Interest-free loan to buy your food in Iceland

I can’t afford to buy any crisps today I can’t buy any tea

But I just got an interest-free loan

If I can’t afford it now how can I pay it back?

Is this is Johnson’s last bad joke he does deserve the sack

They needbto be more cruel like in the general strike.

They didn’t care if the miners died or whether they had bikes

Boris Johnson come on now what the hell has Boris done.

He got himself a a daughter he got himself a son.

He has seven children anyway so it’s not new for him.

But it is new for Carrie and her pretty face looks grim

The poor

The women with no money keep their eye pencils for years

They get chronic infections that look like poisonous tears

Could they follow Jesus and love all humankind

What do you think you would do if you were going blind?

Comparisons are odious we were told at school

But I always like to see just home the rulers ruled

The mind that sees the mouth that speaks the area that listens in.

The body with its hormones songs for

blissful sin.

If you have no money they say you can have more

If you are a prostitute or just another whore.

On the road the car slow down the women raise their eyes.

Sometimes there’s a murderer sometimes there’s a spy.

She took him round the corner she couldn’t see a face.

That was the end for Julie Jay

She was buried wearing lace.

He spotted my hoax and ordered some curry

I emptied tomato sauce over my head,

Sent for the doctor and lay on my bed.

He spotted my hoax and ordered some curry

Thus encoated ,I now start to worry.

For, though a hoax ,it¹ betrayed real needs

I needed attention at record speed.

Surely an articulate woman like me

Can make to all a sensible plea.

Acting out is usually done

By those who privacy wish to shun.

But sometimes it’s tempting to throw a fit

And give the boot to our stiff upper lip

I recommend yoghurt and warm cherry pie

Spread it extensively round your eyes.

Call the doctor and say you’re hot

After all.who’s ever not?

All the way

Oh let me be neurotic in my way

I’m heterosexual but I’m feeling gay.

I like to meet a man

With a le creuset pan.

Because I’m far too mean to have to pay.

Will you be neurotic in your way?

Unless you are psychotic every day.

0 did you read Donald Laing

Hs methodology stang

You must decide whether you will go or stay.

Can I be sarcastic when we play

Sarcasm isvnot welcome when we pray

0h you are too dramatic.

You’re irony’s pathetic

You’re not a donkey so you cannot bray.

Mumbled and jumbled

Sorry I can’t answer the phone

I am in Treeged
I am in Spired
I am in Domitable
I am in Attentive
I am in Doors
I have been fired and can’t afford to speak
Stop ringing me up.I am dead.
Stop asking me about that accident last week.It was deliberate
Stop asking me to give you a cigarette.I only know the missionary position:Jesus never smoked.
I do not want to become a Christian.I don’t believe in conversion.
Stop asking if I accept my sins are forgiven.I want to suffer guilt if I do wrong.
Stop telling me Jesus was the Messiah.I don’t believe in believing
I am an unorthodox Jew so I do odd things like watching burning bushes and writing on my Tablet.I have now got a new commmandment
Do not ill treat immigrants or people you wrongly call immigrants.After all one might be the Messiah or Satan.Or me or you one day

Oh,steam iron I worship you


Photo by Gabriela Palai on Pexels.com

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

Essex harvest

The fields in flames, the stubble set alight
The earth herself was burning in our sight
The ancient lands of Essex still grew grain
As hares ran into hedgerows fearing pain

The empty road, the smoke, the land on fire
The ashes left a newer crop would sire
The land to Epping vast and flat was bright
Yet covered in its smoke there was no light

Our little human world is but a skin
Destruction easy with a word or bomb
Dependent on the government, those liars
Weak as watered gruel, they must be fired

Caught inside the symbols of the Earth
From destruction comes a brave new birth

The burning stubble , earth’s deep fires

  1. Oh,doctor I  have a brought a sample
    I hope you will find it ample
    There is no coffee left today
    Drink my sample, then we’ll pray

    If I’ve got a new infection
    Can’t you give me more protection?
    My immune system’s  gone on away
    And I have to write a Play

    No Shakespeare  am I as yet
    No bookmaker’s taking bets
    But if I write a sonnet new
    What will all the critics do?

    Meantime I get up at night
    Stumble to the bathroom bright
    I don’t know why my pee’s  so green
    Now it is aquamarine

    Green the sea at Hythe in Kent
    Down the Saxon cliffs we went
    The burning stubble , earth’s deep fires
    The inner work  that purifies

    Steep,steep road in our old car
    Smoke around us  where we were
    From the depths my soul cries out
    The cry is answered , do we  doubt?

    As we reach the lowness deep
    In our conscious mind we weep
    When we touch the lowest place
    We will    feel, angelic grace

    So the symbol  of  deep fires
    Filled my mind as we drove by
    Glory , for the Burning Bush
    Burned again  as stubble’s crushed

 

Destruction  of all our intent
Is itself a  sacrament
For it makes an empty space
Where  new creation can take place

Smokey Essex cornfields, insects’ pyres

While my husband kissed me in our bed
Our cat would  lounge on top and lick his head
No matter what gyrations that cat saw
All he did was pat us with his paws
The happy days of learning  how to feel
How to entertain with spicy meals
Of walking by warm rivers hand in hand
Watching coots and moorhens ,washing pans
Buying an old kettle, then a house
Driving  out to Ongar ,stubble fires
Smokey Essex cornfields, insects’ pyres
Driving  down the Saxon Cliffs at Hythe
Soft teal Sea,Capel le Ferne, men’s eyes
Happy  in a cottage in the wilds
I sang like some  small bird, we walked for miles
Kersey where the ducks bathe in the street
Kissing in the hedges was so sweet
Getting  our own garden, growing beans
Growing spinach, lettuce and snap peas
Picking  our blackcurrants, making tea
Making jam from raspberries. yes please
This proves that when you marry you need pans
Cooking  dinners  talking with our friends
Wearing jeans and  hair so long it flowed
My husband liked to brush it till it glowed
I dream some nights my hair is still like that
And how  the cat slept with his paws in it
How his father died and mother grieved
Life is not all positive, we see.
On we went and love  was what we grew
Though anger  did rise up and strain the glue
First the cat died, then my man went too
Can’t I adopt a beast  from Whipsnade Zoo?