Find the peace of your center

Deep in a pitiful saddened state,

Relaxation is hard to await

You feel so tense you can’t sit down

Your eyes glare out, and then you frown.

You talk too fast,you lack patience

You lose touch with your common sense.

Follow instructions from a book?

oh,no your entire brain’s been spooked.

So what to do to help yourself,

Not to mention your mental health?

I discovered that very deep within

My self is always quiet and still.

To gain tranquility we must sit

And to consciousness this peace admit.

Deep down inside you are at rest

And with love your soul is blessed.

All you have to do is sit

To get in touch with this sweet state.

Your loving peace is always there

But you have spend time to discover her.

Sitting may sound a simple skill

Were we capable of will

Pretend your chair is full of glue

We have some here called UHU.

Pretend that you cannot get up,

An elephant is sitting on your lap.

Gaze patiently at a tall tree’

We share an affinity with these,

With flowers,cats bats and bumble bees.

So let all words and thoughts now go.

Your mind will shift until it’s slow,

Relaxing improves our perception,

Doing nothing is good for the complexion.

I love to look out,

And see birds about.

While glimpsing if any of them have specs on.

ALL FOR THE LOVE OF A TREE

My daughter‘s in love with a tree,

It’s a most wonderful sight to see.

She hugs it all night

In the pale moonlight.

But what will their joint offspring be?

My sister’s in love with a book

She gives it long lustful looks.

She takes it to bed

I think it’s so sad.

If she conceives it will be by a fluke

My niece is in love with a girl.

She thought she’d give gay life a twirl.

They dance and they kiss,

O what utter bliss!

I think I might give it a whirl.

My neighbor has love on his mind

He’s ancient,,but he is so kind.

He showed interest in me

But I’m in love with a bee.

So I ‘ll have to see who-em I can find.

My friend loves a politician.

You’d know him,you definitely can’t miss him!..

He’s on the T.V.

He’s a P.M. to be.

.She’d be far better off with a tree!

A story with a hint of a prayer

Source: Kathryn

Deodorants R Us

Stan was looking out of his bay window at the old rowan tree. in front of their lovely house in a quiet tree lined avenue in Knittingham,U.K..After some very intense sunshine in August,its leaves had withered and he thought it might be dead.He had his microfibre cloth but was not even pretending to clean the window…. one of his duties in the home..he preferred cooking.
He was thinking pensively because his wife Mary had told him he ought to be wearing an antiperspirant when they had a few words the night before.
“But I’m 105,” he cried.”Surely,I don’t need an antiperspirant now?”
“Don’t exaggerate,”Mary replied,”You are only 75.Do you need Cognitive Age Truth Therapy as well?”
“Don’t be so rude; do I smell nasty,?” he asked her angrily,ignoring the faint hint he was exaggerating about his age.
“Well,it says in the Telegraph that all the Top Men now wear deodorants.”
“Good grief, what made you read the Telegraph,that extremely right wing apology for a newspaper?And I should say the present government certainly need strong deodorants.I have a good wash every day and a bath once in a blue moon…I am clean enough for my mistress!”

Annie his mistress lived right next door to the surprise of all who thought they knew them well.How can we ever know any other people well?
“Well,I am taking you to Boot’s tomorrow to find one for you”
“How dare you order me about like this.Even if I wanted to wear a deodorant I wouldn’t tolerate being spoken to like that.~I am an adult man and I smell the same as always ;why don’t you buy me a new sponge and some decent soap in Sainsburys’ instead of this lavender or rose rubbish.”
Mary began to sob quietly
“What’s wrong,my little jacket potato.” he asked her gently in the language of the North British.
“Well,maybe it’s my therapy…I have been recollecting memories of girls teasing me because we had only a tin bath in our house and no bathroom.It was cold going to the lavatory down the backyard as well,especially when I got dysmenorhea………….otherwise known as period pains, when I might be there half an hour.
So I guess I thought I might smell nasty.I am reliving the pain and anguish and as a defense I am projecting my fear onto you,That’s maybe why I was so rude to you.”
“Eeh,by gum,she’s swallowed the Dictionary of Psychoanalysis not to mention the Encarta too”thought Emile their smiling tom cat.”Does she like the Oxford Dictionary?”
“Well,you do smell.Like honey… you smell just the way I like a woman to smell…Natural”
“How would you describe it,my sweet onion pie?”
“Like a cat on heat ,my honeybum” he answered tenderly yet manfully with his Freudian slip sticking out a mile.
“But surely you have never had intercourse with a cat?” she queried nervously yet longingly.
“No,not sexual intercourse, but I have slept with many female cats and I know well their varying smells,their mews and their claws.”
“Just like me” whispered Emile,” and I like how women smell too.I like perfume..especially Poison and Chanel Nr5″
“So I shall come to Boots with you and I shall buy you some perfume.Then we can have coffee and cake somewhere for a real treat.” Stan told Mary assertively.She kissed his fair white cheek.. now a little red from the sun.He kissed her right ear as it seemed the only part near enough.
“I like coffee and cake,”purred Emile,”And I want a deodorant and some cologne. and a few other things”
“I think I could put you in my handbag “,said Mary kindly….which would be a pleasant change for Emile.They often left him alone in the house though he could drop into Annie’s at any time…and watch her tidying her make up box out or having a bath with lots of foam.Emile adored her,She even had a cat flap put in just for him.
So soon they will be on their way into town in their best clothes.Will Emile sit on a chair or will he stand on Stan’s knee.Wait patiently…. he might break his saucer.
The future is pre-fiction

You have to take an exam in kissing,Stan

You have to take an exam in kissing!

Stan had just got back to his lovely bright home from a ride on his old mountain bike.Emile had travailed in his special cat seat/basket just in front of Stan as he liked to see the road less traveled should it appear..and he liked purr to encourage Stan to ride further.

When Stan got home to his luxuriously detached yet bijou dwelling he went to the wonderfully disappointing cloakroom to wash his paws before putting the kettle on for some tea.
Ah,how peaceful it is here,he thought…,how nice Mary is still at work.
Suddenly and alarmingly, the door bell rang.There,on the flower bedecked porch,stood a large, beautiful curly haired woman holding Emile in her pretty freckled arms
I believe this is your cat,she said boldly.So he tells me.Why, he even knows the address.
Well,if he’s anyone’s he’s mine,Stan admitted uneasily.
What has he done now?
Did you not notice he jumped out of his basket?she asked enquiringly.
Well,no,Stan answered furtively..
I was getting a bit tired and keen to get home…I forgot my water,
Well,I hope you won’t let him do it again,he could end up absconding,
By the way,I’m called Yvette.
Are you Yvette Cooper,the MP,he enquired wildly.
No, she said,I’m Yvette Hooper,the swan lover.
Do come in for a cup of tea,he said caringly.
I don’t mind if I do,she said,then I can be sure your cat is alright.
Tell me,Stan said,Do you live with a swan?
No,she said,though I do have an old Swan saucepan.
A saucepan is not much company,Stan responded.
Well,at least it never shouts at me!Yvette said quickly.
Have you suffered verbal abuse? Stan said in a kind and supportive voice.
I have yes.We had a mutual agreement that I could be handcuffed and verbally amused for 3 hours a week.you see we’d read this book,”Fifty shades of grey.”It’s all about human bondage
But my boyfriend thought it was verbal abuse I wanted..As I was upside down I couldn’t tell him of his error.After that things were never the same.
Why did you have the handcuffs?asked Stan calmly.
We were given them for Xmas,she whispered.
Also a whip and some rubber gloves.
Why the rubber gloves?
For washing up of course!
But after being whipped would you feel like washing up?
I don’t know.We split up before we even tried the whip… to be honest,I didn’t want to use it.
Alright, my dear.I understand it all.
Here you are.. drink a nice cup of tea and try these biscuits I made myself they are almond biscuits from my Penguin Jewish cookery book.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm,delicious,she cried.Are you Jewish,Stan?
No,but why should they have all the best recipes?
A good point… maybe because they had almost the first alphabet so began to write them down before anyone else could.
Not to mention they invented monogamy,a great religion,Freud,Wittgenstein,Einstein,rhinestone
.Give them an accolade. I mean,Jesus Christ!
What more do they have to do to be rewarded?
Ascend into heaven?
Make more cheesecakes?
I wonder,said Stan pondering slowly

The back door opened and in ran Anne,Stan’s mistress.
She was dressed in soft teal with toning turquoise trainers and she wore a light beige foundation with bright coral lipstick making a subtle contrast… all by Lamcom of China.
Oh,Anne,have some tea.This is Yvette,she very kindly rescued Emile after he jumped off my bike.
Don’t tell me he can ride a bike,Anne screamed,showing off a good set of teeth and a long red tongue.
No,I was riding it.Stan told her sensibly.
Hello Yvette,Anne said,where do you live?
I live on the top road by the wood.Yvette answered politely, her auburn hair standing up in a mass off curls as she spoke,showing off to good effect her light orange lipstick and burnt sienna eye shadow…in fact it was color from her art materials..
Have you been there long?Anne enquired politely and warmly.
No,only a few weeks..we don’t know anyone..
So you are married?
Yes,my husband is in the Police Service… he cleans policemen for special occasions.
I didn’t know anyone did that.Can’t they clean themselves?
A self cleaning policeman…or how about putting coat of Teflon on them so they can be wiped with a wet cloth?
It’s up to him,said Yvette.I am a lecturer at Pond’s End Polytechnic.I teach philosophy..
In a poly?
Yes,I have a D.Phil from Oxgridge in the philosophy of science with particular reference to Dirac’s remarks on Wittgensteim.
Do they study such remarks in a poly?
All the students do Philosophy of Science…it’s compulsory.
Stan said,I wish they all did Peace Studies too…
I know,said Yvette kindly..If only we could bring peace but we are descended from the most aggressive primates… why many of them were sado-masochists.Well some were sadists and the rest were masochists I gather.The ones who weren’t died out as they never mated..
Well,I’m not a sadist,said Stan,or at least only to myself!
Do you beat yourself up,the ladies asked.
Just in my mind,he answered judiciously.So do I thought Yvette.
Let’s have some more tea,called Anne from the hall,I’ll make it.
Anne is my mistress,Stan boasted humbly……
There was little point trying to seduce Yvette now Anne had met her and vice versa.
Yvette was intrigued.That is rare ,for such an old man to have a mistress.
Is a wife not sufficient for you?
A wife is necessary but not sufficient,Stan teased her.
Well,my husband has no mistress, she said unknowingly,
but I have several boyfriends.
How do you get the time?
I have a rota,she chuckled happily.
You seem an intriguing lady.May I have your email address,mobile number and your landline?
Your height and weight too..clothes size and shoes too.
Yes,it’s
yvette999@hotmail.com
or diracisme@qmail.com
My phone number is Oh,oh,6666666666666.7777777777777777………………..
That’s irrational,he informed her knowingly.
Have you got an i Pad,she then asked boldly.
No,I’ve not even got a Kindle..do you recommend them.Maybe you could come to ComputersRus with me on Saturday.
No, she said,I’m Jewish.
Are Jews not permitted to visit Computer shops..Some religious edict,is it? he said inquisitively.
It’s the Sabbath,you dimwit,she responded.We don’t shop on the Sabbathbut don’t worry I’ll come on Monday with you..you are a charming man.I need as many as I can get.
Why are you deficient in some way?Stan whispered.
No,I’m very proficient and mildly conceited,she admitted modestly.
And I like a good kisser.Are you a good kisser?
Well,maybe you could give me a test,he said manfully,
and if need be you can give me some lessons followed by a total Examination to see if I satisfy you.
Just then Anne came in with fresh tea..
Emile mewed loudly.
What is it.Emile ? Stan asked.
I am jealous because we cats can’t kiss.
Well kissing is neither necessary nor sufficient in the art of love.Rolling about together in some soil is also very nice..
I hope you don’t expect your wife to roll about in soil,said Yvette
questioningly..
Well,i can ask her,Stan said,but her main interest is topology and knitting.She is often very cold in bed…
Can’t you warm her into life;Or buy an electric blanket?
No,she’s hopeless because of a type of Asperger’s syndrome but I love her anyway.
Have you tried a new technique like whipping each other or tying yourself to the bedposts.You can buy handcuffs now in Boots,I hear.
Why some doctors prescribe them on the NHS nowadays
I thought Love was enough, Stan answered
It seems in the UK people are into whips and handcuffs…
Well,count me out,said Stan,I’m more into a careful yet tender study of the skin from the toes right up to to head,followed by gazing into her eyes for ten minutes.
Why ten minutes?asked Yvette.
I can’t wait any longer…
Well,you’ll have to practise..she said coyly.
I can practise with him,said Anne virtuously.
Yes,the more the better…he’s getting older so he can’t wait.
He needs satisfaction as son as possible.
The door bell rang,It was handsome Dave the paramedic.
Hi,he said,I was worried as you’ve not called 999 today.I brought a leash and some whips.
I’m Yvette,the woman said.
I’m bisexual,he told her.
That’s a strange name.
Never mind that,give me your email address and phone number
It’s ywoman@love4all.com,she said

or 09964321.3333333333333333333…..
If you’d like a non rational phone number email me at
hotcats@hell.com

Read more freely in the Daily Slur tomorrow….on sale everywhere and making life hell as fast as they can

A cat sings for you

Emile is a talking cat who lives with Stan and Mary and features in many stories

Emile’s garden

Source: Kathryn

Source: Kathryn

Emile’s song

Fish,fish wonderful fish…

Nothing so tasty gets onto my dish.
I live on Whiskas and milk and cold tea.
They don’t know I drink it to help me to pee.
Milk,milk,I love it well.
Mother‘s was best,but,oh,what the hell!
I drink it at night,to send me to sleep.
I feel so nervous when Stan’s old sheep bleats.
I sleep with Stan and he’s very kind.
I lean on his legs to help me unwind.
When he’s got company,I stay outside.
I look through a mirror and blimey,I spied
Stan was cuddling a lady who was totally nude!
You would not believe the weird sights I have viewed.
He was quite naked but I’m used to that.
He has no bosom…………..men are quite flat!
Mice,mice,mice are so nice!
Mince the left overs and serve with boiled rice!
Do you need puddings…we never do.
Some cats like chewing their master’s old shoe!
Drink,drink let me imbibe

Nothing quite like it for aiding a Scribe!

Losing you

As you walk away through lush leaved trees,

I see you come and go like a sine curve wrapped

around the axes

of tall trunks

and flat earth.

I want to call,”Come back”

but my mouth won’t open.

My lips are dry without you.

I’m flooded with loss already,

though I can still glimpse you now and then.

Sun,so high and golden,

yet I am like a moon,

my desolate heart its inscape,

my hands its freezing soil;

I stare as evening comes

into the dark night sky.

I’m getting buried in the morning.

I’m getting buried in the morning.

Ding,dong the bells will surely rhyme.
I am in no hurry
So do not make a flurry
And do not let me get there on time.

I’m get buried in the morning
I’m puzzled as I am not yet truly dead.
There must be an error,
But never mind the terror.
I am thinking of those books I’ve never read
Put them in my coffin
And please stop that sinful laughing…
I’d like to die r beside you in bed.

I’m getting buried in the morning…
We had to book it ten years in advance.
We are running out of space
For the human race..
But why don’t we make love again,just once?

If the exertion kills me
It will surely thrill me
And I’m sorry I am so unfit to sing and dance.
You may die as well..
There’s no way to foretell.
But why not take this very last chance?

The Risks of Love

The brightness of the summer light,
The songs of birds whose brood take flight,
I love to take in these earthly pleasures,
And so to fill my mind with treasures.

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

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

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

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

But if we lock our hearts up tight,
And keep all feeling out of sight,
We will wither like dead leaves,
Falling down from autumn trees.

Trees swaying

Source: Kathryn

Trees swaying in the wind
Leaves
blow
down.

Birds flying through the sky
look
for
lorn.

Winter edges ever nearer.
Frost and fog will soon appear.
Cats sleep cozy by the fire
I clean the mud off my bike tires.
Trees swaying to and fro
sig
nal
love,
.
Birds flowing on air currents.

You’re my dove

Lehitraot”… “araka” … uvidimsya pozzhe..”auf wiedersehen”….. “a plus tard”

“See you later” is sometimes “Goodbye”

Source: Kathryn

For all mothers or fathers who have lost their sons or daughters whether in battles of war,persecution, or other catastrophes who will never hear them say “See you later” again

When he went away,

He said,”Lehitraot,mama.”

Do vstrechi.

He died but I’m still here

Yes,in my heart I feel his love.

But why did I live,

And he did not?

Auf wiedersehen

Lehitraot.

Yes,darling,I’ll see you later,

When the sky turns black and all the stars blaze bright

I’ll see you shining in the night.

I’ll see you in my dreams alas.

Do vstrechi.

But why you and not me too?

Araka

I can’t understand.

Lehitraot,beloved.

A plus tard

Some where in this world,you fell

But no-one,not even God, can tell.

God was absent then or in some other place

He’s gone again.

They said He’s died too,

But He didn’t have a mother like you.

Do vstrechi.

My breasts ache and my heart and soul,

My breasts were made to make you whole.

To feed, give love and to console.

A plus tard

And now they ache with grief as my tears fall.

A bientot

My body trembles in the night

As dreams may bring my lost ones to my sight.

A plus

I’d walk across the roughest bleak terrain

If l I could find my loves and hold your hands again.

Do vstrechi.

The bell rings on the ancient clock

As time goes on as normal ,it doesn’t stop.

Araka

I wish the hands of time could be reversed,

And I was not living with this curse.

People forget that I once had a son.

They think my grieving has been done.

Araka.

But grief and loss and pain will never end

Until the curtain of my death descends

Auf wiedersehen.

Meantime I look at flowers and birds and trees,

But it’s really you my deepening insight sees.

Lehitraot.

Th inscape of my heart is shown to few,

An artist of the lost would know this view.

I know I want to see just you.

Do vstrechi.

But for me there is no

Auf wiedersehen

Never again will you say

What you said that day

Lehitraot,

Mama.

Papa

A plus tard

Tot ziens.

See you later

See you soon.

See you.

You

Wherever you may go

We are in our boat together
Sailing across the bay.
Some have an easy voyage,
The wind is blowing their way.
I wish I could always be sailing
Across a wide ocean with you
And never reach the other side
though it may be in view.
I want to see the sunrise
Across the dappled sea.
The ripples of the water
Reveal a new world to me.
One day this boat will reach the shore
Unless destroyed by storm
And I shall have to leave your arms
Where I have been so warm.
So just before we get there
I wanted you to know
That I shall always love you
No matter where you go.

Let your lips meet gently,

Let your lips meet gently,
the top one resting against the lower,
touching with tenderness
your own skin to skin.

Forefinger propped on chin,
I let the others dangle,
like leaves on a branch;
how softly gravity tugs them downwards.

Let heart beat quietly,slowly
as the blood circulates
carrying its music ,
a river,
following the path of least resistance.

How the blood vessels receive willingly this flow,
touching it kindly as with tiny open fingers,
helping and being helped.

How the hair on the head
floats
on the breeze,
like tentacles of an octopus
waving goodbye.

Top eyelid loves the lower one;
as we blink they touch
like lovers kissing swiftly
behind a tree.

and how the light comes in
we see a world.
[mine may not be yours,]
but the blink of my eyelid
sends waves through the air,
so we’re all touching and being touched,
lips kissing each other,
kiss all living creatures.

skin to skin.
air to air.

And inside us,the rich darkness
of creative night
transforms,in turn,
these touches
into dreams

A merry moral tale

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.
Stan’s 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 unfaithful 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

Why It is Not Good to be in a Hurry

Wise post

The Lurker's List

Yes, I screwed it all up! What I am talking about here is my work. Yesterday, I screwed up because I overlooked some mistakes because I am hurrying to get home. To make it short, I will not discuss in detail but I will just summarize what happened. I am making an operations manual last night, geeez.

I accidentally used an auto-text (that is supposed to be a ‘word’ only) that made the sentence changed a very important thought that needs emphasis. Thus, the whole gist of the paragraph was altered. See, even a single word can have a tremendous effect. All because I am not careful with my auto-text. The auto-text is originally ‘will be displayed’ when in fact all I want to use is just the word ‘will’. When you are using auto-text, the tool tip will show and you can just press the Enter key to make…

View original post 212 more words

The 6 Most Shockingly Irresponsible “Fitspiration” Photos

Very wise post

Reembody

The Reembody blog, up to this point, has been a thoughtful exploration of human movement, a subject about which I am extremely passionate.

Today, however, I’m mad and I’m going to tell you why.

I have been planning a blog post for a while on fitness misinformation, and it was originally going to be the same kind of thoughtful deconstruction found in my other installments. But then I read this and it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever found in my newsfeed: so beautiful, in fact, that the rest of the health and fitness propaganda floating around Facebook like turds in a pool started to really, really piss me off.

So thoughtful deconstruction has been postponed for another day. Instead, we’re going to take a good look at a few of those turds and get pissed off together because, when someone preys upon your insecurities in an effort…

View original post 1,993 more words

Why I am posting several poems daily

I had many of my poems on a site called HubPages.Two weeks ago they emailed me to say I was in their top 6 per cent of writers.Three days after that I found I had been banned.They did not warn me or offer me any choices.I had just posted a new poem about finding your sacred vocation in life.

I think it may be because of some demands Google Adsense is making,I did not have ads on my pages but I see most people do,It’s all to do with money

So I am moving my poems and stories off that site day by day.

Leave a little space for grace

Source: Kathryn

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 spare a little space for creation
In between our minds.
The in-between is where life starts

With your meditative heart.

You play on a clarinet;

I play on my cello.

Your music is poignant;

My music is mellow.

I can’t play from your music;

You can’t play from mine.

Our music must be transposed,

But will not be the same.

I have longer fingers.

You have bigger hands.

You play some from memories

which I don’t understand.

I play from my own history,

You compose your own.

You have tragic feelings,

which I have never known.

Would you play my music?

Then it must be transposed;

but we can’t transpose our feelings,

Unless we are shown

how to draw out symbols

From the dark Unknown.

I love the music that you play

and I know you do love mine.

But can we play together

with a meaningful design?

Transposing keys and feelings

Is an arduous,lengthy task;

Much easier to play falsely

and never,never ask.

I can’t share your lifetime hurts

and you cannot share mine.

Is it easier to share happiness

and in love to entwine?

Oh,play your poignant music for me

with your meditative art.

I shall listen with my ears

and listen with my heart.

And then I shall respond to you.

My instrument is here.

I am playing quite new music.

I feel you drawing near.

Suddenly we are moved to play

A completely new design.

I seem to feel your feelings

And I can hear that you feel mine.

Together we seem to make a work

Of torment and release.

This music is so tragic,

Yet its design has brought me peace.

Play on,play on,for now I know

I begin to understand,

without more words or gestures

than those from your curved hands

The love song of J.Stanley Prufrock

Love apples

Oh,Stan is feeling happy.
His wife has gone away.
She’s gone out to Australia.
She won’t be home till May.

Oh,Stan has got a mistress.
She lives next door to him.
She is very curvy.
She won’t go to the gym!

Her first name it is Annie.
She loves Stan and his cat.
She wears far too much makeup.
Her cheeks are very fat.

She wears bright coloured stockings.
Her handbag’s apple green.
She wears a dark red jacket,
In case she meets the Queen.

Stan loves Annie dearly.
He loves his wife as well.
What will be the outcome?
I’m damned if I can tell.

They’ve been in this threesome
For twenty seven years;
Even though Stan’s mother
Said it would end in tears.

Mary is Stan’s wife.
They only had one child.
Her name is little Lyra.
and she is very wild.

She looks quite like a tiger.
Her eyes are very sharp.
But Lyra’s a musician.
She plays an Irish harp.

Stan wanted more children,
But Mary went off sex.
She never let him love her
Except via a text.

She called him her sweet baby.
She called him little lamb.
Stan gets very angry.
For Stanley is a man.

He wants to join with Mary
Like couples usually do.
He wants to unite with her
But she always has the flu.

So now she’s giving lectures
In the southern hemisphere.
So Stan makes love to Annie
And swigs ten pints of beer.

The cat Emile is watching.
He keeps a daily log.
Stan has bedded Annie
Right there on the rug.

He’d vacuumed it that morning
To Emile’s great surprise.
The antics performed on it
Have opened Emile’s eyes.

Now they go to the kitchen
And microwave a meal.
Then Stan says to Annie
“I like the way you feel. ”

Stan and Annie have amazing news

Stan and Annie have been having such a lovely time since Mary went off.Stan has quite given up his addiction to microfibre cloths and polishing the windows.He and Annie can now make love at night and go out for trips in the day time.
Emile’s diary is getting quite full although he is worried he may be banned from sleeping on the foot of the bed soon as he may be in their way.How will he know what they get up to?

Luckily there is a gap at the bottom of the door so he should be able to see them in the mirror opposite the bed.They usually light the bedside lamp so as to see into each other’s eyes.
~Annie is a very bold,confident woman.Despite being rather plumper than is medically advised she loves her body and lives happily in it now she has true love.
One morning Stan goes down to make some tea whilst

Annie comes to.

“Stan,come here quickly!”

“What’s wrong,my little lamb chop?”

“I feel sick!”

“Was it those old sausages we ate up last night?”

“No,it’s a different sort of sick!”

“You don’t mean………..?”

“Yes,Stan,I’m afraid a miracle has happened!”

“But you are 55 and I’m 90.Surely we can’t have a baby!”

“Well,the ways of God are strange.” she murmured.

“I don’t want to bring God into it.” he riposted.

“Are you not pleased we are still fertile?” she asked

him humorously.

“Well,in the abstract I might be but in the concrete it

could be awkward.” he said furtively

“What do you mean?”

“Well,Mary will be coming back in a couple of months,you

know”

“We don’t have to tell her you are the father.I could

pretend it was the new Vicar at St Andrew’s”

“But he’s gay!”

“Not many men are able to resist my charms and skills.”

“I can believe that,”Stan answered lubriciously.

“But will you have to seduce him soon before he notices

you are pregnant?”

“I wasn’t thinking of actually going to bed with

him,”said Annie with a smile.

“Oh,dear.I was looking forward to that,”Emile murmured

under his breath.

“That would have made my diary into a best seller.”

“Gay vicar seduces middle aged harlot who is now

expecting.”

It sounds a bit like the old Bible stories except they

had no vicars in those days.But miracles like older

women bearing children did happen so…who knows?

Stan and Annie got dressed and went into the kitchen.

They were both looking confused.

“You don’t want an abortion do you?” he enquired

tenderly.

“No way.” she replied softly.

“I love you so much,I could not wish for more than to

bear your child.~”

“In that case,I’ll tell Mary.She is a very wise woman in

many ways,though a bit lacking in the earthjer side of

life.She has not slept with me for thirty years or

more.”

“Perhaps she thought you were too old?” said Annie.

“No,she never enjoyed it.She just put up with it as she

wanted a baby.”

“Maybe you did not turn her on!”

“I did my best,but she preferred reading Proust and

Wittgenstein.”

“I wonder of she has Asperger’s syndrome?”

“Well,they do find social life trying but I suppose she

can’t blame you for loving another?”

“No,she’s very broadminded.I’ll suggest we all move in

together.I’ll divorce her but she can have the big

bedroom and we’ll have the guest room with the en

suite.”

“I think this will be fun.”

“Well,not all of it but it will be intriguing,”

“So no need to seduce the Vicar,then?”

“We’ll leave him out of it.He might fall in love with

you and then what would happen?”

“God only knows,”She answered humorously as she went

into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

Read more about this next week or it may be too late!

Stan has a bug:light verses

Stan woke up with a sore throat.

He had to write his wife a note.

He could not speak without much pain.

Oh,damn,he’s got a bug again!

Mary made him lemon tea.

He listened to the BBC.

He read the Guardian 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!

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 God.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?

I feel that lifestyle can’t go on.

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!

Then I met my mistress Anne.

I went next door to ask for jam.

She came out and took me in.

Do you think that was a sin?

I’m not God, I do not judge.

He gave Stan‘s arm a little nudge.

Don’t you want a tiny hug?

Who knows,it 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 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!

Goodbye,I say,goodbye.

Source: Kathryn

Source: Kathryn

Source: Kathryn

Source: Kathryn

Standing together,
We lean forward touching foreheads lightly
Eyes closed for a moment
Tenderly we respect
The other’s boundaries.
Yet I feel your heart beating too,
As it it were me.
We lean for a few more moments like this.
Wordless.
Holding the broken places,with love.
Then we turn and walk away
Such moments last forever
In the eternity that Love creates
Foreheads touching,
Skin to skin..
Boundaries of the inner and the outer
You are another;
A real human person
Wanting nothing;wanting everything
I shall remember your smile.
You were with me once
And now we go our ways
Our own difficult journeys.

One meeting of souls
Creates its own symbol

May you be blessed
May the fire not burn you
Nor the water drown you
May the Lord keep you always near him.
May He protect your spirit.
May he give you strength always.

Two love poems

Source: Kathryn

Pin It

Some evenings,the sky turned pink
We were happy,lying in the grass
Watching the sun set.
Arms around each other.
Seemed like eternal life had come
Earlier than forecast.
Those weathermen are always wrong!
They need new training
In that timeless moment
In between two raindrops,
In between two tears.

Source: Kathryn

As I get nearer,

I feel your warmth.

Warmth draws me in.

Beloved.

I see you here,

touch you gently ,

my hand

on your face,

your skin.

At this boundary

of the world and you.

As we touch,

I feel

the peaceful breath.

The spirit,

the wholeness of the flesh.

touching gently

we acknowledge

the Otherness,

the holiness

of life itself.

In the form of the beloved.

My love.

My beloved.

Light touches

Skin soft yet firm

Divides yet unites;

Paradoxically elegant solutions

to these lyrical questions.

How lightly you touch me,

Yet I feel you so much.

In turn I touch you.

Life is a pattern of mutual grace;

we are all touched

By the light and the darkness.

Forgive us,O God,

For forgetting your face.

Sun piercing through red maple leaves

Patterns the flagstone path.

Hear how the blackbirds call,

As we wander,paradise is not for humans.

Though in the end,every living moment

Is paradise on this warm skin of our world,

as it spins again in the void:

And He said:

Let there be Light.

And there was light

We need to be mended

The wailing wall

I shall try to explain,

but the world is not logical.

the bank notes are old and crinkling.

your face appears like it’s own negative

the wind glows and the sun howls.

why is the rain blue?

i wanted a new weapon but the rainbow was

too long,i need something small and portable,

like a pen i once had.

just a pencil and paper will be fine,

but please look round.

we’re all related in the DNA

but the fighting goes on for what?

does it matter my great grandfather was a Viking

who killed when necessary

or my grandmother sang in Gaelic

and swooned over dead children?

i can’t see but i hear their voices murmur.

a blue and a brown will go together

like harris tweed.

shall i give you some needles to patch yourself

before it’s too late?

i have long threads and connections for you,

if you will listen.

you don’t need the A to Z of London

in this world

it’s not relevant any more

to know exactly where you are,

just use the finger tips to feel the cave walls.

do we know whether to go back or forward

or even upside down?

trust the sense of bones and nerves

and the sea in our veins

linking us all

into a human ocean

all one.

Guam

Guam Please click here

As I did not know much about Guam I looked it up.Welcome to my blog

and thanks for reading my poems

Rainbows flew from his hands

You have come here gradually,

From the whirling chaos of the dreaming infant

anchored by the maternal hand to earth

To your present adult state

Do not try to fly back to heaven today.
Be patient;your guides will,with no effort,
Teach you the patterns and the dance.
All you need is to be open and to trust,
For you have a place in the world
We need your contribution.No-one else
Will see this world from your perspective.
And as you trust the chaos now,fear it not
Should it return.Every creative act
involves the breaking of these barriers
by which we keep the chairs and tables
anchored into themselves.The patterns may break up
But new ones are somewhere near.Patience
With this suffering is the only route now.
You cannot go back.Heaven comes only after
You have grown roots into this earth,
Grown sunward,and travailed the storms
And stinging blows;have grown your flowers and leaves
And let them fall.
Accept, The only way you can go
Is the earthly way.
You are part of us.
We love you.Our hands are reaching out
If you just lift your eyes.
In the Chaos,God danced and rainbows
Flew from his hands and tears fell from his eyes.
Those tears which fertilised the earth,
He wept, knowing of the pain to come;
And yet,he did not cease to dance