Month: August 2020
Vision
Wm Blake
To see a World in a Grain of SandAnd a Heaven in a Wild FlowerHold Infinity in the palm of your handAnd Eternity in an hour
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There we kissed, uniting Real and Dream
The sands at Old Hunstanton pale like cream
The sea was lapping gently on our feet
There we walked and felt our love, a dream
Facing North ,we saw the sun’s June beams
Then it crossed the sky, its death to meet
The sands at Old Hunstanton pale like cream
The yellow gorse is scented, spikes are green
Brilliant flowers in gardens,ordered,neat
There we walked and felt our love, a dream
In this place our souls soon feel redeemed
With herbs, with flowers, with perfume pungent, sweet
The sands at Old Hunstanton pale like cream
If there were a heaven, it would be near
The images, the sea, the sky,oh, sweet
There we walked and felt our love, a dream
We see the surface, not what’s underneath
We feel the breeze, the spirit’s holy breath
The sands at Old Hunstanton pale like cream
There we kissed, uniting Real and Dream
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Goodbye we say,goodbye,
6 August 2015
Sometimes my hands curl up,
and other times,they open.
Then I feel the air;
My fingers relax.
I touch your hand;
uncurl it and press it to mine.
Palm on palm,it’s no secret
that palms connect to hearts.
In your face I see a hint of melancholy,
I feel it in my soul..
as if there was a secret connection..
thought how,I don’t know.
Somehow,touching, we create another soul,
Neither you nor I, but We……
Touching,need to be physical..
We know how a story can affect us that way.
What a gift to know we have touched someone…
In the heart.’s. most tender space.The place of love.
Both true and false,my palm is lonely.
Then I feel the caress of summer air..
To touch is to be touched
as one soul opens to another..
Vulnerable,human,loving,
Painful and illusory,like those dreams of childhood.
Now we go,first gripping, then loosening our hands.
Goodbye,we say,Goodbye
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The rippling waves stretch out like children’s hands
You are smiling on the pier above the sands
The rippling waves stretch out like children’s hands
You look so strong I cannot comprehend
Your fatal illness and its grievous end
You were not a patient on dry land
You were living well and ” feeling grand”
We crossed the road ; I held your cold thin hand
I suffered so much torment,would I mend?
I saw a fluid shape as dark it pranced
Through the open door it swiftly danced
Slipped in with the wiles of Tudor kings
Hoping they can make it on the wing
I learned with grief , it came to take you back
Across the river wide ,my love, my lack
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Washing Day in Knittingham
After the unusual November sunshine, Mary was happy to discover her underwear was dry. She took it into the sitting room to fold up, ready to go into the drawer.
Although, by nature, she was very untidy, she did try to keep a bit of order in her drawers.
As she sat musing, with the pile of knickers and bras nearby, the door bell rang
.Quickly she pushed the heap of lingerie under a large cushion and opened the door optimistically with a brave laugh and a rude cough
There stood the Vicar with a beaming yet sultry smile, like a sun ray on Helvellyn in midwinter
Do come in. I’ll make some fresh Ceylon tea, she murmured politely
She carried in a tray of tea and cake and sat on the sofa, after placing the tray on a small table nearby.
Why are you here, Father? she said anxiously as she sucked her thumb and bit her nails
That was what God said to Elijah on the mountain, he anwered shyly.Or mayhe it was Jeremiah
Well,I am not God but we all wonder now and then why we are here and think we should be somewhere else , like in bed with Leonard Cohen.
That never worries me, said the Vicar.I can’t marry a Jew, Leonard Cohen or whoever.
So if Jesus was here you would not let him marry your daughter? Even though he was the Son of the Most High?
Definitely not.He wasn’t a Christian.
And imagine what it would be like when he was never at home helping with the chores, but was fishing in the Sea of Galilee all day.And feeding hungry people.Not to mention getting killed…..
But he must have been very loving, Mary muttered nervously
God loves those who love themselves, cried the Vicar evangelically.
Er, that’s a bit narcissistic,Mary told him .I’ve never heard anyone say it before.
Well we ought to love ourselves or why should anyone else love us?
For our love of them, our beauty, our minds, our kindness, our humour, our cooking or our money.
Yet some a people are sadists and some are masochists.
Well, that is unfortunate but, if they are willing, it seems acceptable to me.I won’t criticise them if they enjoy it
Suddenly Annie, Mary’s neighbour,ran into the room in her dark purple velvet trenchcoat and shiny green vinyl boots;they matched her eye shadow and contrasted well with her terracotta lipstick and matching earrings, like small saucers from which Emile might drink milk
Hi, she shouted.I’m here.
Where is that lipstick from, Mary quizzed her pensively
It’s by Lambscombe of Wigan and Ilkley. Annie revealed furtively
I didn’t know they made lipstick,Mary answered.It’s an unusual colour Is it made from old bricks?
I don’t know, Annie cried petulantly.She started to snivel and felt under the cushion in case Mary had left a hanky or tissue there.
Her hand reappeared clutching a pair of bright blue lace knickers
It was hard to decide who looked more embarrassed ,Mary or the Vicar
What’s going on in here, Annie demanded though why should she have the right to know?
I’ve never seen them before, the Vicar told her manfully
Surely your wife must wear them, Annie said knowingly
My wife wears underpants.
Well, it takes all sorts,Mary mused.Is your wife a man ?
I don’t know.We live a life of utter chastity.We have therefore had no children.We could have adopted I guess.
What a waste, Annie whispered.
You are a very charming and delightful person.~
I can’t believe you are innocent.You persuaded Mary to take off her knickers so you could play Mummies and Daddies but I came in at the wrong moment.
Mary fainted silently onto the rug
Emile mewed loudly and rang 999 on his Nokia1
In ran Dave, the fluid gendered, transsexual and well dressed paramedic.
What’s wrong ?
Why has Mary fainted and why are there knickers on the floor? Is this an orgy? Why have you called me?
The Vicar went bright red with embarrassment and shock.
No, it seems Mary keeps a pair of knickers near her in case she runs out of tissuesDave made some Ceylon tea in the bijou violet and emerald green kitchen .He used Mary’s art deco mugs to serve it along with some chocolate biscuits he found under the sink.
Mary rose up from the carpet and asked where she was.
Still here,in the EU….until Scotland goes independent and Ireland gets more Troubles and how about Wales getting big idea?
Oh, for goodness sake, shut up.I am sick of Brexit cried Emile.
Where is my tea? Where are my sardines in olive oil?Where is my pudding?
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If you’re grieving
If you’re grieving keep away from cliffs
Do not believe Satan, do not leap
Keep away from gamblers and the swift
Don’t get claustrophobia stuck in lifts
If you’re feeling hungry, eat roast meat
If you’re grieving keep away from cliffs
Keep away from whisky, don’t get pissed
Go to bed and dream, enjoy soft sleep
Keep away from gamblers and the swift
When did you give anyone a kiss?
Why sit there alone, can no-one meet?
If you’re grieving keep away from cliffs
If you try to shoot yourself, you’ll miss
You will cause distress, your friends will weep
Keep away from gamblers and the swift
There’s always God, I know he is discreet
He hides in places no-one ever sweeps
If you’re grieving keep away from cliffs
Keep away from gamblers, never sniff
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I’m not frightened of you anymore
I’ m not frightened of you anymore
I’ll tell you that I hope I did my best
God, you made the world that we destroy
You want us to make meaning, learn the laws
Life for many is a fearsome task
Yet I’ m not frightened of you anymore
Why has Beirut suffered, what’s death for?
The people wander, by great wounds undressed
God, you made the world,who can restore?
Thousands injured ,millions more distraught
Will we give them aid and make it fast?
I’ m not frightened of God anymore
As we age, our hearts and souls must mourn
Living as the present hurries past
God, you made the world,will tears restore?
In the startling Universe so vast
The Play is here and we must be the Cast
I’ m not frightened of you anymore
God, you made a world so full of tears
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I’ll follow where love leads
I heard the thud our cat made on the stair
But when I looked there was no creature there
Can our longing make us hear strange sounds;
Delusions,wish-fulfilment, breaking bounds?
I heard the wrens sing by the kitchen door
At least there is no cat to make them fewer
I want to make some tea but I feel stuck
I’ll fill the pan, while love my heart strings plucks
For aeons I feel I’m paralysed by grief
The caterpillars gnaw upon green leaves
I judge myself incompetent,too slow.
Yet would I judge another, wound with blows?
I feel half-way between the real, the dream
In reverie I’ll follow where love leads
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Love and blindness
Love and structure made our life secure
Although outside our tent, the gales still blew
Now alone,I fear I can’t endure
Your loving presence made my life secure
Now I stand on air ,supportless,poor
Love and structure made our life secure
Now I am afraid and pale my hue
Love and blindness made us feel secure
I forgot ,outside the tent, wild gales still blew
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The sound of silence
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A little about Dryden
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/john-dryden
Beware the fury of a patient man John Dryden
EXTRACT:
“In 1665 the plague was so bad in London that Dryden had to rusticate himself and his wife at her family estate in Charlton, Wiltshire. There he wrote three excellent works: Of Dramatick Poesie: An Essay (1667), the first great sustained work in English dramatic theory; Secret-Love (1667), a tragicomedy; and Annus Mirabilis: The Year of Wonders, 1666 (1667). This “Historical Poem” celebrating English victories at sea during the Second Dutch War and Charles II’s conduct during the Great Fire of London won Dryden the poet laureateship in 1668.
Because it was published in 1667, Dryden’s heroic poem invites comparison with Milton’s great epic Paradise Lost, first published in its ten-book format that same year. Milton’s epic—written by this radical Puritan secretary to Cromwell—looks back through its aristocratic mode to classical and medieval times. Dryden’s poem, despite its aristocratic elements of monarchism and heroic valor, its classical allusions and epic similes, looks forward through its bourgeois celebration of mercantile expansion, maritime dominance, and homely imagery of laboring citizens to the rule of a capitalist Britannia under a constitutional monarch.”
Michael McKeon has brilliantly demonstrated that the poem is essentially political propaganda designed to stifle domestic dissent by rallying the nation around the common causes of war abroad and disaster at home. Dryden mythologizes Charles II, his brother James, Duke of York, and the triumphant admirals and generals as classical and Christian heroes and even gods.
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For the mad widow
Always eat breakfast in the awning
Don’t miss your midday sinner
You must eat protein and ballads
Do drink plenty of bold water
Do not walk on cliff tops wearing high wheels
Make sure to wear an opaque light-dress in case the postman works
Put the landing flight off.
Go to bed when you feel wired
If agitated, tie yourself to a chair for 2 hours.It’s cheaper than a hospital
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Love flowed
All we had was the cooker and the bed
I bought some sheets and blankets up the road
The Coop had a shop, it saved my head
All we had was the cooker and the bed
We must have had some plates, yes, they were red
Indicating we were not well bred
Cutlery and mugs were gifts bestowed
All we had was much love and a bed
I made a meal and after that we flowed
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Now is lost
The face that was familiar now is lost
You seem as far away as is the moon
My heart has paid for you the savage cost
The face that was so loved, by now is lost
And my own inner being is fear- tossed
Though five long, weary years have wandered past
I no longer fear to meet my doom
The face that was familiar now is lost
Love seems far away, like a new moon
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The beige life of Stan
Mary lifted her orange cast iron cooking pot out of the oven.
“This pot is much too heavy ,”she informed her dear old husband,Stan.
But what else can I use for my Beef in Beer and my Braised Beef with Ginger?
I can’t think, he replied imaginatively yet timidly
But Mary had already seen and loved a red cast aluminium casserole dish in the Ironmongers online
You know, we’ve not bought a new pan for years, she cried thoughtlessly.
Well,I’ve managed alright, he murmured, we have two copper pans and three stainless steel ones and the pyrex glass ovenware
But I want something fancy I can put on the table.I feel the urge to invite someone round
Emile was hiding by the pan rack, wondering what cast aluminium might be
I hope you won’t drop this pot on me, he mewed plaintively
Have I ever dropped the Le Creuset one on you.Don’t answer as if I had you would be dead
You are being very blunt today,Stan remarked politely yet pointedly
Oh, dear.I am sorry if I hurt you.I just recalled all the stews I used to make and inviting in anyone who happened to walk by.Now we don’t ask people in,I liked it before… life was slower then
Well, if you want to get some bright new pots or dishes I’m not complaining.I know you bave back pain and you like colour.Get a colourful pot or two and we can give the heavy ones away.A younger person will love them.
Why, asked ~Annie their neighbour who had just got in through the larder window despite being almost as obese as the PM
She was dressed in a champagne coloured, waisted. long padded jacket with purple trousers and pink trainers with coral soles which matched her lipstick from Cats Factor of Wigan and Darwen.
Her foundation cream was ivory beige from Eve St Torment of Paris,Southport and Glasgow.
You look pale,darling, Stan declared tenderly
Oh,damn and blast,I knew I should have got medium beige.
What?
It’s my makeup.
You look nice with nothing on, he said happily though tactlessly.
What about me,asked Mary faintly?
You always look stunning, he whispered.I am just flattering Annie as she looks depressed
No wonder with you as her companion.She should get someone who is not married.
I tell her that, but i am old and I would be alone all day while you were teaching Babylonian Logic and Solomon’s Temple or maybe Wittgenstein and the need for Silence
I know I am tired when I get home, she said urbanely
Emile fell off the table and broke a bit off Stan’s chair
OMG ring 999, Stan screamed
Calm down, said Annie.I can mend it with superglue
All these years calling out Dave and you could have fixed it.Why did you not say?
Well,I lack confidence, she muttered, except about clothes and lipstick
Emile had secretly phoned 999 and soon the doorbell rang
In ran Dave, the talented and much loved paramedic.
What’s wrong, he cried gaily
Just the arm broke off this chair,Mary moaned.I feel faint
How would you have managed in the War, he asked.
Breaking a chair should not
affect you.
I forgot to take my felopidine, she informed him.Will I have a heart attack?
Go and get it now.No, missing one dose is ok but more than one puts you at risk
Stan looked at his beautiful wife and her face like a mediaeval painting
You are so brave, Mary, living with those spasms.
What choice do I have ,she whispered? I submit to the will of God
I wish you’d submit to my will,Stan compained loudly yet sensitively
I will, shouted Annie
Not here,Mary said,At least have the decency to go into the greenhouse
But people can see in, Annie muttered
I thought you might like that!
Well,I would not.I’ll come tomorrow she shouted, as she ran out and slammed the door
She’s upset; she went to Wigan for some makeup and she got the wrong shade of be=ge
How many shades of beige are there,asked Dave?
You should know,Stan cried.You wear make up sometimes
I always like more information
Well it’s not fifty. as that would cause confusion
And take up too much space on the pharmacy counter.
Why some of us are called white when we are just beige light or medium I do not know
And nor do all of us including those labelled as black
Life is not black and white except for the immature
Alas, many of us are.Very.
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A smile stretched like elastic on my face
I had two frocks from Woolworth’s in my case
Some Indian slip on sandals made from gold
We’d never seen East Anglia and its space
I had two flowered frocks inside my case
A smile stretched like elastic on my face
My smaller bag was full of bridal lace
I hoped the cottage was not dark and cold
But when I loved him,I felt filled with grace
I had two frocks, a nightdress, in my case
Some Indian slip on sandals made from gold
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A funny old story
Emile thinks
I had a full day watching Stan hoover the bedroom. and re-hang the curtainsHe found 5 pence on the rug.
That makes 60 pence this week.He swore when he saw the duvet had slipped to one side of the bed.I jumped up and stood on it while he pulled it back into place;a bit of fun.I can’t help him much but I hope being watched pleases him.
He tried on Mary’s dressing gown and looked in the mirror.Then he swore again.I think her likes her clothes but that was not a nice sight.
She was out giving another lecture and running a seminar
on something called “Rings and Groups.” It sounds like a dance or a sacred rite.I’d love to go in her wicker basket to the University and listen to a lecture.I believe she’s very popular and is always pleased to prove that “e” is not an algebraic number.
Well,it’s obvious………even a cat knows it’s a letter!
Does she think it’s another more advanced kind of number? Beats me.
What with that and all the times she brings in pies…she has me wondering what mathematics is now.Why does it frighten people?
Cats like me love a nice meat pie and will run in rings or circles
mewing “eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” for hours if we get some Earl Grey tea .
We are not into groups though except maybe groups of mice.
Now where’s my milk?I’m worn out writing my blog.
Still,I hope you know what “e” and “pie” are now!
Mioaw.Next week:Imaginary numbers is her theme but how will I know what she’s planning to imagine?Can you plan to imagine?
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The Window by Leonard Cohen
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My local
II I I made this from a photo using Artweaver
What attention
You looked happy in your pushchair
with buttoned corduroy leggings that toddlers used to wear
You were fierce, would never be left out
Even if trying drove you into a frenzy
You could play the piano,read music
play with two hands
Why not more academic subjects?
You were born too late
As you grew, Dad began to die
What kind of attention did anyone give you?
Strong with anger,desperate for love
Needing something that was your own
But you never knew that
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The BBC
The familiar sound of morning was your tread
Coming up the stairs with Earl Grey tea
While I lingered lazily in bed
The homely sound of morning was your tread
Now I think I hear it in my head
Rumbling like the bumbling of a bee
The familiar sounds of morning were your words
Now I only have the BBC
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Gelignite
Love can bust your mind like gelignite
Explosions of emotions fill the air
Each one hopes for joy and its delights
Yet love can break your heart like gelignite
And all your being suffers in this plight
As the heart breaks, so too will this pair
Love can blow your mind like gelignite
Explosions of emotions, keep them spare
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Dance
The last dance was between our touching minds
No words were spoken ; we did it alright
To your wordless wishes I was kind
The last dance was the best between two minds
Like music ,we need space between the lines
I shall not forget you flew from sight
The last dance was between our playful minds
No words were spoken, love itself is Light
How my heart sings 