Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

Stan gets a letter

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 Dear Stan
I hope I you don’t mind me telling you I had some problems with your last few letters.Even at your age it is risible to learn.So hear are my thoughtd
Your spelling is now so absolutely ferocious I almost passed out in Church [The sermon was too boring so I opened your latest missile]
You seem to have forgotten all the wiles of grammar we once learned at school..Maybe you should write more letters to keep you au fate with English as she is poked about today all over the world and beyond
And don’t you have anything interesting to tell me about.Surely something indecent must happen over and over again in your town.Why not pass it on to me.I would be delighted to be read all about that sort of thing… old age is so dull.
You never say how Mary is.Is she still riding that old bicycle from University days.I can’t imagine why you don’t get her a new one instead.Can she not drive?
I think it’s unseemly to let your wife ride a second hand bicycle.The neighbors may despise you,imagining you are from the underclass and therefore ripe for abuse by all and thundery.Nowadays being poor is dangerous.
Why even your car is 19 years old.Have you never been tempted to keep up with the Jones’s, whoever they may be nowadays.A new car and a loft conversion would only be about 60 thousand pounds and your self esteem would rise like a butterfly in a thunderstorm.I say this only to help you
I have noticed you are getting thinner and Mary is getting much fatter.I do hope God has not worked a miracle and made her big with child at her age,though we could certainly do with a New Messiah.
On second thoughts,it would save a great deal of suffering if she were to get an abortion immediately… it’s less painful than Crucifixion…. you catch my drift, and giving birth at her age would be dangerous.Not to mention you gave up carpentry long ago.And pensions are low.
I hope I haven’t offended you but at 109 I doubt if you are still potent… it’s only natural we lose a little with each passing year especially when you have both a wife and a mistress as you did for many a merry decade.You must have worn yourself out with pleasure.
Well,I just wanted to tell you about your dreadful spelling.Think about getting an online Dictionary.We all regret things as we age.Don’t be shy.You can tell me anything and regret it with whoever later on
Well,that’s all my news this week.I hope you get some good weather soon.
With love and warmest wishes from us both,

Joshua and Marie.

PS.It’s terribly hot down here  in Hell! Hope to see you soon

Scruples in verse

Scruples nearly mad me go mad
I believed I was overly bad
If I’d had a gun
My end would have come
Looking back I  now feel rather sad

For virtue’s not made by  will power
Being ready to receive is what’s ours
Like the virgins with oil
To get ready takes toil
But  with grace we will become like wild flowers

Jesus was a holy hasidic
His intentions weren’t very specific
He  prayed in the Temple
And was an example
Then made remarks that were  somewhat acidic.

 

Scruples

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Les boutiques

We used to dress  from boutiques
Each one had something unique
Our hair was Sassooned
Our morals were doomed
In the sixties I fancied a freak

Mary Quant was a  very bright woman
Her day was not long in its coming
She made herself wealthy
And ,Lord,she was  healthy
The minis all round  were just humming

Two course meals free

Polished bizarre roast with  fried beetroot
Lamb oubliettes and sauteed potatoes cakes.
Fried bacon nuggets with raked eggs and beams
Omelette with frozen mixed vegenubbles and French lead
Vegetarian lasagne with bream salad du jure
Chips of beef in cream buoys with leaves of grass
Sheep’s tail stew and dumplings a  la mode

Puddings

Rice jelly and  tinned preachers
Les mariners and jam boiled pudding
Honeyed maple weaves and jugged cream
Yoghurt apple and jam in a Burberry sauce
An odd looking stippled icecream with Dow statistics and transcendental numbers
Iced cake  and lemon sauce with my wife

Well,what is your sin?

Pray,Father,give me your cursing
I beg your pardon!
That’s not cursing.
You must be confused,we give blessings here not cursing
Oh,dear.I must have got mixed up as it’s a long time since I came here.
It is only a Freudian slip.Have you done  something evil?
Well,not on a par with bombing the Middle East,I guess.
Well,what is your sin?
I don’t really know but something made me come here.
Have you seen any pornography on line?
I’m sorry,but I haven’t.Is it good?
No,it’s sinful
Well,Jesus liked sinners so maybe I’ll watch it.
A logical error.He didn’t want people to commit sins on purpose.He just  mixed with ordinary folk who ate themselves and others,are envious,malicious,cruel,thoughtless.
It sounds like a Soap Opera not the Bible.
I  take your point.Now then what brings you here?
I stole my husband’s beer money to buy a pen.
That seems quite nice really.Have you no money of your own?
I bought the paper with that.
Maybe you need a  paying job
I have the job and I stole the pay!
Won’t he be angry when he has no beer money?
I’ll tell him it must be in the vacuum cleaner.
Will he look?
I don’t possess one!
Does he know?
He thinks it’s in the cupboard.
Where is it?
I sold it to buy some paint.
You’re not Jewish,are you?
Not yet but I  am thinking about it.Why do you ask?
Well,they are used to buying and selling ,like in Marks and Spencer’s.
But if I convert you will not be able to hear my sins.
To be honest they are somewhat boring.Why can’t you commit adultery or kiss the postman?
Do you?
I’m not married.
You can still kiss the postman
In theory I suppose but they are in a hurry.
That’s a bit feeble.Do you absolve me?
OK and for your penance steal some canned beer for your husband and go to jail
I’ve never been so  insulted in my life
Well,why not come back next week and I’ll do it again.
Things seem to have changed.What’s your name?
I’m Father Blogger.
That’s a funny name.
Better than………

 

 

To see what’s here

If you have a beautiful old tree
Then do not cut it down to plant a rose
For trees are carriers of great mystery
Their roots go deep and where no human knows.

Instead adapt your planting to the shade.
The flowers of woodland are most delicate and fair
The white foxglove will pleasure eyes in glade
With some searching, we may find flowers rare

But if with weeds your garden is distressed
Work is needed to restore some grace.
And if the shadows fill with errant pests
Light is needed ,so their sin we face.

We all look with widened eyes to see what’s here.
And so we face it gladly without fear

Moon-bathe in the rain

Wind and rain and hail now alternate.
There is no constancy nor steady state.
And so on moods I will next meditate
As tolerant we must be until rebate.

We don’t believe the weather is our fault
We buy umbrellas, shield ourselves  from  rain.
When  a darker mood  our mind assaults
We rush to look for how we are to blame.

Our  human self is larger than we know
Will power can’t bring virtue or good moods.
From  unknown places psychic winds may blow
And subject us to pains, violent and rude.

Don’t send your self to Bedlam  much too soon
Moon-bathe in the rain  and laugh at doom.

i

 

One letter


I’ve got just one letter
written in your hand
One short letter
I understand,
One is as infinity
compared to having naught.I’ll keep this letter
In the museum of my heart.
I’ve only got  one photograph
and that is  very old
but to me this photograph
is more valuable than gold
Time has wandered by.
Is it now too late?
But will there be a second chance?
Let’s not  accept  love’s fate.
No matter how we falter,
No matter how we fail,
Can we still forgive ourselves,
and rewrite this  sad tale?
One more letter,
One more   heartfelt smile,
That will be sufficient
To rebirth a love grown frail
For once this love was stronger
Once this love was true;
So now we are  wondering
If we can create our love anew
Cracks will make a pattern
Beautiful,complex.
Our love will be more real
When we both reflect.

Emile’s diary


I had  a full day watching Stan hoover the bedroom.He found 5 pence on the rug.
That makes 60 pence this week.He swore when he saw the duvet had slipped to one side of the bed.I jumped up and stood on it while he pulled it back into place..a bit of fun..I can’t help him much but i hope being watched pleases him.
He tried on Mary’s dressing gown and looked in the mirror.Then he swore again.She was out giving a lecture on something called “Rings and groups.” It sounds like a dance or a sacred rite.I’d love to go in her wicker basket to the Uni and listen to a lecture.I believe she’s very popular and is always pleased to prove that “e” is not an algebraic number.
Well,it’s obvious………even a cat knows it’s a letter!
Does she think it’s another more advanced kind of number.
What with that and all the times she brings in pies…she has me wondering what mathematics is now.Why does it frighten people?
Cats like me love a nice meat pie and will run in rings or circles
mewing “eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” for hours if we get some Earl Grey tea .
We are not into groups though except maybe groups of mice.
Now where’s my milk?I’m worn out writing my diary.
Still,I hope you know what “e” and “pie” are now!
Mioaw.

Stop thought with the eye

Waiting for the phone to ring

Waiting for the mail

Waiting for the test result.

Waiting to go to gaol.

It’s that strange uncertainty

Have I made an error?

Waking up at three am

Filled with puzzling terror.

Terror in the night of mind;

Reason’s tied up in a bind.

Horrors rise like geese in flight.

Fill dream eyes with blight.

But now I see the burning sun

Rising in the sky

Every day I greet nature,

And stop thought with the eye.

Boutique

boutique
buːˈtiːk/
noun
noun: boutique; plural noun: boutiques
  1. 1.
    a small shop selling fashionable clothes or accessories.
  2. 2.
    a business serving a sophisticated or specialized clientele.
    “California’s boutique wineries”
Origin
mid 18th century: from French, ‘small shop’, via Latin from Greek apothēkē ‘storehouse’.

Elan is vitality born

My lover has a  very good plan
He  lives all his life with elan.
He built me  a book case
And  tiled  the old fireplace.
And gobbles my French onion flan.

Elan is vitality born
From energy calm with few storms.
We can control our blind rages
Find tasks to engage us
I  think it is  best not to scorn.

Narcissism

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Elan from Merriam Webster

 

 

magnoliaÉlan, pronounced \ay-LAHN\, means “vigorous spirit or enthusiasm,” and comes from the French word that means “momentum” or “rush” or “burst” (as in “a burst of anger”).

It comes from the Middle French verb eslancer, meaning “to rush,” formed from lancer, meaning “to throw.” In French, élan originally meant “the progressive movement made in preparation of a jump or exercise” before developing the figurative meaning of “spirit” or “enthusiasm” that came to English.

The word elance was used in English to mean “to hurl” a dart or lance, but it fell out of use in the 1800s. The English version of the root verb, lance, still means “to throw forward.”

End it my way

Yours precipitately
Yours nosily
Yours nauseasly
Never thine
Yours, what did you say?
With all my hate
Wish it were too late
Decompensate me soon
Please send the money
I love you like I love a slug.
Be my snake forever
With total ambivalence
God loves you,bye
Bye and please don’t pester me again

Put more wine in the water….

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I used to have a great fear of tttttttttrembling
And prepacked fffffurniture aaaaassembling
But I read all your bbbooks
Which advised nnnnnnnnnnervous ffreaks
To leave no fffearsome tasks outstanding.

 

I had a dread fear of sssssshivering
And my nerves enjoyed too much qqqqquivering
But I bought your new pills
And paid all my bills
And now I enjoy my own dddddithering.

 

I used to fffear ssoap and water
Or giving birth to a qqqquivering daughter.
But your brilliant insights
Killed off all my frights.
But,for God’s sake,put more wine in the water.

Mystical experience

Fritillaria_pontica2016-1

 

A beam of light passed through my eyes
And showed to me a world disguised

So near,yet far,we do not see,
Unless by gift of grace redeemed.

That world is full of peace and calm
It’s colours mingle like a balm
In such a moment all thought dies
Revealing Love which underlies.

Colours caress my naked eyes.
Sunlight blesses new designs.
I stand enthralled,and do not wish
For one delight,other than this.

My breath slows down, and filled with joy,
I rove my eyes with bliss to toy.
Everything is just itself.
This is now my living wealth.

Beneath the noise of city traffic,
This mellow joy,love soporific,
This depth and peace, is always near
When we choose Love and turn from fear

Stan gets a shock

Emile is happpy

Stan and Annie have been having such a lovely time since Mary went off.Stan has quite given up his addiction to microfibre cloths and polishing the windows.He and Annie can now make love at night and go out for trips in the day time.

Emile’s diary is getting quite full although he is worried he may be banned from sleeping on the foot of the bed soon as he may be in their way.How will he know what they get up to?
Luckily there is a gap at the bottom of the door so he should be able to see them in the mirror opposite the bed.They usually light the bedside lamp so as to see into each other’s eyes.
Annie is a very bold,confident woman.Despite being rather plumper than is medically advised she loves her body and lives happily in it now she has true love.
One morning Stan goes down to make some  tea while Annie comes to.
“Stan,come here quickly!”
“What’s wrong,my little lamb chop?”
“I feel sick!”
“Was it those old sausages we ate up last night?”
“No,it’s a different sort of sick!”
“You don’t “Yes,Stan,I’m afraid a miracle has happened!”
“But you are 55 and I’m 90.Surely we can’t have a baby!”We haven’t even had sex yet
“Well,the ways of God are strange.” she murmured.
“I don’t want to bring God into it.” he riposted.
“Are you not pleased I am still fertile?” she asked him humorously.
“Well,in the abstract I might be but in the concrete it could be awkward.” he said furtively
“What do you mean?”
“Well,Mary will be coming back in a couple of months,you know”
“We don’t have to tell her you are the father.I could pretend it was the new Vicar at St Andrew’s”
“But he’s gay!”
“Not many men are able to resist my charms and skills.”
“I can believe that,”Stan answered lubriciously.
“But will you have to seduce him soon before he notices you are pregnant?”
“I wasn’t thinking of actually going to bed with him,”said Annie with a smile.
“Oh,dear.I was looking forward to that,”Emile murmured under his breath
“That would have made my diary into a best seller.”
“Gay vicar seduces middle aged harlot who is now expecting.”
It sounds a bit like the old Bible stories except they had no vicars in those days.But miracles like older women bearing children did happen so…who knows?
Stan and Annie got dressed and went into the kitchen.
They were both looking confused.
“You don’t want an abortion do you?” he enquired tenderly.
“No way.” she replied softly.
“I love you so much,I could not wish for more than to bear your child.~”
“In that case,I’ll tell Mary.She is a very wise woman in  many ways,though a bit lacking in the earthjer side of life.She has not slept with me for thirty years or more.”
“Perhaps she thought you were too old?” said Annie.
“No,she never enjoyed it.She just put up with it as she wanted a baby.”
“Maybe you did not turn her on!”
“I did my best,but she preferred reading Proust and
Wittgenstein.”
“I wonder of she has Asperger’s syndrome?”
“Well,they do find social life trying but I suppose she can’t blame you for loving another?”
“No,she’s very broadminded.I’ll suggest we all move in  together.I’ll divorce her but she can have the big  bedroom and we’ll have the guest room with the en suite.”
“I think this will be fun.”
“Well,not all of it but it will be intriguing,”
“So no need to seduce the Vicar,then?”
“We’ll leave him out of it.He might fall in love with you and then what would happen?”
“God only knows,”She answered humorously as she went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

Read more about this next week or it may be too late!

A stranger calls on Stan and Mary

Stan was reading the paper at 9 pm when. surprisingly, the front door bell rang.Emile,his delightful tomcat who was asleep,nearly jumped out of his furry skin.Stan opened the front door cautiously.
“Goodnight,sir.” remarked the handsome man standing there.
“Goodnight?”Said Stan confusedly,”Bur I’ve never seen you before.Are you the sandman who comes to put children to sleep?”
“Good evening,sir.” the man continued,”I’m so sorry my English is so poor.I am , still studying David McChrystal’s Cambridge Encyclopedia of the English Language and I’m still a trifle mystified.”
“What do you want?”Stan asked him.”What do I want?I want to study philosophy,write a novel and make some friends”
“No,no.” said Stan”I mean,why are you here?”
“A good question,why are we here?Do we have a mission in life or are we here as a result of mere chance and happenstance or even serendipity?”
“I mean,why are you here ringing my doorbell at this time of the night?”
“Shouldn’t that be evening,sir?” The stranger enquired sardonically yet politely.
“Look.are you after something?”
“Well,I’m after a  higher degree at college though so far I’ve not managed to  write a thesis yet.”
“Well,faint minds never win  higher degrees!”Stan advised him cuttingly
“What’s happening,”called Mary from her study where she was reading a critique of Principia Mathematica for the seventh time.
“God only knows!” said Stan.
Mary came to the front door.She wore a green silk blouse with a jade necklace, a pair of smart jeans from Per Una and some pink trainers with yellow laces.On her face she wore Lancome of Paris light beige foundation,strawberry pink lipstick and purple mascara from Clinique.Her perfume was by Beyonce.Buy all this with one click on the link below.It’s only £7,000.
“Goodnight,madam” said the stranger.
“I think that’s  rude,” said Mary.”If you’ve never met someone before it’s inappropriate to say goodnight.”
“Well,we aren’t in bed,” he replied laboriously with his rare accent..
“What  has that got to do with it?”
“Inappropriate is often used to refer to sexual behaviour.”
“Well,for crying out loud,who are you?” she whispered politely.
“I’m the new curate!””I’m Polish.”
“Well,I’m sorry I don’t know a single word of it.would you like to speak in Latin?”
“Ite,missa est!”The curate exclaimed.
“Uno reductio ad absurdum”Stan muttered.
“That’s Italian,UNO” cried Mary.
“Well,it’s pretty similar.”
“Well,I must go,”said the curate anxiously.
“You’ve not been yet so how can you go?”
“I don’t know,sir.Good evening,good afternoon,good morning.”the red face man screamed as he ran hurriedly down the garden path.
“Are we Catholics now?”Mary asked Stan.
“Oh,I can’t remember,” he said.”Do we go to church?”
“Well,we may be non-practising,I suppose.”
“Perhaps we’d better start practising,” he murmured affectionately.
“Oh,if you insist,” she replied in an unwifely roguish tone.
“That’s right,blame it all on the man.In my experience it’s you who is keener than me.”
“What are you talking about?”she enquired seductively yet courteously.
Suddenly the door bell rang.It was the curate.
“Goodnight” he called.”goodnight”
“Goodnight,” they responded in their reserved yet rude English fashion.
“Mioaw” cried Emile,”Mioaw,miaow,

Unaccustomed as I am,to being..

Seascape painted by a man's adjunct
  Baby work

Unaccustomed as I am

To being the adjunct of a man,

I find it mostly beneficial

To give neat brandy to officials.

 

Unaccustomed is the game

Custom fittings fall like rain.

I dwell among the nuts and bolts

Look down here,you witless dolts!

 

I’m just a pair of kitchen pliers

Made for untwisting your wires.

Keep me in your bottom drawer

In case you need to see a lawyer.

 

This poem is a nonsense rhyme.

Please sign on the dotted line..

If you think my verse too short,

I shall make a wise retort.

 

I like Lewis Carroll best.

Do I pass the nonsense test?

Learn some number theory now.

And write it on your vessel’s prow.

 

Did you say your bedtime prayers.

Do you dress in woolly layers?

Will you dream of me tonight?

I’ll send you schemes in colours bright.

Desiring all

Our life is like a shell upon the shore,
tossed up by squally,salty,shivering sea
.To shrink inside is safe,yet we want more,
To make,to love,to see,at last to be.

A shell, though tough, is made to open out;
To give the living core its chance to grow
.Towards the new we each must shed our doubt.
Every myth and story say it’s so..
Impregnable,that home had seemed to be
To the tiny creature growing in its heart#.
Yet thrown by winds across the rolling sea
The slender cage must open and let part.
Protection can be prison to the soul.
So we  crack our    out grown shells, desiring all

Put the lid on it

Doctor,doctor,I;m worried about my coughin’.
What about your coffin?
Well,it’s keeping me awake at night.
Why,are you sleeping in it
I have only one place to sleep.
If you are tired you can sleep anywhere!
is that legal?
Of course it is.
Well,can I sleep in the Queen’s bed?
In theory,yes… but you might frighten the horses.
Why, do they sleep with her?She must have a big bed.
Don’t be so ridiculous…
Well,she has loads of money.. she, could have a bed made for her.
She has a bed maid for her
Do you mean someone makes her bed every day?
well,don’t you make yours every day?
No,I bought one in a bed store and it’s well built.
But do you change the sheets daily?
No,i never use paper I write letters on my chromebook.
Which letters?
Any letters at all,except French ones.
but they use our alphabet.
it’s not ours.
Whose is it?
Possibly the Romans.Tantrum ergo!
They are all long gone into their coffins.Uno,duo tres,quattore…,decem,duodecem,duagessin’..
I knew coughin’ was very dangerous
I think your grammar is bed.
What a posh excent you have
It’s all I have left of the old palace.
Well, never mind you can share my coffin if you like.
But is there a bed in it?
Just a bed bug as yet…
I blame the CIA.. who do you blame?
I blame God and he blames us so it’s pretty much a stalemate.
We need the Messiah…..
Not again,we’ve not got over the last one yet…
You make him sound like a hurdle…
Well,it’s one way of looking at it all.. a big hurdle.
It’s all this talkin’ keeps me awake at night…
At least it stops you coughin’

Doctor,doctor,the coughin’s keeping me up all night again
For goodness sake put the lid on it.

I’ll be loving you

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
 Until the very bends in time I’ll be chasing you
Until  Big Ben chimes,I’ll be hugging you and puzzling you
Until the end of my life,I’ll be writing true.
Until the day I die,I’ll be unintentionally annoying you.
Older and older,I’ll always try to please you,tease you and ease life for you
Otherwise I’ll drink to you,blink for you and send a kiss to you
I’ll be looking for tears in your eyes
I’ll be wiping away your fears and helping you to get a disguise
Is this a love poem?
We talk estuary English here as we live by the Thames
It’s a bit different
Like Mid Atlantic but not so far away.
I’ll be  retrieving your heart ,if I may
I’ll be teasing you in the hay.
I’ll be weaving you into my heart some way
And it will be our special day
Today

Lehitraot,araka,do vstrechi.

When he went away
He said,”Lehitraot,mama.”
Do vstrechi.
He died, but I’m still here
Yes,in my heart I feel his love.
But why do I live,
And he does not?
Auf wiedersehen
Lehitraot.
Yes, my darling,I’ll see you later
.When the sky turns black and all the stars blaze bright
I’ll see you shining in the night.
I’ll see you in my dreams alas.
Do vstrechi.
But why you and not me too?
Araka
I can’t understand.
Lehitraot,beloved.
A plus tard
Some where in this world,you fell
But no-one,not even God, can tell.
God was absent then or in some other place
He’s gone again.
They said He’s died too,
But He didn’t have a mother like you.
Do vstrechi.
My breasts ache and my heart and soul,
My breasts were made to make you whole.
To feed, give love and to console.
A plus tard
And now they ache with grief as my tears fall.
A bientot
My body trembles in the night
As dreams bring my lost ones to my sight.
A plus tard
I’d walk across the roughest bleak terrain
If  I could find my loves and hold your hands again.
Do vstrechi.
The bell rings on the ancient clock
As time goes on as normal, never stops.
Araka
I wish the hands of time could be reversed,
And I was not living with this curse.
People forget that I once had a son.
They think my grieving has been done.
Araka.
But grief and loss and pain will never end
Until the curtain of my death descends
Auf wiedersehen.
Meantime I look at flowers and birds and trees,
But it’s really you my deepening insight sees.
Lehitraot.
Th inscape of my heart is shown to few,
An artist of the lost would know this view.
I know I want to see just you.
Do vstrechi.
But for me there is no
Auf wiedersehen
Never again will you say
What you said that day
Lehitraot,
Mama.
Papa
A plus tard
Tot ziens.
See you later.
See you.
You
 My beloved  child.