Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

I’m feeling very hungry,don’t you see?

I had a little missionary for my tea
I’m feeling very hungry,don’t you see?
I put a lot butter all over him
I must confess he was really far too thin.

Tomorrow morning I’ll boil an egg
Otherwise I’ll go outside and beg.
I have no missionaries in the house
But one is lurking outside near my dormouse.

It’s been a custom in my native home
To catch any missionary who there roams.
We believe we absorb their virtue best
By roasting them and having a big feast.

You see we are very backward here.
It must be genetic,so I fear.
We like to enjoy a very mixed dinner.
A few green leaves and more boiled sinners.

When we are civilised we’ll buy a nuclear bomb
And maybe  more computers and a  lot of guns
We’ll start a war and kill a lot of folk.
You can’t break an egg before you boil the yolk

When certainty seems but a demon dream

 

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…

Yet 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 a calm still eye
From which we see the fiercest clouds  rush by

Mary gets yet another letter from the hospital

jug and bottles 4

The postman was very late coming that morning.Stan was asleep in his armchair whilst Annie was analysing some data on the political alignments of the over fifties group in Knittingham.Mary was upstairs daydreaming.

Hi. Mary…Annie called.There’s a letter for you from the hospital.
Mary came down, her face a little pale with anxiety.She opened it slowly.Inside it had the following announcement

Your appointment on 5th October at 3 am with Dr Paramour has been cancelled..
We can offer you he following appointment:
5th October 2014 at 3 am in the usual clinic
This will be with Dr Paramour unless he goes on holiday again.He will remove your tumour and your humor as well.

PasqueFlower2
Stan read the letter.
Why have they sent this? he asked bemusedly as he blinked with his nice blue eyes.
Mary phoned the hospital.She spoke to a charming young man.
What does it mean? she enquired.Why give such a silly letter out.
It means nothing,the man said,It’s the computer.
Computers follow programmes.We’ve had this type of stupid letter many times in the last 6 months….it’s using paper and postage apart from the worry.Why can’t someone alter the programme?
I don’t know,the pleasant man replied.I think nobody understands it.
Don’t they realise that keeping patients calm and trusting is part of the healing process?
No,they don’t he answered despondently.We have to answer the phone all day long.So we can hear how upset some people are.
Stan called out,it’s in the government too.They wasted millions on a new system which was scrapped before it was ever used…
Where are all the intelligent people?
That’s what I have been wondering,thought Emile as he hid behind Annie’s new green handbag hoping a field mouse might come by
I am sure if I planned the the computer programmes I could fix this,said Mary.But I will never be given a job now.I don’t think I’d want it now with my eyesight.
Well,Mary,you are still very beautiful,said Stan.I think I want to go to bed with you.
Stan, how can you say it in front of Annie?
Well,she can come as well if she likes,he replied tactfully.
And what about Emile?
Oh, alright then.We’ll all go to bed even he … we need a life changing experience.And I do not mean another daft letter from that blooming hospital,The Royal Wee.
We could paper the walls with them.
I would not enjoy seeing the walls like that,said Annie.
I am just making a point… that they waste so much money…. and time answering the phone to correct their errors………. it’s like Alice in Sunderland.
I never knew she was a Geordy, mioawed Emile…
I just like to think of her that way,answered Stan.
Anyway,upstairs and off with your clothes… we must make love before we die even if it kills us or we have to go to A and E with angina,migraine,a broken rib or other unmentionable discomforts.
And being obedient they all want upstairs,got undressed and fell asleep side by side in Stan’s large soft bed… except for Emile.
I thought they were going to have a love in,he thought.Perhaps when they waken up,who knows?
Maybe the NHS are trying to make people mad so they will pay for private treatment….
Mary was dreaming she was back at Oxford teaching analysis to a group of frightened first year students…what a pity they are so nervous,she thought.They’s do better working in a garden centre or a zoo…

Stan is helped by Annie and Mary

T

Black cat looking out of the window

Black cat looking out of the window

Stan was feeling somewhat glum,nay even despairing,on Monday morning.
Mary had gone to  college on her new folding 6 gear bicycle with its  own basket and an extra basket from Wells-next -the- Sea 1995[the wicker basket now somewhat gray in hue.].She was lecturing on Dirac’s cat,Moses.
Stan was left at home sorting out all his art work and materials as well as doing the baking and bathing Emile,the delightful yet trying male cat that lived in their home
Sunk in dark misery,Stan sat in an old uncomfortable chair in the darkest part of the room, while Emile snored on the rug by the bright French windows.Stan went through all the possible reasons for his state of mind.

Was he guilty about  his flings with his alluring next door neighbour Annie?
Could it be his failure to toilet train Emile? Or his omitting to carry out the penance given byFather Brown after Stanconfessed to stealing sweets on the way to Confession in 1956?
The longer Stan brooded the more reasons he found for his depression.
He could hardly get up to make a cup of coffee ..even instant seemed too much  trouble.Would he even clean his teeth which somehow he’d failed to do?
The doorbell rang… it was a new cord for his laptop asEmile had been chewing the current one ,and 29 books in a sack from Amazon which his wife must have ordered,as he had no recollection of any such foolish spending.How would they pay the bill on the credit card? he ruminated anxiously
Later in the day  Annie peered through the window.She tapped on the glass with her well manicured blue finger nails.Let me in she cried naughtily
I’m too tired for any hanky panky he murmured lovingly as he ran his fingers through her thick red tresses.

What is this delightful perfume,beloved? he questioned her.
It’s Poison! she replied.Oh no,sorry it’s Iris and Jasmine Eau de toilette from the Bodyshop.
Despite his lowly sunken state Stan loved this perfume.He sniffed rabidly at her well rounded form.Well,shall we have some tea? she enquired.
Stan sat there hand on chest.I’ve been feeling a little gloomy,he muttered.She peered at him.

You look terribly pale,Stan.Where’s your angina spray?

I can’t recall,he said.Oh,here it is in my vest.
What a strange place to keep it,she responded.
Mary made pockets for all my vests.at one time you could buy vests with pockets
She’s good at sewing despite being so clever.In fact she loves doing things with her hands.
Annie got the GNT spray out and handed it to him.Have you got a pain?
Well,yes,now you mention it,I do,he replied verbosely.
Well, use the bloody thing,she whispered endearingly into his left ear.
He opened his mouth,raised his tongue and with his hand resting lightly on his chin hepressed the button with his forefinger.

His head began to throb, a sign his blood vessels were widening
Annie appeared with a cup of Earl Grey tea and a biscuit .Why,you look a little better.Do you need another dose?

No,I feel much better now.I’ve had it before.He drank the tea but didn’t eat the biscuit which he threw out later in crumbs for the  the birds ;his spirits began to rise.Why did he always forget that physical ailments can worsen a mood?He still felt a trifle glum but nothing ameringue wouldn’t put right.

OK,what shall I make for Mary’s supper? he enquired.
You sit there in the window and I’ll just make my special spaghetti,Annie replied gaily,as long as I can stay too.
Yes,I’ll open some red wine he said youthfully,and we can have fried apples and bananas for pudding with non fat Greek yoghurt.
What a wise choice she murmured gently into his ear………that will use up some of the newly picked apples,the bananas were from Lidl’s as usual.
Well,Stan you look better.said Mary happily,You’ve been pale all weekend.Was it Annie who cheered you up,not to put too fine a point on it?
Actually it was nitroglycerine,he said roguishly,but Annie made me use it.
But for us women you’d be dead,she replied equably.
But for you delightful creatures I wouldn’t be here at all,he moaned ecstatically.
Now then Stan,control yourself she urged,After all we have a visitor,Annie!
What a hoot,he thought as he twisted spaghetti round his fork in a careless manner splashing tomato sauce all over his new acrylic jumper.
Thank the Lord for washing machines,Mary said.
I didn’t know Jesus invented them,Annie said with a tone of mild sarcasm but no-one bothered to reply.They were used to her cynicism about religion and never listened.

As told by Emile to the local paper.All donations received free of charge

Study in blue with limericks

  • Study in blue

    • A brilliant composer named Dvorak
      Decided to fold his front door back.
      But then Dvorak tripped,
      And so he was flipped
      Onto a carriage on an ill routed rail track

      By God, he wrote a new work
      As in that  big steam train he sat.
      A symphony unique
      With a diabolical streak…
      All in the key of C flat.

      C flat is more usually named B
      As B is much shorter, you see.
      But the key’s no concern
      For those who discern
      Dvorak scored best when at sea.

      Dvorak like horses and girls
      As they all wore a ribbon and curls.
      He wrote music which dances
      The way a horse prances…
      The girls felt real gay as they whirled

Google transwaite

  • Tu me fais donc schlumpe
    Vous me faire sentir si glumpe
    Tu me fais il ya des cloches à Schwung
    Enfer à brhung
    Et un poumon woenderful à Thung.

    Vous êtes juste un cocker alter
    En bas, dans la vieille doekker glosse
    Vous me faites crissement être rimé
    Je aspire à un Signe, maligne vuenderfifle
    Et un vieux bedde essen divine

    Je suis autobrat non; animaux non je ai a la tete.
    La montagne, vey oy.
    Youpi yappee yay.
    Quel day.Je sais blunderful.

    Mein Mutter Olden is kranke
    Mein Olden Daddie is Swanke.
    Esperanto aucune façon!
    Européens restent.
    Lehitraoat, Mutter,
    Kranky vieille guttere.
    sie is mal de simple
    Dreck ne est pas tout à fait un jurer.
    Il ya rubbische partout?
    Ils clamme le zéro de l’inflation.
    Aleph null.my héros.

    Je ne ai pas loike votre tarte;
    il n’y a pas de pomme dans sa Harte.
    Venez à mes Zands et emplay moi avec vos handes.
    Il ya everyhear muzak …
    Nous tolérons aucun feares.
    Dankeschön zie unt ende de l’ci-dessus.

    photo00493 2

    You make me feel so schlumpe

You makke me feel so schlumpe
You makke me feel so glumpe
You makke me feel there are bells to be schwung
Hell to be brhung
And a woenderful lung to be thung.

You’re just an alter cocker
Down in the old glosse doekker
You make me squeal to be rhymed
I long for a zign ,vuenderfifle maligne
And an olden bedde essen divine

Je suis un autobrat;

j’ai un animal a la tete.
La montagne,oy vey.
Yippee yappee yay.
What a blunderful day.Je sais.

Mein olden mutter est kranke
Mein olden daddie est swanke.
Esperanto no way!
Europeans stay.
Lehitraoat,mutter,
Kranky old guttere.
sie est mal de mere
Dreck ain’t quite a swear.
There’s rubbische every where?
They clamme inflation’s zero.
Aleph null.my hero.

I don’t loike your tarte;
there’s no apple in its harte.
Come unto my zands and emplay me with your handes.
There’s muzak everyhear…
We tolerate no feares.
Dankeschon unt zie ende of l’above.

.

In spring-summer, the light of sun-blue-sky

In spring-summer, the light of sun-blue-sky
Even indoors ,scent of living soil;
nose breathes in odour of unborn flowers, all knotted roots and bulbs;
perfection of a small wildflower born hidden in long grasses
present as  a glorious rose a lover proffers
each small blade of grass divine, life-perfect
Hearts resonate with music in the walled garden where the red cracked
Jacobean bricks  guard blackbird and thrush.
How can church bells not ring and in our hearts new life start up?
For today, enough to be amongst the suchness,the thus and no otherwise;
is it this   we pray to?

Shakespeare’s enemies

All’s swell that blends well
All tell when ends jell.
Tall as well and weds a bell
As your bike’s blue lit

As You like bluetits

As you strike it .
As you make it up.
The Comedy of Sorrows
The remedy of mirrors
Jumbeline:sin and bloom
Thumbelina
Wondering dreamer
Love’s Favours Cost
Life’s flavours lost
Have Labour lost.
Treasure for treasure
Pleasure for pleasure
Leisure is treasure
The Merry Waves of Windsor
The merry knaves of winter
The merry wives have entered
The merry laptop dances
The Penchant for Tennis
The merchants now menace
The searcher for tomorrow
The researcher was followed
A Midsummer flight’s scream
A midsummer nightgown
Much Ado About frothing
How about some mutuality
Much we do about nullity
Pericles, winced at Lies
Taming of the Screw
The screws are all to blame
Their tempers are skewed
Boil us and put cress on us.
Twelfth Bite.
Healthy Frog Night
Two Gentlemen of Harmonia
A winter’s grail.
A sprinter’s tail
I feel my tail
I mean, it’s a tall tail.
Is it at all pale?
No it’s a bowl.
Plastic?
I am barred
You are a card

Give us eternal pests.Oh Lord

Hide And Seek

I like these poems

barbaraleaver's avatarLife and Beyond

Behind the smoke screen                             IMG_20150409_094025

Whom can I disguise myself as

To hide my real self

Whom can I impersonate

To be more accepted

What camouflage can I use

To hide behind

What mask can I wear

So I can mesmerize you

Within

My concealed crystal hideaway

  Find me

Here

And I will awaken

Your seeking mind

View original post

He liked to excite women with his studied impropriety

 http://youtu.be/Z2OcbeGqbpU

 http://youtu.be/Z2OcbeGqbpU
I found this helpful when I had an operation and could not lie down
7198404_8f6e77dde5_m
He was a picky person with a penchant for piss artistry
He liked to excite women with his studied impropriety.
He often went to bed with a woman of society
Then she would be troubled by her sudden notoriety.
As demanding as a pigeon with one eye and no stability;
Although he had been gifted with a wide range of abilities.
He always told the truth  in a   manner Jesuitical
It gave rise to  deep wounds and  to curious thoughts inimical.
He read between all lines and fantasised romantickly
He knew his Greek and Latin and corrected folk pedantickly.
He liked to drink ripe brandy and practise tantric gallantry.
Until it led to arguments and words fired off too frantickly.
He said he felt real lonesome even when he was in intimacy
Wished he’d never bothered to lose his youth’s virginity
He did too much for others and got  stressed out by an accident
Until his control broke and gave rise to an ” incident.”

So now he is in prison and finds it suits him perfectly.
He was made to be a hermit and he lives his life less jerkily.
All he misses now  is the ladies so beloved of him…
He wonders if they can be jailed and share his cell and  comfort him?

The undertaker’s under-planned

Oh,with whales and fish I want to be
I must be buried out at sea
Please send a brief text to me
Lest I commit adultery.
Please don’t send a lifeboat to a storm

You never seened to understand
Neither the lyrics nor the band
The negatives writhe hand in hand
The undertaker’s under-planned
My cast off skin won’t do him any harm.

He’s angry as his profits down
He prefers to bury folk in the ground
Ideally in a coffin sound
Made from any wood around…#=
My stitches won’t undo unless we’re calm

Another hard to pronounce word:Awry

2015 03 04 moon tonight 2 jpg sig

My best friend and I both came across this word in books as children and thought it was pronounced aw-ri.So we were amazed to hear people say “a wry”

Nr 1:How not to pronounce awry

I could tell you a nice little story
But awry is not pronounced aw-riii.
That unsettles my mind
Which is somewhat unkind.
And what’s more Lowry doesn’t rhyme with story either so I am stuck here on the page for ever
.
Never mind,I weren’t hopin’ for’t glory

.[ That verb usage is common in Lancashire]

Nr 2 for correct pronunciation of awry

My bedroom is all awry
My bed is an tart apple pie.
But it’s cosy and warm
And does me no harm
Though sometimes in a dream I up-fly

Is your marriage awry like mine?
Is your partner somewhat less than divine.
Well give thanks to the Lord
For indeed it is hard
To live with a god all the time.

The bedroom was indescribably neat
Nothing was awry but a sheet
It lay on the floor
inside of the door
Just where I put my black feet.

My awry home was disliked by the doc
Yet he wore an unmatched pair o’ socks
But being full of tact
I never told him that fact..
I just made certain our eyes never locked.

The big ship’s down

For this algorithmic trading
don’t need no explaining
as computer and computer pass the buck.
They create such mystery
from their rude yet stupid history
As the employees and the bosses fling their cack.
Their foot prints digitalic
Though not written in italics
Leave a path that  asses can now track.
All can change their user name
As they play tieir imbecilic games
For which Henri Poincare had no knack
Computers aren’t filled with wisdom
As we found out when we quizzed ’em
Wittgenstein’s old ladder won’t come back.
And Carnap made an error
Which we found out from a letter
So logic had to kinda  double back.
The computers do their trading
With the government debating
Whether our rich people feel some lack.
They have ten homes and handsome yachts
Where they tie themselves complex knots.
Hoping for a new erotic snack.
The graphs and charts wave merrily
The big ship’s down and so are we.
The Western mind is on a demon’s track.
Our narratives and yarns on money
Seem more desperate than funny
Sweet Jesus,I don’t think you’ll becoming back

His eye rolled off the television onto my knee.. fatal redirection

He rolled his eyes on the television.Je ne pays pas license.
She met his eyes down the street en passant
His eyes narrowed as they passed through the Thames Barrier,quod errant demons tantrum
His eyes were askew as they sailed in the dinghy down the river bed.Que sera tara
His eyes said,hello babe.Non erat liberace
His eyes roamed about wildly.Kyrie eleison
The cat’s eyes were missing as they drove down the main road.Ite missa pest
His eyes were all over her and she was a full bosomed lady of ample has  beens.Heilige snacked
Her eyes never mated with his although he gave her a large glowering look.Stille nacht.Heilge smacked
Your eyes are not sharp enough,the teacher said as I broke the lead in my pencil.Mal a la tete!
His eyes melted the ice round her heart as they caressed her with tender pity.
Oh,mio solo
His eyes spoke volumes but no-one wrote it down so it is lost to posteriority.Amen
Her eyes were as hard as diamonds but in reality she was a soft touch.O mio ,so low
My eyes dropped and I looked ashamed of myself.Kyrie illusion
My eyes stammered all down his face.Que sera?
Her eyes ran and so did she…. that seems logical to me.QED
My eyes watered and the plants were rejuvenated.Non tolerante les diables.
Your eyes are too bold,the doctor said.Wear dark glasses and keep away from men.Niger est superiore
I put my eyes on hold and then forgot!Esta la vista de pleurs
Do eyes count? Numinousity
Are eyes free? Liberare mei
My eyes twinkled when I read his letters.Je l’adore.
My eyes are just stars really.Visible retinae
My eyes are in bed today,Ou est mon mari??
I have eyes in the wreck of my head..dulce et decorum wrest
to ply for one’s punkery.
I saw my eye once….quel horreur… trump de soleil

No holy spirit’s sold in our great Malls

  • In honouring our dead we lay their ghosts.
    We look again from human need and pain.
    Which one has loved,which one has hurt the most?

    Forgive and let no bitterness remain.

    For them,the humble, no portraits were made,
    Just word pictures which fade back in the mind.
    Kings and lords paid artists, yet forbade
    The showing of cruel lips and eyes unkind

    Yet even they are trodden underfoot
    Their gold protected virtue not at all.
    The soul is made from feelings which don’t rot,
    No holy spirit’s sold in our great Malls.

    We must speak and love in this moment .
    And look on all with glad-eyed,warm intent

Emile gets his nerve back

  • Tabby-Cats3

    Wikipedia

    Stan was happy for a few moments when he woke up.Then he realized Emile was not anywhere to be seen.Mary had already gone out as she wanted to catch a very early train to London.She needed to visit the British Library.She urgently wanted to find evidence that Wittgenstein wore a hat in bed.
    Stan went searching around the house but Emile had vanished.Usually at 8 am he would be dashing about pretending to chase flies and giving a balletic performance worthy of Sadler’s Wells.
    I wonder who Sadler was,Stan muttered as he filled the kettle with fresh water and put some Earl Grey tea into the teapot.
    Then, a strange feeling came over him.He looked up and there was Emile
    crouched on top of the highest cupboard in the kitchen.
    Emile,he cried,What are you doing up there?
    I’m training to be a spy,Emile replied nonchalantly.
    But how could this kitchen be of interest to the Intelligence Services?
    Well,the cat murmured,I am practising hiding.
    You gave me a terrible shock,Stan said.I had this feeling I was being watched.I wondered if it was paranoia.Then I saw your gleaming eyes.
    So,I need to get some dark glasses,Emile said.
    No,I would still feel that horrible feeling.And how were you planning to get down from that high ledge?
    I’m not sure,the cat mioawed faintly
    Well,the first lesson for a spy or even a detective is,
    Never go anywhere unless you can make a quick exit,
    As it is,I may have to ring 999.
    Just then the front doorbell rang.There stood a man with a white beard and moustache.
    Hello,he said holding out his hand to shake Stan’s.
    I am called Peter Fried.I have just moved into one of the new flats across the road.I am a psychoanalyst.I have taken on another flat to use as a consulting room and a waiting room
    A psychoanalyst! Do we need one round here? Well,Good morning,I have just brewed some tea.Would you like to join me?
    How kind,said Peter.
    I say,old bean,did you know there’s a cat on top of your cupboard?
    Yes,that is Emile.Today he has surpassed himself in wickedness.How I will get him down I don’t know.
    My training analyst used to say,What goes up must eventually come down.
    That seems a bit weird for an analyst.To what was he referring… something to do with sex I don’t doubt.It’s all sex with you people.
    Yes, some of us are very peculiar…that’s why we enter the profession.
    What I meant was,if Emile got up he can get down.How did you get up,Emile?
    I leaped,answered the tense animal.
    Can you leap down?
    I’ve lost my nerve,replied the poor creature softly.
    Well, as it happens,being a therapist,I always carry few sparwe nerves with me.I’ll climb up this stepladder and pass you a new nerve.
    And without waiting,Peter climbed the ladder.He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a golden thread.
    Here you are,Emile,Catch this in your claw.
    Emile caught the golden thread and wrapped it around his neck.
    Can you leap down now? enquired Stan.
    Emile leaped down and landed in a bowl of hot water in the sink.
    It’s a good thing I wasn’t making chips,laughed Stan.
    Come here,Emile and let me dry you on this old towel.He put Emile
    in front of the fire and he and Peter drank mugs of Earl Grey tea.
    I have got a mistress,Stan told Peter.
    Well,do you want therapy for your conflict?
    Oh,no.I’m far too old for therapy or indeed for a mistress.I was wondering of you would perhaps be interested …she just likes to spend a little time with an intriguing man.. talking, drawing graphs, interpreting data,making tea,calling the ambulance.. you know what I mean.She likes the paramedic,Dave.
    Is she not married?
    No,her husband fell into the wheelie bin during the night and alas he was taken away with the rubbish.
    That is a strange story.Are you certain?
    No,it could be he grew tired of her and ran away.Then she invented this story,
    Well,this may be a quiet suburb but I can see there is plenty of material here for me to write my next book:
    Deceptive appearances and the fascination of apparent dullness.
    Oh,that sounds very unusual.
    Well,I’ve never believed in true dullness.There is always a story.
    See,I’ve just met you a man of 98 yet you have a wife, a mistress and a crazy cat.. and I’ve only been here for one day.Imagine 6156119_f260

    what else I may discover here.
    They heard a siren.
    Oh,no!We’ve not even rung 999 and here is the ambulance….
    Mary will be so angry..You see Dave is bisexual.
    My goodness,are you having an affair with him.
    No way,shouted Stan.My life is tough enough already.He can be bisexual or even trisexual but I’m not interested.
    What does trisexual mean,enquired Emile.
    I have no idea but I thought it sounded good,admitted Stan.
    Peter stood up.
    I think I’d better go home and start to see my patients.
    Now Emile,put your nerve somewhere safe.We don’t want you to lose it again.
    Thank you,darling cried Emile.I think I’ve formed an erotic transference with you already.
    Peter rushed out.
    Is it me or is it them?he wondered.
    I thought it would be quiet here on the edge of Knittingham but I think now wherever you are there will always be something unexpected happening.But I hope Emile will not begin to follow me around.I shall have to buy a lady cat and then Emile might fall in love with her instead.So off Peter went whistling a Bach cello suite and wondering how to cope with life in a suburb.. clearly it was not as dull as he had imagined.

Forests of Greater London : Epping the ancient hunting ground

  • http://youtu.be/xsLa-KfO7m0………………….hilarious!

    a330px-Epping_Forest_Centenary_Walk_2_-_Sept_2008
    All photos from wikipedia.

    A blog seems to be a daunting undertaking some days.Still,one step at a time.It’s lovely sunny day here,time to go out into the woods.

    I like woods because of the profound green silence,the birdsong and the peace.Nowadays we don’t get people shooting pigeons and deer.In fact not that many deer are left.The first time I saw some was in Westmorland near Arnside.

    I feel it’s crucial for us to have some contact with nature as often as possible.We do need it because until fairly recently in human history we lived very close to animals and nature.
    Epping Forest is a surprise  considering that part of it is in London.
    Epping town is attractive and also Ongar which is mentioned in a very funny sng by Willie Rushton…. see above link..Both of these towns are on the Central line of the Underground or you can go via Chingford which is half an hour by train from Liverpool Street.

    http://youtu.be/xsLa-KfO7m0

    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epping_ForestChingford

    CP8300804[1]

    deer imagesEpping forest 20 8 2010 028Kings-oak-Epping-Forest1

    epping-ongar-railway-06

In his own lone wishes he is trapped

No woman ever can be what he dreams

Nor can such give comfort on the road.

Yet every night he plots and thinks and schemes.

And rarely does he ever go abroad.

No food he eats will satisfy his tongue.

The best wine is as naught to mother’s milk.

He grumbles and will not admit to wrong.

I ‘ve known more men than him of this same ilk.

No bed can be the right one for his sleep.

No sheets and pillows suit his wary skin.

He often has made gentle maidens weep

Crying out they’are fat or boney thin.’

Beware the man who never can adapt

For in own lone wishes he is trapped


	


	



			
				


			

			
The owl can see with wide and narrow view
		
	
	

		
The owl can see with wide and narrow view

Focuses that poets and artists knew.

The broad sweep on the canvas makes a place

Where details and designs can have their space.


What God endowed the owl with such excess;

And all her progeny to enjoy bliss?

Is evolution but a narrow miss?

What  exquisite accident  made this?


Eagles,hawks and owls must kill to eat.

No blandishments nor kindness make them sweet.

What God could make an Eden this deceit;

Where lambs are snatched up while their mothers bleat


So God himself destroys to fill his leisure;

Such fearsome revelations show his measure.

…

	


	



			
				


			

			
A word  in my hand
		
	
	

		






Tpavings 2




To see or not to see:what’s true perception?

He darned the slights away.

Freud wrote a ballad. about repression but it was denied expresssion

Freud wrote a ballet about self-reception.

If you suffer from lack of self reception get a new ariel from Judah

I met a logarithym once.How do you spoil that?

He had an algorithm round his neck for years.

A sparking blog never incites,fights nor blights

Hark the blogger’s rage is flung; send someone to buy his dung.

Vehement words put off the birds

Hark the bloggers page is wrong;when he washed he never wrung

Dolly put the skittle on and threw his balls at it.

Little red riding hugs.

Sin for ever,pest.Get thee to a flummery.

Did he shame her blind embrace?

A word in the sand gives birth to an evaporating blog

A word in the sand would do better on a tablet

A rat may look at a hyper-link

The flat may look at the swell endowed with rumours.

An eye is only as wide as its tweaker’s blink

A phish is as good as a hypermeal to a mad monk.

A blog is man’s new trend in reads

A blog is a man’s views by his misdeeds

A frowning man will pinch your gewgaws and your donkey

Phising all day trashes your mind

Recycling bins empty the blung

A rule which is funny is soon enchanting

A trend in feeds is a blend of needs

A wholesale drag can download many wiles

A wholesale drug can unload many trials

A wood in spring makes the gods descend

A friend by deed never flees.

Hearing voices enhances our choices.

The angel of wrath has cornered him; sprinkled on some wine and gin.

He could have winked all night; he had an eeery site

He could have sunk on slights.

He could have sulked for his rights but who would interpret his wryness?

He sent me to hollow trees for energy.

He asked me to wallow in his hyper-loving arms.But I never swallowed his words whole.

He never rang at night even when he was right here.

He never clings too tight when the full moonis bright

Send me a code to break at your gate… and call uopon my whole with your new mouse

We three flings have got a big grudge.We al want some real Cornish fudge.

Confess your sins and repent at your pleasure

Penance is for the true;is that you?

Forever flung,his rights.;he felt guilt but no fright.

End it now and save me rhymes.





	


	



			
				


			

			
English words  counted
		
	
	

		






The number of words in the English language is: 1,025,109.8. This is the estimate by the Global Language Monitor on January 1, 2014. The English Language passed the Million Word threshold on June 10, 2009 at 10:22 a.m. (GMT). The Millionth Word was the controversial ‘Web 2.0′.10 Jun 2009

Number of Words in the English Language: 1,025,109.8 …

www.languagemonitor.com/…words/number-of-words-in-the-english-lang…


sky-diving


Merriam Webster

How many words are there in English?

Table of Contents

There is no exact count of the number of words in English, and one reason is certainly because languages are ever expanding; in addition, their boundaries are always flexible. Consider such words as “cannoli” and “teriyaki,” which come from other tongues but are established through use, context, and frequency as English. There are many other thorny considerations that complicate the task of counting individual words and tallying up the language in that way. For example, are all of the inflected forms of a word–for instance, “drive,” “drives,” “drove,” etc.–one word or several separate words?


Similarly, there are twelve different words with the spelling “post” entered in Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, Unabridged; they all have different parts of speech or derivations. Should these twelve be considered one word for the purposes of our reckoning? Some scholars would insist the distinct forms of “post” only be counted once, but others consider each one a separate word that should be counted individually.


Another puzzle: should “port of call,” another Webster’s Third entry, count as a word, even though each of its components is entered separately?


It has been estimated that the vocabulary of English includes roughly 1 million words (although most linguists would take that estimate with a chunk of salt, and some have said they wouldn’t be surprised if it is off the mark by a quarter-million); that tally includes the myriad names of chemicals and other scientific entities. Many of these are so peripheral to common English use that they do not or are not likely to appear even in an unabridged dictionary.


Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, Unabridged, together with its 1993 Addenda Section, includes some 470,000 entries. The Oxford English Dictionary, Second Edition, reports that it includes a similar number.




http://www.merriam-webster.com/help/faq/total_words.htm



	


	



			
				


			

			
Some enchanted weaving
		
	
	

		
Here we go round the jumbly crush

The big ship wailed through the bally,bally woe.

He stuck in his bum.

Little knack born here.

Twittering heights.

Jane Heard.

Middlerun.

Great exasperations.

Oliver whizzed.

Hard Rhymes

Martin puzzled wits.

Do you want to eye ball?

Nuts in May,crackers by Xmas.

Far from the saddening crowds.

King Beer.

The clean dirt of Hardy.

A midsummer night’s theme

The themes of the quantitive.

Come now and love me one more time.

She fell out with his arms

Some enchanted weaving

Scarlet hip bones

God didn’t make those little green nipples

If I live to be a blunder

The green,green Mass of Rome

Hail spurious quaint hat trick

Evening prayers said after acid trips Vicar into air balloon

	


	



			
				


			

			
Each life is an art made with craft
		
	
	

		
Dancing eyes attract men of note

Who often grand music have wrote,

If you don’t like my tenses

Pay my expenses

Just look deeper into whatever I’ve quote.


Fortune may favour the brave

But Red Indians are asleep in their graves.

These pat cute expressionss

No doubt have their lessons;

But in the main, life is how we behave.


What we pay attention to grows.

Whilst our other seeds lie here unsown.

The evil tree towers,

Over the bankers ill powers.

It’s a haven for vultures and crows.


Let us examine our gifts.

The race is not all to the swift.

We each have our talents

With patience to balance

Each life is an art made with craft

	


	



			
				


			

			
Forcible ways make not an end of evil,
		
	
	

		
	


	



			
				


			

			
Everywhere
		
	
	

		
Wall and shrub


http://youtu.be/3oimHJCURbo


I used to like school until we had to learn to make rock cakes.

I mean,there were no rocks in our street and anyway my mother couldn’t afford them.The nuns said I was cheeky and made me stand in the corner until I died.And I’ve never felt the same since.

In fact,I’ve never felt anything since.


After 6 years in the grammar school I went mute.It was dead easy.


After I left they said I should have gone back to try for Oxford.

They say it’s dead simple if you know how.


When I was older I did go to Oxford.That livened me up a bit but it was dead wrong for me owing to my muted Lancashire accent and lack of the wherewithall. I was their first dead postgraduate ever.


It nearly killed me.I was glad to leave before they cremated me and threw me off Magdalen Bridge on Hey Day .


000d4-scan0001


Can the dead speak? Yes, but only if they stop coughin’.


Can the dead joke? No,they are too grave.

Can the dead walk? Only in Lambeth.

Can the dead see? Only in the Holy Land.

Cam the dead make love? Only if they were Victorian ladies.

Can the dead eat? Only if they run together.

Cam the dead write? Only using dead letters.

Can the dead hear? Only when we prey.

Can the dead watch TV? It’s their funeral.

	


	



			
				


			

			
Wittgenstein’s diary extracts
		
	
	

		
Death is not an event in life: we do not live to experience death. If we take eternity to mean not infinite temporal duration but timelessness, then eternal life belongs to those who live in the present. Our life has no end in just the way in which our visual field has no limits.


http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Ludwig_Wittgenstein


What do I know about God and the purpose of life?

I know that this world exists.

That I am placed in it like my eye in its visual field.

That something about it is problematic, which we call its meaning.

This meaning does not lie in it but outside of it.

That life is the world.

That my will penetrates the world.

That my will is good or evil.

Therefore that good and evil are somehow connected with the meaning of the world.

The meaning of life, i.e. the meaning of the world, we can call God.

And connect with this the comparison of God to a father.

To pray is to think about the meaning of life.

Journal entry (11 June 1916), p. 72e and 73e

	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
Dustballs and cyclamen
		
	
	

		
1654014_1483389821939275_2168825124339294135_n






Why are balls round?

So that they have no corners to hurt your hands!


Why are testicles called balls?

Because loose women like to play games with them


Why do women like to go to balls?

So they can dress up and envy each other all night.


Why do people say,”oh, balls” when they mean oh, rubbish when balls contain the seeds of life.

Because they lack imagination .There is no female equivalent like

oh,eggs!Oh,salad.They might have very small testicles and feel the need to show off.

Sometimes there is an odd answer.


Like,why did God make dust?

Because it forms into balls.

Or,because it reminds us of our future lives… heaven is in the details…dust to dust…





	


	



			
				


			

			
The oxymoron class
		
	
	

		










There is a sentence often spoke

In jest or repartee:

“See how the cookie crumbles,mate.

Why don’t you have more tea?”


But my cookies don’t crumble

They bend in multi-ways.

Why here are some I made for you

Only yesterday.


You want to know why cookies bend?

Well,mine are made from rubber.

They look impressive on the plate…

As good as any other.


But when you pick one up to start

And press it in your hands

It does not crumble,but just falls

Into a thousand rubber bands.


The guests suffer embarrassment

As they gaze down in dismay.

But the children and the dogs and cats

are happy as they play.


I gave my lover,one cookie

I gave him three or four

But he was never satisfied

Until I gave him more.


Then when I met him later on

He seemed to be in pain…

And claims his doctor told him off

For eating food again.


So now I’m having lessons

In how to bake real fakes.

It’s called the Oxymoron Class

And you should see our cakes.


I made one,I made two,

I made fifty four.

But now the freezer’s full right up

So I can’t make no more.


I want some crumbly cookies,

But mother doesn’t know.

She has gone to heaven…

Oh,how I miss her dough!