All the men who help me on the bus
Will  get a big surprise one day quite soon
If I dress like Brigitte Macron does

I cannot wear the heels but have hair mousse.
To bare my knees would be a shock and crime
Distressing  men who help me on the bus

I have  red culottes, blonde hair to muss
Chanel soap and all  the French perfumes
Should I dress like Brigitte Macron does?

I  need no underpinnings and  no fuss
“Brazilian” waxes  make me  swear and fume
Disturbing  men who help me on the bus

Once my legs were thin  like blades of grass
My hair was blonde, my bosom caused men gloom
Would I dress like Brigitte Macron does?

My eyes were blue, they lured  men to their doom,
For all I did was make them  clean my rooms.
All the men who help me on the bus
Will cry  off if I dress like Brigitte Macron does

Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough
For widows and their masculine counterparts.
Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.

No arms left now, that never will rebuff.
No eager lips to whispering love impart
Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough

People say, of course, the going’s rough
The coming’s gone and nothing shall gestate
Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.

Never more to share cartoons and laughs.
Never more to be a chosen mate
Loneliness, the word’s not wrong enough.

Did we know the heart of what we had?
Did we learn the art of love too late?
Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.

You have gone and closed is the gate
In mad ball,  I roll with love and hate
Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough
Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.

The humid heat is here for the first time
Conplaining people gossip as they wait
The clouds have shadows, wonder where is mine.

Late spring  stutters just before it’s gone
The rosebuds cluster near my garden gate
The humid heat is here for the first time

We can’t see our shadows, they’re behind
Our flaws and faults combine as if to mate
The clouds have shadows; wonder where is mine.

Do I want to see my shadow’s crimes?
Can it be I’ve left it far too late?
The humid heat is here for the first time

To change perceptions is an act divine
For when we see, we open Heaven’s gates
The clouds have shadows; wonder where is mine.

Virtue and perception correlate
New perceptions’ cause internal gales
The humid heat is here for the first time
Light and shade, our longings are sublime

The kitchen looked as clean as I’d expect.
I was  a fool to  move the old knife rack;
All I  do is  make hot toast and text

I moved the rack, my fantasy was wrecked.
In hygiene, seems I show indecent lack!
The kitchen looked as clean as I’d expect.

Only within maths was I correct.
I seem to live in  fantasy, not fact
For what l I  do is make hot toast and text.

Now my actions  must become direct
I ‘ll approach the greasy crumbs with tact
The kitchen looked as clean as I’d expect.

My health and reputation showed their cracks
I see now it is action that I lacked
For all I  live on is hot toast, quite black

Over the Formica, I put lots
Of powdered soap then hit it with an axe.
The kitchen looked as bright as Labour wrecked.
For all we have is Socialism  banjaxed.

The barbarian is here, just see his eyes
His lack of dignity  and long, long ties
The Empire is corrupt and so it dies

They may bomb   Korea and deny
That errors had been made by their own spies
The barbarian is here, open your eyes

He never listens though he does reply
“I and Thou ”  is a conception wry
The Empire is corrupt and so it dies

He’s not alone,he has his sleek allies.
Yet no-one is his equal or defies.
The barbarian is here,  don’t meet his eyes

The  need for trophy wife, one more to buy
Beauty is a construct for the guys
The Empire is corrupt and so it dies.

The way ahead imagined, we deride.
The children  laugh, yet see the adults  lie
The barbarian is here, follow his eyes
The Empire is corrupt and so unwise.

• 
• Mirth is the latest thing

  No other quality can bring

  such great joy and happiness

  To our story.

  Mirth is the greatest joy

  Far better than cars and toys

  No other virtue can send

  such a sweet message

  Of God’s glory.

  Mirth is the only worth.

  Mirth us like heaven on earth;

  so why not join in and laugh.

  DON’T VOTE TORY

  Right, must dash……

  Let’s have a bash.

  Let’s create a brand new story.

  FAST!

  a

He cooked his own goose with one stroke and hit the nail on the head.Which is more than one can say for her and the cat that bit the hand that fed it

There’s no smoke without a fire, as the farmer said to the pig.
In my view, I’m not a racist I’m British and proud of it.My name is Danish but so what.It might be a misprint
The empire was of great benefit to the natives on all sides.
Well, look at it with my lack of perspective.

As I walk warm moisture dampens me
The air is hot yet rain is falling too.
A sauna bath for everyone, for  free

I wonder at  the pleasures of a tree
Its leaves enjoy the rain  if they feel blue
As I walk warm moisture bonds with me

My feet are sore and evermore will be
But why complain, there’s nothing I can do
Bar a sauna bath for everyone, for  free

With my  glass eyes, I now can  read and see
And I have not been stricken by the “Asian” flu
As I walk warm moisture blends with me

My legs are damp , let’s hope it is not wee.
Incontinence seems worse than  seeing you
A sauna bath for everyone, for  free

The cows moo and the birds  sing, they’ve no clue
The owls are near and  go ” Too wit to woo”
As I walk warm moisture bonds with me
A sauna bath for  the British, all for  free

How to move away from us and them
Including men and women in these thoughts?
There has to be some way of learning when.
The “I and Thou” of Buber can be taught.

When we’re  feeling anxious and oppressed
The enemy without is one we blame
Life seems like a  crude, unfeeling test
We suffer from a vast, eternal shame.

Yet as the days of battle grow and grow
And parents shudder when the cell phone rings
We wish it did not have to be  just so
And hope for Victory and the anthem strong.

But every war that’s lost seems just to  breed
A new war for defeated men to lead.

PC I think men are more likely to fight than women

The familiar  does not feel quite right to me;
That uncanny state post -holidays.
I cannot click back in
I feel I am no thing
Lonely is the world without your light

I do the things I need to do quite well.
No-one else has noticed, I can tell.
I’m stuck outside the glass
Where the demons gasp
Lonely is the world without your sight.

A feeling hard to transmit by English words
The football players look like circling birds
I feel them dance around
I’m underneath the ground
Lonely is the world I feel at night.

I wonder if I can do this all alone
My heart has never been as hard as stone.
Who will carry me
Across the final sea?
Lonely is the world without your light

If I feel a little better, I feel worse
I feel as if the suffering is a curse.
Yet almost everyone
From Jesus to Marcon
Has suffered but not written it in a verse.

Millions  have been tortured even killed
I wonder what it  means about God’s will?
God seems helpless too
Jesus was a Jew
Lonely is the godless world I feel.

If we see some cherries
Hanging from a branch
We’ll pick the fruit and eat them
It is our last chance

When our end is nearing
We must live far more
Like the dust motes dancing
In the sun, in joy.

See the clouds all blowing…
Where is it they go?
Like the leaves and flowers
Like the rivers flow.

See the face beloved
Known, not understood.
See the human mystery
Feel how love can flood.

See the smoke blow upwards
See the children gaze
Innocence and beauty
Newborn each day.

The first time our eyes opened
We saw a human face.
The last time we close them
Let us then embrace.

Though the day is ending
Do not cut it short.
Live each moment till the last
In love as we were taught

Now we women can’t assume we’re done.
No more can we wear fleeces and old rags.
The French have shown how age is overcome

In certain ways,  for men, this might be fun
But not at the expense writing blogs
With a  blog,  our writing ‘s never done.

The way we dress should be the way we pun.
Ironic humour  draped with British smog
Brigitte shows how age is overcome

She looks as if she’s partial to a run
And never eats a wild French boar or hog
Now we women can’t assume we’re done.

A dose of HRT, we are no nuns.
Look, see the world is  smilingly agog
The French have shown how age is overcome.

Well,I have malformed feet  with bony knobs.
I can’t afford to buy in Knightsbridge  shops
Folk assume I’m   too old to want fun.
The mind can be where age is overcome

Catholic in the production of its flowers
The  shrub is bent, adorned with them all day
Behind them there an  ancient holly towers
The shrub is kneeling, see it wants to pray!

The endless cycle continues year by year
Unable to choose far fewer,new  offspring
And so it is with our consumption here
There is no end to what we want to spend.

Economies powered by growth pull on  desire
We do not realise how little we resist
We lose the power to think, as we aspire.
We make anew our lengthy shopping list

Too much growth can kill as we know well
Yet we wander blithely down to hell.

Where has all my love  gone to
All the love I poured on you
Where has all the love gone to
Was it all, was it all wasted?

The actions and the calls of love
Disappear  like flying doves
Is there meaning I can’t give
Was it all, was it all wasted?

Pouring fragrance on his feet
Money wasted, it might seem
Signs and symbols darkly gleam
Nothing  ever is, nothing ever is wasted

We all live in faith our love
Where it comes from, how it does
We live in faith , like hand in glove
Pour  the love  and let it rove
Excess and glorious as above
For it’s made to be,made to be wasted

Kissing's a popular topic.

For those  who love the symbolic.

They read all they can

About how it's done

And then they practise all night till it's chronic.

I am a kettle made of stainless steel
I am a saint,  for tea  is brewed to heal
And , unlike kettles on an old  coal fire,
I am not dirty nor do I perspire.

My mirrored sides reflect you as you cook.
Look at me and read me like a book
I’m  full of love and hotter than a man
Oh, dear lady, love me while you can.

Superior mother,  yet inhuman  I;
Even electric kettles sometimes lie.
I shall never punish you, my dear
For perfect love like mine shall wield no fear.

All I ask is that you polish me.
For, in between your hands, I  yearn to be.

Our structure grows as we are socialised.
We hear and see and reach for kindly touch
We learn to speak and later to tell lies.

We see clear truths which adults then deny.
We hear the priest shout in the holy church.
Our structure grows as we are socialised.

They question us but must we then reply?
They peer into our souls in constant search
We learn to speak and later we hear lies.

We’re like a dry stone wall when vandalised
Some stones sink down and others  try to clutch
Our structure grows as we are socialised.

What part is it that chooses how we grow?
Is it soul or heart in  troubling lurch?
We learn to speak, we hear and we tell lies.

Who can tolerate their need for words?
Who can bear the need we have for care?
Our inner structure grows  to social ways
We learn to speak and integrate our lies.

Another branch has broken from the tree
For nine short months, it weakened and grew dry.
It fell to  earth with solemn gravity

Is comparing us to trees good simile?
I’d find a better if I’d wits to try
Another branch  has thundered from the tree

The tree grieves not, for it likes to be free
Its main desire is stature, to be high.
Dead branches fall to earth by gravity

Some compare life to a drunken sea;
Or to the sky where dance wild nuclei
Yet one most ancient symbol is the tree

The strong hang on in their tenacity
Even as their leaves and berries fly
Weaker branches fall  with gravity

Death comes  so much harder to the high
This is no truth but neither is it lie
Another branch has broken from the tree
It disconnected all its twigs; lay down in lea.