https://newscord.org/editorials/jason-arday-pile-on

I remember all the humorous things we did

Peering into windows lit by lamps

Climbing cliffs then chased by geese and dog Walking down from Redcar, sea so still

After Saltburn Pier, the cliffs high jump

I remember all the funny things we did

Wandering Whitby in a sea grey smog Eating a pork pie cut into lumps Climbing cliffs then chased by geese and dog

Old Hunstanton , white sands where we’d sit

The wild spikes of the gorse spread out unclamped

I remember all the colours,scents, and that

I feel the joy inside my heart is lit

Woe is leavened by old nature’s stamp

Climbing high then chased through mud by dogs

We see in shadows shades are not so stark

In Studland Bay astonished by skylarks

I remember all the humour and the love .

Climbing cliffs then caught by geese and God

We were chased by geese in Devon after climbing a cliff.No doubt chased by a man after we peered into his garden

Are you worried that you’ll suffer starvation?

Are you one of the poor of our nation?

There is pi in the sky

God only knows why

Mathematics is no good for emotion.

At the end of the month we were short

Our money had got very taut

Instead of a roast

We tried baked frogs on toast

Now we’re both feeling stunned and  remote

I can’t say I love a red pepper

And my husband prefers unsmoked kippers

But we all have to eat

Try cows heels or their feet

And just keep your lip a bit stiffer.

I am glad I can pay income tax

When I have paid it I love to relax.

So I must go out to work

I’m an MP, see me smirk

I won’t up your tax that’s a fact

Teacher why have you brought a cat to school?

So he can learn to read

He can’t even talk.

I’m not going to get him to read out loud..

Why have you brought a frog to school,

Because I was coming to school when I found him.

Well don’t come to school via the Bullring tomorrow

Teacher to girl why have you got a curtain ring on your finger?

It won’t fit on my toe

Why have you got a hat on in the classroom?

I wear it outside as well.

Are you Jewish?

I’m not sure but I thought I’d practise the rituals

Surely your parents must know whether you’re Jewish.

They’ve not been speaking for the last 10 years.

The should go to a marriage guidance counsellor.

They’ve not got married yet.

And how old are you?

I must be at least 9 months.

If you were 9 months old you wouldn’t be able to talk.

There’s always a first time for everything.

But you’d be a newborn baby.

Can’t they talk?

Have you never seen a newborn baby?

Yes I have seen them when my mother gives birth and she says to them I’ll never have sex again.

And what do they say?

It’s too late now

This is about breathing and  meditation

https://www.spiritualquestions.org.uk/tag/wilson-van-dusen/

https://sydneyreviewofbooks.com/reviews/in-defence-of-creativity

https://www.parapraxismagazine.com/articles/marion-milners-creative-confrontations

https://www.writebetterpoems.com/articles/how-to-really-write-a-villanelle

However folded rivers sigh

Watch fields of barley unreel red eye.

Bad-mouth the world then eat the sky;

And thro’ the weald the toads run by

To moody glowering Havelot; And chips in hand the fishes row, Gazing as the matrices’ glow Refine algebra with its flaws

The Geometry of My Blot.

Pillows quaver, aspirins quiver, Little wheezes flush our livers With two eyes mauve that gleam forever

By the cardinal’s email love

r Fleeing down to Grab a phone. Fifty shades of grey ,balls powered

Overload the ovarie

And the silent male implodes

For the Lady, will she Not?

Ar my jargon, pillows wailed They read the heavy sheets in braille

Slow and blue the duvets failed

The dry mop shuttered silk and pale

Slapping down wi fi Hotspots

But which computer saw her glands?

Or at her thyroid wondered long? Or is she known to heartless men, The Lady M.A [aegrotat]

Only drapers, fold sincerely

In among the beds and parlours,

Hear a gong that echoes queerly From the river bounding eerie Down to showers for Camper’s Foot And on the Lune, the sweeping fairies

Pile the leaves in uplands barely Listening, whispers “‘Tis the lovely Lady with a white Teapot

Mary and Annie had invited a new neighbour for tea.They got out the big teapot and some blue cups and saucers made of china
Is there enough milk,Annie enquired?
Yes,I’ve got six pints, my finger must have trembled when I was ticking the box for the order
Milk keeps much longer now than it used to Annie cried plaintively
Maybe the cows are given preservatives .Mary mused
You mean the cows eat them,Annie asked?
Well, it’s just one possibility,Mary thought out loud
Now, where shall Edna sit?
You sit on the sofa with her and I’ll sit in this swivelling chair
OK,Annie muttered as she shook the door mat and brushed Emile the cat
The doorbell rang.There stood Edna in a purple wool coat and red hat
Come in,Mary whispered.Let me take your coat
Edna went and sat down by Annie while Mary carried in the tea tray
Have you had your vaccination yet, she asked Edna gently
Oh, don’t talk about it,I can’t bear injections Edna said in an argumentative manner
So don’t you have blood tests,is that wise?
For God’s sake, don’t mention blood ever or I’ll scream
Are you afraid of it?
I don’t want to discuss it, nor urine, Edna said as she swigged the tea and filled her cup again
I’ll be glad when Donalmld Trump leaves,Annie said in an effort to change the subject
Why don’t people like him,Edna asked furtively.
He is a rich man with a beautiful wife
I don’t like people merely because they are rich.Mary informed the other ladies
I don’t mind them, said Annie, unless they are vulgar, greedy, liars, and sons of the devil
That is a very prejudiced view,Edna told her.Everyone is entitled to behave exactly how they want
Well,Annie said,I’d like to lie down on the grass over there by the river and have sex with that psychotherapist who lives across the road But it would cause scandal unless lots of people did the same
Has your imagined lover got no bed,Mary teased her?
I think that’s disgusting , in a an older woman said Edna.I suppose that’s why you have that teal eyeshadow and mascara on not to mention your rose lipstick.I’ve seen it in Harrods
I got them in Channel supplies in Birkenhead.They are near the Mersey Tunnel
It’s a long way to go,said Edna.How do you get there and why is it nor called Tunnel Supplies
I follow a man on Facebook and he often drives up there so I get my car out and keep behind him all the way on the M1 etc
Does he know about this?
No, he’s not following me on FB any more
I wonder why that is, Edna mused with a strange sneer
He is paranoid,I suspect
No wonder,Mary said.He thinks he is imagining you.
I hope his imagination is as pure as the driven snow,Annie answered
Well, we’ll never know.Look at Princess Diana….she had many lovers..
I hate her, said Edna viciously
Oh,dear. said Mary.Did she hurt you?
No, she was cruel to Prince Charles.Her mind was innocent then and she had no repertoire of the sexual arts
Many women were virgins when they were single.How would they know such mysteries?
They could look at porn,Edna said rudely..
Do you look at porn, Annie asked her kindly?
Well,I would if I had a lover,Edna murmured shyly
Maybe they should teach it instead of algebra,Mary suggested, though once it was an instinct
The parents might be angry,Edna said sadly if their children knew more than them
But intimacy is not merely sex,Annie told them politely
It’s being able to to reveal yourself to the other person without fear
and I don’t mean wearing see through nighties
Emile mewed loudly
Mother, don’t you wear one.The milkman might see your body
I find them too cold anyway,Mary giggled sensibly
If I get another man he will have to like wincyette or fleece
Well,good luck, said Edna.No English man would want either of you
Edna you are very rude,What is wrong with you?
I’ve got pre-traumatic stress disorder and there is no cure
Well,use your common sense or just keep quiet and sulk silently
And so say all of us.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2026/aug/10/john-berger-from-life-by-tom-overton-review-a-vibrant-biography-of-the-pioneering-critic?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

When I die I am going to Heaven
To sit by Mr Aneurin Bevan
We will eat buttered Welsh cakes
Float in hot blue lakes
Oh final thought, how about Devon?

I wonder if I am perverted
For writing my poems with  ten verses
They say we’re post modern
And swearing’s forbidden
So are magic,religion and cursing.

I wonder if I  can be fluid
A man or a woman or druid?
I can be other
Since I have no mother
But what about rats in the sewage?

To economists we are just” Labour ”
We’re units when  once we were neighbours
Gender’s  quite useless
True  love is a nuisance
Capital  makes Money our Saviour

Why not  buy a new winter coat
Decorated with  the fur off a stoat
Weasels are  cheaper
Cats  purr and pierce you
As you sail ‘cross the Styx   in  a  boat

I thought I’d not marry again
I’m a feminist along with the men
But a m\n tried to hug me
And tickled my kidneys
He says I’m charming the snakes  into sin

But I think I am past getting wed
I just want to go straight to bed
Not just for the pleasure
Of getting his measure
No, it’s  just that  my organ’s half dead

I’d gaze into his eyes and feel good
As at last I’d feel  well understood
We don’t need to  chatter
About any matter
Nor scratch like the cat and draw blood.

I think my bed is too small
The headboard is stuck to the wall
The mattress collapses
As do my synapses
Who do you think  should call?

I’ve been untidy  ever since I was born
I lost mother’s breast  and her warmth
I’ve been looking forever
I got rather clever
Now I’ve lost my old man in the corn

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/sep/10/my-best-writing-tip-william-boyd-jeanette-winterson

Claire Messud

In fiction, character is (almost) everything. We discuss “the elements of craft” – characterisation, plot, point of view, dialogue, detail, setting, style, and so forth – as if they were separable, as if you could disentangle them one from another. You can’t, of course; but when you filter almost all things through the specificities of character, many questions resolve themselves, almost miraculously.

Each of us is, in any given moment, the sum total of our temperament and experiences up to that point. Our baggage and idiosyncrasies may be suggested in our appearance; but much is invisible to the world. We all know that if there are three people in a room, each will tell a different story about what happened there – so ccharacter determines the story itself. But it also determines what will unfold – the plot.

As a writer, when you create a character, you don’t simply create his exterior (the wispy goatee, the receding hairline, the Liberty print shirt and expensive loafers); you must also come to know who he is (bullied in school, uneasy in friendships, veering between eager to please and cruel; vain but pretending not to be), and what has formed him (a Catholic school in the Sydney suburbs? A comprehensive in Exeter? Born with a silver spoon; or things started off comfortably, but his father’s business failed when he was 11? Raised in the shadow of three older siblings? Or alone with a single mum?). You must know his passions (loves pugs? Bicycle racing? First world war history? Talmudic study?) and his fears.

Once you know this person as well as you know yourself (or better), and once you put him, or her, in a particular place in a particular time, your character can only really act (or react) in a limited number of ways. He will notice only certain things, and those things only from a particular perspective; he will interact with others as only he can. If you’re using the first person, or the third person privileging this character, your diction and syntax – your very writing style – will be shaped by this person.

So much about a character is invisible, in fiction as in real life; but what lies beneath the surface will affect every aspect of your story. If you really take the time to figure out who you’re dealing with, much will become clear.
• Claire Messud is a senior lecturer in creative writing at Harvard

Doctor,doctor,I;m worried

about my coughin’.

What about your coffin?

Well,it’s keeping me awake at night.

Why,are you sleeping in it

I have only one place to sleep.

If you are tired you can sleep anywhere

is that legal?

Of course, it is. Well, can I sleep in the Queen’s bed? In theory,yes… but you might frighten the horses.

Why, do they sleep with her?She must have a big bed.

Don’t be so ridiculous…

Well, she has loads of money; she, could have a bed made for her. She has a bed maid for her

Do you mean someone makes her bed every day?

well,don’t you make yours every day?

No,I bought one in a bed store and it’s well built.

But do you change the sheets daily?

No,i never use paper I write letters on my chromebook.

Which letters? Any letters at all,except French ones. but they use our alphabet. it’s not ours. Whose is it? Possibly the Romans.Tantrum ergo! They are all long gone into their coffins.

Uno,duo tres,quattore…,decem,duodecem,duagessin’.. I knew coughin’ was very dangerous

I think your grammar is bed. What a posh excent you have It’s all I have left of the old palace. Well, never mind you can share my coffin if you like. But is there a bed in it? Just a bed bug as yet… I blame the CIA.. who do you blame?

I blame God and he blames us so it’s pretty much a stalemate. We need the Messiah….. Not again,we’ve not got over the last one yet…

You make him sound like a hurdle… Well,it’s one way of looking at it all.. a big hurdle. It’s all this talkin’ keeps me awake at night… At least it stops you coughin’ Doctor,doctor,the coughin’s keeping me up all night again For goodness sake put the lid on it.

My heart is like a rowing boat adrift
Whose occupant has fallen overboard
The empty vessel drifts through deep sea mist.
And in those pearl filled ears the deep sea roars.
Just as the boat drifts mapless,so do I.
My maps were drawn for quite another sea
My captain’s taken leave and now I cry
As if that drowned soul might just be me.
Yet on the sea bed mysteries abound;
Such wonders and such magic there displayed.
I wonder if it is my lot drown
And to a memory then quickly fade.
Maps are no more certainties than hints.
Between the lines hides gold from other mints.

https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/rondeau-poetic-form

“An example of a solemn rondeau is the Canadian army physician John McCrae’s 1915 wartime poem, “In Flanders Fields“:

     In Flanders fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high!
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

The challenge of writing a rondeau is finding an opening line worth repeating and choosing two rhyme sounds that offer enough word choices. Modern rondeaus are often playful; for example, “Rondel” by Frank O’Hara begins with this mysterious directive: “Door of America, mention my fear to the cigars,” which becomes the poem’s refrain.”

Wittgenstein
Drank wine.
Like cats
To pat

Alfred North Whitehead
Was very shortsighted
He worked out with Russell
Their minds used to jostle.
Principia Mathematica?
I’d rather wear a catheter

Iris Murdoch
Drank dandelion and burdock
She wrote of the Good
Right where she stood!
In Oxford she dwelled
And all her thoughts jelled

Mary had made a Christmas cake with marzipan but no white sugar icing.Stan was diabetic so she had opted for a middle way.Like some Zen Buddhists.You don’t either cut it completely nor have a 6-inch layer of icing.No, you find a middle way.Like 5 inches of icing!
Mary like almonds so she went for marzipan with her home ground almonds and some sugar.The raw egg part was worrying but so far nobody had died after eating her cake.

Still if you are dying, enjoy the cake while you can!
Annie arrived for a cup of coffee.
Wow, that cake is large.You will get fat if you eat it
I am not planning to eat it all myself, Mary said merrily.
In fact, if I could find a way of cutting an infinitesimally small piece I could have one every day forever.
Would the cake not shrink ?asked Annie with a puzzled smile
No, because a real number times an infinitesimal is itself infinitesimal Mary answered.
So it must be zero, Annie decided.
No, said Mary.All of the calculus is based on the idea that they are not zero.Then, at the end, we pretend they are zero and cross them out.It’s like magic or sleight of hand
I thought maths was logic, Annie said in an angry voice, tossing her purple hair over her shoulder.Alas, it was a wig so it fell off and Emile the little cat, bit it!
Gosh, Annie why are you wearing a wig? Mary asked.
I am involved with a Jewish man so he won’t make love unless I wear a wig.
Surely if he is Orthodox he should not sleep with you unless you get married.
We can’t get married, Annie said boldly.
Why not?
He is already married….Annie muttered
Well, that seems wrong.
What, being married?
No having an affair.I know Stan is old.Can’t you find a single man?
Women can’t go running after men.Men enjoy the chase.They despise women who run after them.
Well, can’t you ask them if they are married?
No, it seems too cheeky, Annie smiled.Anyway, in fuzzy logic you are not either married or single.You are married to the extent of some decimal number in between 0 and 1
Some folk are 0.999 married and some are 0.34 married.Others 0.1
But who measures it? God ? It’s not much use.
You have to guess, said Annie.

I like Jewish men
How many do you know, Mary asked.
Three, said Annie triumphantly.
You can’t generalise from three, Mary said.
If I test a larger sample I shall never get to find one till I am 99, Annie wept.
Think of the fun, though, Mary said teasingly.And you’d have to travel a lot as many live in the USA, France and other places including Israel.How do you fancy Bibi Netanyahu?He is married actually!
Annie was silent, then burst out: life is not science nor technology.It’s an art like watercolour painting.Why do you call him Bibi? Do you know him?
Not biblically, Mary said humorously.I’ve never even met him.He’s just been in the News more because of Trumpelstiltschein
Does Bibi know Donald is half German?
No, but the Queen is too.
Where does that take us logically?
Off to Boots to buy some expensive makeup and then to have a manicure and tea in a cafe
If only politicians did this life would be much easier and kinder.
And so say all of us!

There was an old lady in York

Whose appearance made  little dogs bark she dressed in  wild silk

Covered up with a quilt

Underneath that she was usually stark

Jokes of all sizes like bones

Dogs do not love being alone

She took hers to work

Reluctant to  shirk

So who has a bone for this crone?

STEPHEN HAWKING ANGERS TRUMP SUPPORTERS WITH BAFFLING ARRAY OF LONG WORDS LONDON (The Borowitz Report)—The theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking angered supporters of Donald J. Trump on Monday by responding to a question about the billionaire with a baffling array of long words. Speaking to a television interviewer in London, Hawking called Trump “a demagogue who seems to appeal to the lowest common denominator,” a statement that many Trump supporters believed was intentionally designed to confuse them. Moments after Hawking made the remark, Google reported a sharp increase in searches for the terms “demagogue,” “denominator,” and “Stephen Hawking.” “For a so-called genius, this was an epic fail,” Trump’s campaign manager, Corey Lewandowski, said. “If Professor Hawking wants to do some damage, maybe he should try talking in English next time.” Later in the day, Hawking attempted to clarify his remark about the presumptive Republican Presidential nominee, telling a reporter, “Trump bad man. Real bad man.”

Oh, mother, father take me back
I’ve lived the pain, I ‘ve felt the rack
I wanna see Jesus.
Take me to that wall they built
Let me see where blood’s been spilt
I wanna see Jesus.
Oh, take me back to where I was
The enemy may well be us,
Not Jesus.
What did all those sermons do?
Did they say he was a Jew?
Oh, Jesus.
Did he want the First Crusade
It is his blood the priest creates
Lord Jesus.
I don’t like the way things are
I am getting tired of war
Kill Jesus.
What has human wisdom done
From Wittgenstein to Abraham?
Cripes, Jesus!
Does research improve our lives
As for grants, the scholars strive?
Ask Jesus.
We may have chemotherapy
Radiation, history.
Where’s Jesus?
You’d think that after all the years
We’d have used up all our tears
Sweet Jesus.
Love your neighbour as yourself
Give 10 % of all your wealth
Aye, Jesus.
Do what’s better, not what’s worse
I see another fragrant hearse.
It’s Jesus.
See the plastic Crucifix
See him dying with dry lips
Bend your knees, confess your sins
Otherwise, the Devil wins
Not Jesus.
We destroy the good we hate
Envy writhes and with pride mates.
The progeny will wreck the earth
Eden’s burning as drones pass.
No, Jesus.No Jesus.
Know Jesus.

I saw the dust motes singing in soft air
The yellow grey, the light where nothing’s clear
The silent chorus hurts me as I stare

The heart feels unprotected, as if bare
Only when we’re lonely are we here
I saw the dust motes dancing in soft air

The little things we don’t see till we care
The eyes that signal bring to birth our fear
The silent chorus gabbles as I stare

The Essex fields are huge like mass despair
Yet summer poppies bright make them so dear
I saw the dust motes dancing on fresh air

Life is like a vehicle we steer
Yet unseen hands in wisdom change the gear
I heard the dust motes singing in soft air
The small still chorus tells me what to dare