Stanley meets an angel

Stan had eaten too much pizza because he was extremely ravenous from doing the washing. and hanging it up on the mulberry trees in his long garden Now he felt lazy and other worldly and liable to have visions..Now and then he saw an angel whom he called Yael in his home.But having looked up Yael on a website he realised she was not a very nice woman unlike his dear wife Mary.So he was planning a new name for the angel with her permission
Do you mind if I change your name,he enquired gently when Yael came in through the French window.
Well,what to? Yael asked him familiarly
How about Ysabel? Stan offered.It’s got just an extra b and s.
Or how about,Sybael?
You seem fond of b and s, the angel answered in confusion.
It was just mere chance,said Stan somewhat defensively.
Ok I’ll take Sybael,the angel said loudly .
I want to change my name too, said Emile the cat.
How about Mebiles or Melibes or Eimbles….
I don’t know, pouted the cat haughtily.
How about Semile,said Stan.Though it has no letter b in it, he brooded
They all pondered quietly as the sun shone in through the window and made a lovely lacy pattern on the wall.
In came Mary,Stan’s sweet and aged wife and his computer aided extension into the bargain.
You are very quiet,she murmured.What’s going on here ?
We are trying to find a new name for Emile,Stan told her as Sybael waved her wings about.
It seems very draughty in here,Mary said.And Emile can’t change his name because it will change his personality.
I didn’t know I had a personality,the little cat purred noisily.
It is what is most characteristic of you.For example, if you always hurt those you love then you have a cruel personality or you have got diabetes.Some people want love but they are too harsh and demanding.
So true,Stan added pensively as he thought back over his life.
Anyway,I have some awful news,Mary went on.
You just won’t believe this but Dorothy Grey who lives at the bottom of the hill has just had a heart attack.
How come,Stan asked?
She had an online love relationship with a rather peculiar but intriguing and clever elderly man who turned out to be a sadist in disguise.So when she ended it he flew over and attacked her with an air gun and some cat’s claws which he had bought from a cat market
Is he a wizard,asked Emile.
No, he flew on a stolen magic carpet from Persia.
Persian carpets,I’d love one here said the cat greedily as he imagined sticking his claws into it and milking it.
Actually it’s a kind of plane,said Stan. knowledgeably
How boring ,said Mary feebly
Anyway Dorothy was so shocked her arteries spasmed and she is in A and E now on morphine,she added.
What a shame that she got that instead of a spasm elsewhere….Stan muttered thinking of Freud and fountain pens.
But who’d have sex with such a horrible old man? Mary asked in puzzlement.
An equally horrible old woman,maybe? Stan riposted laughing.
Any way it all goes to show the dangers of online love, he informed the room.
It’s not real love,is it, because in real love the other person is as important to you as yourself.Mary said theologically.
Well. now Eros is a kind of love,too.But many old men just want their washing done and a companion.Eros has departed from their world.
Sybael smiled and then flew out of the window.
What was that noise, said Mary anxiously.
Just an angel’s wings,said Stan quietly
If only Dorothy had seen an angel instead of that harsh old man she might be much better now.Mary mused.
But not everyone can see them.Their world seems full of horrible old men and beautiful young women
Emile winked at Stan and then ran out to chase a butterfly amongst the scented tulips.. there were lots of angels there every day but only he knew that.
Angels don’t like big modern cities but they like old abbeys and cathedrals,moorlands and mountains; places where such things used to be before post modernist architecture took over.
And cat’s claws are not meant for scratching your loved ones either.And online dating should be avoided except with atheists and agnostics.They are less judgemental about women’s place and roles.It’s strange how harsh many religious people are.Harsh and unforgiving.Very strange it is,thought Stan as he boiled the teapot on the fire to sterilise it
Let’s all have a nice cup of tea,he murmured.
And we’ll pray for the living and the dead
And so say all of us.Amen
Pass the apple pie.Thanks

On calling mathematics quantitative methods to make it sound easier!

It seems quite clear that maths should take the blame

As quantity and quality. are not the same

The Hebrew temple used the number pi.

And pi is not a quantity, I say.

So pi is not as a measurable as 10.

It’s decimal expansion never ends

There is no pattern, how God condescends.

  Don’t think about this funny stuff it drives you round the bend     



by Mike Flemming copyright

My old blue fountain pen allows
The ink across this page to flow
Like wet paint from an artist’s brush,
And words come in a rush.
Enchanted by the hand that writes .
Bewitched by art,beauty alights
The script is like a music score
Through which we step as through a door,
Imagination’s home.
As,mysteriously, to you, to me,
The spirits of our hearts are tamed ,
By rhythms of pen,of brush, of mind,
They enter vision quite unplanned,
Like moths to flutter softly round
Fire joined heart and hand
The pen slows down,the hand grows still,
And ,just as dreams at daybreak will,
They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone
Like dew dies in hot sun

In our sleep we find the open door

The face that was familiar is no more
Yet in my dreams he is alive again
Thus his image lives inside my store

In our sleep  we find the  open door
We see   the   precious faces  of those gone
The face that was familiar is no more

A nightmare,anxious, running as before
To find our car, to bring home my dear man
Now his image  lives within my store

His voice to me sounds muffled by great doors
He wonders how I manage  all alone
The love that was  so potent is no more

An anger at the doctors made me roar
A dying man ignored by every one
Now his love  lives on in my  deep core

Death will capture all but is that fair?
We live  then die  at last of all good bare.
The face that was familiar is no more
Yet his  sweet love  still haunts  my deepest core

How poetry can light up our darker moments

How can learning poetry by heart help us to be more grounded, happy, calm people? “Let me count the ways,” says Rachel Kelly, who has suffered from anxiety. Whenever she’s feeling wobbly, she finds reciting lines of poetry is grounding, validating and connects her to others who have felt as she is feeling in this moment. And it’s something we can all do: poetry we’ve learned to recite means we have another voice inside us that’s always there, a kind of on-board first responder in times of psychological need.

There’s also a certainty and stability about being able to conjure those words: