Month: August 2018
Mary gets a letter
The postman was very late coming that morning.Stan was asleep in his armchair whilst Annie was analysing some data on the political alignments of the over fifties group in Knittingham.Mary was upstairs daydreaming.
Hi. Mary…Annie called.There’s a letter for you from the hospital.
Mary came down, her face a little pale with anxiety.She opened it slowly.Inside it had the following announcement
Your appointment on 5th October at 3 am with Dr Paramour has been cancelled..
We can offer you he following appointment:
5th October 2014 at 3 am in the usual clinic
This will be with Dr Paramour unless he goes on holiday again.He will remove your tumour and your humor as well.
Stan read the letter.
Why have they sent this? he asked bemusedly as he blinked with his nice blue eyes.
Mary phoned the hospital.She spoke to a charming young man.
What does it mean? she enquired.Why give such a silly letter out.
It means nothing,the man said,It’s the computer.
Computers follow programmes.We’ve had this type of stupid letter many times in the last 6 months….it’s using paper and postage apart from the worry.Why can’t someone alter the programme?
I don’t know,the pleasant man replied.I think nobody understands it.
Don’t they realise that keeping patients calm and trusting is part of the healing process?
No,they don’t he answered despondently.We have to answer the phone all day long.So we can hear how upset some people are.
Stan called out,it’s in the government too.They wasted millions on a new system which was scrapped before it was ever used…
Where are all the intelligent people?
That’s what I have been wondering,thought Emile as he hid behind Annie’s new green handbag hoping a field mouse might come by
I am sure if I planned the the computer programmes I could fix this,said Mary.But I will never be given a job now.I don’t think I’d want it now with my eyesight.
Well,Mary,you are still very beautiful,said Stan.I think I want to go to bed with you.
Stan, how can you say it in front of Annie?
Well,she can come as well if she likes,he replied tactfully.
And what about Emile?
Oh, alright then.We’ll all go to bed even he … we need a life changing experience.And I do not mean another daft letter from that blooming hospital,The Royal See
We could paper the walls with them.
I would not enjoy seeing the walls like that,said Annie.
I am just making a point… that they waste so much money…. and time answering the phone to correct their errors………. it’s like Alice in Sunderland.
I never knew she was a Geordy, mioawed Emile…
I just like to think of her that way,answered Stan.
Anyway,upstairs and off with your clothes… we must make love before we die even if it kills us or we have to go to A and E with angina,migraine,a broken rib or other unmentionable discomforts.
And being obedient they all want upstairs,got undressed and fell asleep side by side in Stan’s large soft bed… except for Emile.
I thought they were going to have a love in,he thought.Perhaps when they waken up,who knows?
Maybe the NHS are trying to make people mad so they will pay for private treatment….
Mary was dreaming she was back at Oxford teaching analysis to a group of frightened first year students…what a pity they are so nervous,she thought.They’s do better working in a garden centre or a zoo…
And so would all of us
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Stan and the nightie
Stan woke up later than usual owing to the comfort of sleeping in his dear wife’s soft cotton nightgown.He had slept better despite the police calling to question him about a nude woman found wandering in the town centre.
Women have better clothes than men,Emile, he remarked to the cat which was stretched out on the Guardian.I don’t know why I buy that paper.You could sleep on a bath towel or the Sun
After having a shower,Stan dcided to take another look at Mary’s clothes.He found a long denim skirt in indigo which he fancied would match his new T shirt.
Of course I shall only wear while I do the housework he told Emile.After all in Scotland I could wear a kilt.Can you get a denim kilt he wondered.He decided to wear underpants but not to wear Mary’s silk petticoat.She might get angry with him.
There is a certain logic in wearing a denim skirt as it much cooler than trousers and allows easy movement.But of course one must wear decent underpants in case the wind blows under it and reveals all.That’s why women are always buying packs of pants.So Stan was thinking. and he remembered his old espadrilles which would look good.He stood in front of the mirror and imagined he looked quite fetching.
The doorbell rang and on the step was the Vicar of Knittingham South.
Hello,madam, he said.
I’m a man,Stan muttered mournfully.
Yes,dear,of course you are.May I speak to your husband?
I am the husband,Stan screeched.
Oh,I see.You are gay then, I assume.
Stan pointed to his beard and said,I am a man. Didn’t you hear me?
Please forgive me, the Vicar said.Some old ladies get quite hairy and with the skirt I thought it was rude to mention your beard.How do you find the skirt,by the way?
Well, it’s quite nice having air on the legs and it’s definitely cooler than shorts.
But a cotton dress would be even better.Are you married?
Yes,said the Vicar but my wife is very intolerant of anything unusual.She’d be furious if I wore her clothes.
My wife doesn’t know,Stan told him.I bet she’d be angry too because she’d have to iron it again.
Why don’t you wash and iron it before she comes home, the Vicar demanded.
Well, just between the two of us I am afraid of irons, telephones,and making a mistake in a recipe.Also eye tests and blue litmus paper and crisps
I’m afraid of dentists, fogs ,dogs and sausages the Vicar admitted.And doctors and fierce women.
The two men stood pondering.
Come inside, said Stan after a few minutes.Let’s have a coffee.
They sat on the patio drinking their coffee and saw a wren fly past into the weigelia.That’s the first I’ve seen recently.said Stan.
Emile was asleep in a woven wastepaper basket in the kitchen by the door
Anyway, why did you call,Stan asked the Vicar.We never got to that
I can’t remember, the dear old man admitted.I’ll have to come back tonight.
Oh,dear,I think I’d better put some trousers on, Stan whispered.My legs are cold
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Being creative and making something
Trial and horror
All I have learned is:
If you are not hoping to make a living from it
and you have a desire to do it but are unsure how
If you have no expectations so you are pleased if anything comes out at all or you may feel depressed when you see what you’ve done but you go on anyway
Then after you have taken a lot of photos you begin to understand what you like.You didn’t know before
If you have no expectations so you are pleased if anything comes out at all or you may feel depressed when you see what you’ve done but you go on anyway
Then after you have taken a lot of photos you begin to understand what you like.You didn’t know before
[I like to take still life photos of 2 or 3 objects] You may take 300 before you learn what you like
After you happily spend hours drawing the same objects, you realise you like to draw two people ir two jugs or two apples next to each or ,or overlapping but not flowers or landscapes
You write some limericks and then wonder what might be more interesting.Anything you see with an emotional impact can affect you enough so you want to write about it… make a note.I saw a woman who had been deserted and depressed walking in the snow with two huge dogs which pulled her along and she looked happy again
After you happily spend hours drawing the same objects, you realise you like to draw two people ir two jugs or two apples next to each or ,or overlapping but not flowers or landscapes
You write some limericks and then wonder what might be more interesting.Anything you see with an emotional impact can affect you enough so you want to write about it… make a note.I saw a woman who had been deserted and depressed walking in the snow with two huge dogs which pulled her along and she looked happy again
Just write it any old how
If you find a place where someone might read it and not be too critical it helps but I think the big blogging places are not so good for getting much of the right attention – some kind people
If you find a place where someone might read it and not be too critical it helps but I think the big blogging places are not so good for getting much of the right attention – some kind people
might exist but a small place might be better.Or even FB
You might be surprised what comes out when you start.
You don’t know the end when you begin so if you like control it’s harder.
You might be surprised what comes out when you start.
You don’t know the end when you begin so if you like control it’s harder.
That should be enough to begin with.
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Boris Johnson
His article about Muslim women was a tactical gambit designed to gain the votes of right wing people and frightened people when he makes his leadership bid
His article was meant to be funny but unless you went to Eton you won’t get it or letterboxes aka better locks on
He wrote this while drunk and regretted it but cannot apologise
He wants to create more trouble in the UK as he thinks we have not got enough yet
He lost self control and wrote it while in a bad temper with his sister in law who is from Afghanistan,as it happens.
He may have a hight IQ but he is basically a bit backward except for dragging women into his cave.They seem to like him
It is a secret code to tell Trump he likes what he is doing.
He is trying to help M & S as they don’t sell Muslim clothes so the Muslims have to change to our clothes.OMG I hope not! Thin leggings and crop tops and choppped locks don’t look so good on most women.On the other hand Marks sell long trenchcoats and long cardigans, also maxi dresses with sleeves so that might help.
Especially if men wore them.Make men cover up.I’d prefer not to see BJ’s face myself.
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The escalator
The man who never listened to the troubles of his wife fell down the escalator at King's Cross station. No-one met his eyes, as he lay sickly on the concrete, though someone did push his shiny briefcase towards him as if hoping that was enough. He phoned his wife but she was out complaining about him to a neighbour instead of painting or cooking dinner. As he lay down there on a level with the feet of the commuters he noticed no-one polished their shoes anymore... well,no-one could polish trainers of course.., though you can wash them---- he saw the way people leaned forward as if pushing themselves against a gale. though it was a still warm day. It seemed as if they were battling against a huge force, not relating to the feeling of their weight upon the earth. It was some spiritual force which was pushing them back towards the Underground,hot and turgid with sweat and dust. A sanitised Inferno,where the hell is in the collective mind . The force seemed to push them in and they pushed back and did eventually make it into the street outside and into Westminster, for we all need our rulers. He lay there all morning musing, until a tramp came over and asked him to buy a copy of the Big Issue. And he stood up and bought it gratefully, taking strength from the acknowledgement of his humanity. He phoned the office, went home and told his wife he'd like to know how she had spent her morning how she felt,how he wanted to learn to talk and listen, and recommends now that if you can fall off the escalator without breaking a leg you might be glad to see life from the bottom up; for he'd always looked from the top down and was above everyone. These reversals,though fearful, can give us a new perspective especially on women who are so often on the underside of society He's wondering about changing his life from up to down.. and down to up. Mothers always said,it's good to have a change. I don't think it was their husbands they meant.. though.........who knows? A game of musical chairs might be good on the weekend, if you live near a good escalator. Escalating... it's not for the beginner at falling.
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Why some of us are still single
I
If you hate yourself, why do you think someone else will like you?
If your life is full and creative, you have no time to spend looking for someone else
I’m all alone and up a tree
Why won’t someone rescue me?
I came up here to see the view
I want you to come up too
I have no ladder nor a rope
I just have a telescope
For you see a spy
Watching ladies as they fry
The sun is hotter,more intense
I tell the ladies :No offence
But if I get more close to one
I am frightened and I run
Yet I long for a soul mate
And to share a box of dates
Call me silly, call me crazed
I am feeling fine yet dazed
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Touching it kindly as with tiny open fingers,
Let your lips meet gently,
the top one resting against the lower,
touching with tenderness
your own skin to skin.
Forefinger propped on chin,
I let the others dangle,
like leaves on a branch;
how softly gravity tugs them downwards.
Let heart beat quietly,slowly
as the blood circulates
carrying its music,
a river,
following the path of least resistance.
How the blood vessels receive willingly this flow,
touching it kindly as with tiny open fingers,
helping and being helped.
How the hair on the head
floats
on the breeze,
like tentacles of an octopus
waving goodbye.
Top eyelid loves the lower one;
as we blink they touch
like lovers kissing swiftly
behind a tree.
and how the light comes in
we see a world.
[mine may not be yours,]
but the blink of my eyelid
sends waves through the air,
so we’re all touching and being touched,
lips kissing each other,
kiss all living creatures.
skin to skin.
air to air.
And inside us,the rich darkness
of creative night
transforms,in turn,
these touches
into dreams.
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Love was on the wing
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Losing two
After my dad died when I was a little girl my mother was in a bad way with five children to care for and money to earn
I only realised recently, when you lose one parent, you lose another because the mother left behind alone is not the same as she was when she had a loving husband.So when a friend’s husband dies, your friend is not the same person as before.So in a way you suffer two losses
But when we look at Syria, how can we complain?
‘s
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What is me and what is the world?
I had a very interesting experience.I suffered from an illness nobody seemed to understand so it was ” the menopause”, ME, psychological or psychosomatic etc
After about 10 years I had some blood tests.My thryoid was underactive [ 4 years lying on the bed!] Ironically my previous blood tests showed this but the doctor “forgot” to tell me.
What I think is very interesting is after I got treatment I didn’t think I felt any difference but I believed that the Super Fiendish Su Doku puzzles in the newspaper were being deliberately made easier.I went shopping and did other activities presumably meaning I had more energy.I began going to an Art Class……. the world seemed different but it was me who was different.That makes one think.
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What is post modern poetry?
http://karenrager.tripod.com/essays/postmodernpoetry.html
Extracts
1
Following World War II, with the bombing of Japan, the cohesive center disappeared for Americans. People began to move outward from the cities and into newly created suburbs. Women did not wish to return to the world of housekeeping after tasting the freedom of war-time employment. Minorities also felt the impact of a newly found freedom. We split the atom, the center of everything, and in so doing we created chaos. The Contemporary Poets reflect this chaos.
2
It is interesting to note that Modern Poetry laments loss and fragmentation, while Post-Modern Poetry celebrates it. There are notions of whole fragments that don’t link to any conclusion. Anne Lauderbach suggests that as our lives are made up of strings of fragments, so is post-modern poetry. Coherence is the falsehood. If we insist on neatness we will leave out something of significance – too neat is false, you experience nothing. Fragments create variety (Lauderbach).
In interpreting Modern Poetry it is not necessary to understand the poets exact meaning. It is sufficient that the reader take from a poem what they need to take, which may not be what the writer intended. But that is okay because the reader takes the feeling, they get in touch with the emotion. To paraphrase John Ashbery, “You, the reader, add the flowers to the field with your interpretation” (Mitchell). The poet creates an openness, an empty field and the reader connects with the emotion and fills the field with fragments, creating a whole. The Modern Poets are teaching us to see the world in different ways than we are used to. Readers have to learn to dance to the new music.
Finally, modern poetry creates a mythology of human psyche and culture by delving into how language works, as well as exploring subject and content. A poem is not a puzzle to be solved but an experience, an event to take part in. The modern poets created metapoems, which are poems about how poems and language operate. They have no fixed center, it is “a hymn to possibility” as John Ashbery says. The modern poet, Anne Lauderbach says, “Depart from the tune – breaking the form is the form. We explore the world through forms” (Lauderbach). By breaking traditional form and exploring the complexities of language itself, the contemporary poet embarks on an adventure of self-discovery, forging new roads into the inner workings of individuals and their societies.
Works Cited
Brooks, Gwendolyn. “a song in the front yard.” Norton Anthology of American Literature. Sixth Edition, Vol. E. Ed. Nina Baym. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2003. 2780-2781.
Eliot, T.S. “The Wasteland.” Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry. 2nd Edition, Ed. Ellmann, Richard and O’Clair, Robert. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1998. 491-504. Lauderbach, Anne. Notes from Lauderbach’s lecture at Florida Atlantic University, Boca Raton, Florida, 1/30/01 Mitchell, Susan. 2001. LIT 3021 Modern Poetry. Florida Atlantic University, Boca Raton, Florida. December 2002
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Life and death
Suzanne
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What a lot of tea,miaowed Emile.
For my brother,Mike
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.
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Now I’ve lost’em and mi wits
Mike Flemming
http://www.bbc.co.uk/lancashire/fun_stuff/lists/slang.shtml
Doctor,doctor ah feel ill
Gizza sken.Ah’ll mek mi will
Mi mate’s a woofer .not right spov
Yet he’s gud at mekkin luv
Now ah’m sick n’tired eh life
Mi pain shoots throo mi like a knife
Wi canna have wa fun in bed
Mi privates ache and that’s not gud
Mi bosom’s gradely, all agree
But they can’t feel mi pain like’me
Mi pongers also feel worn out
When am trollied,’ow, they shout
On Xmas Day , all ookin men
Give me only 5 on 10
A canny lass, I can allure
I swear as bloody life endures
I found a ten pun on’t floor
Can a woman ask fe’ more?
Mi ”usband took his kecks right off
Ye should a’ seen ‘is collie dog!
T’ dog jumped up and bit his balls
But ah’ve just got it out on bail
I used t’ grumble I ‘ad nits
Now I’ve lost’em and mi wits
|
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Adages
Never be sad, when things all go bad
The world is obscure, and God is no more
Let mother Nature be your aid
Get pregnant quick in this sweet glade
I will marry you next week
I really find you ace,my sweet
Let your feelings allrun out
Then get up the blooming spout
I dropped the teapot in the hall~
Tea made murals on the wall
I don’t decorate no more
The cats don’t like it nor your whore
I had a mistress very kind
She was an orange with no rind
Filled with juice and squeezy too
Unfortunately she went blue
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Late birthday cards
I forgot to buy your birthday card once more
Maybe I don’t love you,you’re a bore.
If you want to leave me,I am glad
Living with your rules made me go mad
Alas I bought a card but not a stamp
Please don’t kick me in my big round rump
I decided that the cards were very poor
So maybe I shall find one by next year
If the first class stamps increase in price
We’ll be living on just plain old rice
I did not send a card,my dearest love
But I shall send a message via my dove
I saw a card I liked by the shop door
Then I realised I am now poor
The card was four pounds fifty, I was stunned
I’ll have to give up drinking all this rum
I grow older and alas I am quite bad
I am wicked and you are very sad
I never bought a card or wrote a note
See the beam in your eye, it’s my mote
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Earth space
The earth has its own gravity and grace Perception will develop as we grow Gently feel the sacred in this space When we live we need to find our place The process may be long and very slow The earth has its own gravity and grace The good and bad both need to be embraced Grace comes easier to those who’re low. Understand the sacred in this space Good and bad make patterns as in lace And through the gaps, the living waters flow The earth has its own gravity and grace Life must grow at its own righeous pace By our intuition ,we will know. Maintain the sacred in the earth's own space Of the fruits of earth, the living taste. Admire the flying birds from thrush to crow The earth has its own gravity and grace I am grateful to the sacred and its space
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Poetry and politics
“I’ve often said that all poetry is political. This is because real poems deal with a human response to reality and politics is part of reality, history in the making. Even if a poet writes about sitting in a glass house drinking tea, it reflects politics. Yehuda Amichai ”
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/yehuda_amichai_536622
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From Theresienstadt
From Theresienstadt they came to Windermere
The orphaned children, starved and ill with fear
Brought back to enter childhood, Eden’s sphere
I never knew before they had lived here
Loved lake water lapping at the shore
I climbed up Orrest Head to see the view
But much was missing,this I never knew
I saw the natural beauty, no plane flew
From Theresienstadt
We see the children coming from the plane
That is, we see the ones who still remained
Did they visit where they lost their chains?
Might I have seen them walking in the lanes?
From Theresienstadt
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Bees in the bookshop
Photo by J.Leeming.Copyright 2018
Mary went into the bookshop and as usual knocked all the books of the table by the door.Emile was in her old Polish leather journalists’ bag.
Oh, mother for God’s sake,why are you so clumsly, he mewed
Maybe I’ve got dispraxia, she smiled imperviously
At least you’ve not got discalculia,Emile murmured wickedly
I think it is coming on, she pertly responded,I find it so hard to keep my accounts now.Maybe it’s because I hate dealing with money.
I am sorry I am not a man,said Emile.I could get job and give you housekeeping money and a dress allowance
That is sweet but I do have enough to manage on, she cried wilfully
Then they saw Annie coming in the door wearing a yellow blouse and skirt which had attracted a huge cloud of wasps and bees who believed she was a giant buttercup
Luckily her foundation was not yellow but deep pink ivory by Guerroad of Paris and Wigan
Her lipstick was called Red Vice and was made in Southport for Yves de Pourrant
Her eyes were invisible behind her cyclists’ sunglasses from,Milletts but she had bought contact lenses which made her eyes look like lapis lazula
What are all those bees doing in here, cried the manager
They are with me,said Annie in a nasty tone of voice
Will they not stay outside, he muttered shamefaced
Unfortunately they have not learned English yet, she told him.The Government have stopped English as a foreign language lessons for immigrants, you see.
Don’t tell me they are immigrants, he shouted.That is absolutely ridiculous
Well swallows are immigrants, she informed him,
Do you mean the government is paying their rent and buying them all new cars like they do to Romanians?
I didn’t know Romanians got free brand new cars from the government.They must have got some incriminating photographs of Theresa May eating trifle with her bare hands while delivering a rebuke to Boris Manson.Or maybe Boris Manson had done something terrible!
You can say that again, shouted Annie.He’s an ace at doing stupid things.
He went to Eton,Mary told her
What’s that got to do with it,Annie asked her
Well, just recalled when I was teaching at Cloxford there was a youth from Eton in the seminar group.He managed to get a third class degree
I bet his parents didn’t know a 22 year old working class girl was teaching him
Well, he didn’t know my age but I could still get half fare on the bus.He looked older than me but his parents were never around.As for being working class I did work very hard with that class and all tnhe others got decent seconds,Mary reported.
The manager appeared and threw a bucketful of hot water over Annie and the bees
Eeh,I am in hot water.Ring 999 and get Dave the transvestite paramedic and some towels
But who will dry the bees,asked poor Emile?
God dries bees who dry themselves.said Mary
In to the shop came Dave running as fast as he could.He knocked down all the books on the tables.
What’s happened ,he trilled?
It’s the manager.I think he is dead, Annie said.I hit him with my handbag
I can resuscitate him,Dave wept.But keep mum about your blow
The manager came to and looked bewildered.I thought I had died and gone to heaven and here I am in this horrible shop again.
Annie went over and dried herself on his jacket
.Thanks for the free wash, she whispered.Meet me tonight in the pub
I am a married man, he told her
That’s what they all say,Annie said in her inimitable manner
And so say all of us
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I am always singing too
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My man!
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How poetry came to matter again
Extract
The poetry world would hardly seem a likely place for a “race row,” the phrase The Guardian applied in 2011 to a blunt exchange of literary verdicts. The celebrated (and white) critic Helen Vendler had disparaged the celebrated (and black) poet Rita Dove’s selections for the new Penguin Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Poetry. Dove, Vendler wrote, had favored “multicultural inclusiveness” over quality. She’d tried to “shift the balance” by choosing too many minority poets at the expense of better (and better-known) writers. The poems were “mostly short” and “of rather restricted vocabulary,” the presiding keeper of the 20th-century canon judged. Over at the Boston Review, the (also white) critic Marjorie Perloff, the doyenne of American avant-garde poetics, weighed in too. She lamented what she saw as new poets’ reliance on a formulaic kind of lyric already stale by the 1960s and ’70s—a personal memory dressed up with “poeticity,” building to “a profound thought or small epiphany.” Her example: a poem by the acclaimed (also black) poet Natasha Trethewey about her mother’s painful hair-straightening routine.T
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Rhymes for putting inside cards
Trial and horror
No other person in the land
Has got a sense of humour
I send you this elastic band
To play with when you’re gloomier
I send this card to show I care
I love you sweetest when you’r bare
Yet you have got a wardrobe filled
Not with lovers you have killed
No, you have such taste sublime
The nighties in there are divine
Thank you for the forty years
Making breakfast when you’re bare
Thank you for your saving grace
We’ve got money, undebased.
I love you second to my cat
What will you say when you read that?
I love men and I love cats
How to choose? Don’t answer that
Like Jerusalem of gold and age,
With your beauty I’m engaged
Let me worship by your Wall
Facebook lovers are appalled
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A sense of humour is a useful aid
A sense of humour is a useful aid
Especially to old lovers in their bed
Their joints arthritic make their union hard
Even with the aid of pure white lard
The sound of laughter proves they are not dead.
As they drink their coffee,whose the tread
Upon the stair, a footstep can be heard
Let Death come, accept and be not scared
Play the game until its final card
A sense of humour
All debts honoured, all the bills are paid
So, old folks get meeting, then get laid
Love the dance and love the swift white bird.
In the sky the swallows make their curves
Wonder to the end, the final words
The glint of humour
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Starry, starry night
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Mary gets a shock
Mary woke up in her bright sunny bedroom stacked high with books and spectacles like Emile dancing in front of her mirror.She looked at her arm where she had some stitches removed the night before.
Oh.dear.Her arm was bleeding and as she gazed the surgical wound opened up more and more and some blood ran out,just like Dave, the paramedic would run into her house, if you get my point
Picking up the phone she rang her doctor and was told by the receptionist
Why not put some elastoplast on it?
Fortunately Mary was so intelligent and brilliant after her lengthy education on deferential equations, she deduced that after a large biopsy,elastoplast was not sufficient.She phoned 111
Hello NHS here,are you the patient?
Yes,Mary cried,
Where are you ?
I am in bed
After a few more questions the computer told the NHS aide to send Mary to the hospital A and E within one hour.What a pity she could not ring 999 and get Dave to help her as it was not an emergency
.She phoned for a minicab after putting one some clean undies and an old blue dress.
Now Emile,I think you’d better stay here so you can watch out for Annie and tell her where I am
Whatever, the surly cat replied like a teenage boy asked to get out of bed to go to school when he was happy lying and dreaming of girls and their silky hair and wondering how soon he could get a real live girlfriend to take to the cinema on the back row.Or better still, undo two buttons on her blouse and kiss her
Here, there is some fresh food,Emile.I should be home soon
The phone rang.
Hello, this is Mischa your cab driver in my green and blue striped car
I am ready,Mary murmured as she locked the door and rushed down the path.
What has happened,asked Mischa
Don’t look,said Mary who had stuck 6 dressings over her wound
When she arrived she was soon seen by a nurse
She lay down on a nice soft bed while a handsome and serene man applied various sticky things to her arm topped by a big white dressing
Please come back on Saturday, he cried
Why, is there a dance, she enquired saucily?
No, you need to have it checked!
So this is not enough?
I can’t say, he cried
Little did Mary know she was going to spend £100 on minicabs in the following week.
Annie was in the orange and yellow bijou kitchen extension.She was wearing pink and purple leggings and a black tunic, her face bright as a diamond in Max -Packed-Her long lasting foundation, her lips glowing like Wigan Pier at sunset with her new lipstick which matched Mary’s cupboard doors.
It was called,New Dawn by Pierre Moulin of Rome and Taiwan.She had seen it recommended by the Guardian beauty editor who was rather a strange looking young lady by past standards.
Still we all need advice now and then and cosmetics cheer us up for a little while especially when we have just seen Boris Johnson on TV claiming he loves women who look like letter boxes or was it pillar boxes?
Whatever.
Here,Mary,I’ve made some strong tea.How did you get on? cried Annie in her warm Knittingham way.
Wonderful,Mary whispered.I saw this awesome male nurse.
Will it heal?
I suppose so, doesn’t everything , Mary said, her view based on total ignorance of surgical wounds and failed stitching,I think that nurse should have realised it was too early to remove the stitches as they were near my elbow.They don’t stitch them up again apparently.
While she spoke a few irate bacteria were searching for a ladder so they could clamber into Mary’s wound
You’d think they would put steps in. said one bacterium to another
.I think it is cruel to have such a deep hole with not even a rope to climb down.He had been watching rock climbers on the Langdale Pikes who had unknowingly been accompanied by a thousand bacteria and their friends the viruses.
Do stop moaning. said his wife,Annabelle.Let’s just dive in
Mary drank her tea and looked at Annie who was a little pale
I’m sorry to cause worry, she said shyly.I expect I’ll be better by tomorrow
And so hope all of us
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What to say to a burglar in the night
Hello,you must be the expert the police send to see if our alarms work
Oh,I am so lonely I am glad you came.I’ll give you a key to save trouble
Would you like to take this jewellery to the Charity Shop?I can’t ride my bike any more so I’d be delighted
Can you make me some tea while you are here.I have got insomnia and the heat makes me feel thirsty
Help yourself but please leave the duvet.I have too much stuff in here
I have 2 coats downstairs you might like.
I am too old for sex but you might like to hold my handfor a minute
I have to see the shrink tomorrow.Are you real or an hallucination?
My cat is very bad tempered but her mioawing is not as bad as her bites and scratches.
I am sorry.Are you Welsh or Lithuanian?
My husband is in that box.He’s called Jack.He is dead, actually but we still share the bed.Is that a sin?
I’ve had some odd dreams but this is the worst.Shut the window and go out by the door. like normal people do
I know normal is a word with several meanings I don’t teach unpaid any more.
You want to know what the average is? Not Boris Johnson
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That’s killing time, as now we say
Am allocking agen today
That’s killin’ time, as now we say
Ah,shud be agate but oh ah can’t
Work ‘as gotten ‘ard teh find
Ma mammy’s ill and she’ll soon die
I must wear a suit and tie
Allocking meks me feel ill
Did mother make a legal will?
Am all allooan up on’t Pike
Rivington is weear folk hike
Am all allooan and ah feel low
Allocking is touch ‘n go
Where’s mi daddy an’ ‘is pipe
Where’s dad’s jacket,full eh smoke?
I want him back ,mi mam’s alloooan
You ‘ed wonder at ‘er groans
Where’s mi cat and where’s mi dog
Where’s ower’ handmade fireside rug?
Made ‘eh rags and hooked through cloth
Eeh, won’t God be filled with wrath?
God is never all allooan
Never allocks, he’s a stone
Amno bettin’ ‘eaven exists
That’s why all wa men get pissed
But ah’ve seen Hell ,oh Ama sure?
Nothin’ yooman shall endure.
How my heart sings 