Category: humor

Hoover over the lines tomorrow

 

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I was always out of the lurch of normality,if you grasp my scheming.I had a hare brain  and no mind to speak to except  that of my doll with no head.
it fell off,unlike mine,that’s china for you.Potheads are a bad idea in general.
Please read under each line today and then  hover tomorrow.
To take the path of least consistency is hard for mathematicians
but post-Godel it’s just one more hurdle to  lean over
Play as you go where,sweetheart?
His lips paid me such service,no-one since has matched his adroitness,
yet he never knew my real name was Sylvia.
I was just one of a number of girl he loved in rotation;we were almost a constellation
and definitely a consolation to each other,united by our  hatred of the one we loved.It’s what we call  manbivalence.I never saw him naked as he wore his underserpents in bed and even in the daytime too.My therapist said I was stupid and it’s a relief after all these years of being too clever.Anyway they don’t reach one to understand one’s  textuality unless  one is  French.Lacan,Foucault, I dunno… why do they make it sound umpossible?

 

The policemen of the heart

I once was labelled  an athlete

For I played the violin with my feet

I placed a cloth on my private parts,

Purely,  for the sake of  art.

But  the sound I made wasn’t so sweet

 

But because I played  worse than the best

A man suffered     from cardiac arrest.

The policemen of the heart

Took him off in their cart

So  after that I almost confessed

 

When arthritis afflicted my toe

It could not go where  toes need to go.

I took up my pen

To write music again

For the shy, it’s a good way to go.

 

Introverts  and performing arts suck

Too shy,too inward , give a f*ck.

But writing on paper

Here we can caper

And get read by the beats, if in luck

My immune system’s distracted

I am afflicted by a malady  once more

So, with   King Alfred, I lounge on the floor.

My immune system’s distracted;

My kidneys uncorrected

I never heard such complaining before .

 

Alfred has gone home for his tea

But no-one is here to feed me

My appetite is gone

And empty my pan

How can  such misfortune be?

 

Bereavement is  a  truly great trauma

One might say, it’s a personal tsunami

i  could commit suttee

and burn  my own bootie.

But my religion says it  don’t allow me

 

Yet who wants me  at this stage ,do you think?

I ponder whilst opening the Quink.

Alfred’s my lone lover

Men never bother

.A tear fills my eye and I blink.

 

Shall I  merchandise    myself in   Soulmates?

Will  men flinch when  they come to my gate

As I hobble to the door

Saying,Wittgenstein,more?

Is the  Tractatus , as a  poem ,out of date?

 

i can just see the Guardian blind dates

Pairing me with a man called by fate

To rate me out of ten,

After stealing my pen

And posting my photo on “Late”

 

Or for political correctness a female

Denim dungarees are   on  sale

I’ll look lovely in those

from my hammer to my toes.

I just hope the  Great Judge gives me bail.

 

 

Perhaps I can become a third sex

A phallus grafted onto my vest.

So I will suit either/ or

Who may love and adore

My eyes which appear singularly  blesssed

 

Now I have to confess being re-covered

Would suit me quite well as ‘i have suffered

Pain from my skin

Exceptionally thin

I wonder  if one can also be re-mothered?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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He said,you’re pre-well

I went to the doctor, he said I’d pre-flu.
I said “My dear doctor what shall I do?”
Next time I went, he said “It’s pre- shock.”
And then I had pre measles,pre mumps and pre-pox
I ran to the doctor,he said ” You’re pre-well”
I said “Are you sure it’s not just a pre-quel?”
Next time I turned up,he’d gone out for a walk
It’s hard for a doctor who wants to pre-talk.
I went to the optician, who said I’m pre-blind
I thanked him for being so intensely unkind.
I went back to the doctor,and these words I said
“I’m pre -blind, pre-deaf,pre-ill and pre-dead!

His mistress was vexed

Cats
Stanley bought some soap  which smelled good;
A bit like the scent of dried wood.
His  mistress  was vexed
and sent him this text:
“i really don’t know how you could”
What do you mean,Stan cried out?
Has the new teapot broken its spout?
Oh,no,she replied
The  mice have all died
It’s you and your cat,I don’t doubt.
Dear Emile never kills  any mice
Nor does he ever toss dice
But sometimes he  howls
when we mispronounce vowels…
On balance he’s almost too nice.
 

What is panache?

images (3)

panache
pəˈnaʃ/
noun
noun: panache
  1. 1.
    flamboyant confidence of style or manner.
    “he entertained London society with great panache“
    synonyms: flamboyant confidence, flamboyance, confidence,self-assurance, style, stylishness, flair, elan, dash,flourish, verve, zest, spirit, brio, éclat, vivacity,vigour, gusto, animation, liveliness, vitality,enthusiasm, energy; More
  2. 2.
    historical
    a tuft or plume of feathers, especially as a headdress or on a helmet.
Origin
mid 16th century: from French, from Italian pennacchio, from late Latin pinnaculum, diminutive of pinna ‘feather
81stJK7UOwL._SL1500_.jpg

Newly invented words by Me

maple-in-colour-2

 

Bibliogasm:Getting extremely high and happy  on reading a new and wonderful book.

Bibliospasm:Having a fit when reading something shocking or surprising.

Bibliochasm:Am empty space in the book shelves.

Bibliofathom: To understand a book after  prolonged  reading and study..

Bibliofashion:Reading the “in”  books of the day.

Bibliocalm:The peace in the library in the days when silence was valued.

Biblioharm:The injuries caused by using books as missiles.

Bibliofarm:A place where books are reproduced

Biblioma’am: Lady librarian.

Bibliothumb:A thumb bent overly  much by holding books open all day.

Bibliojam:Like a paper jam in the printer.

Bibliocam: an app for taking photos of your last page or of people near you in the bookshop or library.Used in espionage before tablets came along,

Bibliotablet:Back to writing on stone!

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I can’t say more

Chirography,chirography-

Is it linked to psychopathy?

Psychopaths all live next door

To someone else ,I  feel quite  sure..

 

Yes,all  of us must learn to write.

But never,ever, impart spite

Neat and beautiful is  fine.

But  please your readers and don’t whine.

 

Form and content,to and fro

With the swings of life we go.

But keep the swings in balance or

You’ll fly off and be no more

 

In the end ,as clear as mud,

What we write should convey good.

For spite and malice ,e’en writ fine,

In    fiery hell we’ll spend our time.

 

The true  last judgment is  each day.

With  care and patience, we  must play.

While God lives inside a  flower

Though it bloom for a mere hour.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Humour before bedtime

little tree32_nRabbi Altmann and his secretary were sitting in a coffeehouse in Berlin in 1935. “Herr Altmann,” said his secretary, “I notice you’re reading Der Stürmer! I can’t understand why. A Nazi libel sheet! Are you some kind of masochist, or, God forbid, a self-hating Jew?”

“On the contrary, Frau Epstein. When I used to read the Jewish papers, all I learned about were pogroms, riots in Palestine, and assimilation in America. But now that I read Der Stürmer, I see so much more: that the Jews control all the banks, that we dominate in the arts, and that we’re on the verge of taking over the entire world. You know – it makes me feel a whole lot better!”

Thinking is bad for the brain

Thinking is bad for the brain

It goes totally under the grain.

Keep your mind empty

So you will have plenty

Of space  to see visions again.

 

Thinking’s unnatural  too.

It makes all your brain cells turn blue

Stop being active

Get wider perspective.

Not thinking’s so good it is true.

Alfred stole the food

Alfred found  a bag of food;

Dried shapes drive  this cat  to brood

Alfred used his sharpest claws

And broke the cover with his paws

So now he’s in a very mellow mood

 

Cat

I have got  utter love from a cat

He sleeps with his head on my foot

Do you think that is sensible

Or indefensible

When we can all smell a rat.?

 

I’ll show you some pictures tomorrow

I just took them with c 101

They come out quite well

As I cannot tell

A  camera from my old phone.noran

 

Ignorant of these arts I have bought

A missing manual of sorts

Digital photography

Serial monogamy

I love you with the whole of my heart.

My history’s suffused with it

I am going to marry the postman

As soon as his wife runs away.

It might be tomorrow

What bliss and what horror.

But  it certainly won’t be today

 

 

I think I shall keep my own name

Despite what the postman might say.

For I’ve got so used to this

My history’s suffused with it.

Post me a prayer for today

 

 

 

A gnostical twinge.

I went to the doctor to grouse.

As I seemed to have lost my own spouse.

Don’t be concerned

You haven’t been spurned.

And let me be blunt,he’s a louse.

 

I said,is there a shampoo not too dear

To wash such men out of one’s hair?

No,it’s a  decision,

Without any contrition,

Never, ever try to be fair.

 

I said,doctor I was born to be blonde

And of my hair I am reasonably  fond.

But my husband has strayed

And I’m not a maid

If you think so,then you have been conned.

 

You lie for your hair has gone white

Yet it looks blonde by that neon light.

Your skin looks quite pale

Keep out of all gales.

I hope that you will soon be alright.

 

Well,white hair is currently in vogue

And spectacles are a la mode.

But you are much too thin

To keep a mobile  phone in

Your brassiere as its  general abode.

 

 

Nobody mentions the plus

Of having a very large bus’

You can store stuff in the cleavage

I  can hardly believe it

Please don’t let  the church make a fuss.

 

For Christianity has a Gnostical tinge

On which numerous saints have over- binged

The flesh is  a danger

As is sex with a stranger.

This is certainly far beyond the fringe.

 

 

 

 

 

a

 

 

 

A Gordian knot describes my new made life

A Gordian knot describes my  new made life

For I’m confused and feel misunderstood

My lovers all are tangled in their strife.

Yet,narcissistic, I desire my good.

 

Alas, I am as beautiful as dawn

This gives a false  description to these men

For as I struggle feeling quite forlorn

Each  man wants to take me to his den.

 

I’d rather read then be adored and served.

No longer youthful ,I have had enough.

I gave my lovers more than they deserved

Now I’m sick of them and all their stuff

 

Be off you men  and find yourself elsewhere

I warn you  now I  shall soon curse and swear

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The body’s own soul is the face

I was once an  outspoken agnostic

My harsh words could sound frightfully caustic

But I saw the light

Turn green in my sight.

So I repaired my own soul with some bostick [glue sold in UK]

 

The body’s own soul is the face

Which often is lit up with grace.

So   I am  gentle when gazing

On  you when embracing.

And take care in your sweet sacred space.

 

Antagonist

https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/antagonist

This word means enemy or opponent It is another word deriving from the Greek.I wondered if it had any connection to Antigone but it seems not.However you may like to hear  someone reading Antigone.

 

 

 

How about a worm?

Hello,dear.What can I do for you this morning?
Oh,I’ve got a nasty pain in my conundrum,doctor.
Are you being careful?
I’m always careful.
No,I mean, are you using a euphemism?
No,I am on the pill.Is a euphemism better for dealing with conundrums?
Conundra…
I’ve never heard of a conundra.
Look,what is really wrong with you?
It’s  a complete conundrum to me.
Well,it will be so for me unless you tell me where and what it is.
It’s a pain in my testicle.
But you are a lady.
That’s what people think.
Well,surely somebody would have seen it.
It’s only just dropped.
That’s odd.
Yes,it is as usually testicles come in pairs.
I don’t know what to say.
Well,it’s a  conundrum.
Maybe I should examine you.
I am in a hurry and you need a chaperone.
No,I can use gloves.
What,put a glove on my testicle!
Well,let’s just wait and see whether it progresses.Come back if you feel worried about it.
Is it wrong to be a hermaphrodite?
What a stupid question.How can it be wrong when you don’t control it.
Yes ,being a hermaphrodite does give one stronger sexual desires as like with a worm there’s more possibilities.
I really don’t fancy sex with a worm myself
But if you loved it the worm
They have no faces so they all look the same.
They used to say all black people looked the same to the whites even though they have eyes and faces and expressions.

Do we need faces to love?

We need them to kiss.And what is life without a kiss?

Ask a worm.They seem to have a good life with no wars and worries.

No,they can’t use guns,can they?

Well,not to shoot with.

So the answer is to get rid of people and just have worms. and beetles.

The way the world is going this may happen quite soon.

It’s a terrible conundrum..

Well,I am very euphemistic.

Do you mean optimistic?

Bang

And that was the end of the world tonight.
BBC the world’s best broadcaster,bringing you all the cheer you need in hell

But you ain’t trickin’ me.

He was always very adamant

He could not change his mind

So I soaked his head in old red wine

Because I am so kind.

 

When he woke up he looked the same

But he spoke so tenderly:

You may  have tricked some other guys.

But you ain’t trickin’ me.

 

I said I knew  no other men;

He was  my heart’s desire.

He threw his water glass at me

And said I was a liar.

 

So then I realised with dread,

My love was utter folly.

I gave him 20 English pounds

To buy himself a lolly.

 

Adamantine’s good for jewels

But not for picking men.

I shall learn my lesson now.

Pray I’ll never sin again.

 

 

God in the bush

Menorah is not a girls’ name.

Come here ,Norah, is not quite the same.

Let me light up your candle

And let the cat fondle..

My cheek, as it never feels shame

 

Candelebrah sounds extremely posh.

The vision makes  all  our cheeks flush.

The lights in the darkness

Throw out their sparks at us.

Creation ‘s a  fiery,red bush.

 

Etymolgy in rhyming verse.

I went to the doctor today

With a dull pain in my  poor etymology.

When I went in,he said ,sit down and pray.

I am studying spiritualology.

 

I said,doctor it doesn’t exist

Language is public not private.

He cried,Do not try to resist.

I am hoping to re-socialise it.

–

I said Spirituality’s sufficient

No need for spiritualology.

He told me my brain was deficient.

And it might affect my parapsychology.

 

I wonder if he’s in his right mind

For I only  went   there for a flu shot.

But I hate to be very behind.

I do need to go to the loo a lot.

 

They say that words  can kill when we’re hate filled,

And excommunicating folk is an error.

But if  life is predetermined we’re fulfilled.

Yet in our  contrarian way, we feel terror.

 

Etymology  passes the time well

When you’re on antibiotics for cystitis.

And even  if  it’s only a chill,

Can the bladder ever  get  tonsilitis?

 

 

I which we had been told the right names

For the parts  hid by knickers voluminous

I thought my  red tongue  was to blame.

Running right through me and out at the  terminus.

 

Consent,consequence etc

I keep getting mixed up with my words

To be  consequential to my lover  is absurd

He’s  very inconstant

Makes the most of each instant

And treats me to a meal on the 3rd.

 

I don’t feel like eating any more.

My stomach has closed its little door.

Consequently I am thinner

So this  is a winner.

Take penicillin and hog the dance floor.

 

The trouble is,it gives me diarrhea.

So I hope the toilet is near.

Toilet is common,

But never mind that plumbing.

I have developed a terrible fear.

 

I think  the top folk say “loo”

But first they say,How do you do?

Don’t tell them the truth.

Nor offer any proof.

Don’t even give them a clue.

 

My late lover said,In the pink.

When he was asked that,I think.

Even as he died

His eyes opened wide.

He smiled broadly and give me a wink.

 

 

 

You seem he’d forgotten I was his spouse.

As I kept always knitting my brows.

He desired  to   be close

So was unfaithful,almost.

But  he loved me  even before he could browse.

 

 

My I is in flames

My eye and my I are inflamed.

They show I am feeling ashamed.

But when I sat here

My mind was revered

By a fox which  has guessed I am tame.

 

I believe he has worshipped me well

But my ego has not shrunken nor swelled

For what is a fox for

But to sit and adore

Myself and my cat in this dell?

 

The fox thinks  he may eat the cat.

The cat’s making eyes at  a bat

I am alone.

My heart’s a hot stone.

I wonder if this form is too pat?

 

They say,you’re never alone with a what?

A cigarette  hiding under your hat.

I do like a felt hat,

But no-one felt me like that.

I  miss your warm hand and your pat.

 

 

Heart welts

(St. Peter’s Church, North Tawton, where Plath took the ‘Poor Box’ from in 1962)

Can brains cower  daily in a bathroom?

She suffered from heart welts after marriage to a writer and his wren,Chris.

He has foot stains all over his floor but there is no  unknown cure.How can they know that?

He éven dropped a foot hint for the police as he left the crime he had seen.

She was a ripe hearted woman despite being as thin as lamb shank.Whatever that is.

Can I eat him?Sorry,meet Jim

I could see and read his nose across the room but I adored it.And him.I am very much loved.

I stand on my heart but don’t feint.But will it charm me in the long run?

He rattled my rage but I never blew up.I am very flexible.Why I am better than a credit card.Plastic is nothing to me.

I have a heart lake when I see you.I mean I melt.But is that a good song?

What do I show?

Are you an impulsive liar?

Try to be wrong for once.

I aplore you  .

 [ BTW aplore is not a real word].I invented it.

 I loved him but my heart was not in wit  in winter.

I still firmly  believe in Father’s Whispers.

What does having beenc affeared feel like?

Mothers Nights Dress here and pray for indifference

I always feel remorse when I decode your messages.

Is your heart on the right face?

I really ought to go to the scientist.

I don’t add up any more.

Why do women feel they must wear a deodorant when they look better in dresses? Neither do I.

 He entreats me just to endure  the reign of lions for a few tears

His eyes can’t  see smells but he  hears angels.

If you are too quiet it may be bad for your commotions

Let yourself pout.

Never sulk for more than three minutes.

Be good  above all else.

Are your motives impure?Buy  my graceful washing powder online now.And how!Give me the profit.

The guardian translated into free verse

The shadowy [grey like John Major]

and foreign [see how they overrun us]

secretary,[his he male or female]

Hilary Benn,

has said

he will not resign [or even sign]

over[ a barrel]

his backing of air [was it wind?}

strikes on Isis in Syria [ package holidays free for gun holders]

despite his party [birthday,perhaps]

leader ,[Ledenhosen]

Jeremy Cor, blimey,yn,

writing to all [ and sundry?}

Labour MPs

setting out his oppo [slang again]

sition to military

action. [equal and opposite reaction to follow?]

Benn’s insistence that

he would disagree [ and be so disagreeable as to spoil his birthday party?}

with  his leader  { Heil Mary!}

came [ as fast as a  slug,giggle]

David Cameron called [but I was on the toilet]

[on Labour MPs to back military [ in fashion again]

intervention in Syria and

“vote on the basis [ or is it basics?}

of the arguments”. [What is their basis?]

The prime minister said there [ or elsewhere]

was a compelling [entrancing and inviting]

case for Britain [ to pay back all it stole from the Empire]

’s involvement and insisted [like a tantrum of toddlers]

MPs would allow the country  [to endure]

to do “the right  [ethical?}

thing” [ that cat’s mother]

if they sup [with the devil]

and exported the government. [ to Samoa]

Benn’s stance effectively [in effect or strongly?]

challenges Corbyn [ to a duel or dual fuel?]

to allow members of the shadow [ night demons]

cabinet to vote  [and  also my sideboard will vote too]

Iwith their conscience or sack [ Send my sack  now,thanks]

him and other rebels. [Albert Camus?]

At a difficult meeting [ of the waters]

on Thursday,

around half the shadow

cabinet, [milk jug and tea pot]

including Benn,[ Nevis and Snowdon and more]

the deputy leader, Tom Watson, [Whats app son?]

the shadow education [well it is a mere shadow of what we learned]

secretary,

Lucy Powell, [sexism again]

the shadow lord [Don’t say it]

chancellor, Lord Falconer,

and

others

made it

clear

they were minded [by the army night and day]

to back the govern [ or even  commit effrontery]

ment’s case for extending[ drinking hours]

airstrikes when  [can air strike?}

put to a vote in

the Commons next week.[ the future was once fiction]

A wonderful bird is the vertigo

A wonderful bird is the Vertigo

Its head goes where its toes should go.

So if it is swollen

We could take it bowling.

For it goes where no other birds  go.

 

Onomastic: the limericks

I do not like  this word onomastics.

Just like I don’t drink  tea from plastic

But  brandy or gin,

Just pour it straight in,

As my stomach is very elastic.

 

 

To be perfectly frank I don’t drink,

As after one glass I turn pink.

Then men want a  kiss

Which for them may be bliss.

Until I drench them  all o’er with black ink.

 

Gin makes me lose my inhibitions.

Which leads later to my act of contrition.

To avoid the occasion

Of sin when we’re able

Is a doctrine I espouse sans derision.

 

Yes,I do know   yet non comprendio,

A few words of Latin and so

I toss  nunquam in

When there is a   great din.

Excusez moi,I have to go.

 

Yes, up to the bathroom I fled

For I had an odd pain in my head.

I poured some hot tea

All over  me.

Now I have arisen from the dead.

 

I hope that I do not blaspheme

When I free associate well in  these dreams.

I am as innocent as a  lamb

Which is not what I am.

But who knows what I might have been?

 

Onomastics,I’ll say it again.

It’s a word far more suited to men.

As they like to  sound grand

When they  tickle me with one hand.

I  can guess what they might like right then.

 

 

 

Synopsis:Not a sonnet

I sent a synopsis  of all my poems

To editors and critics and the learned.

I took one word from every line and verse

But after seeing this my work was spurned

I guess it was  post modern to the nth;

And that philosophy has been and gone.

For what will follow after is not known,

Except in the unconscious of old men.

Fascistic were the traits of narrative.

Undecipherable meanings were adored

The author had no  rights on their own work.

The famous might have been the Risen Lord

.Synopses of  our poetry and sonnets

Will  do  much better if they are more comic