https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/tip-sheet/article/79663-5-writing-tips-mark-bowden.html?consumer

It’s hard to believe it is 100 years since the end of that war in which my uncle died and his father died in the ensuing flu epidemic.17 million people were killed.Is that why Europe has gone downhill morally and politically… some called it suicide.The people who survived were damaged emotionally/Empires fell; revolutions occurred. Hitler began  his mad ascent to power

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/70139/the-poetry-of-world-war-i

God made the elephant and the bee
God knows why he then made me!

God likes hearing what I do
I  ate my dinner from my shoe

God says maths is  far too clear
Aleph Null will soon be here

God is perfect and sincere
I blame Guinness for the beer

God has told me I   am gay
I must live and I must play

God is a big memory bank
He remembers, does he think?

How spring is erratic;  the flowers no longer follow in sequence

But come like some Messiaen -like music

No, more like Boulez

following a defined but unknown new order…

So the snowdrops and the daffodils come together

in some marriage of spring and summer

struggling to push away the winter we still inhabit.

Long ago the apple tree
Overhung the dark green lawn
Vertical in mystery
Everlasting in the dawn

Youth and winter disagree
Overland and over sea
Underneath, the  clouds  agree

Deep in soil the worms  will work
Each one with its unique quirk
After feasting they will lie
Round  the rim of a dark sky
Eloquence is good to find
Sometimes it will us remind
This is where we must be kind

The geese have moved their flight path to the East
I miss the  gladness of their graceful wings
And wish I were a bird and not a beast

In the river, they have had their feast
While the sparrows watched and gently sang
The geese are gone, their flight path’s to the East

Seeing their grace at sunset gave me peace
The  natural  world such beauty to us brings
The wish I were a bird and not a beast

North East London’s  cut up by the Lea
No  bridge destroys its power, its currents sing
The geese have moved their flight path  further East

The geese do not  make nests  in a  tall tree
But dwell upon the water  like the swans
I wish I were a bird or honey bee.

As the infant  wisely grabs and clings
So the geese will fight  if threat descends
The geese have moved their flight path to the East
Oh, to fly at sunset  with the least

https://blog.sagradafamilia.org/en/divulgation/reinforced-concrete-for-the-temple-of-course/

The Pantheon from Ancient History

Extract

WHEN WAS THIS CEMENT FIRST USED?

Building with cement and concrete may seem like a modern invention but these materials were used in Roman times. Of particular note is Pozzolanic cement, used by Roman engineers to build water channels, piers and watermills after they discovered this material can harden underwater. The name comes from the town of Pozzuoli, on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius in Italy, and the most well-known example of building with this type of cement is the Pantheon in Rome, from 123 AD. Its lightness without sacrificing strength is another great quality of this material, which is why it was used to build the great dome: with its diameter of 43.3 metres it is still the largest made of un-reinforced concrete in the world to this day.

It took nearly two millennia to surpass this size and was made possible by innovations in reinforced concrete, first used by Italian architect Pier Luigi Nervi in the 1960s.

As Mary ate her Weetabix, she felt a pain in her left leg rather like a toothache  gone awol
Emile, what are you doing?
Emile crawled out looking dusty. And he had just had a bath.
I was trying to bite the hairs off your leg, he miaowed plaintively
There are no hairs on my leg, she whispered. Oh, dear,I must  have walked into a cobweb
I wish Stan had got a cobweb brush, she muttered.
But do we really need a different brush for everything? Soon we will have one for each tooth. That will be expensive
She felt in her pocket for her Tablet. She wanted to draw a diagram of her brush cupboard using an Android App. But her pocket was empty
The back door opened and in ran Annie wearing a yellow nightdress and matching slippers
Hello, she cried. I  wanted to catch you before 9 am
Why, asked Mary?
The postman will be here by then. He has got a parcel for me. But I put your address.
What is the point of secrecy when you live alone. You have no man to question your expenses, have you? Nor a woman either
Well, Emile might ask me to explain.
Just because Emile is male it does not give him the right to tell you what to do
All my life I have obeyed men, Annie cried
Yes, after you have manipulated, seduced and terrified them
That is very cruel. I was only trying to help them.
Well, you may have done, but why not help yourself?
How can I do that?
Tune into your body and see what comes to mind
Beetroot, Annie responded.
So you must need  them, get dressed and we will go to the greengrocers
You have got very bossy, said Annie. Did you have a nightmare?
It was more like a night-tiger, Mary revealed. Something bit my foot and it hurt
Oh, mother , cried Emile, it was me!
You, Emile. What made you do that, she said angrily?
It was in my way as I crawled under the duvet, the cat whispered
Surely you could have gone further down.
I wanted to see what you tasted like!
That is evil, not to say perverted, Mary told him. I shall take you for therapy or would Confession be better? Is it a compulsion you cannot help or is it a sin?
Annie was silent. She  did not like questions nor  any kind of prolonged thought
Don’t ask me, she finally said. Maybe Emile needs a man in the house.
I don’t want any more men, Mary said sadly. They seem to die
Well, Stan was 128 years old. Annie informed her.I saw his birth certificate once. Unless it was 12.8 years
Don’t be so ridiculous. How could he have been 12.8 years old?
It must be a miracle, said Annie. Tell the Pope and he might be  declared a saint soon
St Stan of Knittingham, Patron Saint of Almost Adolescents.
The bell rang. In ran Dave.
He was dressed in navy.
I am  ready to take you to Church, he told the ladies
To church? I’d rather go to Wigan Pier
Oh,  the sea is not there on Sundays!
Is it there on the Sabbath, Annie muttered?
No, it’s not, Dave said quietly
Wow,  two more miracles, she said as she fainted into the Pantry
How annoying, Mary said. I just classified the jam
Well, things could be worse, said Dave. She’s not broken any and cut herself
What, she falls and breaks nothing. She must be very light.
Yes, she nearly  is electric, he quipped
Whatever next?

And so say all of us

https://www.jehsmith.com/1/2018/12/its-all-over.html

“The essay touched a nerve, and most of the response to it was positive. One common mistaken interpretation, to which I want to respond, was that it amounts to an expression of “conservatism”. We are at a strange point indeed in our culture when a scoffing and dismissive attitude towards Hollywood entertainments such as action-hero movies, generated by market forces alone, may be seen as conservative. I continue to believe in a culture independent of these forces, and I bemoan the obsession of so many in our present age with monitoring the garbage output of the entertainment industry for signs of this industry’s affirmations of progressive values. I do not care about this industry. I think true progressivism consists in rejecting it, not in proclaiming the latest “iteration of Wonder Woman “good” because it managed to stay on-message relative to some particular conception of feminism, or that some movie with Emma Stone in it is “bad” because the lead role should have gone to a person of color. Who gives a shit? Who has time for this kind of stuff? Woke celebrity-gossip-mongering is still celebrity-gossip-mongering, and no one is going to convince me that it counts as political in any meaningful sense. Let’s make our own culture instead, with bold new visions of what art might be, rather than pushing Hollywood business moguls to do it for us.

I admitted in the essay to a certain fogeyism, so let me pull out a fogey trope and tell you how things were in the old days. In my late teens I used to drive thirty miles each way to go to the nearest art-house video-rental store, in order to take back home VHS tapes of the works of Ousmane Sembène, rightly called the Chekhov of Senegal. I loved his cinematic language, and I felt that through it I was gaining access to a certain true depiction of Africa. This and similar experiences leave me nonplussed and, yes, a bit angry, when, years later, I find myself reading excited young people declaring on Twitter that, with the release of Black Panther in 2018, we are “finally getting to see Africa depicted in film”. But that is not Africa; that is some fantasy bullshit. Africa has already been depicted in film going back several decades, by great African directors such as Sembène, and you are just not working hard enough if you expect movies to be delivered up to you as mass-release big-screen entertainments. I recently gave in and selected Black Panther while on a very long flight. I turned it off after ten minutes or so. It was just too stupid.”

The little words invented as we loved
Now have no other speaker but myself.
Lost, unique, the husband, so beloved,
These little words expressed our  joyous love.
In my speech, these words no longer live
I cannot use those words, our loving wealth.
The chosen words invented as we loved
Now have no other listener but myself.

Eeh, it were right crackin’ at school t’day
Wot wur thi sayin’ this time?
Thi said wi can do Greek next year
Ye’re not doin’ Greek
Why not,our Mam
Ye can’t even spek English
Why,  am I not canny enough?
No, we don’t spek English eether
Well, ye shud a thought eh that before y’ad me
Ye mean only  people with BBC eksents can bear childern?Well, we reckoned if we learnt English we’d lose our desire
F’wat, Mam
F’ that! Ye know… It, ye get what ah mean
No,Mam.Can ye not spell it our a bit more?
Spell it out, t’dad would tan me hide!
Still he must a dunnit,Mam
I dunno, it wer dark.Mebbe it wer the cat, ah thought
Surely the cat’s not mi  dad, is  he?
It weren’t this cat, it wer another called Billy.
Well, how come ah’m human?
You think ye’re human, but  am telling ye,ye got  t’cat’s eyes
Just his eyes? How abaht his whiskers
Don’t be so daft, our Kath,Ye’ve got his hair
But only on my head so far.Willa bi changin’ into a cat as ah mature?
Wi’ll have te wait and see.Put ‘t kettle on.We need some tea.
Why, what difference will that make now.I’m a cat,I’m a cat…. oh, what’ll  ‘et nuns say  ‘et Convent when ah tellum?
You keep away from ‘et Convent~
Why, our Mam?
Do as I tell you.Never confide in a nun
Well,Ah shan’t let ‘et cat fettle me.Ah’m not that daft
Well, yi can’t do Greek and that’s final
Kyrie Eleison,Kyrie Eleison
Wot’s that?
Oh, nothin’ at all
Christie Horizon
For God’s sake speak English!

https://www.bbc.com/food/recipes/easy_chocolate_cake_31070

https://www.womansday.com/food-recipes/food-drinks/recipes/a12296/oven-baked-spanish-tortilla-recipe-wdy0913/

the art of poetry isn’t hard to master
make the syntax good and  entertaining
the  gruesome heart of poetry's a disaster

 
a meter errant makes  the lines come faster
an oxford  thesaurus   gets the listeners   waning
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master.

 
a genius woke and saw a verse rush past her
it only needed polishing and planing
the  gruesome heart of poetry, her  disaster


she left the oven on, it gassed her
ever since her folk  groan, paining
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master.

 

she saw her selves as coloured shapes in plaster
and round her mind, were ghosts all  weakly craning
the  gruesome heart of poetry brings disaster

there’s not a lot of hope if we’re complaining
for criticism  from hidden ghosts is draining
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master
the  gruesome signs of poetry bring disaster

http://www.sarahwilson.com/2018/03/hard-love-weak-character/

Extract:

“Existentialist angst always surfaces during times of human ugliness.

Arendt adds that it’s a moral imperative to not sink into banality, as righteous as not doing harm.

• Not comprehending what Brexit was about before voting proved irrevocably harmful.
• Not caring where your plastic bag ends up (because you’ve not engaged with the facts) is killing the planet.
• Failing to be bold in love is killing relationships…and making us all bored.
• Drifting, flaking, blaming, avoiding, turning blind eyes, going MIA when you’re needed, scrolling Instagram instead of reading long reads about stuff that counts…it’s making us all lesser.

And we know it. We don’t like it about ourselves, but what to do?

I know some people’s response is that it’s all too much, that they can’t afford the energy to care, to think, to get engaged. I quote New York chef and owner of Prune restaurant Gabrielle Hamilton (a thinker, a doer, a liver) who found herself telling friends who can’t be arsed reducing food waste with some minor lifestyle adjustments:

“It’s hard for me to love somebody with a weak character like that”.

I’ve been wondering lately if I’m reaching the same point. I note that many of you on this blog and on my socials are feeling the same. I’m certainly struggling with flaccid, excuse-making, buck-passing characters at the moment. It’s dead difficult viewing such expressions of anti-humanity with mature, kind eyes. And walking away (turning a blind eye) strikes me as (almost) equally banal and flaccid.”

He fell so broke our lamp, a sphere of stone
Made by potters on the Suffolk Coast
The lamp was silent, it was he who groaned

I was not angry, though I may have moaned
I loved  our lamps but I loved him the most
He fell so broke our lamp, a sphere of stone

For human time  on earth is just a loan
And of it’s wasting, who am I to boast?
The lamp was  quiet, the man it was who groaned

Like a candle when the flame is blown
His  life force waned, I saw as I was  close
He fell so broke our lamp, a sphere of stone

By the following week, his  soul had flown
I heard the music of a distant Host
The room was  quiet, my  love  no longer groaned

Of the love of God, I long to boast
Despite that, some devil my heart froze
Why  go down  and break that lamp forlorn
The lamp  is silent, now I am alone

Prayer does not change God, but it changes those who prays. Soren Kierkegaard
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/soren_kierkegaard_107355

The half-blind  give advice  on where to look
The soft tongued sell us slogans of defeat
The religious read us stories  from old books

The  thieves  like  pointing out the crooks
While  we amble down the  vacated streets
The half-blind  give advice  on  how to look

We win a gamble yet call it  a fluke
We   love our loss, we like to be downbeat
The religious read us stories  from old books

The terrorists are now in charge of truth
The former rulers  in their slippers creep
The half-blind  give advice  on where to look

The teachers are afraid of learning loose.
The tangent to the circle is too steep
The aged read us stories  from old books

Love is rare yet sex is very cheap
Timers on the bed end duly beep
The half-blind  want  to control  just where we look
The religious agonise about that Book

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/edition/ireland/dramatic-moments-in-the-confessional-7twxblptc

Hi Father, give me your essay
Essay, what on earth do you mean?
Sorry,I forget the word…. blessing?
How long is it since your last Confession?
Do you mean in Court?
Crime is not always a sin
That’s Good News!
But it is still illegal.
Stop yapping. I want to tell you my sins
That  sentence was very rude
Do you mean I should have got Life?
You should have been executed
But it’s no longer allowed
I  regret that, in  your case
Are you always so nasty to sinners
I never said you were a sinner.I am rude to everyone
Well, stop!
It’s an illness
That’s what they all say
I  muse about OCD
Is that a religious order…Old Catholic Druids?
Catholics can’t be Druids
Well, what is D?
Donkeys.
You don’t seem like a donkey
It’s a metaphor.It should be Asses but they don’t breed
You are  not meant to breed
I only breed cats
Well, to get back to my sins.I have kissed fifty women lustfully
How about men?
No,I am not inclined to kiss men
Thank the Lord.
I don’t think it’s wrong. Just I’ve not yet met the right one
Well kissing women is not so bad as long as they want it.
But how can I  tell?
You must get to know one and do things together
Like going to bed?
No, no. Go out for a walk. Go for a meal. Discuss your  common interests
My interests are  not common nor vulgar
Wow. You are clever
Cleverness is not the highest value in life
Don’t tell me!
Why not?
I am too clever by half according to my aged Mother
How come?
She knows I became a  priest out of pure laziness.No need to have a mortgage!
But to become celibate to avoid having to pay a mortgage seems extreme.
It seemed a good idea at the time!
My next sin is greed.I eat a box of chocolates every day
Why?
To avoid cooking
You can’t live on chocolate
I know. I go to McDonald’s
Why?
To eat burgers and chips
Silicon chips?
I don’t know but they taste good
Can I come?
Sure.if you forgive my sins
For your penance buy me a meal
That’s brilliant,Father
How did you guess?
What?
I really am your Father!
You liar