Saturday night

Thanks for calling to tell me I am owed insurance money after that bus ran over me in Uxbridge Road.However,I have died since.My funeral is today at 6 pm

Thanks for asking me what I think of your telephone service.I prefer Westminster Cathedral.

Thanks for saying I have a beautiful voice.However you may not realise I am 87 and no longer date strange men or indeed women or other human beings.

Thanks for the offer of three pairs of shoes for the price of two.I have 50 pairs of shoes now so I must turn down your offer or buy a new home.T

hanks for sending me the Sun.If the Guardian is not there I’d prefer nothing at all to come or if you are desperate for money send The Telegraph

Thanks but the LRB is too much for me already.It gives me a certain je ne sais pas or qua or da da as I walk into the Turkish Cafe for my coffee.It keeps men at bay.And women,I hope.I love Jesus best.

Please stop writing to me.I don’t speak Russian.I don’t even know if it is Russian.And I do not want to be your wife.Or a spy

Struggling to stay human

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Of the evils,,devil, world and flesh
The world is what is worst of life and death
We may pray in chapels with stained glass
Then let migrants drown while we’re at Mass.

Christians desired to convert this world
That ended when the atom bomb was hurled
The Jews and Muslims lived in Spain in peace
Till Christian Monarchs killed them with no grief

The flesh is not an evil in itself
Coercion of another makes ill health
Abandonment of children and the weak
Disillusioned, insecure we break

Now I’ve lost my faith I face the gulf
Struggling to stay human above all else

Cruel world

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

The fearsome wildness of the natural world
Where tigers kill and sharks drag up their prey
Where viruses destroy both friends and foe
And cancer kills young children every day

The world was never made for our demands
Creation and destruction seem to be the way
Evil men can love a Schubert song
While better ones kneel down but cannot pray

Can we imagine God in our own form
Who could take pleasure in psychotic rage
Could listen as we say our night time prayers
Could cut and paste to make their own collage?

Touch your loved ones with your tender hands
Beggars can’t be choosers,understand