In a memoir about her lusty twins, she exclaims,
that her husband sought cruelty as a Christian
and willed masochism for people who disdained to be happy
or who desired happiness in love or other irritations of life .
which made many men sadistic
His gross interference was the undesirable rendition
of the untried prisoners in the Bay windows of the suburbs
It is easy to forsake all presumptions ;
Why a person would not sell you happy sentences is now history
Why we misread when it is seriously important to get it right
Flight must be seen as a genuine alternative to happiness;
For must we think that it was seriousness
that made human brains chilling ?
Or rollling stones to wither more moss?
One of the replays in which happiness
is paid to seem like an inclusive misrule
–she says,
In a word to the bland,
is our asserting that by cooperation
the flings that shatter most of us
must make us more unhappy,
That is how we show we got laid
Too many looks……
It’s as though one bird could imagined to be the owl of the moral perception.
Author: Katherine
Poetry writer and author
The post-truth era
The sad death of a teacher because asbestos is still common in British schools
Love shall be our song
English: Buttercup meadow The shorter creeping buttercups (Ranunculus repens) are most popular in this field however patches of the much taller meadow buttercup (Ranunculus acris) are abundant. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Underneath the deep sky,Johnny ,
You were the right one.
You were with me in the dark
When all the rest were gone.
When the trees grew their green leaves,
I’d love you all night long.
When the flowers filled up the cornfields
Love was the right song.
Poppies red.and linseed blue
Did decorate my dress.
You held me in your arms at night
While we our love confessed
Meadows filled with buttercups
Fill my inner eye.
I love the scent of minty leaves
When my mind is all awry.
I see the sun through closed eye lids
And rose scent’s in the air.
Wherever summer joy comes from….
We did had our share
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No man needs me now to sieve his beer.
Make a roux of melted butter,flour
Stir it round the pan without a pause
Then pour in the milk a glorious shower
And stir and stir to break up lumps and flaws
All at once the wheat cracks and up swells
The grainy sauce should looks like velvet smooth
This my secret pleasure I now tell.
For feeding men, my cooking ‘s a mere ruse.
For in exchange for macaroni cheese
They’ll gently pour me sherry and red wine
And so it suits us women to believe
That most men are unadept without crime
So now I’ve shared my secret knowledge here
No man needs me now to sieve his beer.
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A torrid love, a fatal unthought glance.
War starts when the rulers each believe
By spying,watching ,calculating chance
They ‘ll gain more wealth or land than now received
Can we humans give or get relief,
Or must we gain our damned revenge at once?
Will we gain more gold than now received?
The working men obediently deceived
Or took excessive joy from polished lance
They too from promised payments were bereaved
The leaders think that honour heals all grief
They see no more of trenches than a glance
They often gain more wealth than humble thieves
The soldiers who hang back are felled like leaves
The generals have that overbearing stance
They from final payments aren’t bereaved
An accident,a shot, unhappy chance;
A torrid love, a fatal unthought glance.
War can start when rulers force belief
They ‘ll take another’s goodness unbereaved
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But now post-truth we wander far from Troy
War and cities grew up hand in hand
This is a fact that pacifists all know.
Each city wanted others’ wealth and land
Excuses cited ,open doors were slammed.
To steal another’s goods made cities grow
War and cities grew up hand in hand
Criminal in truth were their commands
Strong and vicious acts were never slow
Each city wanted others’ wealth and land
Too, beauty in a woman made demands
The suitors gathered with her husband ‘s foes
War and cities grew up hand in hand
And science gained opponents’ libraries crammed.
This is how we stole what we now know
Each city wanted women,wealth and land
In modern times we made some rules for war
But now post-truth we wander around Troy
Warhorses and weapons new, undammed
As cities tried to steal the other’s wealth and land
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Jam tarts
My husband likes jam tarts and pies
He appeals to me with his blue eyes.
So I give in to desire
I am no liar
But sometimes I have screamed a white sigh.
My husband likes me to roast joints of beef
The gravy at first caused me grief
But now I’m a pro
And sauce is no more
An anxiety than reading a leaf.
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Caramel sauce for Xmas
If you can’t cook for yourself what do you need to know?
Margaret Drabble describes making macaroni cheese in one of her novels.Better to use Delia Smith’s cook books or a Jewish cookbook
Buy some pans and casserole dishes.
You can buy a cheese grater or use a mini food processor
Also you can buy an electric egg boiler… silly maybe but I have burned 7 pans in the last year!
0.Open a tin of soup.
1.Boil eggs
2.Boil/roast vegetables and baking /roasting potatoes
3.Make white or cheese sauce
4. Make a simple stew
5 Cook pasta and rice…. you can buy a sauce.
6.Grill bacon and sausages.You can get non=pork ones
7 Roast a joint of beef or lamb
You can buy yoghurts and fresh fruit in a shop or market for puddings.
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Don’t buy a cookbook:Basic recipes 1.cheese sauce
The red chair makes a holy space for dreams
A red chair decorates my sitting room
Coral red,as if from deep sea bed
My sweet poinsettia tolerates my gloom
I turn on radio 3 for Schubert’s themes
While this remains, he never will be dead
The red chair speaks salvation from our doom
To read of politicians and their schemes
Makes a noise like thunder in my head
My poinsettia aids me with post Brexit gloom
Yet is it right to shine a like a sunbeam
While refugees trudge silently ,unfed?
The red chair makes a holy space for dreams
The rich plot death and wealth by legal means
Jesus hangs alone forever, dead.
Do churches turn their vision from this scene?
I observe my loaves of seeded wholemeal bread.
While children of this world starve underfed
The chair I write from in my dreaming room,
With a red poinsettia, haunt my dreams
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The skill of creating poetry
- Read poetry: Too many young and new poets don’t read poetry. I get it. A lot of the poems you come across don’t grab your attention. The stuff you read in school was unwieldy. But if you look hard enough, you will discover good poetry that you will fall in love with. Go on a personal quest to find it. In order to grow as a writer, and especially as a poet, it’s imperative to familiarize yourself with the canon, which has already proven to resonate with readers. By seeking out established poets whose work you admire, you will build a roster of mentors. Try reading poems aloud. Keep a notebook or journal in which you can write your thoughts and responses to various works, and jot down your favorite excerpts. Bonus tip: you can also watch or listen to recorded or live poetry.
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Writing poetry-some tips
Mike Flemming
- Support poets and poetry by buying books and magazines that feature poetry.
- Write with honesty. Don’t back away from your thoughts or feelings. Express them!
- Don’t be afraid to experiment. Mix art and music with your poetry. Perform it and publish it.
- Eliminate all unnecessary words, phrases, and lines. Make every word count.
- Write a poem every single day.
- Read a poem every single day.
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I don’t want your sympathy
Please don’t be offended, but when I’m not feeling well I don’t want your sympathy. I know that I get depressed. But when someone is being sympathetic towards me it does feel rather like he o…
Source: I don’t want your sympathy
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Surreal
Word of the Year 2016
‘Surreal’ is our 2016 Word of the Year
Surreal is Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Year because it was looked up significantly more frequently by users in 2016 than it was in previous years, and because there were multiple occasions on which this word was the one clearly driving people to their dictionary.
Our largest spike in lookups for ‘surreal’ followed the U.S. presidential election in November.
There are essentially two kinds of high-volume lookups that we track: perennial words that are looked up day-in and day-out, and words that spike because of news events, politics, pop culture, or sports. By analyzing these spikes, we can get a sense as to what significant events sent people to the dictionary, and sometimes, what people think about those events.
Surreal had three major spikes in interest that were higher in volume and were sustained for longer periods of time than in past years. In March, the word was used in coverage of the Brussels terror attacks. Then, in July, we saw the word spike again: it was used in descriptions of the coup attempt in Turkey and in coverage of the terrorist attack in Nice. Finally, we saw the largest spike in lookups for surreal following the U.S. election in November.
We define surreal as “marked by the intense irrational reality of a dream.” We also give as its synonyms unbelievable and fantastic. It’s a relatively new word in English, and derives from surrealism, the artistic movement of the early 1900s that attempted to depict the unconscious mind in dreamlike ways as “above” or “beyond” reality. Surreal itself dates to the 1930s, and was first defined in a Merriam-Webster dictionary in 1967.
Surreal is often looked up spontaneously in moments of both tragedy and surprise, whether or not it is used in speech or writing. This is not surprising: we often search for just the right word to help us bring order to abstract thoughts, emotions, or reactions. Surreal seems to be, for 2016, such a word.
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He pinches me in bed
Mary was walking slowly down the street to catch the bus to town;it stopped just round the corner by a red maple tree ,She wore a teal 3/4 length coat with an orange pleated skirt just showing and some teal suede boots from Cooler.
Suddenly the bus went by as the driver did not see her.
Oh,well it’s only 15 minutes to wait, she lied to herself
At the bus stop she sat down by a pretty young woman dressed in the latest green puffa jacket ,tiger print top and skinny jeans
I love your teal coat,she told Mary thoughtlessly.
Thanks, so much, said Mary.I see you like lovely colour too.Do you live near here?
Yes,I am called Susan, the mature yet girlish woman replied.I got married 6 months ago and we got a dear little flat in that new block.Are you married?
My husband decided to move to heaven,Mary told her softly.He was 118.
Maybe you can help me as you are more experienced, Susan said,biting her lips which were coated in orange lipstick by the House of Lairds and Lauders.
My husband was very kind when wooing me,but since we got married he has changed.
Oh,dear,Mary sighed.
I wrote poems before we got married.He said he loved them but now he criticises anything I write quite viciously.It began right after our honeymoon.He tells me I am probably below average in intelligence.
Did he get you to take a test? Mary asked curiously
No, he says he can tell just by looking at me, the dear woman responded tearfully
What a shame he has changed like this.It seems to me he must be insecure and is trying to lord it over you.
And do you write for a living? asked Mary.
No,said Susan,I work at Mensa headquarters devising new IQ tests,Her green eyes were full of unshed tears.
It’s a bit boring really.I’d rather study quantum theory or music.
There you are said Mary.Though I think IQ tests are not that good,if you write them you must be way above average
The thing is, you being so bright, he cannot bear the comparison.Or can one even know someone is more intelligent than yourself?
He also pinches me in bed and bites my ears before hitting me with a pillow and sucking my toes.
He sounds like an animal,Mary cried.Have you not complained?
No,said Susan.I will keep imagining he’ll get better in his manners after a few months.Shall I bite him back,do you think?
No, he may get even worse.I think you should consider that biting people and pinching them are criminal offences if the person is unwilling.Some people might enjoy it, but it seems as if he is cruel in his words too
I am puzzled.Susan said.He was so charming while we were engaged.And I still love him.He worshipped me and adored me before.Now he hides that side of himself.
If I were you I’d leave him and buy a cat.He is cruel,unkind and dominating and even says rude things about your poetry instead of helping you with positive criticism.But don’t take my word.Go to Relate.See if he will come with you.
If he has had bad times growing up he might be afraid of real intimacy.Or he feels he owns you.Do you want him to be the father of your childen
No,thank you,said Susan.That clarifies things
You can rent my spare room if need be,Mary replied.I am happy to share the kitchen within reason.And I have two toilets.
Wow, that’so kind of you, Susan said.Here’s the bus.Her face looked less pale.
What a lot to tell me, Mary told Emile when she got home.Stan was never cruel but some women found him too intelligent and preferred a dimmer, more foolish kind of man,
Mioaw, cried Emile.I want a pilchard for my dinner.I want Susan here near me.I want to sleep by her in my basket.
And so say all of us.
Alas, the basket is too small for all my readers.We must fantasise!
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Can we become virtuous by exercising our will?
I’m writing a column on morals in the Haily Mail
Is that Catholic?
It certainly caters for all.
So what do you know about morals?
There’s usually a moral in a story so maybe I’ll do it metaphorically.
Quicker to come straight out with it.
That’s once you know what it is
Well,by now you ought to.
There,see, you assume that being old means we have developed some morals or at least ideas about them.
So the old are more moral?
It depends if knowing is enough.
In fact it’s not,is it?
Can we be virtuous by exercising our will?
Or our won’t?
I don’t think so except in a negative way.By avoiding places or people who lead you into sin
That’s not as simple as it appears.
Why not?
Because in our human fashion we believe priests,vicars,rabbis or Popes are good people.So we mix with them freely.Yet is that not the disguise that Satan would adopt?
Yes, one might be better off mixing with prostitutes and thieves as at least you know what they might offer you.
Well sex workers are not immoral.
Because in our system some women can’t earn enough?
Some high class tarts might enjoy it being taken to the best clubs,theatres and so on. I’m merely recalling an old Morse story.But the other ones must be afraid and might be in pain.
Thieves might break the law but that may not be a sin.
That’s a relief,I just stole a breath!
Only God knows whether a bad tempered old codger who kicks the dog is sinful or merely being too wise to kick his wife.
And what is legal may be a sin.Like dodging tax when we are all suffering from the cuts to the NHS.
Everything is upside down.The low and the petty criminals may be quite holy and the priests and rabbis may be wicked,at least a good many may be
Yes, it’s wise to be on your guard with those who frequently mention their religion,God, the Bible, and so on.For the good do their works in secret.And no not boast of it.After all,what are their motives?
I’ve had a few knocks from the religious here on the Web but the lowly have never harmed me.And I hope I’ve not harmed them.
Amen
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Rabbi Lionel Blue just died
“He never pretended that life was easy, or that religion solved everything; instead, he shared his own failings and foibles, and showed how to get through the rest of the day.
“Through the popularity of his broadcasts and books, he made rabbis more human, Judaism more understandable, and faith in general more user-friendly.
“It was a tribute to the way he bridged religious differences that it was often quipped that Rabbi Blue would have been a wonderful choice as the next archbishop of Canterbury.
“Without doubt, Lionel Blue was God’s best PR man in Britain.”
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This is so funny.A nightclub bouncer!
One of Israel’s most outspokenly hawkish and divisive political figures, the ultranationalist politician Avigdor Lieberman, has been offered the post of defence minister.
Lieberman, a former nightclub bouncer from Moldova with little military experience, has advocated for policies including the bombing of Egypt’s Aswan dam.
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Flying out:Transitions
I know now that's how death will come,
Suddenly flying into another orbit
when you are photographing flowers.
It's not a gentle transition.
No-one will know where you've gone.
One step wrong and you're.
off the high wire
And plunging into the no safety net.
Flying for a while;
Jumping into hyperspace,spinning electrons
Startle your grey eyes.
Transiting the new black sun
You're on a double gold helix,
Spider on your web,
Knitting furiously
Into the future heaven on gossamer wings.
Butterfly goodbye,I'm off to see the stars.
And the black holes.Noone will come with me.
I'm shaking off,evaporating into mist.
I'm a flying saucer on a circus mission.
I can't say no to a new invitation.
Make it fast and break with tradition.
Time is passing smoothly till that break
In the music,I've been transmuted into a different key
someone else will play me on their violin
I'm a tune,
I'm a thought,
I'm a whisper in your vision.
Goodbye,darling.I'm under orders
Ready to leave for my performance
On the electric carpet.
Death dancing to a tune on a violoncello,
Arpeggionne sonata
i'm playing your words upside down
In a new foreign translation,
Accompanied by solo artists,ice cracking
I'm going in.It's too sudden.
I'm flying.
Spinning faster to amuse the clowns,
too many ups and no downs.
I'm going right out of orbit
I've broken the pull of gravity,
And fly with pure equanimity
Into my future life,
I'm off at some moment,
An instant ,a crack,a loud smack.
That was me passing.
How/Why I wrote this.
I wrote this the week of the terrible riots in 2011 after I fell down some steps.
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Get started with free verse
Photo by Mike Flemming 2016.Copyright
http://www.webexhibits.org/poetry/explore_famous_free_make.html
First things first.
At first glance, free verse is one of the easiest forms of poetry to write. It certainly is among the most enjoyable and free-flowing. You just sit down and throw your soul and observations onto a piece of paper, breaking lines at random…right?
Not so fast. Like the practice of freedom itself, free verse can be challenging. The key is to correlate the rhythm of your subject with the rhythm of your natural voice. A natural poetic voice is lyrical and metrical, with accents and pauses that are as prevalent as those written into the strictest of classic verse forms. While the cadence, line counts, stanzas, and syllables per line are not mandated by tradition, the actual presentation of the poem is deliberate.
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I shall be renewed
When seven years come round again My self is liquified. My skin becomes a holding shell For my old self has died. As I dissolve I feel great fear And yet I trust my soul. So in the sea I lose my form, And with the waves I roll. I am at one with all the world, And yet I am nothing. My inner waters rise and fall What will the high tide bring? After my drowning I shall rise And I shall be renewed. I must submit to that strange Life With which I am imbued. I am not mistress of myself, I am this moment’s flower. In the deep waters I must trust To take me to the shore. Oh hang my arms with grasses green And dissolve me in your sea. Thus when the time comes for rebirth Regenerated I shall be.
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My family in NZ
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After spelling Drumpf wrong[ly] I got invited to meet Putin
After writing my blog for 7 years I got a comment.It was a spelling corrosion.
After inventinb a dislike button I received 58 in one day.Then it went up exponentially.And I should know because that’s how I taught maths
After writing 10 sonnets I was expunged from the records at my alma mater
After writing a brief article on grammar I was reported as a criminal in the press.
After spelling Drumpf wrong[ly] I got invited to meet Putin
After watching Robin Williams on TV I could eat nothing for an hour.
After trying to imitate him I got arrested.They put me on lithium for a week.What good is a week? I’d rather be put into a comma in a novel called Insulin for beginners.I wrote it myself by hand.I can’t read it as yet.A comma is a rest isn’t it?
After losing my wits I was called a foreigner and they are thowing me over the Wall when they have built it.
We had the Berlin wall once.Now that was a real wall with real soldiers.Take that Schrumptf.
Ar school they said I should use invented commas.What the bleedin’ hell are they?It’s a school.You don’t go to school to invent.You go to be orderered about and bullied and now it is £10,000 a year from age 11.What the f*ck do they want our money for?They can create it
And so I breed you farewell,my hint of readers
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Her lies were enough to pleat steel.
Her expression made the tinfoil crumple all alone
Her lies were enough to pleat steel.
Her tone was enough to cut a hard-boiled man in half with no effort
Her gaze combined lust and seductiveness with a Nero-like cruelty dampened only by the rain hitting her bare shoulders
Her washing up was so noisy she gave the mice migraine.
She only washed her bra once a year as the odour tempted men even as her glare terrified them in that attractive manner known only to boa constrictors
Her singing attracted fifty tom cats to the backdoor.
Her anger was so powerful she used it to run the electricity for the whole town.
Her pastry was so delicious nobody tasted the cyanide.
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New Zealand
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Turn off the TV, calm down and stop trying to convert people to your religion.The Pope!
Pope Francis issues top 10 tips for happiness
The Pope also says people should turn off the TV at mealtimes
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A wail down below
She heard a wail between her legs.She had given birth.She had no idea what caused it but it was very intriguing.He was human.And it was so simple.
His lies were enough to make sackcloth pleat.
He was a born denier.He could fake any commotion and lie with emotion
He was an actor,you see.Or not
Why not break the maths off and leave the arrest to me? It doesn’t make sins!
How about some data? We could correlate.Or is it co-relate?
Don’t tease the hens.They are laid up already
She made her step black with boot polish so the carpets have foot prints.Very a la mode.But what a mood she was in.He meted out her punishment.A cup of tea!Next time paint it, he said.There’s no next time she said as she ran away with the postman.And the tea
Take care of your rioting? No,take the cat for the ironing.But why? Because he’s bored stiff and lying flat.
How about a bike pump?That will do the trick and get him rowing .but there’s no water.Well have an argument then
To make me alive is not my job.I’ll take it from there.
Stroke the cat strongly weekly or weakly daily.
Fake it from me.I love you with all my parts.Eros had darts.
Take it to the gimlet or is it the hamlet? For sighing out proud,ask someone. Is Shakespeare here? If not,take Ben Johnson.
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It’s a dilemma, to be sure.
Dilemma Examples from Literature
Example 1
In the play Hamlet, William Shakespeare’s leading character, Hamlet, struggles with his dilemma how could he carry out the orders of his father’s ghost to kill his stepfather to exact revenge because he married to his mother, and usurped the throne of his father. Ophelia also faces dilemma in the play, as her brother and father believes that Hamlet is not faithful to her, and would rather use her, whereas her heart is convinced that Hamlet loves her. Both of them could not reconcile to the situation following this ethical dilemma they got entangled in.
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Ad hominem,eh?Why couldn’t the Romans speak English like us? They are foreigners!
http://literarydevices.net/ad-hominem/
Functions of Ad Hominem
A writer’s background is considered to be a very important factor when it comes to judging his work. A book written on a particular subject in history will be perceived differently keeping in view the background of the author. Therefore, it is important to understand that a writer’s traits and circumstances have a pivotal role to play in his feelings, thinking and the construction of his arguments.
To put it simply, the considerations regarding the use of ad hominem can explain certain arguments and the motives behind them better. Nevertheless, such considerations are not enough on their own to evaluate an individual’s opinion and are certainly not sufficient to disregard them as false or invalid. The fact is that ad hominem is a kind of fallacy that leaves a great impression on the audience’s mind. It is an argumentative flaw that is hard to spot in our daily life. Although, the personal attack that has been made on the opponent might not even have a speck of truth in it, it somehow makes the audience biased. Ironically, despite being flawed, ad hominem has an amazing power of persuasion.
The worst thing about using ad hominem purposely is that an opponent insults you publicly. Whenever this happens to you, you must recover from the humiliation and then point out the false connection in the argument, which was used a trap for the audience. Moreover, the dilemma with ad hominem is that once it has been used against you it smears your reputation. Once somebody makes such a judgmental argument about you, the audience instead of evaluating it on logical grounds take it to be true.
