You envy me my sentences astute.
You hate me for my mastery of the sign
So why  throw Ludwig’s ladder with  your doubt?

You wish dismisses me as wild lambs bleat.
You hate the way I draw a  circle  round a  line
You  corrupt me making sentences astute

What use is  it to me to Dirac quote,
To exist on a grant and study Quine,
When phallic symbols are forbidden fruit?

Do children spring from minds of my repute?
Must I as female offer to decline?
You envy me my symbolic repute

What is signified by my own doubts?
Is the unnamed nameless or divine?
Must signifiers suffer signs’ defeat?

If  Kings who lost their heads had but resigned
And infants happy climbed their  wooden frames
You’d envy not my sentences astute.
Post-modernity caused damage  et tu brute

The blind may dream in colours, wild and gay.
They see snow red as blood and sun at prayer.
What these signify, no-one should say.

The sighted may have dreams so drab and grey
Which we uncover listlessly by layer
The blind may dream in colours, wild and fey.

For our sustenance, the soul makes pay
With hope and charity, we sooth the sayer.
What life signifies, no-one must say.

The adverts tell us  women like Milk Tray
Impertinent to  analyse, to dare,
The kind may see  flames colour  in the fray

You cannot buy the best life on Ebay
Some  find the narrow path  of goodness is bizarre
What life signifies, no-one must say.

We find vocation living where we are.
The soil  ,though rough, can grow its flowery stars
The blind may dream in colours, soft and fair
The love of truth is found  through wordless prayer

Each body cell can  widen or contract
Like individual beings,  each minute,
Each shows  a different world than we expect

In our secrecy, new visions may impact
Our  hidden mind with metaphor’s  astute
As body cells  each open or contract

From  our pain, experience may  distract
The mind and heart and soul can  each  re-route
We see a world more changed than we expect

The world of trust, of relaxation, tact,
Tensions   in the mind    will soon cdilute
The choir of cells may sing or  lose affect

Faith in the unknown, what shows our lack?
Can we reach such faith in minute steps?
We see our world  too much under attack

As glows the  candle,  at sweet Fire it hints
Let each respond in   their  own dialect
Each body cell can  widen or contract
We see new worlds, not mirrors  ,blind, reflect

I know poverty exists but that is not the only reason for crime.I was thinking about these men today and I suddenly understood they could not receive the good available to them through honest work and being looked after by me or other people while they did it; they lose their self-respect and being Irish , they deprive their own people of dignity.And their families of a wage earned by work [ alas too much unemployment]
I know from my own family about how the Irish have suffered.I am not unaware.
When we take instead of receiving we are living without learning  or  knowing the goodness of others.I am sure in non-material ways we may steal what we feel we will bever be given but can we enjoy it?
Like people on the internet who pretend to be friends steal affection and then suddenly for no reason turn their anger on you when they could have been given affection by developing a friendship slowly.
.I know in one case it was a woman who wished to convert me to Christianity….. or make me go to her church.Another person has some kind of personality disorder and  we can only feel sad for that kind of behaviour as they do suffer much mental pain
So in a way, there is a spiritual message :

Ask for , and hope for, goodness from others or God.
Do not steal or demand what you think you need because it will not satisfy you.It may not be what you need anyway.
And ironically my untidiness was a  protection

Ask and it shall be given…?

Steal and you will not know that you might have had :
Love , affection, genuine work, the money you deserved and could enjoy, peace of mind.

However, I do believe this  society is  very bad in the way the poor are blamed so much for getting benefits etc and so I cannot  without knowing what makes these people act the way they do.

 
I know many of these people are illiterate but some people go to classes and learn though the government closed a lot of those in the 80’s when Thatcher rules.
Even the wealthy steal by  tax evasion and  I read that many need psychotherapy as they are very unhappy

Your skin glows like a green mussel shell in the Negev desert  in winter, blossoms white as the Burberry Mac in the purest rites of spring in Tel Aviv where I got my pen on eBay or Haifa
My yearning parts rise to your flute;s voice and leap like a  hot cat at the whisper of your name, Mary
The evening ascends  on a great strange blue string like a kite  going to heaven all alone
I am calmed by your  pink chiffon scarf that I carry into the house and hold next to my  sharp knife  to kill burglars
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of hot water with my hanky from Jenin refugee camp where I spent my spring holiday aiding the children
As my  heart  attacks  failed  to kill me it reminded me of  those walnuts  wasting in my trouser pocket
Don’t worry, they are no trouble to me st all, they are like  the marbles we used to play with
In the bush, I listen for the last  screams of the   cyclamen and the anemone
My heated yarn leaps  from my lips like nylon thread off a spool in a thunderstorm
I wait in the mystical moonlight for your secret codes so that we may  decode as one,  brain to brain
in search of the  vulgar and common country of love known to  the  illiterate and the wilder animals
Do not fear.I am a virgin at heart and I will not touch you unless you desire my love to be shown that way and I respect your  virtue otherwise I’d not bother writing all this stuff so poetic and newly revisee
We can go to the chip shop and then listen to THE FUTURE sung by the little Jew who wrote the Bible
Then we will cry all night because he seems to be right.
Well ,it was  nice while it lasted
Next time we might cross  the Jordan and ascend into heaven, God willing.Amen
That is the end of  prayers on  BBC Religion for Today

Some conmen walked into my home
And around it, they enjoyed a fine roam
Owing to my books on the bed
My clothes elsewhere spread
They stole just two mugs and a comb.

Actually, I have no jewellery or even a large TV set…. so unless they were intellectuals they would not have been impressed with the contents of the house.
Would they steal the Encarta English dictionary? Highly unlikely.The shorter Oxford?   The Cambridge  Companion to Sylvia Plath.Ted Hughes letters.[ not to me]
The best of Leonard Cohen? That might depress anyone even a thief!
My laptop is very old and I have only a relatively cheap radio.
Not what they hoped for.

It reminds me of an East Anglian landscape
This garden’s flat planes of grass give the illusion
Of greater distance, the eye travels down them
To the trees rising at the end.
On this scene my mind superimposes
Other ideas of summer days in hot places
In flat fields stretching on either
Side down to the sea.
My eye enjoys the shape, the flatness
The form, a symbol for so many other gardens
And summer journeys on unknown lanes
Across new landscapes, delighting in them,
In the space extending, and the trees
A gentle contradiction to the horizontal meadows.
In summer in recent years,what I remember
Is the sun across these long, flat shapes.
Looking at this small garden, I remember
So many things;my eye sees through
What is here,to far beyond
What has passed and what is to come
All  are contained here.

My love for him was so great, like a steak  waiting  for a plate.
My heart  opened while the dusk enveloped us.
The dark  night writes my dreams now he’s away
I recall now  he’s what Alexander McCall Smith calls,”late”

His mind of humour and wit
Were a wonder and sign of affection to me,
Now  his writing is all I see,
I guess that’s about it for now.See you later, pet.
Maybe

Read more about Poetry Generator: Create Your Own Poem by www2.poemofquotes.com

Pray Father, forgive me my blushing.I’ve got Wikileaks and a new obsession.
Tell me more, my child.
I think someone has been inside my computer.
They can’t be human beings
Why not , Father?
Well, we are not thin enough to get into the computer.
Ah, they turn themselves into particles and come in with the current
when it’s high tide.
Do you mean tied?
No, Father. I’ve not been reading that book.
Neither have I but in the confessional, I’ve heard it all.
And how does that make you feel?
Why pay to read a fantasy when you can dream up your own?
Some are born dim… others become dim…….
Well, any sins tonight.
I’m so sorry.I was planning to tell a lie but I forgot.
There’s a list of sins in the Missal…
Yes, I’ve not tried most of them yet… just got a pang of anger
when aa brick fell on my head.
That’s natural, my child.
Has a brick ever fallen on your head, Father.
Not yet but I’m only 97.
Wow, you look much older.Are you longing to diet?
Why, is there no food in heaven?
I wonder who cooks.
Maybe they live on manna.
Does God eat food?
That was one topic we never did in the cemetery.
Do you mean the seminary.
At my age , it’s all one.
You have reached Nirvana….congratulations.
Well.I’d prefer a cup of tea.
You English!
What are you?
I’m a great Dane.
Did you say a grey Dane.
That too.
Well perk up; the show’s not quite over till the gnat really sings.
Do gnats eat string?
String… it’s my passion.Love it or mate it…get involved.
Live a little.
And for your penance… you must have a bath…
Why?
I don’t like the way you smell.
Well, I am a dog.. we like a sniff.Can I borrow your hanky?
Definitely.
I’ll wash it for you.
Well, it’s not over till that gnat gets a swing!

,

The hunted caught  and shocked in  narrow trap
Like grave, new dug,  for victim  fearing  death
Who shrinks  and wildly looks for  any gap

Too anxious, quick, to rest or find a map
Aware of every sign of any wrath
The hunted caught  and shocked in  narrow trap

At least the chase is over, no escape.
Yet uncertain why she is the sacrifice
She shrinks and wildly looks for any gap.

In terror now her eyes roam all distraught
When dead she will  then need no one’s advice
The hunted caught  and frozen in this trap

Who’s the monster,  for whom she’s been caught?
Whose the sin and why this sacrifice?
She blindly, wildly looks for some safe space.

What the city, what the land unwise
Whose the God  who  needs such cruel demise
The hunted caught  and laid in  narrow  grave
Shivers  with closed eyes in  her last cage

The equation of the phallus and the pen
As if men put black ink inside their pants
Shows lack of insight , lack of real wisdom

When we write the words like insects come
Created by the heart and by the hand
Algebraic phallus  crawls by pen.

Is a women’s world a passive one
Expelling full grown foetus onto land…..
Showing vision, and the body’s own wisdom?

From creative seas,    the fluid senses come
Neither fighting nor enchanting on the strand
Unconfusing phallus and the pen.

Do men  really dip their organs as they run
To start a poem or fetishize an end;
What ,insight,? It’s confusing  mind and pun

Do we not have metaphors  to hand
We create  from the sensual all  unplanned
The equation of the phallus and the pen
Implies men do no work just let it come

I am a  Christian woman because sometimes Jesus swept.Though why no man imitated him is beyond me.
Mary Magdalen was the first chiropodist on record.She cried when she saw nails and annointed feet.
Mary Magdalen was not a tart.She was thinking about Quantum Mechanics and was not in touch with her body.Any money was invisible to her naked eye.
Peter portrayed Jesus and he’d never been to any art lessons.
Do you believe men stalked on water?I do.They have been like that since God created woman.Why can’t they do it once a  year like stags?
The apostles couldn’t catch fish as they didn’t darn their nets.Jesus sewed them and how.
The acts of the apostles would benefit  from  adding the reveries  and dreams the Apostles
Do you confuse Epistles and Apostles? Me, too.
St Paul was a great poet.He made it all up himself and he was  the first romantic poet according to A N Wilson
If I saw a burning bush I’d call the Fire Brigade.Does that explain the Death of God?
I’ve heard that still small voice.It’s my husband whispering in my ear.I hope!
I wonder if Jesus ever ate a sandwich.There are a few deserts  near the Holy Land
But they didn’t have sliced bread, of course.
Is it true they had no icecream at that time?Did they have Milk Tray.
I know the  Jews discovered God.That’s what Hitler didn’t like: The Ten Commandments.He wanted enforced Evolution  of a Master Race.Which turned out different from Natural Selection.Would you select him?God neither.
I just wonder why Hitler  lasted so long.Look at the Old Testament and see G-d there.Has he/she evolved too?
I  wish I could have been a code breaker.I was born too late despite being premature.
I’ve always been a bit rapider than thou.Hell or heaven? Let’s go slower.

The people of the Europe  changed by years
Of War and devastation blind, bizarre
Had  crops now fertilised by human corpse

The  soldiers buried but the Jews were charred
Their finer particles of ash sent far
To the people of the Europe  of the wars

What was imagined  with  minds so  dark, so warped
A human sacrifice no more deferred
The  crops well fertilised by human corpse

As they ate potatoes,  blind horror
The  atoms of  the Jews were there interred
The peoples of this Europe  after war

So we who  remain here are built  and scarred
By Jewishness unchosen , undeferred
The crops were fertilised by those abhorred.

On a scale so large it was then rare
We fertilised our food with humans pared
The people of the Europe after War
Ate their  food enriched by humans burned.,

I’m in deep now,never been this deep before
The world’s hollow like a shell and I’m out its door.
In so deep, the ocean has its own startled floor.
I’m down,down,down,never been so dark , so more

I can’t rightly tell how I got where I am
I think I had an accident,fell over,then I swam.
Sometimes it’s a loss, be times it’s a man.
I guess I only do it 'cos I know some folk can.

I don’t know if the joy is worth the pain
Would I choose to relive, if I was born again?
The deep joy is the amazing gain.
But the sorrow is  damn sad,let’s admit it plain.

I’m in deep and it’s over my head
What was I thinking of,when I fell  out of that bed?
I look up and  the sea’s so  turquoise like  that mist is red
When we get good and mad and wish some loon was dead.

At first, it was all just black,black pain
But from the bottom of the  well, I looked up with awed love again.
That’s when I recalled,feelings are deep and sane
Joy is much greater when we’re in the deep,deep zone.

I dunno if I’m  ever comin’ out.
We can’t control it,ain’t that what life’s all about?
I’ll never love with innocence again,nor not feel doubt.
But I’m no teapot and the devil ain’t got my spout.

I’m swimming and the ocean’s so   mysteriously bright
Down here we don’t have no day nor no night
Fish nudge me with  big grins  and teeth white
Sea flowers fondle me and whisper,turn off that light

A fluid gender, I heard someone  remark
Fuzzy logic has degrees of grey.
A fluid gender waiting in the dark?

A change of clothing, perfume, what a lark.
Fuzzy love is generous, by the way
A fluid gender’s nothing to remark

The currents of our energy can spark
Responses from the straight and from the gay
Who can deploy their sexual appetites?

The gap between the genders’s not  so stark
With  identity , we all might play
A fluid gender, who can craft remakes?

Who can say they’re certain they are right?
So many models look un peu distrait
Who has destroyed their total appetite?

The sins of murder, war and bomb parades
Are always with us, cold, sick and, depraved
Changing,fluid,  unworthy of remark
A fluid gender,  enjoyed in the dark.

In Bedzin and in Krakow they breathed in
What they denied in conscious thought or word,
The ashes of the Jews, the shades of skin

Penetrating lungs so deep within
The dead , unburied, mixed with air, endured,
In Bedzin and in Krakow, mortal sin.

The local people were their burial urns.
The human dust by  breathing was allured
The ashes of the lost, the shades of skin.

So  Europe took this human ash within.
A graveyard we became, disowned , impure.
In Bedzin and in Krakow, more of sin.

And who they thought destroyed  lived on in them
Played in their lungs, their hearts,  their minds uncured,
The ashes of the lost,  borne in their skin.

Like a Mass, Communion without words
We ate and breathed the Jews, the gays, unheard.
In Bedzin and in Krakow  we took in
The ashes of the lost,  their outstretched skin

Have you much to say, the axeman asked?
For people who must die will make  grand speech
As you must die there is no added risk.

I  now grieve for I’ve not done my best
My thoughts surpassed my actions in their reach
Have you more to say, the axeman asked?

Just to ask who else can do my tasks?
At these words, the axeman seemed to flinch
As we will die there is no further risk.

I cannot answer, for from speech I fast.
From  that, I  ponder if  you are a witch
Can you not hope for prayers, the axeman asked?

To tell us you are dumb, you speak at last.
The paradox has entered, logic squashed
As all will die, life has no further risks.

Wandering in my mind I meet the lost.
The Jews, Armenians, gypsies, turned to dust
The backward children, gays,  the angels flinch.
The matter of their death puts all at risk.

Anything to declare, they  bluntly asked
Gold or silver, drugs stuffed up your ass?
Just war, the shadow answered, that’s my task.

Do you believe a  just war  can exist?
You’ll find that out when you have let me pass
Anything  else,  they bluntly, coldly asked

No, nothing, you can search me if you must.
My declaration,  reason has surpassed
More wars, the figure ranted, that’s my task.

I declare the world is  done and bust
Though Jesus died and  we’ve just been to Mass
What did that do for Hitler, the guards asked?

What we choose has existential risk
As if we  live enclosed in walls of glass
Bombs, the figures chanted, they’re our task.

Shall we let these strange, black figures pass?
War is coming, guns and poison gas
Anything to declare,  the guards  just asked
Another war and starting it’s unjust

The shadows on our world converge just here.
Violent death has spread from battlegrounds
So all  of us must live unnerved by fear

War is not declared, the  process veered
Off the page and into minds unsound
The shadows on our world converge just here.

More people die from flu than bombs of spears
Why must humans honour death profound?
Most  of us shall live unnerved by fear

The boundaries collapsed like cardboard  tiers
The safety of  the home has quite unwound
So all  of us must live unnerved by fear.

We too inhabit worlds unlike those near.
Civil life now’s buried underground
Folk in  their private bubble , phone to ear

Both inside and without  the echoes sing
To   try to  measure  what is most  profound
The shadows on our world emerge  right here.
Where  our rulers  help us live in instant fear

Broad V.Howle
Parfery Coarse.
Emma Cockney.
Wolf Gange
Aceda Trump
Ibeate U Their..
Crimp Leanne Dress.
Ray Onne U.
Connie Servation
Conne Serva Tived
Sue Pearl A Teeve
Hugh Dare
Pat Mee.
Jane Grey.
Anne Onion.
Peter Wolf
Patta Wolf.
Simon Schnapps
Kate Mates.
Christ I.S. Mee.
Jesus Agen Dada
Jamie Poor-Rile
Inne Virtual Coma
Ina  Total Coma
Conned And- Cuffed
Ina  Town-Centre
Sinne Agog.
Mayne Street.
Waye Off
Pay Mee.
I McAllure.
Dale Wool.
Dark Hoarse
I McRubbish.
Ilova Hugh-Too.
Payne Agen
Black Smith.
Pale Stiff.
Dead Rite.
God Dess Forbidde
Kurt Ian Rails.
Watt Next
I.A- Next.
Rail Yard
Amme Nestie
Sweet Simple.
Accident Emergent.
Rhythm Methods.
Buster Sheath.
Watt Pill.
Torture  Torture Torture Torture Death
Contra Sceptic
I Am Calme
Ann Accident
Hugh A.Genn?
Ear Music