Cats raised from the dead free

with every bag of nuts

.(£54)

Cods rose to heaven.Getting new

stock on the First Friday of May

Sadness preventative advice.

Love your neighbour daily

Cats claws cut on Sundays

Minced sticklebacks on sale at

the back of the Hospital now

Roads gritted every June.

Talking cats here when Bojo

resigns owing to psychosis.

English as a second language for

cats or mules.

How to believe in Love

So why do you dislike that Clinic

There were two dead cats in the Waiting Room.

What were they waiting for?

And the floor was dirty.

I’m not surprised.

The doctor looked at the computer all the time

I’m afraid they do.

But it wasn’t on.

Shortage of power already?

No, he hadn’t put the plug in.

One of those dreamy intellectuals

Do they read the Sun?

Are you sure he was the doctor?

He was the only person in the room.

He could have killed the doctor and hidden the body

Where?

In the Waiting Room !

While reblogging someone’s post is often meant as a compliment,reblogging all of someone else’s posts seems excessive.

It is better to write a piece about a blog you admire and then put links to the posts so that people read the posts on the blog of the person who wrote them.

You need to be careful not to plagiarize.

Reblogging images may put you in breach of copyright also.

As we are taught

Moderation in all things.

That is a good policy otherwise you give the impression you have no ideas of your own to write about so why do you have a blog at all?

Surely nobody has a blog just to put posts there from someone else’s blog?

You can teblog this if you like

A mobile stone hit me on the head.

A noble bone is no guarantee.

A servile crone needs a big pile of cash from the state

A pebble roamed a stone was phoned

My wardrobe trenzy

Get rid of all transcendent numbers of garments Counting them to ensuring War, am They are uncountable and infinitem

Ergo god is a non recurring decimal. , How can he sleep?

By marrying a rational number!

No wonder we have wars by by

We can’t even have pi garments.

And pi is irrational to

Uncountable, irrational…what fun to play with number jumbles while drinking nettle tea from Heysham and having a suicide trip in a boat in a thunder storm in fearsome Morecambe Bay .

R

If you plan to make love in the night time
If you plan to make love in the day
Have you got medicine near you?
Where is your GNT spray?

How off putting it is with a lover
If the pain hits you when you have kissed
Grab hold of that spray and then use it
Under your tongue is the best

I hope it won’t happen tomorrow
For I am getting married at last
What will the bridegroom be thinking
If I lie down on the floor and then gasp?

His mother is 90 on Sunday
She’s glad he will have a kind wife
I hope I can treat her politely
Without sacrificing my life

300 mg of aspirin
Are stashed in my handbag so white
As well as my Nokia smartphone
My book and a candle to light

But God may decide I am ready
To join in his games up above
If I don’t see you tomorrow
Remember it’s all you I have loved

• • • Jennifer Hornsby32M AGOReplying to J OSo now you acknowledge the state could do more—just as I would acknowledge that (as “Rishi” says) there are limits to what the state can do. Myself I think that in present circumstances, the best option is a once-off wealth tax. But then I’m someone who’d prefer 1.3 million who’d remain very comfortably off to take a bit of a hit than for 1.3 million to be pushed into poverty.

H

Young black males in London were 19 times more likely to be stopped and searched than the general population, a study of official data shows.

The tactic, dogged by claims of racial profiling, was concentrated in deprived areas, and the success rate for searches turning up something potentially unlawful had fallen from two years ago, the research by University College London’s institute for global city policing found.

Researchers examined official stop and search data in the capital from July to September

You cannot fry your bacon in the sun

My egg would look too pallid for much fun

Fry some wholemeal bread if fat has run

Ear your breakfast,then the day”s begun

God measures noone by their diamond ring

His diamonds are the humble following

They help their neighbours silently good willed

And all their anxious hearts are gently stilled.

They have no need to boast for they’re secure

They act with intent good or even pure

They suffer pain and see that others do

They feel the dark emotions yet unglue.

Who are these Saints that we can take a view.?

When I look I see they’re me and you

I want an emotional range coat

Where can week find them today.

Under the heap of a haystack

But as usual we have to pay.

By Katherine

With bits of love. (No nuts)

Free Pelargonium with pots and gloves

Where is Pelargonia anyway?

They never have a war there.

He gets the hots for doves

She gets the shots for glue and yellow fever.

Shall we believe her?

With yachts of the above.

With affectless faces.

Effortless groceries

Affectionate grimaces.

Lord, adversary.

Lord.he curses.

Lord. Oh,Lord it’s Percy.

https://www.spiked-online.com/2018/01/16/what-is-the-point-of-poetry/

EXTRACT

Why we can’t ignore the working-class identity crisis

¨It is no exaggeration to say that the working class in Britain is in the throes of an identity crisis. It is particularly noticeable in those towns which a few decades ago were thriving centres of industry – former colliery towns, for example, in the Midlands and South Wales. Places that are far from Westminster; places which voted overwhelmingly for Brexit.

Identities here were once strong, tied to work and community. But in recent decades this proud demeanour has been replaced by something closer to humiliation. That’s why the ‘take back control’ rhetoric of the Brexit referendum resounded so powerfully in these parts of the country: the idea of ‘globalisation’ is here synonymous with the destruction of old industry and its replacement with insecure work in warehouses and call centres, much of not even done by the locals.

In Rugeley, as in many other working-class towns, identity – particularly male identity – was at one time  something that was forged by work, something that was shared¨

We complain because the tea is cold.

Or that our wedding ring is not pure gold

In the world small children live in fear

Or have no food at all and death is near

Everything is relative yet clear

The cold hand on the heart the soldier’s spear

I still like this very much

The confusing swirl of violence broke down walls
And panic rushed in through the holes and gaps
I saw folk taking photos, checking maps,
Their phones gripped like a weapon that appals.

We see then what comprises our defence.
The connection to our family and friends.
The need to make a record of the end.
The need to look again till it makes sense.

I felt a well-known numbness cover me
My heart needs its own time to feel the pain
The world I live in is not safe, that’s plain.
From Al Jazeera to the BBC.

The masks of innocence deceive.
Hatred of this kind is misconceived.

Doctor,I think my husband has something wrong with him.
Thank God, I thought he was dead!

Doctor,I have a pain in my bed
Oh,do stop moving,

Doctor,my head feels strange.
Can’t you just laugh it off?

Doctor,where is the receptionist?
She’s at a reception.

Doctor,you look worn out.
I shall take two aspirin and see myself in the morning.

I hope to get well enough to go somewhere were euthanasia is legal then buy a flat.

Try Tunbridge Wells.

But it’s not legal.

Come on Don’t be so cowardly

It’s braver to live.

When you leave this place turn right for my house or left for the Jewish Cemetery.

But Jews are forbidden to use euthanasia

What about Jesus?

It wasn’t Euthanasia!

It was Eastern Asia.

But was it Moral?

I have no sense of direction

Why are. doctors a topic of glee

Cutting us up and it’s free

No we pay our income tax

Try to impart the facts

We pay to ensure our new knee

The doctor told me to relax

And to stop learning so many facts

So now I write fantasy

I Joke about empathy.

My morals are getting more lax

I am going to feel very angry
Will he let you?

I feel intense hatred for my wife
That’s very kind of you

I feel very down
Is it better than goose down?

I hate my brother
I bet he does too.

I hate my untidy habits
How do they feel?

I don’t want to work nor rely on a man
Your grammar is excellent

I am getting tired of hunting for new recipes
Why not buy them?

Shall I have a cheese sandwich or a bacon one?
Have you no eggs?

Shall I take a Master’s Degree or go round the world?
I’ll be interested to see that

I hate shopping for clothes
How about stealing them?

Will I ever get better?
What do you think?

Have I got a virus as I fear?
No, you have it while you are relaxed.

Shall I take the Oxford entrance?
No, leave it.

Shall I read Medicine?
No, swallow it

I do hate the way buttons fall off my coat
I don’t like gravity either

I am afraid of topology
You are so conceited

I hate it when my thoughts circulate
Well, you can feel what you like, they are yours

I wonder if I can afford Freudian analysis
I do too

I hate clever people
Don’t come any nearer

Thank you for eroticising me so much; this is ironical maybe.

Why was I crucified so frequently as a child?

Don’t use fratricide any more to “help” me.

Please never sanctify me if you care.

He keeps practicing on me.

I thought it was real.

If you hurt me I am will not criticize you I will kill you.

(This is too aggressive to be ironical)

If you can’t stop witticising I will devour you

How many criticisms can I take?

They are free