Mary was sweeping the floor with her new Shark cordless electric carpet sweeper just replaced by Lakeland Plastics, that store beloved of British women.Emile was watching her from the lid of the old gramophone where he sat surveying the sitting room.
Leave that spider alone,he called to Mary
Why? she asked kindly,are you planning a date with it?
No,it’s a good thing to keep them as they may catch flies and other nasty things.
Mary turned and gazed at Emile.She was wearing some blue Tencel jeans and a bright pink top with embroidery round the neck.Her thoughtful face w as covered in Radiant Glow foundation as her friend Annie was trying to make her look more attractive to men.Which men was a puzzle as Mary liked to spend time alone or going out with her female colleagues to search for books on Dirac’s owl,Schrodinger’s cat or Godel’s ants.
Her male colleagues were mainly very conceited or shyer than rabbits brought up in the cliffs at Lyme Regis.
However Annie wanted Mary to marry again, as she saw her own vocation in life as being a mistress to a bright and intelligent retired man whose wife worked full time or was in the Library studying the Babylonian number system or other esoteric topics
.So she could help Mary and herself at the same time.
Shall we have a party,she chuckled to Mary as she came in through the ever unlocked back door.
What sort of party,Mary asked nervously.
I want you to meet some men,Annie reminded her.
I believe that like bombs falling on London in WW2,that if a man has your number on him he will find you,Mary teased.
Maybe your phone number,Annie retorted.Why don’t you get a spare mobile and I can put some posters with that number on the trees down the side roads saying you are looking for a new partner.
I thought I had made it clear that as some Orthodox Jews believe that Zion will only come when God wants it to do,so a man will turn up when it is God’s will.
That’s a bit much.Do you think you are God’s chosen person? Is God interested in finding you a new husband? Annie shouted.
Well,it may seem strange to you ,but even seeming trivia like me being married to some new man can have deep consequences for the whole world… a bit like the butterfly’s wings If I am happy it spreads around me and makes others happier too.Or if God wishes me to write a book and I need a man to cook for me then one will turn up,Mary responded in her low and musical Tyneside accent.
On the other hand, God may wish me to lead a contemplative life,she carried on.
Annie was puzzled.Why do you think God has all these plans for you,she enquired.
It’s not just me,said Mary.It’s everybody but that does lead into difficulties as we look at the world around us.Does God want all. these refugees to drown or for Britain to stay in the EU or leave and please Florenc Tonson? It reminded the women of their convent school classes where they had studied a simplified version of the writings of Aquinas and his proofs of the existence of God.
It was this book which had given Mary her first doubts about religion and, being somewhat dim in the tact department. she had shared her misgivings with the headmistress, who was not happy to be questioned even in front of mere school girls.
Emile,she cried,I wish I were a cat.My schooldays were so terrible
It’s your own fault, said Annie.I just pretended to believe it and kept quiet by fantasising about my new lingerie and how my boyfriend would like it
How remarkable it is that girls and boys can be so different in their personalities and ways of coping with puberty.

It was like a prison,Mary said.Still it made later life seem happier.
How did you afford new underwear so often,she asked Annie
I wore my mother’s! this dear friend informed her.
My mother didn’t have that sort of underwear,Mary told her.And see how something seemingly so trivial can affect one’s personal development so much.Still I was fed and allowed to study and play the piano and do my homework to the sound of Horace Wagner and Richard Straussbumt.
Did it help you to concentrate,Annie asked in a puzzled way.
No, it allowed my brother to dominate me and otherwise he might have hit me or knocked over the folding table where I kept my exercise books ,and pen ready to write essays on Twelfth Night and the periodic table.
Annie burst out laughing.Sorry,Mary,I am not laughing because you were bullied but it just sounded as if tables had periods,the way you said it.
Imagine how hard it was dealing with all that in a tiny house with the loo in the back yard.It was taboo so had to be concealed.When we went to Dublin for 2 weeks my three sisters and I all had our periods and we brought back all the blood stained cloths in our suitcases.Luckily the customs man did not look inside.
Was there nobody who could have burned them for you?
The landlady never mentioned it so neither did we.
No wonder I am so peculiar.
Well,I like you,said Annie.You are so kind and sympathetic and good to talk to.And you are always coming up with new ideas and interesting books.
I suppose we complement each other.Mary said shyly.Maybe we should get married and forget about men.
Annie’s eyes opened wide.
I think I’d better ring 999.she screamed.
And so say all of u

When Mary got home,she took off her coat and put the kettle on the fire!

She got the tea caddy out and put some tea into the pot.Suddenly the door burst open and Annie her exuberant neighbour fell into the kitchen like a teenager
Are you ok,Mary asked her gently.

Those 4 inch heels are rather dangerous.

Annie was wearing a sky blue track suit,red stilettos and a big green pashmina. Her make up had melted all down her face as she was so warm with running

She had some waterproof make up but had the feeling it might be dangerous to clog the pores.

Where have you been?she asked curiously.You were ages.

I forgot to get off the bus as I fell into a reverie,Mary told her

That sounds like a black hole!Annie cried

I was daydreaming so I ended up by the river and a policeman asked me for a date,sort of.

Did you have any dates with you?

No,I only had Stan in my bag,alas.

Where is he?Have you put him into the wardrobe?

It’s already full.He’s still in the bag at the moment.

The two women fell into a sad mutual silence realising Stan would never now teach Emile to swim in the bath nor return his overdue library books.

Am I liable for his fines,Mary wondered.

I can pay if you like,Annie,said generously.She got out some home made biscuits and gave one to Mary who was wearing a long black dress from Lands End which resembled a defunct nun’s habit.

Are you thinking of retiring to the cloister soon ,she continued.

No,I don’t believe in Christianity any more.Christ.yes,Christianity ,no.

What about Xmas?Will you celebrate?

I shall pray and do out the kitchen cupboards.

Are they that bad,asked Annie curiously, twiddling a ringlet with her fingers.

Possibly,Mary giggled!They didn’t teach domestic science at Oxford!

And Mother was always busy cooking and cleaning the grate after she got home from work.

Talking about grates,I’d better look at the kettle.She lifted it off the fire and held it up in the air.It was very black on one side,just like the one Mary’s mother had had so many years ago.

Why don’t I make some tea,she asked.

I don’t know,said Annie.Is this the Xmas quiz?

No,you don’t understand.It’s a rhetorical question.

Oh,do stop showing off,Annie told her.I only went to Knittingham Polytechnic and we never did Greek,just Aramaic.I have forgotten it now.

Mary poured out the tea into two pint sized mugs and the women sat silently warming their hands on the mugs and meditating on the wilful backwardness of the local poly which now only taught Latin,Hebrew and chemical engineering.The latter was an error as the professors thought that was what Wittgenstein had studied before finding Bertrand Russell more attractive. How to be more precise it was Russell’s ideas that he found attractive to start with until he saw the errors Russell had made

Russell’s paradox had haunted Annie ever since those happy student days.

Though she would have preferred Russell to his paradox if she had been given the choice.

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2024/sep/13/frayed-cables-and-yellow-pillows-how-to-fix-reuse-or-ditch-12-confusing-kinds-of-household-clutter?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2024/oct/06/private-firms-ran-almost-all-care-homes-forced-to-shut-for-breaches-in-england?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

Inside my mind I dream of pearls

Caterpillars,snails with whorls.

Inside my mind I dream of pearls,
Caterpillars,snails with whorls.
I dream contented, all enwrapped;
With reverie and dream I’m lapped.
The inner seas will comfort me,
While gods open my eyes to see

Oh,sweeter than confectionery
Is my Oxford diction’ry.
The words whirl round then fall to shape
The sentences which my world make.
This furnishing is rich and strange
And magically self arranged.

Oh,sweeter than the love of man
Is reading works of poets long gone;
Feeling deeply their dark tides .
Upon which our boat may glide.
The sea infinite we float upon
Is the same warm sea the ancients swam..

Sweeter still is the spring air
And the blossom spreading fair.
We’ll drown our selves in grassy fields
To the gods of poetry yield.
We’ll rise again and spring up tall
To grow more rich until we fall

À

And yet so much of our communication today is defined by a rather ungenerous unwillingness to listen coupled with a compulsion to speak.

“Words,” Ursula K. Le Guin wrote in her abiding meditation on the magic of real human communication, “transform both speaker and hearer; they feed energy back and forth and amplify it. They feed understanding or emotion back and forth and amplify it.” But what happens in a cultural ecosystem where the hearer has gone extinct and the speaker gone rampant? Where do transformation and understanding go? What made, for instance, James Baldwin and Margaret Mead’s superb 1970 dialogue about race and identity so powerful and so enduringly insightful is precisely the fact that it was a dialogue — not the ping-pong of opinions and co-reactivity that passes for dialogue today, but a commitment to mutual contemplation of viewpoints and considered response. That commitment is the reason why they were able to address questions we continue to confront with tenfold more depth and nuance than we are capable of today. And the dearth of this commitment in our present culture is the reason why we continue to find ourselves sundered by confrontation and paralyzed by the divisiveness of “us vs. them” narratives. “To bother to engage with problematic culture, and problematic people within that culture, is an act of love,” wrote the poet Elizabeth Alexander in contemplating power and possibility. Krista Tippett calls such engagement generous listening. And yet so much of our communication today is defined by a rather ungenerous unwillingness to listen coupled with a compulsion to speak.

https://www.theguardian.com/science/2009/may/06/obituary-nina-farhi

Mary was admiring her curtains :;what a wonderful sense of colour this woman had. It was the one thing which her mother had praised her for . She had not been praised for becoming top of the class at the convent school not for getting a degree. No Mary realised that her mother has a sense of colour because it will be useful when Mary got married and had to make her own curtains.

What a nuisance Mary was no good with the sewing machine. In fact she was afraid of it. That’s one sure way of getting out of a task. Be afraid of the sewing machine clumsy with the knitting needles and when asked to make a cake always put the oven at the wrong temperature so this is either burnt or it is not ready when the visitors come.

And if people know you’re good at making cakes you will get more and more visitors and you won’t have time to read the Oxford dictionary of abstract words or the Oxford dictionary of new words. It is be very hard if we had to spend all the time making cakes and not being allowed to read a book.

Mary was no good at making her own clothes. She had to get a science degree so she could earn her own money. She was terrified of being on the dole and did not want to go on the game as ehe was a virgin. That’s her version of it

When Mary got married to Stan she told him that she did not make cakes and she did not make curtains. Fortunately they could afford to choose the fabric and then get someone else to make it into curtains,

It’s very important to learn about colour unless you go to art school it’s not often discussed in school. Colourcan help you to recover from illness…….

Wait for the next episode

How can I just write a poem today?

I don’t know precisely what to say

Should I write in form or in  free verse?

What verse  I write will certainly be worse

Worse than Shakespeare, worse than Wendy Cope

Worse than Dante,Milton ,what a hope!

If I write some words, no one might read

I will feel embarrassed by my greed

Greed for admiration praise and more.

I want good reviews and a high score

Expectations hamper human minds

Too much thinking turns the thinker blind

Everyone was once a little child

You learned to talk and walk so now be wild.

Children were fascinated by cracks in the pavement

By gutters  where they rolled marbles

By  grids with slime hanging down into the water

By places where they could hide

By the location of sweet shops

By a few rare places where there were frogs or other amphibians

Sand left by workman

Abandoned hand carts and trollies

They chased tom cats

Climbed the walls and fences  grazed knees and cut  hands

They were alive one way or another

Who has got the right to ask you questions and to know the answers? Not so many people as one might think.

So think about that

Be obedient only when absolutely essential,  be obedient to this particularp person

Children need to be obedient because they don’t understand danger but not everybody is your parents and even if they are your parent there may be wrong when you are adults to try to control you

“We earn £345k, but soaring private school fees mean we can’t go on five holidays”

The bilious yellow sun appeared tonight

I think I’d rather have electric light!.

In summer all our days are very long.

If I go to  early bed will that be wrong?

I wake up thinking that it’s breakfast time

It’s only 5:00 a.m. who is to blame?

Last night I got arthritis in my hand

Dihydrocodeine tastes extremely bland..m

At last I went to sleep despite the pain.

I kissed my poppies in the pourinf rain.

I wish my brother Paul was still alive.

A photograph’s no use on Google drive

He liked to have his wife nearby all day.

But when he cursed and swore she ran away

He was angry with the world he often cried

Jesus Christ, God knows why you have died

Bloody hell he shouted at the door

I have three sisters I don’t want no more!

I did his Latin homework without  fee.

In other words I helped him out for free.

Never cross my mind to ask for cash.

He thumped me even but me, that was rash

I knew that he was very sad and hurt

With a brother it’s just wrong to flirt.

He died and I’m sad without his voice

Conversation is my love and  choice.

He took me on the tandem to the lakes We got there very quickly, no brakes!

I got the knock at Carstang coming home.

We got onto the train no more to roam

What adventures brothers can design

Never turn one down if you have time

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

“

I have walked the silent paths of grief
Sunless,dreary,cold and all alone.

I have slept on beds of winter leaves.

I know that death’s a cruel starving thief

Although my heart weeps and my joy has gone.
I have never felt I was deceived.

I have learned that human life is brief.
I have learned by sorrow we’re undone.
I have sifted earth and what’s beneath.

I have felt the dark emotions seethe
I’ve felt cruelly burned by glaring sun.
I have learned the geography of grief.

I wait in sorrow for this life to cease
Yet some are never loved by anyone
I have dreamed in beds of winter leaves

Unconsoled grief can make us dumb
Into our hearts, we drag the ice that numbs
I have walked the silent paths of grief
I have made my bed on winter leaves

https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/medicine-and-dentistry/cultural-bias#:~:text=A%20cultural%20bias%20is%20a,is%20only%20shared%20with%20intimates.

When Mary joined her art class  she found there was a very interesting man called Brian who came from Burnley. Brian’s work was excellent although none of the students had ventured beyond Constable in their paintings. But then who could go beyond Constable?

But why should dear old people be made to confront modern and post modern thoughts and feelings? Even Gustav Munch was really beyond the pale. Was he trying to warn us?

I suppose that people like to retain the idea  of the world as in some sense orderly and beautiful with patterns that can be discovered by scientists or artists. The idea that these patterns are not real that they may be imposed by us and that now we no longer have the strength or faith to do that is a subject for discussion Mary decided.

These people had lived through world war II and had served their country like Brian who had worked on radar in the Edison light bulb factory in Eastern Enfield.

The Germans were not totally deceived by it being called a light bulb factory and the area was bombed heavily; fortunately Brian’s landlady had a very strong house with a cellar so fortunately the dear man had been saved

Mary was  nervous because unlike the other students she had only taken up art when she was almost 60 years old. But anyone who does that is very brave she told herself sensitively.

But it’s not always a bad thing to be nervous.. perhaps it’s essential to be so every time you start a fresh creation

After spending half an hour looking at the blank sheet of drawing paper Mary  took up pencil and began to sketch the seabird made of wood that she had taken with her to the class that morning.

Ate we meant to put the shadows in she asked Deli the art teacher

Yes do. Shadows as re what make things real as Jung certainly saido maybe in a different language. No not Chinese,Margaret.

Actually once Mary started it wasn’t as frightening as she had imagined. And soon it was time for the coffee break

In the kitchen of the ancient and beautiful house the student sat round a large pine table to drink their instant coffee. Mary had never realised before how much she hated it as a drink and so she thought she would pour it over some plants in pots when nobody was looking rather than waste it completely m

Brian told everyone that he had been to Morrison’s and to his surprise he found a bottle of wine there exactly so was one he had bought at an expensive wine tasting experience  he had gone to in Central London

Millicent and Mimie two old friends who lived near the Catholic church in Holbrook Green 🍏 seem to feel scandalised

Did you buy any send Millicent

Of course I did said Brian. I bought three.

You should have seen the expression on Millicent’s first she was utterly critical as of unmarried or widowed older men buying wine.

Will Mary said,Wine is very useful when you are entertaining.

And heard Brian murmur quietly.

Especially when you are entertaining yourself

He had a little grin on his

Was very handsome thin bony and handsome face. In the sun his hair almost looked like fuse wire. Perhaps Millicent was trying to hide her attraction towards him as no doubt he was the best losing man in the art class which wasn’t difficult because there was only one other one there the rest of the students were all female.)

What’s a lovely sense of humour he had

Then they heard a little voice saying

I’d like to try some of that wine Brian.

They looked tound but they could not see anybody Was this the still small voice that Elijah heard on the mountain?

Then they look down the room and saw a little black cat smiling. They had never seen a cat previously but then life can be very surprising sometimes thank goodness

Emile cried Mary what on earth are you doing here?

You forgot to take your senior citizens bus pass so I thought I would come on the bus with it to meet you down here.

I’m surprised that they let you use my bus pass when you were not a human being

Well they’re so used to The madness of the current era and  our government in particular that they don’t seem to notice now whether we’re people animals or even spirits from the next world.

I came in a cab, Mary revealed,because I had to carry my art materials with me.

Oh said Emile, I don’t mind going in a cab.

Millicent and Mimi were looking at Mary as if she was a complete lunatic. The truth was revealed to all

Well some people bring their partner to the art class but not many bring their cat. And a talking cat is a very rare phenomenon in Britain ell

Have you brought your art materials Emile?

Mary has not bought me any art materials but if you let me have some of your paint I can make a picture using my paws.

No said Deli. We can’t risk getting pains on these wonderful old floors.

Don’t worr I’ve got some.socks since I can put on after I finished the painting

Or I had borrow some pastels

Mary already had a stramge reputation among the old folks so now they’re thought she was completely bonkers but the truth was that Emile was worried that Mary was falling in love with Brian and Emile did not want Mary to find a new partner unless he was absolutely certain this man would accept him as an equal in the houshould

I hate to say this said the art teacher to Mary but your cat is better at art than you are!!

Well it certainly looks post modern Mary answered. Do you think that people would buy these?

Saatchi maybe? Or maybe the king would like to buy one?

Well you never know do you?

It takes all sorts to make a world

And so say all of us

Was anyone buy emiles picture?

You have to wait 10 years for the next exciting instalment to be published. Why not write it yourself so that you can put your own experience in as you may have an even more strain story than Mary’s

The space between the words where silence lies.

Irrational as real numbers on the line

When the words are spoken silence dies.

Words can be arranged so truth defies

The origins of the loves which they combine

The space between the words where silence lies

No words are known to stand for mother’s sighs

Speech is like a song, continuous,fine.

When the words are spoken silence dies

Will the words reveal the Gorgon’s eye?

We need reflections to derive the sign

The space between the words  where silence lies

The power of words is simple and divine.

A net to catch the real,the winding twine

The space between the words where silence lies.

When we say the word the silence dies

I said I went to the clinic not  I think I’m demonic

I said I love your pink jacket not I’m  tired of the panic

I said I love Dr Hicks not, I think weaving sucks.

I said I think she’s cured me, not how can she endure me?

I told them my husband was dead, not I can’t wait to get into bed

I wonder why Freud was regarded as so unusual. Doesn’t everybody think about sex all the time? And by sex I mean love in all its forms.

I tell them I want some egg and bacon,not to make a career of faking

I wanted to have a hot bath not to provoke bitter wrath.

I wanted to conceal menstruation ,not to give men an invitation

I was telling the truth ,not mending the roof

I was washing my ears not enjoying his leers not trashing the seers

I said I fell out of bed.Not, Well,now I am dead.

I said I prefer the rural life , not his alluring wife.

I said give me a rest, not you are a pest.

I said,where is my tea,not I love her knee

I asked if you had wine,not are you a swine.

I said I feel terribly tired, not you need to be rewired

I said her mother has dementia,not that she joined

Mensa

I said where’s my pink lipstick, not I am a mystic. 

I said try meditation,not grow vegetation. 

I said,Are you quite mad,not are you my dad ?

I said I need speech therapy not your hips creak terribly. 

I said are you going deaf not I’m short of breath. 

I said ,fry a few eggs not I love your legs

I said I’m feeling tight, not why are you bright?

I said my heart is full not  watch out for that bull

I said what is  the forecast not shall we commit incest?

I said let’s go to bed, not sex drives me mad.

I said I want to go to Confession not I can’t give up fascism

The priest said was I a virgin not who was the surgeon

Sure it’s not perversion? Let’s forget about conversion.

On Monday morning Stan had to go to the shops in the centre of town to buy some special easy threading needles for his visually-other wife Mary.Somehow,most puzzlingly,she had lost all of the eight packs he had bought for her in the last year.He had suggested letting his mistress next door do the hemming and stitching.But Mary was determined even though sometimes she took 14 minutes just to thread a needle.But she was very patient.One might almost say she was saintly but he did not want her to get conceited so he kept his thoughts to himself. Now what will I wear.Stan thought over-anxiously.. People no longer dress up to go down town instead they dress down to go up to the town,in a very real sense. The art of living is to choose the most simple solution to any problem and Stan recalled he only had some navy trousers,some white and a few coloured shirts and one light teal colored jacket. He chose a coral coloured shirt and looked in the mirror.. I look wonderful, he thought very humbly. Why has God kept me so youthful? Surely not so I can seduce more women? We know God may be merciful to scissors,or is it sinners?Well,let’s just say God can be merciful but for some reason,we never know till it’s too late whether it’s to us. More haste,less speed,he conjectured. Or is it, More paste,guests feed? He stood in the hall combing his hair with a tortoiseshell comb and brushing it with a large nail brush He looked again at his image. His amber eyes glowed like neon lights on the main road to Knittingham in winter. His dark hair looked very full for his age. His teal jacket had been well pressed by the dry cleaner, Jacob Weissmann. And his coral shirt was new as Mary had been out buying him more clothes lately.She had grown tired of seeing him in one solid color,especially grey or brown. His navy trousers were a bit old but quite alright for Knittingham. As he gazed into the mirror he began to feel odd.Then he saw Emile who was standing on the chest of drawers behind him performing a dance.. solo! Why are you dancing,Emile? Stan asked politely. I am amused by seeing you gazing into the mirror for so long, If you don’t hurry it will be lunchtime before you get to the Needle Shop. Alright,growled Stan hoarsely.At least I don’t wear make up! Now there’s a thought…maybe I’d look better…what shade of foundation would suit me?Would I need lip balm and perfume? Hurry up,said Emile unkindly.More taste less greed. What does that mean?asked Stan. If you taste the food and eat slowly you will enjoy it more and thus need less. Very clever,Emile.Shall I buy you some cough sweets in the pet shop. No,I want some codeine linctus,Emile answered. I want to go high,high. I want to reach the sky. what will I do when my love is away Will I be happy on my own? Lend me your ear and I’ll sing you a song I’ll try not to sing out of tune! My God,Emile.Whatever has happened to you? I blame the old chalk and opium medicine someone spilled on my breakfast. Well,go and lie down but drink some milk first.At last Stan got out…it had taken him two hours to get ready At the bus stop there stood Anne their neighbour. Hi,Stan,where are you going. I’m buying sewing needles for Mary. I can lend her some,she shrieked. Well,she has to use special ones nowadays. Oh,so she does.I forget as she looks normal but is in fact suffering constant trouble since her Vitreous-vasectomy.. or was it hysterectomy or vivacity?. Well,never mind.You know she’s not normal. Who is normal? Let’s just assume we will recognize it when we see it,he whispered warningly. This bus is very late.I wish there was a proper seat here..my knees hurt. I hate this plastic seat.Why has the wooden one gone? Apparently the council are afraid of homeless people sleeping on them. Well,everybody is at risk of homelessness with this economic crisis, Anne shouted in a fury. No,beggars can’t be losers,he responded. Very true,she replied, As they have nothing so they can’t lose it.The more you have,the more you fear losing it. This bus is very,very late,I wish I had a horse or is it an horse? A goat would be o.k.Speed bonny goat like a word someone flung.. Over the page to Fly.Anne burst out laughing so her face was as red as her coat from Artigiano.Her blue tights were a perfect contrast and also matched her lipstick uncannily.Where she bought it was a mystery. At last the bus came.They got on board and the driver called out, You both look very merry! Too many looks create more wrath,Stan replied warningly. Well, why dress up if you want no attention.the driver gloated. Hello,darling, he said to Anne,Are you free tonight,babe? Why? she murmured. I have two tickets for the Rolling Stones and no woman to take! he replied boastfully. Now,if it were the Rolling Bones,I might be interested. Your wish is my command he muttered, I have my smart phone here,I’ll see what’s one elsewhere. He kept trying but the virtual keyboard was playing up again. Eventually the passengers got annoyed and asked him to start the bus. As I’m half an hour late,I should be coming back now so I’ll do a U turn and go back But we want to go into town,every one howled. There’s many a blue word spoken as a jest,sang the driver. Stan said,Please open the door,we shall dismount here. Crikey,you don’t half talk posh,said the ,driver. He leaned over and gave Anne a French kiss. Now look here,Stan said,leave her alone.She’s my mistress. Cor blimey said the driver,who are you,King Henry the Eighth? I say,Stan,I can see Mary.It must be tea time. Stan ran into the house and put the kettle on..then he made a pot of tea. Hello! said Mary. Did you get my needles,Stan? I’m so sorry,Mary.I ‘ve had such a busy day,I never got into the town. And where is my supper. In the womb of time I see,it’s chick pea dahl and brown rice again or egg on toast. But I’m not complaining.Keeping house is a big job.I know it only to well. So they sat with Anne and Emile,who even had his own cup and saucer now.They were weary and soon ,despite the tea, they were all fast asleep. Like you.

They want to x-ray God to check his age

But God is here and there and everywhere.

He only had one child so he will swear

The British are annoyed in fact outraged

They think he wants to claim a child’s allowance

God was not born here ,oh refugee

God was never born can they not see ?

Send Bravermann to jail, she must do penance

Jesus died in Auschwitz more than once

Don’t let him come in here we have no room

We have no stables now, his birth is doomed.

The Stations of the Cross are undispensed.

Will they make failed immigrants wear stars

Here we’ve got bad eggs, let’s make a start

Hurl the eggs towards their bleeding hearts

Then get drunk again in some old bar.

They say the country is Christian by and large

So that they send religious cards.

And Satan pokes the fire burns all x-rays

The MRI scans now are all the rage.

Scan them x-ray put them into boats

The evil fires are hot, our eyes are closed

Is it impertibent of me

To ask a man to climb a tree

To  kill the squirrel for his nuts

To ask a snail if he’s got guts?

Is it polite to eat quails eggs

And ask a beetle for his legs?

I think it’s  cute to call men blokes

I love the smell of their tweed coats.

I wish I were in primary school

Learning logic’s cool yet cruel

I never learned damn all myself

The Oxford entrance test by stealth

And if you failed to pass their test

You’ll only read the news at best

And it gets worse for if you fail

You’ll  never handle royal mail.

Yes to be at all worthwhile

Go to Oxford and beguile

Refuse to leave until you win

Failing entry is a sin.

God will never accept you

The best way out- just join a zoo

Regents Park is very fine.

But it’s not on the Central line

Animals feel they’re not the best

And then they fear what priests confessed

Try for art school learn to see

Van Gogh’s a scientist set him free!

http://home.btconnect.com/mike.flemming/

Click to access Religion_as_Poetic_Truth.pdf

Religion as Poetic Truth
A lightly edited transcript of an impromptu talk by Mark F. Sharlow

How much truth is there in the religions of the world? How many of their beliefs are true? Before trying to answer that question, I’d like to mention an example that shows how intricate the question of truth can sometimes be. Think about poetry. The poet Carl Sandburg once wrote a poem titled “Fog,” in which he used these lines: The fog comes on little cat feet. Now, is Sandburg’s statement true or not? When you think about the fog coming in over a coastline, as in Sandburg’s poem, do you find those lines true? The answer to that question could be “no,” because there are no cat feet on the fog – no matter how hard you look under the fog, you won’t find cat feet. Or the answer could be “yes,” because those lines describe exquisitely a certain experience of what it feels like when you’re in a place where the fog is coming in. You know what I mean, if you’ve ever been there – that strange hushing, that strange softness that your surroundings develop. It’s a subjective experience, but it’s a real part of your awareness. So, are Sandburg’s lines true? The answer is yes or no, depending on whether what you mean is 1 literal truth – truth of the kind that a scientist would consider true – or poetic truth. If you mean literal truth, then the lines are not true (of course). But if you think of the lines as possibly describing an experience, as being poetically true in that sense, then they are true. Those lines do describe something real – a real subjective feature of your awareness and of your surroundings – even though there really aren’t any feet under the fog. I’d like to propose that we think of most of the beliefs of the major religions of the world in this way. These beliefs might not be literally true, but at least in some cases – at least for the central beliefs shared by most religions – they might be true in some other way. They might point to a significant truth, even though they aren’t literally true. The prime belief of this sort would be belief in God. Now, some people think of God as a being who created the universe and who created everything in the universe, including living species, by supernatural means, by just bringing them into being (boom! there they are), instead of natural causes creating the things in the universe. If this is exactly how you define God, then there is no God. Why? Because things have natural causes. Many things have been found to have natural causes, and biological species, as one prime example, have been found to have natural causes through evolution. So if that’s what you mean by “God,” then there is no God. But the answer is different if what you mean by “God” is a divine presence in the world, some entity or feature of reality that can be regarded as divine – which means, at a minimum, that it’s worthy of our highest admiration and love, and somehow represents and embodies all that is good. If that’s what you mean by God, then there could well be a God. I’ve argued in some of my writings that there is a being like that. It’s what philosophers would call an “abstract entity” – not a ghostly spiritual substance, but an entity that can be known to us as a feature of the world and of things in the world. This entity is a suitable focus for our highest love, because it is shown or manifested in all that is beautiful and good, including the people we love. It is not just some force or some object devoid of spiritual qualities. Instead, it has enough mindlike features that we can regard it as a “someone” instead of a mere “something.” However, it is not what we usually think of as a “person.” I know I’m being rather vague and sketchy here, but I’ve spelled it all out before, in my writings on the subject of God.

I bought sweet cyclamen and thought of you

Wandering through dear meadows by my side

I don’t know where to put them,they might die.

Then I would feel so sad and lonely blue

All we read of pain and love is true.

Yet we let our hearts stay open wide

I bought sweet cyclamen,remembered you .

Wandering through wild meadows by my side.

I have loved not widely but a few

I have touched on bliss and when it flies

I have touched the grief that truly lies

I bought these cyclamen,oh, where are you?

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

Tags: inspirational, wonder

How to improve your bad poetry. Apart from burning it!

If you are writing in form I suggest thinking of the lines as being like music with the same number of beats in each line.

Nowadays free vs much more commonly used and you don’t have the same problems there but you do have to have a feel for the musicality of what you write unlike the person who wrote the following verses

When you read them you will realize that it’s not worth writing anything unless it has some meaning and value to you and other people or it is genuine humour which these lines do not achieve

He took his girlfriend to the ( bleak and) sandy shore

He pushed her into that deep  sea, and now she is no more

He had no money for to pay the bill

Left  himself a million pounds in his own will

He has been married once and that was good

Mainly because his wife was made of wood

So they had no children as they could not mate

I think he’s left just everything too late

Never go to  beaches with strange men

They push you in the sea if you ask when.

It’s better to be a single and be safe

Than marry some man just to be a wife

But when the right man comes you’ll get the feel

You’ll  be happy with love unconcealed

Stan fell asleep in front of the roaring fire.Emile lay across his lap.Emile was so limp he looked like a wet towel casually over the old man’s knees.It was Stan’s birthday but no party had been arranged.He was struck that Mary had not baked a cake..nor even bought one at the Co-op.

That was no surprise really as he did all the cooking including Bakewell tarts and Xmas cake,He was a versatile man who could also mend old radios and fix clocks that were stuck one time….usually the wrong one!
He also spent quite a lot of time giving statistics lessons to pensioners and kissing his blonde mistress,Anne who lived next door.
He decided that being so near her was a big advantage given his age.
Suddenly he was awakened by chuckles and giggles,There were Mary and Anne holding a big iced cake and a pot of tea.The doorbell rang and in came all Stan’s friends from his Art class.Mary produced sandwiches and pork pies,sausage rolls and potato cakes.
How did you do this ?,he enquired dazedly.
We did it all in Anne’s oven.She has two so it was quite easy.
Mary was not jealous of Anne for Mary would rather read Principia Mathematica than go to bed with Stan.Apparently she was mildly autistic but she was happy doing maths as many of her co-workers had the same syndrome.
She did have one daughter whom she found hidden in a gooseberry bush in the garden.This was enough for Stan as he was 92.But luckily he did have a good gold plated pension of £390.09 per month.
Everyone was having a fabulous time until Anne tried to light the candles on the cake.No matches could be found.
Ring 999,Stan called childishly.Mary obeyed and soon the ambulance drew up.
In ran Dave the trisexual paramedic.
Is it your chair? he enquired wildly.
No,it’s this cake.We can’t light the candles on it.Shall we douse it in petrol? We have a jerry can full of it in the spare room.
That is very dangerous,he shouted.
Well,we are old now and need the car badly.Risk assessment gave us evens on the odds.
Dave produced a silver lighter and lit the candles.Then he conducted them all as they sang,
”Happy Birthday” to Stan.Stan managed to blow out 90 candles before passing out on the rug.
Well,at least he didn’t break the chair,Mary said philosophically.
I wish he had,said Dave. I’ve got some superglue here.
Well,we do have a wardrobe that’s falling apart.would you like to mend it?
Sure ,he replied gratefully.This is why we have the NHS!
We are here for you 24/7
Or come to A and E if you get a mouth ulcer or a cold sore.No problem is too small!

Stan came to on the rug with Emile beside him.He gazed deeply into the cat’s green eyes.
I think I’ve fallen in love with you,he informed the Emile.
Will you sleep with me and let Mary have your basket.
Are we engaged,said Emile.
Definitely,said Stan.I’ll get you a golden collar with diamonds on it.
When shall we be married?
As soon as it’s legal,Stan answered honestly.
In the meantime,we’ll have to live in sin.
Then he fell asleep again with Emile in his arms.
What a lovely picture, cried the ladies.
Look at this.What a happy sight.
What love,what devotion.
How strange,what a commotion.
They’re in love,what emotion.
Don’t tell the Pope,we need caution