Stan,Emile and the bath

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    • Stan was leaning over, cleaning the  new bath.When the doorbell rang,he rushed downstairs and opened the  double front door.
      “Will you take this parcel in for the lady next door?” The postman asked wearily.
      “Oh,fine Stan stuttered.He was trying to avoid Annie but here she was,coming down the road of superior semi detached houses suitable for ex-headmasters ,small businessmen,econometricians,surgeons,pie salesmen and  theologians.

      She was wearing perfume, and green sandals from TK Maxx,light khaki tencel cropped combat trousers with a purple silky over-blouse, not to mention her matching raspberry  and cream underwear .Round her neck hung a miniature grandfather clock on a solid gold chain,and she had three  imitation gold and silver watches on each  of her three wrists making a total of 333 watches according to Carnap’s theory of logic and Russell’s terrible handwriting.

      Stanley didn’t know that she had a mobile phone stuffed into her bra—one advantage for the larger sized woman.In fact she had 4 down there in her raspberry coloured glamour bra,as she had a phobia about their batteries running down all at once
      The more she had the lower the probability of her being without a phone whilst out and about the town and countryside.
      So she reasoned in her womanly  way. J
      ust then one  phone rang.She rummaged around to the consternation  and turmoil-uation of Stanley and the postman.She plucked out a pale blue phone.
      “Hi,it’s Annie” she murmured.
      “Hi Annie it’s Dave the paramedic with  carpentry skills. You’ve not rung 999 lately so we were wondering if all was well!”
      “Oh,I’m terribly sorry.I’ll try to phone later on.Thanks,Petal.
      That was Dave,our ex-transvestite converted paramedic”,she informed the men.The postman galloped off on his donkey, his bags full of undelivered males.
      It’s a tough but interesting life in Knittingham. Would you like a male delivery?Contact Parcel Force without delay.
      Annie went into Stan’s house and demanded a cup of coffee.
      “Won’t it make you put weight on” Stan quipped ironically.
      “Do you think I’m too plump?” she responded anxiously..
      “Too plump for what?” he quipped amiably.
      “To attract men,of course!”
      “No,my angel,you are just perfect”he quacked definitively.”Nor are you an angel,strictly speaking,as I have good reason to know.Thank you,my beloved for love rendered so generously .”
      “Oh,my goodness I must get home to render the fat from the beef and to make some gooseberry jam.”
      Stanley looked uneasy.
      “I wonder why babies are left under gooseberry bushes?
      The thorns are so big it’s quite dangerous getting them out,or so Mary told me when Lyra was born. She was covered in scratches and wouldn’t come near me for months.”
      “Why don’t you come upstairs to look at our new purple bathroom suite.Since the Royal Wedding it’s the in colour.The gold taps were expensive but they do go well.”
      “My God,let me out.” she bawled,”It reminds me of the Vatican and that’s no place for a lady”,
      “Not even a gay lady?” Stan muttered parsimoniously, as he licked her eyelashes gently.
      “Stop that.I’ve got my Yves St Laurent mascara on.”
      “I prefer the taste of the Chanel,”he disclosed privately in an internal  secret memo.[available on 50 years]
      “Why not lick my neck instead?” she enquired curiously as she tripped over Emile the cat, who had slipped into the bathroom as usual  to see what they were up to,you know what I mean, you catch my drift?
      She fell floppily into the bath and banged her head on the taps.
      “Oh,gosh,better ring 999” Stan said to Emile.
      “Have you got your catphone warehouse mobile on you?”
      “Yes ,it’s in my y-fronts”, the cat amiably miaowed.
      “Hi Dave,this is Emile.Can you come quick.Annie is unconscious and what is worse,she has scratched the new bath.”
      In fact it was Emile who had scratched the bath that morning but since Stan had not noticed he hoped to, callously, pass the blame onto poor  Annie.
      How cruel can a cat be?  Ask any mouse! Still in the end God made all of us and what a  terrifying and beautiful world it is.

The gift of sight, fine flowers, blue butterflies

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In my hedge of beech mixed into yew
The wrens have nested,now they learn to fly
I felt my heart grow lighter at this view

When the heart is lifted,that’s a clue
That symbols of new life are coming by
From my hedge of beech mixed into yew

Keeping vision clear,look out and bow
What lives now  must shrink and one day die
I felt my heart ache taking  such a view

With many gifts  we humans are endowed
The gift of sight, fine flowers,  blue butterflies
By my hedge of beech mixed into yew

The gift of tongues, creation of the new
From  sweet Joan Baez to little babies’ cries
I felt my heart swell in my breast anew

Conception, growth,maturity,goodbye
Like the flying star we  shall go far
By my hedge of beech mixed into yew
I felt my heart  beat stronger than I knew

 

 

Who sieves earth?

When we think of God, we see an eye
Watching us like some abhorrent spy
What of his touch, his hearing, his   small voice?
What his  taste conveys and  how employed

Larger  than the total of  sand grains
That  form all  ocean shores  by  moon arranged
Smaller than  the eyes of ladybirds
And insects humble without   spoken words

What is size  compared to tangled roots?
What is loud compared to army boots?
What the colour, what the perfect form
To ripple through my eyes with no alarm

What do you here, what  vision do you flee?
Who  sieves earth and whose the face you see?

Words benign

The gap between experience and words-
Should any person be reduced to signs?
A hint, a sigh, a flight, a  little bird

Who ought express  in lines what has  occurred ?
            Does the  bloodied heart  weep words benign-
The gap between experience and words

A line distinct, a line that is too blurred
What impact can this have on a design?
Which  hint,  which sight,  which  flight, will kill the bird?

The sentence  well constructed has its flair
Yet  to the  void   much feeling   is consigned
That gulf between experience and words

Who tore  apart the meaning  we  hoped shared?
So now to nothingness we are resigned
No hint, no sigh,  no flight, no  little bird

With   whose filters  may  we be refined?
Who shelters souls that others have declined?
The gap between experience and words-
A hint, a sigh, a flight, the   shining bird

 

 

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