A letter from Button

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Alfred comforts me

1,New Rd
Button
Suffolk
IPS0 0NO
UK
Dear Annette
I meant to write before but seeing you kept mentioning rubbish I had wondered if I should prune my blog and leave only the best poems here.However it is hard for me to decide,I don’t even remember many

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I find I have to write a lot of so-so stuff before my mind and heart get working.It’s like exercise.But your letter was so funny,  it cheered me up.What a pity we live so far apart.
Maybe we could hang out on Google Mail!I have no idea what it means,do you?
I miss getting letters with handwriting on them.Wondering whose it might be etc.Why don’t we do that? It would be  very pleasurable to see your unique writing on an envelops
I had problems with my homework too.I decided to do Double Maths at A level as it would not take so much time up and then I could read novels.I didn’t know why or how we should do Lit Crit yet the English teacher cried when I was not down for A level.I do regret my error as it is a great sociial handicap although my optician who is Jewish says it’s no problem to them to have an intellectual wife.Still I am a bit too old to try another culture as I might mortally offend a hundred people at a stroke, and vice versa
I can see now what a blessing it might have been to read all the great writers and get paid to do it but curiosity also led me into maths as well.To be honest it was somewhat boring for a long time until we reached the higher slopes.Ah, well
Life goes so quickly.I’m reading Plath’s Journals and I see how she worried away so much of her time.That is a big mistake.Use worry for energy
Too much for girls to decide too rapidly when they are so gifted yet also want a family.And her psychoanalyst was not fully qualified
It seems to me the therapist “sold” her a story
I feel deprived of her later work.What a wonder it might have been
I look forward to hearing from you
With love

Mary, Emile and Stan’s old robin

Wear ear plugs

Photo by Samuel Wu00f6lfl on Pexels.com

Oliver Kissed by Charles Thickens
Oxford literary manscrapes by a Din
Jane’s Hair by Harlot Tonte
Cambridge Pies and other worrying notions by Hee.Who Nose.
Love and the afterswoon by A Lady of Note.
Yonder the green men pee by Thomas Tardy
The end of the world was last night by the BBC
The End of that Despair by Graham Scream
Three men who can gloat by Pheronomes K
Getoff
Venture to the Wisteria. by Lance Vandermost
Bridesmaids revisited by Evelyn War.
Collected ruins of English poets chosen by Ted Huggins.
Please keep notes at all lectures and keep in a folder till the Last Judgment.
Music:A selection from Chopin intermingled with Gershwin.Wear ear plugs if you like

The silver birches light with sun’s soft beams

How my heart sings

Poetry and lovely images

Through the barbed wire fence, I saw a stream
Water washing down to  river wide
A field of daisies and wild grasses green

Inside my pulsing heart,  the blood did plead
That history and myth could take a ride
Through the barbed wire fence, I saw a stream

Lack of hope conspires to kill our dreams
And memories that lie can be no guide
To fields of daisies and wild grasses green

The silver birches light with sun’s soft beams
In their way, they are discreet disguise.
Through the barbed wire fence, I saw a stream

About the cruelty  of human deeds
The  library made is shattered and demeaned
Still fields of daisies hold wild grasses green

Few can bear to enter and to read
What the minds of sufferers could mean
Through the barbed wire fence, they saw a stream

While Icarus descended, unperceived
Farmers tilled their meadows, blithe, deceived
Through the barbed wire fence, we saw a stream
The field of daisies and wild grasses screamed

Silver birches grew  near Auschwitz at least in a film I saw

The steepness,wildness,blackness darkly sing

KatherineThinkings and poemsvillanelle  January 26, 2018

Like the water  in a mountain stream
In flood it drowns  the weak and  very young
In drought we can explore its bed  and dream

The limestone all round Alston’s very clean
And in the little river stones are flung
It’s  water  in a new born mountain stream

Dried river beds in Teesdale are  pristine
The dark hills threaten  as they overhang
In drought, we can explore, find stones  and dream

But much of  Pennine land remains unseen
The  steepness,wildness ,blackness darkly sing
Like the  currents  in a flung down stream

In rare heat, bare feet are river clean
The hot stones make a flat seat on the bank
In drought, we can explore or  view the scene

In  love the mind will savour and then thank
The world of nature into which it sank
Unlike the water  in a mountain stream
If our mind runs slower  it better dreams

Stepping Stones

I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside
The river Rothay runs into the Mere
Mingling with the Brathay day and night

In my childish state I wished to die
To make the joy eternal, evermore
I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside

But we went on to Grasmere,Wordsworth’s guide
The river Rothay never suffered here
Mingling with the Brathay day and night

As a child I often was denied
The joy of nature,love but never fear
I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside

The rivers make no effort, down they ride
so should humans live and love sincere
Mingling with our Natures day and night

Life may be a mountain or a mere
The rivers flow, the stones are waiting clear
I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside
Crossing this dear water day and night