natural History Blog
http://home.btconnect.com/mike.flemming/
“In the 1950s and 1960s his [Auden’s ]religious views began to coincide with those of the Protestant theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, whose letters from the Nazi prison where he was eventually murdered had expounded an adult, “religionless” Christianity that had left behind all childish fantasies of a protective, paternal God. Bonhoeffer’s God experienced human suffering: “It is not some religious act which makes a Christian what he is, but participation in the suffering of God in the life of the world.” Auden told friends that of all the doctrines that the early Church had condemned as heresies (such as the Gnostic and Manichaean heresies that regarded matter as inherently fallen or demonic), the only one in which he believed was patripassianism, the doctrine that the Father voluntarily suffered with the Son.”
One fine summer night in June 1933 I was sitting on a lawn after dinner with three colleagues, two women and one man. We liked each other well enough but we were certainly not intimate friends, nor had any one of us a sexual interest in another. Incidentally, we had not drunk any alcohol. We were talking casually about everyday matters when, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, something happened. I felt myself invaded by a power which, though I consented to it, was irresistible and certainly not mine. For the first time in my life I knew exactly—because, thanks to the power, I was doing it—what it means to love one’s neighbor as oneself…. My personal feelings towards them were unchanged—they were still colleagues, not intimate friends—but I felt their existence as themselves to be of infinite value and rejoiced in it.
WH Auden
Emile woke Mary up at 7am.It was a Sunday in late October, grey and damp though the sun was still not too low
Go away, she told him.The clock has changed.It’s not 8 am yet.I have to wash my hair as well.Get the Observer out of the basjet for me.
I can’t read. the dear animal replied.And why don’t you rebel and stick to Summer Time?
I know Stan wanted to send you to Eton but we couldn’t afford it.Yet you understand days and calenders, Mary joked savagely
She got up and found her fleece dressing gown; it was conker brown covered in coloured spots.She went downstairs and gave Emile a Whitby kipper.Then she made some tea and took it upstairs so she could drink it while she came round from her dreams
Suddenly Annie ran into her bedroom wearing a long black vinyl coat and red knee-high boots
You never locked the back door, she howled like a lost leopard which has had no food for weeks
I don’t suppose anyone wants my old TV as it is only 19 inches.And my Chromebook is not something worth re-selling.I do have a new coat.
How about Ray Monk’s life of Wittgenstein, Annie asked her defiantly, her apricot lips pouting childishly as the Riemann of Paris lipstick glittered uncannily like an imaginary number in a dream of Godel.
The people who might enjoy reading it are by virtue of that , not the sort to steal or buy it on the black market.
That is very racist, Annie told her.You should say:the beige market!
Then nobody would know what I meant, Mary said lovingly
Anyway, do you want to come to Marks with me? They have some beautiful coats in
I’d like a pink wool coat, said Mary thoughtfully
Quite right ,said Annie.Bring back feminine colours
Actually, gay men might like pink coats, she continued.But if they go on the bus they might get dirty.Come to think of it, so will women’s coats
They will have to buy pink puffa jackets and we can wash them at 30 deg.Mary whispered
Using a special detergent, Annie asked?
I have never seen a detergent for washing gay men.I don’t think they will fit into the washing machine.On the other hand, you are small so you will fit in
Shall I get undressed first, Annie asked furtively.
Yes, I’ll try to put you on a short wash for 15 minutes but it is your choice.Maybe a bath would be safer?
No problem, said Annie intellectually.Are you having one with me?
You’d better be careful, Mary ad-libbed.It might be sexual harassment.
Well, I am not gay , said Annie.
You never know till you try, Mary giggled ,like a child behind the school canteen
Why, we might become gender fluid and then who knows?
And so say all of us
Miaow
Using google maps I see
I can walk to Tewkesbury
It will take me 50 hours
Just time for the milk to sour
If I have a motor car
I can get there in 3 hours
Is it worth it just for once?
£20,000 at a glance
I wonder can I hire a bike
I have an old one but it’s white
The tyres have rotted and it’s sad
Better just to say its dead
No wonder the Royal Family
Spend so much on fealty
Their own train is very good
If only if it were real brown wood!
“To pray,” Auden wrote, “is to pay attention or, shall we say, to ‘listen’ to someone or something other than oneself. Whenever a human so concentrates his/her attention—be it on a landscape, or a poem or a geometrical problem or an idol or the True God—that s/he completely forgets his/her own ego and desires in listening to what the other has to say to him, she/he is praying.” This may seem a denatured idea of prayer, but Auden took it seriously, and seems to have prayed in exactly this sense”
I sent this article to a few friends.One sent back an elegant and beautiful description of his view of the world and what it has within it though being an atheist he may not pray in the [old fashioned] Christian sense.He may pray in the above sense but to him it’s not prayer it is being alive and experiencing that
Another lapsed Catholic sent a short note saying she wasn’t interested in God
She didn’t ask me what it meant to me or why it had seemed interesting enough to send to her.She may like me have suffered the utter boredom of a convent school
Are some of us living in a complete and enclosed world so we don’t care what interests others? And we feel safe.After all, the boredom of the Rosary nearly drove some of us insane.That was no prayer that was rubbish to me.Yet some people have found it a help in times of trouble/Maybe just feeling the beads is nice?
I suppose in Auden’s piece he wants to be involved in humankind and the world of nature, the Universe of some aspect of that.And he also liked the invocation of the spiritual by means of rites and rituals which has been part of our history from the start……
A bit like music or an art show….?
““To pray,” Auden wrote, “is to pay attention or, shall we say, to ‘listen’ to someone or something other than oneself. Whenever a human so concentrates his/her attention—be it on a landscape, or a poem or a geometrical problem or an idol or the True God—that s/he completely forgets his/her own ego and desires in listening to what the other has to say to him, she/he is praying.” This may seem a denatured idea of prayer, but Auden took it seriously, and seems to have prayed in exactly this sense
How my heart sings 