| Cage me a dream |
| For you alone…I’ll learn calculus |
| I had no idea;I had reached the nadir |
| Chagall bit the dogs |
| I fell over some frogs on the warpath/They were armed.Do frogs have hands? |
| He got the hots for the waiter’s cat.:Love at first scratch |
| Give peace a glance |
| Not many things can be understood |
| I can fall off anything including an adverb |
| She bought a can of sperm from the man at the doorDon’t vie for me, semolina.
A bottle of brandy is very handy I saw a lake in my dream and guess what happened? I was in a boat on the Cam. and noone was there. Judges are needed here |
| Where have all the sundreams gone? |
| Parse me the sentence again,please.Will you love me by tomorrow?If not you can come in. |
Author: Katherine
A piece of nonsense
Our rather witch whose art is heaven
Hello,here’s your fame.
Your wings are full
you will is rum
On earth especially in Devon.
Relieve us this day
of holy dread.
And forgive us our text purchases
As we forgive those who texted against us,
For wine tells a story
Of power and glory
I say,once,but never again.
An infinite sequence of jumbles?
He gave me a fast party tickle..
I kissed his algebraic form.
He’s only a number to me.I am numb all over.
He says he’ll give me peace of mind.But did he mean a piece of his mind?
What tense are your muscles?
Is the past infinite?
Can we split the indifferent?
Was the past subjective?
Subjunctive is Latin for may be.
How about past, perfect?
What is the future when not dense?
Grimmer than grammar: the autolieography of a woman of many alarms.
Can a noun be irrational?
What about an infinite sequence of jumbles?
What is a transcendental word?
I hate logs but like rhymes.Log-o-rhymes is my next book.
Why do letters need indices?So we can locate
THE SONG OF EACH GARDEN
Every garden has a song,
a song beyond all words.
sit in silence there to hear
cheeps from distant birds.
Every garden has its silence,
special to that place
stand beneath the maple tree,
gaze up the crown’s wide space.
Every garden’s a part of all,
linked through heart of earth
stand in one, you ‘re inside all,
your spirit takes new birth,
Every garden can’t help but sing,
green calls out so sweet,
shows us Eden, long ago,
as Adam kissed Eve’s dear feet.
I gaze up through bare winter trees,
the song is softer now.
No golden finch,no sparrow cheeps.
It’s buried in the snow.
Deep in dark ,life sparks again
and the green shoots come.
so we wait in harmony
till our garden sings out then
Photos
I sat in the art gallery writing poems


Watching Plato shining torches into blackness,
Wandering through the galleries,
Sepia paintings of pines,
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?.”
Does Trying to Impress People Make You Sad?
Awesome Cat Facts
See a little kitten
Eeh,I ,Ohh. I love you so

I’ll draw a graph of Mother Earth
I’ll need a lot of paper.
It won’t be easy,I know that,
But Geo’s my alma mater.
Geo came into our maths class.
We had to find her metre.
If we did then we could write
A poem with which to greet her.
With ologies and eulogies,
The earth is deep in waste.
Give me some green graph charts
I’ll do some cut and paste.
I’ll rearrange the entire globe,
Without a deal of fuss.
If anybody notices
They won’t know it was us!
I’ll put all the mountains in the world
Into one continent.
And if I am that way inclined
The globe will look quite bent.
Ill put the lions and tigers too
Into Parliament.
Let them eat not cake but men
And don’t charge them a rent.
I’ll paste all the seas that I find
Onto my washing line.
With less water around the world
The weather should be fine.
Oh Geo was a darling child,
So promising and bright.
Mixed up with the graphs and charts
I hope she’ll see the light.
I’ll put all the stars into a box
We have far too many.
Yet only one sun and one moon,
So,would you like to buy any?
Geo return,I love you so.
I’ll give up cut and paste to show.
That you are all I ever know,
and i do love you so
I’ve got tennis elbow in both of my feet.
-
I once used to love eating sweets
I hated to chew up fat meat.
My mother didn’t mind.
As she was so kind.
Now I’ve got tennis elbow in both of my feet.I kept my own bedroom too neat.
And I pressed all my clothes into pleats.
The cat was quite wild..
And I was only a child.
I got tennis elbow in both of my feet.We used to eat oats and brown wheat.
Digestion was such a fun feat!
My sister was small..
And then she grew tall.
Yet I got tennis elbow in both of my feetAt last I was due for a treat.
I heard our cat give a loud bleat.
A ram walked past our house,
Wearing my blouse.
I got tennis elbow in both of my feet.
Fifty glades,all grey
Different kinds of emptiness






A first look at emptiness
This is a preliminary attempt to examine the ideas about emptiness.In an earlier post I quoted Lao Tzu “Hollow vessels are useful by reason of their emptiness.”But emptiness is not just one concept.
To make an initial point,our first notions of emptiness are related to the stomach.An empty one is painful to the infant who cries until fed.A full stomach then feels pleasant.
But a stomach can be empty in a good way….and there is a feeling of desire and appetite,So this can feel good.On the other hand there is the emptiness of a stomach which has just vomited up something bad and is reluctant to take in anything new for a while.hopefully desire will return.Anxiety can take away appetite and keep the stomach empty when it needs to be filled with good food.If this continues we become ill.
Anorexics may keep themselves empty as a mistaken form of self control.
Ideally there is a movement between fullness and emptiness.We need to be empty for the right things.A woman may have an empty womb crying out for a child but by mistake she may fill up with food instead.So we need to know what we are empty for.
Empty headedness can be bad…if you have never received anything good into your mind like poetry,classic literature etc you will be a poor person indeed.On the other hand people get creative ideas when they are half dreaming,resting,in the bath and so on.There is a little more space in the mind for a new idea to emerge.But the idea will have meaning only within a structure that is already partly there within the mind.The answer to a writer’s block won’t come to someone who never writes.The block may be a creative void but it’s no good if one’s entire mind is a total void.The emptiness needs a container.We rush to fill out empty sad hearts when we feel we can’t contain them within ourselves,as holding them may be agonisingly painful.
Emptiness per se may not achieve much.But look at a new baby.They are looking and taking in both food and sensory impressions.And how the mind is growing,if conditions are favourable.
An empty table is no good to an empty stomach.A professor with no knowledge/learning will not give anything to the empty headed students to take in
Or biologically,the egg needs the sperm but the fertilized egg needs the kindness of the nurturing Womb and the ability of the woman to be there whilst development occurs over time……and for woman we could put artist or writer,speaking in metaphor.
My first thoughts end now! A need for space has arrived

Winking for the beginner



-
- Wink to me only with thine eyes,
- and I will wink with mine.
But I recall I cannot wink,
Though your winks are sublime.
Oh,will you teach me this fine skill?
I feel I have something missing.
If you won’t teach me to wink,
I’ll have to keep on kissing.
I sent thee late three love letters
As I was feeling amorous
But then I saw thee in the town
with a lady fair and glamorous.
I find it very painful.
So rather than writing love letters
I must do something gainful
Tenderness and love

Play by yourself
ou can play by yourself,but not with yourself [in public.]
You can play with words and on words though.
You can play for yourself and to yourself.
You can’t play for words or to words.
You can play about by yourself but you can’t play about with yourself. in the coffee shop.
You can play about with words and write a Play with words
You can’t pray to yourself but you can pray for yourself
You can pray to God but not for God but how about without God
You can pray without knowing
Can you play without knowing?Yes!
Can you play with God? Can you play by God?
You can pray by yourself with others and for others or about others.
You can pray with words and for words and without words but not about words
You can pray silently and play silently
You can find your vocation and take a vacation.
You can steel yourself but not steal yourself.
This seems odd.I can be odd but not seem odd
I can be funny and seem funny but not vice versa
Vice,why is it so appealing;so appalling?
Why are our vices so revealing.so revolting?
Now my dinner is congealing.Goodbye
This life is a play written by God and humanity
without much humanity though as we are too hard
We are too hard on ourselves and others and vice versa
I see where this may be going
so who is writing it?
Psychoanalysis and baking for beginners


- After Mary went off to the Oxfam shop with a bag of odd shoes Stan decided to clean his laptop.
He was trying to open the plastic box of Screen Cleaning Tissues and wondering if he could have used a damp microfibre cloth instead.He was feeling excited because he was going to take Mary away for the weekend to a Pie Museum on the Lincolnshire coast.
There was a knock on the back door.He saw Lisa and Tom,two students from Knittingham University.Tom’s grandmother was a friend of Stan‘s.”Hello,”said Tom,”this is Lisa Stoat my girlfriend.””Hello,Lisa.How are you?And where do you come from?”
“Hello,I’m fine,thanks.I believe my mum found me under a gooseberry bush near the A19 to Teesside.She’d been out rambling with the gypsies.Anyway she met my dad when I was 2.He’s doctor in Middlesborough,he adopted me and several other children my mother found from time to time out in the country.There are six of us now.There are lots of gooseberry bushes on Teesside.”
“Thank you for that,Lisa.”
“Please don’t mention it; you are more than welcome!”
“Would you like some gooseberry pie.”
“Yes,I’m ravenous.” the girl replied shyly.
“Well,you know you are a growing girl.” Stan chuntered .
“I’m afraid I can’t find the cake forks”
“That’s a pity,” replied Tom.”I’ve never seen a cake fork in my life.” “Oh,goodness,”Stan called.”What did you do?”
“Well,we used a pick axe to cut the pies up and then lay on the floor and grabbed bits with our teeth.!”
“Where you raised by cats?” Stan cried querulously.
“To a certain extent,”the boy honestly admitted.”But I can use a knife and fork now for meat and veg and also I can now use a lavatory rather than digging a hole in the soil or using a plant pot.”
“Have you thought of writing your autobiography?”
“I feel I’m a bit young for that and the cats, Lucy and Mario, might be offended.”
“Can they read?” “Not yet but I’m doing phonics with them. the government recommends that according to the News of the Failed.”
“But not for cats,surely?”
“Well,you win some you lose some!” Tom answered with the unique and original turn of phrase typical of one raised by cats.
Lisa got over. excited.”You could call it “A tale of two Kitties“” she cried hysterically.
“Oh,my God.Is she bipolar?” Stan thought anxiously.
“But what would Professor Fittsgenstein think?”
“I rarely think,” said a man who had crept into the kitchen through the cat flap.”And I have to confess that I too was partially raised by cats.”
“Welcome.Professor”, they all shouted
“What a coincidence!”
“Well,”said Annie, who had been listening through the keyhole,”It’s very common in Knittinghamshire you know.The mortgages are so big,both parents have to work so they have no alternative but to leave the children at home with the cats.They all learn to mioaw which can be useful.” She then gave a loud”mioaw” and disappeared.“I’d better ring 999 “Stan whispered.”I think she is going mad.”
“Oh,no” Tom stated,”If you could enter into the narrative of her life and reach the place where she is you would see it all makes perfect sense.”
“What even the thick layers of makeup and the TKMaxx perfume.” “Yes,indeed.”
“Didn’t Schopenhauer advise against about pretending to be someone other than your true self?”
“I’m sorry but we have only reached pi and the Ancient Greeks.Is Philosophy meant to help you with real life problems?”
“What sort of pie did they eat?”Stan wondered anxiously.
“I guess maybe apricot or peach,”said Lisa.
“Well,I have the Fanni Far Mer cookery book here.I’ll look it up.”
“But she’s American? poor Lisa said peevishly
“I thought she was a Turk!”
“What about Gud How Ski Ping?”
“Yes,I do like the Chinese.”
Then Stan fell out of bed and landed on the rug.It was 4am.”I blame that cheese pie.” he thought mutinously.
Read more in the News of the Failed out a week on Sunday
Book

Love color
Blossom
Across the road the almond tree
Will fill with buds in January.
Beside the porch,spiked rosemary
Flowers its blue in memory.
Waking these midwinter morns
I long to see Spring‘s lighter dawns
Subtler changes each day bring
The time to us when dawn birds sing
They make new nests,the swans do too.
I’d like to make a nest with you.
The apple tree, quite safe we’ll be.
That shall be our loving tree.
The tree will utter forth its pink
As I write this down with my blue ink
When I look, I see the strength
Of trunk and branches green-brown length.
The roots are navigating soil
Wherein the worms and insects toil.
Another wood beneath the ground,
Is growing deep without a sound.
And its birds do not fly high
For in dark soil there is no sky.
All beings which live upon this earth
Turn to dust to feed new birth.
From the dead,the living spring.
Thus nature her fresh blossom brings.
We reincarnate and we spin,
We turn and turn and turn again.
Like electrons round their nucleus,
This was Love before the abyss.
The atom cracked and death appeared
Apples disguised,like Eve’s, I fear.
The knowledge burned in scientists’ minds,
Until they used their deadly design.
Oh,would some power the gift give us.
To navigate Love‘s nucleus.
And could we spin in joyous mode,
So choose to take that Other Road.?
We need to smash the Looking Glass
Wherein cruel Chesire Cats do laugh.
Riding pillion
The curate’s motorbike
Come here,Kathryn,come here quick,
‘Cos your Daddy’s really sick.
Run as fast as fast, you can,
Get the priest, get Father Dan.
Run,run went my eight year old feet,
Down the lane and up the street
I ran right up to Father’s door,
[Does God live there any more?]
“Come please, Mam said Daddy’s ill”
“Oh”,said Father,”that I will.”
Revving up his motor bike
With The Sacrament beside.
He lifted me up onto the back
And roared off up the church side track.
It was the best thrill of my life
If only Daddy had not died.
Ninety one and still loving

His time to procreate has come!
His lover is now having twins!
See how Stanley grins.
Oh Stanley’s cat is called Emile.
He likes mouse pie and conger eels.
He watches Stanley making out.
He’s curious no doubt!
Why does Emile not find a mate?
Perhaps Emile left it far too late.
Though he has serviced twenty cats.
And killed so many rats.
But none of Emile’s lady mates
Stayed with him past their due date.
So Emile is a bachelor.
He’s peeping through the bedroom door.
He’s watching how these humans mate.
They seem to kiss and celebrate.
They sleep wrapped in each others arms.
This kind of love has charms.
So Emile wants to go online,
To find a site called “Yours is mine.”
He wants to find a sweet,sweet wife.
And live the loving life.
We must give Emile privacy,
Just like we permit Stanley.
They must not be in photo-shoots,
No matter that they’re cute.
Annie gets up in the night.
She keeps peeing,that’s alright.
She’s peeing now for two or three.
Her kidneys are busy.
Stanley brings her morning tea,
Emile notes in his diary.
She wears a dress and looks so bright.
What a cheerful sight.
Stanley has a his pension now.
Will they have child allowance too?
Age Concern will check on that,
While Emile’s on his mat.
Do you think Stan is far too old
To father twins and be so bold?
Should he forfeit his freedom pass?
He’s not short of brass.
Oh,George Osborne is coming round.
He wants to take the old man’s crown
[an old English coin]
He wants to punish older folk.
Ain’t he an evil bloke?
He thinks he will be Camerons’ heir!
He smiles a bit like Tony Blair.
He thinks we’ll all forget his tricks.
And we’ll just take his kicks.
But Stan and Annie organize
A protest march of the Oldies.
Not many are expecting twins,
Not when the march begins!
As you grow old, don’t give up life.
You take a lover or a wife.
You organise campaigns and march
From Camden town to Marble Arch.
You sing Dylan and play guitars.
You know what’s right and it matters.
You don’t leave life to other folk.
Oh,Stan’s a great old bloke.
Politics is for us all.
So get involved whilst you can crawl.
Make protests in your own sweet way.
Go on, begin today
Read your Baubles daily

-
Don’t use your foam when in company.
Please harass me when in doubt.
Read the novel history of diction..
What is your affliction?
Does he stow his cards under Mabel?
Why did Beth have a Mac?
Adam and Eve were unmarried and had only God to revise them
Poetry is good for the behind
Don’t weed my letters today.
Please delete me,let me go.
Please take care with stamps and rogues.
Please stalk on the footpath provided.
Beware of the dull.
Are you the delusion or the prodigal son?
Feed your Bible daily.
Please don’t seed my hand nor foretell my date of mirth.Isn’t life remakeable?
The way you inhabit it

Incarnation
you are not your body,
but the way you inhabit it;
the way you encourage or discourage
the circulation of feelings through flesh.
you are not your body
but how you become incarnate through it.
how you let go the angels of the high blue sky
the way you become willingly enfleshed
you are not your heart
but the way you open it;
resembling perhaps a grateful flower in sun;
or the way you clench it and turn away
so it turns to stone instead.
you are not your mind
but the way you trust it;
the way you receive new ideas,
and open up to hear and attend;
the way how,like water, you are willing to take more in
or to give it out;
the way you accept the images thrown up
and recognise them
they are who you are
who we all are
connected by the great Mind of the universe
which is more like a watercolour than a surveyors’ diagram
you are not the stones and pebbles of the river bed
but the flowing water,the fish darting and the movement
and the way you let go
as you enter the great sea.
the way you are one and many;
the way you trust and love;
the way you flow on;
the way you disappear and yet are always part of the whole

© 2013 Kathryn
Misquotes and naive art
Please dine carefully.
Do not rhyme this fence.
Leap off the grass.
Trespassers will be persecuted.
Do not walk during Church Service.
Please enter by the floor.
Always answer your letters defiantly.
Are you the nest of the rest?
Please help the tossed.
Can I borrow your husband?
Is this the blending library.
Waiter, there’s a why in my soup.
Shall I pay your bus fair?
Is life an affair?
Outside the hospital I saw Anne Frank
Outside the hospital,I saw Anne Frank




Walking through unceasing traffic outside the main hospital,
I saw Anne Frank at the bus stop,I thought
There was a young woman with seven children,
Jewish,I saw.Little ones shyly offering us their seats.
I asked if she lived nearby.
No, we live in Stamford Hill,North London
What a shame you have to come so far,
for this terminus is inside the hospital grounds,you see.
Oh,no!We did not come for the hospital.
We came to pick fruit on that lovely farm down the hill!
Yes,we have been there too, it is very beautiful,i say.
It’s easy enough on public transport,she murmured softly like a little girl.
The children gazed, demure and polite,
I could see their smiles were not so far away.
I asked her,Would it be offensive
if I gave my husband a kippah
as he is tired of his hat?
Not at all,she murmured,smiling.
Why,you can get them anywhere now…Stamford Hill,Golder’s Green
She took off the hat from her son’s head
to show me how white his skin was there.
She told me how they just came back from a seaside holiday.
Too soon ,their bus came.She’d be ready for a cup of tea or two.
I saw eight faces smile,just a little smile,you know;
enough it was and all for me.
The oldest girl waved her hand gently as the bus left.
I see this is not just a place with a hospital.
It’s got a pick your own fruit farm;it’s got woods,hills,
fields with horses,tomato filled greenhouses,large white houses.
When they close their eyes they’ll see the green and the sunshine;they’ll see the woods on the hill.
And I shall see them and Anne Frank too ;it was the hidden smile.
Why,I see it is almost the Mona Lisa too.
A smile can be such a mystery.
Emerging from a hospital,tests,blood,anxiety.,machines,..
it’s like dreaming,
it’s like being given a hint;
there’s another time intersecting with this
and history herself brushes against my cheek
with a rare intimacy
that makes me both smile and weep.
It’s always here,but we don’t see…
It’s not a hospital only;
it’s a doorway to other worlds
and what worlds,indeed.,
Vinaya Ghimire’s Interview With Me On Cyberbullying on Hubpages
Intriguing as I got banned
Here I am With My Tabby Cat-I spent far too little time with her while I was fretting about Hubpages
Source: Flora Breen Robison
Vinaya Ghimire interviewed me twice this year. The first time he interviewed me was for my writing and music as well as my thoughts on online writing. Originally intended for Hubpages, he published it on Wizzley, the website where I now publish.
Next he interviewed me on my experience being cyber-bullied while I was on Hubpages, and how I eventually was banned there. He wanted to publish this interview on Wizzley too and tried to do do, but it was un-published and locked out from the website because they believe it should only be published on a personal blog. Therefore, I talked it over with Vinaya, and I have decided to publish it on my own personal blog.
After the break, you will find…
View original post 2,533 more words
Lyra has a bath and Stan entertains his mistress
Stan was in the conservatory re-watering the cacti and sweeping the ceiling with a new broom.Mary his wife,[or so she claimed],was in the kitchen making cheese scones and bread for their afternoon tea.Their daughter Laura was taking a bath to wash all the blue raindrops from her hair.A peaceful Saturday scene in the Midland town of Knittingham.
Just out of the blue,the doorbell rang.It was Annie their widowed next door neighbour.She was wearing a long blue satin dress with a built in train.”I’m off to London now” she simpered.”Can I give Lyra a lift in my train?”
“I believe unless I have strong disconfirmatory evidence, that my daughter is still in the bath.”Stan said defiantly.
Anne entered the house and ran upstairs.There she saw Lyra wrapped in a large blue towel like object.
“Is this a towel?” Lyra asked pertly
.”I have no evidence either way.”Annie announced.
“Where did you get it from?”
“That big blue window”replied the rosy blue cheeked girl ironically.”It may be a curtain”
“Oh,dear.Have I erred?” she pondered.
“No,you look very clean to me,though one can never be absolutely certain.” Anne said thoughtlessly.
“I suppose all one can do is to keep the dirt between certain parameters that each must decide for themselves.The Tudors only bathed once a year. And King Henry Vlllth founded the Church of England just so he could get a divorce from himself,not to mention a little gold too.”
Lyra worked for a publisher in Oxford Street,They were always on the look out for new titles and for money.
“Would you ever consider writing a blue self help book,Anne?”
“You can make a good deal of money that way.Self help is in Vogue now. I was thinking of:How to divorce yourself in three easy stages using self hypnosis.
We already have :How to found your own Church.” and “How to steal somebody else’s Church in three steps.”
Anne was keen to get an interest as since killing her husband for his money,she was feeling lonely,remote and schizoid, and her affair with Stan was proving a bit slower to take off than she had narcissistically expected.
“I am already a unqualified hypnotist.”she lied intensely.
Just then they heard a strange crash.Stan had been standing on his Habitat chair trying to eavesdrop on the women’s conversation,and it had fallen apart under the weight of his hiking boots.He lay on the carpet looking pale with blood running down his aged head.”Can you ring 999 please ?” he yelped .
Lyra looked at the chair.”No,Dad it’s o.k.I can fix this with some U.H.U glue.I have some in my purple tote under all my medication.
She whispered saucily to Anne,”I’ll text you tomorrow,my darling angel.Love the dress.”Lyra was a trans sexual lesbian paramedic you see,as well as a publisher‘s clerk and also did not have other intriguing money making jobs into the bargainas the English say now and then.
Mary was in the kitchen finishing off her baking.She lived in a world of her own mainly focussed on her second hand Raleigh small wheeled shopper bicycle and its wicker basket that she bought in East Anglia or, to be exact,in Wells-next-the sea.It was now grey but still functional like many other towns in Britain and their inhabitants.She put the cheese scones and butter onto a large elliptical plate and went into the dining room followed by Emile her cat ,who was partial to a knob of butter on a Sunday teatime.
Where was his sister Emily he wondered?
A sparrow
Bisexuality,psychoanalysis and all that jazz
no

The end of the affair
- Stan has just got back from church.He helps to polish the pews on a weekly rota.He also embroiders kneelers.He learned in the Navy.Sailors used to knit whilst on long voyages and sew too.Now he’s home and making some coffee.
Ah ah,the doorbell.He ignores it.Then Annie appears tapping on the window.”Hello,what’s up?” he enquires impatiently.Church seems to affect him that way……..odd!
“I’m just a bit lonely as Emile’s come back to you.”
“What about the bee you adopted.Bobbi?
“”They’re affectionate but rather hard to cuddle,”she answered with tears in her green eyes.”They do look soft and furry but they are too small”
“You need something bigger..how about a dog?”
“I’d prefer a man,”she said softly and suggestively.
“Why not give meditation a go?” Emile miaowed.
“I’m a bit past it all now at 106,” Stan replied.”But, if you get some rainbow striped underwear from Ann Summers and some red bed socks , maybe that might help with the desirability aspect.”
“I will not be seen dead in striped underwear,” she cried cunningly.
“Well,why don’t you go on the internet?You could find someone younger and slimmer than me!”
Annie looked very angry.”I’ve spent 20 years on you.Are you telling me it’s all wasted?”
“No,it’s been useful to know how to ring 999,” he admitted wonderingly.
“But my baking would have been quicker if you hadn’t kept coming in trying to induce me,reduce or seduce me.”he said confusedly
“Are you losing your word power?” she asked curiously.
“No,I said that on purpose.I’m training to go to a poetry weekend at East Anglia University.”
“You are so daring,darling!”
“Well,what have I got to lose? he riposted jovially.
“And all the food is included.It’s only £3,000 for the weekend!”
“Is that cheap?” “I don’t know.I need to look at the Index of Retail Prices or whatever they have nowadays.”
They sat before the computer gazing at the government data and statistics with pen and paper in their hands.
“I really enjoyed that,”said Annie,”It’s even better than sex!”
“Thank God for that,” thought Stan with wry amusement.
“Now I can keep her busy learning more about how to analyse data.I’m fed up with kissing her all day long.Now we can study for Open University degrees in mathematics and statistics and keep our minds lively.”
“Quick put the kettle on Mary is here.”
“Hello,Mary.We are studying government statistics.It’s so interesting.”
“Yes,I know” she answered coltishly.”But a woman has another needs too.”
“Oh,no!” cried Stan,”Not you too.” He fell onto the striped rug by the fire.
“Oh,dear,I suppose we’d better ring 999!” said Mary to Annie.”How lucky you are here,dear.”
“Well,I’ll make the tea.We’ll need it.”
“By the way,Annie,your eyes are looking so bright.Like two emeralds.” Mary whispered.”Have you ever fancied a woman?”
“No,darling.It never occurred to me.So many men.So little time.”
“Well,do let me know if you are interested!”
“Sorry,dear.I want to become a government statistician then maybe I can understand government the from within, as it were.”
She ran out singing “Onward Socialist Lovers” to welcome Dave,the handsome paramedic who was at the door.
“Dave,do you know any Statistics” she called.
“Only vital ones,my angel,” he replied coolly.
“How’s Stan?”
“Not dead yet“Stan called spiritedly from the blue lambswool, hand washable Mary Quant rug.”Get me some fresh tea and we can all discuss the latest health statistics.”
Anne laughed merrily but she looked truly insincere.At least according to Emile ,who was hiding behind the television in the corner.”I wish we could have our dinner,” he murmured.But no-one heard him.
Cats don’t like tea but nobody seems to know.Emile is hoping to write a book soon.”Cat against tea.”
The song of the earthworm
They tell me that trees are a wonderful sight
They have leaves hanging on them all day and all night.
They tell me the golden sun shines in the sky
It’s said to be so much brighter so high.
I’d like to hear birdsong and thunder and hail.
At all these pursuits worms are likely to fail.
We only make holes in the soil as we move
And we know almost nothing about feelings and love.
We don’t know why we’re here or what purpose we serve
And our earthen workplace is also our grave.
.
The world is a verb
It appears the world is a verb not a noun.
I’ve had my suspicions of course,
I know that’s how I see,
Not yet having achieved object constancy
I see afresh,which is alarming until one adapts.
I see the way you see on Heroin,
But for me,it’s free.
I never knew if mother was the same person today,
Or some new other mother.
She did have the same hands
But her eyes altered.
I gave them all the same name,
Like a folder on the computer.
Let’s see how many mothers I created!
In the end I had to go to school
To get some kind of safety net.
We had alternative explanations there
Like we were saved from sin.
But who can save us from multiple mothers?
I never let on,though I felt stressed sometimes
By all the changes.
Couldn’t things be more fixed?
Dreams end,but life goes on
Being a verb it has to act, you see.
If it were a noun it would be enclosed
By many parameters,grids like stunning geometric orgasms,
Quite beautiful to look at it but never felt.
Feeling is the art of life.
Art is the life of the feelings.
What are the feelings of the feelings?
Who understands the heart of Art?


















