The words tell what we did

The symbols, signs, the words are not the world
Yet scholars confuse laymen with their terms
“How to love your children” is advice
Hiding in the  syntax  is no life

I knew Latin grammar and her forms
I dwelled inside ellipses,I was torn
I could not live two lives so I chose  rules
Then I  found success like many fools

Grammar and   its logic   cracked my mind
I stole the key,I  left the door behind
I found the prizes on my shelf arrayed
The golden prayer book  shredded  and decayed

The simple may  be better  fit to live
Those words were darts, yet love can’t but forgive

 

 

We  mix races up the hill

We don’t have hate crime here in Dent
For we ‘re reet up the dale
The road’ s that steep ,it scares the sheep
And blocks the Daily Mail.

We don’t care what race God made you
If you will sup our ale
Some can’t take the bitterness
Southerners turn pale.

If you are blonde,please don’t abscond
We like the Viking cast
We also like the thick black hair
With which owa doctor’s blessed.

We liked mixed races up the hills
And we like them down
We go to bed, and swing the lead
While the old men frown.

So some kids have big blonde curls
And some have straight black hair
Some have eyes like damson sloes
All exceeding fair.

Up here in winter it’s not fun
For all we do is knit
We can’t get down to any town
So must employ owa wit.

The evenings long ,we pass with song
Just as do the Finns
The women knit,the men all spit
Straight out into the bins.

We’re making wa first album now
It’s called the Magic Newt
We combined Handel and the blues,
Jazz and steel tipped boots.

We also like to rock and roll
And ,man,owa rocks are big
So if you come to old Dent town
Don’t try to steal owa pig.

By DDT

My house is full of toilet rolls I am living in the shed
I sneezed on my tissue  then I put it in the oven and the house burned down
I was only sterilising it
Can you wash toilet paper?
I found a bar of soap so I asked for whisky with  a drop of foam
Surely biological detergents can kill Covid 19
I keep asking you, who Covid 19 is.Is he or she in MI5?
No, that is silly.Spies have to seem normal
But what is normal now?
Well,John Brown is a normal  kind  of name
Not for a woman
These days  how can anyone know who is a man?

Or a woman?
Makes being gay harder
We’ll just have to say, do whatever you want but draw the curtains
Then we’d have the light on so it  might look suspicious
Do it in the dark
What?
You know what I mean
When I rang the hospital  a man answered.I said I want the vulvar clinic ,feeling a bit shy
Then he goes,Yerwhat?
So I shouted, the vulvar clinic
Oh the vulvar clinic?
Yes, the effing vulvar clinic
Then my friend John  said, I’ve seen you in a new light  tonight
What with  him and the vulvar clinic I’ve become  vulgar
The gynaecologist asked if  she could take some photos
So I told her to leave my face off.
Who can tell one vulva from another?
Maybe men might if they were sex addicts
My friend told me  vulva is a very rude word
I said ,what should i say?
Vagina!
But why is that ok? Anyway  it is not a vagina.Is that clear?
I can’t see it.It looks blurred.
Don’t be stupid, that’s my nostril
Why is it blurred?
Because you are drunk
Well, we can’t go on anymore
What, is it a divorce you need?
No, just new batteries
In my nose?
You confuse the literal and the symbolic.
Thank you, Derrida.
That’s a funny name
If it amuses you then laugh.
I am smiling
May I kiss your eye
Make sure it’s the right one
It depends on whether I am facing you or  behind
Kiss my behind, feel free.
There’s always a first time for such things
This was broadcast by  the DDT poisoning something near you today
What fools we mortals be
Speak for yourself
Ah, to be or not to be
Are you a suicide risk?
No, just a suicide with no risk
I don’t get that.
It’s  plain ,dead or alive?
I might be  somewhere in between
It reminds me of fuzzy logic
Whereas I see fuzzy things  under the bed
You need a vacuum
I’m no scientist but a vacuum under a bed seems dangerous
It seems impossible to me
You could have a vacuum flask under the bed
But why?
Anyway I taught Logic and a girl cried
Was it very hard?
No, she said. why were we not taught like this before
What did you not say?
I am a genius and schoolteachers   do not always  have maths degrees.You only need to get 38% to pass  and get 3rd class Honours
Suppose people could  pass piano tests  at that level?
They  could only play one scale.
Very boring.
It depends what emotion they convey
But how much emotion is there in C Major?
It’s happier  than C Minor
We were talking about fuzzy logic
Fuzzy  emotions are more fun
We were not created  to have fun
But I will have fun anyway!
How?
By  imagining my husband imitating  a comic
Why?
I laugh all night.
Is that wise?
Well,  we can’t be too wise
Why not?
Why don’t we go to bed
Is that wise?
Well, we are married
Are we really? How wonderful
I see you are an optimist
And you did Greek at Oxford
You can’t do just Greek
I expect they do Hebrew too
No, it’s in Leeds
How can you do Greek  at Oxford and Hebrew in Leeds at the same time?
That’s  puzzled me for  years
Rumination is bad for you
How ludicrous.How can we  have  semimars with no chewing of the cud?
That’s also puzzled me for years
It passes the time
Where?
Near Doncaster.
That is the end
No, this is.

 

Cures for Covid 19

1.Soak your feet in  diluted bleach nightly at 3am and bleach any slippers you have
2.Bleach all the hair on your body, if there is any left
3 Pour bleach into your ears at 5 am
4 If you go out pour bleach  onto the soles of your shoes and inside too
5 If there is no bleach for sale try Flash or Dettol  or both
6.Stay in bed until the paandemic is over   first spraying the bed with  disinfectant
7. Do not indulge in casual sex.Wear formal clothes.Go shopping in bleached night wear
8.Wear earplugs and turn off the News.Then bleach the TV and your keyboard
9 Avoid your neighbours and yourself
10. Pray for the poor living in Tower Blocks on low incomes .
11 Christianity  and other religions are not about going to  church; they are about Compassion.
Anyway you can’t go at the moment so help your neighbours.
God can manage  without our “prayers”

God is a bit like a radio station that we don’t tune in to very much it’s easier singing along  to to Songs of Praise

How to make your perfect coffin

When I saw this in the Times,I checked back and in reality it said “coffee” not “coffin”
so we have a Freudian slip.I had a conversation with a relative last night who told me she is choosing the music foe her funeral.Trying to be humorous,I informed her I want Joan of Arc sung by Leonard Cohen and/or JenniferWarnes if I am cremated.She didn’t get my joke
.I was never that good at making jokes 

Menu de la frowne

Main course

Beef  and mushroom tart with ballads
Eggs in a casket plus free burial
Men’s favourite beef  with deer salad
Green pudding with   cream horns
Ram  au partlette avec  la tarte
Lamb in flurried soap with live vegetables
Beef frumplings in fear of red onions en masse
Eggs died grey with tame rice in cheese-like sauce.
Eggs au Fevered Bible -Classe
Pasta with green grass and layman in olive oil
Pork crustaceans in onion gravy plus flaked potato
Pork pie and Streaming Salad via Amazon Now
Stake and Fiddly Pies plus pease pudding.
Snake quiche with springing onions and roaming radishes.
Plain lasagne with no vegetarian extra.Black pepper and mustard free
Eggs au Coquette with slice my memory
Soup burned and  often mourned
Cheese  pudding  with icing and balls

PUDDINGS

Lime mousse en scene with camera
Ginger mould and Canesten 2%
Blue cheese with automated swearing voice
Photo of  rear plus brandy
Cream  horns  with  whisky
Chocolate moutons
Semolina with Raising Powder [ free batteries[
Rice,Milk and Oven
Nazi remains and gunpowder.

RULES

No  foreigners allowed to  eat cheesecake: with or without blueberries and steam
No British allowed to  mention Horace the Menace
No Germans allowed to translate Wittgenstein into Prussian
No Scots allowed round the corner
Noone allowed to see Kinder Scout until they finish unkind Scout
Noone educated at Oxford allowed to  mention Cambridge
Noone who passed  by a doctoral dissertion  allowed to  go back
Do not  break the law except on Sundays so the police can  have a 1 day week

 

Evoked  death sentences  while still unborn

Oh,mother was it my fault I was born?
You conceived me in a country waging war
So once for sure you did not sleep alone

I was too thin, the doctor was alarmed
My sin of prematurity was scored
Oh,mother was it my fault I was born?

Thank you for your milk, your breast, my home
In sadness wish you’d loved me or adored
Dad  once said  you did not sleep alone

I could not be an infant, was forlorn
While  you weaned me  in my rage I bawled
Oh,mother, why the judgement  of love scorned?

I frightened  you by   reading  minds  and bones
Evoked  death sentences  while still unborn
I’m glad you did not  always sleep alone

Why keep knocking  on the oven door?
Sylvia Plath  used gas ,that Nazi porn
Oh,mother  reason  can’t  prove I was born
But you helped  the human race   and kept some warm

 

 

 

Wreaths of smoke

Daddy where were you  when I was sad
I bought you Woodbines in the corner shop
I carried your boiled egg with salt on plate
You lay in bed   adorned with wreaths of smoke

Uncle Herbert  died when I was five
Not  many   of Dad’s brothers left alive
But Bert was old and all his children grown
He lay inert, the coffin dark, the stone

I saw yours and Grandad’s too, false oak
The  Cemetery   filled  with  men and broken     jokes
So baffled  by affection we  would seek
And for her mother’s  grave, we  often looked

We  too will be broken, wordless earth
Worms will do their work. the lungs, the breath

Oh,summer comes to to please

The year will rise as sap does in the trees
Bringing life back,giving us new heart
As Bees wll hover, humming  on the breeze

In February frost, the sap may freeze
But soon the higher sun makes life restart
The year will rise as sap breaks gravity

But in hypnotic worlds who should believe
The utterance of the leaders, graphs and charts?
Still Bees will hover, humming under trees

By summer we hope viruses will leave
And leaders false should quickly  be pushed out
The year will rise as sap does in the trees

Let us hope no Fascists  more deceive
Do we believe the voters are not smart?
Though Bees shall hover, humming mysteries

In the sky we see the swallows dart
Possessions tie us down, our souls cry  out
Oh, year rise now as sap does in the trees
As Bees will hover, humming symphonies

Wet diamonds 

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Beware the delivery pass they sell

For I ,so foolish, for one fell
It says I can order every day
But  guess what folks, they make me pay
I  tried to do one this weekend
But in 6 days I have sinned
I bought 2 loaves just for the ghosts
Foetuses, and  heavenly hosts
Though  my babies never grew
I have  shawls both pink and blue
O mother, mother, come here now
I need your arm ,these thoughts hurt me
My  linen closets ready yet
I know my babies can’t come back
Now I’m old,I’d like to see
Their eyes  so gentle smile their plea
Tantrums, shrieks and other noise
I would welcome any voice
And one might look like my dear love
Why did God take them above? 
Mysterious are his ends and days
How can humans  know his ways?
The Lord may give, the Lord  may take
Blessed be his wounded Face
For God himself does suffer too
His eyes wet diamonds ,  polished dew

Few resist 

Why would wealthy Europe world wars fight
While Popes in cloth  of gold  writhed  as they sinned?
Few resist  the diamonds for the Light

Ambivalent love   split,  what sight  could  be found
When we spend too much time with our own kin
Missed experience shapes our eyes and minds

Those who cannot see, the wholly blind
Feel their deep emotion and may win
Love was offered  then returned as  Strikes

Yet in cultured Europe God has  died
We waged war with ardour, this was sin
Desire  overwhelms our eyes , oh  god, oh plight

Fell three Empires,states unplanned designed
Christians fought each other with new guns
So love was   never offered, simply feigned

In the eyes of infants light is dim
Wars are  made by  pschopaths at whim
Why would    proud, glad  Europe world wars fight?
Few resist   tempation , black the Light

For men may come and men may go,

white brown cow
Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

 

 

Dr Smith that  lucky man.
Had a wife called Mary Anne.
He gave her children twenty two.
How ever did this woman do?

She had many helping hands
To take her children on the sands.
They swam in batches in the sea.
And then she took them home for tea.

She had triplets,she had twins.
She even had one set of quins.
So loneliness was quite unknown.
And all were trained to use the phone.

She was a very sturdy wife.
She worked  very hard at life.
But once a week she went to town
And looked at bags and evening gowns.

But Dr Smith did not go out.
He was dusting , have no doubt.
At night they went to bed and loved
Just like a pair of turtle doves.

In the morning she rose up
And made some tea in a big cup.
She had a tiny chunk of time.
For such a one,this is no crime.

We all need a peaceful break,
To sit by our own inner lake.
To see the fish and watch the sun
As gold and glowing up it comes.

So if you have many children too,
Take heart from this small tale.
She took her time to meditate…
And her heart never failed.

For men may come and men may go,
and likewise children too.
You need to have some free “me time.”
Whatever else you do.

After the pips

  • Sorry,I am unable to answer the phone.
    My voice is on strike.
    I have been muted

    My eyes are too wet
    My husband has to keep his eye on the clock today.
    My sister’s glued to the television.
    And my other sister’s off the map
    While my brothers have been at Loggerheads for some time.

    My daughter has to keep a weather eye on her fiancee,
    And my granddaughter has been entranced by “The Magic Flute.”
    The cat is having kittens.
    So am I
    The dog is chasing his tail. and barking like a wolf
    I’ve got my finger on the nuclear button
    And my hand in the expenses

    My feet have gone to sleep.
    I forgot how to walk and  talk
    My head is coming unscrewed,
    And my mind is on higher things.
    My husand kept whisky there
    So my brain is is under investigation
    And I hope to be reunited with it soon
    But they can’t be absolutely certain it will reconnect.

    My spirits have been in the doldrums
    But I have some whisky in the cupboard.
    My career spanned the heights and the depths,
    Though not of love
    as God would recognize it,
    In a very real sense.
    You must rest assured I care about you
    Though I do not feel able to converse.
    Now there’s just a few minutes before I go for broke again
    Please leave a message after the pips.

Never write a letter full of spite

The consumer age is passing   with the dead
I tried to shop  again but Sainsburys have said
You can’t shop twice a week or twice a day
We will have to learn once more to play

Learn another language,read good books
Help another,  teach them how to cook
Go outside and  breathe the   purer air
Write a poem and then write one with flair

Walk around the street when it is clear
Drink from cans  filled up with   freezing beer
Take a photo of a tree you   like
Never write a letter full of spite

Surely we can gradually adapt
If we survive the madness and the traps

Men will love you more

woman in black and white striped short sleeve shirt and blue denim jeans
Photo by Olenka Sergienko on Pexels.com

Oh,woman  it is not your   long gold hair
That draws the man  into  your welcome lair
It is your independence and your mind
Your morals and your dignity so fine

Never worry if your looks are plain
Do not suffer anguish,mental pain
For if you know the ten commandments well
You know men cannot  worship you  and tell

If your hair is thin and full of grease
Men will come to you on bended knees
For they fear too much beauty  will engross
Illusion binds the heart  and mind once foes

Do  not be so anxious to be fair
Men will love you more the less you wear

Shame is bitter, wrecks our feeling heart

I see  down in  the  valley of the Lea
Tower blocks  and numerous tiny homes
Here the Vikings came, oh, savagery
The valley is so ugly it alarms

As I look at  my books, it’s unfair
I feel sad for children who have none 
Our average reading age  grows lower  every year
I   feel angry at our leaders nothing  done

During Lockdown where shall  children play?
Those who have no gardens  shut indoors
The  end point of  such suffering is dismay
Humiliation grows   right in a  heart’s deep core

Shame is bitter, wrecks our feeling heart
A home for Satan made with   thoughtless art

We learn to see in part

 

The sun has gone and jaundiced is the sky
The silence  of the empty roads is good
For from my garden birds are  flying high
In this  precious green   we grew a wood

No holiday in Venice or Dubai
Lockdown  keeps us in   what do we sigh
 I want to  see  the   village of old Cley
The still small voice  shall speak before we die

No more  shall  rich  possesions make us high
Nor shall buying cream and caviare
We are judged by God’s incisive  eye
Stand up,  live,  despite that  all’s awry

The Sacred World  behind our little one
We learn to see in part though we are dumb