Winter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, tis why I am,
Goddamm.
So ‘gainst the winter’s balm
Sing Goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm
Sing Goddamm, sing Goddamm,
DAMM.
Ezra Pound
https://www.themarginalian.org/2022/12/17/virginia-woolf-self-knowledge/
Challenging the dangerous allure of being perfectly understood and held in perfect sympathy — by others, or by ourselves — she writes:
That illusion of a world so shaped that it echoes every groan, of human beings so tied together by common needs and fears that a twitch at one wrist jerks another, where however strange your experience other people have had it too, where however far you travel in your own mind someone has been there before you — is all an illusion.
In a sentiment the poet May Sarton — who was half in love with Woolf — would echo in her abiding insistence on solitude as the seedbed of self-discovery, Woolf adds:
We do not know our own souls, let alone the souls of others. Human beings do not go hand in hand the whole stretch of the way. There is a virgin forest in each; a snowfield where even the print of birds’ feet is unknown. Here we go alone, and like it better so. Always to have sympathy, always to be accompanied, always to be understood would be intolerable
I used to know you loved me by your eyes
Not the eyes of judgement cruel and dark
Yet I need to learn to say goodbye
Every day deserted lovers cry
Our eyes grow dim, they lose their living spark
I used to know you loved me by your eyes
You were full of humour, I can’t sigh
Remember swans, the frozen lake, the park?
Now I need to want to say goodbye
Like a lark, your soul flew to the sky
Near Studland Bay, where small birds seem to talk
I used to know you loved me by your eyes
My tears fell like a curtain from each eye
I could only see you in the dark
Now I need the will to say goodbye
Though not violent, you have made your mark
We got into that rhythm when we walked
I used to know you’d love me till I died
Even after death, I feel you by.
What is the world if full of prayer
We have no rhymes to humour bear?
What is a war to fight and bear
When with Brexit we don’t care
What is love the truth is plain
Politicians are insane
⁷
I have loved you and I’ve held you.
Many years,you have been mine;
As the time has come for parting
Let’s embrace for one last time.
You know you have to leave me,
Though you desired a longer stay.
Let me hold you in my arms now
For just tonight and perhaps one day.
Then I’ll watch you travel on,sweet.
We take this last step all alone.
I’ll be here beside you watching.
I shall feel when you are gone.
May you accept, may you surrender.
May you reach the promised land.
Into this earth my tears will fall, love,
As I recall your tender hands
Why do you think it’s inappropriate for people over 70 just stay in bed all day if?
Please keep out. I got some sex toys for Christmas and I’m trying to put the cat to sleep 0.,
It’s not my fault I’ve got so many hormones in my body. I got the wrong prescription
The strange noise you can hear is my vibrator. I’ve lost it. (Double entendre()
If you find me dead rest assured that I enjoyed the last 15 minutes.
My will is in the drawer with the tablet.
No it’s not the original one. But it looks exactly the same.
Having rheumatoid arthritis schizophrenia and migraine could not deter anyone from seeking a sexual partner why not send them a contact lens?
I don’t see why men should enjoy my body more than I enjoy it myself
I had heard of trial and error and then in the art class a retired physicist said that they used to call it trial and horror during the war when they were studying radar .
,,
Is it illegal to put sex toys into Christmas stockings? Not to mention nuts.
I didn’t realise how looks could kill until I saw your photographs
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2010/04/humor-and-poetry
Extract:
In 1993, I took a left turn one day out of my MFA program and found myself at the National Poetry Slam in San Francisco. There I discovered several poets who were funny for the sake of being funny. Particularly Hal Sirowitz from New York (“don’t stick your arm out the window, mother said” and Matt Cook from Milwaukee (“it was easy to write the Great American Novel, back when there were only five American novels”) Both poets initially delighted me and confounded me: There are no similes, a voice in my head said. What would Tom Lux (my first teacher) say? the voice continued. Despite my resistance, I believe those poets gave me a kind of permission to explore humor a little more vigorously in my second book, The Forgiveness Parade (1998), for “I thought the word loin and the word lion were the same thing. I thought celibate was a kind of fish”. Perhaps in that book there were places where I was too vigorous in my pursuit: looking back there are a few poems that are just a little too jokey somehow, a little one-dimensional.
I am becoming aware of how some humor can set a roadblock for the poetic speaker, making it impossible for the speaker to get back to a serious place. And how some other (less frequent) uses of humor can leave that door open. I want to leave that door open
We fell into a rhythm as we walked
Arm in arm we wandered as we talked
We looked into folks’ windows as dusk came
Tried to guess their furnishings and names
Some had nothing but the ironing stacked
Others had the furniture we lacked
I bought a chest of drawers for three pounds
We had a double bed where our cat lounged
I bought a little table made of oak
Fifty pence at auction, go for broke!
A few old armchairs covered in green cloth
Too severe to be a home for moths
Now I look at pictures on the walls
I see the sun turn mauve as down dusk falls
Images both simple and robust
One a choice the other nature’s lust
I see my sofa like a treasure ship
I lie upon it dreaming humorous quips
I dream of journeys on the little train
That signifies what sleep means to my brain
The rocking chair is empty of the cat
I see one in my garden, not my lap.
I try to tame this immigrant I like
I shall give him food and call him Mike.
Oh,dear that is my brother, will he mind?
I know he loves the birds, and cats do bite
He is not living here in my old road
Otherwise he’ll hear me shouting “Claude”
Perhaps I’ll call the cat Tamara Jane
In case they’re very sensitive to names
For I know not the gender of the beast
They may be quite fluid at the least
Now my husband cannot calm me down
I’d like his verdict on my new nightgown
But all I can remember is that rhythm
I fell into walking out with him
The face that was familiar is no more
The image in my mind has faded now
You seem as distant as a falling star.
When you died,I felt my own heart tear.
If such pain and suffering allowed?
The face that was familiar is no more.
Can the well of tears help the repair
Who will help me comfort me somehow?
You seem as distant as a falling star
Let the mourning people hear your prayer.
Help them from the lake in case they drown
The face that was familiar is no more.
In Blythburgh church we saw the angels stare.
Lift me up or I shall see them frown
As icy cold as any falling star
Before the Lord all beings need to bow.
I feel with love my heart is well endowed.
The face that was familiar is no more.
I will look up up.and see the host of stars.
The face that was familiar is no more.
The world we made seems empty and remote.
I do not feel the love I felt before.
I’m homeless world-less, comfortless at core
Wandering like the Jews with death ripped coats.
The face that was familiar is no more
Why can this man’s life not be restored?
I cannot eat, a lump has blocked my throat
I do not feel the love I felt before.
In my nightmares, I look for a door.
Or I search the lake from my small boat
That face that was familiar is no more
I beg for grace like some abandoned whore.
That time itself evaporates is gross.
I do not feel the love I felt before
The well is empty,like my husband’s clothes.
When they are gone, what can I then propose?
The face that was familiar is no more.
The love I lost can never be restored.
The mind is deeper than a well and wider than a star
I lose myself in waters deep ,symbolic ,sweet and clear
I rest embraced by this love and wish for nothing more
I dream I walk in meadows sweet
The daisies in my hair
The heart has reasons and desires as if it were a mind
If it’s soft as cashmere wool then it will remain kind
Yet if it’s hard then it may crack and we will split ,divide
I dream I walk by river fleet
With heart and mind combined
The other self that dwells alone in privacy divine
Needs sacred care and sweet respect and peace from what’s malign
The inner nature of us all is given and then transformed
I dream I walk on long white sands
By seas blue crystalline.
I remember riding on his back
It was summer; I was only two
He had an old tweed jacket full of smoke
Woodbines, they would probably kill you too
Walking with my sister in her pram
Mam looked as happy as a summer lark
My brothers were pretending to be soldiers
We walked along, right into the deep dark
A few years later Dad was sat there crying
They never told me he was very bad
Eight years old, I pushed the baby
My sister walked while clutching at my side
I was worried Grandad would be angry
Seeing us three coming up the lane
We usually went there only at the weekend
On, on, on, went my brain
Going back home it was the evening
The sun had gone ,time to go to bed
I pushed my little sisters up our street
Auntie told me Daddy was now dead
No more rides on his thin shoulder
No more walking in the flowery park
Only the anguish of our feelings
Only children weeping in the dark
Are you a Catholic?
No I’m just practising.
Are you a born Protestant?
I’ve not been reborn yet.
Do you believe in rites?
Please put that in writing
Are you superstitious?
Give me the salt to throw over my left shoulder.
Is the left one right?
That’s what my Irish grandmother used to do.
When she broke the mirror?
Yes in case Satan was inside it.
Why, are you going to eat him ?
It’s a new economy Christmas dinner
Don’t forget to shake vigorously before you put your potatoes into the oven. Alternatively tremble
Make sure you are at least a foot away from the cooker before you move
Mary woke up at 7:00 to her surprise.q Her cat Emile was lying by her side with his head on the pillow
Gentle stroking his soft relaxed body
She said to him you are not a human being you know Emile. If your head is at the pillow your body is not underneath the duvet.
Oh that’s alright mother he replied; with my Fur on I don’t need to be underneath the duvet. To be honest I’m frightened about slipping down the bed and suffocating
That’s not like you Mary murmured. You are still quite young so you will be able to push yourself up with your legs.
I know such fears are totally irrational. But the fear seems to be real Perhaps I’m afraid of losing myself in you you he said thoughtfully
Oh that’s stuff about psychology it’s not the pathway I wish to follow today.
Why don’t we have some good hot tea. They went downstairs to the kitchen and Mary put the kettle on and put the teapot ready to use when suddenly there was a knock on the front door.
I’m not even dressed yet Mary cried. Although my night dress does look like a frock
Yes it does said Emile. In fact it was better than most of your frocks. Open the door quick quick.
When she opened the door she saw a well dressed artistic looking man.
Hello he said I’m your date for today.
My date for today what are you talking about?
Well I joined this dating agency for older people and they gave me your name and address saying you were looking for another husband.
Well that strange I said Mary because I’ve never joined any agency. I wonder if if you’re looking for Annie my next door neighbour??
No I’ve definitely got the name Mary on my phone they sent me the email last night.
Well why don’t you come into the kitchen and I will make you some tea because you look tired and hot
We all went into the kitchen and found the kettle was boiling. Then Mary said to the man what you would like to drink?
I would like to NESCAFÉ blend 37 he said nervously.
That’s good because I have just bought some she told him although I don’t drink coffee myself but the cat likes it. My cat is called Emile :come and say hello.
Hello sir you devil. What is your name may I know?
Well I’m not certain he cried. Just call me Simon.
How old are you Simon. You are grown up you should know your own name by now.
Well do you see, I used to belong to a religious order and when I was older I was given the name Simon but it’s not the name that’s my parents gave me when I was born. That name is John but not many people know that now.
Did you join a dating site because you don’t know how to get a new woman in your life?
Yes you have guessed correctly I have no idea how I can meet interesting women.
Do you mean you know how to beat boring women?
Be precise I have no idea how to meet any women at all having spent 20 years in the monastery. Of course I used to have some nuns in the parish who we used to meet but it’s not quite the same is it?
Well said Mary how fascinating. Do you think God is guided you to my door because I am a widow! I have been wondering whether to look for another ma non but since I am very clever some men are afraid of me.
They went into the living room and sat down on the sofa while they drank the coffee!
Simon very coolly looked at Mary’s pictures on the wall. I do like your Picasso prints he said
Would you like to come with me for a walk in the woods he continued.
That sounds delightful said Mary.
But I haven’t got dressed yet and do you remember that I have never seen you before so I would like you to bring two references from someone and notable in the area and I will then decide whether I want to go anywhere with you or not.
That’s not very friendly said Simon in a sulky manner
Well you have a strange story. I did not join a dating agency so I don’t know where you got my address from and if I was your sister you will not want me to go out with a man I’ve never met before I would you?
Well I suppose you are right. I am going to church anyway this morning so I will speak to the parish priest and ask him he will give me a reference
Yes I believe I have met that priest at a bring and by sale in the church hall. Yes you speak to him and then if he is willing to give you a reference we can have a date
Would you not prefer prunes the little cat cried.
No thank you said Simon. Thank you for offering that was very generous of you!
You are welcome cried Emile have you run up the stairs I’m going back to bed he shouted to Mary?
But Mary did not hear him because she was wrapped in thoughts in the kitchen wondering how this man has got her name and address. I think it must be Annie she though to herself because she is very clever at picking up men. And she thinks that it would be good for me to get married again or even just go to bed with somebody. Emile is not really enough company for me although he is very charming. If I get another husband then Emile may find a wife and start a family it will be lovely to have some kittens in the house again.
And she went upstairs and had a cold shower
And so will all of us
In our double bed, mi dad had died
Mammy slept w’t baby, a release
Now I slept, mi sister by mi side
A wooden frame, flock mattress where I lied
Making up long stories for mi sis.
In the double bed, owa dad had died
Up the stairs, we smelled the bacon fried
All the food was cloaked with grief and grease
And I slept mi sister by mi side
I was trapped by guilt don’t you deride
I disobeyed mi daddy, now deceased
In the double bed, he thought to die
He punished me, I never even cried
We had no phone to send for the police
Did I sleep mi sister by mi side?
He wore a green tweed jacket and a tie
While his overalls dried hanging underline
In our double bed where daddy died
We kids both slept, my sister, oh my child
June 30th 2015 : Funeral of my husband
My sister died unexpectedly 10 years ago.
Pray for the dead…. it can’t do any harm
I Know That My Vindicator Lives: Job 19:1, 23-27
A reading from the book of Job
Then Job answered and said: Oh, would that my words were written down! Would that they were inscribed in a record: that with an iron chisel and with lead they were cut in the rock forever! But as for me, I know that my Vindicator lives, and that he will at last stand forth upon the dust; whom I myself shall see: my own eyes, not another’s, shall behold him, and from my flesh I shall see God; my inmost being is consumed with longing
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/12/23/opinion/christmas-holidays-alone-covid.html
Few can better understand the challenge of self-love better than the orphaned and disowned. I belong to that club. My mother and father both abandoned me in my teens. As an only child, with no family in the United States, I endured the first of many solo Christmases my senior year of high school.
When you are forced to spend a holiday by yourself, the first inclination is often to ignore the holiday entirely. For years, I employed this strategy. I didn’t leave my home, because I didn’t want to see lights and decorations. Instead, I worked through the holidays and maybe watched some DVDs (no festive commercials to endure). But I always eventually learned: The more you try to push the festivities away, the more they’ll haunt you, like mischievous specters, until eventually you find yourself at 2 a.m. listening to Death Cab’s “Someday You Will be Loved.”
My first succssful holiday was an Easter. I went with the Sunday paper to a sushi buffet, and sat reading and munching on unagi for the entire afternoon. It felt ridiculous and self-indulgent, and that grandiosity was just big enough to shake off my grief over lost childhood traditions. Maybe, I thought, if I embraced the holidays but twisted them into something inventive and entirely my own, I could enjoy them on my own terms.
One Christmas Eve, I went to a fancy restaurant in my neighborhood that I couldn’t really afford but had always wanted to try. I ordered osso buco and ate it slowly, relishing it. The owner dropped by my table and asked why I was eating alone. I told him I didn’t have anyone to celebrate with, so he poured me a glass of wine and sat down. He said he didn’t have anyone to celebrate with, either. He’d been persecuted as an Alevi Kurd living in Turkey, so he fled to the United States, where he learned to cook Italian food and eventually opened his own restaurant. We swapped stories
For venturing outside, ensure that your relative wraps up warm in gloves, a scarf and hat. Elderly people should change out of damp or wet clothes immediately to prevent extreme coldness or even hypothermia.
Socks and slippers are essential for keeping feet warm, and a blanket over the legs can be used for some extra heat if necessary. If your relative suffers with coldness, electric blankets and hot water bottles can be a great investment to provide some additional warmth at night.
Waxy flowers poking through
Snow so white
Flowers bright.
Made me think of you.
I see once more your light brown hair,
Soft as snow,
On pillow.
Now my bed is bleak and bare
,
Face alight,flower to sun,
I loved you.
Love so true.
Fear by love,overcome.
Cyclamen in the snow,
Pink and red,
Now frozen,dead.
Love was,oh,so long ago.
But never gone from in my mind.
Thoughts so deep,
Upwards seep.
Love was gentle,love was kind,
Always in my mind
She’d never seem rainwater deeper than eyes
Mystery undisguised.
Round the big puddle she ran and ran;
Too much for her dolly’s pan.
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised.
Curiousity’s often so wise
Oh,my dear sister what see you there?
I hope it’s a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sisters dear,let us float.
We’ll never see daddy again, ‘cos he’s here
And down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel with his sharp sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with long golden hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two;
Eyes of one green, the other’s blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my dear sisters into the light.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I loved my sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t hope for what cannot be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool,
Held in God’s hand like a jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings must ride.
For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
All we can live by is trust
The crushing grief when someone chooses death
When life had shown much promise and much hope
Turns the ones who loved to find new paths
Some may sin, encouraged by cruel wrath
Against the one who chose the wicked rope
The shock of grief at such too early death
Others freeze and cannot take a breath
Scarcely moving as their mind elopes
Making then impossible their path
The mountains of deep grief I could not pass
Until a warm gold light caressed my heart
The wounds of grief , the sacrifice, the Mass
Do not dwell in darkness and distress
Follow me he murmured while we start
I will help you find a different path
The golden light had brought for me a chart
The sea of life had ripples ,brilliant sparks
The suffering and the grief from such a death
Turned the one who loved onto this path.
Thisl two-line poem by Emily Dickinson is formal verse because it rhymes and its lines contain the same number of syllables (ten) with the same stress pattern of unstressed and stressed syllables: “In this short Life that only lasts an hour / How much – how little – is within our power.”
https://www.litcharts.com/literary-devices-and-terms/formal-verse
Saturday was shopping then a walk
Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car
Reading book reviews and chewing stalks
Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore
Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed
Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed
Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain
The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed
Standon with its fords and wandering cows
Little rivers,Essex, flowing down
The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound
Water for the Thames and mossy ground
The earth feels like my body sacrificed
An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide
Mary was on a step ladder in the bathroom, spying on her husband Stan,through a hole in the wall.He had drilled this for spying on women sunbathing semi-nude in their private back gardens.
He was climbing over the fence with Emile their cat on his shoulder.
I think it’s so ridiculous, she muttered .
Surely Emile can jump over the fence by himself.But Emile was very limp,she saw belatedly,
He can’t be dead,she whispered to herself fearfully.She jumped down off the ladder and hit her head on a tap.
Oh,my!That hurt…I’d better be careful. she murmured and she flew down stairs to Stan in the kitchen
Emile has got concussion, Stan said mournfully.
Is he not dead , perhaps,?she wondered anxiously.
No, he only fell off Annie’s roof.I am sure he’ll come to.
Good Lord.What made him go up there and more important,how did he do it?
You’d better ring 999,he informed her gently
If you say so ,my dear
Soon Dave,the bisexual transvestite paramedic ran in wearing a sundress and dark glasses,
with golden sandals from Hooters.
Poor Emile,what have you done?
He fell off Annie’s roof, but we have no theory as to how he got there,said Stan.
Well, there’s no need to think of that… we deal with reality.That’s my modus operandi!
He gave Emile the kiss of life.Emile came to…but was not pleased
Why did you waken me up? I was having a lovely dream of walking down a silver path where I saw a big cat with shining fur and tender eyes looking at me.He just began to miaow when some f**king idiot woke me up… was he God?
I can’t say,Emile,dear.But please do not swear.
I’ll do whatever I f**king well feel like,Emile said. nastily
Good heavens, what has happened.Has he been reading dirty books?
No, he was watching East Enders on TV… they all use the f word constantly.
Well,Emile.God will have to wait… he’ll be glad if you do some kind work here on earth.
Up yours,said Emile.I am sick of living here. I’ve been hoping for years Stan would mate with Annie but he has only managed a kiss.
Perhaps it was the kiss of life,said Mary hopefully
Well, in a sense,you might have hit the snail on the bed said Stan thoughtfully.I know any further mention of philosophy will drive me utterly and eternally mad!
Now,Dave said,shall I make you all some hot tea?
Thank you Stan responded.I am half crazed already.Tea may save my sanity.But for what?
Annie came in wearing her brick red trouser suit and a white sun hat. her face a dark shade of beige and her lips light mauve, with lipstick from Max Fracture’s new range.
Did you know Emile was in a hot air balloon,she said in tones of wonder.How has he got down so fast?
I f**king well fell out, the cat yawned proudly.Then I had a near death experience until this loon here brought me round.
Emile,I ’ve never heard you swear before! she whispered in a strange manner reminiscent of those silent films starring unnamed and forgotten beauties of long ago.
Do you like it,baby? Emile asked.
No I don’t. I’ve never said F*ck in all my life.
Well you have now,the cat informed her with a naughty smile.
I think he’s possessed by demons.We’ll have to have him exorcised.
But I like demons,Emile bawled .I’ve been good all my life and I am bored and depressed.
So you believe swearing will help more than therapy?
Emile got up and lit a cigarette nonchalantly with a certain ,je ne sais lah
Good grief,he’ll be having sex on the sofa next ,said Stan.
What a good idea,said Emile, but I want my own room and an en suite..I mean to impress the next girl friend I have.
Dave drank some tea and watched these old folk ponder.
I am wondering where we went wrong,said Mary.All these years we’ve educate you privately and even had you baptised.
Well.I am going to be a Jew,said Emile.
I don’t think a cat can be a Jew… and you never ever had any interest in the spiritual before,why this?
Well,when I was unconscious I realised that God exists….
But why be a Jew?
Well,they were the first to see God in a Burning Brush.
And the last too, I hope,thought Annie nervously.
Well,said Stan.You want to smoke,swear ,make love and possibly enjoy wine and song.Is that not enough?
Does God smoke and swear?
There was a long silence and Emile answered’
Well,Yes he does.
I’m off said Dave.I have to ring the Pope.
Why? asked Emile. I am not going be a Catholic….
Well,said Dave, he ought to know that God is a cat.
I was the only beginner in the class and I was terrified well also enjoying it to some extent. It is not as bad as I thought it was when I was doing it but I have no confidence at that time in Now I don’t mind what people think of it.
Growing up, “instead of cowboys and Indians, we played Israelis and Palestinians. She would come over and kick me out of my house.” She said that gag often gets the biggest laugh in the show. “I try to find humor in the awful things that are happening to both of us,” she explained.
The revue features more Jewish comedians than Muslim ones. “Jews invented stand-up comedy in North America,” Eman conceded. “But it’s definitely booming in the Muslim community.” Eman, who’s appeared at comedy shows in Jordan and Israel and runs the revue with Jewish comic Jeff Schouela, said she’s encountered no tension in mixed Muslim/Jewish audiences. In fact, she said, tensions tend to melt away. “Last year, we were kind of worried. But I felt that the name of the event got almost 400 people to the venue. Our sense of humour is so similar.”
How my heart speaks 