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!

No form,no freedom

There is form and therefore there is free verse.

Without form there is no freedom.

Without craft,there is no Art.

Without self forgetting there is no  new creation.

“Trying” is always a mistake.

Without silence there is no speech..

Without song,there is no silence.

A hard word:Hermeneutics

Hermeneutics /hɛrməˈnjuːtɪks/ is the theory of text interpretation, especially the interpretation of biblical texts, wisdom literature, and philosophical texts.

Hermeneutics is good for the lonely
As great works make us feel more at homely.
Find company here
Shed no more tears.
Truth,love and wisdom are comely.

For the magnetic attraction of rain.

new windows

I dreamed I rowed in a large pea green boat
Accompanied by seventeen cats.
And across the Great Lake,without a mistake
I saw mountains of gentleman’s hats.
I was making no waves in my effort to move,
The cats were discoursing on geometry.
I looked in the mirror fixed onto my boat,
The moon spoke  entrancing Theology.
“I wonder who’ll help me”I thought to myself,
When I saw an entire spectrum of men–
Dirac, Archimedes,Niels Bohr, with their theories.
I got my great inspiration just then.
I need seventeen physicists,that’s one for each cat,
All tied to my boat with a chain.
The force they exert will just compensate
For the magnetic attraction of rain.
Paul Dirac came up, and I looked into his eyes,
They were full of anxiety and pain.
“I am sorry I am unable do what you wish,
But my father never taught me to swim.”
“That is perfectly alright”,I politely replied,
“You can walk on the water instead”
So that’s how my boat and its cargo of cats
Were accompanied back to my bed.
When I awoke the next day,I was filled with dismay.
I saw that Paul Dirac was gone,
With the cats and the boat,of which I just wrote
And I was now completely alone.
I took a quick look,in my old physics book
And there was a photo of Dirac
I stared at his eyes,and I am not telling lies,
He threw me a very strange look.
I caught this strange look,it’s here in my book.
I am saving it for a special event.
When I gather more Data on Relative Quanta,
I’ll understand just what Dirac meant.
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Peas and Poetry

A fascinating blog post

Promenade Claire's avatarPromenade Plantings

Summer is picking peas straight from the pod, that fresh sweet zing of green. Spring is preparing the ground and sowing and planting – waiting, watching, hoping.

I was taking a look at Vita Sackville-West‘s poems The Land and The Garden the other day as I was wondering what to do with my garden and the blog, ruminating on which way to go and how to get there. She gardened at Sissinghurst, a mere 20 miles from me, her references to Spring, written in 1926 have a ring of truth to me today in 2012.

Vita Sackville-West – The Land

An excerpt

Spring –

There’s no beginning to the farmer’s year,

Only recurrent patterns on a scroll

Unwinding; only use in step with need,

Sharp on the minute when the minute’s come;

A watching, waiting thole,

A reckoning by rule of thumb.

………………………

………………………

Therefore let no man say, “peas shall be sown

This…

View original post 212 more words

Stan and the angel

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Stan had eaten too much pizza all at once because he was extremely ravenous from doing the washing and hanging it up on the mulberry tree in his long garden, Now he felt lazy and haphazardly fey;he felt other worldly and liable to have visions..Now and then he saw an angel, whom he called Yael,in his home.But having looked up Yael on a website he realised she was not a very nice woman unlike his dear wife Mary.So he was planning to have a new name for the angel with her permissiom
Do you mind if I change your name,he enquired gently when Yael came in through the French window looking gentle yet fierce.
Well,what to? Yael asked him familiarly
How about Ysabel? Stan offered.It’s got just an extra b and s.
Or how about,Sybael?
You seem fond of b and s, the angel answered in confused humour.
It was just mere chance,said Stan somewhat defensively.
Ok I’ll take Sybael,the angel said loudly .
I want to change my name too, said Emile the cat living with Stan.
How about Mebiles or Melibes or Eimbles….
I don’t know, pouted the cat haughtily.
How about Semile,said Stan.Though it has no letter b in it, he bragged.
They all pondered quietly as the sun shone in through the window and made a lovely lacy pattern on the walls.
In came Mary,Stan’s sweet old wife and his computer aided extension too.
You are very quiet,Stan,she murmured.What’s going on here?
We are tring to find a new name for Emile,Stan told her as Sybael waved her wings about.
It seems very draughty ,Mary said.And Emile can’t change his name because it will change his personality.That is a fact.
I didn’t know I had a personality,the little cat purred.
It is what is most characteristic of you.For example, if you always hurt those you love then you have a cruel personality or you have got diabetes.Some people want love but they are too harsh and demanding.
So true,Stan added pensively.
Anyway,I have some awfully strange news,Mary went on.
You just won’t believe this but Dorothy Grey who lives at the bottom of the hill by the church has just had a heart attack.
How come?
She had an online love relationship with a rather peculiar but intriguing and clever elderly man who turned out to be a sadist in disguise.So when she ended it he flew over and attacked her with an air gun and some cat’s claws which he had bought from a cat market in Morocco
Is he a wizard,asked Emile excitedly.
No, he flew on a stolen magic carpet from Persia or somesuch..
Persian carpets,I’d love one here said the cat greedily
Actually it’s a kind of aeroplane,said Stan.
How boring ,said Mary angrily.Anyway Dorothy was so shocked her arteries spasmed and she is in A and E now on morphine,she added..
What a shame that she got that instead of a spasm elsewhere….Stan muttered thinking of Freud’s writings.
But who’d have sex with such a horrible harsh old man? Mary asked.
An equally horrible old woman,maybe? Stan riposted.
Any way it all goes to show the dangers of online love, he informed the room.
It’s not real love,is it, because in real love the other person is as important to you as yourself.Mary said theologically.
Well, Eros is a kind of love,too.But many old men just want thei washing done and a companion.Eros has departed from their world.
Sybael smiled and then flew out of the window.
What was that noise, said Mary anxiously as her ears were very sharp.
Just an angel’s wings,said Stan quietly
If only Dorothy had seen an angel instead of that harsh old man she might be much better now.Mary mused.But not everyone can see them.The world seems full of horrible old men and beautiful young women
Emile winked at Stan and then ran out to chase a butterfly amongst the scented tulips.. there were lots of angels there every day but only he knew.
Angels don’t like big modern cities but they like old abbeys and cathedrals and places where such things used to be before post modernist architecture took over.
And cat’s claws are not meant for scratching your loved ones either.Online dating should be avoided except with atheists and agnostics.They are less judgemental about women’s place and roles.It’s strange how harsh many religious people are.Harsh and unforgiving.Still it’s probable  in their genes

Stop staring

In London town,I saw the moon,

It looked oh,quite impressive.

I lay myself down on a coat,

So I could write this missive.

After lying staring up,

I began to feel real dizzy

I thought I saw the Pope go by.

Do you think I’m going crazy?

He was in a large white car

All wrapped up in tartan.

I know you won’t believe me but

I felt almost certain.

I went to a free soup kitchen,

As I’m a homeless person.

I saw ten angels looking down,

So I called out “Stop staring“

I went inside a shop doorway

To get an hour of sleep.

I I dreamed I dwelt in the U.K

It nearly made me weep.

If I really was in my England

I ‘d have the N.H.S.

I’d have a council house of my own

And good news to confess

Other selves within

jug and bottles 4I was in the kitchen washing up one day when I kept getting lines suitable for sonnets coming into my mind.I haad just written one sonnet so I then wrote two more.
I had a realisation that if one learns a certain form,technique or skill then that will act like a fishing net to draw up material from the depths of the mind which wants to be expressed.There definitely is desire in these sentences which wish to be spoken.. to communicate.
Another example of the desires of the mind is shown by the following example.I was feeling extremely distressed one day and began writing a sonnet in which I intended to say something very unpleasant but after writing one and a half stanzas I realised that this other good part of my mind did not wish me to write something cruel or angry… so I changed direction and made it quite different.
And conversely I once had very unkind thoughts coming into my mind about someone who had hurt me  profoundly and was unable to say anything to help me afterwards…  or was unable to apologise but I told myself that I did not agree with these bad thoughts and would not allow them to make me do something against my own moral code.However I felt the temptation strongly and indeed I had been used wrongly by someone.
So I can see different selves in me. Something very good and something bad… then me, in between them!

Thoughts about fiction and reality

  Dickens
Charles Dickens,the great novelist of Victorian England
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Dickens
Fiction is invented,of course, by novelists and writers.And we also have lies which are slightly different.The truth of fiction when well done comes from the use of the true imagination based on genuine interactions with what is other than ourselves and is a way of depicting the truths of the heart.

The true imagination can only be effective when it is not fantasy based on  mere wish fulfillment.To me that is what Buddhism is about.We desire nothing in order to get everything and more.

Lies,on the other hand ,may be for purposes of  manipulating other people or may be the product of fantasy which is common in children who “make believe” they are having a birthday party because they want one so much.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_best-selling_fiction_authors
I might say fictional writing in novels or poetry using the true imagination helps us to understand complex reality better..Lies can  be very destructive.And we have the kind of language used in the novel 1984 by George Orwell where black can mean white and death merely.termination of life…. we have begun to hear a lot of this and it does have an utterly bad and even destructive effect on personal and political life.The most famous example is when some politician was lying but it was referred to as being “Economy with the truth”.It’s our intentions which count to in making us moral agents.We may lie so smoothly we feel it will have no illl effect.

Imagining what it is  like to be  another person as in Dicken’s great novels about the poor is very powerful and can change government policy via changing people’s hearts and minds.

I feel imagination does have this purpose of making us feel for others and bring us closer even to murderers and criminals when the writer makes their world something we can comprehend.

Reality is very complex which is one reason we have all the arts,science,mysticism,religion as they all look at or relate to different aspects of life.

Plain lying is a selfish activity for our personal benefit or to avoid trouble when we have misbehaved.And we weave a web of destruction

Oh,sweeter than confectionery

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Photo courtesy of Mike Flemming 2015.Copyright

Inside my mind I dream of gleaming pearls,
Caterpillars,snails with  swirling whorls.
I dream contented, all enwrapped;
With reverie and dream I’m lapped.
The inner seas will comfort me,
While gods open my eyes to see

Oh,sweeter than confectionery
Is my old   school dictionary.
The words whirl round and fall to shape
The sentences which my world make.
This furnishing is rich and strange
And magically self arranged.

Oh,sweeter than the love of man
Is reading works of poets long gone.
And feeling deeply their dark tides .
Upon which our boat may glide.
The sea infinite we float upon
Is the same warm sea the ancients swam..

Sweeter still is this spring air
And the blossom spreading fair.
We’ll drown our selves in grassy field
To the gods of poetry yield.
We’ll rise again and spring up tall
To grow more rich until we fall.

For fear of sin

For fear of sin ,the virgin would not yield
And so her fruits were never let to grow.
And poisoned were her green unsullied fields.
Where never man was ever let to sow.

Her paralysed and stony, saddened heart
Was never melted by a loving kiss.
More goodness in the gold of whore and tart,
Than in such virtue frozen ‘gainst all wish.

Like a dead tree inside a plenteous wood
She dwelled without the presence of sweet birds
Can this be what is meant by  living god?
Is it God or Satan she has heard?

Let sexual pleasure take her,even kill.
For virtue has destroyed her love and will

For serious words are death to married joy

My eye has fallen on your funny face
You look so dear I cannot shift my gaze
Both love and humour cherish and embrace
Your skin and smile and on them gladly graze.

My tears have fallen on your fine made hands
As you held me to comfort and caress
And on our fingers are our wedding bands
Which symbolise that union God blessed

My nose has sniffed the honey of your smell
My ears have heard the your much desired gruff voice.
My fingers know your crevices so well
my toes all tingle as in need of vice.

For serious words are death to married joy
And so my humour I shall now employ.

Sensitive skin on my inner arms yelps and my heart aches

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Feeling the sadness in my heart
and in my arms a tender feeling
as if the flesh is calling out;
My breath’s coming in gasps and
my throat makes a murmur
as if trying to speak.

Sensitive skin on my inner arms yelps
and my heart aches like
I’ve run too many miles .
My legs feel strong
My mouth is dry and my back
needs an arm around it
for protection.
My eyes are wet with the moisture
that might have made saliva.

My cat died
And then my other cat died.
Whatever.

A heart adrift

My heart is like a rowing boat adrift
Whose occupant has fallen overboard
The empty vessel drifts through deep sea mist.
And in his pearl filled ears the deep sea roars.

Just as the boat drifts mapless,so do I.
My maps were drawn for quite another sea
My captain’s taken leave and now I cry
As if the drowned soul might just be me.

Yet on the sea bed mysteries abound;
Such wonders and such magic there displayed.
Yet I wonder if  it is my  fate to drown
And to a memory I’ll  slowly fade.

Maps are no more certainties than hints.
Between the lines lies gold from other mints

Time of richness

Tomatoes ripen on the stem;
Apples hang down low.
Summer riches now and then.
From seeds that once I sowed.

Plant your seeds with care and grace.
Nurture them with love.
Put them in where you have space,
As rain falls from above.

Slowly, and in their own right time,
They will manifest
The form with which they were endowed.
Richness comes at last.

Time for sowing,time for birth
Time for love of life.
Time to scatter seeds abroad.
Time to end our strife.

Our minds are all buddies

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Photo by Mike Flemming 2015 copyright.Publishe with permission

She wanted to come up with a mnemonic
For remembering the form of a sonnet
She cried AB twice CD
CD,EF twice ‘fore G.
For GH is the last couplet,innit? .

She wanted to write for the dummies
Whose speech veers from f*ck to cor l*mmy.
Vernacular they call it
to which we cry,no sh*t,twit
My eyes, like my cup, are now r*nny.

Mirth seems to rise from my studies.
As the breath rises up from our bodies.
Our breath mingles each day
From your way to my airway.
Our lungs, if not minds, are all buddies

She smiled

After all,it had been a caesarean birth,and in the desert.
Stitched together by thorns,I had lain by the rock
Weak and pale with grief.
Late her cries awoke me.Her eyes opened and she smiled.
Now I am on a better place
where doctors
can stitch me up.
Scar tissue and spikes of gorse in flesh
wounded by the trial.
but nevertheless a birth
See the edges drawn together and the flesh connect.
Draw one side over the other to make the link strong.
I placed 29 anemones by her bed
Whispered,I am here.
Now they stitch me again as if the wound keeps opening
and the holy one who did it prays on.
This time it seems the thread is stronger and holds me.
Holds me.

Iambic tantrumia

  • He said,iamb not myself today
    You seemed unaware,
    The anapest will soon come in
    You seem not to care.
    The trochee sang
    The dactyls rang
    Fry gave them a glare.
    For spondee-licious he was not
    Neither here nor there;
    He said again,iamb he you seek
    Here and everywhere.
    A pyrrhic victory for rules
    Slang for souls with flair.
    Iamb,iamb,iamb,iamb
    Ic pentameters dare

Precious treasure

The brightness of this sweet spring light,
The songs of birds whose brood take flight.
I love to take these earthly pleasures,
To fill my mind with precious treasure.

The conversations with my friends,
The closeness only death will end,
To share my life with those who care,
How could we have better fare?

Those who suffer pain and grief,
From whom love’s stolen by a thief,
Let us take them to our hearts,
So their healing path can start.

Those who fear friendship and love,
Who set themselves at too low worth,
Do they know how courage grows
Through acceptance of our woes?

Life is tragi-comedy.
Love may be the remedy.
Yet if we give our hearts away
We shall have grief and pain to pay.

But if we lock our hearts up tight,
And keep all feeling out of sight,
We will wither like dead leaves,
Of our whole life we’ll be bereaved.

So choose your path with care and thought;
Never be by lies distraught.
Each human is as gold to me,
So with great love, I end my plea.

Bother me no more with reveried bliss

No sight is like the rising of sun

When promises of dreams seem clear and still

My heart though sore ,can fancy love has come

Without hard times and exercise of will.

No morning is without new dawn of hope

When all our conflicts may be put aside.

Imagination is far flung in scope,

Never noting dreams may fraughtly lie.

No love is like my long lost love for you

Once known,once felt,it settles in the heart.

Yet I do believe love can be found anew

But only when the lost true love departs.

So bother me no more with reveried bliss.

Go leave me with my life,though all’s amiss

When my love lies

When my love lies and doom hangs over head,
When life runs like a river to the sea
Then shall I take new lovers to my bed,
And with their carnal touch consoled be?

When my love lies,and breaks my tender heart.
When life seems grey and rocks bestrew my path.
Then, shall I my life of evil start?
And on this world shall I bestow my wrath?

When true loves lie and wrecks all loyalty.
When puzzlement makes all my world seem mad.
Then I shall upend causality;
Console this world with deeds which make me glad.

For I have love’s own child inside my soul
And I shall tend her till at last she’s whole

Why we feel tired:quantum theory

!Among its many counter-intuitive ideas, quantum theory proposed that energy was not continuous but instead came in discrete packets (quanta) and that light could be described as both a wave and a stream of these quanta.”Extract from article in Guardian.

Energy comes in packets usually known in Britain as biscuits.

Is today the day?

Wandering through galleries,4785799_f260
Sepia paintings of pines

And faces

Pain came to the emptiness once my heart,

I sat picturing screaming Popes and babies.
Eastward, looking for fresh instruction,
My mind unpleated,like a pair of curtains
~Hung out to dry in equinoxal gales.
The bells of Satan’s cell phone
Rang again,startling in this silence.
“You had your smear done yet?”
“It’s me,hinny”
“I’m having coffee here in “Costa’s.”
Then I awoke,a man appeared.
How apposite,I need you,Ludwig!
I can’t fly my kite.

In the Science Museum,the mirror cracked
And from it stars flew out,
Adorning cars and bicycles and buses.
The building gently fell into its own reflection.
People flew out like gasping rockets,
Illuminating the blankness,
Calling “Is today the day?.”

Love in a wheelie bin

Stan was in his front gardenpolishing the wheelie bins with lavender wax polish.
He was not very happy as the garden was only 10 feet by 12. so the huge wheelie bins ruined it.When he got to the third one the lid popped open and out jumped his next door neighbour “Adulterous Annie”.
Hello,Stan” she whispered.”Where’s Mary now ?”
“Why?”Stan muttered into the back of her neck which he licked as he like her salty taste.
“I was thinking, these bins are so big,we could both get inside one.It would make a change1!”.”What a strange idea” he replied philosophically.however age was no bstacle where love was involved. if you catch my drift.
Soon Stan and Anne were in the big green recycling bin.Stan being 81 had shrunk somewhat so he took up less space than Annie did.He allowed her  to kiss his left eyelid.What a lovely feeling.
Alas, all too soon,as they say, they heard Mary’s bicycle bell.She was getting faster amd faster.As she wheeled her bikeup the 30 yard long front path to the porch she heardmurmurings and mutters,
She lifted up the green plastic lid and saw the two loverscovered in cuttings from the privet hedge.
“What the bleedin’hell are you doing in there?”she shouted mellifluously.
Well,it’s hard to explain,……………but Stan was wondering about a green funeral” Anne said mischievously.
“Funeral ,my hat!” Mary said coldly.”Get out at once”
“Don’t speak to me like that” Stan beseeched her brazenly.
“Well,it’s a shock to find your husband in the bin with another woman!”
“Wouldn’t it be more of a shock if he was in the bin with a man,or even a sheep?”
“Schmann or Schwommann,sheep,,it’s immaterial.
“Hurry,get out,quickly before the school exit time.what will all the mums think as they go by?”
But poor Stan could not get out,He was stuck.Oh,my!what an odd phrase.
“Have you got your mobile on you?” “Yes,it’s here in my bag.
“You’d better call 999” “What a brilliant idea!”
Soon Dave the paramedic arrived.
Mary showed him Stan’s situation.
Ever resourceful ,Dave was not bothered though the NHS budget might be getting cut.
He tied some rope round Stan’s waist and between the three of them and Emile the cat and his friend Elizabeth, they managed to haul him out.
Annie stood weeping with shame.Her silvery blue eyeshadow was beginning to run mixed with tears and black water soluble mascara from Chanel of Paris and London. Her new coral lipstick from Clinique was not as non-allergenic as she hope.Never mind,it gave her lips that bee stung look that many men admire.It reminded Stan of his boyhood days playing near High Force Waterfalls in upper Teesdale….Teesdale ,still an undiscovered and undervalued part of England,Contact the English Touring Board for more information. Holiday Loans available from Thwaites of Stockton and Darlington at only 1% interest.
Mary gave Annie a large Kleenex tissue,”Come indoors,honey, and I’ll make you some Ceylon tea.It’s been the most thrilling event of my entire life and I’ve photographed you with my new Nokia camera phone[Prices available on request from The Catphone Warehouse,Teesside,Northern England,comes in pink and pink and…pink?How I love pink!]
I’m going to send some to the local paper.
Stan staggered upstairs covered in bits of privet ,lettuce and cabbage hearts, and carrot tops,not to mention a few dozen banana skins and a few potato peelings.
What an afternoon.[Please contact the society for  the care  and protection of vegetables if you wish to make a complaint about this story.}
“That’s the last time I climb into a wheelie bin”,he thunked
“Next time we’ll use the cardboard and newspaper wheelie bin” he proclaimed.

 

Stan gets visited by two lovely ladies

Stan was standing on a small step ladder washing his windows yet again with a clean blue microfibreand elastane cloth and some windolene he had bought in Tesco’s
I don’t know why I bother,he whispered to Emile, who as usual was watching from the back of the sofa,which he was “milking” gently with his paws.
With all the rain,the outside of the windows was besmirched by leaves and bits of mud.A  wiser man might have left it alone but Stan had O.C.D which made him very jumpy if he failed to carry out certain tasks… so he made use of it in house chores and baking perfect cakes and buns..and in taking  snaps of frogs,birds and flowers.Mental disorder can be useful sometimes.
All of a sudden he heard clattering footsteps…
Up the garden path walked two women dressed in the latest style of 3/4 length silk cargo trousers with matching blouses, all in a subtle shade of violet.Except for their faces,of course,which were both a light shade of beige and they had Revlon peach blusher on their cheeks and Chanel scarlet lipstick…on their lips.They also wore dark blue nail varnish from Rimmel
“Good morning,Stan!” called one of them.”We are Anne‘s cousins from Pittsburgh.She told us to call on you today.”
“Well,I never knew wearing expensive makeup ran in the genes… can there be any other explanation?”Stan cried.
“Anne told us we must wear it all the time in the UK.”
she responded,”even in bed.”
“You seem a bit fast,” he answered,
“I’m not sure I want to go to bed and as you seem like identical twins,which of you should I bed?”
They burst out laughing….oh,what a noise!
“I was just saying what she told us,not meaning that you need to go to bed with us.In fact, we sleep together at night.”
“As children that would be normal,but don’t you think you should separate now?People might think you are gay!”
“We never worry about stuff like that… and by the way,this is Ruby and I am Rosie.”
“I’ll put on the kettle and make you some coffee,” the dear man said in a kind tone of voice,before he went into the kitchen and swallowed a handful of red and green striped valium tablets.
“I wish the psychiatrist would give me some therapy.I don’t like taking valium but I seem to be having visions again… and I don’t want to get worse..I never heard Anne mention cousins in the USA. I wonder if CBT would help me?”he said to Emile.
“I see visions all the time,” the cat replied in a matter of fact and calm way.
“Do they not make you feel anxious?”Stan called.
“No,I just watch them drift by,” purred Emile.”I enjoy them.”
“I wish these two women would drift off.”responded the weary yet charming old man.Ruby and Rosie came inside and admired the kitchen where colanders in many colours hung from the wall into which someone had knocked a few dozen nails.
“”Why do you have sixteen colanders?”asked Rosie.
“Why do you think everything has a reason?”Stan replied.
“I can see you studied philosophy,” Ruby cried disconsolately.
“No,I have just read Ray Monk’s Life of Wittgenstein eight times,” he quipped merrily.
“Wow,is it not boring?”
“No.it’s so good it put me off reading lesser books.And I love to understand things,”
Just then Stan tripped on the rug and fell over unconsciously
.Emile picked up his mobile with its full Qwerty key pad and texted 999.
“Why are you texting?”asked Ruby.
“Well,it difficult to mioaw down a phone and now I have this Blackberry it’s so easy…. why even a mouse could do it.”
“Do you know many mice,Emile?” enquired Ruby wistfully
Rosie slowly made some instant coffee, walking around poor Stan ,unconscious on the floor…and she and her twin sat down on some white Swedish chairs at the old oak table and drank it,gazing shyly at the huge weigelia blooming outside in the shed.
The front door opened and in ran Dave,the bisexual paramedic.
“Is it you,Emile.Have you lost your hankie again.Are you sad?” he moaned nervously.
“No,it’s Stan… but at least he’s not broken the chair”
Stan came too and looked up…
“Oh, lovely,I feel much better for that nap” he said brightly.
“Don’t you have a bed to sleep in?” said Ruby querulously.”I like your mean expression,my dear man.”
“Now,look here said Stan,”I’m too old for any monkey business.
Besides,I don’t know if you are real.”
“We just wondered why you slept on the floor.”
“A man has to do what a man has to do,” came the mystifying response.
“Now that Dave is here,he can take one of you and I’ll take the other.”
“Where will you take us”the twins asked delightfully….
“Do you fancy the cinema… they are showing Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday”
“Don’t tell me he’s still on his summer holiday!” riposted Ruby
“Let’s go in the ambulance.I’ll lie on the stretcher” offered Rosie generously..
“I’ll lie by you,”said Dave.” and Emile can drive.Stan and Ruby can lie on the floor.”
Sometimes life seems so simple,it’s rather like a dream controlled..
Controlled by what,asked Emile,clutching his Blackberry.
But answer came there none…
And that was very odd because.. they’d vanished every one…
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Why even try to write a sonnet?

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You must want to write  before you begin but maybe a sonnet is not for a complete beginner.Indeed you may not know what it is.That means you’ve not read much and it does puzzle many  writers and teachers who are sent poetry written by keen amateurs who have never read a poem for years.You can start easy with ballads and simople verse.

Writing a sonnet is a challenge and it took me afew  years to even try.However it is a very good form for expressing grief,love aand the pains of life.If you read Shakespeare you know the best.But even if ours are not so good,writing is beneficial to our hearts and souls and it can connect us to other similar people all over the world for huge numbers of people do write as a hobby.I  found that out on a website with a big membership.I think people in the USA so more keen to write than people here in the UK.Sometimes we sit and watch TV for hours but it’s more fun and pleasure to write or draw or make something like a lovely meal or some good quality cakes with less sugar and purer ingredients.All of these can connectus to others whereas passive acticity is a kind of death of overdone.

The best part about writing poems is that it seems to make it easier for us  to understand  poems we read either modern or classic and to admire the brilliance of the metaphysical poets [ my love] or enjoy the humour of Pam Ayres or the Englishness of Betjeman or the wonders of Russian poetry written under severe strictures in Stalin’s time

Some tips for writing poetry 1

I am offering you some tips based on my own experiences as a beginner writer of poetry.I wanted to write a sonnet so I used the first line of Gray’s Elegy to get the desired number of “Feet” in the line:

“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day” is the first line.

So I could copy that and produce

“My heart‘s as lonely as a wounded bird”

I find once you have a first line it is often not too hard to write a second

My heart’s as lonely as wounded bird

That’s been deserted by its native flock.

Now in those two linesI have compared the heart to a sick bird left behind perhaps when birds migrate for the winter.So this will give rise to more comparisons as I continue

My heart’s a lonely as wounded bird

That’s been deserted by its native flock.

And so its plaintive cries are never heard

And silence seems its very soul to mock.

As you get further into the sonnet you are restricted by the form and also by needing to connect symbolically with what you have already written
s
My heart’s as lonely as wounded bird
That’s been deserted by its native flock.
And so its plaintive cries are never heard
And silence seems its very soul to mock.

What choices has this weary bird to make;
When chirpings used for contact are not heard?
When silent are the trees around the lake
Where alien beings care not for a bird.

No tears nor wailing help when I’m alone alone
Unwillingness makes such wounds hard to bear.
[Shall it sing out and sigh until it’s done?
[{Shall I sing out and sigh until I’m done?]
[its unknown anguish brings no help nor care.]
[My unknown anguish brings not help nor care]

For nature has no kindness in the end,
My heart is shivering as the dark descends.

I have not done any editing as yet.Usually I do quite a lot but I wanted you to see my first attempt.

I have now done some editing…see critique  and bracketing above

Critique of sonnet

It was about the heart,the bird was only a symbolic representation so it should have returned to the heart more explicitly.
Too many words like and,so,then,when, etc

I

Would you like to write a sonnet?

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How To Write A Sonnet

This is a good website.I was very nervous about writing sonnets but I have begun to enjoy this now.However some are  better as others and I believe it is partly due to the topic one chooses.And sonnets are not generally a good place for humorous writing.

Life or else

He loves me more than his wife herself

he loves me as much as if  I were his  own  voter

He says he loves me  and needs to rewire me.

He is burning with a liar whiter than the sun.

Am I his  bete amoureuse or do I fail to blunderstand French.