Stan gets engaged to Emile

Stan fell asleep in front of the roaring fire.Emile lay across his lap.Emile was so limp he looked like a wet towel slung casually over the old man’s knees.It was Stan’s birthday but no party had been arranged.He was struck that Mary had not baked a cake..nor even bought one at the Co-op.

That was no surprise really as he did all the cooking including Bakewell tarts and Xmas cake,He was a versatile man who could also mend old radios and fix clocks that were stuck one time….usually the wrong one!
He also spent quite a lot of time giving statistics lessons to pensioners and kissing his blonde  mistress,Anne who lived next door.
He decided that being so near her was a big advantage given his age.
Suddenly he was awakened by chuckles and giggles,There were Mary and Anne holding a big iced cake and a pot of tea.The doorbell rang and in came all Stan’s friends from his Art class.Mary produced sandwiches and pork pies,sausage rolls and potato cakes.
How did you do this,he enquired dazedly?
We did it all in Anne’s oven.She has two so it was quite easy.
Mary was not jealous of Anne for Mary would rather read Principia Mathematica than go to bed with Stan.Apparently she was mildly autistic but she was happy doing maths as many of her co-workers had the same syndrome.
She did have one daughter whom she found hidden in a gooseberry bush in the garden.This was enough for Stan as he was 92.But luckily he did have a good gold plated pension of £390.09 per month.
Everyone was having a fabulous time until Anne tried to light the candles on the cake.No matches could be found.
Ring 999,Stan called childishly.Mary obeyed and soon the ambulance drew up.
In ran Dave the   trisexual paramedic.
Is it your chair? he enquired wildly.
No,it’s this cake.We can’t light the candles on it.Shall we douse it in petrol? We have a jerry can full of it in the spare room.
That is very dangerous,he shouted.
Well,we are old now and need the car badly.Risk assessment gave us evens on the odds.
Dave produced a silver lighter and lit the candles.Then he conducted them all as they sang,
”Happy Birthday” to Stan.Stan managed to blow out 90 candles before passing out on the rug.
Well,at least he didn’t break the chair,Mary said philosophically.
I wish he had,said Dave. I’ve got some superglue here.
Well,we do have a wardrobe that’s falling apart.would you like to mend it?
Sure ,he replied gratefully.This is why we have the NHS!
We are here for you 24/7
Or come to A and E if you get a mouth ulcer or a cold sore.No problem is too small!

Stan came to on the rug with Emile beside him.He gazed deeply into the cat’s green eyes.
I think I’ve fallen in love with you,he informed the Emile.
Will you sleep with me and let Mary have your basket.
Are we engaged,said Emile.
Definitely,said Stan.I’ll get you a golden collar with diamonds on it.
When shall we be married?
As soon as it’s legal,Stan answered honestly.
In the meantime,we’ll have to live in sin.
Then he fell asleep again with Emile in his arms.
What a lovely picture, cried the ladies.
Look at this.What a happy sight.
What love,what devotion.
How strange,what a commotion.
They’re in love,what emotion.
Don’t tell the Pope,we need caution

How about a war to fund all wars?

The English are rebuilding Hadrian’s Wall.
The space between the frozen tears is small.
Vision is attenuated there.
Emotions tangle, stutter are appalled
Homo sapiens, why did they call?
Vision is restricted, eyes are bare
The space between the frozen tears is small.
The English are rebuilding Hadrian’s Wall.
No Scottish Muslims can cross England, oh, my dear.
Emotions jangle, stutter, are appalled
Historic acts return as do old brawls
Roman villas, altars, what is here?
Vision is restricted, eyes a shield
How about a girder round Whitehall?
Let’s wall off Wales, they asked for more
Emotions rise and angry are our calls
The Scots must raise new taxes, we’re the whores.
How about a war to fund all wars?
The English are rebuilding Hadrian’s Wall.
Feelings surge as anger grips us all

The Flower

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50700/the-flower-56d22df9112c4

The Flower

BY GEORGE HERBERT



How fresh, oh Lord, how sweet and clean
Are thy returns! even as the flowers in spring;
         To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.
                      Grief melts away
                      Like snow in May,
         As if there were no such cold thing.

         Who would have thought my shriveled heart
Could have recovered greenness? It was gone
         Quite underground; as flowers depart
To see their mother-root, when they have blown,
                      Where they together
                      All the hard weather,
         Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

         These are thy wonders, Lord of power,
Killing and quickening, bringing down to hell
         And up to heaven in an hour;
Making a chiming of a passing-bell.
                      We say amiss
                      This or that is:
         Thy word is all, if we could spell.

         Oh that I once past changing were,
Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!
         Many a spring I shoot up fair,
Offering at heaven, growing and groaning thither;
                      Nor doth my flower
                      Want a spring shower,
         My sins and I joining together.

         But while I grow in a straight line,
Still upwards bent, as if heaven were mine own,
         Thy anger comes, and I decline:
What frost to that? what pole is not the zone
                      Where all things burn,
                      When thou dost turn,
         And the least frown of thine is shown?

         And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
         I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing. Oh, my only light,
                      It cannot be
                      That I am he
         On whom thy tempests fell all night.

         These are thy wonders, Lord of love,
To make us see we are but flowers that glide;
         Which when we once can find and prove,
Thou hast a garden for us where to bide;
                      Who would be more,
                      Swelling through store,
         Forfeit their Paradise by their pride

The pairing knife’s on sale

From ad on Amazon

Perfect for holding a variety of knives including pairing knife, vegetable knife, small cooks knife, bread knife, carving knife, utility knife, steak knife, etc.
Kitchen Ware

Send me a pairing knife,dear Lord
I’m feeling lonesome, life is hard
Will there be instructions
How to get some introductions
By cutting out the hard parts of my heart?

Pairing knives are new to me,oh God
I hope I wil not cut off my own head
Is ir a delusion
A psychiatrist’s confusion?
Maybe I just need to go to bed

I thought it would be useful to possess
The secret key to happiness,no less
But should we have to purchase
Pairing knives for courtship
I am very puzzled I confess

I think it’s over rated wiith 5 stars
Noone made a comment,noone shared
So where are all the knives?
Are they in the handsof wives
Don’t tell ne I’m sexist,I’m in tears

Noone wants to say they feel alone
Not even dogs come by for bones
I will paint this knife in gold
A fork will pair it, hold
Then the knife will send its spirit to` my phone