Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

Emile takes a bath

Reach

Black against light sky
Bright flowers blown ; bare branches now
Reach  beseechingly.

Reluctant sun hangs
Sending thin light  and pinkness
To clouds sleek as  cats

Now paling, blue grey,
I see mauve dying into dark
Night sky edges in

The  blackness awaits;
Dreams dangle  like stringed balloons
A new born gurgles

How full the holly!
Forsythia large and darker,
Birds shelter  wisely

Syntax, the verses.

Syntax and spelling and grammar
They hit my old brain like a spanner
My screws have come loose
I suffer abuse
From  a man who has never had manners.

 

Syntax is unconsciously selected
And so we can feel we’re protected
Our sentences form
So blow the ram’s horn
Foe beauty has now been detected.

Syntax is a  word for  the academic
As they rejuvenate their aged polemic
We all can use it
And the really good news is
Anyone can be orally prolific

Someone invented strange language
To cover up nudity with a bandage
In ivory towers
Professors will glower
As syntax  still need home assemblage

Syntax again

hand writing

syntax
ˈsɪntaks/
noun
noun: syntax
  1. 1.
    the arrangement of words and phrases to create well-formed sentences in a language.
    “the syntax of English”
    • a set of rules for or an analysis of the syntax of a language.
      plural noun: syntaxes
      “generative syntax”
    • the branch of linguistics that deals with syntax.
  2. 2.
    the structure of statements in a computer language.
Origin
late 16th century: from French syntaxe, or via late Latin from Greek suntaxis, from sun-‘together’ + tassein ‘arrange’.

Tramps might sleep on them

I slipped on the stairs,
In  our Waterstone’s  bookshop
They don’t have a lift

In the old churchyard
There are no longer benches
Tramps might sleep on them

Waterstone’s  is out
I’ll buy all my books online
Sad as it is quiet.

In the sun a great heat,
I think I heard a cat mew
And my late husband smiled

I feel  happiness
Rising like a tide in spring
I’ll write a poem

 

Strange moments in life

swirlySometimes there’s a moment in life when you know something is utterly wrong, that your life as you have known it might become something other,something alien.This happened to me in late February 2014 when I took my husband to buy some shoes.
For it seemed he had given away all of his shoes but one pair.It might seem obvious to a practical dreamer like myself that in the winter a man needs two pairs of shoes,in case snow or rain attacks one pair.But  he knew better than I did what he really needed
He never explained.He was really a very quiet man but at the same time an extravert affectionate person.He didn’t share my need to help  or amuse others by explaining why I had done something.That .was one big difference between us.The bigger one was that he was a man and I am a woman,
The shoe shop was crowded but we had no plans to go anywhere else.Then I felt sick.He eventually found a pair he liked;he rejected my suggestion he should get two pairs which turned out to be a wise decision though I had no way of knowing it  on that day.I was like an animal that smells a new scent in the air and has no idea whether to run or to get closer
When we got home I knew:something is going to happen but to which of us?And when? And now I know a I sit here with the deep but almost invisible,indecipherable scar on my Viking  face looking at the mantel shelf where 60 or 70 letters and cards of condolence stand,I know that it was to  both of us but I am the one left behind; the one who arranged the music for the funeral;the one who answered  the  letters .And I am the one who saw death enter,a black shape moving like a dancer across the threshold behind the bold woman who took our lives and tore them apart.As if she were under orders.As if there were no choice.

Stan wants a chamber pot

Stan was recovering from his long feverish cold and cough.He had Emile standing on his desk under the window cleaning it with a microfibre cloth fastened to his right front paw.Very good,Emile,he said in a husky voice.I think I’ll get up and make a hot drink.I feel better now than I did and I  enjoyed the Reith lecture on the radio.Mary came into the room wearing a long dressing gown with a zip front.
Where did you get that,Stan enquired jocosely.
It was hanging behind the door, she said.I must have bought it in a sale.I get almost all my stuff in sales.It makes  it more of an achievement.
But are they really want you want,Stan enquired.
I am happy with them because I like bright colors but most folk don’t so they end up in the sale.I just boughY some pewter shoes for £29.99 when in black they were £79.99.
Will pewter shoes not be too heavy?Stan joked.
It’s the colour dearest.It’s a good colour for when we are going out in the evening to a do.
But we never do go out nowadays .he told her sadly.
I live in my imagination,Mary responded, and so I get clothes and shoes for any possible event funerals.weddings,evening balls.
The only balls you see in the evening are at home ,he murmured vulgarly.
I don’t think that’s very funny,Stan,she told him.I am a woman of gentle birth even if I was born in a coal mine.
I am sorry dearest,my mind is not right since I fell out of bed and banged my head on that heavy tin chamber pot.


That’s a flower vase,she told him honestly and directly.We no longer use chamber pots now we have an en-suite  here and a cloakroom downstairs plus an outside lav too.

Well,I do.Stan said.I was brought up with one and I always use one at night.
That’s strange Mary told him.Where do you find them?I have never bought any,not even in the Sales.
In the kitchen,Stan said.In the cupboard
.Those are my baking bowls, she said crossly.I forbid you to use them to wee into.Well,will you buy me one? he asked her tenderly as he stroked her curly light blonde hair just washed in Boots Dandruff and Acne shampoo. with Rosemary and Rose Essence.
Of course,darling,if it wil make you happy.I’ll go online.I am sure they are still made though originally they were used when people had outside loos.
That can be my Xmas present,he joked,if you pay for express delivery but don’t have it gift wrapped.
Adulterous Annie their neighbour came in.She wore a grass green trouser suit and pink calf high boots.Underneath she had spanx hip and thigh control pantees and a blue lace bra which peeped out as she had forgotten to put a blouse or jumper on despite the cold weather.
.What is that, in your hand,Annie ? Stan asked thoughtfully.
It’s a pewter chamber pot that we inherited from my granny she said
.Gosh,how amazing,it’s just what Stan needs,Mary informed her.He’s been using a vase..
That is very naughty,Annie told him.You should know better
.Naughty!That’s strange word to use.I am a man.I can do what I want.You’ll see.
But can you want what you do,Mary asked like an Oxford don on low dose speed.
I can if I choose to ,he said.
So do you believe in will power? Annie asked curiously.
Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t, he replied ambiguously which was one of his defense mechanisms when #
he was with clever women.
I see,you twist the world around your little finger.
That’s a strange parallel,Stan told her.But parallel lines on the earth’s surface do meet at the Poles which proves that Euclidean geometry is not the only sort possible.
Why is that?Annie asked,though she had no idea what he was talking about
Because one of Euclid’s axioms is that parallel lines never meet .
It sounds a bit like men and women nowadays,Stan said thoughtfully.We will only meet if we go up the pole

I wonder what the origin of that phrase is,Mary said curiously.It’s a strange world.
Meanwhile Emile finished the window and was polishing the dressing able mirror.What luck for Mary and Stan  that Emile loves microfibre and Windolene.Next they are hoping to buy him tiny vacuum cleaner… that would  help to gather up all the dust from the floor and let Mary get on with her book
Mirrors and the development of the pre-oedipal child’s theory of integers and meta-language as hypothesised by Philomena Seagull.a Follower of Freud

I love the shade of you

I love the color purple.

I love all shades of blue

But most of all,my dearest,

I love the shade of you.

I love the color circle.

I love to paint the dew.

But first of all,before I start…

I’m studying your hue.

I love to see the sunlight

Gleam across the trees;

I love the green,I love the shade

But it’s you I want to see.

Feeling depressed?

Avoid visiting places that ask you to copy captchas…..it’s better to call a friend on the phoneand see if you can talk.Talking is very therapeutic if it’s a person you trust.You can talk about  a book you read or recipes.just having a good conversation is therapeutic.

Alternatively write a poem but avoid illustration…art is too much trouble.Just put down  a few words.

CAT SAW

I AM

HERE

SHE WANTS MILK

OH,DEAR.

I DIDN’T MEAN TO RHYME

BUT THE WORDS JUST CHIMED.

You see,anyone can do it… just like Modern Art.

Better still,iron all your clothes.. and your bed…and mend all those torn dusters…

Use your hands.Feel someone…

A stitch in time makes  a rhyme.

Does time need a stitch?

That will give us food for nought

And so pray all of us

Emile sings

Fish,fish wonderful fish…
Nothing so tasty gets onto my dish.
I live on Whiskas and milk and cold tea.
They don’t know I drink it to help me to pee.
Milk,milk,I love it well.
Mother’s was best,but,oh,what the hell!
I drink it at night,to send me to sleep.
I feel so nervous when Stan’s old sheep bleats.
I sleep with Stan and he’s very kind.
I lean on his legs to help me unwind.
When he’s got company,I stay outside.
I look through a mirror and blimey,I spied
Stan was cuddling a lady who was totally nude!
You would not believe the weird sights I have viewed.
He was quite naked but I’m used to that.
He has no bosom…………..men are quite flat!
Mice,mice,mice are so nice!
Mince the left overs and serve with boiled rice!
Do you need puddings…we never do.
Some cats like chewing their master’s old shoe!
Drink,drink let me imbibe
Nothing quite like it for aiding  the Scribe!

It was not him

I saw him going
He winked at me and smiled broadly
He looked much younger

Then he lay gently
You want the moon to play with?
I sang so softly

He had blown away
The doctors had heard it all
We were in A and E

They each looked happy.
He curled down pale in his shell
No,it was not him

I had seen him leave
I did not scream nor wail loudly
A brief sheet of tears……

A water curtain
Veiled me for my widow birth
Now I am silent

Depths

I looked under my chair
To find a box of oddments
It was almost clean

I wonder if Marge
Would like a cat to help her
Chemotherapy

I don’t hear a sound.
She’s behind the party wall
Feeling nauseous

A cat might comfort
I’d feed and clean it for her
If she would like it

But when I call her
She never answers the bell
She contemplates depths

I have not seen stars fall
I saw the moon reflecting
The sea is calmer

The cruelly chopped trees
Have burst out in bright new leaves
How incongruous.

Crucified, they show
Aaron’s rod planted again
Surprises the world

Death takes all colour

Original sin is
Cain must kill Abel again
And again.There is no end

More,he  says he’s right
Does not see the still  corpse  pale.
Death takes all colour

White and shrunken too
They burn him  sacrificial
Plant the land with seed

Sunset

The sunset is pale
Coral with grey finger marks~
No bird sang today

The leaves wait like mouths
Now they are shutting their lips
They don’t get night feeds

All is calm and still
The moon is singing  Mahler
Dead babies  whisper.

Lullaby,the  heart
Enfold all  infants’ pathos
Dies with them daily

Forget not at night
Those for whom the sun is dead
They are stiff like dolls

Mary is worrried

On Saturday afternoon after luncb ,or midday dinner as we said up north before winning places in posh which stole our native language, Mary began to feel very nervous, as she was going to the hospital with Stan on Monday for his next appointment with Dr.Range Rover.
Mary was puzzled.She felt almost happy last week about seeing this kind hearted and gracious well dressed female doctor.However she had been shunted sideways onto a male doctor who was almost totally silent.. so much so that he seemd to absorb Mary’s questions into his sponge of a brain without feeling the need to respond,just like many British husbands do… and it may be aa universal trait in men world wide.
Why do I feel so apprehensive this week? Mary asked her dear black cat Emile.
After all.I was happy to see her or to even have a biopsy last weekend.Why have I changed in my feelings so much in a week?
Does it matter? purred Emile.
Maybe your mood is affected by something else.. like fatigue or housework or the ravages of age… [he was well read]
We don’t always know why we feel a certain way but I feel it’s good if we are willing to accept these negative moods.Even I have my moods when the fish you get me is not the right sort and you don’t give me my cat’s handkerchief neatly ironed.
You are so wise,Emile,especially as,being a cat,you never have to endure these interviews with consultants in horrible outpatients clinics.So you must have a wonderful empathy for humans
This lady doctor tomorrow is exciting me,cried Emile loudly.May I come in your Grace Kelly handbag.
What’s wrong with my shopping bag?Good grammar,by the way..
Well,she wil be surprised if you take a heavy shopping bag even if it has a Mondrian design on it… she may get suspicious.. even paranoid.If I am in your handbag she will not realise.
Not unless you miaow,mused Mary benignly as she smiled down at him her singular eyes gleaming like the headlamps on a Roller.
I like to know the reason for things,she continued somewhat frantically.I think therefore I might be eventually.I am not yet,for sure.
Does everything have a reason,shouted Stan querulously from the hall…
Wel ,it does,but it might be beyond human understanding like the Burning Bush..
We can only perceive what our language permits unless we are poets,mystics or artists and even then it’s tough to venture into the unknown,unthought or unknowable..
languages develop in societies and learning your language embeds you in many cultural assumptions without you realising it.You think it’s reality when it is just one perspective.
How true,screeched Annie their neighbour from outside the open patio door.She stopped there in her teal velour tracksuit with matching eyeshadow and trainers.
You seem to be overthinking,she said to Mary.Are you sickening with the heat?It’s like loving too much, which may be co-dependency.
That’s a very silly pc word,said Stan rudely.We are all dependent but men can hide it until their wives run away with the milkman and they get a shock not knowing how much they’d miss her changing the sheets and buying their underpants and socks.And ironing their hankies
Surely that’s not the main reason a man might miss his wife,cried Mary as she carried in the tea tray with a big white insulated teapot. so I hear
Well,you can go on the web and find a virtual sex partner or even buy a dummy woman. but it’s tough to find a devoted woman who knows what you need to function.
Why don’t you buy your own underwear and use tissues?,asked Emile
Well,Emile,I put out the rubbish and wash the heavy Le Creuset pot.I see to the car and bikes.I paint the fence and even bake cakes.
Mary washes the clothes and changes the sheets unless she has an idea to write down.She kindly does all the worrying for both of us and I remain calm like a lighthouse.We complement each other ideally.. and we love each other and a few others as well..without giving away our secrets
That’s one waay of describing it,thought Mary without commenting out loud
Anyway,I am still wondering why I feel nervous about Dr Range Rover….
If you accepted the nervusness it might ease,said Annie wisely in her high voice like a car siren going off at night
Just then the doorbell rang.It was Dave the bisexual transvestite paramedic.
Emile phoned 999 saying Mary was having kittens, he said rapidly.This really must stop;inter species sex is not allowed here like most sexual activity
He was speaking metaphorically or is it metonymically,Stan groaned.
Now you are here go and make us a fresh pot of tea and admire my new tea caddy.I bought it for Mary last week in that new shop in town.
At your service,sir,Dave said politely,his flowered dress waving in the breeze.
Do you know anything about Dr Range Rover,Dave? Annie murmured
What is her reputation etc
Some people like her, Dave said,Usually men.she’s not so good with women..
Well it’s too late to change thought Mary so I shall have to willingly endure the agony of meeting her again as I cannot leave Stan on his own with her…
why who knows what might happen? She might become his mistress as he likes several nowadays. despite nearly being too thi to live…
God only knows, a little voice said.
Hello,said Mary.I’ve not heard from you lately.
Well,I am still here looking after you
Thank you, Lord,I love you, Mary shouted joyfully to the surprise of Stan and Annie, not to mention the cat Emile who was unlearned in the religion of his owners.
I thought you were an atheist,Annie said with horror.
I am an atheist and I believe in God.It’s what we call a paradox..Mary cried graciously….
What would Wittgenstein have said?
Whereof one cannot understand,therof one must be patient and tolerant,.
Why does Mary need to understand all her feelings…Stan wondered
When it’s raining she doesn’t spend hours wondering why and similarly if it’s raining in her heart she must take it like parched grass…she thinks too much.
Too much for what? Her sanity perhaps which has at times bei.ng doubtful but that has made her very understanding to those who find life hard.Everyone has value,even mad,nervous half blind, supersensitive, vulnerable,stout arthritic female mathematical geniuses like Mary.She enriches the tapestry of life in a very real sense as e once said
And so say all of us,she’s a jolly good Fellow of All Proles College,Oxenford..you know how famous it is!

  Waxy flowers in the snow

Waxy flowers poking through

Snow so white
Flowers bright.
Made me think of you.I see once more your dark gold hair,
Soft as snow,
On my pillow.
Now my bed is bleak and bare

,
Your face turned to me,flower to sun,
I loved you.
You were true.
Fear by love was overcome.

I saw the cyclamen in snow,
Pink and red,
Now frozen,dead.
Love was,oh,so long ago.

But never gone from in my mind.
Thoughts so deep,
Upwards seep.
Love was gentle,love was kind,
You’re always in my mind

They will be silent

The algebra  book
Full of  new structures unformed
Is lonely like me

I am unread yet
Please touch me with  your fingers
Find out my secrets.

Find the formula
Blow up love with your bombshells
Make finger bones scream

Alone on the rock.
One day someone will find them
They will be silent

Mountains  will fall down
The temple will rise again
The Messiah shifts.

Lambs will lie down here
Tigers of wrath shall pounce then
The lion was late

 

Faces full of light

I saw pretty clothes
Hanging in the shop windows
It’s still very cold.

Laughing girls ran past
Long slender legs,gleaming hair
Faces full of light.

A circle of men
Drinking  coffee and talking
By the big windows.

The gale has gone now
Then I heard the still,small voice.
Why am I still here?

God is burning us
In his eternal furnace
We will turn to gold

Sung geometry,

 

Cracks in the pavement
Look like rivers approaching
an estuary.

Natural beauty,
the shapes and forms wandering,
sanctifies the road.

Cherry trees branches,
A wide canopy of leaves,
Blossom blows away

Sung geometry,
held still and made eternal,
Catches at my throat.

I’m getting buried in the morning

I’m getting buried in the morning.
Ding,dong the bells are going to rhyme.
I am in no hurry
So do not make a flurry
And do not let me get there quite on time.
I’m get buried in the morning
I’m puzzled as I am  alive not  dead.
There must be an error,
But never mind the terror
I am thinking of those books I’ve never read
Put them in my coffin
And please stop that  raucous laughing…
I’d like to die right here in your soft bed.
I’m getting buried in the morning…
We had to book it ten years in advance.
We are running out of space
To take the human race..
But why don’t we make love again,just once?
If the exertion kills me
It will surely thrill me
And I’m sorry I am too rigid for a dance.
You may die as well..
There’s no way we can tell..
So why not take this very last cha…..

Lodestar

You’re my lodestar,you’re my light.
You help me through the darkest night.
You keep me on the path I follow
I know you’ll still be here tomorrow.
You’re my companion, my other self.
You have knowledge and spiritual wealth.
You have studied,you have thought,
In meditation your soul was  wrought.
You are there when I’m in need.
You don’t allow my fears to breed.
Your sweet touch brings me such peace
So all my anxious worries cease

The curse of the Sykes-Picot agreement

http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/how-the-curse-of-sykes-picot-still-haunts-the-middle-east?mbid=nl_050216_Daily_Analytics&CNDID=39895781&spMailingID=8864576&spUserID=MTE3NjA0NjA0OTQwS0&spJobID=920152134&spReportId=OTIwMTUyMTM0S0

 

050119_iraqkids2_hmed_6a.grid-6x2NBC News Iraq

Mirror by Sylvia Plath

 

I am silver and exact.

I have no preconceptions.

Whatever I see I swallow immediately

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

I am not cruel, only truthful

The eye of the little god, four cornered.

Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.

It is pink, with speckles.

I have looked at it so long I think it is a part of my heart.

But it flickers.

Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake.

A woman bends over me,

Searching my reaches for what she really is.

Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.

I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.

She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.

I am important to her.

She comes and goes.

Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.

In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman

Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

Title : Life’s Complexity Author : William Mae

From poetry and quotes

Photo0064


P O E M # 1
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Title : Life's Complexity
Author : William Mae



The body shall lose its seely grip,
And the soul and spirit leave,
Fly past nature's natural bonds,
While the urn lies down in sleep,

Leaving the body they bid farewell,
And from its presence slips,
They mourn the days that use to be,
But still they make their trip.

What awaits we only guess,
And the body begins decay,
The spirit and soul rise to live,
They do not pass away.

Life is taken for granted,
With endless days it seems,
Memories now and aching hearts,
No visions now or dreams.

The wind of change left it's mark,
Nothing to dispute,
What's written now is written, 
When death spells out it's truth.

The hour glass drips no more sand,
Just silence fills the void,
The song of life is quieted,
No more strumming on its chord.

The foolish thought would think like this,
The person can't return,
But harder to birth a person once,
Then twice to birth the urn.

The question isn't will they live,
The answers clear they do,
The question left is tell me when,
They will be born anew.

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It’s called love

I run my fingers tentatively down your cheek,
asking you a question
with my eyes.

looking at each other,

you touch me too.

This is my skin
my boundary.

Yours is thicker,
like rubber.

I run my fingers down your chin.
what is this little bone?
I like it.

I like your skin

I like your bones.

I like you.

you please me.
you are tasty.
I like your taste,

your skin,your eyelids.

I like your eye here,
and your other eye .

Nice one!

I like the hair on your head.
May I touch your hair?
do you like hair?
Hair makes me laugh.

I have a fondness for laughing.
I love to laugh.

I enjoy laughter
I love your laughter.
If not, smiling is good also.
Or a gleam in the eyes,
showing the inside smile,
the smiling heart.

I like your inside,
Outside
and possibly
your backside.
your upside and your downside.
your side sides.

I snuggle you all around with soft wool.
I knit you into my scarf.
I’ll have to wear you round my neck now!

How unusual
How flexible.
How charming.
How alarming

How creative
How interesting.

What an idea!
what a notion

but you are too big for me to knit
So I’ll just touch your hand
with my fingers.
and you touch my hand
with your fingers.

What good hands we have
with such fingers.

fingers are for touch.
fingers are keen to touch.
I like touch.

what would we do
without fingers?

I like your skin.
skin is good
We love skin
We love.

We.

I want skin to be ours
and yours
is mine
and mine
is yours

where is the edge of the world?
skin has no end
it’s infinity
au naturel.
what order!
what design!
What wonder.
what awe.
where is the world’s skin?

tenderly we touch the world
as the world embraces us.

It’s called love.
Love.

It’s called love