The hard way

I saw my level path turn steep and dark
I saw a tunnel black without a light
I hesitated wondering how to stop
But seemed intent on death,on sudden flight.

No human being held out their warm hand
They left me all alone in anguished pain
Yet how should I in that state right decide
What was best for me, what made a claim?

The golden warmth like clouds from rising sun
Wrapped me all around till we were one
There was no speech ,no person and no blame
No demand, no order, love remained.

Beyond despair I found this unknown care.
A sheet of tears ran down my poor face bare.

Force and change

Your face that was familiar fadee away

Where the dreams go when we are awake?

For every smile for every glance we pay

The heart aches with a numbness cold and grey

Before the day begins the day must break

The face that was familiar fades away

What would it take for atheists to pray?

The death of God is news but is it to fake=?

For every smile for every glance we pay

on the River lea ice skaters play.

As the night falls all the world looks bleak

His face that was familiar fades away

I took him to the river what to say?

We cannot die with pride we must die meek

For every smile for every glance to pay

The force of nature of god’s violence reeks

Why are you silent now, will no one speak

Sweet face that was familiar fades away

For one more smile for one more glance we pay

Can you practise dying6

You cannot practise dying, though we want to do it well
We don’t want to appear foolish when we might be in hell
We can practise smiling and opening the door
Unless like me you’re crippled and you’re feeling very low
You can practise music, you can practise Art
You can practise hiding in the burrows of the heart
Then you get to go on stage and do it all for real
Dying ain’t for dummies but allow yourself to feel
You can practise for your wedding, your baptism and your fall
In the hall of mirrors where God lives off the wall
You can practise speaking, you can do it many ways
Then you must stop practising, and say the words today
In the little spaces in between the sounds
Let yourself be emptied, you are on Holy Ground

Mary classifies her clothes

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Mary woke up feeling gloomy and tired.She drank her tea which Stan used to bring her.It’s a real nuisance for a woman having to make her own tea in the morning
I am fed up,she told Emile.I miss my bicycle but it’s too dangerous now.And walking hurts.
Sitting by her bed she viewed all the clothes she had recently washed and dried which were manifold.What to do with them..Well,Mary thought,with our ideas we have to categorise them ans so I will apply the same principle here.
She divided her clothes into groups.Then into subgroups.Why, it’s a science she thought.Then she folded her underwear neatly just the way it came in the packs from M and S the famous Jewish British and EU department store.
She put all the odd socks into a clear polythene bad and put the remaining ones into a shelf in her white wooden wardrobe.She admired her teal coloured tights which Stan had loved and put them with the black ones she wore most often in winter
Suddenly she heard a dog bark.What’s that? she shouted in alarm
Emile giggled.
I did it.he said,you were not listening to me.So I barked.
I am sure God will not like that.What did you want.
It’s time for coffee,he announced.
Alright,Mary said.I’ll leave these polo necks till later.They want downstairs into the teal and cream coloured kitchen/breakfast room and Mary filled the kettle and took her Nokia off the charger.

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It seems to run down too fast,she thought.Even when I never used it.I only got it for emergencies and £5 a month from BT seems a good offer.But like many of her gadgets she really bought them to see how they worked;as she had a good sense of direction she did not really use the maps.
She picked up the post.There was the dreaded bank statement and Credit Card Bill. from M and S
Hello,Barclays here.
Hello,I have not had a statement from you lately.
You never use the card.
That’s true,said Mary,I forget to buy anything.I forget I am a woman
In her purse she found a cheque for £60 from the Inland Revenue.
Look Emile.I’ll buy you a new basket.And a some cat toys.
Thanks purred Emile.You are so sweet,mother.
I’m not your mother,Mary informed him wildly
Well you are like a mother,kind and gentle… most of the time.
You little flattery battery,she giggled .
Looking at the bank statement she was relieved not to be over-drawn.Stan had expensive tastes and she always bought him too many clothes,the best food and other delightful things.He was not greedy,she enjoyed spoiling him and so did he!
Well,two horrible jobs done she thought and her mood rose as she realised things were better than she had hoped.
Even finding the cheque was out of date did not worry her.She phoned the Tax Office who said they’d send another one.
We all know how nice it is to get a little money we didn’t expect.
She went upstairs and decided to change her outfit.She took off her comfy old jeans and put on a black needlecord dress with blue and green flowers all over with a pair of smart black shoes.
Why are you all dressed up,asked Emile.
To give pleasure to the human race,she murmured as she put on her red wool winter coat.
I am going out to take some photos she said.The mgnolias are out and the bluebells.
Which camera shall I take,she pondered..
I’ll take this Nikon one,she decided; Because I like the name.
Is that a good way to choose a camera,asked Emile.
Well, what do you suggest?
Well many are called cameras but few are chosen ,the naughty cat replied.
I know I have several she said.People give me their old ones and as I am ignorant they all seem ok to me.They are my toys..
And how about that new wok and the ceramic milk pan? I’ve been taking notes,b wittered on
Are you going to be a detective,Mary laughed.
Can’t a woman buy a new pan?I keep burning the non stick ones so I decided to try ceramic.
I hope you don’t stir fry my cat food,Emile chortled.
No,I have not yet got a wok cookery guide.
But you have got an electric egg boiler,which surprised me, he miaowed.
It’s because it switches itself off,she told him.I get engrossed in my study of enjambment and forget the time.
Thinking is bad for you,Emile told her.
And so say all of us.
Thinking is bad for the brain
I’ll never do it again.
I’ll be a girl again
Ignore all handsome men.
I’ll got out and play in the rain

Tidiness won’t reproduce love’s bliss

The natural state of being is the mess
The dust builds up and turns into new soil
Tidiness won’t reproduce  love’s bliss

I am fighting my own corner.you can guess
As piles of books around me will all  fall
The natural state of being is undressed

I get my  best ideas sent express
Just like electric kettles  quickly  boil
But speed itself won’t reproduce  nor kiss

Excessive  chaos  causes me distress
My eyes are on the ceiling,will they roll?
The natural state of being is Degas

The  police came when some burglars made ingress
My bedroom looked intriguing, full of coal.
A  holy fire will reproduce   and bless

In Eden  if the snake had been  controlled
The apple would be poisoned for us all
The natural state of being is the mess
Too much,too tense, won’t reproduce nor bless

The singing kettle

I am a kettle made of stainless steel
I am a saint, for tea is brewed to heal
And, unlike kettles on an old coal fire,
I am not dirty nor do I perspire.

My mirrored sides reflect you as you cook.
Look at me and read me like a book
I’m full of love and hotter than a man
Oh, dear lady, love me while you can.

Superior mother, yet inhuman I;
Even electric kettles sometimes lie.
I shall never punish you, my dear
For perfect love like mine shall wield no fear.

All I ask is that you polish me.
For, in between your hands, I yearn to be.

The mystery of me

tresco_2019-2I find it hard to go to  sleep  unless I have a big box of tissues by my side even when I don’t have a cold.

I hum or even sing as I walk about.I don’t know I am doing  except once I sang Joan of Arc at the bus stop as it is 7 minutes long and the bus was due in  7 minutes

I must have 5 cups of  hot tea in the morning.All in half an hour.

I only got a computer  ten years ago because I was convinced I’d be  unable to use it.  and my husband was not technically minded.Yet I am a mathematician by proofession.{ A Freudian slip, but interesting}

I feel incompetent at life outside  maths, poetry ,cooking, knitting and   having a conversation.And praying for  the world, boiling hankies and making tea

Since I got a heart problem I spend money  more freely.I even give it to Charity like
Medicin sans Frontiers and Freedom from Torture.

I sometimes think I ought to  open the window and throw  £20   or £30 out then stay at home resting

I don’t like chess
  
I  like ordinary people better than  people who feel they are superior because  they got a  fourth at Oxford or even a first,anywhere.
Yet I also worry  about the work people have to do  for low pay because I did it and I knew I would have a breakdown if I  kept on so I worekd in an old people’s  home instead
I think I did have a breakdown into reality

I hate having arguments

I like to apologise when I realise I’ve been rude.I love it.I am a genius at it.I could  do a Ph.D on it.But I don’t so it much because I am rarely rude

I  have a bedside clock  which has to be soft blue.I feel happy with blue.I love it.I
It soothes me

I am bad at measuring things so  when I got a new teapot  I find it only holds 2 cups.
Once I nearly bought  on line  an ironing board which was actually  for a doll’s house!
I wonder if steaming is better? I like to learn new skills.
It’s not housework it’s an experiment! I steamed my knickers.That will keep bugs off

Now, where are those fifty boxes of tissues I just bought at Morrisons?

 

 

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