
A Joke



This is an electrically heated foot warmer.Imagine sitting listening to Leonard Cohen with your feet in this and someone rings your doorbell
You could have a nasty accident trying to get out of it and stand up.I get very stiff as well.
There’s only one answer…I’ll have to get married again.Not just this, but I hate putting the rubbish out and making my own cup of tea in the morning
In return I shall iron his hankies using an electric hair straightener.That seems a fair deal to me!
‘How good to be companion to one’sself
To be alone but not alone to be.
For peace will bring us calm and dreams of wealth
As dreams and symbols help us all to see.
How sweet to hear the silence underneath
The noises of this busy urban life
For that which is above, also’ s beneath
An endless sea where dreams swim without strife,
How gentle is the silence of the trees
Calm now that the storms have passed and gone
Like boats swing anchored on the delphic seas
This soothing silence enters everyone.
No more the fear of loneliness embrace
Acceptance gives such comfort of our days
An empty day now full as love and peace
Though sun has changed to rain and skies are grey
A testament to mercy and release.
Yet everywhere the people fight like beasts
The newspapers are filled with lies each day
For me this time is full of love and peace
On slander and on libel humans feast
A silent few will hide to praise and pray
Their testament to mercy and release.
The wise will bite their lips and say the least
Until they learn what customs are today
For me this time is full of love and peace
Like the lion and tiger we have teeth
Even lovers bite in childish play
They too are a symbol of release.
From the mountains, prophets liked to gaze
Wondering how to find a better way
Their days not full of love nor even peace
They need time to pray for our relief
T
The red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile
A pale blue sky, a silver aeroplane
I’m happy,I am warm, in your arms coiled
I have no heater but the kettle boiled
I made us coffee then my parcel came
My face in the small mirror had a smile
My love is deep, you never were on trial
If we quarrel, we both share the blame
I’m happy,I am warm, in your arms coiled
Our sorrow is, we have not made a child
Jesus cursed the fig tree in its shame
Yet red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile
Sorrow need not madden nor make bold
We do not know the purpose nor the game
I’m happy,I am warm now as I toil
We need old fashioned virtues like restraint
We don’t see the whole as life we paint
The red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile
I’m happy,I am warm, the sea sings wild

Digital art byKatherine
Mary has a dear friend who lives, alas , nowadays in northern Scotland. Clare moved back there when her mother became unable to manage at home. Then Clare developed very severe problems with her feet and legs and had been offered psychotherapy by the pain clinic.
After Mary had been talking to Clare on the phone she thought to herself,
I wonder if I should speak to a therapist because I am still grieving for Stan and it’s possible therapy might be able to tell me whether what I’m feeling is normal or whether I am going round the bend.
Mary found several counsellors near where she lived by looking on the Internet; she had interviewed five and decided on one called Margaret Slipknot, Dr Slipknot had a room in a private hospital in the best road of the entire City.
Good morning, please take a seat over here, Margaret said to Mary.
Now you can tell me anything you like; it is completely confidential except that if you tell me you are going to kill somebody or commit suicide, I am obliged to tell your doctor or the police. Is that alright with you?
Oh yes said Mary that seems quite sensible because I understand the motivation behind it all, knowing several widows ; they have mentioned that they didn’t want to go on living alone.But I did not tell their doctor or the police because sometimes everybody feels like that and once they realise it they are quite happy, in a sense.They can accept it.I have got a very good friend next door call Annie and I know many colleagues at the university but since my husband died I feel as if there is a void at the centre of my being and whatever I do will not fill it.
Margaret. said, Perhaps this void has a role to play in your life.
What kind of role could a void have?.Mary gasped
Just say whatever comes to your mind.
A void is not something that people talk about very much and I’m not sure if it’s just the right word to describe what I am sensing but it is more than just a little emptiness.
Stan used to make my dinner every night when I came home from the University and he also used to feed the cat and put the rubbish out not to mention listening to my thoughts about what happened to me while I was at work, and all the people that I have met. So when I come home now feeling weary and tired I have to make my own dinner.
And do you make yourself dinner?
Not always. you see when Stan was alive I had a certain motivation to be a good and loving wife. I used to do a lot of planning to make sure that, even though he was going to do the cooking, that there were all the required ingredients in the cupboard plus also spices and herbs and garlic. I realise now that I have not bought any garlic for the past year.
People don’t usually come to see me just because they have not bought any garlic lately, the therapist cried.
When Mary heard the word lately she began to cry because late is a word used to denote people who are dead like the late Prime Minister, Winston Churchill.
I see that you are still feeling sad and there’s nothing wrong with that but I am a little concerned about how you will cope with all your new responsibilities as well as continuing your work and life with students, Which all the things you mentioned about your husband do you miss the most?
I think the thing I’m missing him most for is putting out the rubbish. He always insisted on doing this even when he was very ill and I find it hard to remember to do it when I never did it before.It seems to me that a woman needs a man to put out the wheelie bins out and collect big cardboard boxes which need crushing.I feel bad putting the wheelies out by myself in the dark.
That doesn’t seem very nice, Margaret cried, that you only miss your husband because you have to put out the rubbish now yourself. I know that I’m not meant to give you advice.I want to listen to you but I cannot really believe that the main thing that you miss him for is this.
Well said Mary, don’t push me; this is the first session we’ve had and I am still testing the water.In other words don’t you realise that I’m not going to tell you the most sacred aspects of my being until I feel like I can trust you.
I’m not implying that you are an irresponsible, foolish person, but don’t you think after working for 20 years as a psychotherapist that you should know that even in normal life we don’t tell someone we’ve never met before the very intimate and secret aspects of our being. There are some people who do this when they are not taking into account the person who they are speaking to, who they have never met before.Except people do it on trains.
I see, said Margaret. I will wait until you feel able to tell me what you miss the most. I don’t suppose it’s sex because you are much too old for that, although that is one way that some people fill in a void.
Do you think that women feel that their womb is an empty space inside them and wish to put something into it, asked Mary
Everybody’s different; now even if you have sex it won’t fill your womb now as I already mentioned I think you are too old to have sex.
Mary felt very angry,
How dare you say I am too old to have sex. Stan used to teach classes of pensioners about statistics and other topics and he told me that many of them said that they were still involved in a sexual relationship.Now we don’t know quite how far they would go in that way but they have an interest.I thought that therapists were not meant to make judgements about what their clients say to them.
Are you really a trained psychotherapist? You must be earning a lot of money to rent this room in a private hospital and as far as I can see you do not seem to have any common sense, let alone uncommon sense.
Margaret’s face went bright red,
I am sorry she cried, I was a little bit nervous when you told me that you were a mathematician And it threw me off my stride because I thought that you might be more intelligent than I am.
Intelligence by itself is not enough;it can be used to make nuclear bombs; to start Wars ;to gather information about your enemies what you really need is time and care and the ability to listen without criticism or judgement for the person who is with you ;you must have met some other people who were quite intelligent .It seems to me that you need more Training so that you are able to deal with your issues of fear of the highly intelligent person. You don’t need to have a fear of them and we are just the same as other people except that for some reason we preferred the geometry of the spheres to dating boys when we were 16.
In my case, it was after I had an operation to remove my appendix and was convalescing for several weeks. I came across a book called “Mathematician’s delight” by W.W.Sawyer And I read it about imaginary numbers and complex numbers so then I realised that mathematics was not just arithmetic and quadratic equations.
I don’t know whether I will come to see you anymore. What you said has taken away my faith in my judgement of people. You seemed the best therapist that I interviewed but now we’re starting I think I might have made a mistake.
Please don’t stop, said Margaret, I need the money!
So you think that I should continue seeing you here when you already proved yourself a little inadequate, merely to give you money. I am afraid I am not rich enough to see you if I will have to see somebody else as well, since you are no good
I’ll tell you what said Margaret, let me give you another session completely free and see how we get on then.If you are still unhappy with me then, of course, you must find a different person. I realise my training was incomplete because we are all graduates or doctors and then we do five years training so we believe we are superior to most of the people who come for treatment but when I speak to my supervisor I will tell her that I think we all need to look at this question of superiority because neither you nor I is actually morally or ethically superior to everybody else ;it can sometimes appear that we can see somebody is very inferior morally like Hitler or Pol Pot but it’s now obvious most of the time
I’ll give you a call, Mary said when I have made my mind up; it is very kind of you to offer me a free session when you are so short of money. if I were your therapist, I would tell you that you were short of money because you are not very good at your job and therefore you will not have enough patients to make a living.On the other hand, it may be that you need to take an extra job, stacking the shelves in the supermarket to give you enough money to live on without exploiting human beings like myself.
However, I am glad that I realised that I feel this void inside me because I now realise that I felt it long before my husband died and it must be linked to something else in my life, not just to him
Alright, said Margaret thank you very much for being so honest I hope you will come again.If not, I wish you good luck in finding someone who can travel with you on your journey into your new life.Thank you, said Mary. I will phone you soon, goodbye.
When she got home she told Emile, her cat.He said he wished he had gone with her to see how beautiful Margaret was.
That is very selfish, Emile.You need to hear what she says!
And so say all of us.

Sentences unspoken crowd my mind
Words that we invented for our use
Waiting for his tongue to meld with mine
A language no-one else would have designed
Words haphazard, words made to amuse
Sentences unspoken crowd my mind
A tongue,a lingo, language, is this time?
Send me out a message with your views
Hearing not his tongue, my ears will pine
We were quiet people in our home
We did not waste our time,we loved and bloomed
Sentences half formed still come to mind
I sang in the back kitchen with delight
Our black cat in the doorway purred in tune
His pointed tongue will greet me if I’m blind
Normal service never is resumed
God is not quite here , as man assumed
Sentences unspoken crowd my mind
When I sat alone,I wordless cried.
Dont overload your extension lead or wall socket this winter!
Amazingly it is hairdryers, kettles and toasters which are dangerous to use alongside other appliances.They use a lot of electricity even if only for a few minutes
It may be risky laaving an electric heater on at night unless it had enough space round it
Maybe it’s better to warm your bedroom before you go to bed and use an electric blanket or wear extra warm nightclothes and wool socks
How can I live here when he is gone?
We chose the pictures, maples ,sultry flowers
He loved the Arts, his music, nothing banned
He spoke in different accents, he was fun
How can I live in this place when he’s gone?
And since I lost him, I’m a leper shunned
Here I grieve,alone for many hours
If I were an antelope I’d run
How can I create when he has gone?
He chose all these pictures, I the flowers
Now we know how fascism rose to power
The envy and the malice seek to harm
While claiming to relive our glorious hours
The poor are scorned, the single mothers cower
The Jews are blamed ,oh Magdalen, oh balm
Now we know how fascism rose to power
Even as wild roses charm the bower
We humans do not wish for a world calm
Britain had such cruel Empire’s hours
The faces of opponents mock and glower
In secrecy we keep our sulphur warm
So we feel that fascism will empower
We lit a fire that won’t die in a shower
The mountains burn, the valleys are alarmed
Britain had its Empire and its Tower
Paranoid,depressed, and narrow eyed
We recreate the worst , it’s suicide.
Is it certain fascism holds the power?
The past is gone, the future might yet flower.


The exceeding beauty of the earth, in her splendour of life, yields a new thought with every petal. The hours when the mind is absorbed by beauty are the only hours when we really live…”
― The Life of the Fields

These photos are copyright

The bitter cloud we feel envelops us
When friends are short and noone seems to smile
Is smaller than the breath of the white dove
Do we envy others who find love?
They may suffer inwardly the while
Sad, bitter clouds some days can wrap us up
As Jesus in the Garden drained his cup
He shivered, groaned, but was not filled with bile
Sheltered by the fluttering winged dove.
His eyes too wet, to see the clouds above
He felt the anguish of a lost,small child
The bitter clouds were broken by his love
The storm would fail, the prophets hear no voice
God is weeping at our human wiles
Who dwells within the breath of holy doves?
Life may seem too dark , we want to fall
The hands of God are caught in new built walls
The bitter cloud we feel envelops us
It’s self torment, it’s profitless ,seek Good.
How can the world be here yet he is not
While beetles, ants and spiders pass this way?
As my hungry fears I try to blot
How can the world be here yet he is not?
Whether it be cold or be it hot
No more words between us are begot
I must go through the narrow gate today
How can the world be here , yet he is not,
As beetles, ants and spiders pass this way?
I feel ashamed of Britain and its songs
My own mixed blood will rise up and complain
The poor are slaves ; our rulers did grave wrongs
I am not proud,all hate the ones who’re shunned
We, foreign ,mixed, however did we come?
I feel ashamed of Britain and its songs
I am not a Jew,so I belong
My Aryan face and hair have caused me pain
The poor are slaves,our rulers have done wrong
The people here have spoken many tongues
English oddly worldwide in domain
I feel enraged ; oh Britain, hear your songs
Many Europeans, aid our plans
Others come from Asia where Queens reigned
The poor exploited; Britain did them wrong
We look for scapegoats, preferably unknown
We Northern Europeans set the tone
I feel ashamed , Britannia, what a song
Better sing Jerusalem with pangs
I’m a pessimist and I’m ok
I worry all night and I sleep all day.
I do my shopping at 1 am
Then I’m sure to meet some very naughty men.
I’m a pessimist,it’s not a gay life,
Especially if you have a watchful wife.
I invent crossword puzzles for the Times.
Then I write these cunning little rhymes.
I am rich but I generally suffer panic.
Either that or I get pissed and manic.
I’m a pessimist and I love to laugh
It makes women wet themselves,just like a bad cough!
But we’re too fragile to worry about such issues,
Just fill your handbags with plenty of thick tissues.
I’m a pessimist,I’m neurotic and depressed.
Will I feel better now that I have confessed?
But I earn money by writing all night long;
Then I lick my lover’s face with my bright red tongue.
That is more than enough.THE EDITOR.
No,it’s perfect.Just all right
He died the day before Trump became President
Remember standing, peering through the glass
Wondering why some people are well off
Admiring finer shoes that women love
Later, after tragedy, the glass
Descended on me like a stoney mask
Remember living cut off from the mass
Yet in its time,came down that Heart above
That took me in and opened me to trust
Letting in emotions and great love
Evoking through the rituals and the Mass
A Consecration deeper for my tasks
Remember prayer dismantled alien glass
As curves the sun, as flies the holy dove
Every human lives with change and loss
Accepting knives, in hearts we bared for love
As we walk we see the ages past
Until we reach that bourne we seek at last
No more staring in a looking glass
No peering in the dark, we meet our Love
PS I am an agnostic.I believe Eternity is now…. if we reach it
12 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

This is copyright
If everything is relative and nothing’s true or false
We can’t make distinctions, the world does not exist
Meaning leaks out faster than a a list of all our faults
The patient is unconscious but he/she has a pulse
Waiting for the Coming of the Saviour or the Beast
But everything is relative and nothing’s true or false
We think existential problems will be solved by someone else
In the Vomitorium the leaders have their Feast
Meaning leaks out faster by decision or default
The Leader’s being neutered;the people get more tense
Then s/he went to Downing Street to get themself more pissed
Drunkenness is relative ; the reading’s not the best
There is still a Dictionary; the words do not make sense
We fall into chaos but we don’t know Them we’ve missed
Meaning leaks out faster as we do not love pretence
I went to have my Orals,but they asked me to desist
Every system’s incomplete,I wrote it on my wrist
If everything is relative and nothing’s true or false
Meaning has no meaning; what will we all do next?
I’m turning off the Evening News
I’m reading Nicholas Freeling now
I’ve heard enough of people’s views
I put my thoughts into deep freeze
Dresden Green,Emmanuel
I’m turning of fthe Evening News
Boris says he’s just a tease
The nuclear bomb ,Iran and Don
I’ve heard enough of madmen’s views
We can see no-one is pleased
Where d’ye think these men come from?
I’m turning off the Evening News
Maybe Boris had a wheeze
Asthma kills, we all feel numb
I’ve heard enough of people’s views
When it’s over who has won
The world has altered , it’s a bum
I’m turning of the Evening News
Boris tortures, people lose.
By degrees
He wants Leave
We’re deceived
Who believes?
[M A Oxon]
The Telegraph today
Did the fire service respond quickly enough?
“Boris Johnson acts like he’s a clown
He called cuts to fundamental safety privilege
14 London fire stations shut down”
Katherine
If I go I won’t tell you.
I’ll just disappear one day.
Like when a cigarette ,which seemed so long,
suddenly has become smaller
and you never noticed it
because you were talking
about the meaning of life
while life was somewhere else
blown away with your smoke
into the sky
and then dispersed
never quite visible again
but still floating on the breeze
hoping to be caught
in a butterfly net
but unable to communicate
except by flying.
If I go it will not be today
but it will be an ordinary day
no one will realise
that it’s that day
that the bird flies
from her nest
to go to a new place
only seeing the deserted nest
he realises,
my bird has flown

Photo by Katherine 2016
When I saw you in that cafe I knew you would be mine.
You were handsome, smiling,funny..you were specially designed.
You looked like men I’d only dreamed about in all those years before.
I’m so broke up,so broke up;we’re not lovers anymore.
I saw you on the station as I came from out the train.
You wore an old green parka to protect you from the rain.
I wanted to be one with you,to make a Love entire;
What you did was give me pain I should not have endured
You walked away so quickly,I could not see you long.
I wish I had a big guitar to draw you back with song.
I looked at where you disappeared;what love has loss revealed?
I wish I could just lay down on this floor and keep my face concealed.
Railway stations sadden me, for I know we’ll never meet .
I won’t cry more ,the tears are running to my feet.
I walk fast looking straight ahead past that entrance gate,
I pretend that you have missed your train,that work was running late.
I count from one and two to a thousand and many more–
But I know for sure it’s far too late; you have closed that heavy door.
You are hiding in a dungeon
You are covered with white steel
But I know you had a heart and you must surely feel.
I lost all my illusions, and then I lost some more.
I wish I could lay down and die, right here on this floor
Beyond the image, man dwells now abject
We treated fellow creatures worse than worms
We do not talk of genocide, such tact.
What we can’t yet know, in us reacts
Europe is in trauma,I’m informed
Beyond imagination dwell those acts
God is outside language, he’s no fact
We can’t digest the meaningless unformed
We do not dwell on genocide, such tact.
The gypsies innocent were cruelly wracked
The men who loved another man were burned
Beyond the image, man dwells now abject
The s ghosts of Auschwitz weep as Europe coughs.
The past’s an old compartment in the train
We do not feel that genocide, what lack
Oh, to wind the film back till we learn
Killing, torture, gassing, we must mourn
Beyond the image man dwells now abject
Enlightenment , ambivalent , has cracked