Stan and Mary go out looking through other people’s windows


After dinner Mary and Stan  often went for a longish walk.They liked to go to a road where the richer people  of Britain lived.,where there were some Georgian houses and one Tudor house.At dusk they would stroll by looking into the lighted windows to see how the rooms were decorated.And if the front garden was large sometimes they crept in to see moreOne beautiful  house they liked from the outside was spoiled for Mary by the garish tartan wall paper.
What sort of people would live there, she asked Emile who was in her handbag.with his head peeping out
Well,they have a cat called Percy,he mewed softly.
Why Percy?It is a noble name fro
Earls of Percy were involved in affairs of state.
Well.Percy is a  Chinese cat,Emile said to her wittily.
He ought to be called Hu Ar U then,Mary joked ,or tried to as her sense of humour was somewhat lacking or maybe just odd.Still she looked lovely despite her moth eaten clothes bought in Sales in colors nobody else wanted like purple and lilac and bottle green.
She and Stan crept slowly up the garden path and peered  nervously into the empty sitting room trying to identify the paintings on the walls.All of a sudden, a woman who was completely naked came into the room and lay modishly on a sofa as if she were a trained  dancer.She was a sight for sore male eyes.Are they about to have a drawing class,Stan whispered.She must be a model for a Life Class or an abstract woman ,with cat ,if Percy gets into the frame,Mary musedPercy might scratch her then.Stan muttered.She could scream.Suddenly a loud voice was booming at them.
What the  bloody hell are you doing in my garden?
There stood a big man in plus fours and and an oversized red jumper with matching cheeks
We were admiring your wall paper,Mary said.I think it is very unusual.He smiled in gratification.I
chose it,he cried.All by my self.
But why is there a nude lady on the sofa,Stan enquired.
I am so annoyed, the man told them.My fiancee likes to walk around nude but she forgets to draw the curtains first.
Does she want to make an exhibition of herself,Stan enquired hopefully.
We wondered if it was for a life class, you know,students learning to draw and become artists of note.
Well,that’s a good idea said Arthur thoughtfully.
The woman got up and came over.She opened the wondow.To their astonishment she was Annie,their neighbour and Stan’s mistress too.Stan might have known but he had kept his face immobile after years of practise
.Fancy seeing you here,Annie whispered creatively in her sweet little voiceI am trying to seduce Arthur but with no success so far  except a marriage proposal.
You need to be more discreet and indirect, said Stan.If you act like this he will think you are an artist’s model and likely to be featured in the Tate Modern Annual Show of Infamy .Now, would a man like this marry or even sleep with such a woman as you appear to be walking around like Eve before she ate the apple?
I don’t know said Annie but my clothes are all in the tumble dryer,anyhow.
Did you wet yourself? Mary asked her kindly.It’s nothing to be ashamed of.We all do it now and then especially since public conveniences were shut down across the UK.And now ,even winter coats are machine washable.
Well,I knocked over some lemon barley water in a big jug and so I decided to wash all my clothes. while I was here as Arthur has a tumble dryer
That’s a  very strange tale Arthur told her.You look ravishing hanging out of the window with your nipples pointing up.Let me take a photo ofyou.Say,Cheese
But will you put it on Twitter,Annie asked anxiously.
No,dear.I am not so cruel.Why don’t you get your clothes and make us all some tea
.I can’t make tea,she yelled and without pausing she dialledd 999.
What is it Fire or Ambulance the lady receptionist asked politely.It’s a kettle.Is it on fire?No,it won’t boil.Can you send Dave the paramedic ,please, as he makes good tea.
We are quite busy so it may be  two hours or more she was told
.I thought this was an emergency service,Annie said.
But who defines what an emergency is? the lady asked her philosophically.I
will die without this tea,Annie informed her in a  ringing tone
Ok ,hang up and I will send the ambulance now.Arthur seemed a little surprised
I have private medical insurance,he cried.But they don’t make tea not even for old people.
Well,in the UK tea has always been   essential to the  National  HealthBut it will soon be drying up and we shall get flasks from the dustmen on Sundays instead.I just don’t believe it,Arthur said and he then passed out on the rug which stood in front of a bookcase full of leather bound volumes of poetry.Will he  live?Read more tomorrow and pay the price… a few minutes of fun and gaiety.

My feet are in the shower

Did you ever have a lover
with long red hair?
For long red hair
seems quite unfair.

Did you ever have a lover
and then another lover?
For there's added gain
if you feel no pain.

Did you ever have a lover
who loved your eyes
and never ever lied,
and let you cry?
Whatever was the trouble.

You'll never have a lover.
if you have no time for others
for love needs care,
say,what is here.

Here and there are many lovely people
who live with their lives with scruples;
if you're scruple free,
then let it be.

Oh,let it be is fine,
Except for the divine.
I want to be involved
For I can't please all the folk,
Who touch me with their talk.
My heart has melted down...
and now I've grown a world
completely on my own.

Were you ever quite alone
Like a toad under a stone?
Did you ever hear a groan
as you wrote your poem?

For you'll never write a poem
that makes me laugh..
Because my feet are in the shower
but my body's in the bath.
My head is on the shelf...
and I've lost all of my teeth...
Yet you will love me
What allure!
so clear..

Evermore and evermore
You'll be standing on the shore
Watching the horizon,
wondering what she lies on.

Oh,you'll never be a poet,
Unless you learn your notes..
They take you to the limit.....
Love.whatever is it?Evermore,evermore...
The words seem like a roar...
I love your heart's deep core.
Ever more and ever more.

Attention must be paid though demons glower

  December 1, 2017

The sun makes  autumn leaves   look like  gold flowers
Vibrant, energetic in the wind
Waving to small  children with love’s power

As Jesus looked out from his wooden tower
Was he severed from all humankind?
The sun makes  autumn leaves   look like  gold flowers

Forsaken by his Father, thunder lowered
The screen was cracked and shattered, by us blind
A menace to small  children and  love’s power

From the Christmas tree, gold coins had showered
Are these gifts from Judas or demands?
The sun makes  leaves   look like real  golden flowers

Can  God  be the vanished  point that lures
To infinity what shall remain
A solitude for worms, a love that cures?

Every figment has its own domain
From imagination , truth to human shame
The sun makes  autumn leaves   look like  love’s flowers
Attention must be paid though Satan glower


Photo by Daniel Torobekov on

The author rightly devotes a chapter to Weil’s ideas on attention. For her, attention is not focused, tense concentration. It has nothing to do with willpower. Attention is attente – a waiting, a letting go, an unselfish opening. To struggle with a problem in geometry is valuable whether or not we manage to solve it, because it teaches us to be open to God and therefore to others. The ‘love of God’, she writes

has attention for its substance; the love of our neighbour … is made of this same substance. Those who are unhappy have no need for anything in this world but people capable of giving them their attention. The capacity to give one’s attention to a sufferer is a very rare and difficult thing; it is almost a miracle; it is a miracle.

The point of studying is not to learn this or that, but to acquire this discipline of the soul. Weil argues that we can train our attention by doing geometry, Greek and Latin translation and by writing, if we are willing to wait for the right word to come. ‘The intelligence,’ Weil writes in a passage I particularly love, ‘can only be led by desire. For there to be desire, there must be pleasure and joy in the work.

Photo by Pixabay on

Force and affliction

When read alongside her account of force and affliction, Weil’s vision of a just world permeated by respect for the dignity of work helps us understand the wretchedness of refugees in the West today. They arrive traumatised by war and conquest, forcibly cut loose from their roots, and yet we treat them with suspicion and refuse them the right to work. In Weil’s language, we meet refugees with force, deny their crucial needs and push them into affliction. In the same way, her vision of the dignity and honour of work makes me see more clearly than ever that contemporary mutations, such as zero-hours contracts, are incompatible with the respect  we owe another human being.

Picasso and Russia

5. Composer Igor Stravinsky

Sketch of Famous Composer Igor Stravinsky by Pablo Picasso.

Sketch of Famous Composer Igor Stravinsky by Pablo Picasso.Bettmann/Getty Images

To prepare the sets and costumes for Parade, Picasso went to Rome, where he met Igor Stravinsky. They became friends, and their soon friendship evolved into professional collaboration when Picasso worked as a designer on Stravinsky’s ballet Pulcinella and painted several portraits of the musician. Stravinsky tried to take one of these with him to Switzerland, but border officials demanded to know what it was and refused to believe that it was a pencil drawing by a famous artist since it looked more like a blueprint. The composer agreed that Picasso’s work was indeed nothing more than a blueprint of his face. In the end, the portrait had to be sent by diplomatic mail through the British Embassy.

The fortunes of us all

No words of mine can properly display
the anguish and the joy that touch our lives;
yet all our ghostly forebears went this way
where words may pierce our hearts like sharpened knives.

No sentient being willingly at first
Accepts the pain that true perception brings.
Yet we must not take hearts to be a curse.
We need not flee from knowledge,though it stings.

Each day demands our thoughtfulness and love
from which all better action justly comes
each day the grace we have is just enough
as through the meta narratives we roam

For life' s but a true story we invent,
with passion and with purified intentNo words of mine can properly display
the anguish and the joy that touch our lives;
yet all our ghostly forebears went this way
where words may pierce our hearts like sharpened knives.

No sentient being willingly at first
Accepts the pain that true perception brings.
Yet we must not take hearts to be a curse.
We need not flee from knowledge,though it stings.

Each day demands our thoughtfulness and love
from which all better action justly comes
each day the grace we have is just enough
as through the meta narratives we roam

For life' s but a true story we invent,
with passion and with purified intent

When the grieving ends

We grieve when we have lost a love or friend
Then grieve because the grieving is now less
We feel the death more when the grieving ends

The rawness of the grief,love seems to lend
As we weep and moan, we love caress
We grieve when we have lost our sweetest friends

My body tense, my heart shrinks to defend
The once good home now is a cruel mess
We feel the death more when first grieving ends

My shoulders hunch, my body can’t pretend
But wishes still to weep, his love I miss
We grieve when we have lost a long known friend

The second grief, illusions’ haunting pends
Can I taste his lips when we can”t kiss
We feel the death more when first grieving ends

Oh, that death were something I could kick
Instead of bringing sorrow to me sick
We grieve when we have lost a spouse or friend
Then hate the emptiness when the grieving ends

He never!

He said he  never wanted to be me again.
He asked me never to bury him again
None so  blind as those who’re on TV.
I see what you scheme
I’ll catch the late train and be stoned tomorrow
Please deceive me,I won’t know
The last chance will be a horror
To have and to mould ntil wrath us do part.
Until the penalty’s stark
It’s better to have loved the dust
 than never to have loved the balls
Men are in jars, women are in beakers

Never stop before the end
How many men can love me before I fly?

Raining in my heart

I have heard grass singing in the wind
I have walked through poppy fields in sun
I have known how dark gried can descend

I have watched trees’ shadows in deep ponds
I have known the arctic wastes of pain
I have heard grass weeping in the wind.

Another soul is writing with my hand
Yet I have wept while loaning them my pen
I am mangled when sharp rain descends

I have known the edges of the mind
I ‘ve sensed the silence un-contained.
I have heard grass singing in the wind.

I am sad for people who’re confined
I record the old deals of cruel men
I have suffered when dark rain descends

I have caught the storm by camera lens.
I have felt the solar system bend
I have heard grass singing in the wind.
I havewatched the pitch black rain descend

My last Confession

Pray Father,give me a Dressing.It is five Tweets since my last Depression
So what have you done now?
Well,as I’ve done nothing wrong today I am suffering from Pride.
You seem to think about yourself too muche
How much is too much,please?
Well,when we are happy and doing something we enjoy,we forget ourselves entirely. and that is the best way to be.But first we need some security.
How can I get that?
You need a spam guard for your mind!At the moment you are on automatic which is the default setting of your brain to act like a reptile…
Thanks very much,Father,I never knew I was a reptile.Did they have scruples..It was kill or be killed
.Don’t you see the scruples are an attack on yourself?The reptile is attacking you… as you have frightening thoughts it’s annoyed.
So how do I rebutt these thoughts?
Say,Alright if I’m the most wicked man in the city,smite me and do your worst.I am not afraid any more..I have done my best and if it’s not good enough strike me dead now or forever give me peace,
And what will happen after that?
Well,we shall see.But you have to face this thing head on.Bring it to a head.Lance the boil.
So if God does smite me dead?
Well, do you really think you are so wicked because you stole a half penny from the charity box fifty years ago?I see it’s a sort of pride… a theatrical display of guilt.Yes, quite right.Anyway, if you survive your ordeal let me know and I’ll give it a try.
Why,don’t say you have scruples too?
Yes,I have scruples about giving advice to people.If they follow it and it’s no good… it worries me…
.Why don’t we do or die together,Father?I’ll give you a buzz.Meanwhile am I absolved?Yes, dear boy.Sometimes I wish I could be dissolved.
.Why is that?I’d like to lose myself.
Why not try reading a good book…
I recommend Nicholas Freeling.But I feel guilty reading.
Now look here,Father,God helps those who help themselves….give yourself a break…A good novel, a cup of tea and a pussy on your knee,you’ll be transformed
.Thank you,my child.Don’t mention it,Father.
Don’t mention what?
They never say.It’s just a phrase or is it a phase?It’s all Greek to me.
I know some very sweet Greeks or are they geeks?
Just one letter can make such a difference..
Write soon


Photo by cottonbro on

Her eyes were glued to the screen.
He had his head in a book
He fingered the money
I was in a brown study
His mood was black
His eyes were in the back of his head.
He stumbled through his resignation speech like a sheep on acid
The smartphone must be obeyed.11th Commandment
To see or not to see.
I am not here.
He must be in Denial today
Don’t leak on me.
I refuse to argue.Am I right? You are wrong
His hand was in the till.
He kept me in the dark
Love in the afternoon
He sat on his hands all night

Being content

Photo by Polina Tankilevitch on

“The point is that the feeling of wealth is relative, and the best way to feel wealthy, once you have satisfied Maslow’s lower-level requirements, is to learn to be happy with what you have, writes Erin Lowry, while also not sweating so much that someone will take it all away.”

Oh,steam irom I worship you

Photo by Gabriela Palai on

Oh,steam iron how I love your heat
And how you make my clothes so neat.
A flat iron is no use to me
No open fire is here,you see
And though I liked the flickering coals
I feared those faces that looked droll.
They were in the flames and peered
At anyone who ventured near.
I wonder how the people past
Kept their trousers neat and pressed
Now I’ve bought a hand steamer
To keep the germs off my femurs
I didn’t like to say,my crotch,
In case the devil is on watch.
I never ever used to think
My body perfume was distinct.
And yet it may appeal to men
I don’t want to try again.
One dear husband is enough
Though he did enjoy a cough
He had asthma and bad eyes
Looking out with wild surmise.
He saw my golden hair float by
As by his window it did fly
All at once he fell for me
And we sat by an apple tree.
His clothes were wrinkled so I thought
I would iron them for a start.
He could darn and polish floors
Cook lamb chops and apple cores
So my steam iron sees much use
I wonder if it’s self abuse
For as a woman feminist
I’m not meant to iron vests
I’m not meant to boil men’s socks
Nor their pants of interlock
I’m not meant to make them tea
What a naughty person,me!
I must confess these strangling sins
Then I’ll polish my old bin.
Satan wants me down in hell
Don’t say he needs my iron as well
As he was an angel proud
I’ll save him into One Drive Cloud

Mary is hit by a can and Annie prays

As Mary stood by the fridge at bedtime, a can of fly killer brought by dear Annie fell off the top and struck her red,orange and brown framed spectacles on the top.The heavy can hurt her nose
I hope nobody thinks a man has done this. she said to Emile
Well,I didn’t do it ,he mioawed cheerfully
It must be an Act of God, she mused.I hope there is no bruise
Ah,well.Are you sleeping on my bed,she asked Emile
No,I think I might go out roaming
Looking for frogs,she teased him
I may return, depending on the weather
Suddenly Annie knocked on the door
Are you all right, she asked anxiously?
Why, what is wrong,dear?
Your nose is blue
It’s that fly stuff, it fell onto me!
I’m terribly sorry.We must put it somewhere else.
Choose between me and the flies,Mary joked.
You are my best friend.I will not bring this stuff again
I am off to bed,Mary cried.Let me lock the door behind you
Annie ran out, and stole The Duty of Genius by Ray Monk.She wanted to discover why Mary liked Wittgenstein.And it covers a dangerous and terrible era in human history from the end of several Empires to the Second World War and beyond
I wonder what the children of Dr Mengele and the other dreadful criminals who committed torture and atrocties would feel like when they learned the truth abou their fathers
So Annie is embarking on some serious study while Mary is reading Woman and Home magazine.What is causing this strange change?
In bed ,Mary gazed at an article on ” How to dress well when you are over 80″
Alas all the clothes were expensive.Very
Does it matter what I wear, she pondered?
I suppose people do judge by appearances, she concluded.But which people?
Maybe I shall dress in one colour from now on.But not black.
Blue is a good colour.From now on if I buy new clothese, they must be blue
Maybe just a blue silk scarf is enough to make a vivid impression
Mean while Annie is crying over “The Duty of Genius” because at least two of Wittgenstein’s brothers took their own live and his sisters were almost captured by the Nazis who had to be bought off by the family wealth unlike Freud’s sisters
So what are we complaining about in the UK, she asked herself before saying some almost forgotten prayers.
And wished her husband were there to hold her in his arms.At least one of her husbands would have been most welcome

And so feel all of us

It’s mutual

Shimmering light
The lily pond
The music of your eye
The touch of your arm
Your always honey smell
.I love.
Rustling trees in a row,
A wide green lawn;
People stoop to see small flowers.
A snail on the path.
The perfecton of the shell.
I believe
Unusually tall dandelions at the edge of this wood
Wave in the warm west wind.
We smile.
Sitting pen in hand
I wonder what I would have written
In all the letters I’ve not sent you
.Far away on the Ridgeway,
Cars,seem small as ants,
Rush towards the motorway.
They make us laugh.
How green the meadows are
How fresh the old trees.
I gaze at you.
I find I am.
It’s mutual.
I thank you


It is not choosing wonders to behold
But it’s how we live wherever we are called
A moment with a golden buttercup
Is more to me than having gold on tap
How we listen well to little words
Not demanding it is our turn to be heard
For then we do not give and take for real
We are not concerned with how they feel
Yet can we do this purely by our will
Or are we given grace so our mind stills?
Wanting nothing we may gain much more
Simple if we find the open door

Go slowly

Go slowly on the journey to the end
The many details intricate and fine
Will be unnoticed ,touched not by our hands


Let the eyes roam widely , landscape blend
Appreciate the manner and desigh
Go slowly on the journey to the end

Be like a little ladybird,descend
To one blade of grass give all the mind
Or life will go unnoticed by blind hands

O let us lose our boundaries and and bend
Becoming one with every kin and kind
Go slowly on the journey to the end

In just a country lane, the air will mend
Peace and holy dignity defined
Nature must be one with human hands

In the outer world we find our minds
Symbols,metaphors poetic lines
Go slowly on the journey to the end
Else beauty will be wasted, love unwound

Outside the Lamb and Flag

Flung into the heights by a fast car
I had a feeling time had gone  too slow
I  fluttered like an unsmoked black cigar
No fear nor anguish  gave me any blow

As I flew I looked down at the earth
I saw a screen where Einstein turned the wheel
The world’s a film and this is a new birth
There are dimensions peril makes us feel

Them I turned geometric in my flight
I reached the apex, fell to earth like stone
A flash of golden stars entered my sight
I lay upon St Giles; it thrashed my bones.

What we see is not all that is here.
Where’s the Lamb who runs the pub revered

The rag and bone man

The rag and bone man gave us yellow stone
We mopped the doorsteps once day at least
Then we made them yellow for a time

The cleanliness was pride in our poor homes
It did not last, the ritual was a test
The rag and bone man gave us yellow stone

Men with muddy work shoes inwards roamed
The posh priest had good shoes of dirt divest
Still we made steps yellow for a time

We all used the hairbrush and one comb
The sideboard had a mirror,Satan’s feast
The rag and bone man gave us yellow stone

In the yard we had a privy, shame!
Then a coal shed where the cats all pissed
Then we made steps yellow half sublime

We had an air raid shelter, what a cost
Liverpool had blazed and people lost
The rag and bone man gave us yellow stone
So we made the steps clean, love comes home