A smell diffuse

Oh,transcendental numbers, are you gods
You show the complex world that drives us nuts
If only the circumference could be
The radius squared, then multiplied by three.

How simple Science would be because straight lines
Could wrap round so called “circles” well defined
All the world would be a different shape
The Earth itself would crumble as we gaped

Come to that we would not be alive
For women would have bosoms like road signs
The womb would be a cube and not a sphere
The corners would endanger life obscure

Our heads would be like Rubik’s cube in shape
Our minds would be aghast and emigrate
So here would lie the ruins of the West
No devious politicians could invest

Men and women could not join in sex
That would make the adults feel quite vexed
Procreation would be IVF
Look it up, it’s no fun for the guest

We would need no hats upon flat heads
A dinner plate would sit up there instead
But if we bring back pi, will all be well?
I cannot say while living in this hell

Stupid, evil men are on the loose
The air is nauseaous with a smell diffuse

Imagination

https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/obituary-marion-milner-1163951.html

Milner underlined the need to imbue the common-sense world with one’s personal sense of meaning. She described this process as the alchemy which transmutes base metal into gold. This requires a sacrifice of the old self and a plunge into emptiness, from which one develops a trust that, out of the unconscious, something new and valuable can grow. These lines of thought led on to other interests of Milner’s – the role of art and poetry in the life of the mind, and mysticism.

Is you an alien?

This person suffered a fit when Trump lost the election
She thinks she is St Paul
Is she suitable for gender re-assignment or is it schizophrenia?
Wait to see if she writes any letters

This person has been given a lethal injection but is alive.
It’s a miracle.Tell the Pope
To whom did you pray?
God
Make God a saint immediately.

This person is guilty of fraud
How?
He teaches birds how to fly
I thought it was innate
Who’s Innate?

This person is too logical
For what?
For a human being
Is they an alien?
Is you?
I aren’t yet

In heaven

The sun is shining brightly
Shall I sit by the pool?
No,I always live my  life by
Rigid personal rules.

Last week’s unruly weather
Let rain fell down in spools
I might have had the heating on;
Oh,those rigid personal rules.

Wear a dress from Mayday
Wear  coats when winter’s cool
Only wash your hair on weekends
That’s a personal rigid rule

But,Ma ,my hair is oily
The girls all point in school.
Don’t be such a  cry baby
Don’t  be such a fool.

Ma,I’ve done my homework
I’m top of all my year!
Can I have an hour alone?
She thwacked me on the ear.

I was her little puppet
And she controlled my strings
Till I caught my Guardian angel
And I stole her sturdy wings.

Well,Ma died  half my life away
But  she is now a ghoul
Watching me so patiently
With her chart of rigid rules.

She didn’t leave me money
She didn’t leave me jewels.
She just left me a message
All my rules are  yours.

I cried ,Holy Moses
She is worse than God
She made rules for everything
From  love to  boiling cod.

Don’t bath when you’ve your period
Don’t let your brothers see
You are now a woman
But  you’re still under me

I think I’ll leave those rules behind
And if it makes me fear
God will send a devil round,
I’ll hit  him with this spear.

Flexible  our bodies
Flexible our minds
We must climb the mountain
And leave those rules behind.

Following personal rules
Can make us feel secure
But  our vocation calls to us
And cares not if we’re   pure.

Steal  and purloin all you need
From books and people too.
Follow your own calling
While you share our human zoo.

And share your learning freely
Give as well as take
Oh,my Lord ,I see some men
Carrying a stake.

They are going to burn my body
But they can’t touch my  soul
Wrap me well in flax,  my dear.
In heaven ,I’ll be whole

The future is yet fiction

The heart is struck a blow, can we live on?
The pain, the blood, the wound ca’t be undone
Lying in the rocks, so grey, so doomed
Death is waiting in the sitting room


Imperceptibly our minds are changed
The contents we examine, rearrange
No energy for living and new games
Like a worn out puma,limping, lame


The animal, our being, our poor flesh
Wishes for relief or even death
Yet as the sun burns through the maple leaves
Who can tell what else we may perceive?

Life and death, those twins walk on white cliffs
I stumbled once,I froze,I turned from death.
Then I found the wild rose and its thorns
The pain of grasping love, the treasure shown


The future is yet fiction,I’ll be damned.
Come to me and hold my
lovely hand

The holes and ink are fashion

I’ve got liquid Quink on all my clothes
I thought that everyone would like to know
I’ve got moth holes in my sweaters like small eyes
But my winter coat is still almost alright

I’ve had this coat for fifteen years,it’s brown
It drapes quite well, the maker is renowned
I must put it on to take a walk outside
To see which plants have died and which survived

My husband would be very shocked indeed
My tights have gaping holes upon my knees
The ink has penetrated to my vest
God knows where that Quink will wander next

If your clothes are damaged, do not cry
At least 5,000 moths have learned to fly