Rosa Benchez almost gives a lecture

 

 

Professor Rosa Benchez was in the staff-room at Mid-Rise-Jeans University collecting her mail and having coffee at 9.30  am on Monday morning after running 10 miles on her rowing machine.It rowed and she ran
How are you,Rosa? enquired Danny her  friend and colleague in the  School of Learning.
I’m feeling  extremely insignificant  today? she replied.I am giving a lecture on Semiotics and it’s those French people who use such idiotically complicated language.We all know that an object like a bird has to have a name before we can talk about it.
Well.,said Danny, I thought you’d just say,”In the pink” as  usual to my greeting,  so you must feel bad.Does each bird have to have its own name,he continued wonderingly?
Well,it depends on the context, she informed him  coolly and enigmatically.
First,if we are looking at birds as a class or set, they just need a name like “bird”.It could have been anything bit somehow it was” bird” that occurred like x  is used in algebra.We may just study one bird then we give it a number to identify it.That is its name
Danny gazed at her  beautiful bosom under her semi-transparent  pink blouse.Did  she dress like that on purpose  to provoke men or did she feel so insignificant that she didn’t realise anyone could see her purple  lace bra  and her green silk and wool thermal  vest with matching briefs, though fortunately they were invisible
Danny,I’m talking to you, she called sympathetically.Why are you quiet?
I dunno, the world  famous biologist replied.Maybe I am not quite here today.
You too,she murmured quietly ,like the stream in Little Walsingham by the ruined  Abbey.
Are you anxious about your lectures,she enquired softly and caringly?
No, not really ,he said tearing his eyes away from her  revealing clothing.
Is there a biological reason  why a scholar like Rosa would wear this unusually exciting outfit.
The truth was more mundane.Rosa bought her clothes in Sales and was indifferent to  the way men might feel seeing her like this.After all,did she notice if they wore  deep purple underpants that showed above their low rise jeans  or gold coins on a chain with matching earrings?
She only  looked at their faces while they naturally were drawn  to see what amazing  and colourful outfit she was wearing that day. and  what her lingeries looked like.
What did her partner feel?Had he left her for a woman who dressed in  thick beige  blouses and stockings with grey skirts?
To dress well takes time and Rosa did not give it enough although so far she had not lectured in a  string bikini nor an evening dress she had  found in  a jumble sale
These French people have made a fortune by re-labelling well know things  like birds as “signified”  and the word “bird” as a sign!
It reminded her of a sociologist who  got a large grant to see if women were more scared walking under a railway bridge at night if there were no streetlight there
The conclusion seems obvious.And that was what they proved “scientifically”
Statistics,numbers, that’s what journals want.
She went to her lecture room and turned on the lights.Eighty students gazed at her happily.She was the kindest and cleverest lecturer in the place.Take that how you will.
Now, she informed them,I  put 30 handouts in Dr Bevan-Finnish’s drawer  for the seminar but someone has stolen them, she said menacingly.I write these handouts and if they do not appear by noon ,nobody will get another one for the entire semester
With that, she turned to the blackboard and defined ” the signifier”
Well,it’s better than taking the insides out of chickens  on a conveyor belt she thought silently as she moaned on while the students took notes.
After lunch Rosa was in the staff room talking to some women  colleagues when Dr Bevan -Finnish came over,blushing dark  red as he approached.He said the handouts were back
Why  is he so shy, Rosa asked herself,not realising it was her outfit that provoked his blushes.And that is a very important thing to remember… whoever we are with  affects us so a bold man like Bevan-Finnish seemed shy when with Rosa whereas with another more sensibly dressed  woman he was quite at ease.
There may be a few men who are not affected this way but not many otherwise the human race would die out and then where would we be?Nowhere!
What a pity nobody tells a lady like Rosa the facts of life so   she goes about causing sinful longings in her colleagues quite oblivious.Even some of the women were getting affected but nobody dared to tell her.At least it drew  students  to her lectures and who knows, they might have learned some Linguistics as well.And it kept them off the streets.Which streets nobody knows.Yet!

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Nemesis

October 14, 2016
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noun NEM-uh-siss

Definition

1 a : one that inflicts retribution or vengeance

b : a formidable and usually victorious rival or opponent

2 a : an act or effect of retribution

b : a source of harm or ruin : curse

Examples

“My nemesis was a young woman who, at the end of the film, had the honour of sending me to my doom at the bottom of a well. Her name meant nothing to me then: Jennifer Aniston.” — Warwick Davis, Dailymail.com, 10 Apr. 2010

“The leaves were pale … and, upon closer inspection, the stems had small nibble marks on them. I immediately suspected slugs since they’ve been my nemesis in the past so I sprang into action.” — Susan Mulvihill, The Spokesman Review (Spokane, Washington), 21 Aug. 2016



Did You Know?

Nemesis was the Greek goddess of vengeance, a deity who doled out rewards for noble acts and punishment for evil ones. The Greeks believed that Nemesis didn’t always punish an offender immediately but might wait generations to avenge a crime. In English, nemesis originally referred to someone who brought a just retribution, but nowadays people are more likely to see animosity than justice in the actions of a nemesis.

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Parting

You then revealed the face within your face
Tender,gentle, vulnerable and kind
Yet rarely do you feel secure or safe
Outside the sacred space of your own mind.

The look  eludes  the words  that might   describe
So rare  to let another see  our soul.
And when we ask,  the vulnerable defy
Sacred is the place  and high the toll

With pathos in your eyes, you went away
I  was standing on the platform by the train.
Unmoving,still,  I stood in silent prayer
As if you were near death and all was vain.

We hide ourselves  in fear of  wounds too deep,
Yet, all alone, the price may be too steep

 

 

A fear of tragic pasts feared imminent

You revealed the face within your face
Human,lonely,humbler than the ant
The pathos in your  eyes  made sad my gaze

The other  face,  phlegmatic, has no grace
With it ,you  appear  quite confident.
Yet you revealed to me  your  hidden face

I know now of the suffering of your days
A fear of tragic pasts  feared imminent
The pathos in your  eyes  made sad my gaze

The Lord says you’re his lamb and gives you grace.
Yet you must hide from men intolerant
You revealed the face within your face

Like Jesus, you were scourged and in disgrace
You   wandered feebly like  itinerants
The pathos in your  eyes  makes sad my  days

If God exists then would he not embrace
The lost, the lonely, even the vagrant?
You revealed the face within your face
The pathos in your  eyes  made  men seem base.

Addicted

I now spend all day trying to compose a message for my answering machine.I have become addicted to it as my voice sounds so lovely.In the end, I revert to the default one which is a man with no accent.After that, a lady thanks you for phoning.I am unsure why.I’d prefer    to thank all those shops and insurance companies for not phoning me not to mention some of my former colleagues, the London Mathematical Society ,those  poor students I once taught at  a premier university ,[sounds like football]The Pope,The Archbishop, the  Chief Rabbi and  the Mormons.And Donald  Trump….and all the  other people I taught but no longer wish to remind myself  of.And if you want to marry me I do not play dumb.I never was good at acting.Moreover, women do not enjoy scrubbing your hankies and  ironing your underpants.You see, they did not teach that at University.Strange,isn’t it?After all, we were in an all women’s  college.
I accept men don’t enjoy driving on the Underground or killing pigs.What’s the answer? An ex blogger used to say he ate as much meat as he could.But would he kill the animals?I think not.I only eat  potatoes now as I am almost Irish.My bones are Celtic except for my skull which is Scandinavian.I bet you’d never have guessed that  from my writing.We have long heads and also we take a large size in hats.So ” one size fits all” is not true.Why do they lie? I think paranolia is arriving so I am leaving

Semiotics:a sign has two parts

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 http://visual-memory.co.uk/daniel/Documents/S4B/sem02.html

 

A sign consists of the  signified and the signifier.If what is signified is love,the signifier may vary … it can be a  “x “.a bunch of flowers, a poem.Of course it may be misunderstood if two people come from different cultures/countries  or even different parts of the same country with maybe a different form of Christianity,with an atheistic family etcSome people tend to see a meaning in an act or word that was not intended…if carried too far it can lead to paranoia…I can imagine writing a funny play based on such confusion

Give me your hands

 

I can’t love you
without loving the whole world too.
I can’t open my heart
unless everyone can be part

Wait for me.
I’m not afraid.
Wait for me.
I may be delayed.
I see you in my mind
Smiling, sad and kind.
I can’t love you
Unless I love the lost too.
Give me your hands
Outstretched across the  strands
We’re all one.
Life has begun

Don’t allow your seriously ill /dying relative to be sent a rehab centre

 I found this  journal  entry by accident. The place  I don’t name is meant for people recovering from hip replacements who need rehab.
My husband had severe heart failure.When you have this your lungs and other organs get filled with fluid.You don’t feel hungry.You lose weight and look like people starving in places I am not going to mention
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 Saturday May 30th  2015 North London

  • My husband is still alive.When I went [ to M Unit  in St M’s  once a hospital ]on Thursday he was having a severe prolonged asthma attack.coughing up some sticky sputum and rolling about wildly in  his bed.Apparently they were lying when they said they had the asthma medication in stock so he had not had his preventative spray for 2 nights and one morning.He looked dreadful.They had the spray you use when having an attack but nobody gave it to him.They said he was ok when a doctor had visited in the morning.I did not know that there was no doctor on site.It was a GP-led unit bit is now nurse -led.Say no more.Cheap place to toss  the old

    It is not a hospital but rehabilitation centre.. do you need rehab to get to heaven?
    They could not call a doctor until after 6.30 pm when they could get the emergency out of hours service we get by calling 111.No doctor locally could be called.. why not?I have no idea.They must be the only people in the UK who cannot call a doctor out urgently even when someone is 2 days from death
    As I was going to bed at 11 pm the phone rang and a woman asked for me.I thought it must mean he was going to die  soon but she wanted to know when he last had a chest X ray.Why had they not rung the surgery we go to?
    I don’t know by heart the dates of his various tests but of what use would it be? Can you imagine my night?
    He was not dying right  then, they just wanted me to know a doctor had just arrived 8.5 hours after he had suffered the severe bout of asthma.He now has a chest infection acquired after only 24 hours in the place.
    They blamed me for his not eating because I had not brought his dentures [which he had lost] Heart failure is called the wasting disease
    I found the dentures in a book case and took a cab round,told the Sister and gave him the top ones to put in.
    Shortly he turned red and his throat began to rattle loudly;he gasped for air.He had swallowed the denture
    Philip ran round the bed and managed to open his mouth and get his finger in to grab the denture.
    Shortly the Sister and a nurse  came down…. he was still a funny colour and had eaten little.She then whispered to the nurse,get him down for a soft diet.
    He had been given a so called Jacket potato with some cheese when they knew he had no dentures….. what  were  they playing at.?
    One nurse was in the garden on her mobile and two others chatting in the office.I noticed the man opposite had fallen half out of bed so I ran into the corridor and shouted for help.
    As I was leaving, fortified by a biscuit I had found, I saw an alarm flashing for bathroom 4 but nobody was reacting.They say I am too anxious about him and I should stay here  at home and watch TV.I rarely do that normally
    Don’t medics know anxiety maybe appropriate?

    Call this respite? Just buy me a gun!
    ….
    Either I am mad or they are all mad.
    [He died peacefully in A and E on  June 1st 2015 , less than 2 days after I wrote this,surrounded by caring nurses and some friends.I sang to him and he smiled at me.Then he went.The hospital could not have been better.He should have been there earlier.What care, what love the nurses showed]

One consolation proportionate to his affliction;

“With regard to the sharpest and most melting sorrow, that which arises from the loss of those whom we have loved with tenderness, it may be observed, that friendship between mortals can be contracted on no other terms than that one must some time mourn for the other’s death: and this grief will always yield to the survivor one consolation proportionate to his affliction; for the pain, whatever it be, that he himself feels, his friend has escaped.”
– Dr Samuel Johnson

Ribald stories

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A spaniel in the lion’s den.
Samsung and  Delilah.
The garden of weeding
The pen commands it.
Roses ruined the concert by  roaming 40 times
Wash your clothes in  an Oasis?
Babraham and wise cracks
Was Jesus  retired?
A camel has nowhere for me to thread  it.
The pleading of the faux thousand
St Paul  had a few wits.
Lazarus was well  read before Jesus snatched his book off him
Salvation is a new face cream

As if my heart’s been stung by monstrous bees

 

I wish to live despite my love has died

And I have nothing but a cat to feed and stroke.

In memory, my love will long abide

Though as I write I feel my spring has broke.

My grammar and my spelling are perverse

I used to make religion out of these.

But now I feel that life is getting worse.

As if my heart’s been stung by monstrous bees

In such a state my words may get confused

My sentences are senseless as they’re writ

And as for syntax, it is now abused

As round this room the ghosts of lovers flit.

My grammar is not perfect yet it be

Sad ,I can say just the same of me

I have seen the face within your face

I have seen the face within your face
Humbled ,showing pain which  rent my heart
I have  felt the ache of your disgrace

You felt  worthless like a worm misplaced
Your heart was struck too  keenly by sharp darts
I  have seen  lthe face within your face

A child  whom no one  even once embraced
Your reticence and silence played its part
I have   shared the ache of your disgrace

A  bullied child who came last in the race
I  condemn men  blind , who had no heart
I have seen the  pain   hid deep inside your face

Then your  mask slid into  its  old place
You  caught the train  and re-lived this same hurt
I have   shared the ache of your disgrace

I hate the  people proud  but, to me ,base.
Who made your  soul and all your being smart
I have seen the face within your face
I have  known the ache of your disgrace

Goodness me

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Mary had soon spotted her 98 year old frail yet virile husband Stan; he was across the road talking to a young ,blonde and buxom woman
Mary ran over the road in front of all the traffic as she was terrified of Stan getting another mistress.
Hi,I am Mary, she said proudly
I am called Sabrina.I’m a mathematician too, over for a year from Babylon University  the USA
Why,hello,Sabrina.Stan loves clever women… and in your case,you also have great beauty,she said honestly but enviously
Hi Mary,Stan told me you were out buying some vaseline in the pharmacy down the other end of the town.He invited me to coffee.
Oh,damn,I must have had a senior moment.It was that Jazz Band that distracted me.I forgot about that Vaseline.
Come on,ladies,said Stan as he led them into a brand new coffee shop staffed by delightful smiling Turkish people.He ordered three cappuccinos plus some milk for Emile who was in his backpack.
They sat down by the windows and gazed at the folk passing by in some rather unusual clothing.Emile was sad there were no other cats around
Sabrina was  wearing a short pink velvet dress on her curvaceous body and green high heeled shoes on her dainty feet.
Do you find wearing velvet is very warm in the summer?,asked Mary.She was wearing a long cotton dress and some flat  open toed  pink sandals from Hotters.
Well,it’s cotton velvet,Sabrina told her.Most is polyester now.I made this myself.I enjoy sewing.
I have never learned to sew,Mary told her nervously.I was afraid of the electric sewing machine at school and my mum was very impatient. Still,it’s probably cheaper nowadays to buy your clothes ready made.
Soon the women were engrossed in a discussion of their favourite fashion shops and styles; colours and shapes.occasions and casual clothing
I like a pure new wool coat in winter,said Mary.I find down filled coats seem to make me perspire too much or even feel faint if I am in a Department Store.
Anyway,it’s my face which sweats.I can’t put antiperspirant there…
No,it is likely to give you a rash and anyway the body needs to sweat to get rid of toxins,Sabrina informed her scientifically yet charmingly.
I don’t mind sweating lower down, like on my legs,Mary said.
But it’s embarrassing giving a lecture on why “e” is not  an algebraic number with rivulets of water running down my face washing off my foundation cream and powder..though do the students notice?
Yes,that is a real problem,Sabrina said wisely.I never knew anyone still wore powder.I like creme de mousse foundation myself.Natural beige suits most women of our colouring though rose beige is good too.Do you wear lipstick at work?
Meanwhile ,Stan sat and gazed pensively at Emile……..he rolled his eyes and Emile smiled in his cat manner; that is,he grinned.
I came here to talk naughtily and sexily to sweet Sabrina,not to listen to both women discussing sweat and antiperspirants.,Stan continued.
Well,life is what happens when we are busy washing out our pans,Emile told him pointedly
I don’t think that is quite right,said Stan. And I have already washed all the pans and hoovered the ceilings…
Well,you see, much of life is out of our control.That’s why people like to take the Bible literally.They prefer to think End Times are here than to realise life is always changeable and unpredictable.Anything seems better than uncertainty or doubt.Yet see  how it creeps back  even in physics!
How have you found teaching topology,Mary asked Sabrina.Do you like drawing diagrams of doughnuts?
I find it’s more fun than teaching logarithms,she continued,and exponentials… some people find that a tough topic,
Yes,I love teaching topology… and functional analysis.Even  quantum theory can be fun
Blimey, thought Stan, this is even worse than sweat and antiperspirants.I hate maths.Why did I ever marry Mary?She seemed so beautiful and deferentially shy then.
I use lily of the valley soap,he cried,interrupting the ladies.
Why,are you going  gay? asked Sabrina with great and unusual  interest.
No,I just use whatever Mary is using.I have no choice.She liked it
Why don’t you buy him some soap smelling of parsley,she asked Mary.Or can he not buy some himself?
Why, can you get that? Mary responded.Coal tar is one we tried but he hates it…I think for men there’s not a lot of choice.
But,Sabrina cried,A man smelling of lilies of the valley might cause a disturbance,even a riot in a small town like this.And would he like that?
Why should women have all the lovely smells and men smell of coal tar and smoke?Stan asked.Men like flowers too,you know.
The ladies looked at him with wonder as they sipped their lovely  large cappuccinos.
I never thought of that before,Mary said dreamily
Neither did I,Sabrina added.. this is not related to my work but my fiance is a psychologist and he’d like to know about it.
Alright,ladies… time to go.Emile needs his dinner.So off they went all wrapped in their thoughts like feathers stuck inside a fluffy pillow on a big bed.
Not what anyone had expected…but change is good for us,surely? Now we can wonder what sort of soap Dave,the delightful paramedic wears.. and does he use a 48 hour deodorant..?
Please wait calmly as excitement wears people out.I am not responsible if you fall over your own feet after reading this; do not break your crown for any reason.
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The books as heard by toddlers

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St Sprawls e-whistles
Bitter to the Fallopians
St Quark’s Nostril
St Hath You ‘s Hostel
St Look in Borstal
St Ron’s curds.
St Belle Rang
The End of the Curled is next week
Farmer Weddin’ tomorrow
Rodham and Gomorrha.
The Whore to  rend all  oars
The Lard is  high.
They are waiting for e-partitions
Pardon the angels from  leaving so white.
Full in the haunting parts of Home
Little Yeahs , who  tweaked the files? This journey may  attract beguile

What children hear

  1. tree-of-life
  2. St  Ungracious
    St  Hairy Jaguar Len
    St Brawl  the Narcoleptic
    St Bleater of Roam
    St Ron  the divided
    St Winces and the words
    St Ratherwin of Vienna
    St Disgusting  the Hippo
    St Please Her of Vanilla
    St One of the Cross
    Little Saint please her.
    St Mark off the wall
    St One  All the drawer

I will taste divine

Make my heart into a cottage pie.
Already it is minced and lies estranged
My enemies insult me with their lies
And my last will and testament is made.

An onion and a carrot chopped up fine,
Saute with these my heart till all are gold
With herbs and spices, I will taste divine
A mashed potato will a rooftop mould.

Do not forget my blood to use as sauce
Though now it’s cold, with garlic make it boil.
For what is gravy but the blood of choice
With sliced onion in ethereal olive oil?

O foes and devils eat me and you’ll be
Transformed into this self, your enemy

Phlegmatic


Definition

1 : resembling, consisting of, or producing the humor phlegm

2 : having or showing a slow and stolid temperament

Examples

“She said ‘Good morning, Miss,’ in her usual phlegmatic and brief manner; and taking up another ring and more tape, went on with her sewing.” — Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre, 1847

“You are aware of the finality of fate, and tend to have a phlegmatic and sometimes unhappy compromise with your life, even when you long for a definitive resolution.” — Molly Shea, The New York Post, 31 Aug. 2016


Did You Know?

According to the ancient Greeks, human personalities were controlled by four bodily fluids or semifluids called humors: blood, black bile, yellow bile, and phlegm. Each humor was associated with one of the four basic elements: air, earth, fire, and water. Phlegm was paired with water—the cold, moist element—and it was believed to impart the cool, calm, unemotional personality we now call the “phlegmatic type.” That’s a bit odd, given that the term derives from the Greek phlegma, which literally means “flame,” perhaps a reflection of the inflammation that colds and flus often bring.

Of two lovers,one’s forlorn,

On England’s hills and dales ,we roamed
Up   tall mountains we did climb.
Now the Lord has taken you home.
I wish it were my  time

Will I never see your smile
On  pale and sandy shores.?
How you loved and for a while
You unlocked my door.

Then your heart was worn away
When you saw my scars.
But they say one coming day
There’ll be no more wars.

Even in our human form
Alien life can grow.
Of two lovers,one’s forlorn,
And it shall be so.

I would not wish to go the first,
Leave you pale and thin.
Of two choices one is worse.
The Lord wants you within.

So sail away ,my lover dear
Sail into the deep
I took you  to  the river near.
So, alone I weep.

I send  you all my memories
I send you all my thoughts
And I know, whatever is,
You were  whom I sought.

You caught me up,you put me down
I don’t know where I be.
But I will smile and I will frown
I don’t know if I’m me.
Losing,losing,losing  you,
Losing  our  dear life.
Losing,losing,losing you
Am I still your wife?

I’m not me as you’re not here
Who have I become?
But I’ll live, despite my fears.
My life is not  yet done.

I lost a leg,I lost a hand
I lost my heart and soul.
Pray for me my lover and
I may then be made whole.

Look at me,from where you be.
Look at me again.
When you look,whom do you see?
I still have my pen

How to live in an egg box

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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA  Mike Flemming

I was drawn into reading some articles about living in small homes.Now ,to my mind, it’s like solving a mathematical problem.What  do you know that is relevant, if anything? Does it remind you of another problem you dealt with?
So before reading anything I decided  to see what ways I can think of.
I am not going to spend a fortune on having a bed  that folds into the wall nor on buying specially designed kitchen units.What a daft name.What was wrong with the old kitchen table where I used to bake cakes  from The Penguin Jewish Cookbook which advises one to cover the  entire table in newspaper before cooking it.
Elizabeth David says to take off all your rings before mixing cakes as otherwise one guest may find a diamond ring in the sponge cake and that would be hard to reclaim..If you want to, put a 20 pence  coin in  should you wish a cracked tooth on an enemy.
Personally ,I keep my watch in the fridge and  a ring in my nose.That seems okWhat is the easiest way to live well in a small place?
One would not think Jesus was a role model for domestic  queries; however giving away all your possessions is a great  start.Maybe not ALLbut discard any surplus  clothes, utensils, and books.And only have one lover at a time as they may fight and they take up space as well.And Elastoplast is not cheap  and A and E has been knocked down
Maybe your flat/tent.carvan will look much bigger already.
The obvious things are getting utensils which are multifunctional.Washing up a lot rather than buying more cutlery.Avoid shopping as a hobby.Put things away.
If only it were this simple…… so what purpose   do these possessions serve? Perhaps owning a cat would be more pleasant.And in my case ,I can’t put things away, as there is nowhere to put them.So I am giving them away.Starting with this laptop and this horrible brown chair.

We don’t meet

We do not see new  people as they are
We clothe them in the dress of people past
Freud  gave names to  this and more bizarre
We still  do not see  people as they are
But “recognise”   in them  who we   look for
Reality   will  have them soon declassed
We do not see new  people as they are
We  embed in them  the love of people past.

This love unreal will soon give way to hate
They ought to be whom we wish them to be.
Then down on them, we bring the hand of fate
This love unreal will soon give way to hate
We do not even think it’s our mistake
Nor that from our desires they   should be    free
All  love unreal will  then become  our fate
They ought to  be our   longed for  fantasy.

He hung on me the clothes of his desire

I love him but he does not love me
Although he  did seduce me with his art
His    complex face I still may wish to see
I love him  so but he does not love me.
I puzzle over this anomaly
And wish the grief of lies  to leave my heart
I love him but he does not love me
Although he  did seduce me ,broke my heart

I detest him  yet for I was then unknown
He hung on me the clothes of his desire
And when I called him once on his i phone
He  labelled me a whore and  quite  unknown
His fantasy was not one I could own
Tried,judged ,condemned to perish in his fire
I detest him   hate him for I was then known
And knowing me, he sent me to my pyre

Two religions are better than one

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    Pray Father,give me your guessing.
    My guessing!Don’t you mean my blessing.
    Oh,probably.Possibly..who knows.
    So have you any sins to tell me?
    Yes,I broke a glass jug.
    Whose was it?
    It was mine,Father.
    Surely it’s not a sin to break your own jug?
    It is if you hit yourself on the head with it!
    What made you do that?
    I was angry with myself…I had been committing effrontery.
    Do you mean adultery?Your main problem seems to be bad language.
    No,Father I never say” Fu*ck”
    You just did.
    Well, I had to do.I had no choice!
    That’s what they all say…if only I heard some original sin I’d find life more interesting.
    Well,it’s hard to think of anything original to do especially if it has to be a sin too.
    You are just not using your creativity.
    All right Father,Put your hands up.i’ve got a gun.
    Where did you find that?
    In my wife’s handbag.
    Now we are getting somewhere.. that’s threatening a priest,interfering in your wife’s privacy and stealing a gun.Any other sins?
    I could shoot you,I suppose.
    No.no!That is going too far.
    Shall I slap you?
    No… just say something rude to me.
    Your sermons are the most boring I have ever heard.
    Well,that’s enough…I’ve never been so insulted in  all my life.
    You have been very lucky then… you should hear what people say to me!
    Well,you are both ugly and unintelligent.I don’t know how you had the nerve to marry.
    I had no choice.She forced me.But I gave in quickly in case she changed her mind.
    And you have seven children.
    No, they are not all mine,And they are Jewish.
    How can they be Jewish.
    My wife is Jewish!
    I thought she was just a lapsed Catholic.
    No,she’s Jewish but not even an arranged marriage could be arranged for her so she used her imagination and decided an overweight ugly Catholic would be grateful for her love,
    And are you grateful?
    Yes, and so are all her lovers!
    Who are they?
    The curate is one of them and has two children .. they look just like him too.
    And does she want them raised as Jews?
    She just let’s them rise naturally and go with the flow.

    Do they have to wear hats?
    Only in the Synagogue!
    Are you Jewish too.
    Yes,it’s quite handy as we have Sabbath on Saturday and then we have Sunday on Sunday if you see what I mean.
    I never met anyone who practised two religions before.;
    Well,I figured it would double my chance of salvation!
    Well. I must speak to the Rabbi.For your penance you must give £50 to Homeless at Xmas.
    Am I absolved?
    If you stay any longer you’ll be dissolved!
    Thank you,Father.
    And take that gun away.I don’t want it.
    I can get you a good price for your cassock.
    Why,thank you,my child

Detestable

The frog in my throat came out …… she’s gay

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  • She cried in the ointment but soon climbed out.She sucked it  dry first and it was cheesey then
    A more fun  conclusion, I have yet to find
  •  That frog in my throat came out …… she’s gay
  • The frog in my throat frightened the doctor.He thought it was my tonsil going mouldy.
  • A wood man cared  enough  to wind my bobbin
    A good rule of  aplomb is to stop blushing when you meet another sex.Or is it  agenda?
  • A chair of the dog that  likes  you is still full of hares
  • A half-baked  crime here,sergeant
  • A hard man is not good to  lie  to
  • a  corpse of a different color  got  laid in the bed.Is that a crime?
  • The curse, a curse my  god I bleed  so worse
  • A house divided against itself cannot  blunderstand,
  • A  smack of all shades is a bruise far gone
    I never could gell. even as a baby
    No wonder I have gone mad.Would you ever believe Trump could be decadent?

Is Free Verse Killing Poetry?

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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

http://www.vqronline.org/poetry/free-verse-killing-poetry

 

I’m not advocating control of vers libre, which has been around since the Book of Kings,just that its adherents stop stifling rhyme and meter poems. If poetry is to survive, it needs to use everything in its armory, especially metrical rhymed poems—serious, humorous, nonsensical, satirical, even insult poems. Variety, as Christian Wyman found, is the spice of life, and it’s absurd to think that vers libre should be the only form American poetry should take. No wonder John Barr found stagnation in American poetry. So loosen up, vers librists, and ask formalists to join you. Poetry needs all the help it can get. Or can’t you write good rhymed and metrical poems? Walt Whitman couldn’t.

Why I still write poetry by Charles Simic

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Kite by Mike Flemming Copyright

 

 

Why I Still Write Poetry

 

“There’s something else in my past that I only recently realized contributed to my perseverance in writing poems, and that is my love of chess. I was taught the game in wartime Belgrade by a retired professor of astronomy when I was six years old and over the next few years became good enough to beat not just all the kids my age, but many of the grownups in the neighborhood. My first sleepless nights, I recall, were due to the games I lost and replayed in my head. Chess made me obsessive and tenacious. Already then, I could not forget each wrong move, each humiliating defeat. I adored games in which both sides are reduced to a few figures each and in which every single move is of momentous significance. Even today, when my opponent is a computer program (I call it “God”) that outwits me nine out of ten times, I’m not only in awe of its superior intelligence, but find my losses far more interesting to me than my infrequent wins. The kinds of poems I write—mostly short and requiring endless tinkering—often recall for me games of chess. They depend for their success on word and image being placed in proper order and their endings must have the inevitability and surprise of an elegantly executed checkmate.”

When faith to love is what we cannot find

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When doubts and drawbacks struggle on the mind

And certainty seems but a demon dream,
When faith to love is what  we   cannot find
For even when asleep, the mind still schemes

When darkness and defeat seem close at hand
And lights dim even as we pray for grace
when wrecks and ruins rile the native sands
When in this life we feel we’ve lost our place…

Then at the saddest depth we see the light
Surrounding with such warmth,with love adorned
The path that seemed so wrong now leads us right
And in our hearts, warm feelings are new born

For in all storms there is calm still eye
From which we note the fiercest clouds  rush by