Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

Two limericks

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    That is no hat, it’s a lion;
    The label says its name was Brian.
    To think that it’s dead
    And sits on your head.
    Thank the Lord it’s not Ariel from Zion

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    I like to read medical humour
    Or tales about school childrens’ bloomers.
    Do they still err at subtraction
    And large vulgar fractions;
    Or start off  wild hysterical rumours

Mostly they work out of sight

coloured tree and sshadowI am unsure if I’m suffering from trauma.
Or from eating a dish of beef korma.
I felt shaky all day
As if I were prey,
But the doctor says,Who’d want to harm y’?

I am unsure if I was confused
By a man whose two eyebrows were fused.
He got it in one,
By the beard was undone.
I scratched his face,just to bemuse

I guess mother feared the Old Devil
And the drunken orgies at his revels.
She warned he had hooves
And about how he moves.
Though he can seem quite charming and civil.

But it’s real men who cause us dismay
As on us sweet women, many prey.
They may fast and pray too,
And cry,How do you do?
Run from “good” ones without more delay.

For saints do not boast of their might
And how they have reached to the most dizzy heights.
They are self forgetting and plain
Use no-one for their gain.
Mostly they work out of sight

The little bird

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A bird taps on this window every day,
Fast as flying leaves flail  in a gale.
But now he perches on the potted bay.
He feels the weather as the blind do braille.

This bird is faithful and I love him dear.
He’s fearless as he pecks upon the glass.
I hope he has a modicum of fear,
For who knows when a sparrow hawk will pass?

I see him like a human soul forlorn
Struggling to discern his own true way.
For soon he may be taken by a storm
But blithely he will eat, and after play.

The smallest bird has trust in the Unknown
By his example, our right way is shown

Oh,dear I’ve lost my battery.

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http://youtu.be/vwzBod_Tnfw

Oh,dear… what can the matter be
i’ve not written a sonnet since Saturday
Oh,dear,what a calamity
My head was set up in the air.

I promised to write a poem or a melody.
I promised I’d help Gray to rewrite his elegy.
I promised my lover some energy.
My head has flown off and it’s where?

Oh,dear,my home’s not in Battersea.
I fear my home looks real slatternly.
Oh,dear,my knitting is patternly.
My head’s like a Viking’s,so there.

I promised to write a note late last Saturday
I said I’d pay you a salary.
I promised to paint you a gallery.
My eyes have got stuck,so I glare.

I like antiques from Abbleby
I like a sinner with dignity.
I once ate half of a dictionary.
That’s why my cupboard’s not bare

Did Munch have premonitions about the 20th century?

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    http://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/edvard-munch-beyond-the-scream-111810150/?all&no-ist

    Munch was much more prolific than many of us realise.ii feel he was psychic;that he foresaw the horrors to come.
    In particular,the situation in the Middle East now is a direct consequence of how Britain and France behave after W W 1 when they divided up the Ottoman empire.Most of the States there did not exist… and have never functioned very well.
    I wonder why Arabs seem to have been despised when they had a marvelloulsculture and invented algebra for example…societies rise and fall as the British Empire has done

  Rain stopped prayer today

Rain stopped prayer today.
It never drains when it pours.
I never complain till my heart roars.
He pestered me,flustered me,beseeched me,admired me ,then threw me off like a used old coat as he had ten women lined up already waiting for him.not to mention his wolf… I mean,wife.Woof woof.
What a liar..but to do him justice he’s very trying and none can compare in sighing with self pity.. sometimes witty,
Floods washed my heart away and I feel lost.
There’s many a true word spoken as  a test.
Endurance is the only way  to get rhymes
A few words are best not spoken.
Better to touch than to strike a hard blow.
“Tis better to have lived with cost,than never to have lived at all.
Better to have trusted and lost than to have manipulated to a self serving end.
Where have all the showers gone?
I love you only once a day.
I love you when I see you pray
Wisdom is the king of humour.
Spite is the malady that  kills.
He shall tear his frock…. stop stealing my clothes and tear your owm
Was Jerusalem built here,in England’s mares and evil spheres?
We here believe Jesus was white and an Englishman,
I wish you a merry Litmus.
He needs his head resting,doctor
Please don’t leer at the women.They are all wearing vests at least
I was tried many times and pleaded for sanity.
Where have all the old men gone?
Old men are more malicious as their nerves are torn.
If,homeless kindly sleep in Church.Thank me,too.
If depressed kindly weep in Church.
If shy,please don’t mention it.
If worried you may gnaw your embroidered kneeler.
If paranoid,we are looking at you sideways.
If fasting,kindly faint quietly.
If abstaining,please weep softly.
If dead please report to the Vicar.
If wicked ,please play away tonight.
Tread lightly for I have shared all my dreams and you have used me badly.
Don’t stop till the gnats have all stung.
The vicar went out with a wrangler from Cambridge.
If you need legal advice you are in the wrong place.
Fish and whips available in the bookstore.
Handcuffs are going up as Marks And Spencer go down…
If completely expired keep mum.
If past your use by date don’t rot till after the service then kindly place your body in the compost heap and you can call your soul your own for a while.
Men often have an idea of themselves totally remote from the truth.
And women keep quiet out of pity.
Whip up a mouse for the desert.
If weighed down by sins kindly recycle them in the church Bin.

For why not a kingdom with more than one hour for a story

Oh,rather rich and smart in Devon.4662161_f260 3
Hello,how’s your man?
His party’s won, his bill is fun
On both,he’s no Bevan
Live like today’s publicly plead
And relieve all those trespassers
As we don’t love all who whisper against love
We plead for no more deportations of women.
For why not a kingdom with more than one hour for a story
Moreover will it happen again?4655668_f260If we don’t lov

It can be good to feel bad

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I have at last found criticism of “mindfulness” and also the idea that negative emotions may have purpose and may be essential to us

You might think this is just another self help book but it’s not.I believe it’s well written and sensible and also I like the idea that we want to lose oursleves sometimes.When I am writing that can happen and it’s wonderful.

“The power of negative emotion” by Todd B Kashdan and Robert Biswas-Diener

When love is nothing but a word

When love is nothing but a word,
When our deep feelings can’t be shared.
When joy and woe unwoven lie
When we can’t speak, except to sigh…..

When we are lost behind the glass,
When burdened feelings never pass,
When no-one is a trusted friend
When we are scared but cannot bend.

When love embodied goes away
When we are numbed but cannot say.
When we are rigid with the strain.
When life has little but such pain

We suffer as our will has gone
And we’ve no task to lure us on.
We need to know we’re not alone
That love can penetrate a stone.

That, like the Christ, we rise to life
When we endure with will its strife.
When we accept that all is lost,
But wish to live despite the cost.

Then we are saved as are the flowers
Which decorate the fields and bowers
Though all shall crumble into dust,
While we’re alive we’ll slake our lust

Yellow limericks

Dandelion’s good for the bladder.
And for feeding to snakes like wild adders.
If you turn yellow tonight
Tell your husband you might.
I wish I had brought a tall ladder.

I’d see you like butter in bed
As on the white sheet you are spread.
I’d make a green salad
Or write you a ballad.
Better to be yellow than dead

I’d glance into your window to see
How puzzled your partner might be.
And what will he do
With the cheese in your shoe?
I almost regret I shan’t see.

Writer’s dock

The lake in the park

Writer’s dock.1.A place for parking writers.

Writers’ dock..2.Where writers are tried for crimes such as plagiarism,poor imagination and bad errors of lovement

Writer’s pluck..~Rare courage in entering the Unconscious to find new Images.

Writer’s  knock. … the strange way nervous writer’s knock on the table at meal time.

Writer’s fluke…unexpectedly good word or sentence arrives in the mind of a beginner

Writer’s puke… reading awful stufff that makes you sick.
Writers flock…… writers who all write the same way.
Writer’s smock… a cotton tunic with pockets for pens etc to keep one’s clothes clean while writing or playing withink and
throwng paper darts across the  library

For all ,Cat licked every tear…

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Ray Queers cat’s in parquet.
They are waiting for our partitions.
Say but the word and my sole shall be heeled.
Guarded the angels from seven sodomites.
Hail glorious St Hat Trick.
Lord, it’s hearsay.
Lord, I’m worser
Forgive all dear trespassers.
Blessed is the foot of thy broom.
Pay for us now and the whore at our death.
I believe in none,God.
The communion of taints.
But Joseph had a bee.
Jesus wants me for his bathroom.
The Ten Demanding Torments are here.
Have you paid your wrecks yet?
For all the saints who laboured at their tests
For all the painted ghosts
Remember man thy tart is bust
Ash to ash,dust if you must
For give us an hour’s trespassing and we shall be in heaven already.
Please do as you would have fun by

Mother knew rest

Cats five in in

There’s many a true word spoken to test.
Was it ever true that mother knew rest?
Is it wrong to begin a sentence with words such as “but”?
Or will you merely look like a devilish foot?
There’s many a slip between top and hip.
Is there time now for my daily quip?

Never begin sentences without a remand
But should you wish to start them with a word like “and”,
Make sure you study the lines of the land
There’s many a lie that’s told in pure terror.
And many good actions are done in error.
Moreover,if you think that logic is essential for men
Never end a sentence with words such as “when.”
Rules are useless when gambling with crooks.
Never use words that are rude such as “fux.”
Thus if you are still with me at this rage of the game..
Fill out the form and set it aflame

The diet of worms [Strong language]

They’re hunting snails
In New South Wales
They’re hunting bees,
And shooting trees.
They’re hanging worms
For lengthy terms
They’re on a diet
And don’t we know it.

The diet of worms shall be our fare
And on the bible. we shall swear.
We’ll swear our oath
We are not loth
We’ll strangle frogs
They’ll die in bogs.

We’ll always use four letter words
And they shall be our hunting swords.
We’ll kill the good
We’ll burn the wood.
We’ll shout out,fuck.
We’ll burn the book

We’ll let no thin skinned people live.
We’ll always take and never give!
We’ll use our charms
To quell alarms.
We’ll rape the girls
Cut off their curls.

For as we’re human, so we’re mad.
We kill the good and love the bad.
We saw the babe in Bethlehem
We saw him die between two men.
We did not run to cut him down
We said,Oh,fuck,another clown.
For he spoke love
And said to give.
For he spoke peace;
Let joy increase

For like most human,we are crazed
We see it a we’re not amazed.
No sunset red
No welcome bed
No golden dawn
No welcome morn
No loving arms
No sacred charms
No newborn king
No tune to sing

Oh,we are damned
We are broke
We built Auschwitz
Saw the smoke.
And now it’s built again,again
Drops the bomb
In Bethlehem.
And on our knees, we women crawl
To bury babies born too small.
To take the swords from these mens’ hands
And bury them in desert sands.
To pick up scraps of humanness
To hold up hands for God to bless.
We did it wrong,we did it bad
We never thought, so now we’re mad

Would you read one of the books called “Something for dummies”?

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I found when I first bought a computer that one of the books like Windows Vista for Dummies was really helpful.Someof their books are quite hard like one about repairing your own computer.I don’t like the title but assume in the USA it has a slightly different meaning and since they cover many topics they are a useful resource.I have quite a few of them.They are very thorough and well laid out.
A better title,perhaps,was thought up by another American.The have series called
XXXXX The Missing manual…

and they cover everything.They aim to cover a gap which they think is not covered by the user manuals…You need time to study their books.
I doubt if I’d read Religion for Dummies but I am happy with Knitting for Dummies.
Very few people explain a topic to the absolute beginner.Because they lack the imagination to understand what it can be like….I learned to do this when teaching and unfortunately it sometimes happens nown that I tell people something in that manner which irritates them.. so now I try to keep quiet.

Sometimes we should be less worried about what people will think if they see us readinf

Wittgenstein for Dummies

Though it stings

No words of mine can potently display
the anguish and the joy that touch our lives;
yet all our ghostly forebears went this way
where words may pierce our hearts like sharpened knives.

No  sentient being willingly at first
Accepts the pain that true perception brings.
Yet we must not take our hearts to be a curse;
we need not flee from knowledge,though it stings.

Each day demands our thoughtfulness and love
from which all better action gently stems
each day the grace we have is just enough
as through the meta narratives we thumb.

For life’s but a true story we invent,
with passion and with purified intent

Fifty shades of childhood

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I see in the paper today that an 11 year old boy went to a World Books Day at his school dressed as the main male character in Fifty Shades of Grey.Out of all the novels written in English in the last ten years even I wonder how he chose that?He was banned I heard… though his mother who is a teacher said he has not read the book….
What is sad is that there is now no childhood, in a sense.
we can’t hide these things from younger children.He may not have read the book but he may have seen ads for the film or watched porn too.I know some children will already be having a sexual life at 11 though it seems a bit risky…emotionally
I don’t mind the book for anyone daft enough to read it but it’s taking up time which could be used for writing,fishing, ,drawing,playing.reading some classics.
So I got my first feeling of,this country is going to the dogs.##

THOUGHTS ON CHILDHOOD

Oh,yes,I feel pain in my interior
Though I do not claim I’m superior
The excess of flat screens
Defines the play scene
In time it makes spirit inferior.

For children must play on sea shores
Hear the ocean where sea birds may soar
Hold shells to their ears
Play act their fears
Add image and joy to mind’s stores.”

We risk losing life’s joyous demands
as like water they flow through our hands.
We need slowness and space
Apart from the race
Not minds filled with pale sex, so bland

Where has sweet love gone,I ask.
Is grey sex an easier task.
Though still tender our hearts,
Will feeling depart?
Is life nothing else but a masque

Stan falls down and hurts his crown

Stan was cooking dinner today,
While his wife went out to play.
He cooked a pie of frogs and cress,
He wanted to impress.
Stan was wearing his old clothes.
Where old clothes come from,no-one knows.
He meant to change when he was done,
So he and Mary could have fun.
But Anne his neighbour rang the bell,
Stan was so surprised he fell.
He hit his head upon the stove,
And his poor scalp turned blue and mauve.
Ring 999 and ask for Dave,
This man is old yet must be saved
The paramedic gave him glue
To stick together his old shoe.
Then he rubbed on arnica..
The old head looks like Guernica.
“Get the camera,take a pic.”
Stan was feeling rather sick.
“How can you use my wounds as art?
Rest assured I’ll take no part.”
He hit the camera with his stick,
And felled his mistress with a brick.
So now they’re in a mixed sex ward,
This experience can be shared.
They get their food at 3 am
Half for the ladies,half for the men.
The doctor asked them what went wrong.
Both of them had lost their tongues.
Neither would say what they’d done!
Now their anger is all gone.
The moral of my myth is this:
Being unfaithfail is not bliss.
Mistresses can be a pain,
Especially if they’re very vain.
And better not to look for love,
Except with cats or sweet white doves.
Let your neighbour love you less!
And don’t make comments on her dress.
And as for voyeurs,keep a crutch.
Hit them hard, but not too much.
If they want a work of Art,
Tell them home is where to start.

Love is the opium of the asses

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We all have our own opium……

Did you know Catholics give out opium at their Masses?

Did you know they give out soap to all Classes?

Did you know that love is the opium of the asses?

Did you know that women were the opium of Picasso?

Did you know the Government dope the lower classes?

Did you know Anglicans wear those very small glasses?

Did you know Methodists can get free bus passes?

Did you know Benedictine is good for gluts of gases?

Did you know the BBC took Licence as high as they could Manage?

To B  a figure of fun is to B geometric humor

Did you know your Government is fully of millionaires’ asses with freepasses

Posted by at 20:14

Two down

2012-01-22

I limped  and hobbledl anguidly out into the town in glorious sunshine wearing a cotton print dress from Harrods with a pure new wool coat over it and a pair  of white leather shoes made by Ecco of Rome and Paris.While slurping milky coffee and humming Grieg’s cello sonata I noticed a lady struggling to get up out of her rather padded chair.With my usual generosity and kindness I gave her some advice based on lessons I went to on the Alexander technique which propelled her up and onto her feet.
She then regaled me with the story of how her husband had died without warning sitting right next to her on the sofa.He must have been wealthy for she wore four huge gold rings of obviously high quality.She must have thought I looked as if I needed cheering up
We discovered we both hated Mrs Thatcher which was for her the first time she’d met anyone with a similar view.
By a marvellous coincidence I then met a lady at the bus stop who told me how her husband retired and took up bowls.Soon he dropped dead on the bowling green after only a few weeks of retirement; we agrees it was extremely thoughtful of him to die outside of the house and need no rescusitation as he had a sticky label on his jumper saying,Bowled Out.Goodbye.
So when I arrived home I examined my enchanted honey scented husband all over with a small magnifying glass and found he was still alive though somewhat bewildered until he realised I had had my hair cut off to make me look more like a survivor of leprosy and a transexual sheep rolled into one.
Earlier a sparrow kept flying into the window and then into a little bay tree.Is it an omen? And who knows what is about to happen?
For as my husband says, the future is fiction.
But is my future in fiction as I want money….for more scope

And nobody will know

English: The National Champion Black Walnut (J...
English: The National Champion Black Walnut (Juglans nigra) on Sauvie Island, Oregon. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I love you like I’d love a black walnut.
You’re so rare I can’t eat you.
I’ll put you in my pocket
and take you with me
when I go in town
I’ll feel your crinkles and your wrinkles,
But nobody will know.

I love you like I’d love a comice pear.
I’ll put you in a golden bowl.
I’ll let the sun shine on you,
Till you are ripe.
I’ll put you in my bag,
Take you to a meadow of buttercups
And devour you.
And nobody will know.

I love you like I’d love a flower.
I’ll give you my best vase.
I’ll stand it in the window.
Then I’ll look at you all day
With my peripheral and my central vision,
Till your pattern is embedded in my brain.
I’ll sleep well and dream of you all night.
I’ll wake up and remember it all.

And nobody will know

The puddle

Wall and shrub

Into the puddle she gazed and gazed
My sister was amazed
She’d never seem rainwater deeper than eyes
Mystery undisguised.
Round the rain puddle she ran and ran
Too much for her dolly’s pan.
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised.
Curiousity’s often wise
Oh,my dear sister what do you see there
I hope it’s a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sisters dear,let us float.
We’ll never see father again, for he’s here
and down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel with his sharp sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with long golden hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two;
Eyes of one green, the other’s blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my  sweet sisters into the daylight.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I loved my two sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t hope for what cannot be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool,
Held in God’s hand like a charming  jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings must ride.

For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
Nothing and everything’s passed.

Vincet qui se vincet

Vincit qui se vincit
She conquers who conquers herself.

http://youtu.be/zfBTiv3WGU0
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Vincit qui omnes se vincit
The owl and the pussy cat winched it
The sea was afrit
The wind froze this old git,
We brewed our tea but some fair maids pinched it

Vincit qui se vincit omnes.
Today I acted with real wrongness
Why was my genius
not sung by Sibelius?
The swan floats along the economies.

.

Vincit qui se omnes vincit
If you see evil coming, then punch it
A defence before harm
Acts like a charm…
If you meet true virtue,then lunch it.

Vincit qui se vincit
Pinch it, winch it,lynch it
All shall be one
Try a cheese scone.
Please pass the butter and fidget

Thank you too much for the fight

I say,dear,this bed is quite right.

Do you mean that itn dreams we fly kites?

You’re so clever you will soon be too bright.

Why,thank you so much,when’s your  flight?

Can’t  I stay here for our fight?

I have no clean pants to incite

I lust for your tender Goodnight.

Some folk can hide in plain sight.i

Don’t roll your eyes when they are bright.

Arthritis gives chastity frights

His heart failed but he functioned,well ,,quite.

Her  heart pains gave thrills  to their rites

They died but said heaven’s alright

/

A pool of sea rain

Into the puddle she gazed and gazed
My sister was amazed
She’d never seem rainwater deeper than eyes
Mystery undisguised.
Round the rain puddle she ran and ran
Too much for any doll’s pan.
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised
Curiousity’s often wise
Oh,my dear sister what do you see there
I hope a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sister ,dear let us float.
We’ll never see father again, for he’s here
and down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel’s sharp sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with newly washed hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two
Eyes of one green,other blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my sisters into the dawn light.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I love my two sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t seek for what you can’t be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool
Held in God’s hand like a jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings will ride.

For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
Nothing and everything’s passed.

Love at first bite

He believes in her love at first light
He believes in all love when it’s bright.
She believes in real love, to be polite.
She believes that real love is delight
She believes in his love when she’s tight
He relieved her of love in the night.
Do you think that true love turns black white?
When God created men he thought,Christ

Geese by Mary Oliver

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http://www.oprah.com/entertainment/Maria-Shriver-Interviews-Poet-Mary-Oliver/2

Mary Oliver is a favourite of mine.
She rarely gives interviews

Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.