My sister came when I was two years old
Born into a winter famed as cold
Her little face was full of  fun and joy
As we played with dolls and  small stuffed toys.

We lined up all our dolls in rows by size
The large ones at the back had blinking eyes
We played with an old dog on little wheels
It had no fur  but still held great appeal

Dad lifted her and  held her to the sky
Eily ,allanah, I’ll love you till I die
All too soon the family was sad.
Mother was not Mother without Dad

We survive to love and live our very  best
If there is a heaven,we’ ll be blessed.

It’s true that owls are hunting birds
That God made eagles and vultures
But if I redesigned the world
And with power my knowledge hurled
I’d wreck the Universe and more
For I don’t see the whole picture

For Yakov with gratitude

http://www.bartleby.com/113/1126.html

The English language is so deep and very rich
Obscenity shows  your grasp of it is poor
Is that why you said I am a bitch?
Well, now I’m going to show you my front door

When Lady Chatterley was tried and won
No-one thought we drown in worlds like “Fuck”
But now politeness too has  been and gone
Our culture sinks into primeval muck.

Oh, can’t you learn by reading  our good books
Or watching Shakespeare on the TV screen
Seems all we care about is how we look
Whilst from our lips we let fall words obscene

There may be moments when we need to swear
But  little children should not have to hear.

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2018/jan/06/australian-flu-spread-prompts-handshake-ban-in-northern-ireland-churches

Beware of drinking vessels! God does not stop us catching viruses from the Chalice nor the coffee cup

I am sorry you did not desire my glove nor my cart.I have no whore to give
I am sorry you did not bite my letters for me or sell  me a letter wife
I regret criticising your faux setter curds
I beg your pardon and ask you to deceive my apologies as soon as you feel noble.
I ask you to remain an end forever.Until the day you lie here again.
I beseech you to turn me up  and hem me like a taylor
I don’t know how I got it  flung; please accept my  severe demonologies as soon as maybe.

So what is it to you if my English sounds like Yiddish.My mother was  friendly with some Jews who spoke  anguish.She converted them  to our ways and  they raised me as a Catholic Jew who believed Jesus was an emission from a nuclear God particle or wave called El. [ I can’t say more]
I studied Dirac until I went green  but I don’t  blame that mirror he invented.They are everywhere
What’s it got to do with you if I have a little Chutzpah? Jesus  must have had it and he’s god enough for me.
No,I don’t understand either.But it’s  only for  nerds.

The artist and activist tells how investigating schoolchildren’s deaths in the Sichuan earthquake of 2008 spawned his mammoth installation, Remembering

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/audio/2018/feb/15/ai-weiwei-on-project-political-voice-sichuan-earthquake-the-start-podcast?utm_source=eml&utm_medium=emlf&utm_campaign=MB_NS_na_Newsletter_ROUK_Paid_200218&CMP_TU=mrtn&CMP_BUNIT=mem&att5

Mary stood at the bus stop in her chocolate wool winter coat which Stan had always loved.It hangs so well,he had told her.The  optional imitation fur collar had been removed as she preferred natural garments made from wool with no ostentation.As a matter of fact she has one of Stan’s woollen vests on under her gold silk top.Her hair fell in light blonde curls around her pensive face and her eyes looked as if she were seeing a vision of the Matterhorn in midwinter while naked

Suddenly she realised the bus was there and she put her card up to the machine before looking for a seat.The bus was rather full so she sat down next to a wiry youth with an i phone hanging from his hand.Suddenly it rang.His chosen theme was, Please release me, sung by Tom Jones.Mary smiled as, if she were near Tom Jones she would need no invitation to free him.The youth began to speak rather louder than normal.

Mary tried not listen but it was impossible.She was too hot.Wearing Stan’s vest was a mistake as the bus was overheated.She turned pink like sunrise over ICI in Billingham as the pollution has a beautifying affect.
I’m sorry I wore your vest,she told Stan.I should have given them away but I was trying to save money on heating.Still I will be home soon.
Where is your microphone, the youth demanded.It must be one of those new tiny ones.
A microphone? Mary said curiously.
Yeah, he cried.I assume your phone is in your pocket.

Actually it’s in a pocket in my knickers,she informed h0m in a manner resembling that of a mildly crazy scientist.We used to wear these knickers in the gym at school
Did you not wear a top? he enquired,his eyes running over her hourglass figure like water falling off High Force in Teesdale.
Well.I didn’t have a bra until I got my grant to attend  university,she told him sensitively.
Well,that’s news to me,he said.So you had to wear a bra at University? That was before feminism,of course.Did you burn it later?
Certainly not,said Mary.I’d been longing for one but my mother didn’t seem to notice my development which was her way of coping with adolescent girls.Of course my  older brothers may have noticed but they were  too nervous to tell Mother I needed support.We were all so shy and afraid..Anyway be quiet now,I want to speak to my husband
Have you had your phone on all this time? he asked  anxiously.
No,I don’t need it to talk to him,she responded.
Why,where is he? the youth enquired sardonically.
He’s on my knee,Mary informed him.In this bag.She pointed to her hessian shopping bag.I have just been to the Coop  Funeral Home for him.I ought to have got a cab as he is quite heavy
Jesus Christ,cried  the youth,hastily pressing the bell before leaping off the bus into a small pond that had been created b y Hurricane Desmond.He swam away into the cold  night.
Well. that shut him up,Mary said to Stan.
Mary, don’t become less gentle and kind,Stan said in her ear.
I can’t be gentle now,she said.It’s a nasty tough world without you to help me and  tell me what you think of Jeremy Corbyn .And do I need to have a roast dinner at Xmas or just some toad in the hole?
I am sorry, sweetheart he murmured.Maybe you need assertiveness training.
I’ll just get more aggressive,she replied.Micro-aggressive perhaps.
You’ll need more than micro in this era,he continued.
Mary forgot to get off the bus and found herself in the Leisure Centre by the River Trent.
What about the river,Stan, she asked.
Would you like me to throw  you in.A policeman standing near by ran over.
Madam, is it suicide or murder, he asked her.
No,it’s a life sentence,she said humorously as she put her hand up her skirt to get her phone.
That’s a stupid place to keep a  phone he said.
Anyway don’t call a cab,I can run you home in my car.Have you got any China tea?I could kill for a hot drink.
I have some lapsang souchong,she told him.Do you fancy that? I do, called Stan from the bag.The policeman passed out.
I told you not to get a boyfriend yet,Stan continued to Mary.
I’ll do whatever I feel like,she said rudely.I could use  a comforting arm around me.
Stan sobbed.
She said,quickly don’t worry.I’ll get Emile to sit on my knee.Goodbye for now
Goodbye  whispered Stan faintly.Good bye
Good bye,my love,Good bye

If looking at a  phone would comfort me
If earphones  could/would still my thudding heart
I’d have phones hanging off me like a tree

Unlike a vessel in the coastal sea
There is no lifeboat in these foreign parts
So looking at a  phone can’t comfort me

For some feel lonely,others feel they’re free
Without the pain of lover’s cruel darts
I feel grief  like the leaves  ripped off a  tree

I am beyond your pity or your reach
Within my mind the sorrow  has no chart
So looking at a  phone can’t comfort me

What has human suffering  got to teach?
That we are apes and clever but not smart?
I feel grief  like the leaves  ripped off a  tree

With wicked thoughts,with evil I won’t flirt
I’d rather lie down in the dust and  dirt
If looking at a  phone would comfort me
I’d have them ringing like a bell rings free

I floundered slowly as a pen
That writes the lies and  steals my pills
When all  at once I saw a friend
A host  who sold me clothes with frills.

Harmonious were the waves of love
As were the letters writ by hand
From so below to well above
I saw a sight not understood.

Trembling in the Western Wind
Were Alfred Deller and  a lute
So  we conferred but never sinned
Though he had a magic flute.

As my pen leaked ink and blood
Among the purses and the keys
My mother said I never should
Play with cowboys in the seas.

Where is my ship that takes me home?
And where’s my lover,write me soon?
I’ll do my hair with a toothcomb
Before I visit and resume.

Stubborn cat and wrong haircut among 999 calls to police

• 28 Dec 2017
• From the sectionLeeds & West Yorkshire

Mary opened the door as the bell kept ringing.There stood a clergyman in a grey wool suit and baseball cap coordinated with his  Nike trainers
Hello,madam,he said suavely in a mellifluous voice
Hello,Mary answered kindly.What  is your mission?
To convert the  entire world to Christianity.
I am sorry,I meant what was your mission with me.But anyway, you can’t convert me.So you are a failure.It’s called a counter example in Maths.
Why can’t I convert you, he asked the blue eyed witch of Knittingham standing there in her  dark Artigiano jeans, Dash striped top and a  red wool stole
I  like choice, she cried.I do not want a creed.
Anyway, the man told her,I just came to say I am buying a flat across the road and I wanted some opinions on the quietness of this area before I finalise my purchase.
Mioaw,went Emile in a loud shriek
Oh,Lord, what is that,  a demon,the poor man asked?
It’s only my cat, she told him,why not come in for coffee and I’ll tell you about the nearest neighbours.
That is very kind of you, he said.But I might be a burglar
Oh,good,Emile purred.I’ve always wanted to meet a burglar.
Why, asked the man as he entered the beautiful hall full of spiders and Picasso prints.
You can tell me how I can get into other people’s houses, the cat told him boldly.
I want to be a cat burglar!
Come into the living room, said Mary.The room was full of books like the Encarta English Dictionary, Stanley Middleton and “How to talk so cats can hear” piled in  tidy heaps.
My name is Jacob, the visitor said.I have just retired but am keen to keep converting people as Christianity is the best religion ever
I don’t really want a religion  and I am unsure  how you prove it’s  the best
I am keener on the Hindu religion, she lied impertinently just to see if she could carry it off as  Aspies can’t tell lies
Suddenly the kitchen door opened and in ran Annie, the  neighbour and one time Mistress of Stan,Mary’s late  and dangerous  old husband
Hello,Jake, she cried as she kissed his aged cheeks fondly
I am buying a flat but I didn’t know you lived here he said politely
We met on Tinder, Annie told Mary.
What is that, a hill? I know Kinder Scout.
It’s a dating website,Annie said gently, her curving  lips covered in wine coloured lip glaze which almost matched her burgundy eye shadow and purple hair.
Why did you not ask me? Mary said shyly
I didn’t think you wanted another man,Annie said pertly with a  twinkle  in her gorgeous  red eyes.
And Jacob said he came to convert me but is it true?
No, said Jacob.I saw you in the front garden and you look so beautiful I wanted to meet you.
Thank God you are not going to shower me with Biblical  quotes,Mary said.
I suppose we should admire you going straight for what you want.Although when you know me better you may not find me so attractive.
Jake’s eyes bulged with emotion.
Well, you may not find me so attractive either, he cried wiping his streaming eyes on a kleenex tissue.
Mary ran upstairs and collected Stan’s hankies
Here, use these, she told Jake soulfully
Annie brought in some  hot coffee with cream
What do we older people want, she murmured quizzically.We have loved and lost but shall we love again?
Well, I shall mioawed Emile.I don’t keep thinking,I just do it.If I get a chance
Love is more than sex,Emile.We want someone who shares  a few interests and  likes conversation.
What  are your interests, she asked Jake?
I  can’t remember, he admitted.I’ll have to look on FB at my profile.
But what do you do all day?
I read the Guardian and the Independent then I  go out looking for women.
Women of the Night?
No,I  just like to sit in the Mall and admire women as they pass by.I don’t want to cause suffering to women.And I am diabetic so I get erectile dysfunction sometimes so it would be a waste of money in any case
Well, if there was a National Wage or better benefits these prostitutes might give up their dangerous work.They all sat looking  glum as they pondered over the political scene in Britain
If we were Jews we could live in Israel
Yes, you’d have seriously think of that to as the number of anti Semitic hate crimes  has gone up  by about 70% this year.And what that has to do with Brexit is hard to know except all people who are  of different ethnicity are also being attacked.Some people seem to think it means black people will have to leave despite the fact nowhere in Europe is there a country mainly made up of black people.And during the Empire all people in it were British citizens.
Still,I feel too old to convert.Can we get false documents to prove we are Jewish?
That’s not something I know about, said Jacob, though my  name is Jewish.It is Disraeli!
Hang on a minute,cried Annie.Let’s not  be too hasty.It looks like Israel  is on the verge of war.Yet Jake. if you married both of us we could get in as your wives as you must be Jewish.
But we are not meant to marry Gentiles.
Well how about us being servants?
Alas, that country  was never  truly  accepted and  it has become very,very fierce.I  find as well that they love arguing ,which I don’t said Mary.
Well many other people love arguing,Jake said.But it’s true it is dangerous there especially  with Syria at war so nearby
Why don’t we all go out and have a salt beef sandwich  and some chips instead?Or how about ringing 999 for advice? They will know about getting false passports.
Is that true,said Mary
And so ask all of us.

c hac

Yes, I am a Jew, and when the ancestors of the right honorable gentleman were brutal savages in an unknown island, mine were priests in the temple of Solomon.

• Reply to a taunt by Daniel O’Connell [1].

https://www.fastcodesign.com/3038950/the-science-of-politely-ending-a-conversation

“Merely saying Yeah, well may give the other party a chance to finish up a thought and consent to the break-up without looking foolish (like the way we say All right! in a higher pitch to announce that a phone call should end). This tendency may reflect the fact that ending a conversation is somewhat negative by nature, so offering subtle signs of support and chat-end coordination can preempt any ill feelings.”

My GP is really bad at endings.After holding the phone for several minutes,I realise he has gone.But I know him and even ending a consultation is difficult so he walks out of his room and then the patient follows him.
In the article above it says endings are linked to a fear of death [I think} I know with my women friends we send a  lot of little words ending in ByEEEEE or Bye for NOW
.With men I am not so sure as I don’t talk to many on the phone.because even now I can’t imagine another person in my life.It takes a long time to get to know somebody.Even my husband manifested a new aspect when before he died he told me all the things he was angry with me about like being more intelligent than him [ not true]
I thought it was funny as I was teaching maths in a University.But at the same time I was in such emotional pain knowing he was dying that I felt glad he could let it all out.Like I beat him at Chess 42 years ago.It proves you never really know anyone although it might have been his suffering that caused it.

Ending anything can be difficu

If I came again I’d be a skier
Flying down a mountain with the wind
Flying as if we live  up in the air

I’d like to dance on ice while tenors sang
With my body I thee worship,Lord.
A man  to whirl me round till my ears rang

God dwells in our bodies as they glide
Not when scrunched in chairs,  bent over  books
Holy is the  flesh and soul beside.

Would you like to be a song of joy
Floating through the windows to the sky?
These are thoughts with which I love to toy

If we live with all our senses wide
Nothing else  can make a better life
If I came again, I’d be myself
Grateful  to that life which in me dwells

The photos were taken at the Weiwei echibition at Blenheim Palace
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/articles/70234/on-poetry

This music must caress my inner ear
Taking me to childhood joy and love
How much beauty can a human bear?

Laughing at my own jokes
Drawing cats while watching a film
Eating a date.[ not human]
Cleaning my teeth with a hairbrush and my nails with a toothbrush.And leaving my hair natural.
Letting my tea go cold.
Well, it’s a bad day today because I didn’t have a chance to sin.I’ll do better tomorrow
If you see what I glean.

She tainted during the dinner
Do you mean taunted?
Taunted whom?
Who is Hume?
David, he is a philosopher
Is he read?
Red or dead?
He was before Marx
Bookmarks?
They had no computers.
I can’t deceive you any more.
When did you start?
When that man hit the gong
So he startled you?
Into a  life of rhyme,sorry, crime
Send for the police.
How?
Send a letter
First class
Thank you.I am honoured
No, you are a fool
Well,I don’t fool myself.
Is that my fault?
Why build a house on  a fault line?
It’s easier when you divorce.
But will the earthquake break it into equal parts?
Infinitely many.
So calculus can be handy.
More so than an incubus
We have inkwells here.
Are they in the garden?
No, we don’t want them to get wet
Put lids on
Honestly if I knew you before I’d never have misarranged our wedding.
So who did arrange it?
Leonard Cohen.
But he died.
Not because of us?
No, he was ill already
Well being a marriage broker is not easy
But the chairs are.
I chair the faculty of meet the metrics.
Is it in Decimal?
No, English.
No English! I just don’t believe it.
That makes no difference to the language
How rude!
But words have no ears.
Do they have eyes?
Only the needles
Knitting needles?
You are joking
How amusing
Not terribly but you are trying.
So are you.I divorce you.
You have to say it 3 times
Am I Jewish?
I don’t know but God is.
And Mary?
What about her?
See her  blog, “about”
Don’t tell me they’re on Twitter!
Alright,I shan’t tell you!
Now, this really is the end

• We often gave  sinner parties after we got our own flat.
  His eyes  showed he was far too right with wings to prove it
  We entertained all of them without even knowing it.
  I am the widow of his soul
  As Catholics we were forbidden to use crampons at any time especially at menstruation or death
  Contravention was not allowed in the marriage bed which was lucky as it was only 4 feet wide and we had  two each
  Then silence fell over me and my loved one  lost  his head
  I beg your jargon,I am a  poet
  Who’re you ruling these days?
  Did I say you were a graph?
  That’s no cliche,it’s my own intention.
  Never say  economics to me ever again
  How about austerity?
  A posteriorioriiiiiiiiiii, Eh?

The nearer we got together,
the further we were apart
This went on for ever
And now I have no heart

He went ever higher
I went ever down
He said he was a liar
Yet he never clowned

We went on forever
Reaching for the line
Now I know we’ll never
Ever be entwined

Zero came between us
We could not get through
Infinite the problems
Zero solved for you.

I saw the line beside me
But I ran on down
You  must not deride me
Though you are a clown

Frozen in equations
Beauty is entrapped
Icy are the regions
Where my heart was mapped

Cold and austere presence
Alpine supergrass
No-one calls it pleasant
But the beauty lasts.

Across the wall, the grief and anger grow
Neither side will benefit from war.
The  water stolen  and the olives mown

Sewage  into  deep blue seas now flows
What are we,inhuman, what’s this for?
Across the wall, the grief and anger grow

Where prophets  spoke to El   and what they saw.
The holy writing, do not let them tear
Though  water’s stolen  and  olive trees are bowed

One mirror with two faces  in its maw
The sin of Cain,oh holy land debarred.
Within the wall, the grief and anger groan

Here are the relics and the stones unthroned
How will these human peoples ,brothers,fare
The  water stolen,olive trees alone?

Around us lie the  bodies broken, sore
Did we hope to entertain God’s whores?
Into the wall, the grief and anger melt
The  water  dries up and the olives wilt

https://www.tikkun.org/nextgen/the-scholar-as-poet-remembering-geoffrey-hartman-1929-2016

“Yoma”

Rain in the autumn, rain in the spring

let it rain poetry, dear God,

midrashic parables, rabbinic clichés,

or, better still, the comfort of Psalms.

I know those traps, those enemies, Lord,

help me in my old age, my distress:

this day I stand contrite before you,

eyes, broken images, ears,

dimmed by unceasing sighs.

Where is your comfort to be found?

No longer in the lai-lai-lai of prayersong.

In all your holy mountain what survives

not stained by cries for blood? Where now

the numinous Jordan, the pure Helicon?

Encompassed by my own inanities

I stumble and fade, searching… searching…

Ah, woe betide! the nymphs of memory

draw me under, into a bitter wave

that whelms and does not cleanse.

I am poured out, unrhymed, unrhythmed.

I was in a writer’s group some years ago, an extraordinary group because except for me it was composed entirely of women–and they were elderly, seventy, eighty, ninety years old. At first I thought, “What am I doing with this bunch of old ladies?” But I quickly changed my tune. They were tremendously talented and […]

via Fiction and Truth — davidjrogersftw

Blue glass and the  bowl of sea shells bring
Memories of Dunwich and the sand
Where the marble   of drowned churches    rightly sings

Bell towers sound like underwater  gongs
Struck by sailors lost, with sea soaked hands
Blue glass and the  bowl of sea shells ring

In the sky the gulls spread pure white wings
They live in  air, on sea, and on the land
While the marble   of drowned churches    softly sings

I found your photo on the shore sea-rinsed
In Whitby  I could almost understand
How blue glass and the  bowl of sea shells ring

The sand from Yorkshire’s caught by great sea winds
Moved to Norfolk, where the shore expands
As the choir   of  long drowned sailors   softly sings

I’ll come by land, by air,by sea, by song
To find my love,my heart  has been well wrung
Blue glass and the  bowl of sea shells hint
At the marble   of drowned churches  as they sing