I was tailing a pest again.Join the police and  get paid for stalking.

He said he was going birdwatching in Snowdonia.I didn’t know eagles bit men.

I unrolled a stone of Andrex
Then I suffocated but got the kiss of life.
From a policeman.He is now my husband

Never be tasty if you are near a lake.Mosquitos will wallow on you.

We had real toad in the hole in France.No wonder toads are always hiding

Can you drive men mad? No,I can talk them out of it.Besides I have no licence.

Do you need a licence to kill? To kill whom, Boris Nonsense?

Feel free to do whatever you like.
Alright, but I think I’ll go into the bathroom.
Why?
I want to  put some antiperspirant on.
But why?
I am going to clean the entire house.
Will it matter if you sweat?
You tell me.
Well, after that you’ll have to wash your hair
Why?
To stop me making love.
That would be hard while I am washing my hair.
So, why not buy a wig?
Buy  one!
Nothing is free in life
Except life.
Women are too clean.
Women are to clean…….

https://www.bl.uk/romantics-and-victorians/articles/john-keats-and-negative-capability

Extract

“And Keats touched again on the idea of the passivity, humility even, of a great writer, in a letter he wrote to his friend Richard Woodhouse on 27 October following year. The ‘poetical Character’, he maintained,

is not itself – it has no self – it is everything and nothing – It has no character – it enjoys light and shade; it lives in gusto, be it foul or fair, high or low, rich or poor, mean or elevated – It has as much delight in an Iago [the villain of Shakespeare’s Othello] as an Imogen [Shakespeare’s heroine in Cymbeline]. What shocks the virtuous philosopher delights the camelion Poet.^[3]

The word ‘gusto’ was used by Keats’s contemporary, the essayist and critic William Hazlitt, to describe the power and passion with which an artist creates another form. ‘The infinite quantity of dramatic invention in Shakespeare takes from his gusto’, Hazlitt wrote in the Examiner on 26 May 1816; ‘The power he delights to show is not intense, but discursive. He never insists on any thing as much as he might, except a quibble.’”

Perhaps instead of criticising
people
for  excessive use of smartphoness,
we should ask what kind of society we live in where people need this?
I believe people who have come to work here
from another country want to keep in touch with their families.
And to see them on Skype
In London many of us are from other parts of Britain.
When we were younger  we could dash up and down at the weekend
but now that is tough.
So we may be lonely for them,or just lonely anyway.
If people eat bad food .we can’t order them to starve instead.
What does surprise me is folk watching TV on a phone.
A TV now is  cheaper than a  phone.
[cheaper than in the past]
On a laptop,yes.
On a phone,why bother?
However for people who hear voices,
the music from their phone can block them
so we must not desire to remove that aid
This shows we should be less critical if possible

Be patient, oh my heart, I cannot rush
Or that which lives in me will soon be crushed
Noone can speed constantly through life
Nor bear a load of enmity and strife
Who would see God burning in a bush
Or hear his voice or  find stillness enough?

Keep away from those with voices rough
The strong need not  behave as vile or tough
Noise may be a pestilential cry
Be patient

As our little life like candle’s snuffed
As our offering to our friend’s rebuffed
As in ruined monasteries we   cry
We seek a message from the very sky
Yet  voices we hear sound like  pigs in trough
Be patient

Poetry and psychoanalysis

“Joanne Limburg talked beautifully about how grief used to be considered merely as a process of withdrawl and detachment but that now it can be considered more as the ‘renegotiation of a relationship that is ongoing’, with writing that deals with loss part as ‘an act of symbolic reparation’. She talked of how a person may ‘remove their breathing presence’ but the mother remains their mother, the father remains their father. In loss, the deceased becomes ‘an internal object’ and a ‘legacy of complicated emotions’. Poetry is thus a process of reassembly, repair, reparation, through which the poet reassembles the deceased, thought by thought, and by incorporating the many fragments of real experience (with them). Nonetheless, she questioned the ethics of producing ‘capital’ (poetry) from loss and considered how, in guilt, we might seek to hold onto pain, as if keeping the pain of loss is a way of keeping a person inside you forever.”