The sun as hot as tempers and our rage

The sun as hot as tempers badly frayed
Makes little lamps  gleam on the holly leaves
While adults quarrel , children cannot play.

We are nervous who can  we believe?
No-one knows  for sure how we should live.
The sun’s as hot as tempers lost or frayed

We flinch   at seeing  leaders more war wage
Virtue and   its family  all deceased
The foetus is aborted, has no grave

On the other’s heart,  lies make their raids
The MP’s strut about like children peeved
The sun as hot as tempers badly frayed

Wisdom’s not genetic, not innate
We learn from those around us  only if
We   dwell within the dance of love  and hate

Why have  madmen triumphed , power seized?
Lives are  almost worthless  to these thieves
The sun as hot as tempests, storms of rage
We need to move, to wander, re-engage

Why not grow your own?

rosa-cornelia

 

Never make a phone cry.
Can they love?
Avoid mobile groans
Sponge yourself down after sinning
Always use a pen  when you scream
Have you got Munch’s screen?
The word nice is overused.Be sparing.Be nasty.Be  yourself
The rod broke the fish’s heart
Being eccentric is now a psychiatric disorder.Ring 999 and ask for Dave.
The nuns used  our rulers to hit our hands when we forgot how to do compound interest
My husband’s eyesight is nothing to write home about.So he doesn’t. I ll kill him
Always eat something green at  dinner.If all else fails, is there a pelargonium in the room? In the window box.
Why not grow your own cress from  seed [ buy it]
Why not turn  into a pillar of salt?
Why not rewrite the Bible in Esperanto? Why?

We do not act,then love itself turns pale

Abba, I have come to you  for aid
The threads of life untwist around my heart
I  must catch them else I’ll fall apart
I  a creature  grown from what you made,

Abba, do you answer when we call?
We ignore you  till it is too late
I see why you abandon us to fate
The loss of Eden  follows from the Fall

Abba, we are here why do we fail?
Intentions  made, we do not have the will
The speed of living, and the grinding mills
,We do not act then love itself turns pale

Abba, is a prayer a word or deed?
We see the children  fenced,  the Wall , the blood

All we need to know about sonnets

 

 

Wakehurst place mike flemming

Mike Flemming copyrigh

https://poets.org/text/sonnet-poetic-form

 

Extract:

Sonnet Variations

Though Shakespeare’s sonnets were perhaps the finest examples of the English sonnet, John Milton’s Italian-patterned sonnets (later known as “Miltonic” sonnets) added several important refinements to the form. Milton freed the sonnet from its typical incarnation in a sequence of sonnets, writing the occasional sonnet that often expressed interior, self-directed concerns. He also took liberties with the turn, allowing the octave to run into the sestet as needed. Both of these qualities can be seen in “When I Consider How My Light is Spent.”

The Spenserian sonnet, invented by sixteenth century English poet Edmund Spenser, cribs its structure from the Shakespearean—three quatrains and a couplet—but employs a series of “couplet links” between quatrains, as revealed in the rhyme scheme: abab, bcbc, cdcd, ee. The Spenserian sonnet, through the interweaving of the quatrains, implicitly reorganized the Shakespearean sonnet into couplets, reminiscent of the Petrarchan. One reason was to reduce the often excessive final couplet of the Shakespearean sonnet, putting less pressure on it to resolve the foregoing argument, observation, or question.

Never end a word with a letter.

Never finish a sentence without  ending it all
Never write too clearly; post structuralism gapes.
Never begin a sentence without a word
Never end  one with but.
Never free associate in writing  nor in speech
Never take  a horse to  bed.
Never mention Adam Phillips unless in  the LRB
Never be  over-cautious.
Never end a word with a letter.
Never give your name to the papers
Never menstruate during working hours
Never fall in love with a duck.
Never pass water.Have a drink.
Take a random sample of  your dreams to  the OUP
Never cut your own hair while typing
Never believe anything you read.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ne

Until the birds fly higher in their song

I am engaged, the crystal is my eye
An amethyst, a diamond ,how they ring
The  ceremony happens when   I die

The sunlight is refracted till I’m blind
Until the birds fly higher in their song
I am engaged, the crystal stings  my eye

What god is it that stuns me till I cry
That makes me weep  when I would wish to sing
The  ceremony waits until I die

We find there is no answer to a why
But there are problems we must live among
I’m engaged, the crystal hurt my eye

All around the old men walk awry
One kissed my hand  as if he were a king
The  consummation waits until we die

Blow the ram’s horn till the old wall’s flung
To  fiery ground  where angels speak in tongues
I ‘m  engaged,  so crystalline  my eye
I want a  pure gold ring before  I die

He ate my  buttered toast like it was prey

He kissed my hand,I knew what was afoot
He followed me on Facebook every day
I get these butterflies inside my gut

I never fall in love with porn or smut
Or men who ask me out and make me pay
He kissed my hand, I knew what was afoot

We went to Lyons cafe, it was shut
We  fried an egg and ate it in our way
I got those butterflies inside my gut

I could  have made it funny, should I flirt?
He ate my  buttered toast like it was prey
He kissed my hand, I knew what was afoot

I did not lead him on, for it might hurt
He had to be the one who led the way
I got no butterflies inside my gut

 

He kissed my hand and asked me to a Play
He wrote it all himself, my fiance!
He kissed my hand,I knew what was afoot
I tell a lie, I never said I would

 

 

 

 

If our outer shell encloses, it deforms

The books he wrote were solid like good oak
Giving him a structure that he lacked
A skeleton outside his flesh and bones

 

A fortress made of words and printed thoughts
To hide  behind when torture broke  his back
The books he wrote were solid like good oak

 

If our outer shell encloses,  it deforms
Even brings our death,  unless   it’s cracked
A skeleton outside  but not of bone

 

The books  gave shape to his still  half numb heart
He felt he had no  being, was no fact
The books he wrote  gave breath like leaves of oak

 

Some use crutches, some crawl slowly home
Wandering by  the  shoppers  with  some tact
Oh, skeleton outside, how dry our throats

 

I wonder is  all this by Google tracked?
They watch us, not to help us  nor   perfect
The books he wrote were solid, real  and  taut
A  crucifix  of  words , expressive thoughts

Teach yourself English by trial

Never begin a sentence
Be careful with apostrophe’s,semi- colons and death
When in doubt, leave [it] out
Don’t end at an adverb,generally.But  it’s ok if not too frequently
Don’t invent  new  words.They might mean something in another language
Think about sentences then they will think about you,possibly
Learn with leisure  using audio books.

Pray before the beginning of a thought
Never forget brevity.Nor levity.
Be natural.
Leave out ad hominem, QED and ipso fracture.
A fraction of infinity is as big as infinity.That’s what infinity means  , honestly!
If you are a genius,  write what you like,  but warily
Chance favours the double bind as Gregory Bateson might have said.
Prepare your mind before  deleting.
If your spelling is bad, vote to leave the EU and learn proper English properly.
Never use a nom de plume if you  like Brexit
Croissants are being withdrawn from the UK asap.Can you spell croissant? Well forget it!

Many coloured love  brings a rebirth

Oh, to be  hermit when life bites
 loss of love, a failure of the heart
When all we get are answers full of spite

Retaliation, shatters  or  incites
More evil words released in  vicious  spurts
Oh, to be a hermit when  life bites

The faces of the enemy are tight
Eyes are narrow, fantasies or worse
To give us fresh new  answers full of spite

Eyes so held will never see the light
They cannot be redeemed by lifted curse
Oh, to be  hermit when life bites

Yet  life is not composed of black and white
Many coloured love  brings a  rebirth
Ignoring human flaws and un-thought spite

I remember sitting round the hearth
A little child. I loved  the gift, the warmth
Oh,  we must  not be cut off when love  may start
Untouched by  eager  viciousness, by spite

 

He talks in paragraphs

IMG_2117
My doctor is God
Why can’t he heal then?

The doctor wants a  urine sample
I hope it’s random enough

The doctor wants to take my temperature
Where to?

The doctor  tells me to rest
Knock yourself out with a mallet or is it   a mallard?
Duck
Oh  it hurt.

The doctor says it’s a systemic infection
Can’t  he  install a new system?

He wants me to take it easy
Fake it!

He talks in paragraphs
No, you idiot, parables!

My doctor is very  odd
Get even with him somehow

Are numbers very odd?
Yes, the odd ones are even odder than the even ones

Are doctors real?
Yes, if you think they are.

Is it a placebo effect if the doctor’s smile cures you?
We’ve never had a big enough sample of their smiles to test any theory
Just blurt it out
What! Who will cite me?
I’ll excite you

My doctor is better than yours
Mine is dead.
Stop showing off.Mine will die one day.
So what will you do?
Do or die ?
No, do then die!
Unless I become ghostly helper
Ghastly!

 

Needs are simpler then we imagine.

Anxiety is the price of life.

But don’t pay over the top.

Calmness is good at most times.
Dread is a bad friend.

Exploring nature soothes the soul
For what are we but part of it?

Gentle music helps the mind
How ever we do it,
Listening is a kindness to ourselves

Ink is the friend of the writer.
Judgment is another one.

Kindness is essential to the good life.
Lessons are available daily.

Money is necessary but not sufficient for happiness.
Needs are simpler then we imagine.

Oxygen is good for the brain.
Prayer is good for the mind.

Quality is hard to judge quickly.
Rest is often a good idea.

Tension inhibits ideas.
Work should involve play.

X- rated films are optional
Yes…You are a valuable person.

Z is the final letter
And life is an Art

Struggling up the mountains like a snail

Lost and found and lost and found again
Struggling up the mountains like a snail
So much suffering in the world of man

Must there be a meaning to our pain?
Empathise with Jonah in the whale!
Lost and found and lost and found again

Why do we go tense when we are lame?
Why feel like  murderous monsters out on bail?
So much suffering in the world humane

Do we get to know  with healing pain?
Stranded on  the pier in a great gale
Lost and found and lost and found again

If God is dead,  where can we make our claim?
Will we die well  when  our life has failed?
So much suffering in the world humane

 

Like  little boats we’re  tossed up  with no sails
Nor do we ever leave a vapour trail
Lost and found and lost and found again
Suffering   splashed  around  like   blood ,like paint

Impels, propels

Hatred both anonymous and vile
Circles round the internet  and spreads
To cruel acts ,to forums full of bile

Without our knowledge it may hurt a child
Making  nightmares active in  small heads
Hatred both anonymous and vile

 

Could I do this, could I feel  driven wild
Then fear to kill but choose to hate instead
With evil acts , with comments full of bile?

What drives such rage,  makes any conscience yield?
Tormented so the mind is nearly dead
So spurts  out hatred in each sentence vile

Envy, malice, blackness, all can reel
What  monstrous film is playing in the head?
The  screen   enables evil, acid, real

Like Sodom and Gomorrah  were by God
We will be  cut down by our own words
Hatred,  perhaps disowned, is  here, is vile
Impels, propels the writing and its bile

 

 

 

De-registered alone

I asked for a new handset for my phone
BT   will provide one totally free
One of them has  broken, don’t I know!

I have several cordless ones at home
They won’t work and I feel all at sea
I asked for a new handset for my phone

Of course I have my Motorola lone
I find it loves me  well  enough for now
My  old phone has  broken, don’t I know!

And then I have a Nokia five point  nine
I keep it in my purse with U.H.U
I  broke the handset on my  landline phone

I like Lenova Tablets set to roam
And Kindle readers  help  me have my tea
My landline  phone won’t register its name

I  can read on androids  truthfully
Now I’ve got ten cordless  phones on me
I asked for a new handset for my phone
One of them  de-registered its soul

An old man kissed my hand  outside a shop

An old man kissed my hand  outside a shop
My hair was gleaming in the yellow sun
What surprise, what care, but what a shock

What grace there was in customs , mainly stopped
My face was bright, my  stockings had no runs
A man  just kissed my hand  outside a shop

I   should have done a selfie, what a cop!
I bet  he fell in love ,ah Beatrice won
What surprise, what care, but what a shock

He was not drunk, his  hands had just been mopped
I  had not  been  so  touched by anyone
Till this  man  kissed my hand  outside a shop

In a silent morning, love erupts
We know what’s passed but not what is to come
A man  just kissed my hand  outside a shop

Give us  our  applause, oh  come on,clap!
I think we’ve fallen off the usual map
An old man kissed my hand  outside a shop
What surprise, what feeling, what good luck

 

Iris Murdoch and the reality of other people

ancient architecture art asia
Photo by icon0.com on Pexels.com

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/jul/13/iris-murdoch-100-books-full-passion-disaster

Short extract:

A crucial idea in Murdoch’s fiction is the reality of others, a material fact that we are confronted with daily but, in our innermost selves, seem hardly able to grasp. We glimpse them in continually evolving contexts inflected with our own agendas, which may also remain mysterious to us. That situation, often manifesting itself in the form of a dilemma, struck her as the novel’s primary concern. An essay she wrote in 1959 argues: “Prose literature can reveal an aspect of the world which no other art can reveal … and in the case of the novel, the most important thing to be thus revealed, not necessarily the only thing, but incomparably the most important thing, is that other people exist.”

To write a novel, Murdoch continues, is to quickly discover that “however much one is in the ordinary sense ‘interested in other people’, this interest has left one far short of possessing the knowledge required to create a real character who is not oneself. It is impossible, it seems to me, not to see one’s failure here as a sort of spiritual failure.”

Floundering  in  the metaphors of doubt

In those days we were always going out
Driving to strange places in our car
Trapped between  the  signal and the doubt

If there were a  fire we’d put it out
Buying  beer from any local bar
Oh, those days we  always  rushed about

Keeping active so  there are no thoughts
Just the vision of the crucial star
Flickering from  the manic  to the  doubts
t
In the stillness, we find we have caught
A sentence from our God,  the  seminar
So these days I  serve it , just about

We  found what we never  should have sought
Schizophrenic,  literal , bizzare
Floundering  in  the metaphors  of doubt

We will   be well rendered  by the fire
Copper bottomed in our new attire
In those days we  eyed the roundabouts
Puzzled by the  symbols , wish to doubt.

Leo and Dannie Abse

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

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/leo-abse-and-his-brother-dannie-l8kb0k5nn8b

 

Extract

Dannie had a different relationship with his wife. They worked together, they wrote books together, he never went anywhere without her. They were completely and utterly bound together. He was driving the car when she was killed, and although the accident wasn’t his fault, he has to deal not just with loss but with survivor guilt. It was difficult, God knows, for me to cope with my loss, but for him it is too much to bear.

The important thing is that he keeps writing. I’m terribly worried he’s given up, and that really is fatal. With courage, pain can be transmuted into something positive. It’s hard, but then just to live requires courage, particularly when you’re in your eighties. You are kept alive by work and love, and there are years of work left. Dannie can overcome this. He must transmute his grief, his pain, his tragedy into poetry and it may make him an even better poet. As it is, I suffer with him because my feelings for Dannie will always be paternalistic. To me, he’s still the kid brother.

I’m sad those starlings won’t  come here again

Ancient nests of starlings  still remain
How  beautiful the instinct and the form
Although the birds will never come again

In Somerset they glide  above low lanes
Circling  like one being, god alone.
Ancient nests of starlings   here remain

Eternal life  is by the group attained
When one dies another one is born
Although the starlings won’t  come here again

The dead birds have no funeral  nor blame
The living birds will procreate  in time
Ancient nests of starlings   here remain


Their migration  is no children’s game
The  style and beauty of their flight ‘s  sublime
I’m sad those starlings won’t  come here again

And  so it is with  our possessions fine
They’ll be  discarded  when we cross the line
Ancient nests of starlings  still remain
And I shall never see those birds  again

Keep your time

P1000243

My own photo.Copyright

http://www.bbc.com/capital/story/20190301-how-to-stop-digital-gangsters-stealing-your-time

 

Extract:

He says you can get back your time and concentration with a certain amount of personal effort. And he says it’s up to individuals, because “our government is not going to save us, and neither are the tech companies”.

He has a four-step plan to stop getting distracted by technology.

Step 1 – Manage your internal triggers: When we’re distracted, we’re normally looking to escape from something uncomfortable. Try to work out what it is and manage it.

Step 2 – Make time for distraction: Set aside time in your day to be distracted – that way it won’t feel like your time is being invaded. Give yourself a set hour that’s ‘social media time’.

Step 3 – Remove the external triggers: Turn off your notifications and the rings, pings and dings that tell you what to do.

Step 4 – Make pacts to prevent distraction: Get a technology app that tries to limit the amount of time you spend on your phone. The key factor is self-awareness: once you realise you’re being distracted by your phone or tablet, you start putting it down.

We  know what  wisdom lies in gentle doubt

The beginning of our wisdom must be doubt
The fool  who ” knows it all@  can never learn
They already know what life’s about

Yet we must not  go dither till distraught
Nor let our peace of mind be overturned
The beginning of our wisdom may be doubt

 

Wisdom must be suffered, can’t be bought
Like the fire that glows yet never burns
Some soon know what life is all about

 

I remember all the  battles  fought
The friends, the love, the kindness  which each earns
We  know what  wisdom lies in gentle doubt

Life is not controlled by human thought
Even the  most loving  may be  stern
If only we could know what life’s about

 

We  wish for love and will forever yearn
All is flux and no-one stays the same
The beginning of our wisdom must be doubt
Whose imagination’s got the space   and light?

 

But some are  more imaginary than others

I have got PTSD.My husband hit me on the head with a wok
At least he didn’t cut it off!
So sympathetic
Tell me more
It’s getting complex
Like numbers?
How are numbers complex?|
When they are half imaginary
In a sense they are 100 per cent imaginary
But some are  more imaginary than others
Such as?
The square root of minus 1
Yet mathematicians are mainly atheists while believing  more numbers are irrational than not
Yet we are taught to value rationality
Value  lies in meaning.
Or is meaning gives us value?
Will you leave your husband?
Where?
Behind
Where am I going?
Ask God
How?
That’s what we all say
Does it get us anywhere?
How?
Was  that how or houch?
I am confused.
I blame numbers myself
Numbers of men?
No just numbers
They have no minds!
Just like the British people.
I prefer numbers especially aleph one
What does it denote?
The infinity of all real numbers
But we just agreed they are not real
What is “real” ?