Author: Katherine
Poetry writer and author
My own Creator
When you struck me,i vibrated like a kettle drum
then as smaller percussions and repercussions
echoing from all the glassy surfaces
creating a balletic geometry of sound tracks
in space and time.
When you knocked me down,
I fell against her and her and her;
we were like a row of skittles
and we all went down with the lifeboat;
the infinite chain of being is.
When you hit me,the Fall spread across the world
Now there is no Vertical
All is undivine and graceless.
By the Rod it’s ruled
When you left me,I left myself,the world,the rocks,dry land
I weighed down sank to the ocean bed
with coral eyes
gazing.
When you struck my mind
I became an instrument of a foreign power
Singing a song I didn’t kmow.
When the glass was smashed
the splinters flew into all our hearts.
You didn’t know what we couldn’t see.
I lay on barren ground and gave birth
To my own Creator in the desert.
He was not dead at all.
Did you kill him?
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Wind dismays the flowering rose
Apples hang low near the ground.
robins chirrup all around.
sun on glowing maple leaves
gives a red glow that deceives.wint
Autumn air is flowing near,
though it’s still bright summer here.
wind dismays the flowering rose
as with arrogance it blows.
Leave me one flowerfor my eyes.
Leave me roses,as I sigh.
Leave me not my dearest one.
Soon enough we shall be gone.
What remains is love alone.
If your heart is not of stone,
Fear not sorrow,fear not woe.
Into this earth all must go.
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Heroes
Odysseus travels across the nuclear seas
In March madness. Where are you dear stranger?
I lost you to a computer , now I weave my web
To tempt you home .Eastern zones where people scream
In silence are not the place for your journey.
Oh, timeless zone of wanderers ,send him back.
I love this green eyed stranger ,this star angel
From above. He shone like a crackling nuclear reactor
As we walked along the edge of the world,
Where the seven seas roar endlessly.
Are you Hamlet’s ghost?
Could Shakespeare write your tragic story?
We have no stature now,leaning into the laptops
Talking into the air, like people trapped in hidden ellipses
We stare out, unseeing. We listen but hear nothing.
Where are you ,my stranger. The sea boils in anguish.
I await you ,the unseen, the unknown.
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Mary gets wooed
Mary does maths and gets a boyfriend
Source: Kathryn1000
Stan was polishing the door knocker with Duraglit.
Mary was upstairs working at her desk reading an article on
algebraic numbers and sorting out her post.
She got an instant message from a former colleague in the maths
Department.
Hi,Mary.how are you?
I’m fine,Tim.How are you?
Well,I really miss the department!
I’m sorry.
Actually Mary,it’s you I miss.
But you hardly ever spoke to me.
No,but i looked at you.You are very beautiful.
Well,you are very handsome.
You know what I’d like?
No.
I’d like a photo of you in your underwear.
I haven’t got any photos!
Can’t you get some?
Well,I suppose i could use my webcam and photograph my top half.
Oh. how nice!
Then i guess I could sit on the photocopier and photograph my bottom
but I don’t think I can do them both at once.
How about you go to to a pool in a bikini?
I don’t wear a bikini.
I don’t mind if you are nude!
Well,I am a bit startled by this.I thought all we shared was an interest in quadratic forms.
Well,I’ve moved on to your form,Mary.
Well,you know I have Asperger’s Syndrome.
I thought he looked lonely.
Do you know him?
Not in the Biblical sense!Just to speak too.
I thought he was dead.
Not at all…he’s turned into a parrot.Meanwhile how about some minimalist photos?
No,,you’ll have to meet me in Cafe Zero.
Which one?
In Knittingham.
Will I recognize you by the bikini?
Why do you like bikinis so much?
I’ll see what my therapist thinks.
I want to know what you think.
I love you,Mary.
Well,since Stan has Annie I guess I can have coffee with you.
Then we can discuss Platonic forms.
While I look at your form.
Is that my Health Form?
No,your bodily form.
I have no body now!
What happened/
I’ve been downloaded into the new computer.
I thought your voice sounded odd.
Shall I email myself as an attachment to you?
I’d like to think about that.
Well.goodbye Tim.
Goodbye,you little minx.
A minx…what next?
Bring me your minx,dill,dilly
Bring me your inks
when I’m in love,dilly,dilly,
I love those links.
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The Brain Has No Nerves That Feel Pain
Really intriguing form
A brain has no nerves to feel pain
so medicos rest their case here
the hypocrites of Hippocrates
engrave this in stone as fact.
At a laboratory in my mind
a sample of cerebral cells
are observed to divulge
Emotional destruction
Grey matter inchoate
Ugly scabs blistering
Dendrites damaged
Synapses smashed
Neurons numbed
Stasis shattered
Reflex wrecked
Cells severed;
of ego or id
not a sign
Just pain
of love
gone
by
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Stan in prison,as it were…
When the aged man Stan and his shy,pretty, blue eyed and brainy wife Mary arrived at their local “hospital” in an ambulance, Stan was carried into the Resuscitation Room and was lying down on a trolley…… which is like a bed with wheels. How did I get here? he asked God, who was on a shelf. None of the staff answered.Nor did God.Fuck off said the UK and the world
A nurse came in and gave him some oxygen but she didn’t bothjer to wash his bloody face and hands…the nurse said they were overworked that day with all the usual drunken English folk falling off buses or off pavements or arguing and hitting each other with beer bottles and then they moan about immigrants
After another four hours a doctor came and looked at the weary old fellow.
I think I’ll order a CAT scan for your head. he muttered nervously,as if talking to a spirit.
Oh,My cat,Emile, is not here,Stan informed him.
Shall I get my mistress to fetch him?
You have a mistress as well as a wife? the doctor asked curiously.
Yes I do,You should get one,Stan said.They are useful when the wife is at work.And it’s a very honourable position for a widow who is bored.
I think that’s immoral,when your wife is earning all your crusts,said the doctor cruelly in a very sharp and sarcastic tone..his eyes shining with demonic glee.
I don’t mind,said Mary cheerfully.After all,it gives him exercise and stimulation.And I can do my research peacefully.I have always thought the French had the right idea about love
You can say that again,said Stan!
The French had the right idea about love!
How about Revolution?
I don’t think we could handle a Revolution,said the doctor in a kindly voice,his mouth drooping slightly with fatigue.
After Stan had his CAT scan they had to wait patiently for two hours for the result….the scan had to be emailed to a Consultant elsewhere,that is… at home by the TV
The CAT scan area was shut except for emergencies and had an eerie emptiness which contrasted oddly with the crowded noisy Casualty Department.Two men of different colours were arguing loudly in the Scan area.
Mary knocked on the door and told them off,much to the delight of the porter.
Later Mary phoned Anne, her neighbour and begged her to bring Emile her cat to the hospital in a large zipped bag… with a breathing space.
Anne arrived after only ten minutes or so,colourful in a teal outfit and orange lip gloss not to mention her pearly earrings
Emile put his head out of the unzipped top and said,
What a strange smell this room has.. is it TCP?
Stan was very glad to see Emile. Anne went out and got Mary a spinach and mouse sandwich and some tea. She helped Mary to keep Stan comfortable with glasses of water, bottles to pee into, tissues to mop up the blood from his hands and face…no doubt this is well known to many of you.
Several doctors too many came in…separately .One told them Stan had fractured the bone under his right eye.
Don’t blow your nose,Stan. Your eye might come out…
Wow, they don’t soften the blow ,do they said Anne, her face pink with the over heated air of the
A and E ward
How far out would it come? enquired Mary scientifically
Her long, pointed face creased with worry .But none of the staff answered her.She felt as if she were behind a glass window where nobody could touch her or help her to decide what to say.
Mary advised Stan gently,
Just blot the end of your nose, honey ,if it runs. You’ll be alright with me here.
Though his eye looked very peculiar to her.
Another doctor came in after six hours and informed old Stan he had confusions in his brain.
See a psychiatrist, Stan told him rudely. Why tell me?
Emile hid his head inside the bag.
I am going to ring a neuro-surgeon, don’t go home till I get back he ordered Mary bossily
Another doctor told them Stan
should see an opthalmologist..
Mary began to feel sick…and the first doctor never came back.
Perhaps he’s fallen into a black hole, said Anne foolishly as she reapplied her orange lipstick and powdered her ample bosom and cleavage with Yard;ey#s pressed powder.
Stan mewed musically to tease Emile.Emile purred as loud as possible…he enjoyed purring very much.
At midnight the staff nurse advised the women to go home as Mary would have to be admitted to the Cardiac Unit if she stayed much longer….. her face was as white as a newly washed goat’s underbelly.
They went off in a minicab but left Emile under the trolley on a small shelf from where he chatted to Stan and operated a recording device… to spy on the staff
Stan grew more and more tired, lying all alone…pity they don’t have a lying in nurse nowadays!
Why,I feel as if I am in prison, he told Emile…I want to go home and go to my own bed…
Me too, said Emile…I have a new girlfriend called Jenny, he went on.
I look forward to meeting her, said Stan.. and he fell into a dream where he was surrounded by lovely female nurses in pale pink uniforms all smiling at him……..if only it were true.
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Apple sketches done with google pixir sketchy tool [My first attempt to use this]
I can’t love you without
I can’t love without
I can’t love you
without loving the whole world too.
I can’t open my heart
unless everyone can be part
Wait for me.
I’m not afraid.
Wait for me.
I may be delayed.
I see you in my mind
Smiling, sad and kind.
I can’t love you
Unless I love the lost too.
Give me your hands
Outstretched across the strands
We’re all one.
Life has begun
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Stan has therapy
Passion flowers
Stan is feeling low and sad
His good wife Mary has gone mad.
Stan is feeling Guilt and Fear
He knows now that it’s wrong to leer.
Stan has been a naughty boy.
He let a mistress with him toy.
But Mary found his mobile phone
When she was at home all alone.
His mistress lived next door to him
Which made it simpler for to sin.
While Mary worked hard teaching maths
The lovers lingered in the bath.
He was meant to do the chores.
Chopping wood and painting doors.
He had to bake the cakes and bread.
So that the household would be fed.
But Stan into temptation fell,
As did his neighbour Anne as well.
They enjoyed so many hugs,
And lying down in woolly rugs.
So, Mary, she was most appalled.
She screamed and yelled and cried and bawled.
So Stan has gone for therapy.
What sort of changes will he see?
He lies down on a long brown couch.
Behind which the therapist crouches.
He says to Stan,”now let it rip.
I want your mouth to be unzipped.”
Was your mother kind to you?
Did she train you on the loo?
Did she wash yopur mouth with soap?
Was she prone to sulk and mope?
Stan thought this man verbose.
So he kept his own lips close.
When he got the bill to pay.
He told the therapist,”No way”
“You have been the one to talk.”
He glared like a crusading hawk.
“You should pay me,not I pay you!”
What was his therapist going to do!
“I’m glad you’ve managed to speak out.
Your sanity is not in doubt.
I’ll tear the bill up for this week.
And next time I want you to speak.”
So Stan unleashed his every thought
Just as the Freudians once had taught.
I don’t know how he feels inside.
But language is a useful guide.
And as he sees his therapist,
His mistress is not greatly missed.
He wanted more attention,
So now his bad ways are all gone!
He got a part time job as well.
So he could pay his therapy bill.
Mary is still teaching maths.
And now it’s she with whom he baths!
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Apples
It’s not that
It’s not that I don’t love you,
only that I don’t want you to become such a fixed part
of my mind’s furniture
that I sometimes stumble across unknowingly in the dark.
It’s not that I don’t hate you
only that I don’t want you to become limited to being
my resident devil
who’s reponsible for all the badness in me .
It’s not that I want to become indifferent to you,
only that I want always to see you afresh
when my eyes greet yours
and not ignore you as you are always here.
It’s not even that I don’t care about you
only that I want to be unburdened
from the guilt of love
and to love freely when it’s the right time
or not at all.
It’s not that I cannot sing for you
But that I want to sing for others too
when I find my voice
and to sing my own song as the spirit moves in me,
or not at all.
It’s not that you are lacking in any way
only that I need to be alone some days
to digest all I’ve gathered
You know, I am never myself without you,
that’s all.
And it’s not as if we can’t be together
But we’ll be more fully together
when we live our own life
You know I’d never have sung my songs without you
No. never at all.
My lover
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Unknowing
I was familiar with Christian mysticism and the Cloud of Unknowing then I came across a beautiful article about a Jewish man’s discovery of mysticism and enlightenment.The article is not very hard to read.
Struggling through life
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Too many books are full of love
So many books are full of wrath.
I hope his tricks boil.
The lass may be much meaner on the far side of the fence.
Do you catch my lips?
Where have all the hours gone?
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The games of love
I gave my heart away to a false love
By his strange stories I had been beguiled.
He whispered such sweet nothings like dove.
He charmed me with his words and with his smiles.
I was a fool an so I paid the price
For I was hoping that real love had come.
But now I know desire made me unwise
He needed power, his love was a shrewd sham.
We must beware when for such love we seek..
We must see clearly or we’ll love a ghost.
We must not assent when we’re feeling weak.
For then mirages manifest the most.
Remember too that love is called a game.
And do not answer when he calls your nam
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Getting Into Hot Water
I love this
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A happy middle
l Silverstein > Quotes > Quotable Quote
“There are no happy endings.
Endings are the saddest part,
So just give me a happy middle
And a very happy start.”
Well.I disagree.He wrote that because it rhymes
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Like startled flowers
The hailstones pounded the window
as violently,as if they had minds
bent on killing;soldiers in rows and ranks rushing onwards;
as each fell another and another took its place.
Cold and mathematical they had a simple precise force and geometry.
Into this warlike scene,floated two white butterflies
Crossing and recrossing the spaces between the hail
they followed a random path;now together.now apart
Their unplanned,loving dance leads to mating, procreation and a future
while the hailstones can only die.
Seems sometimes fragile freedom is more productive
than the fierce mechanical modern world can imagine.
I see the butterflies now like startled flowers
hunting for the sun
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There’s a tear in my soup
Take your hands off my flea.
Bake your sands in the sea.
Once written twice the guy.
Too many books boil the brain
Lovers make good bedcovers.
One odd fellow does not a lover make.
Keep writing on till the send button goes.
Waiter,there’s a tear in my soup.
He tore into the soup with all his might.
I shall love you till I have resigned.
We write sonnets on the wall.
We have no wailing malls here yet but people are getting more careful/
The dentist took out my beef….and it was roasted too!
What is lurking in the bread?
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Sodden England is wetter than ever
We used to have a climate so mild
we rarely had winds that were wild
But since Christmas last
No day has gone past
Without rain that would drown a small child.
We wonder why England’s so wet.
Are we like old Job so be set
Exams and ordeals
Which make all of us reel…
Are good and evil beset?
Scotland wants to break right away.
And they have not much rain these days.
Are we English at last
To be punished for our past?
Not even the Pope likes to say
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Leave a little space for grace
When you speak,leave a little space.
And I’ll leave a little space before I respond.
A space where my mind can gather in her nets
to see what your sentences draw up.
The inner seas call out.
They ebb and flow
Tossing treasures onto the shore,like
Sea shells where once your ancestors dwelt.
Sometimes it’s good to walk that shore line
with an empty mind.
The vast space of the sky and ocean
can be freeing.
Space for dreamers’ boats to sail.
to unknown and alluring places.
Is the wind fair?
It seems partly chance
and partly readiness.
When you speak to me,
I’ll wait a moment;
Then, in that space, my words will rise
to engage and mingle with yours.
Something new is born…….
Our creation.
Leave a little space,
A little space between us.
Space is the place for grace,
for the spirit to enter us.
Leave a little space for the unknown,unborn,the waiting.
We must make a little space for creation
Keep this all in mind
The in-between is where life starts.
The emptiness and fullness, in-between.,is where we share.
Posted by K2 at 12:39 
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Gouache
Take you hands off my fee
A half naked idea passed by wearing a tie
He has hammered his wails into the bookshelf and now it groans with my books
Take your hands off my fee
Feel free after you pay me.
We’ll weep again,don’t know where,don’t care when.
I’m bureaucratic but not psychoticI
I am a psychoanalyst .Keep talking wildly for fifty minutes.Then stop woodenly and pay me
Can you plea negotiate?
He can strangle ten cats with his glove.
May I put my elastic bands into the cat’s handbag?
Why is there so much handwriting on your wall?
Is this part of a pattern?
She was as handy as a pick on a golden locket
They called it slang ,I swear, you dick headed prick.Pardon my French
What a lemony twang there is from your hair!
I hang on his evil words trying to bring them to earth for burial
May I hang myself from your picture redail to see if anyone wants me?
I am as happy as a freshly boiled soaked haddock
Please do not move this oak as such notions often upend the world
The dispossessed will be persecuted until Heaven
Are you happily pampered? If not ,don’t come here
What is a bard’s day or night but a long flow of rhythm?
He was headed like the best notepaper.He had his address on his hat
What is a hard stop and how is it related to a full stop
I find buttons hard to swallow
What a hair’s breadth from an idea,she was.But she could not make the leap
He has his leg up my chimney but it’s on fire and so am I
Send for the fryer brigade and peel some potatoes
Haste makes love seal better.
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Be calm
Sequence
-
Oh, cradle my soul in your light
-
As I am in darkness tonight.
-
Fill me with your love
-
On earth,not above.
-
Your touch is both gentle and bright.
-
Seeing and feeling are one.
-
As senses conjoin yet are none.
-
I know it is so
-
The darkness shall glow
-
You are both god and person.
-
It seems like the heavens are weeping
-
Rain and snow fall while we’re sleeping
-
The clouds are grey black
-
As Northward they trek.
-
As for records, are they all we are keeping?
-
We dwell in a body of flesh
-
With others we love to enmesh.
-
Let’s get up and dance now
-
Love shows us how…
-
We dance to the tunes that refresh
-
We humans need meaning to create
-
The meaningless can agitate.
-
But stories abound.
-
Pick the best you have fo found
-
Get in there and start to narrate
-
In nature time goes round and round
-
Life’s a spiral, the wise man has found.
-
Each time I pass you
-
I see you anew
-
Until gently we are laid in the ground.
-
The end is the beginning,they say.
-
So say what is important today.
-
For time flows like a stream;
-
What is ,soon has been.
-
So we are foolish to encourage delay
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Concentric circles
Simple wisdom
-
She has eyes in the back of her head
In my childhood people often said things like this..sayings,adages often very wise.In this case,it’s a very vivid way of saying this person sees a lot,maybe more than others like.Because being looked at is nice but being scrutinised is unpleasant for most of us,I feel.
On the other hand,with love it is different.
He can’t take his eyes off her
If you take this literally it sounds odd.But most language is dead metaphors.
It conveys strongly how compelling this woman is to a certain man…is he afraid she will vanish?And his friends may say he’d be wiser to look round a bit more before committing himself to the possible anguish of love which may be unrequited.
These sayings are very powerful sometimes.Keep putting one foot in front of the other
You may think it’s trite,,, but I don’t.It’s saying ,just keep walking,keep moving………. and eventually it’s likely you will get to a better place,emotionally speaking.
You may think if someone said that when you were feeling low that they were just unable to say anything original but in a way,it says what is important.
Life is a journey and we keep travelling along even if it’s hard.I think though that the way you say it matters, and how you are already towards that person.
Movement is important in life.Blood circulates,air goes in and out of our mouths and noses,water goes through us and out again carrying impurities.Put me through your kidneys,Lord
Make me pure again…..
No!No hymn like this,please.Of course,some poets have a gift of inventing new forms in which to express these important matters in life.Even adverts sometimes have compelling wordings.
Go to work on an egg
is very funny and we remember it.And it’s memory that recalls these adages to us when we need them
“I may feel bad but I am a person who keeps my word so I will do what I promised even though I feel so upset”
“We always have clean sheets every week and we always will as long a I am here.”
Saying these things to ourselves is helpful in my view.And we are strengthened by doing what we wish to do and not lying drunken on the sofa all day.
I am concerned that many of these wise words seem to have gone from our vocabulary,
Keep the ball rolling.
This means to keep life flowing even if only slowly I think… it;s using the idea of a game with a ball [Greek bole… to throw]
Ball games are crucial to our identity as English,Welsh Irish,Scottish,French etc
and then the game is a metaphor for life where playing well counts,not winning because in the end there is no winning or losing but we live the best life we can… in our own way ideally… that’s where poverty or slavery are so destructive.But even there,we see some people live with dignity and courage to shame the rest of us.Your own life is your work of art.
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Dear Dr.Kay
Dear Dr.Kay
Please help me.I have far fewer fiends than my friends do and I feel envious.Where did they get them from?Is it too late for me.I have a little devil here in my house but he’s shy.I do have a demon too but after being out through the wringer he’s become an angel.
I don’t wish to become sinful but do I need to use more coarse language to attract fiends and if so how can I learn it.I believe TV plays are one possibility.
Is there a helpline for fiendless ladies?And is it free?I am getting short of money as the dentist has stolen most of it and wants even more.
Or should I get a man to take me to a nightclub?What will happen?I hear yiu have to go to bed now on the first date.Well,suppose you don;t like their odour and their beards?
Is there a website where I could buy 3 or 4 fiends? And if they become toxic can I dispose of them safely like old computers?
Thanks for reading and looking forward to a response
Yours sincerely
Nut case
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Come back,beggar man
I saw you on the pavement
with your old brown dog
You were shabby,poor,ragged,
Sat on your tartan rug.
You had water for the dog,
You hugged him and you sang,
But the people walked on by,
And no-one looked at you.
No-one looked at you.
But you still sang your song.
And you sent me so much love
It crossed from eye to eye.
I felt it coming in.
I heard that you had died,
Though you were only thirty three.
Only thirty three.
I wonder,where’s your dog?
I felt our souls had touched,
You gave to me so much
As I wandered in my grief
Through the roads and round the streets.
In your glance, you touched my heart.
I felt love swimming through,
From you right into me.
Will you come again?
I see all these dim, grey men
Who cut your benefits
To give more wealth to few;
So that the needle’s eye,
which is waiting when we die,
is forgotten, for they want
protection for their wealth.
I wish that beggar man
would come back here again.
I liked to hear his songs
But I can’t recall the tunes;
Maybe I’ll write songs myself,
That’s the highest sort of wealth
Our creativity
Is a path to dignity.
Come back every one!
I wish you had not gone.
come back in my dreams
and give me some new themes.
I’m singing like you sung.
it’s this world that’s so wrong.
come back beggar man,
I knew you were the one.
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On Things Best Left Unsaid
Very much worth reading
- “I read 50 Shades of Gray. It was interesting.” Right. I was enjoying my meal but now…
- Adding “for your age” to any sentence. A swing and a miss in the compliment arena.
- “Hold on. I need to take a selfie.” Selfies are never needed.
- After a meal: “Oh God I’m so full.” A simple “Loved the meal” will suffice. How you stuffed yourself to discomfort can remain a secret.
- “You look tired.” Gee, thanks. I didn’t realize. Now I’ll go about my day as normally as possible.
- When giving a present: “It was on sale.” Pat yourself on the back for the bargain instead of announcing it.
- When receiving a present: “Is there a gift receipt?” Woe is the gift giver in this situation!
- “I need more fiber in my diet.” Eww.
- “Do you want your upper lip waxed?” This should never be offered. Ever. End…
View original post 62 more words
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Difficult books
I am still surrounded by difficult yet interesting books and wonder if I should do a degree in philosophy first!So another day gone without me writing a post.Still there are the twp reblogs you can look at meantime….
So watch this space
