Subliminal is not quite sublime
As sublime will feel quite divine.
Subliminal’s invisible
And possibly risible.
Like those ads for free shares in gold mines.
You will not have seen these ads yet.
Subliminal’s so hard to detect.
Do not out-stare
Things which aren’t there.
Like Chesire cats which make quite sublime pets.
Would the Beetles be considered divine?
Does your cat like to drink pickled wine?
Worries like these
Do some brains now tease.
Do not even think I mean mine.
: relating to things that influence your mind in a way that you do not notice
1: inadequate to produce a sensation or a perception
2: existing or functioning below the threshold of consciousness <the subliminal mind><subliminal advertising>
See subliminal defined for English-language learners
See subliminal defined for kids
The studio denied the existence of subliminal messages in the movie.
I am skeptical that subliminal advertising actually works.
sub- + Latin limin-, limen threshold
After nine months comes the crisis feared;
Acknowledgement of total,long feared loss.
With grievous pain ,the soul and heart are seared,
As we feel inside us all it’s cost,
The threshold of this world and of the new
A place to linger, liminal and long
We cannot see new landscapes in one view.
Without perception we may well go wrong.
We wonder as we reach the point of choice
Who will guide us when we must decide?
Shall we hear an inner,wiser voice
Or walk with indecision by our side?
Loss brings grief;evasion does not heal.
Lonely ,we must eat this final meal
Her beauty was incongruous with her mind
For men who saw her curls were not amused.
Her conversation with them seemed unkind.
Or possibly their own brains were confused.
She should have been beheaded or beqeathed
To someone who could enjoy all that she had.
Alas she was by clever men deceived
Until at last she became raving mad.
Think what you like,she cares no more
For men’s opinions change ten times an hour.
And if her lover shows her his front door
She’ll ask the king to send him to the Tower.
Does this life have meaning is it a pain?
Do not answer till you feel the same.
When soft winds blow and air strokes our bare skin.
When days are long like melodies of youth,
when light wakes up the soul from out her sin
Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth?
When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown;
When water’s short and all plants are forlorn’
Then do not meet disaster with a frown,
For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born.
When winter’s here and all is quiet and still
And nothing seems to move or grow or speak
Then we shall learn the limits of our will
for through the soil the first green shoots will break.
For seasons change and actors come and go.
Yet through such changes, life is what we know
The bus is late and I’m
Thinking of what you said,
trying to understand, but
I’ve never met you,so
I have nothing but written words
Which,however beautiful,may not give
enough for me to truly imagine
the depths of your heart.
My legs hurt and I have a cane
But I don’t like it.
I can’t accept
my own infirmity,my troubles,
my pains,my disagreements,my mistakes.
Rain falls over me and drips down the lens
in my spectacles,as if the world is weeping
the tears I can’t shed.
If I cried now,standing at the bus stop,
for all the years of pain
noone would know,they’d
think it was just
raindrops running down my cheeks.
The bus comes,but it’s half term…
The shops are too crowded,I can’t
Stand in queues…imagine how most of you
say it’s boring.Well,I’d love to do it
but I’ve decided the pain is greater
than the rewards.
The bus driver stops at a place where
the pavement has been lowered to allow
the owner of this house to drive
their car into the front garden
so they won’t need to buy
a resident’s parking permit.
It makes it a harder task to descend
from the bus and I hope he won’t
start while I’m still getting down.
In the coffee bar are exhibits from
a local museum,and I think,one day
my cane and my watch from Argos,
my shopping bag with a picture of Monet-
such vulgarity…..
they may be in a museum too…
along with my door keys
my bike lock and my spectacles
and will somebody try to conjure me up
in their imagination.
Someone who used to like Topology
Knitting,writing and holding hands with lovers
on the top deck of the bus
crossing central London without noticing
anything except their reflections in the eyes
of the other.
Light bounces to and fro.
My mind shuts down, the words
packed away in boxes,till there’s only
you and me and a few elementary particles
trying to recreate the world
with the big bang
that will end it all.
Stan and Annie were clearing a big desk to make space to study government
statistics.Despite this Annie was dressed as brightly as a mad peacock on l s d. in turquoise cotton trousers and a teal blue viscose and polyester [with 5 percent elastane V necked striped top.She chose the V neck was because she thought it made her look slimmer but if that were so it was contradicted, somewhat paradoxically, by the clinging induced by the elastane in the fabric.
What a problem dressing is nowadays she murmured.Her bedtime reading was “Contradiction, Paradox,Woman and Society” by the unknown,unseen yet internationally famous author Dr K. R. Craibaite “Paradox and contradiction are the route to understanding” was the last sentence she had read before she fell asleep last night.Then. she had dreamed she saw a mouse eating a lion.No wonder she had indigestion today.
“Shall I make the coffee” she said to Stan.
“No,dear.I’ll do it if you can get the graph paper sorted.”
Stan stood up and walked across the room with a dazed expression.
“I hope he’s not been trying self hypnosis again” she thought quixotically.He returned with two large mugs of steaming hot coffee.
“Would you like a meringue” he enquired.
“I’d love one.”
“So would I,” he answered glumly.”But we have no cake at all.”
“I blame Tony Blair.”
“Why him?”
“Well,I have to blame someone,don’t I?”
“Why not blame yourself”
Stan began to sob and moan.
So Annie rang 999.”Can you send a paramedic.My friend needs a
meringue.” she said in a friendly tone.
“What do you think the N.H.S. is , a cake shop?” the receptionist replied assertively in ringing tones.
“Well,we older folk need cakes!”Annie cried.
“How old are you,” the lady said.
“Why is there some cut off point?” Annie retorted…
..”Yes,we only supply meringues to centenarians!” she was told.
“Well really,whatever next,” Annie cried in shock.
“I suppose they have to economise now and can no longer supply cakes and ale to pensioners like they used to do.”
But we could send you some toasted mouse sandwiches,” she was told.
“Don’t bother,” she cried fortuitously.
The heat had made her makeup run and small rivers of turqouise,black and blue were crossing her face giving it the appearance of a large bruise.She wished she had followed the advice her mother had given her,
“When in doubt,leave it out”
Or,was it “when in doubt,say nowt” or even
“when glum ,keep mum.
“I would have kept Mum,”she thought resentfully, “but the law won’t let you once they die”.
“Why do we have so little freedom here in England?” she asked Stan querulously
.”I can’t tell you” he croaked mysteriously.
“Why not?”
It’s forbidden by the Official Secrets Act.”
“After we finish the statistics on unemployment and mental health we could look into Official Secrets,” he promised her mellifluously.
“Stan, you are so good.” she said gratefully.
Will you wash my new jeans?” he asked.
“Why can’t you do it?” she fretfully quizzed him
“I don’t want Mary to see them.”
“Gosh it’s 5pm .She’ll be back soon.
“We’ve not got far today.
I expect we can make up for it tomorrow.”
Not wanting to contradict him she remained silent whilst he studied her face like an a psychologist trying and failing to see meaning in an ink blot.
Then the doorbell rang.It was Dave,the paramedic with a tray of mouse sandwiches.What a lovely surprise that was.
Hello,Dave,Annie cried.I love your slim jeans.
“They shrunk in the washing machine but as they are stretch jeans they still fit.” he told her gently.
“You can say that again” muttered Stan.As for Emile,he had blushed as soon as he saw them.”My goodness,he’ll do himself an injury,”he thought.”Still,it’s free country at the moment.
I have loved you and I’ve held you.
Many years,you have been mine;
If the time has come for parting
Then I’ll watch you travel on now.
We take this last step all alone.
I’ll be here beside you always..
I shall feel when you are gone.
May you accept,may you surrender.
May you reach the promised land.
Into this earth my tears will fall, love,
As I recall your tender hands.
Nostalgia’s a painful affair.
Homesick for what is not there.
Look round and view
What’s nearer to you.
Out with the past,I declare.
Still if we have memories then may
It be that they have something to say?
Look them straight in eye
But do not defy…
They’re from God. so kneel now and pray.
For it is God we are nostalgic for
He has lost the post-modernist’s war.
Yet he’s here in a leaf
Showing the truth.
The mystery, the myth and the lore.
******* the way it plays the way it hides between the lines the way it signs Gill McGrath© March 14 [2o minutes] One Love
Source: love the morning the sun
Now speaks the sun and makes us want to grow
To open like the flowers for his love
Too heart and mind and soul to show
Now every part of nature is in flood
Fresh leaves point down from trees to holy nests.
The birds are active in this little wood;And dwelling on the tree branch, breast to breast.
So. let’s not waste time brooding on our thoughts.
For we may miss the joy which spring has brought
 The music of your voice I shall never hear. I shall never play a duo with you. Would we harmonize? Or find some compromise? Does one need to hear the sound of someone's heart, transposed into verbal music.. Or can we manage without it? Ideolect Sociolect. Circumspect? Words reveal the lost soul. But not the whole story. Play it again But this time Speak it. I want to hear the music Of you. |
The shops are full of summer clothes
But Stan’s not warm enough for those.
Mary likes to look around
But see how old Stan frowns.
So Mary says,I’ll go online
I’m sure I’ll find some fully lined
Made of wool and acrylic
Them you can make your pick.
Thank you,Mary,you are kind
Despite that brilliant,anxious mind.
I am the best dressed man intown
And soon I’ll have my gown.
Would you like cafe au lait?
I have my pension,I shall pay.
Very nice,dear Mary said.
I’d like a piece of bread.
Won’t you have a slice of cake?
I know it’s not quite what I make.
No,just plain bread,sweet Mary said
She then turned very red.
Mary,you look very hot
Is it healthy in this spot.
The central heating is too high
She gave a weary sigh.
They drank their coffee and made jokes
About old folk who never spoke…
They bought some fresh fish for Emile..
They alway shop with zeal.
..
When they got home.Stan dialled Dave
Who told him he was very brave
and not to stand near a bus door…
Or he’d fall on the floor.
.
Oh,how I’d like to lie down there
With my mistress Annie fair.
but Mary is at home today
So i’ll just have to pray.
If you’re in pain and can’t have sex,
They say that prayer is second best
Morphine is so hard to get
And it makes me feel sick.
So tomorrow Mary works
Stan and Annie have their perks
Dave calls round to bath the cat.
How obscene is that?
If you would like your cat washed
Or if your shopping has got squashed
Just dial 99999
The service is divine
| synonyms: | wistfulness, longing/yearning/pining for the past, regret, regretfulness,reminiscence, remembrance,recollection, homesickness,sentimentality
“there is a nostalgia for traditional values”
|
Is desire for love incongruous with my age,
As faces show the signs of burdens born?
And if it is then shall I vent my rage
Or turn my mind to create poetic form?
In Eden,which was in our mother’s arms,
We felt warm skin and heard her beating heart.
But now when we begin to lose our charms
Must we for the cemetery depart?
I know now it’s our spirit which attracts
And keeps our friends and lovers close at hand.
Misery and rages will detract’
Make a lover kind feel quite unmanned.
We have no human right to love demand;
But loving kindness brings more friends to hand.
Incongruous outfits are scorned
As is clothing both dirty and torn
So buy all in one colour.
Bur don’t make it yellow.
As bees and wasps love you adorned.
Yellow attracts comments galore
As if men’ve not seen you before.
Try teal and blue
They’re both good for you.
Not incongruous with clothing and more.
 synonyms: |
out of place, out of keeping,inappropriate, unsuitable, unsuited, not in harmony;
discordant, dissonant,conflicting, clashing, jarring, wrong, at odds, in opposition, contrary,contradictory, irreconcilable;
informallike a fish out of water,sticking/standing out a mile;
raredisconsonant
“the women looked incongruous in their smart hats and fur coats”
ill-matched, ill-assorted, mismatched,unharmonious, inconsistent,incompatible, different, dissimilar,contrasting, disparate, discrepant
“an incongruous collection of objects”
|
Perhaps in some context, the word part is incongruent with this notion thatthere is only wholeness.
This was usually done by use of brute force coated with a thin layer ofincongruent ideology.
There was the picture that she was unable to begin; it floated through herbrain, elusive and incongruent.
When death and loss and grief fill up my heart And behind an icy wall I am entrapped Where should my work of holy healing start Where is the hidden place where loss is mapped? As on the earth I walk amongst the trees And on the grass I lay my sleeping head I make my friends from stinging wasps and bees Who comfort me on this my own deathbed. Yet do not sun and moon still shine as bright? Do not men and women tender lie. Does not this small glowworm give me light? Do not courting tom cats saunter by? With wider vision spreading from my eyes I see more clearly where my comfort lie
Oh,take me hold me,love me like you do With kisses sweet, commend me to your heart Love me like a tea of finest brew. Love me like a coxes pippin tart. oh,dance me,swing me, let me feel alive. And let me feel your melody anew. We get what we desire yet don’t deserve. When one is made from love between the two. Oh. lend me your maths textbooks for a while I love irrational numbers like a child. and transcendental pies do me beguile i feel tonight my numbers dancing wild. So ambiguous is my attitude to men I wave and then I particle again
Stems of long nasturtiums catch my foot;
For from the red brick path I let it slip.
And spiders fill the long neglected hut.
I peer though windows and regain my grip.
The yellow flowers are eaten with the leaves.
Mixed with oil and lemon they taste good.
Yet a maternal gardener in me grieves
For I have watched them since they were in bud.
The truth that I evade again explodes
That little buds and flowers will have to die.
And even as these flowers grow more bold
They’re still a crop, and so with grief I cry.
Yet life is process and goes on and on….
Even when particular loves are gone
I was ignorant of what he would say….
but avoidance can be a grave error.
He looked in my eyes with an egg box.
He took my blood pressure and weight.
He said,have you seen any alarm clocks?
I said,yes,but I have only seen straight.
He tapped on my skull with a teaspoon
And remarked that my head sounded hollow.
I said,well there’s plenty of room
for all the ideas I will follow.
He heard my pulse buzzing bee-like
And asked if I kept my heart still.
I said,yes,it has a few flea bites…
but it disobeys the commands of my will.
He said, we must give up our egos
and trust in the great dark unknown..
And attempt to give money to beggar
As by our dried fruits we are known.
As far as my health goes,I’m perfect.
I’m average,ideal .I’m the norm.
But in everyday life I am perplexed
As all the old rules are long gorn.
Thank you for crossing my hands,dear.
II need all of your silver and gold.
Love in its depths wipes out fear.
But don’t believe all you are told
In that silence, I heard sparrows chirping
In the still green hedge.
I saw the lake and your reflection
And my reflection.;
and did the sparrows see
as the sun shone slantside
over the steeply falling bank?
Dd they see this natural mirror?
And my mind’s mirror
gave me new reflections
in the reverie
Of the dreaming evening,
As I slid slowly down
Into soft slumber;
Trusting the life within,
Trusting you;
Trusting myself;
and in my reflections
I see you too,
smiling in welcome;
smiling the beautiful smile,the true smile of love itself.
The embrace of the dreaming world
comforts
and holds us
as we breathe gently
in the sweet air
of love
Winter had come very early to Knittingham yet owing to the late summer and wet autumn,many trees still had their leaves,,,,,,,,,,,some were even green.Stan and Mary were sitting in their mock Tudor cottage style kitchen eating muffins and honey with Earl grey tea in mugs.
Wow,it’s so cold,Mary remarked.
Now,Mary I have told you before that Wow is not a word I expect to hear from such a highly educated person as yourself….why waste your learning?All those years climbing over walls in Oxford and dating clever doctors from Harvard…
Bollocks,Mary answered in a tone not unlike the late Rose Nordloch,philosopher extraordinaire who was famed for her obscene talk.
I am thinking of buying some woollen vests,she continued loudly.
Good grief!
What is it, my darling Stan said nosily.Mary was looking at a catalogue of ladies clothing. and lingerie which had come i nthe post
They are £39 each,she said wonderingly.If I get three it will be nearly £120 plus postage.Just imagine,I may be unable to afford wool vests.
Can’t you just buy one and wear it all winter like the Tudors did?her loving yet irascible husband replied
I think it would get smelly,my dear,even if I wore my anti -perspirant,Mary answered benignly.We should get wool vests from the Government to save us from going to A and E with double pneumonia,she continued softly…Shall we mention it at the Labour Party meeting? I can get it on the agenda.
No,no,Stan cried,I want your lingerie to be a secret
A woollen vest is hardly lingerie,she retorted.. sounding like a character from Barbara Pym‘s novels.
Everything a lady wears under her dress in lingerie he murmured gently….bras,knickers,pantaloons,petticoats,vests,corsets,suspender belts.stockings,tights,trouser liners,lace,fine silk,short underskirts,long underskirts……..nightiesBut some lingerie is more sensual…Stan said wistfully,recalling the brown silk underwear Mary used to wear before feminism made most lingerie a No,No!
Anyway,Mary said,we are too old for sex….we are too stiff and we are too shy now as well
But not too old to have a few fantasies,Stan thought… and woollen vests did not feature in his… he preferred lace and silk with a hint of perfume…. maybe a little embroidery….a dying art.Emile came in and asked for a vest too and some underpants…
Suppose I wet them? he miaowed in a panic.
Well,you can’t have a nappy,Emile.Stan informed him.
I have no desire for such things,Emile mioawed angrily…where is my food?
Oh, yes… it’s in the fridge,said Stan.He took a large goldfish out of the fridge.
Where did you get that from? Mary asked fearfully…
Oh,that tom cat down the road knocked a fish tank over and he gave Emile one.
But they are pets!She shrieked…. ring 999 now and ask for an ambulance
Dave the bisexual paramedic strode in looking merry.
It’s Frank,the gold fish,said Mary fearfully……………Is he dead?
He is not quite dead,Dave answered….get a bowl of rain water.He put Frank into the bowl and Frank began to swim…
Well, that’s a bloody miracle,Mary screamed. almost frightening Stan to death!
Just call him Lazy Lazarus.Dave quipped…he was in suspended animation.. fish are very clever.Would you like me to clean out the kitchen or fetch in some coal for the scuttle? he asked the old dears.Or read you a poem by Sylvia Plath
Thanks but not today,Dave.We were just discussing vests.Do you wear one?
Oh,yes.he said, and I wear a short petticoat too….I’d love a silk one as I am a transexual transvestite too,so I believe.
Very wise,Mary informed him.Underwear keeps us warm.
And it makes me hot,thought Dave…. but he said nothing.He kept his sex life almost a secret even from himself.
Vests,thought Mary.
To buy or not to buy?
That is my question
Stan was in the new black and cream kitchen cooking the Sunday dinner.As usual in the North it was roast beef and Yorkshire puddings.Stan was very good with Yorkshire puddings.They ate them with gravy before the main course just to maintain tradition.Even Emile,their talking cat, loved a pudding soaked in thick meaty gravy..Stan was very worried that the police had caught him.He didn’t realize that ,with the low sun, the mirror in his pocket was flashing out coded messages to aircraft.He got out of the car and walked over to the police on the grassy verge of the road
I’m so sorry,it’s just my wife’s solid gold powder compact.See?
Have you got your marriage certificate with you?
Well,no.I didn’t know we in the UK needed to show them to the police. demurred Stan
It may belong to your wife but you are a man.Men don’t carry them.We never saw one before.Young women never use then,
Certain men might of course..actors or politicians.I know Tony Blair wore make up.
That’s irrelevant.Give me that compact.
Stan pulled the golden compact out of his pocket,still open.
The police man stared into the mirror.His face turned pale.He handed the compact to Stan and ran back to his car asking the driver to take him to the nearest boiling Tea Shop.
Stan looked at Satan and grinned…
What did you do?
I just held up a photo I have of him in bed with a sheep….need I say more?
Did you enjoy seeing that? Stan asked thoughtlessly.
Not much.~I prefer your flame haired mistress with her perfume of Araby.She’s something else again.
So you can smell then? Stan enquired.
Oh,yes,said the devil.Sure I can.I just can’t touch or be touched.
So Stan started the car and off they went;all the lights were green and not a single police car was on duty.
Soon they reached Upper Sheringham.The people here are very long lived.I know it’s the best place to live in the UK;then they turned down the old High Street and parked by a gambolling shop full of lambs.
Now what?
Will the sea cheer up a sad old devil or make him suicidal?The cliffs are not very high.
