Category: humor

He uses Fairy Snow and soap ,

I went to university ,I turned out charismatic
I kept my handbag full of bricks and stored it in the attic
I won a seat in Parliament, was whipped and called  a traitor
For I met Maggie Thatcher  and tried make a date with her
She was not a lesbian  and I am not a masochist
Yet if there were another war I’d come out as a pacifist
Charisma was quite useful when stealing  my expenses
I needed money desperately to pay for a good dentist
Originally I  wished to study  language
Yet I took to algebra ,the professor  offered blandishments
It may have been  what  we call sexual harassment
Better far to be  a tart, get lots of of cash to pay my rent
But I am still a virgin, well almost if you get my bent
I married  a new husband and he delights in  cleaning me
He uses Fairy Snow and soap , do you think he is demeaning me?
I

 

 

 

 

Its lack of elegance  offends my eye

Loneliness is only known to man
When he burns the  copper  frying pan
From the marriage bed he’s tossed  aside
For pans are more important to a wife

Yet if she  breaks  their  lovely china plates
He is not allowed to castigate
Oh,men! That is a phrase I hate
Generalising is a crude mistake

Now I  am alone, I’ve burned  eight pans
I broke the dinner plates with  careless plans
I broke the special mugs we  loved so much
All because I missed his soothing touch

The memories fill my heart with  love and light
In  my dreams he comes into my sight

Stan and the Yorkshire puddings

  • Stan was cooking the Sunday dinner.As usual up North it was roast beef and Yorkshire puddings.Stan was very good with  Yorkshire puddings.
    They ate them with gravy before the main course just to maintain tradition.Even Emile,their talking cat, loved a pudding soaked in thick meaty gravy..Suddenly the kitchen door burst open and in rushed their neighbour Annie… covered in blue paint.
    What’s happened to you,hinny,Stan enquired naughtily.Surely you are not house painting on  a Sunday?
    No,I never paint  thee housemyself,she responded.I was in the shed and a stray cat was up on the top shelf.It leaped off  and knocked over over this  old tin of paint.I’m wondering how to get it out of my hair?The paint,not the cat!
    What type of paint is it?
    It’s emulsion paint.
    Well,I’m afraid you can’t get it out!
    I can’t go around town with blue hair,she cried hysterically..
    Well,all I can think is,I could cut off a little of your hair.
    OK, if that’s the only way.she said,being keen on Stan’s touching her even if only on the head.
    Can I stay and eat with you?
    Of course,sweetheart.Now here are some pinking shears.
    Have you no ordinary scissors?she screeched fractiously.
    No,we lost them.But pinking shears will give a layered effect.
    Stan began cuttting the left side of Annie’s hair.Then he went around to the right.
    She looked in the mirror,The left side  is a bit longer than the right.
    OK I’ll cut off a bit more on the left.
    Oh,my God.The shears slipped,it’s gone really short!
    All Stan could do was cut the remainder of Annie’s lovely hair so it was only 2.54 cm long all over.
    Suddenly Mary came in,I didn’t know you were a hair dresser she said sardonically to her husband.
    Well,Annie got paint in her hair so I’ve trimmed her hair.
    Trimmed it..it looks like she won’t need a cut for about two years.
    Annie began to sob noisily ,terrifying Emile who was hiding behind the flour bin.
    Well,Stan answered, it will be easier to wash and dry and no need for rollers etc
    I think it looks charming.
    Why pinking shears?Mary whispered.You could have used my dressmaking ones.
    Well,.too late now mioawed Emile sarcastically.
    Well,I think it looks sweet,said Stan bravely.
    Meantime,you have burned the puddings again
    Just like King Alfred and the cakes.Men are only good at savoury and meat dishes.
    It takes a woman to cook puddings and cakes.But Yorkshire puddings are savouries.
    I wonder how Wittgenstein would have classified them ?   cried Mary enthusiastically.
    Not Wittgenstein again,moaned Stan,can’t you move onto someone else?
    Whom do you suggest?
    Try Carnap for a while.
    Oh,he’s more of a logician,Mary said defiantly,You see I love Wittgenstein as a human being..
    Are you committing adultery ?Stan demanded  dominatingly
    That’s an exaggeration,He’s dead i believe.
    That’s what they all say,shouted Stan angrily.
    But what about you and Annie?
    Well,I get lonely with you lecturing and researching all day long.
    Surely you could wait till I come home?
    I suppose so,though a harem has always been my dream!
    I think you are past it,said Mary rudely.
    That’s not what I see, said Emile quietly.
    Meanwhile Annie had washed her hair an it dried in tiny uneven curls all over her head.
    It looks quite fetching,they decided as they sat down to eat the charred yorkshire puddings.
    What an exciting Sunday especially for Stan who enjoyed touching and playing with women’s hair.
    I wonder if it’s a mental illness?
    I’ll have to look on the internet.
    Still, better than panic attacks, he thought consolingly as he carried the roast beef into the dining room where the women were discussing religious topics including a curiosity about why Christians were so anti Semitic despite Jesus’s wish for people to love each other.and besides Jesus being God,he was also a Jewish person too on his mother’s side.
    That’s interesting,Stan thought,Here people think he’s English!What a weird world it is,to be sure.
    Little children,love one another,as someone once said many years ago but humankind is still in the toddler stage of development I fear…. and going backwards too.

Like  sex and drugs and eating from my shoe

We spent 10 years  a -wandering  Southport Beach
You may wonder how but I don’t teach

I went to Sinai just to have a look
Now it is in Egypt . bless my boots/

The Bedouin people  have not found a home
In the deserts of my heart, they roam

I washed my dishes in some  water cold
They are greasy but I’m going blind

Would you vote for leaving Asia next?
Brexit  has put patience to the test

Are we  in New Zealand’s  trading zone?
We could cut the cord and be reborn

I read the Times and leave a comment too
To be quite  clear  I asked  them , is I you?

The Bread that is so sacred  feeds the poor
Jesus never wished to be adored.

I saw a beggar lying on  the ground
I gave him my down coat, is that unsound?

I thought I’d go out on the River Thames
But then I went to Kew to make amends

Did God wish to  convert the  Jews by force?
I hope he will be filled with bald remorse

The Inquisition, torture and  then death
Jesus would be shattered by this mess

Don’t we pay the Hebrews  for their Scrolls?
They told the stories , made the Bible  whole.

All of Europe forced to go to Mass
Those unwilling,  burn them up like grass

I hated sermons for  men gave no clue
How to do in practice what they knew

I made some salad green and ate it all
The slugs and snails are  looking up appalled

English grammar is no use to me
I want to go to Norway and catch flu

I made a rule :it is a sin to pee
Like  sex and drugs and eating from my shoe

Why not work out what we’re made to do?
Making babies may be the real clue

Getting mystic, lying on the lawn
Is that a cat that  bit me on the arm?

I fear my cat has grown her claws  yards long
If she liked my boyfriend,  she’d grow fangs

When in Israel  do  not speak in code
They invented it  to please the Lord

I wonder was  the first word ever   God?
Cr*p or Sh*t or F*ck   or Praise [the Lord]

Do you long fo marmalade in bed?
The duvet’s  bitter orange  matching bread

The cats are in the basket on the wall
They ate  up  violets  ,I call that absurd

My husband  phones  me when I am asleep
I can’t pick it up so it is cheap

Wandering in the Estuary of the Ribble
Stand on Sinking Sand and play the fiddle

If Britain  travels  like the great Titanic
Boris Johnson will sell us our own Panic

If you see a Polar bear at night
Take a photo  followed by swift flight

I’d like to phone my husband but he ‘s gone
Get BT to lay a line  for one.

I don’t believe in mourning over-long
I’ll  soon be dead myself and feeling prongs

Grief is free for all of us on Earth
It hurts like Hell and  makes the World seem cursed

Good night my little cat and my tame snails
I’m off soon  to New  Zealand  with my tales

 

 

My fevered brain tormented fleas at night

My fevered brain tormented me at night
The curtains were as drawn as my own face
I saw  the moon shine, whiskey, what delight

I saw gnats circling, wanting  tiny bites
My underslip was pink with purple lace
My fevered brain incited men at night

I asked the doctor  why he came too late
All I wanted then was an embrace
I saw  the moon shine, whiskey, what delight

Was this   perturbation   stirred  by fate?
Would I be so humble  if not chaste?
My fevered brain tormented fleas at night

I looked dishevelled after the  wild knights
If we get a chance, we  eat the bait
I saw  the moon shine, whiskey,  brandy faked

I asked for love and all I got was cake
And that was plastic so it was not baked
My fevered brain tormented men at night
I saw  the moon shine, whiskey, but no spite

 

Die in debt  and  don’t pay rent

Don’t you die with money in the bank
Get  more  hard back books or dig up roads
Give a  beggar  what you’ve   left unspent

If your family’s full of knave sand cranks
Pay   for them  to live and learn abroad
Do not  die with money in the bank

Why not buy a waterproof small  tent
Camp on Dunwich  Heath with the wild birds
With what you earned but  you have never spent

Die in debt  and  don’t pay  any rent
Leave  your  children free to find the  Lord
You did not earn yet left a  curious dent

 

Ask for books that you ain’t never lent
Buy   new bedding, do not  clutch or hoard
Do not  die with money in the bank

I write  curious nonsense, does it bore?
Do not harm  your sullen  hidden core
Don’t you die with money in the bank
It’s  money  that you earned  so get it spent

Putting it off

They urge us to eat well and exercise
So swallow mini aspirins every night
Since we have the choice to live or die

Money is quite handy  for good life
I might win the lottery at first try
They urge us to eat well and exercise

But poverty though relative ignites
The pain of  being seen as people slight
Do we have the choice to live or die?

What is illness has to be defined
What sugar level is the danger point?
They urge us to eat well and exercise

We swallow drugs and meditate online
We do  our work, ignore our painful joints
Should  we have the choice  on when we die?

With the holy oils shall we annoint
The living and the dead   whom love has caught
They urge us to eat well and exercise
Does even God  have mercy when we die?

Trial and horror

In the land of grief and tears I float
I can’t swim so will you send a boat?

My sorrow is as deep as love is high
I’ll crawl out when the sun has made my dry

I  heard her singing “Help me through the night”
I bought some  ear plugs , it was  that or flight

Leonard Cohen helped   me  in my woe
Then he died, it’s just my luck,I know

Imagination and good sight   are key
To perceiving well   the bleeding heart of me

I can’t be British,I am very warm
I cry with babies and with all who’re scorned

I’m just a foreigner  from Blackburn Lancs
We’re almost civilised, we have a Bank

The English people seem so very cold
They say, hello, please cross my palm with gold

I wept into my pillow in the night
The cat has emigrated,  it’s pure spite

I cried when I got washed and  then I dried
Saving water,I’m  preoccupied

The kitchen is  much  quieter  than a grave
My husband does the cooking, he’s my slave

I never ate a meal  all by myself
I’m in a restaurant ,  but there’s no-one  else

I went inside McDonalds for a test
Don’t go there if you wear woollen vests

I think I feel  my salty tears will flow again
I’ll find my hanky, breathe and eat my pen

I’m never going sad or mad again
The clock hands  move but where  is my old man?

 

 

Is it its?

 

 

rose of sharon seed pod

Some people mock those who write, :that cat ate it’s dinner.

But  that is related  just to  what is customary:

the cat ate its dinner …. means its own dinner

“The cat ate it’s dinner” means another being called “it”  had its dinner eaten by the cat.Alas.

But usually the context tells us.

“I have lost my head” might confuse some of us.It’s most often a dead metaphor.

I lost my head and told my husband I regretted ever meeting him.But my head was screwed on the right way later.

She lost her head and swore  at the Rabbi who gamely swore back  to keep their friendship alive except it was all in his head.She didn’t even know he was a Rabbi, but believed he was  a soft toy with a missing tee.That’s life.For some of us

Mary’s obsession

thumbnail_Photo135q
Copyright

Mary went  out shopping as usual on Saturday.She didn’t need much but liked to watch people  passing the Coffee Shop window and give a rating to their  appearance though the number of women in transparent beige leggings was rather  high.Why not wear thicj black ones, she wondered? They look much better but maybe the poor can’t afford good quality
She herself wore a  dusky violet coat and blue shoes.She had forgotten  to comb her hair!
She saw Annie  her late husband’s mistress so  she knocked on the window and Annie came in.
I’ll have a coffee too ,she said jovially
,It is quite expensive but I like the people here
I love that olive green  jacket, Mary informed her.Where on earth did you find  the eye-shadow to match?
I got it up in Wigan. You know, that outlet store I love
But the train ticket must  be expensive Mary tried to calculate how much but gave up
Well, I love Southport so I do go up now and then to Formby Sands
You didn’t tell me.Have you got a boyfriend up there? Sand Dunes are good places to hide.
I know I am very attractive to men, however there are other things in my life like shopping, clothes, make up, hairdressers and manicures.
Why don’t you read a book!
There are so many I can’t decide where to start
Well  don’t bother with Fifty Shades of Grey,Try Mary Wesley.She began writing when she was 70. I can lend you one.Or did you like Jane Austen?
Was she at our school?
No, she’s dead
Oh,I am terribly sorry.Was she a friend of yours? I realise now people are taking  it into their heads   to  succumb to illnesses they managed to ignore for years

No, she was not my friend.She was a writer  who wrote many years ago.
Some have been televised. She is one of the best English writers.Try Persuasion
I am already good at that especially with handsome and intelligent men
I am getting tired of how you keep thinking  about men.Are you not too oId now?
No, I am not but I’m sorry if I offended you.I can’t think of  what else to chat about
Shall we got to a shoe shop to see if they have any olive green shoes  to match that jacket?
That’s your obsession, shoes,Annie answered angrily.Why not dye your hair, it looks dreadful.
Well  I like my hair this colour as Helen Mirren has it the same
We must accept each other as we are.At least we don’t gamble or  take cocaine.Or try to be the next Prime Minister,Mary murmured optimistically.

And so say all of us. Mioaw  cries Emile.

They’ll steal what you don’t own

Have no possessions,  give  your stuff away
But don’t go outside naked  when in= town
It’s not religion, just simplicity

Happy  are those people  free to play
Who may be sunk in dreams or study brown
Have no possessions,  gave   their stuff away

Sing and  dance and let yourself be gay
Remember that a verb is not a noun
It’s not  high learning, just simplicity

If  you see   evil, do not go astray
Help the neighbours,   give them all your gowns
Have no possessions,  give  your stuff away

In Commerce, there is much duplicity
Be aware they’ll steal what you don’t own
All you lose is mere complicity

The lips of wealthy  men speak  vicious  tones
Corbyn  makes them fearful, do they owe?
Have no pride in   virtue,  rather pray
It’s not an error, God may die today.

To you my villanelle I plight my troth

12373243_647033108769904_7426608511503873995_n (1)

To you my villanelle I plight my troth
A poem both  dignified  and full of play
I love your form and elegance ,oh both

In your form I’ll never insert oaths
Neither will I boast  of making hay
To you, my villanelle, I plight my troth

I’ll take you in my boat to the North Coast
From you I expect  no  greay reward nor pay
I love your form and elegance ,oh both

You are a welcome visitor to host
Though you look both diffident and fey
To you,dear villanelle, I plight my troth

And when my friends come round we’ll drink a toast
To wordsmiths and to poets  on their way
We love your form and elegance ,oh both

On my bed at night I gently rest
Knowing that I wander  as your guest
To you my villanelle I plight my troth
I love your form and elegance ,oh both

Once my hand wrote , thoughtless  as a gnome

My punctuation kept me sane and well
But question marks appear and  give me hell
Do I put it here? or at the end?
How can I   calm my mind  yet be on trend?

My spelling too has  driven me insane
Once my hand wrote , thoughtless  as a gnome
I’ve confused its and it’s  and  so much more
I ask my self  if I  can read a score

I cannot add  up money in accounts
And feel  such relativity devout
The phone calls, the utilities, the  noise
My cat won’t  purr  when I feel so  annoyed

I think I’ll leave out all the little signs
Enemies must read between the lines

I never knew that  modern bus stops speak

The bus stop says its out of use  this week
Men are digging up the road again
I never knew that  modern bus stops  speak

I wonder will the street lamps follow suit
Their  voices like  the chiming of Big Ben
The bus stop says its out of use  this week

Maybe I can find another route
Will railway stations stutter like shy men?
I never knew that  modern bus stops speak

How to travel ,hearing voices break
Pity and compassion   hit my pen
The bus stop says its out of use  this week

I fear my travel plans  have gone astray
The journey I am on will never end
Did you know that  modern bus stops speak?

From the dark grey sky the rain descends
Evolution staggers round the  bends
The bus stop says its out of use  this week
I never knew that  modern bus stops  speak

 

The honey pence

gray and white tabby cat
Photo by Linnea Herner on Pexels.com

Blue toads enlarged in a yellow  flood
And surry I could not blather soist
And be one babbeller, ling I grud
And  clacked one fur- eyed as  ice blood
To  tare it blent  as a wander floweth

Toen blooked by wither, as bossed dax air
And having unhopped the wetter shamed
Oh, goss, wit coast  flash  yet stanted hares
Oh as for thit, they possing  gloired
Had corn them unweilded about das  Rhine

And writh in mourning cheaply dazed
In weaves no step had tradden tslicks
Oh, I whipt the wrist for loither sthays
Shirp glawing love leads on to try
I  dothered if I sheid leve knapsacks

I rell ye telling this wuth a lie
Somewhere riges and roges tense
Two  toads day-verged in a  giraffe, and aye
I took the one I wunt  blud to cry
A sprat is  maiden, by honey penced

I’m chased by signs,equations and cats’ eyes

My nightmare lives in bed,  oh fire,burned bright
I’m chased by signs,equations and cats’ eyes
After  I’ve turned out  the bedside light

I am far too weary for a flight
I see  the art and love yet all’s awry
My nightmare  comes to  bed, oh heck,oh might

Can you tell me  more about my sight?
I seem  no longer to get eggs to fry
Before  I have put on  the bedside light

The Hebrew letters  make my heart turn white
Denoting  both infinities not pi
The nightmare re-occurs, obnoxious site

Then its almost  Grecian  at its height
The tragedy of theatre, does that lie?
Forget about the bed and its gold light

The cat  bemoans it’s eyelessness  and  sighs
We’re not in Gaza yet but  don’t say  die!
My nightmare lives in bed but I shall write
After  I’ve turned on my little light

 

 

Is the paper ruled  when it arrives?

The equation so familiar is  gone
We cannot represent the world by signs
Seen and mocked by scholars,  all is done

Reality imposed  this skeleton
Where is the human feeling, once benign?
The equation once familiar is  gone

Deferential calculus. what fun
Simply wanting others   to resign
Seen and mocked by scholars,  all is done

Thinking  at that level breeds no pun
Nor does using paper filled with rhyme
The equation too familiar is  gone

Can we bring it back, can thought be won?
Mention en passant both space and time
Seen and mocked by scholars, has God come?

 

Why  write mathematics in straight lines?
Is the paper ruled  when it arrives?
The equation  evil speaking  is  far gone
Seen and mocked by scholars, shot by gun

 

 

Ring 999 and ask for Dave

img_20190311_133316
Stan was cooking  tea that day,
While his wife went out to play.
He cooked a pie of frogs and cress,
He wanted  Mary 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  they could have some fun.
But Anne his  mistress rang the bell,
Stan was so surprised he fell.
He hit his head upon the stove,
And his poor scalp turned blue and mauve.
Ring 999 and ask for Dave,
This man is old yet must be saved
The paramedic gave him glue
To stick together his old shoe.
Then he rubbed on arnica..
The head,oh horror, 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  said what they had 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.
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.

The pirhana monologues

 First posted on April 29, 2015

Hello,can you put me through to the vulva clinic?
We have no vulgar clinics here.
I said vulva
Oh, the valve clinic?
Not heart valves…
What tyre valves?
Surely you don’t treat bikes?
I run a little business on the side.
I have a little vulva right in the middle and I want to speak to the clinic.
Vulva is a very rude word.
Worse than shi*t?
Well. it depends on what scale of measurement you use
Like nominal,ordinal,interval or ratio?
I suppose it must be nominal.Like some privileges
We need to weigh our words then we can use a ratio scale like the scale of measurement for height…
But nobody is of zero height!
You don’t know.They could be here but we can’t see them except as marks on the floor…
So vacuuming is cruel as these folk of zero height would get sucked up.
There’s no way of falsifying it.
There’s no way of verifying it…
So it’s not rocket science.
It’s not rude.
Anyway there’s a play called the Vagina Monologues.
If they called it the Vulva Monologues it could sound like vulgar.
How about the Diviner Monologues?
Sounds good to me…
Regina,diviner,vagina,pirhana.,… where are ye?
Some men think there are teeth in there that will bite off their penis…
You have to laugh or else you’d cry.
BTW what is that vulva number?
It’s in the maternity unit,as was.
Well put me through
OK no need to get aeriated.Live and let live…
It’s all nominal on the end

Dialogue

Most conversations are simply monologues delivered in the presence of a witness.

Margaret Miller [ att]

 

A monologue needs friends  attuned and named
If  alone, the endless thoughts would wind
Like cotton wraps the reel,like life begins

 

Self obsession  leads us into sin
To treat with bare contempt the human mind
A monologue needs friends to  find our aims

Do we know to whom we speak so plain?
Why ignore the facts of  life that bind
Like cotton wraps the reel till none remains?

Our thoughtless words may leave an inkless stain
And later we  mysterious sadness find
A monologue needs friends  or it brings pain

If Freud were  here we wouldn’t say the same
Would you unfold your past. all thought aligned
Like cotton wraps the reel  and order makes?

There is no static past  in  this life’s game
What we choose to utter  breaks our mind
The monologue  turns dialogue , yet lame

I prefer my paper with no lines
Then I draw, my metaphors  design
A monologue needs friends to make, bargain.
Though  they be  mute , a dialogue begins

What to eat

blur breakfast close up dairy product
Photo by Ash on Pexels.com

Macaroni Bees
Breaded Wasps
Buried Eggs with Rice
Brawn Kissotto
Dickens’ Pate
Keys Lorraine and Cremated Slices
Egg Valid with  Dressing
Roast Leaf and Yorkshire Padding with  Roasted Donators and Doubts
Toast Lamb and Tinted Horse

Desserts

Mustard Tarts with Single Dream
Lemon Twice
Strawberry Eyes

Apple Stumblings with Birds “Custard
Manila Ice Steamed
Sponge  with Fairy Liquid
Jam Hearts with artificial ices
Mince Hearts solo
Any heart scream

All served with pot of tea and plate of lead and stutter

 Drinks

Freak Coffee served all day
Water in river
Beer by cans
Fancy Tea extra

Use our free bathroom.You will need it

Menu de your

img_20190129_115035Starters

Chicken’s tongue on crumpet
Jellied wheels.
Tomato and chess salad
Eggs  on sliced rubber genes
Halibut’s eyes on  white sliced bread plus buttons

 

Mains

Wild pigeon with black worried sauce
Roast dead hen with drum roll
Molluscs reviled with spasms of sliced red onion
Vegetarian rather  chilly,offers open.
Cow’s heels a la mock turtle with potato scrumplings
Hot dark brown wolf pudding with  flesh tripe

Puddings

Lemon mice
Errings with thick yellow cream
Chocolate black-mange
Oranges with bitter peel and cream  teeth
Apple and Bloomsbury Tarts with  ices.
Treacle hearts.
Steamed sponges with soap
Icy marmalade cake plus  my wife baked

Through my fault

img_20190311_122544img_20190311_122650My husband was so kind.He ate his dinner from the cat’s dish and let the cat eat with me.
What I didn’t bargain for is he wanted me to mate with the cat as well.After all, why would a man get married if he didn’t want to mate?
Only because he’d get his clothes washed and his sheets changed.Is that logical?Surely hiring a cleaner would be cheaper?
At least he didn’t harass women or men.He preferred reading to sex and so do I after the cat bit me.Is it my fault cats are smaller than women?
Did I roll over in bed on purpose?I was asleep.I was dreaming about a therapist who told me to stop reading Freud.
That was easy.I never read any but I am good at pretending to be super intelligent except with men,.They don’t like it,oh,no.
I used to read Wilfred Bion in bed till my husband asked me what it all meant and I said, he’s a mystic.O!
I decided to go back to base with a Rupert book.I got my first one when my mother took me to the Royal Infirmary to have my adenoids re-removed.What a bloody mess that was.When she came to take me home I was having a haemorrhage. That is not an enema!
Still, in either case, you can’t go out.
She brought my hat and coat made of green wool which she had made herself and my sister came too and she was in yellow.How I howled when they left me again.I was 5 and I’ve never recovered.
.I can’t believe my blood is so red; a lady in Boots asked me what was the name of my lipstick as she wanted that colour.I should have told a lie but I forgot and said I wasn’t wearing lipstick.
How cruel.I should have said it is Paris in spring by Max Factor and then she would have gone all over Birmingham asking for it.That’s what we women like.Wearing makeup and tormenting men by wearing transparent leggings and crop tops with red bras over the top.It’s our right to freedom of gastrumation. But is it moral? Is it a sin
Pray Father, I have worn transparent leggings in church
Through my fault, through my most grievous fault
Don’t exaggerate.I couldn’t see a thing
No, women don’t have things.They have openings.
For your penance wear a dress next week.Amen

Daily Mirror Joke

I’m on a whiskey diet. I’ve lost three days already.
No, that is not funny enough.They must be lacking in knowledge

But then would you write for a like writing for a window…. you can write on my mirror, though,if you want as long as you do mirror writing
ie you start on the right and go left.Then when I see it I will know everything

Build me a mirror at my gate

And call me up on the phone in my house

So I can  slip off

and look at myself….

Maybe better in the bathroom

There is “The Writing on The Wall” but where’s that wall?

And the game is up.

We know what you are after.. but what are you before?

What can we be for?

Not a clerihew

I went to university to study mathematics
The performance of my teachers was  boring not ecstatic
So then I   went to London to earn a little money
While living with my husband who as usual smelled of honey
Then we went to Portland Bill to study rocks and seaside forms
I took to writing poetry because I love the sound of rhymes
I would have preferred lyrics  of  the Leonard Cohen Anthem type
But  when he died  I grieved and wept, too late for us to meet on Skype
What a sad old life it is  when Donald Trump  builds up more walls
So sound the trumpet and ram’s horn, like Jericho  the walls will fall.
Oh,Lord.

Visions serve us well

Depending on our power, we may be blessed
Hallucinations entertained and self confessed
Fill our world with wonder and delight
Unless our mind is filled with hateful spite

Seeing  the  Golden Light  may give us hope
Unless we are in Blackpool full of dope
Feeling warmth may comfort us at night
Unless a cigarette set us alight

Hearing soft sweet voices is  a change
When one is alone but not deranged
Love your spirits and you will be safe
Hatred cultivated   ruins hope

If we are kind and wish no-one ill
We live  well within the sacred will

You may be my saviour

With a Bible on one hand and a wash cloth in the other
I find that sex is difficult whatever  or whoever
My arms unable to embrace, I feel I am in danger
Despite that you’re my husband and not a total stranger
I guess you really cherish me , thank you most sincerely
If I  caress your loving face,maybe you will feel me
I only wish I might kiss you without  the microbes knowing
I cannot even wipe my nose,  I think it needs a blowing
I wonder now how we got wed, you must have been quite crazy
For wanting to get married to  a scrupulous  young lady
All too soon we shall be old and arthritis will afflict us
I’ll throw the Bible overboard  then God cannot detect us
And then I  shall be able to pull you even  nearer
For I sincerely  love you darling, you get  ever dearer.
Dearer for just loving me and all my weird behaviour
Are you sure it’s not Jesus but you who are my saviour?

Mary wants a party

acer-palmatum-shindeshojoStan was down on his hands and knees washing and scrubbing at the carpet with a new microfibre cloth and some shampoo for dry hair.He had a bucket of hot water beside him.
Happy, as always, when cleaning and
scrubbing he whistled
“The lark ascending” for his cat Emile, whilst sipping at a big mug of lager.
Mary was down in the town buying some new earrings to match her red dress from Phase 8 Sale.
Their granddaughter Flora had also gone to town but she wanted a nose ring not an earring.As she was a girl it was mandatory in the UK.

Suddenly, quite out of the blue,the doorbell rang.They always do don’t they.It was their Muslim neighbour Bert
.”We’re going away in the caravan.”He boasted gruffly.”Anyroad,the cat ,Nelsonia Mandelinaah, doesn’t want to come.Would you be able enough to feed her over the weekend without any politically correct remarks
being issued ,as it were?”
” Certainly” Stan responded jovially.”When are you off?”
“Well we went last week but we need a weekend in bed to recover from seeing Brent Cross Shopping Centre in Kettlewell right next to the old Post Office.[Kettlewell,Yorkshire’s idyllic village]
“Very strange”Stan said,”Mary was in it only yesterday ,she claims,in Knittingham spending all our minute
joint pension on new dresses and shoes.”
“I encounter women who have seen Brent Cross down the road all the time all over Britain.
Still they’re entitled to believe what they want!
” “But what will the consequences be?”
“Is there a flying Brent Cross?”
“That sounds rather religious,” Bert answered quickly
,”Is it an augury?”
“I’d say it’s an omen,myself”
“But of what?”
“The times we live in?
“But what’s going to happen?”
“God knows.”
“Well,does he though?”Stan’s hot water had gone cold.In fact it was frozen.”The laws of physics seem very mutable” Stan wrote in his journal,
“Also my spelling has deteriorated badly since I began drinking lager.
Would whisky be better?”
Meanwhile,he had cleaned only one third of the carpet.
He filled the bath with hot soapy water,stepped in fully clothed and then rolled himself around all over the carpet to pick up all the fluff.
When Mary came in she was amazed,
“What’s going on?”
“You look as if you’ve been having an orgy on the floor!”
An orgy was something unknown to Stan as yet.”Would you like one?” he murmured.
”Yes,”said Mary childishly
“Age has not beaten me yet!””Better have it soon before my knees get too bad!”So now Stan is cleaning the carpet again.It’s very soft and thick,just perfect!The list of invitees is posted on his blog.
Well,he’s been told to do something new every week.An orgy this week,the marathon later!
But why is Mary ringing 999?
Does she want to invite Dave,the paramedic or is it more sinister than I can tell you?
Yes,indeed,she wants to invite Mike Gove and Theresa May but she’s not telling Stan!.
She wants to give them her opinion of their politics before throwing a Bucket of cold water over each of them.Call it Baptism or Revenge.

And so say all of us