When we’re hit, infected by  disease
Especially of the systems, like the blood.
The mind can drop, depressed and ill at ease

We over- ruminate, on subtle causes  grieve.
A pity that our brain is not  just wood
With  fortune then mistaken by  disease

If  drugs which kill bacteria,minds relieve
We understand why thinking was no good
The body was depressed and lacked true ease

Gentle music, touch and calm  relieve
The nervous system , make our hearts feel good
When the mind’s depressed by our disease

So if your friend has moods which may  displease
Remember they are made of flesh and blood
The brain can be pulled down and even freeze.,

Fever makes the barriers sink to  mud
Unconscious feelings  roll out like archaic floods
When you are affected by  disease
Ban all thinking, wait  for time’s release.

When we are made so lonely  by our grief
When we lose the loved one of our years
Remember life is sacred and too brief

Some may gain their comfort from a priest
Other by the emptying of their tears
Can we be  too careless in our grief?

Blown away like one dried autumn leaf
Disconnected with our hearts so seared
Remember life is sacred and too brief

Death is more forgiving to the least
We may share the anguish and the fear
When we are made  too lonely  by our grief

When we feel we’re falling piece by piece
We wonder how to dignify by prayer
Remembering life is sacred and too brief

Just as the sun will rise up in the East
Despite it  dying daily everywhere
We are all  made   lonely  by our grief

Life is hard and often it’s unfair
We may feel so much we cannot bear
When we are made   lonely  by our grief
We remember life is sacred and too brief

The pattern of your speech dwells in my ear
Although I do not hear you speak  out loud
Shall I say ear or is it heart that bears
The form that  made  your speech have rightful sound?

Wherever in myself I find your trace
I long to keep it even when I grieve.
As though, because I do not see your face,
I never wish by sound to be deceived.

And at the end you did not speak at all
Like the baby  while inside its  little nest.
Yet with your eyes you made a final call
As contented as a baby   joined to breast.

And so you went, but left your patterns here.
So while I  write like this, I feel you near

Menu

Witches  pee soup
Carrots mangled with beef  consummated in milk
Avocado mash and  tin foiled sausages
Dumplings with sour Queen.
Poisson of the day with chips , tea and dread well scuttered.
Aspirations on a bed of lice with gingerhead
Heart of oak with roast tomatoes and sour dreams

Puddings
Bath sponge with jam horse.
Bath bun with marmalade and buttons
Bath seat with foam and creme de la mer.
Bath cap filled with jellied paracetamol  and whines

Free hot baths only £50 deposit.Non returnable

I was giving a lecture to a group who, unusually. were mainly school leavers and had no mature students.In a moment of madness, I  had chosen to wear red trousers and a red jumper.If only I had worn red underwear too!
Yes, the zip broke on my trousers.At first, I thought taking a little walk behind the blackboard I could fasten it.. but it was no good So I carried on and in this group of 35 young people, nobody gave the slightest indication they could see anything wrong…..I was impressed by  their kindness
Maybe my lecture was so fascinating they didn’t see
Anyway, red trousers are not a very good idea for a public performance.Be warned!

The will to live recedes like  turning tide
That rushes back from sands it once flowed on
Hearing politicians hurts my mind

When we may not  judge what’s   true  or lied
When everything is just interpretation
The will to live recedes like  turning tide

The wish to see is not good for the blind
We must accept when vision is outgrown
Hearing politicians hurts the mind

Now there is unrest and love divides
People argue from assumptions most unknown
The will to live recedes like  turning tide

Were the seeds of enmity refined?
Our virtue needs a long gestation
Hearing politicians wounds the mind

We’re numbered,  Jews, for calculations
We don’t count;  manipulation
The will to live recedes like  moon dragged tides
Haring politicians hurts the  mind

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/resources/learning/articles/detail/89288

“When I ask my students to write formal poetry, I tell them that these may not be their best poems. These are practice, and they are difficult. Most things worth learning are difficult. The masters of art and writing make hard expressions look effortless. We aren’t privy to the years they’ve spent gaining that seemingly tossed-off quality. When we mistake hard-won skill for ineffable and rare genius, we excuse ourselves from attempting to match them, and we lower our sights to something comfortable and more easily attainable.”

It was September, and Dr Rosa Benchez wanted to buy some new clothes for the Autumn Term.Being ignorant of fashion, she did not know that Autumn clothes come into the shops in July.Up to now, she had bought all her clothes in Jumble Sales or Oxfam but she wanted to look more appropriate as she was going to be promoted.
As she entered the new dress shop, the manageress looked up and saw this tall, plump woman with gleaming green eyes coming towards her.Her hair was standing on
end but even so was a bit sparser than the ideal Such a pity she had no African blood.Maybe a perm would help.
And as her skin and hair were both beige, one could hardly tell where the hair was.
Hello, said Rosa.I am looking for a beige trenchcoat.
Oh, no, cried Martha, the manageress.Not beige!
But it is a classic and goes with everything, Rosa murmured knowingly
Sometimes a contrast is a better idea, said Martha, authoritatively
I have one here in deep teal blue.What size are you?
I have no idea, Rosa cried.
I should say an 18 because it’s better  to err on the larger side for tall ladies
Why, is it wrong to wear very tight clothing, Rosa asked her nervously?
I suppose if you want to pick up certain types of men it might be ok.
I never pick up men, Rosa admitted humbly They pick  me up
Don’t be so pedantic.You know what I mean.Why are you not married?You are very attractive

I was engaged but he ran away. I burned the ring as the jeweller said it was only cheap rubbish.It looked very nice.It fooled me
Well.you might be luckier next time even if only in  a better class of ring
I think I am too intelligent and also love Wittgenstein
Won’t he marry you?
He’s dead!
Well, have you not grieved enough?
I only seem to love dead men.I suppose it’s an evasion of real life.
I love Leonard Cohen,said Martha.Let me get some coffee and we can discuss your entire wardrobe.
And so say all of us.

Jennifer Warnes and Leonard Cohen

https://youtu.be/gtwUyDPXROQ

He was late and phoned her not
And so she sighed
His phone was hidden in a pot
And so she sighed
She sighed so much she built a bridge
The Bridge of Sighs for those bewitched
By lying men who bear a grudge
And then she died

Diagonal streams now  stripe the windowpane
And in them, tiny insects drown and die.
Unexpected,sudden rain  has come.
Those escape who have  the wings to fly.

No angels were seen peering  at my  room
No doubt they have their  Sunday wings to press.
No  camera ,even with psychotic zoom,
Can catch an angel while she is undressed.

Now the rain has dried and all is sweet
I tend to houseplants standing by the door.
By good luck these houseplants  will never bleep.
Only in the real world do they flower.

Bleeps and pings are not a natural sound.
But to the artificial   we  will bound.

What’s wrong with you?
They think that I’ve got  gout
My big toe’s red,
I feel a piercing ache
Oh, I’ve got Parkinson’s .I feel depressed.
The doctor never sees me when undressed.
Him or you?Be careful with your speech
Are you trained  to join the word police?
No, I’ve got  swollen kidneys on my back
I brought some paper;I will draw more graphs.
Do you feel the gout is getting worse?
No , it’s menstruation, women’s curse.
You should let your mind go blank like verse.
My advice is,  care and never curse
But what about this blood on my big toe?
That is not where menstrual blood should flow.
I know that but maybe as it’s low
The blood sinks down and emigrates like snow.
Pardon me for parking on your blog
I need a place to  come to with this dog
This is Urgent Care we don’t do pets
Are you telling me you have no vets?
That is right, we  only take Great Brits
By the way,  a wondrous pair of tits.
I think they’re blue but I am not quite sure
Take your top off, let me see your flower.
This is not the place for  casual sex
I’m serious.I’d love to  bite your neck
But that is like Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath
We must not go down that terror path
And if you’re really ill , you have no power.
I rent some from the station by the hour!
So to function in that way.  you’ve just been wired
I’m the  manager.Get out, you are fired
Can patients now be fired like men from work?
No, more like bombs that go off when I smirk
Well,I guess it keeps the patients down
Tell the management that Labour frowns
What’s this, more patients coming to be healed
OMG, it’s Donald Trump on wheels.
Is he disabled by some rare disease?
Maybe the Israelis  asked him to say please
No, he has not seen Bibi as yet
Thank the Lord, he looks like one beset
He’s with the Saudis, where will he abide?
I am mental, please tell me no lies.
They say he likes to sleep in his own bed
Don’t we all,?I’ll build one in my head
I wonder what he’ll say to Pope Francis?
I am gonna take mankind down this abyss
And I’m gonna test my great big nuclear bum
When I shout go, I want you all to come!
I’m feeling worse, I wish that I were home.
Urgent Care has turned my mind , I groan.

I sense you just behind me as I write
A potent feeling of your presence here
But turning round, there’s no one in my sight

Here I love to sit in gentle light
The shadows and the pools are how I steer
I sense your arms around me as I write

I like to go to bed when it is late
Another day gone, love, and still I fear.
Feeling round, there’s no-one in my night

I think I’ll get a passport and escape
Love’s gone missing; now men merely leer
I sense him just behind me as I write

My heavy feelings  enfold me, they drape
Bring me down to earth and atmosphere
I turn round, there’s no man at the gate.

In my side, I feel again the spear
I ask for aid but nobody can hear
I sense you just behind me as I write
But flailing now, there’s no one in my night

Oh,  teapot round you are a  soothing breast
To comfort those who need eternal rest
For in the meantime we must do our work
As dust and dandruff  and algebra all lurk

Oh, teapot let me sing your praise anew
The best thing in my life is feeling you
And pouring over tea made with loose leaves
Some brandy liquidised with Chesire cheese

For after doing  real analysis
My mind is in a state of bitter mess.
Those functions and those forms make my head reel
I need a fishing rod, whose shall we steal?

Ted Hughes said he often fished for his ideas.;
That meditation soothes the minds of seers

I can’t write a poem, they all tell me.
Can you write a letter, read the tea?
My mother was  the mistress of the leaf
Paper, tea or even legal briefs.

She told my fortune after I  drank wee.
You’ve swallowed all the leaves, how can this be?
You’ll never be well off  despite your mind
Yett you’ll never want for love, you are so kind.

I tore a leaf from out her book of cheese.
I wrote a free verse on it, just to tease.
She said she  preferred to read the sonnet form
Or  humour, as the laughter kept her warm

Oh, mother how I wish  to hear you laugh
I  have a sense of humour and  much love

Silence has its melodies within
Subtle like an aromatic spice.
Underneath the violence and the  din

When entertaining, silence is a sin.
Surely making dinner is fair price
Let guests release the thoughts they’ve kept within

I cooked fresh food,  used nothing  much pre-tinned
Then I had to entertain them with my life
Wrapping up the  cracked  plates with the  sin

There they sat, my food upon their chins.
Gazing full of greed, those content thieves.
Stupor has more melodies within

Women then as cruel as  gentlemen
Underground, divorce grew, wild, aggrieved
Companionable with violence, drunk on gin

Some went crazy, some became bereaved
Lost, their lives, their work, their dreams
Silence has its melodies within
We prefer the violence  and the din