Day: Jun 6, 2019

Fish dancing with the daffodils

selective photography of yellow petaled flowers
Photo by Andrew Pledger on Pexels.com

I flindered lokely as a  blouse
That sleats on high o’er biles and phrills,
When at a seance I saw a fowl
The ghost, of hilden waffotills;
Depide the blike, Coneath the blees,
Pluttering and strancing in the  frieze

Conpentred as the hores did pont
And swondleon the mokiway,
They  briched in never-blinding stine
Along the gargins wovt a rey:
Ten thousand jaw, I ater a  flounce,
Wessing their shids in glightly spance.

The Daves deside them panced but loy
Out-did the sparkling waves in schlee
A waite could not clutt ie glay
In juch a ferund  timpanee:
I glazed- and jazed- but little ploat
What  gealthy wasps shrew  thlee  had cloght:

For poft, when on my louch i pi
In racane or in trensive slood,
They flush upon that innard plie
Rich is the blass of molitude;
And then my tart with  leisured gills:
Fish dancing with the daffodils

Through my fault

img_20190311_122544img_20190311_122650My husband was so kind.He ate his dinner from the cat’s dish and let the cat eat with me.
What I didn’t bargain for is he wanted me to mate with the cat as well.After all, why would a man get married if he didn’t want to mate?
Only because he’d get his clothes washed and his sheets changed.Is that logical?Surely hiring a cleaner would be cheaper?
At least he didn’t harass women or men.He preferred reading to sex and so do I after the cat bit me.Is it my fault cats are smaller than women?
Did I roll over in bed on purpose?I was asleep.I was dreaming about a therapist who told me to stop reading Freud.
That was easy.I never read any but I am good at pretending to be super intelligent except with men,.They don’t like it,oh,no.
I used to read Wilfred Bion in bed till my husband asked me what it all meant and I said, he’s a mystic.O!
I decided to go back to base with a Rupert book.I got my first one when my mother took me to the Royal Infirmary to have my adenoids re-removed.What a bloody mess that was.When she came to take me home I was having a haemorrhage. That is not an enema!
Still, in either case, you can’t go out.
She brought my hat and coat made of green wool which she had made herself and my sister came too and she was in yellow.How I howled when they left me again.I was 5 and I’ve never recovered.
.I can’t believe my blood is so red; a lady in Boots asked me what was the name of my lipstick as she wanted that colour.I should have told a lie but I forgot and said I wasn’t wearing lipstick.
How cruel.I should have said it is Paris in spring by Max Factor and then she would have gone all over Birmingham asking for it.That’s what we women like.Wearing makeup and tormenting men by wearing transparent leggings and crop tops with red bras over the top.It’s our right to freedom of gastrumation. But is it moral? Is it a sin
Pray Father, I have worn transparent leggings in church
Through my fault, through my most grievous fault
Don’t exaggerate.I couldn’t see a thing
No, women don’t have things.They have openings.
For your penance wear a dress next week.Amen

Poetry can help with depression

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My photo

https://www.theguardian.com/global/2016/jun/18/poetry-can-heal-it-helped-me-through-depression

Extract:

For me, poetry is medicine. The poet Les Murray writes: “I’d disapproved of using poetry as personal therapy, but the Black Dog taught me better. Get sick enough, and you’ll use any remedy you’ve got.” In the 19th century, people in asylums were encouraged to write poetry, while William Cowper (1731-1800) wrote that, in his depressions, “I find writing, especially poetry, my best remedy.” Orpheus was both healer and poet and his lyre could vanquish melancholy.

When the mute begin to feel their wrath

When the mute give lectures to the  rest
When gross torturers run the world’s affairs
Ambiguous states of mind are put to death

Then the blind can navigate the best
The bones, the  human parings, the cut hair
Indict the mute and torment all the  rest

No more does spirit send  us holy breath
The foxes and the wolves wait in dark lairs
Indict the mute and torment all the  rest

Send the poisoner out to kill the pests
Do not be concerned if it’s unfair
Hear the mute and silence all the  rest

Who decided loving was unblessed?
Cover up the Gorgon and her stare
Unbind the mute and  let them each confess

 

Do not any fuehrer war declare
Do not listen to the voice that blares
When the mute begin to feel their wrath
Uneasy states of mind are put to death