Striding Edge ,Hellvellyn, Cumbria, from tourist a guide

Baggage handlers at Berlin’s new airport have reported receiving electric shocks from scanners in yet another problem to befall the troubled project, which is widely seen as an engineering catastrophe.
From the Guardian Newspaper

If you’re feeling real depressed again
Get free treatment down here in Berlin
Put your arm into the scanner, not your bag
The shock will cure you with a short time lag
If it’s not enough, you must sneak back
Stick your other arm in for a shock
It’s a bit like vaccination, some need two
Yet only one is needed for the flu
In Germany the home of engineers
This scanning error reduced grown men to tears
If you can’t afford to hack Berlin
Put your finger in a socket to begin
The shock is scary, it will make you run
Exercise like this sure beats a gym
If you are unlucky you may die
Then you’ll see the stars up in the sky
If it’s not your time come back to us
I fear you’ll need a cab, there is no bus

Katherine  September 6, 2016

I miss the hand that used to hold  my hand
I miss the eyes that  used  to  comfort me
The needs of love don’t  feel like a demand
I miss the hand that  caressed  my  held hand
I miss your love  and miss you as a  friend.
When you gazed , your eyes lit what you’d see.
I miss the hand that used to warm  my hand
I miss the eyes that  used  to smile at me.

I miss your arms around me in the dark
I miss the early morning,  thoughts unspoke
On Purbeck Hills; the  Easter singing lark
I miss your arms around me in the park
Poole Harbour’s beauty is a living spark
Sharing silent glances as we walked
I miss your arms around me in the dark
I miss the mornings, though we   rarely spoke

Silent sharing ;  company in  love.
With strangers,  we must  manufacture talk.
To be silent ;the domed sky above
To be silent ;  spaciousness of    love.
With strangers, how their talk can jolt and shove
I held your hand and stroked it when we walked
Silent caring;  symphony of  love.
Not strangers blindly snatching in the dark.

Hannah Arendt, an émigré from Nazi Germany.“The result of a consistent and total substitution of lies for factual truth,” Arendt wrote in her classic volume The Origins of Totalitarianism, “is not that the lie will now be accepted as truth and truth be defamed as a lie, but that the sense by which we take our bearings in the real world—and the category of truth versus falsehood is among the mental means to this end—is being destroyed.”

What woud happen here if Boris Johnston’s followers rioted,burst into Westminster ,some armed
and five people died?
I think he’d be in a police cell waiting for his trial
Surely inciting people known to be unstable/crazy to do what these Americans
did is also guilty of a crime- depriving someone of their life.
What will happen in the next week?

May the hordes not stress you
May the cord pull for you
Hail Mary, show your face
My guardian angel is quite a sight
To more horror and misdeeds, make all not prey
Be, just for today.|
Be just, for today
It’s Art in heaven
Well, bless the frail.
Our heart should need no pay

To develop bad taste or at least to tolerate it
To stop telling children Micky Mouse is twee.
To comb my hair more than twice a week
To stop thinking men are like women before disaster comes down
To decide where to keep the Radio Times
To stop drinking Twinings Breaakfast Tea in the afternoon
To make the bed before 11.30 pm
To decide what things one does not need beginning with smart watches,matching cutlery and
washing one’s clothes very frequently [ what is that?]
To laugh at pain

Katherins  December 2, 2013 

• Bands of rhyme will be crossing the UK tomorrow.. streams of poetry will bring rain in the eyes.
  Season’s Tweetings to Sinners if all repent
  Shadow of silence are folding over like an envelope.
  The spice of wife..pepper.
  Hop around the roses
  It’s best to saunter nowadays.
  When inside out, a cat can still scratch.. with its reversible catclaws.Try one tonight.Just unzip the cat and it will spring into the heir…to the throne or is it the air all round
  Until the end of all rhymes I’ll be loving you
  Time feels all wounds…and fills holes
  Maps of the iceberg have melted..
  Two hearts that beat as none ever did.
  I wait for the lime to be ripe then it will be a lemon.
  If you have a man,wash him weekly in a tin bath…don’t blame me if you get drawn in…..mate in the bath … saves washing the sheets.

Language has different rules.A language can be looked at as a game with rules.But the rules vary,That’s why perfect translation is impossible.Many different perceptions are linked into the vocabulary of each language.And the rules for combination are unique to each.
Like dancing…each society used to have its own form of dance though here it’s died out.Irish and Scottish dancing still exist and are very similar.People entertained themselves by singing their unique songs and dancing together… and playing their own instruments.. violin,tin whistle,piano…
Sometimes you make a friend from another culture.Sometimes you hurt them because your singing and dancing may have seemed similar and then one of you took a step which was not part of any dance the other one knew…. so feelings are hurt or the mind is puzzled.Unless you have very deep trust
You may think they are wanting to hurt you.But it maybe you were doing the foxtrot and they began to waltz, feeling it would be lovely to waltz with you.
Then they tread on your toes,you slap their face and it’s the end of a good friendship.But thinking of it as a confusion of dances may give the event a different meaning which ascribes no blame,just confusion natural in such a case

Created by Katherine

Everything is whirling round my mind,
The lack of government ,  the words unkind
That the poor are  short of food and  clothes
We deny it, everybody knows

Sudden gusts of wind  mock  these old trees
Does the  lure of nature  disappear
When  the butterflies have gone away
Yet the stinging wasps are here to stay?

Once tortured  now abandoned refugees
Can’t make phone calls,  have no mental ease
We make our own defences into walls
We  do not want to hear their their poignant calls

Oh,Lord God take the beam from out my eye
I want to know the  truth before I die

Unexpressed emotions never die.
We hurt the ones we “love “without a sigh
We fall downstairs and break a bone or ten
We find the worst in all the hopeful men

So now the awful feelings have increased
Someone else is joyful at the feast
We sulk and mope or crack the china mugs
Break our ankles stumbling on the rugs

Now we blame the others for our pain
Why did noone notice yet again?
We are not the centres of their world
Too proud to say we’re sad in a few words

Decent friends will give us words that heal
If we show emotion, show we feel

Great, once
tea for some
planted in rows
drowned in Boston
once fair rose
Britain lost

Deep in the cold hard soil worms dwell
Yet I did hear the sparrows sing today
They sounded very happy, truth to tell
Deep below in horrid soil worms dwell
And in the Irish Sea the rollers swell
Here nervous people watch the USA
Deep in their cold truth we numbly dwell
Yet I have heard the sparrows sing today

 

To write a poem I dreamed an undreamed dream
The woods in France deformed by dead young men
A nightmare complex in its perplexed themes

In our dream the narrative has means
To make those killed communicate again
To write a poem I dream an undreamed dream

Later, in another war, trains steam
To take the “insect” Jew, no longer “man.”
A nightmare simple in its evil themes

The little pearls we half see, as we scheme
The evasions we ignored but which remained.
We read a poem, we dream an undreamed dream

Who we are and who we might have been
At 4 am in isolated pain
The Nightmare Complex, come to share your screams

Can any see the world as poets aimed
To recreate the moment where we change?
To write a poem embodies sufferers’ dreams
Nightmares dark and piercing,mobs that maim

Who am i
The one who writes?
The confluence of streams
Of DNA and lies
Breed evil in many hearts
People
Bust into the Capitol
Shots were fired
Let’s keep streaming
Out to sea.
I may not exist
But I have a view
I don’t like these actions
Nor mobs who would kill
The world in turmoil watches
Democracy is clear
Hitler didn’t have TV cameras
It must matter.
But see Jesus
No exemptions
The weak
Get it

Flip the switch and turn malign
The devil has your new designs
In the mountains make your kill
You have got the nerve and will

When you’re done, don’t bother me
Yours the face I shall not see
You who alternate and swing
Like a bird, be on the wind

You could explain, you pity lack
Evoking memories too black
I forgave you three times ten
I won’t forgive your hurts again

You are not the only man
Who thinks the world for him is run

Katherine  March 22, 2018 

http://www.eng.fju.edu.tw/Literary_Criticism/postmodernism/pm_poetry.html

Postmodern Poetry

“Superior Lake” by Lorine Niedecker as an Example

• Conte, Joseph M. Unending Design: the Form of Postmodern Poetry. Introduction.
• McCorkle, James. ¡§The Inscription of Postmodernism in Poetry.¡¨

Language	Self	Modernism	Postmodernism
General concepts about serial & procedural forms	Serial form	Procedural form	“Lake Superior”

Taiwanese Postmodern Poetry (an Outline in Chinese)Louise Chen, 11/26/1998

Postmodern poetics respond to the condition of the world. In an age of instant telecommunications and metropolitan life, the postmodern serial and procedural forms attempt to accommodate the overwhelming diversity of messages and the lapse of a grand order that is replaced by an arbitrary personal order.

I. Language

A.  In postmodern poetics, there is a paradigmatic shift from the idea that language is
transparent to the disclosure of its physicality, its intimacy, its obdurate persistence, and its
paradoxical fragility. (M 43)

B. Reader¡Xpoem:

The reader’s position is contingent upon the poem and the poem¡¦s existence hinges upon
the reader and the varieties of knowledge the reader brings to the poem¡KThe adequation of
thing and sign has lapsed with the realization of the arbitrary condition of language. (M 43)

II. Self

A. Contemporary poetry:

1. Contemporary poetry positions its perspectives from a persona (who is often autobiographic) within a defined narrative structure.
2. Contemporary poetry avoids self-criticism and establishes itself as a singled unified voice. (M 48)

B. Postmodern poetry:

1. Postmodernist poetics suggests an ongoing reinterpretation of the self in the context of others. It specifically investigates the ethical-or self-critical capacity of language and its relationship to identity. (M 46)2. The critique of the privileged and entitled ¡§I¡¨ is central to postmodern poetics. While not a wholesale endorsement of many theoretic claims to he death of the author or the abandonment of intention, postmodern poetry nonetheless insists on a re-visioning of the authorial voice and its reception. (M 46)

Now we are Great Britain all alone
Even Ulster may soon separate
Across the Irish sea and its bright foam

We have frenzied quarrels,not debate
Words are thrown with violence like sharp stones
The B ritish people are degenerates

OK you think the EU overgrown
You long for English culture that has passed
Why the hatred, why the shouts and moans

Now we can’t go out, the virus swarms
Isolation ends the Brexit War
Perhaps it helps our feelings , perhaps ends scorn

We hear the News and most of its a bore
Noone trusts the experts,Gove proclaims
In that case what are experts even for?

A “patriot” did kill Jo Cox,oh,Name
Before the Referendum, who’d have guessed?
Are we so at risk, who is to blame?

Is our devastation now our Test?
Is compassion stronger, even blessed?
Give the victims,Lord their welcome rest

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/terza-rima

Glossary of Poetic Terms

Terza rima

An Italian stanzaic form, used most notably by Dante Alighieri in Commedia (The Divine Comedy), consisting of tercets with interwoven rhymes (ABA BCB DED EFE, and so on). A concluding couplet rhymes with the penultimate line of the last tercet. See Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind,” Derek Walcott’s “The Bounty,” and Omeros, and Jacqueline Osherow’s “Autumn Psalm.”

Browse more poems in terza rima.

Too old for cold,I stand, now ,against the hedge,
Watching the snowflakes in the glare of neon street lamps.
Darkness has come early,and I think of country uplands and huddled sheep.
On Salisbury Plain,shepherds watched their flocks
Just as in Bethlehem two thousand years before,
And then ,exactly when?
“Between the wars”,it stopped.
Now we know there is no “Between the wars”.
And who decided
To cull the sheep and shepherds and the space for kindness ?
Now that same Plain still exists,but banned
And closed to human-kind,
For bombs ,not wombs
Nor for birth of lamb ,nor gypsy child ,nor Saviour
Where would He go today?
_

I went up to the blackboard and I wrote there, x,y,z
But the lecture room was empty, they were still in bed
I was feeling angry, so would you.I guess
I had written 20 lectures, I hoped for some success

I tore up all the handouts and threw them on the chairs
I rarely lose my temper, but why should they keep theirs?
I longed to explain Calculus, but noone ever did
Nor why Eve was neatly made, just out of Adam’s rib

I went into the Staff Room,I got myself some tea
I think it was the only thing that lecturers got free
Except those pens for whiteboards, and paper for our notes
Cheapest type of ballpens, sweets for our sore throats.

I got onto my bicycle,I went for a long ride
I could have has a wedding dress, if I were a bride
I could have had a coat of fur with matching hat and boots
But I went down to Foyles again where they might cook some books

Then I was in Dillons and then I went to Heals
I have got no furniture but I do know how it feels
I went onto the Underground to get to Finbury Park
Alas, when I got out again, it seemed to have gone dark

I came back home and drank more tea, the house seemed very quiet
I heard Leonard Cohen whistling in the dark

Stan was happy for a few moments when he woke up.Then he realized Emile was not anywhere to be seen.Mary had already gone out as she wanted to catch a very early train to London.She needed to visit the British Library.She urgently wanted to find evidence that Wittgenstein wore a hat in bed.
Stan went searching around the house but Emile had vanished.Usually at 8 am he would be dashing about pretending to chase flies and giving a balletic performance worthy of Sadler’s Wells.
I wonder who Sadler was, Stan muttered as he filled the kettle with fresh water and put some Earl Grey tea into the teapot.
Then, a strange feeling came over him.He looked up and there was Emile
crouched on top of the highest cupboard in the kitchen.
Emile, he cried, What are you doing up there?
I’m training to be a spy, Emile replied nonchalantly.
But how could this kitchen be of interest to the Intelligence Services?
Well, the cat murmured, I am practicing hiding.
You gave me a terrible shock, Stan said.I had this feeling I was being watched.I wondered if it was paranoia.Then I saw your gleaming eyes.
So, you need to get some dark glasses, Emile said.
No ,I would still feel that horrible feeling.And how were you planning to get down from that high ledge?
I’m not sure, the cat meowed faintly
Well, the first lesson for a spy or even a detective is,
Never go anywhere unless you can make a quick exit,
As it is ,I may have to ring 999.
Just then the front doorbell rang.There stood a man with a white beard and moustache.
Hello ,he said holding out his hand to shake Stan’s.
I am called Peter Fried.I have just moved into one of the new flats across the road.I am a psychoanalyst.
I have taken on another flat to use as a consulting room and a waiting room
A psychoanalyst! Do we need one round here?
Well, Good morning, I have just brewed some tea.Would you like to join me?
How kind, said Peter.
I say, old bean, did you know there’s a cat on top of your cupboard?
Yes, that is Emile.Today he has surpassed himself in wickedness.How I will get him down I don’t know.
My training analyst used to say, What goes up must eventually come down.
That seems a bit weird for an analyst.To what was he referring… something to do with sex I don’t doubt.It’s all sex with you people.
Yes, some of us are very peculiar…that’s why we enter the profession.
What I meant was, if Emile got up he can get down.How did you get up, Emile?
I leaped, answered the tense animal.
Can you leap down?
I’ve lost my nerve, replied the poor creature softly.
Well, as it happens, being a therapist, I always carry few spare nerves with me.I’ll climb up this step ladder and pass you a new nerve.
And without waiting, Peter climbed the ladder.He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a golden thread.
Here you are,Emile, Catch this in your claw.
Emile caught the golden thread and wrapped it around his neck.
Can you leap down now? enquired Stan.
Emile leaped down and landed in a bowl of hot water in the sink.
It’s a good thing I wasn’t making chips, laughed Stan hysterically
Come here, Emile and let me dry you on this old towel.He put Emile
in front of the fire and he and Peter drank mugs of Earl Grey tea.
I have got a mistress, Stan told Peter.
Well, do you want therapy for your conflict?
Oh,no.I’m far too old for therapy or indeed for a  mistress.
She liked helping a man ,making tea, typing notes, calculating averages and calling the ambulance.. you know what I mean.She likes the paramedic, Dave ás well.
Is she not married?
No , her husband fell into the wheelie bin during the night and alas he was taken away with the rubbish.
That is a strange story.Are you certain?
No, it could be he grew tired of her and ran away.Then she invented this story,
Well , this may be a quiet suburb but I can see there is plenty of material here for me to write my next book:
Deceptive appearances and the fascination of apparent dullness.
Oh, that sounds very unusual.
Well, I’ve never believed in true dullness.There is always a story.
See, I’ve just met you a man of 98 yet you have a wife, a mistress and a crazy cat.. and I’ve only been here for one day.Imagine 

what else I may discover here.
They heard a siren.
Oh, no!We’ve not even rung 999 and here is the ambulance….
Mary will be so angry.You see Dave is bisexual
My goodness, are you having an affair with him.
No way, shouted Stan.My life is tough enough already.He can be bisexual or even trisexual but I’m not interested.
What does trisexual mean, enquired Emile.
I have no idea but I thought it sounded good, admitted Stan.
Peter stood up.
I think I’d better go home and start to see my patients.
Now Emile, put your nerve somewhere safe.We don’t want you to lose it again.
Thank you, darling cried Emile.I think I’ve formed an erotic transference with you already.
Peter rushed out.
Is it me or is it them?he wondered.
I thought it would be quiet here on the edge of Knittingham but I think now wherever you are there will always be something unexpected happening.But I hope Emile will not begin to follow me around.I shall have to buy a lady cat and then Emile might fall in love with her instead.So off Peter went whistling a Bach cello suite and wondering how to cope with life in a suburb.. clearly it was not as dull as he had imagined

I lost my key on Xmas E
Ve.Now I’ve found it I am ple
Ased to meet you,Are you well?
Do you li
ke the way I spell
Do you li
ke the way you smell?
I lost my keys in parallel
Let me out,I need a we
ll