Month: February 2020

All I do for IPSO Mori

Someone rang me last week saying they were from IPSO Mori
They are doing a survey.They want   me to write down everything I do for either a week or  a month
I wonder what they mean by “everything”
I was offered £40 in vouchers.So if I stop writing you will understand
Who would tell strangers everything they did?
I thought it was  for some TV company re which programmes I watch.I could hardly believe  they expected me to tell  them all I do

7 am Went to the lav
Fell over my feet
Brushed my hair
8 am Scratched  my back and had a cup of tea.That was hard
Had more tea and weetabix.Wondered why I washed up
9 am Decided to get up, wondered what to wear
9.30 Daydreamed
10 am Got up, got washed and got dresses.Order is vital
10.30 Felt like emigrating but instead gave a lecture on algebraic topology
11.30 am Felt like a pee again.Wet myself.
Changed my clothes and washed them
11,40 Breathed and  breathed again until full of air
Didn’t like my outfit
12 noon Looked out of the window and wondered if I need a new TV
12,30 pm Went to library and stole 3 books
1 pm Wondered if I could open the sherry  bottle with a cheese grater
Ate a  raw carrot on toast and got diarrhea
2 pm Had some tinned soup from the tin to save energy
Fried my bread in olive oil
3 pm Wrote s story
4 pm Had a fit of laughter and saw  the black cat
6 pm It went dark and I forgot to put the bin out
7 p,m Ate some frozen curry with a knife
8 pm Ate a chocolate biscuit soaked in wine
9 pm Washed my hair with Fairy Snow
10 pm Washed up again
11 pm Went to Tesco’s again then came home
12 midnight Went  out on my broomstick
1 am Fell into a holly tree
2 am Rang 999
3 am Was locked  in cell  with a policeman
4 am Released on bail pending psychiatric exam
5 am Went to bed with the cat
6 am Dreamed about my Jewish boyfriend
7 am Woke up
8 am Decided  not to do this poll

 

My cat Ben

The first cat,Ben, was tabby, with great eyes
On Sundays we took him riding in  our  car
I used to wrap him in  a woollen scart
For he was very small and very blyth

Ben grew  up so he went out all night
Hunting round the flats for  mice  or hens
Cat suck eggs and don’t care who or when
They run and hunt until the sun arrives

No doubt they  find a mate to  play with, as one might
Father kittens, scatter their seed wide
Ben followed me into the road at five
A rushing car hit my dear cat, Ben died

Soon  my husband’s father went as well
We could not cry, for dried up was the well

Reason by its nature is not Art

Reason by its nature has no heart
No soul,no body,faceless  but for eyes
Feelings are made outlaws. love departs

The schizoid self, the broken appetite
The failure to acknowledge our own lies
Reason by its nature has no heart

Where did we  go wrong, where did we part
From  compassion to the lowly, to  mad heights
Feelings are made outlaws. have no charts

Graphs and figures,lessons maladroit
The Nazis numbered Jews, turned off the lights
Reason by its nature has no heart

Who would do great evil and  make charts
Coded homes,  surveillance is our plight
Feelings are like outlaws.  they depart

Logicians made machines without insight
Do  robots  voices bring us sweet delight?
Reason by its nature has no heart
Feelings  gassed  like insects, love  departs

 

The storm

The rain  has hit on my windows   with great force
Like the horns of bulls  toss bloody matadors
The Spanish rites acquaint us with  our lacks
For in the end we by a horse are dragged

The bull is strong with open fearsome eyes
But in the end it  is the bull that dies
Helplessly  he runs and he rotates
Strength and helplessness are not good mates

The matador takes risks to taunt the beast
From a snack  he  makes us a great feast
Better to   be eaten by a  man
Than make a meal for worms  when death has come

Men may claim they’re strong and great and  pure
In the end it’s  wits that have most power

What it seemed to be

Mourning has broken
Imbibe with me
E bay in a manger.
Type to say Goodbye
O come all ye wrathful/awful
They sent baiting for our partitions
Guardian angels,  Telegraph demons
All on an apron even.
Enhance me with the sense of love.
So long,carry on
The  tipsy wife.
Alexandra heaving
Three wise men…. send them here
Idolatry is love
Go spell  it to  the Pope

Give us back the seats in public space

When in pain, the world is made of seats
Where one can gain a moment of relief
Ignored are flowers however fair and pure
When pain  grows strong,we cannot  gaze,revere

But since the homeless lie on  seats at night
The council have removed them from our sight
The bus stop , seats of plastic , hurt me sore
Till I am wracked   with pain  I once ignored

I need gardens with low walls of stone
Where I  may sit and softly, clearly moan
My coat is spoiled  and now I feel  my rage
I’m no longer on the human stage.

Yet bees die if they sting us in  defence
Little in the world makes any sense

Strength needs flexibility and give

\
When of the world of doctors,I am sick.
When diagnosis is not any aid
When from the choices given,
I cannot pick
Although I feel my deepest debts were paid.
Then off from thinking I must take my mind
To gaze upon the beauty of the woods
And feel the sun not fiery, even kind.
It warms and heartens even my cold blood.
The trees are calm for they have grown deep roots
Though storms may strike their trunks and branches too
Breaking off new tender green tipped shoots
They sway and take it without much to do.
Strength needs flexibility and give;
With no such, the brittle shall not live

I hope my dialect is not foreign!

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Mike’s  photo 2020 copyright

https://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/english/fettle

Eeh, it were right crackin’ at school t’day
Wot wur tbey sayin’ this time?
Thi said wi can do Greek next year
You’re not doin’ Greek
Why not,our Mam
Ye can’t even spek English
Why,  am I not canny enough?
No, we don’t spek English eether
Well, ye shud a thought eh that before y’ad me.De ye mean only  people with BBC eksents can bear childern?
Well, we reckoned if we learnt English we’d lose our desire
F’wat, Mam
F’ that! Ye know… It, ye get what ah mean
No,Mam.Can you not spell it our a bit more?
Spell it out, te dad would tan me hide!
Still he must a dunnit,Mam
I dunno, it wer dark.Mebbe it wer the cat, ah thought
Surely the cat’s not mi  dad, is  he?
It weren’t this cat, it wer another called Billy.
Well, how come I’m human?
You think ye are human, but  am telling ye,ye got  t’cat’s eyes
Just his eyes? How abaht his whiskers
Don’t be so daft, our Kath,Ye’ve got his hair
But only on my head so far.Willa bi changin’ into a cat as ah mature?
Wi’ll have te wait and see.Put ‘t kettle on.We need some tea.
Why, what difference will that make now.I’m a cat,I’m a cat…. oh, what’ll  ‘et nuns say  ‘et Convent when ah tellum?
You keep away from ‘et Convent~
Why, our Mam?
Do as I tell you.Never confide in a nun
Well,Ah shan’t let ‘et cat fettle me.Ah’m not that daft
Well, yi can’t do Greek and that’s final
Kyrie Eleison,Kyrie Eleison
Wot’s that?
Oh, nothin’ at all
Christie Horizon
For God’s sake speak English, Kath

Is God unknowable?

 

 

Photo by Mike Flemming

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/belief/2013/jan/08/god-unknowable-faith

 

“The more you claim to know God and attempt to delineate his nature the less likely you are to have hit the bull’s eye.

It is only possible to escape from this impasse by re-orienteering our thought forms. Faith is not the progressive unearthing of God’s nature but a recognition that he/she is fundamentally unknowable. The signpost points not to growing certainty but towards increasing non-knowing. This is not as outrageous as it seems. An apophatic thread, a belief that the only way to conceive of God is through conceding that he is ineffable, runs throughout Christian history. Jan Van Ruysbroeck, the 14th century Augustinian and man of prayer, maintained that “God is immeasurable and incomprehensible, unattainable and unfathomable”. St John of the Cross, one of the pillars of western mysticism, put it even more succinctly: “If a man wishes to be sure of the road he travels on, he must close his eyes and walk in the dark”

“

The panthers in ths zoo

There’s a pandemic of shoplifting
There’s panic  and there’s flu
So will the  pandemonium
Affect  black panthers in the zoo?

There’s a lack of awe and wonder
There’s  no insight and no you
There’s only my big ego
And Sylvia Plath is overdue

She’s coming to see Lazarus
Now he’s a lady too
Sex and gender,  love and hate
Ted is feeling blue

She spoke Chaucer to the swans
And they   answered, Who are you?
She looked a  little frantic
Asylum seeker,Jew.

She got married to her Teddy
What other man would do?
The perfect other, shaman
But they ran out of glue

Her poetry was awesome
In bed she always knew
Ted Hughes was  just a messenger
He asked her what to do

The panther killed the lady
And ate her in  a stew
Now he’s back in Africa
And they closed the Zoo

Oh, what   does    ambition do now
On a dung heap you’re the   best
It’s ambition or it’s destiny
Tell them you’re a pest

If a  woman bites your face
And  leaves teeth marks as well
The very latest evidence says
Your love  life will be hell.

They’re running up the walls now
They  painted   all the lights
Who  knows who and why is why
Nothing is  no sight

T

Delight

Enfolded   by your  smile,I saw the  light
As if a hidden world such love revealed
Our spirits touched, our sorrows pushed to flight
In that space, our worries did not bite
The trees were shelter, losses were each healed
In your holy smile,I saw the light
Blessed be, there is a second sight
From heart and soul , the  silver bells shall peal
Where spirits touch ,where sorrows quickly fly
And who but you would see my inner plight
Would know the false from what is right and real
Cradled  in  your  smile,I felt  the light
No army with its metal and its might
Can win the final war , love conquers steel
As spirits touch  as sorrows say goodbye
I know it’s hard to learn what others feel
And not draw back from grief, from loss revealed
Enchanted by your smile ,O golden light
Our spirits touched, our eyes wept their delight

Just the flower

fritillaria_pontica2016-1We are not  straight lines so why compare
The way we  look,  our reading age, our hair
How we pronounce words,  our accents broad
The way we skip or cross the  road, break codes
The speed of mind, imagination’s wit
God Himself and  his sweet Paraclete
Was Peter  better than  his friend St Paul
Who wailed  higher up the Wailing Wall
Was Jesus more than holy. was  he  God?
Bring the measure and its special rod
Is my  joined up writing   quite the best?
Do I boil my hankies  cleaner than the rest
Things that matter have no  linear scale
Ask Jonah if his was the  supreme whale
And if someone sticks a label on your  chest
Saying you are  the loser in the tests
Tell them   we are not a piece of string
Many aspects  make us just the thing

Lucky is the conscript with his pun

Oh,false Britain when the sun was low
Could you not bomb Auschwitz, torture den?
Light blinds our eyes  yet soon the world would know
I rarely see bare branches birch trunks, glow.
Yet here they stand  like candles , who may come?
Oh,false Generals  like the sun  you’re low
My mind feels  high as codeine , my heart’s  cold
Here the hare runs ,awed  by dawning sun
Light helped men   to kill  Jews  for teeth gold
This summer is a fake with  its mixed modes
Lucky is the conscript with  their pun
Oh,false summer light breaks ,blackbirds run
See the leader, envy  not their  gun
With all his weapons he can’t   fire the sun
Oh,false summer, light dance, fire may roast
We   turn  black with rage, oh holy ghosts  

Buy an e-pistol now

 

 

My Irish accent was so bad it perforated UIster
I asked for  Chicken Kerry in the chip chop
Do we really need Cork’s?
I said,Donegal, not, don’t call
The dentist  lanced my access.
She said I need evasive surgery on my left jaw.Is that right?
And on  the right side I need  to be removed from the legions
He said, try not to  brood but tell us if  it  gets Blogger.
She is  sure  of   chancers  in  the family.
I can get free radiation  from the sun not the NHS
Please  don’t kill Kenny.He’s eaten my dinner.Let him die jestin’
They keep taking  the add on  hordes off me
My phone never stings
Lord  have Mercia
I might be on  the Border after  they check mate me
She died rather than mention  her  vulgar
I’m in dire beet,Tess.Tell me you’re in sin
My book is here.It’s contented.
Have you read the e-pistles yet?
I prefer opera

 

Come with me

Come with me,I know a secret path
From Windermere  Train Station to the lake
We’ll run down  through the trees and   the lush grass

Coloured boats are sailing,see them pass
And there is a ferry we might take
Come with me,I know the secret path

The wildflowers look eternal in their grace
Here we heal our hearts. compassion waits.
We’ll  go down  through the trees and the lush grass

On these waves I see the Sacred Face
We are not condemned by   God   or fate
Come with me,I know a secret place

In  our time, we find the narrow gate
Open,   if we marry love and  hate
The sunshine  makes my body feel embraced
Oh, Windermere, where birds sing sweet in praise

 

 

 

Leave a message

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Mike Flrmming copyright 2020

Sorry I’m  not  hearing,Leave a message
I can’t  take calls this week,I have a deadline
My   ringer is on and off
I am in bed with a man.He reads  meters.Please don’t call him names
My phone bill is too high.Please  call another idiot savant
I  only skype now since the desktop broke
I don’t like your voice.Go elsewhere
Mother! I thought you had died.Please  ring 999  or  the Mail
Father, no  she is not here.
Neither are you
Thanks for calling me names
I can’t take any more calls.Please  email me at
2evil4you@.gmail.com
nasty123@tahoo.moc
coldheart 23@boho.net
iamfunnynow@harrowed.com
frantic22@ymail.com

The call

Hello.God here.We have a message
Please press 9 to continue
I am just going to put you on hold for a minute
Thank you we  value your call
Sorry, you are 24th in the queue
You can leave your numbet and we will call you back asap
All   calls are  recorded for  training  tortoises
Thank you for  quaking.We value your privac
I am God
Please dial 111 now
Thank yoi for phoning
Please ring 999  for  emergencies
Please hang up now and call  our Helpline at MIND

Songs of the Sixties and earlier

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If you’re going to ban Francisco
If they’re flowing to  random  outlets
The Sound of Sight Loss
The Sound of Eye Lids
The Pound is Eye Wash
I’ll be your eye tart
Ribchester Cathedral  you”re bringing my down
If you’re seeing the  massive shootings
Life  is what happens when you’re shaking a blue hand
Withering Heights
The bounds of silence
Scarlet Widows with no hair

Products

Ariel, as used by Sylvia Plath in her Bendix
Fairy Snow…. to wash  your knickers a whiter shade of pale.
Fairy Liquid … as passed by real fairies in  the  chanbers
Simple Soap  for people with IQ 65 and a higher degree in mathematics
Talcum Powder…  it’s your cervix  you’re wreckinge
Rock Buns purely from Great Gable,,,  what?

 

The truth  is hinted at by many lies

I  might have seen there are  a  dozen ways
Perceptible when  near the edge we lie
We take some steps but we don’t have to  stay

What if we don’t have the words to say
We have to go  or  hearts will surely die
I wish I’d  seen there is  another way

Of our life, how many are the days
Few or less with a loved girl or guy
We take some steps but we don’t have to  stay

The  highest form of art is the surprise
The truth  is hinted at by many lies
Could I  have seen there is  another way?

I was  startled when I heard  love’s prayers
The ones who speak don’t need to advertise
We take some steps but we don’t have to  stay

I  might have seen there are  a  dozen ways
Perceptible when  near the edge we lie
We take some steps but we don’t have to  stay

Every moment  now  a baby dies
We  gawp in windows  with our yellow eyes
We  might have seen there are   more caring ways
The anguished  start but why  will noone stay?

 

 

 

 

Won’t power

Willpower is a tool, but what’s its end?
Hitler willed to make a perfect state
The Jew, the gypsy and the gays he bound

Thinking must be based on solid grounds
If that is missing,madness is  our fate
Logic is a tool, but what’s its end?

We may will an evil that resounds
With efficient railways  never late
The Jews, the gypsies and the gays were burned

Oh,crazed efficiency,oh  Hitler’s gangs
Force of will was harnessed to distaste
Willpower’s just a tool, have we not learned?

God  wrote to the people with his Word
Stammering now, reluctant   he dictates
The  postman comes, the letter must be shared

Pride and arrogance  will  soon ignite
High IQ  is useless against  hate
Willpower is a tool, but what’s its end?
When wrongly used,the evil will ascend

 

 

To heal the earth

Hellebore_2020-5We are not the ones to judge our worth
God’s    attention is  for this alone
We  love and find vocation  on the earth

Some are born with what feels like a  curse
Others have  been keen to cast sharp stones
We are not the best judge of our worth

Accidents of time, of place, of birth
Lack of vision,nowhere to call home
Disrupt the  virtue of our life  on  earth

Important  to love God and  enjoy mirth
To  laugh at our pretensions, grin and groan
We are not the best judge of our worth

There is no linear scale. we should not stress
Some may discern value  we don’t know
Acceptance is the aim of  life on earth

And when we’re stricken by a heavy blow
Inside our little hearts is one who knows
We are not the best judge of our worth
We must love and  work  to heal the earth

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver Sacks’ autobiography

Photos by Mike Flemming 

 

 

Sacks says, “At times, the world seems rife with malevolence, chaos. I am almost overwhelmed, but then it suffices for me

to perceive the spectacle of quiet goodness, say the Little Sisters of the Poor, and everything is all right.

Fascinating

A Dead Sea Cruise

She was built like a brick shithouse
Ya, born with a silver spoon in her mouth
Her momma was like an old brown mouse
And her pa was just a slimy stuck up louse.

She was built like an old doghouse
On the top, sharp eyed vultures used to roost
Her brother has gone for a Dead Sea cruise
Her sister wants to let all hell break loose.

She was in for life with those smart  sharp spooks
A creepy horror in every nook
Her ma never learned her how to cook
She ain’t never even read a single book.

No aphrodisiac ain’t of much use
When the true Furies are on the loose.
Do what you can to cook thet goose
Ain’t so good to blow your own fuse.

No,those Furies are on the ball
They come looking for us one an’ all.
Keep  face hid and ego small…
What’s thet dark shadow on your wall?

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the  passing there

Had worn them really about  the same,

 

And both that morning  equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –

I took the one less travelled  by,

And that has made all the difference.

The Poetry Pharmacy Returns 

Their lover wants a burglar to alarm

How sad I think of washing the bed sheets
When my partner  holds me in his arms
Instead of kissing me  he   might well shout

Do I get more pleasure as I sleep
Dreaming of a Bendix  and its charms~
How sad I think of washing the bed sheets

Even grown up men are seen to weep
Their lover wants a burglar to alarm
Instead of kissing her , he  might well shriek

Even when it’s raining cats and sleet
Women  hang their washing  in the yard
How sad I think of washing all the  sheets

When we marry we  don’t know these weights
The world sits on  our backs quite unadorned
Instead of kissing  him,she  might well shriek

Now romance  cannot last, and love  lies lame
Buying houses, babies, what to blame?
Women  are still   fraying mind and  sheets
Instead of kissing lovers ,indiscreet

 

The most stupid thing I’ve read for years

 

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https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/shortcuts/2020/jan/27/get-another-room-should-you-have-a-dedicated-sex-den-in-your-home

 

With many homeless people here and across the world, why does the Guardian say we may need a separate room  for sexx in addition to a bedroom? How many people have a house large enough?Who is  the Guardian writing for?
We already have the  fashion pages with ludicrously expensive clothes…… is it time to
Grexit?

Why not go into a wood if you want some thrill?