The pebbled beach on which we walked at dawn The sun was dancing singing stone to stone The sea was pale as silk and gently ran The tide was coming in, the day began
Why is my memory so deficient here? I rem LPember little but you near I remember Portland Bill at dusk The sea was wilder then with many thrusts
Happiness was like a golden shawl A world like Eden, man before the Fall Today they say, illusion, I say, no What matters is where this insight makes you go
The fruits of meditation are its test May we be generous,kind, may souls be blessedS
The red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile A pale blue sky, a silver aeroplane I’m happy,I am warm, in your arms coiled
I have no heater but the kettle boiled I made us coffee then my parcel came My face in the small mirror had a smile
My love is deep, you never were on trial If we quarrel, we both share the blame I’m happy,I am warm, in your arms coiled
Our sorrow is, we have not made a child Jesus cursed the fig tree in its shame Yet red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile
Sorrow need not madden nor make bold We do not know the purpose nor the game I’m happy,I am warm now as I toil
We need old fashioned virtues like restraint We don’t see the whole as life we paint The red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile I’m happy,I am warm, the sea sings wild
Although Stan was 102, he still rode his bike locally in the summer time.He was out in the garden pumping up the tires before going off to the Library.Suddenly his neighbour Annie appeared at the gate, without him hearing her feet tapping on the path of red brick;she was bedecked in finest Scottish tweed with a long pendant on a solid 22 carat gold chain swinging nonchalantly from her neck, with a matching ring attached mysteriously to her upper lip.
“Who’re you, the Lady Mayoress” he joked. Where’s Mary?” she pointedly whispered. ”She’s with her widowed sister Joan up in Scotland ” Stan admitted nervously, unsure of her reactions. ”Joan, that’s not a very Scottish name!” Annie joked.” Anyway how about we sit down here on this bench for a moment”.She pulled him vigorously towards her.
Stan responded regretfully “I’m afraid I can’t stop.I have all these books overdue and the library shuts in 15 minutes .”Don’t worry, sweetheart”, she cried un-contemptuously.”I’ll pay all your fines.I’ve just come into loads and loads of money.” “Oh, how’s that.my angel” Stan murmured. “I shot Bert.If you help me to get rid of the evidence, I’ll share the loot with you.”
At the funeral, Annie was dressed in a beautiful dark brown suit with a black trim from Jaeger.She went around the room making sure everyone had enough food and drink.As she leaned over towards Stan her heavy gold locket, inside which was hidden the bullet that killed Bert, swung over and hit Stan a glancing blow on the temple. Stan fell to the ground .”Do you think we should ring 999?” someone asked sarcastically.Within minutes, paramedics arrived. “So, is it that chair again?” they clamoured. ”Yes, this foolish old man fell over and the leg came off my brand new antique chair.I’ve only had it a few days and it’s not insured.”
“Did anyone ever tell you, your eyes are like deep pools in the Saragossa Sea?” Dave, the paramedic whispered into her right ear. “Have you still not finished that Creative Writing Course?” Annie shouted.””I’m getting tired of you admiring my eyes.What about my nose?””
“Has anyone ever told you, your nose is the shortest they’ve ever seen?”
“That’s a bit boring” Annie retorted. ”Yeah, maybe I should change to Art,” he ruefully moaned.”I love the way your deep blue and turquoise eye shadow is melting around your eyes and running down the sides of your nose.” “Hurry up and fix my chair, and while you’re about it, you may as well take Stan down to A and E for a head X-ray.” Glancing furtively at Annie in her Jaeger suit with carefully contrasting deep coral blouse and opaque teal blue 80 denier tights with 6 inch stiletto heels to complete the outfit, not to mention her raspberry coloured bra which clashed violently with the coral blouse [which alas was more transparent than she realised], he picked up a hammer and began,excitedly,to mend the broken chair. ”This is what life is all about, my boy” he thought.One day I will be just where I should be.Right here.With her,alone!
Little did he know the true tale, that Annie had murdered her husband merely because she felt very bored. Boredom is dangerous.If you are affected why not go out and look at some hats? Why not take up drawing. is now online
Soft corns,blisters,hard corns and toe nails Ankle socks and stockings, tights and boots Cover up the wounds with dressings white Put your feet up, rest by doing nought
Skin so thin it frightens me to think All I am finds boundary just here Yet our heart and soul can contain more Spreading like a shawl on loved ones dear
We cast our love like fishers cast their rods Not too sure of what will take the bait A simile so poor I blush bright pink For love seeks not to prey but rather waits
Across the entire world the hate runs wild Bleach your brain , don’t poison with your smile
It Jesus Christ and his mother Mary and father Joseph had arrived in a dinghy on the south coast the Home secretary would have sent them to Uganda. And if God were there
Would they have sent God to Uganda?
Well since God is everywhere he’s already in Uganda.
But 2000 years ago aeroplanes did not exist
Why,is it a long way to Uganda?
Where do you think it is is?
I thought it was one of the Shetland Islands.
In that case why are people from Uganda black?
Well it can get very hot in Scotland.
Is it doesn’t make sense because we are further South than Scotland and we are not all black
And Africa is further South than England and most of them are black.
This form of argument is clearly not very satisfactory. A lot of people in Britain believe that Uganda is an island off Scotland that might be why Suella Braverman gets away with her proposals. But I don’t think she really thinks Uganda is in Scotland.
I didn’t know she went around making proposals. I thought she was already married. Does she come from Uganda do you thinj?
What a racist remark. My newsagent came from Uganda because they were afraid of idi Amin
I’m sorry but I didn’t realise it was racist to mention Uganda
What about Uganda?
Strangely before the Germans killed the Jews they had wondered about sending them to Uganda. It’s understandable but Jews are not black. And Uganda was and probably still is very dangerous place to live for anybody.
Some Jews are yellows and they live in China.
What a remarkable coincidence. Can they speak Chinese
Yea they realised that’s Hebrew is not spoken by many Chinese people.Nor are Jews born speaking Chinese even when they’re living in China yet Chinese babies speak in Chinese. It’s all very puzzling
Well the Hebrew alphabet is easier to learn than the Chinese alphabet.
It’s one thing learning the alphabet but it is another to speak the language.
Just think most people in Britain didn’t know the alphabets until the last 200 years. They could communicate with each other really well. They could speak English perfectly
And when they learnt the alphabet they could read the Sun and the Mail.
What a great step forward for humankind. They couldn’t read the Moon though.
Don’t start talking about horoscopes.
Surely it’s the planets that count.
I can’t!
Very intelligent people can’t always count
Perhaps they were born before numbers were invented
I never knew numbers were invented
Well have you ever seen a number when you been out walking or when you been at home with your beloved.
Are you telling me that numbers are not real?
They are a product of our imagination starting off from the need to count your goat so sheep when the human race we came agrarian rather than Hunters gatherers.
But even Hunters would need to count the number of animals that they had caught unless it was only one or two
So the development of a number system which took hundreds of years then became something that anybody could use The symbol 0 zero is believed to have been invented by Indian mathematicians and I believe that when they traded it wasn’t only spices and silks and all sorts of goods but also ideas will travel. Maybe that’s why Marx believe that everything was economics.
What to me may seem a worthless weed Bears its little flowers to create seeds Thus it spreads itself as Love requires Humble speedwell,hear of our desires.
In the pavements cracks were home to grass The sidestep slabs were broken like thick glass When heavy frost came, rain formed frozen pools I trod in them as I tore up to school
The crackling ice, the mist dropped on the park Our ginger cat, the trees, the dog that barked Our mother in the kitchen making tea The oven by the fire, the big door key
Little signs spark tender memories The future fiction, gone the past abyss
1. Stop watching television. Instead, read as much as possible.
If you’re just starting out as a writer, your television should be the first thing to go. It’s “poisonous to creativity,” he says. Writers need to look into themselves and turn toward the life of the imagination.
To do so, they should read as much as they can. King takes a book with him everywhere he goes, and even reads during meals. “If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot,” he says. Read widely, and constantly work to refine and redefine your own work as you do so.
2. Prepare for more failure and criticism than you think you can deal with.
King compares writing fiction to crossing the Atlantic Ocean in a bathtub, because in both, “there’s plenty of opportunity for self-doubt.” Not only will you doubt yourself, but other people will doubt you, too. “If you write (or paint or dance or sculpt or sing, I suppose), someone will try to make you feel lousy about it, that’s all,” writes King.
Oftentimes, you have to continue writing even when you don’t feel like it. “Stopping a piece of work just because it’s hard, either emotionally or imaginatively, is a bad idea,” he writes. And when you fail, King suggests that you remain positive. “Optimism is a perfectly legitimate response to failure.”
3. Don’t waste time trying to please people.
According to King, rudeness should be the least of your concerns. “If you intend to write as truthfully as you can, your days as a member of polite society are numbered anyway,” he writes. King used to be ashamed of what he wrote, especially after receiving angry letters accusing him of being bigoted, homophobic, murderous, and even psychopathic.
By the age of 40, he realized that every decent writer has been accused of being a waste of talent. King has definitely come to terms with it. He writes, “If you disapprove, I can only shrug my shoulders. It’s what I have.” You can’t please all of your readers all the time, so King advises that you stop worrying.
4. Write primarily for yourself.
You should write because it brings you happiness and fulfillment. As King says, “I did it for the pure joy of the thing. And if you can do it for joy, you can do it forever.”
Writer Kurt Vonnegut provides a similar insight: “Find a subject you care about and which you in your heart feel others should care about,” he says. “It is this genuine caring, not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style.”
What to me may seem a worthless weed Bears its little flowers to create seeds Thus it spreads itself as Love requires Humble speedwell,hear of our desires.
In the pavements cracks were home to grass The sidestep slabs were broken like thick glass When heavy frost came, rain formed frozen pools I trod in them as I tore up to school
The crackling ice, the mist dropped on the park Our ginger cat, the trees, the dog that barked Our mother in the kitchen making tea The oven by the fire, the big door key
Little signs spark tender memories The future fiction, gone the past abyss
Dear ArthurThank you for the watch from Switzerland unfortunately after 50 years it has broken can you please send me another one I will send you my new address separately
If you have remarried please do not burden your wife with any stories about me you know quite well that you are far too introverted to be married to someone like myself and I’ll give you a favour very unsociable that is by studying classics every night in bed
The bed was much too small weshould have got a king size one
My it’s so easy to know what one should have done 40 years too late and it’s quite possible that you’ve been extremely happy with a young woman extroverts and lively disposition.
Do you think much of Google voice dictation
04 is it any good inferring human happiness from a phone even if it is a large roll
I have published 32 books under my own nameof poetry I do not use your surname anymore in fact I forgot what it is but luckily I still have your email address so I can write to you even though I don’t know who you are does it matter my letters to people practising my English and getting ideas and sometimes the letter itself turns into a poem so I can just publish it straight away without doing anything else to it isn’t it wonderful
It is not the most popular kind of book I need to move into soft romantic fiction or cruel horrible thrillers incorporating sexual assault and murder I don’t think I’m going to do that 0 I will have to write something gentle but in this world do you think there’s any pointwas there any point in the reign of Henry VIII
Get many books have been written about him combining murder sex violence passion and possibly possibly love what did Henry VII my love
0 I don’t know if any historians would have research that did love just mean desire for a beautiful woman who will give you children feel a strong desire or did it mean that you will care about them qs much you care about yourself well I don’t think so not you didn’t care a damn where handball in went after their breakup so you decided to have a head cut off so beautiful that she would never talk to anybody else about their marital secrets and it’s potency or lack of it that’s all I have time for now
According to the dictionary definition – ‘if someone becomes institutionalised, they gradually become less able to think and act independently, because of having lived for a long time under the rules of an institution.25 May 2021
Oh,steam iron how I love your heat And how you make my clothes so neat. A flat iron is no use to me No open fire is here,you see. And thought I liked the flickering coals I feared those faces that looked droll. They were in the flames and peered At anyone who ventured near. I wonder how the people past Kept their trousers neat and pressed. Now I’ve bought a hand steamer To keep the germs off my femurs I didn’t like to say,my crotch In case the devil is on watch. I never ever used to think My body perfume was distinct. And yet it may appeal to men I don’t want to try again. One dear husband is enough Though he did enjoy a cough He had asthma and bad eyes Looking out with wild surmise. He saw my golden hair float by As by his window it did fly All at once he fell for me And we sat by an apple tree. His clothes were wrinkled so I thought I would iron them for a start. He could darn and polish floors Cook lamb chops and apple cores. So my steam iron sees much use I wonder if it’s self abuse For as a woman feminist I’m not meant to iron vests I’m not meant to boil men;s socks Nor their pants of interlock I’m not meant to make them tea. What a naughty person,me! I must confess these wicked sins Then I’ll polish my cake tins. Satan wants me down in hell Don’t say he needs my iron as well As he was an angel proud I’ll save him into One Drive Cloud.
When the fruit has rotted on the stalk Bruised and broken like the poor in need When leaders meet but rarely truly talk When children caught in cross fire lie and bleed
Don’t we see God’s Kingdom is a joke Ones hundred million lj bodies broke They lost once and love dies in ktheir gore
Utopia, evolution, grandiose plans Sacrifice yourself for those to come We saw the little children hand in hand Ground mines blow them up, they could not run
One thing’s clear, God’s here or not at all The future’s fiction, yet I hear its callt
The heart is struck a blow, can we live on? The pain, the blood, the wound ca’t be undone Lying in the rocks, so grey, so doomed Death is waiting in the sitting room
Imperceptibly our minds are changed The contents we examine, rearrange No energy for living and new games Like a worn out puma,limping, lame
The animal, our being, our poor flesh Wishes for relief or even death Yet as the sun burns through the maple leaves Who can tell what else we may perceive?
Life and death, those twins walk on white cliffs I stumbled once,I froze,I turned from death. Then I found the wild rose and its thorns The pain of grasping love, the treasure shown
The future is yet fiction,I’ll be damned. Come to me and hold my lovely hand
Stan was reading the paper at 9 pm when the front door bell rang.Emile,his delightful tomcat who was asleep,nearly jumped out of his skin. Stan opened the front door cautiously. “Goodnight,sir.” remarked the handsome man standing there. impassively “Goodnight?”Said Stan confusedly,”But I’ve never seen you before.Are you the sandman who comes to put little children to sleep?” “Good evening,sir.” the man continued,”I’m so sorry my English is so poor.I am studying David McChrystal’s Cambridge Encyclopedia of the English Language and I’m still a trifle mystified by it.” “What do you want?”Stan asked him. ”What do I want? I want to study philosophy and write a novel like Iris Murdoch did ” “No,no.” said Stan” I mean,why are you here ?” “A good question,why are we here? Do we have a mission in life or are we here as a result of mere chance and happenstance or even serendipity or did God send us on purpose ?” “I mean,why are you here ringing my doorbell at this time of the night?” “Shouldn’t that be evening,sir?” The stranger enquired sardonically yet politely. “Look.are you after something?” “Well,I’m after getting people to go to church or other place of worship.” “Are you partly Irish?”Stan asked him plaintively. “What’s happening,”called Mary from her study where she was reading a critique of Principia Mathematica for the seventeenth time. “God only knows!” said Stan. Mary came to the front door.She wore a green silk blouse with a jade necklace, a pair of smart jeans from Per Una and some pink trainers with yellow laces.On her face she wore Lancome of Paris light beige foundation,strawberry pink lipstick and purple mascarafrom Clinique.Her perfume was by Beyonce. “Goodnight,madam” said the stranger. “I think that’s slightly rude,” said Mary.”If you’ve never met someone before it’s inappropriate to say goodnight.” “Well,you aren’t in bed,” he replied laboriously. “What has that got to do with it?” she asked “Inappropriate is often used to refer to sexual behaviour.” “Well,who are you?” she whispered politely. “I’m the new curate!””I’m Polish and I’m here ” “Well,I’m sorry I don’t know a single word of Polish.would you like to speak in Latin?” “Ite,missa est!”The curate exclaimed. “Uno reductio ad absurdum”Stan muttered seductively. “That’s Italian,UNO” cried Mary shyly. “Well,it’s pretty similar.” Stan said ironically; “Well,I must go,”said the curate anxiously “You’ve not been yet so how can you go?” Mary asked mathematically, demonstrating the futility of logic. “I don’t know,sir.Good evening,good afternoon,good morning.”the red faced man screamed as he ran hurriedly down the garden path. “Are we Catholics ?”Mary asked Stan. “Oh,I can’t remember,” he said.”Do we go to any church,synagogue or mosque?” “Well,we may be non-practising at it all, I suppose.” “Perhaps we’d better start practising,” he murmured affectionately. “Oh,if you insist,” she replied in an un-wifely roguish tone. “That’s right,blame it all on the man.In my experience it’s you who is keener than me on all of that.” “What are you talking about?”she enquired seductively.Prayer? Suddenly the door bell rang.It was the curate. “Goodnight” he called.”goodnight” “Goodnight, old man” they responded in their reserved English fashion. “Mioaw” cried Emile,”Mioaw,miaow,miaow. And so pray all of us.Amen Donations via PayaFriend.com
I want the day,I want the night. I want the dark.I want the light. I want to see and to be seen,~ And not to lose my precious dreams
The sun has set, grey clouds turn black,
The day just gone will not come back.
I’ll rest in quiet reverie
Until the reaper’s scythe takes me. And then I drop and mix with dust, Till worms and beetles sate their lust. And fall into ten thousand motes, And dance, in sunlight, music’s notes.
No more striving ,no more ambition
No more fighting,no competition.
Every particle’s the same
Without even a unique name.
And, side by side, we all are one, The lusts of life have been and gone. We dwell with dirt and grain and sand At last we’ve reached the Promised Land
Rosa awoke later than she liked to which indicates a control freak element in her personality.She had stayed at her desk till the sun was rising writing her intriguing diary. which she hoped would rival Sylvia Plath’s.
She got up gingerly and made herself a cup of tea in a china mug on a work surface in her lovely peach and teal kitchen Passing water into a small bottle for the doctor to have analysed was a task even the most brilliant find hard.Rosa was not even the averagely brilliant amongst the brilliants of history like Plataho, Aristittle ,Simone de Boredwoy or Blazed Rascal not to mention St Coal,
.She grabbed her mobile as a dying man at his wife’s hand and rang the cab service. she used now she was unable to see properly or ride her bike. Hello,it’s Rosa Benchez here.Can a driver pick up my urine sample and take it to the surgery for me.Thank you so much. No problem, the manager told her and soon afterwards a young man with dangling earrings arrived.She showed him the sample hidden inside a Sainsbury’s shopping bag.He looked puzzled but agreed on payment of £259.89 She realised she had not eaten any breakfast so decided to have an early lunch instead
.As she ate her toasted cheese and snake oil she fell into a daydream.She was with her online man friend walking through a huge field of her favourite flowers,cyclamen.They were walking along companionably without holding hands but together whilst also being apart which was delightful.This was agreeable since she had never met this very charming man in the flesh.He was called XY Matrix although his parents had never studied algebra as far as historians can tell.Could it be a pseudonym? Maybe he was being raised to be a mathematical prodigy but he became a writer and musician and managed to earn a good income and he had a beautiful detached house filled with antiques and ceramic lamps like Freud’ study.In fact ,he had copied that from historical photos and descriptions and one day he planned to become a therapist. Rosie and Fox as she called him got on well and shared a liking for poetry and music.Sometimes he had sent her music as attachments on his emails.He seemed to love Wagner and Britten which is a curious combination to the British woman.He loved Britten’s Donne’s Sonnets sung by the stunning tenor Ian Bostridge.
After lunch, Rosa opened her laptop.She found an email from Fox. You have been here and broken all my windows and my bath is ruined,he wrote.I am moving house to get away from you.And I am having plastic windows. Rosa was alarmed as it defied common sense She did not know where his house was and it was in another country.So she emailed him back, What is wrong ,dear?You only said 2 days ago that my poetry had helped your sick friend when you went to visit him in the hospital Waiting anxiously for his answer, she sipped some coffee and looked at her friend Dolly walk by, dressed in a pink suede jacket and black linen culottes with matching red boots.
Where is Dolly going she wondered pensively,feeling like a cloud floating over Rydal Water in the winter not knowing which way the wind might blow it After two hours of utter silence, she decided to wait until the evening when she had put away the groceries and written a triolet or two.She was keen to do it before she lost the impetus The whole evening went by so she emailed him again.But again he did not reply. The next morning she found a letter on the doormat.
1,Rancour Villas
Horror Lane
Dumbtown Dear Rosa I thought you would be kind and gentle like your poetry but you have wounded me.You asked me what date my dental appointment was which was an invasion of my privacy.You told me you would not mind if your son was gay whereas to me it is a sin to indulge those sick appetites and you should not encourage him Signed XYM A dental appointment? It’s not as if she had asked him if had a sexually transmitted disease or whether he believed in Jesus as his Saviour.Nor had she asked him if he liked to smoke cigars in bed nor if he let Lassie his sheepdog sleep on the bed and cuddle with him
.For all she knew, the dog might be his partner or even his wife She emailed him as she felt anxious in case he was having a breakdown.He replied, saying she was not who he thought and he was finished with her. I wonder who he thought I was, she asked herself as she sat with tears in her eyes feeling concerned about what was really going on in his dear mind.Her cat Lucy ran up and sat on the arm of the chair gazing frenziedly at her owner and mother Don’t worry Lucy.I am sure I will soon be ok.This must be a mistake.I think he has got paranoia which gets worse and then better
Having read a little of the book online she decided it had some useful tips which could also apply to people who were not paranoid ,like always being polite,never telling lies and never arguing.As it was only £1899 she placed an order.If her friend was really ill she did not want to make him worse.
On the other hand ,who knows what his real motives might be.He could be a sadist or have got many women friends and not enough time to keep them all happy.He might even be gay and be using her to see if he could love a woman at a distance better than one in the flesh.
We have to admit that often none of us know why we do certain things.As a friend used to say
It seemed a good idea at the time.
And so cry all of us.
Sob,sob.
How my heart speaks 