Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

Deserted

The woman walks in a bleak landscape of monotone colors.
With child,she crosses this rough terrain
without a Joseph to protect or a donkey to carry her.
No inn nor stable is here.No cattle nor sheep
nothing alive.
Now she feels her labor pains coming;
Lies down amongst the rocks to wait
Here is an anonymous,faceless figure.
Pronounces himself a doctor.
She labors; he picks up her son.No Messiah nor Oedipus;
Without speaking,he conveys to her,this child  is dead.
Not ever held in the arms of hie mother
Nor father either.
He’s tossed, light as a few feathers,
light almost as a bird
onto a pile of bodies nearby.
Whose unwanted children are these:?
Still lying flat she observes her child
one of many there.
Days pass and strength returns.
Stands now and walks over to say,Farewell.
The child opens his eyes
Mother,they say,mother.
Holds him and presses him into herself for warmth…
Which way to go and when?
No signs, no maps…
Is there a right way?
Is there a guide?
Why was she journeying this way?
She remembers nothing
She has lost almost everything ….
Steps forward..and walks on.
What other choice is there?

You don’t love me any more

I found the message on your door,
You don’t love me any more.
Once you said “Oh,je t’adore”
Confusin’ ,musin’ losin’.
Why leave your message on display?
It’s been pinned up there all day.
I feel it’s such a cruel way.
Posin’,.musin’,.choosin’.
Can’t you tell me face to face,
Are you so short of human grace?
A brief letter would show more taste.
Deludin,broodin,floosin’.
Let me learn a lesson here.
I will not live my life in fear.
I’ll just shift into high gear
Illusion,fusion,musin’.
Once I thought that you loved me.
You announced it on the BBC.
Was it just publicity?
Amazin’,fazin’,crazin’.
Everybody has one life,
Sometimes filled with woe and strife.
Your loss went through me like a knife.
But,thank God I’m not your wife!
Musin’,choosin”,loosin,boozin’.

Geese fly by

Wintery frost and sunset
Wintery frost and sunset

AUTUMN

It’s Autumn weather, geese fly by,

Autumn rust,red,gold,so gay

Drystone walls edging fields,

Apples gathered,holly berries

Flash so brightly

Look like flowers

Sun shines sideways,shadows long

Of trees appear;I dwell amongst.

Woods of gentle beeches sing

Swaying with the sideward wind.

See their roots, all intertwined.

Feel their geometry in your mind.

Look up now into the sky,

See the V formation high.

Geese fly home at end of day.

My heart is moved by patterned dance

In this peace and great silence

My mind widens like the sky

And in this moment I would die,

So I would stay with this still vision

Of geese set out on autumn mission.

Snails in rain pools slither near

My feet upon the terrace here

And look,upon their whorled backs

All the sense of life is packed.

And yet so easily Life’s destroyed,

When blind foot foot steps into the void
;

“Is it still rape if you kill her first?” – Pub Quiz question from Radio bar, Glasgow

I can hardly believe this can be allowed

Matthew Vickery's avatarWhat's left of the Left?

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Please circulate/re-blog/tell others/tweet etc.

Last night myself and four others went to a bar called Radio in Ashton Lane, Glasgow for the pub quiz. It was a horrific experience. 

The quiz comprised sexist, misogynistic, and homophobic comments and questions, and most frightening of all, encouragement of rape and violence against women. From what I gathered, such comments happen every week, so the bar must be aware of them.

Comments and questions made included:

“What happened to the raging homo who walked from lands end to john o groats this week”

“Stephen Hawking is the biggest/most expensive vegetable, true or false?” (It was one of the two options, I was too shocked to take it in)

“Last week I was told my quiz was too male dominated, so this week we will have a whole round on tampons” (of which there subsequently was)

“Is it still rape if you kill…

View original post 333 more words

Simone de Beauvoir

If you want to be well supplied with reading for the winter,here is someone who wrote both novels and the famous book,The Second Sex.You probably already know de Beauvoir was the partner of Jean Paul Sartre though it was an open relationship.Despite her saying she wanted freedom I suspect she was not totally happy with  that situation and also had many abortions….such a choice is not one most women would make.Here is an interview with her in the  Paris Review

But I just want to introduce her novels here.And thisis for a gneral reader,not an academic.

The most ambitious is “The Mandarins“.It is very much based on her own life and caused much pain to her ex lover Nelson Algren,the writer.You will get a very good idea of post war intellectual life in Paris amongst the founders of

Existentialism .And there are many  portraits of those people and their relationships.My probelns with this novel is

It looks like a novel

It feels like a novel

It’s written  like a novel

But does it come alive?

For me  it is too cerebral and there is  little /contribution from  or  openness to the Imagination.I feel it was written by will power and not by the head and heart.Everything is a little detached,a little cold

On the other hand where is all that commitment  now in our political/cultural  life?

In awe and fear

They lay down in awe and fear,
Of what their love was bringing near.
They gazed into each others eyes
And so did tantalise.

They lay down to gaze into
the eyes and soul of one who’s true.
They gazed until ,when overcome,
They were united into one.

Their souls and bodies were conjoined,
And thus their hearts were well entwined;
As honeysuckle on the walls,

In joy’s sweet arbours does grow tall,

 
Their loving lips and eyes and hands
Gave pause to time’s soft flowing sands.
and as they touched and gazed and longed,
The birds sang out in glorious songs.

Which is me and which is you?
Are we one or are we two?
I give you all myself today,
So this shall be our way

Learn stats with Stanley

Stan was teaching social statistics to a group of elderly neighbors.Since he was 109 it gave them all hope to see him demonstrating his prowess with various techniques.He was planning to do some logic and philosophy too.Annie was sitting by the door so she could answer the bell if any paramedics turned up for tea.
I’m not going to calculate ” the standard deviations” he murmured.”I just want you to grasp the general purpose.”
“Deviation,they’re not normal are they?” enquired his neighbor “Henry,an ex-English teacher.”So how can they be standard.It’s confusing..”
“Are you thinking of deviants?” Stan enquired calmly yet firmlililily.”Certainly not,at my age I’m a bit past that!””Still it adds a bit of excitement to the class.” he thought.
How do words in ordinary language relate to those in Statistics?”asked Henry kindlily.
“They are just more precisely defined in statistics.To say someone is a deviant is a rather vague term.”
“No,it’s not!My neighbor is a deviant.He always dresses entirely in yellow.”
“Well,that must be hard to do.Certainly unusual.” Stan agreed boldly.
“But in another country that might be the norm.So it’s a matter of context.In statistics it’s more boring.There’s a formula.It’s totally independent of context.Have you ever wondered why so many mathematicians have more than a touch of Asperger’s syndrome?”

“No,it’s not something that wanders through my mind much”replied Henry
A shudder passed through the room at hearing the word “formula“,which perhaps they considered something of a deviant!Anything with letters and numbers mixed together is certainly not welcome in many people’s minds, along with their more unusual sexual tastes,desires and inclinations which were kept secret even from themselves in many cases.

“Time for tea.” called Annie,hoping to divert their attention.She carried in a platter of mouse sandwiches kindly donated by the local ambulance service and some iced Victoria sponge she and Stan had made
the day before.
“Just a quick word about next week.We’ll take a look at ratios and proportions and maybe see how that relates to the concept of rationality.”
“That sounds fun!” Annie called encouragingly.Henry decided to act on a deviant desire and fell onto her lap.”Oh,dear!” she gasped loudly as the chair collapsed under her.”Why can’t you be deviant at home?”
“My wife won’t let me!” He kindlily answered.
“And look,” Stan continued,”we’ll have to ring 999.This chair is in fragments.I thought for one day we’d be able to avoid calling them out!”
“Well,life is not controllable.” said a quiet but fierce looking lady with sharp green eyes.”That’s what makes it tolerable“
She then greedily consumed a large piece of iced cake .
“I can stand the thinking if the cake is good” she whispered to her shy friend Amy.”That’s rather a feeble argument,”Amy retorted.”You can’t really compare cake and statistics.”
“I’ll compare anything I like!” the green eyed woman snarled loudly.
“You do what you like but you must keep a sense of proportion!”
“Now then,have you rung 999?” Stan queried of Annie.”Yes,here they are,and they’ve got a stretcher for the chair!”
“Well,that’s certainly unusual,even deviant“,Stan thought anxiously to himself.”Where do they get their funding? Is there a fund for distributing money to help chairs which are not

Autumn Butterflies

Lovely photo

drawandshoot's avatardraw and shoot

Autumn-Butterflies

The stemmed kind…

[It’s actually Virginia Creeper
growing on a fence,
trembling in the wind (long exposure),
and a second layer of the same thing with camera movement.
Anyway, it made me think of yellow butterflies.]

 

© Karen McRae, 2013

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Your absence has so distanced us in grief.

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I try to feel through dark and distant space
To where you dwell in a so called “heavenly” place.
And you are far from those of us, who care.
Our hearts are dulled with loving thoughts not shared
Your absence has so distanced us in grief.
We can neither share our loss, nor gain relief.
I stare into the star filled sky at night
And see a space almost devoid of light.
I feel into the edges of my soul
I sense,somewhere, a partially dismembered whole.
Would new technology be able to aid my view,
As I search everywhere for some tiny trace of you?
How can someone vanish suddenly in the night,
And never ,from then on, be in my sight?
I wish that I’d been there when you went off,
Then I could have expressed ,in touch,my heartfelt love.
Shall I never hear again your gleaming tenor voice
Enchanting me once more with your intriguing choice?
Shall I not even find the laces from your shoes,
Floating gently back to earth through these  elm trees?
I see more flocks of gracious geese flash by.
Are those your fingers tracing lines across the sky?
Do you too see these geese from up above?
But you’re on the other side, too far from love.
And even with the very new best technology
There’s no way back now , so you won’t ever be
With us again,Goodbye,Goodbye Goodbye
I’ll turn away my tear filled green- blue eyes,
And look at all that’s near,as I’m still here.
I know now you’re too far away ,too far away, too far away ,my dear.
I know now that you’re too far away,my dear.
How can we learn to live with love, not fear,
As we go on ,now, down these coming years?
So sad that you’re not near,not here,not here,my dear.
Shall I sometimes, in the night pretend, you’re there,
Oh,that heaven were not  so agonisingly too ,too far?
As we slide down the escape chute of the years,
Like children clutching at our teddy bears.

A holiday to remember

We had the crime of our lives on holiday.We stole all the alcohol from the bar.

Did they not notice?
No,we shot the staff!
I don’t believe it!Where did you say you went?
Iraq!              Why not go yourself?
I’m unwilling to commit crimes I am moral
So,you just let your Government do it for you?
Touche

Arch Wizard of Wales: Clough Williams-Ellis “Architect Errant”

Tish Farrell's avatarTish Farrell

Surely only a wizard could have conjured this  place – or so I thought, aged six, when we, the Ashford family first made pilgrimage to Portmeirion on the North Wales coast.

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“Cherish the past. Adorn the present. Construct for the future.” This was the life-long credo of Clough Williams-Ellis, the man who dared to build an Italianesque village on a beautiful Welsh headland.

*

It was like stepping into a living picture book or melting through the mirror into Looking Glass Land. The houses were the rich, powdery, pastel shades of Loveheart sweets (does this strange confection still exist?). There were mythic frescoes in places were a child might least expect them, and best of all, a shell grotto that was just like the Little Mermaid’s deep-sea garden.

It was enchanting from the moment we stepped through the gatehouse entrance. How could there be so much colour, so many decorative…

View original post 801 more words

My tale

He never kissed my throat once.Neither did he cut it.

He was  a middle man,one might say.

Still two rooks made a good broth

And a rolling bone added some marrow.

Shall we hiss and break up?

Sometimes it’s cool to be kind.

As I was a roaming one night with my sling…

I saw an old vulture asleep on its wing.

Aren’t birds silly sometimes.Why does a vulture not have a nest?

That worries me when I wake up at 3 am with two men in my bed..

Can males not buy their own beds?It’s not love they want,it’s clean sheets!

That’s my tale anyway

A tale of two kitties reviewed

« New Books

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A tale of two kitties is an historical novel by Charlotte What-the-Dickens.This is a heart warming story about how two stray cats survived the French Resolution and were married in Brussels.
Warm and Erudite CWTD has excelled herself here.She also purrsuaded a world famous photographer to illustrate the book anonymously.The author’s writing flows from her pen like water bubbling over the Viagara Falls.It beats Fifty Shades of Hay into a cocked hat.Order it now and enjoy a fun night tomorrow morning.
.

New Books :Recently published

duck drawing 001

A tale of two Kitties   by Charlotte.Watt-the Dickens…. -[Humor]

Bores whom the Belle told off….. Ermie  Emingway {Irony,humor  and wrath for women]

I’m getting buried in the morning…Anne Viking [Biography and black humor]

God’s Frozen People:photographs of the people of the Far North …..edited by Peter Woolf  and his wolf [Photography]

Far From the  Maddening Town….Thomasina Hardy  [Biography and psychoanalysis stitched together in silk ]

Bitter Flames by  Sylvia Wrath   [Torments of adolescence in the USA in the post war era]

Dissuasion  by  Jane Ostentatious.  [Beautifully wrought novel  on a small scale]

The Folding Notebook by Horace Moorings [ Novel that set off the new political agenda for masculinity today’]

The Thrill of the Boss   by    Georgina   Sell- A -Lot :[Romance  and Sadism at work]

Poetry written behind  by Anne Ass [Wit and humor for the receptive]

Keep levitating by U.R.Guru  [Yogic Humor]

Empathy for Beginners   by  J.Christ [ Spiritual]

The Troy of Sex  by  Achilles Heel  [Humorous look at the trouble between the sexes in this day and rage]

Harassment and how to recognize it….. A Feminist [ Spoof guide book]

Textual Harassment… A.N.Other-Feminist   – [post modernist guide to  life for academics]

The Womendarins…. a recently found womanuscript by  Simone de Wovewore [Existential angst amongst women]

Police on earth and pud tidings for all men

I was sadder than a wet hen which is how I often feel when ill or  if I split infinities by accident
it was my utter nadir.The skin of my teeth peeled off and the nerves screamed like music written by a post modern composer.Still,it was free.
I make money by selling souls to wolves who listen at the door
Please nail my hat on if we get a blizzard.I can’t bare to lose heat
My main wish is for more police on Earth
I make a brake for my brain but my mind runs ahead
Can you make a long story tauter?
Take a mountain out of a mole hill and you will be in a hole!
Make an ass out of felt… it will feel good
Can one make ends meet or is it not logical?
Fake like you are a tree with leaves then shiver your timbers
I place no overtones in my verses.I like plainsong
It’s Mike or Jake for the Party
Why make out you found bliss in my tarts?
Do I make the grade as a wordsmiter?
I make tracks for wild animals, which adore me… the Beasts!
Can we make up and kiss our own throats?
Why make waves when it’s already windy on the lake?
Make your love permanent.Freeze it!

Too far away and moving

 

Source: K
 
 

 

 

The sky looks like a Turner painting.
At the high point it’s brighter,even golden cream
Like the top of a bottle of Jersey milk;
then it dims down to a bluey gray
with a slight threat in it
like a blacker gray…It’s
Too warm today for snow.

 

I swept brown dried leaves from the step..
Had to move my bike.
Then I hid them under the hedge
So they can keep some insects warm in the winter.
But mainly I don’t want to bend down to collect them,,
I’m tired or lazy after the weekend.
I still have a dress here I was ironing just a week or two ago.
Now it will be put away till next summer.
Here’s a denim jacket with flowers all over…
I did wear it but it won’t look right now.

 

I washed my hair.It feels soft and pleasant.
I like that feeling.I am wondering what you are doing.
Are you listening to music or resting?
Or sitting looking down the road at wet fields?
I think I’ll make some tea.
I need a focus for the day which also has a feeling
Like those late watercolors
Everything merging
Until one thing dissolves into an other.
Some people like it but today
I need some edge,some definition.
I need someone to give me boundaries.
Time 4 pm
Kettle boils and a neighbor’s cat peers by the locked cat flap…
Wondering why she can’t get in.
I turn away.

Now the sky is without any gold
It’s sixty shades of gray.
It’s clouded dark and soft
Like your hair might have been
But I could never have touched it…
You were always too far away and moving.

Fifty shades of grey?

This book is now famous and perhaps as widely read as the Bible

I saw it before it was famous for I often rest in an armchair in Waterstone’s bookshop.Whilst there I pick up some novels from the new books section and take a look at them.I took this along and read about five pages.I felt the prose was possibly worse than average.And it was boring.I never reached the part where the sado-masochdomesticism comes in though I have looked since.At the time there was nothing at the beginning at all sexual.I see that later on He tells Her that he is going to force her to have oral sex with him.But it’s expressed more briefly.What is puzzling me is why so many people read it.I am sure one can find much more tittilating tales.Or more tales about tits,even.I believe whips come into it too.I thought the title was referring to all the different types of dust one finds in the home,on one’s head or on the cat.I was hoping it was about domestic affairs with a duster not a rope and whip!I find cleaning keeps me fit and my sex life is private.Whereas  in this book they never do any housework.Who cleans t he whips and buys the French letters?Who pays the bills,writes the wills and washes sills ?Not this lady

I recommend Vladimir Nabokov because he write so beautifully.

Dandelion clocks

Government Testing Base

Why clean when you could

Chase dandelion clocks round the garden
Tame some ants.
Photograph cobwebs.
Watch clouds go by.
Kiss you other.
Chase bugs out of your bed.
Save a spider from going down the plug hole.
Dust your hair.
Watch rain drops run down the window
Slip off the patio and break your collarbone
Drink cheap tea in A & E.
Fall off your bike.
Lose yourself in your thoughts
Go into a brown study
Read my lips.
Paint your face.
Look into a mirror
Sniff hot salt water up your nose
Any of the above?
All of the above?

Explain your choice in a short essay.
Or get stuffed.It’s a free country

What a joke!

What! A joke.

W.Hat,A Joke Esq.

What’s your game?

Emile’s diary:why do humans have lips?

A cat ponders

My images

I use photos I take myself and I use various Art software programs such as Artweaver and Paint.net.I love color and shape so trees play a large part in my collection of images

Source: Kathryn

Emile’s musings

I’m sitting under the coffee table.By rights I should be given some cafe au lait in a traditional French style wide cup with a silver brim plus a matching saucer.I am shocked that Stan has never asked me to partake.I need a coffee break..it’s hard work spying all day!
I heard Anne talking on her mobile while Stan was looking for the graph paper.She must be talking to another woman…. she said she’s just bought some Revlon primer lotion to put under her light beige mousse foundation.Ye Gods,it sounds as if she’s painting the wall.She was moaning she can’t afford Lancome any more.Mousse foundation..that sounds tasty! She wants some heather coloured lipstick but she couldn’t find any.She’s put a new one on anyway and Stan came in to give his opinion:
Congratulations,Anne.You have found lipstick that’s exactly the same colour as your own lip .She was mortified.I could see tears in her eyes but luckily she had her waterproof mascara and purpleeyeshadow on.
Well,it makes me glad to be a cat…we have no need for skin products
and we have no lips as such.Why do humans have lips?Is it mainly for kissing?
And perfume………we like the natural odors but I’ve never seen Stan go up and sniff Anne’s netherregions…though I admit I took a sniff and she smells very intriguing… probably some musk she’s bought.
I envy Stan in a way.Because I’d like to kiss Anne but my lips are too small….I could lick hers with my little raspy tongue!
Maybe if she falls asleep i’ll have a go.i love that woman so..
A cat may look at a king,but can he lick a lady’s lips?
Well,must go and take a walk around my territory and sniff out who’s about….face primer.What next.Paint stripper? What a waste of time and money.I could be chasing dandelion clocks round the garden

Where is the world’s skin?

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I run my fingers tentatively

down your cheek,

 

asking you a question

 

with my eyes.

 

looking at each other,

 

you touch me too.

 

This is my skin

 

my boundary.

 

Yours is thicker,

 

like rubber.

 

I run my fingers down your chin.

 

what is this little bone?

 

I like it.

 

I like your skin

 

I like your bones.

 

I like you.

 

you please me.

 

you are tasty.

 

I like your taste,

 

your skin,your eyelids.

 

I like your eye here,

 

and your other eye too.

 

Nice one!

 

I like this hair on your head.

 

May I touch your hair?

 

do you like hair?

 

hair makes me laugh.

 

I have a fondness for laughing.

 

I love to laugh.

 

I enjoy laughter

 

I love your laughter.

 

If not, smiling is good also.

 

Or a gleam in the eyes,

 

showing the inside smile,

 

the smiling heart.

 

I like your inside,

 

Outside

 

and possibly

 

your backside.

 

your upside and downside.

 

your side sides.

 

I snuggle you all around with soft wool.

 

I knit you into my scarf.

 

I’ll have to wear you round my neck now!

 

How unusual

 

How flexible.

 

How charming.

 

How alarming

 

How creative

 

How interesting.

 

What an idea!

 

what a notion

 

but you are too big for me to knit

 

So I’ll just touch your hand

 

with my fingers.

 

and you touch my hand

 

with your fingers.

 

What good hands we have

 

with such fingers.

 

fingers are for touch.

 

fingers are keen to touch.

 

I like touch.

 

what would we do

 

without fingers?

 

I like your skin.

 

skin is good

 

We love skin

 

We love.

 

We.

 

I want skin to be ours

 

and yours

 

is mine

 

and mine

 

is yours

 

where is the edge of the world?

 

skin has no end

 

it’s infinity

 

au naturel.

 

what order!

 

what design!

 

What wonder.

 

what awe.

 

where is the world’s skin?

 

tenderly we touch the world

 

as the world embraces us.

 

It’s called love.

Love

Lost in shadowed caves

 Have you ever had a dream,
That you were all alone?
Have you lived with someone handsome,
With a heart like a cold stone?

Have you drowned in deep,cold rivers,
And been lost in shadowed caves?
Have you lived with too much fusion,
Till you drowned in ghostly waves?

The waves run down the sea shore,
Then up they come once more.
The tide turns and life alters..
Deep on that ocean floor

.
You were so beautiful and silent,
Like a sword without its sheath.
I should have let you take me,
The way you took away my breath

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

H

Love is about here

 

They think that they own us


I’ve sung my wild singing in time gone before
But I don’t want to sing now
Oh,never no more.
And it’s no nay ,never
No,nay,never no more
Shall I use my voice here…
Nor out will it pour.

My name is Allanah,or Eileen. perhaps
And I came here from Ireland
with outdated maps
And it’s,Why,why ever,
Why ever and more
Did the Brits give no votes to
The poor Catholics?

My sister and brothers
All died from T.B.
And an early dark grave
is here waiting for me.
But I bore six children
And I cared for my man
As he came home so filthy
From the auld coal diggin’

We had no free doctor
And no kind midwife.
So though my son’s born,
Strain is takin’ my life.

Always and ever
The rich will maintain
That without them this country
Will go down the drain.

But why don’t you try it
As a memorial to me.
Let the rats all depart
And what shall we see?

No,nay,never,nay never no more
Shall I bear my man children
No nay never
Not ever again.

I looked down from heaven
Where God has put me
What did I find
When out did I see?

I saw that the world
Turns round once every day
The beggars and homeless
Kneel down and they pray

Oh,no no never,
dear God help the rich.
Your son tried to l’arn them
But they weren’t bewitched.
They have their accountants
And they have all their laws
They find their amusement
In troubles and wars.
They think that they own you
But,dear God,you’re not theirs
We saw your son Jesus
And he said you are ours

So when will you come down
To make that judgment?
My pen it has broken
My life force is spent.

So it’s no,nay never
Not ever again
Will I sing my old songs
Nor  shall  I love my own man

End of the month humor

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We once had a doctor called Powell,
Who spoke to patients mainly in vowels.
When he called I O U,
I asked for A and E too,
As I had so much pain in my bowels.

Image

Then we had a doctor called Keith
Who liked eating chips and roast beef.
He got so obese
We feared for his  very demise.

But he was  spectacularly thin underneath.

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We still have a doctor called Satan,
Who is very proficient at mating.
His children are numerous,
Don’t mention  the incubus,
And a true hell on earth they’re creating,
b

Letter to our P.M.

I  feel that all living creatures should pay rent


Dear David Cameron
I am a very intelligent ,brilliant and creative   woman. Yet I often wonder why your face has no expression on it;I must confess since the vote on Syria you have looked a bit bothered now and then,But blankness seems your favourite look.Watch out or an artist may paint a sign on you

Danger:Please stalk on the grass

Danger:Trespassers will be persecuted.
I am writing to complain.There are many magpies,wood pigeons and other such creatures all living for free in the garden here.And think of the ones in the woods.None of them are taxed,yet they get free board and lodging,And moreover we have hundreds of worms here which could surely be made to work.I know it’s hard to tell them apart but all those civil servants who read Modern Greats at Woxford must have a few ideas.
I think if worms don’t work we should mince them and make meat pies out of them… and wood pigeons… that makes me salivate.
Those who won’t work shall be turned into food.The Chinese eat dogs… you catch my drift.Hard solutions for hard times, to warm an old cliche.
I do feel that all living creatures should pay rent.Birds who live in a garden with more than one tree must be made to see how unfair this is.I am unsure what language they speak… maybe Hebrew as they were in Eden once.Oh,those lazy days,eating fruit and sunbathing.And sinning without guilt.did you know Adam and Eve were unmarried,by the way!
Well,it’s bad for us to be happy so I’m counting on you to pulverize nature in all manifestations.
Why,surely,worms are a total waste of time.Get rid of them.Send them back where they came from.Even as I write worms may be tunnelling under the British Channel from France.We can’t let them dwell in our soil.And in the Spring you must stop birds migrating here.Why some come from the Congo.Surely that’s not morally justifiable
Hoping my ideas will be balm to
your ears.And try to get more of an expression on your face.You are like an enpty canvas
Yours truly
Dumbina Dodd [ M.A.Oxen]

P.S.What about cats? They sleep 20 hours a day.It’s wicked!

Chaste by good fortune

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Stan woke up with a sore throat.

He had to write his wife a note.

He could not speak without much pain.

Oh,dear,he’s got a bug again!

 

 

Mary made him lemon tea.

He listened to the BBC.

He read the  paper front to back;

Did Su doku,called the quack!

 

 

This is Dr Browne right here,

but only gurgles could he hear!

He drove straight round to visit Stan,

He felt concern for this old man!

garden 2

 

Stan was lying in the hall.

Dr.Browne asked,Did you fall?

No,said Stan,I hate my bed.

I thought I’d lie down here instead.

 

 

It may be draughty,never mind.

Dr Browne is very kind.

What about this long settee?

It looks quite like a bed to me.

 

 

I hope you are not feeling gay!

Oh,my my!.What did you say?

I mean it seems a trifle odd

To compare a sofa with a bed.

 

 

I wonder if you love me, Stan?

Stan said,Doctor you’re a man!

I only love the sweeter sex!

Dr Browne looked very vexed.

 

 

Doctor I never knew before.

You are gay.,Oh,zut alors!

Yes,but I am very chaste.

I never go below the waist

 

 

So you just hold hands and kiss?

Yes,my man,it’s utter bliss.

But were do you meet your lovers gay?

I find them mainly on E-bay!

I place small adverts in the Times.

I joined a club for tasting wines.

 

Some I meet by chance alone.

Can’t you settle on just one?

But you are unfaithful to your wife?

You do not lead a saintly life!

 

 

Oh,Mary is not keen on sex,

She sits in bed and sends out texts.

Once our Lyra had been born,

She treated me with utter scorn!

 

 

 

I’m not God, I do not judge.

He gave Stan‘s arm a little nudge.

Don’t you want a tiny hug?

It really may scare off that bug

 

 

So Stan and Dr Browne embraced.

I assure you it was completely chaste.

Stan went off to make hot drinks

While Dr Browne admired his Quinks.

 

 

Do you use a fountain pen?

I use my Shaeffer now and then.

I got it when I went to college.

Through that pen has passed much knowledge.

 

 

But now my mind has gone quite blank.

I’d like to be completely frank.

Was  all my learning utter waste?

Not at all,it kept you chaste.

 

 

While you had your head in books,

It kept attention from your looks.

But now you’re   empty,Je t’adore.

With that he made for Stan’s front door.

 

 

 

Stan was gobsmacked by this visit.

He called to Emile:Oh,what is it?

Even though I’m 93

All I meet want to love me!

 

The English are mainly very queer.

Oh,said Emile,Oh,dear,dear!

Cats  don’t have much time for hugs

They chase the frogs and sleep on rugs