I’ve got just one letter
written in your hand
One short letter
I understand,
One is as infinity
compared to having naught.
I’ll keep this letter
In the museum of my heart.
’ve only got one photograph
and that is very old
but to me this photograph
is more valuable than gold
Time has thundered by.
Is it now too late?
But may there be a second chance?
Let’s not accept love’s fate.
No matter how we falter,
No matter how we fail
Can we still forgive ourselves,
and rewrite this sad tale.
One more letter,
One more heartfelt smile,
That will be sufficient
To rebirth a love grown frail.
For once this love was stronger
Once this love was true;
So now we are wondering
If we may create our love anew
I’m incontinent, you are in Europe
When I found your photograph on the floor
I wrote a poem about it
My sister says, pick up all those photos
Where have they come from?
I say,I don’t know
Maybe I knocked down a folder
I am clumsy
I write two more poems while she feeds me Belgian apple tarts
She tells me how she fell over in a dark field in Germany
Her foot went into a hole
There were no lights
They both fell down so she had hysterics
I only had one glass of wine!
She laughed all the way back to the campsite
And then she fell into laughing so much
I could hear her here in London
So I got hysterics as well
That’s genes for you!
I’m still laughing,
They came here on their bicycles
Not dead yet
That’s their trip before Brexit
You never know whether they will start to kill Britons for messing up the entire Continent
BTW I am incontinent
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That he died too, with the suffering ,weak and lonely
I was born at midnight just before the Nazis hanged Bonhoeffer
Before Hiroshima and Nagasaki
Before people knew about the Holocaust
It’s a bit like that now
No, don’t listen to the News, it will only upset you
And whoever is suffering, you can’t help them
Go and read your novel
Make a cake
See if Marks and Spencer still sell woollen jumpers
Invite someone to dinner.
I suppose I’m among the youngest of the people born while Hitler was still in his Bunker
And no-one believed the rumours about Auschwitz
Anyway, was it our concern?
No doubt the day I arrived, a lot of Jewish babies died
So it makes us know that God is not what we thought
That God was a Jew
That he died too, with the suffering ,weak and lonely
What’s God now?
Did we believe only because we thought he would help us?
Chance is a fine thing
Especially to God
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The News Not
I heard they are perforating Ulster again
Ireland wll be united again by the border
Boris Johnson may be Turkish,Lithuanian and British..He’s definitely not got a drop of Irish blood
He thinks the Good Friday agreement was to give Jesus an anaesthetic before he was crucified
The doctor says I’m dying of consumption.I blame the out of town shopping malls but he just said TB [ or not TB?]
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The photograph again
Looking at your photograph again
How did I get here when we were there?
You look relaxed and happy in that frame
I was on the pier with camera aimed
Dressed in my old frock to sunlight bared
I’m looking at your photograph again
We crossed a common, flowers hid by the lane
We lay on white cliff top in sun drowned air
You look relaxed and happy in that frame
How did I get here, I feel I’m maimed?
Each moment is the whole when love ‘s at play
I’m looking at your photograph again
I just keep walking,bearing truth and pain
If I stop I’ll drown in watery drains
You look relaxed and happy in that frame
I know I will meet Jesus when it’s time
Even though I don’t believe those claims
Looking at your photograph again
You look relaxed and happy, that is fame!
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Her kin is me and other errors in grimmer
Seeing the News makes me growl round the British
That BJ went to Oxford means he must have harassed an Exam paper or ten
As for Eton, it’s too twee for the Word
Are we lunatics yet or is the future still fiction?
Did I mean friction?
I am curved round the Clock
How can a maniac rue the state its idiots?
They say rhymes heal our wounds.Unless we are dead
I can hardly believe my husband dying triggered off Brexit.Is it causation or correlation?
I saw the wheels revolve but there was no trigger.Then I felt the bull hit me.Picasso.
I wonder if acupuncture would help the Governed get sensible
I am glad I am descended from Immigrants.I am not Wringlish at all
Does Denmark have the Right tot Return?
I know my head is Viking but my bones are Celtic.Explain that!
My flesh is Aryan which I am ashamed to tell you here.Because I am big.
It’s good to see my sister’s crew.Even her daughter is 6 ft high when moving.I feel small then
My sister is very kind to her kin.That is me!
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Meanwhile in the garden there is mass wisteria.
My own photo
The doctor says I am suffering from allusions of poetry.So I am on major fantasisers
I’m a nagnostic too.I might relieve God there sometimes.
He’s a wave and a particle and very light.He comes and goes.Like men may do.
Meanwhile in the garden there is mass wisteria.It will be ok in a few weeks when we get cold whether or knots
There is a big depression where we bury the vegetable peelings amongst other things like the dead.And what the cat catches,
So we are collating the law.
The priest says my sins are mortal but not deadly.
I have been text-communicated by the Immigrant in the Vatican
I didn’t realise it was a sin to have sex when your husband has died.
Is a vibrator sinful? Or is it the folk who might use them?I think that is it.I’ve never seen one yet
Is it a sin to make them in a factory?If so the economy will slump…
It’s funny that Boots sell something that could send us to hell for all eternity.I am not referring to their famous face cream though it does remove the top layer of the skin.I
t is however not enough for those who have cancer especially if it is on your bum.
If Boots sell vibrators surely the Church must see it’s now the norm and does not use birth control which they still ban, soit could be a gracious way of having sex without need to take the PILL
.Still it does seems odd to imagine that you get married and you both have sex using vibrators.Not quite a honeymoon especially if you take two vibrators.What, though, if the battery goes flat?What if you forget your adapter for the plug? I suppose you could take it in turns!
It’s like food.We used to do that ourselves once.Now it’s sex.No worry about wasting the weekend in bed whispering in each others ears though ,do rememeber not to use one while driving up the M1.I know it’s boring but do you want to be on a video on Twitter? You do!
Say no more.
Remember though that you might have an accident involving others.If you are suicidal, please jump off Beachy Head.Do not cause a traffic jam as you will most likely be murdered.And murder is not suicide,is it?You will have injured someone else and that is more unethical than using men ,women or vibrators for recreational purposes.I rest my taste.Or my vase.Or my handbag… BTW is there a vibrator bag? If not, why not become self employed and start a new business… different colours and so on.I have no idea about size so an expandable fabrix might be good.
When it comes down to it, should we get one free if our partner dies?I would prefer a large soft cat but,hey who am I to judge others? Let the Lord decide…
UPGRADE NOW Read a book:
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I find his photos floaIting in the air.
I find your photos floating in the air.
They land without permissiom where they please
On the kitchen work top,down armchairs
A visitor may find at least a pair
They arrive as if you long to tease
I find your photos floating in the air.
My lost or hidden feelings still seem bare
I cannot take it in, he is deceased
By the kitchen work top stands his chair.
I must have dropped a folder over here
From my mind I cannot find release
I find his photos floating in the air.
I write a poem about him on a pier
My sister tidies as her husband cleans
From the kitchen work to my chair
I am psychic, I see things not here
I saw his death arriving by a wheeze
I find his photos floating in the air.
Father, husband, sister how death starved
All the people closest I’m deprived
I find your photos floating everywhere
I feel both joy and sorrow with deep care
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Would you be perfect ,agonised unspared?
Would you be the Chosen of the Lord
With eyes that see, with ears that hear the Word
Burdened by the Tablets ,in great Awe
Would you ache to feel the Roman sword
To wear a crown of thorns on your head bared
Would you be the Chosen of the Lord?
Would you like to hear Kind David’s chord
To write the Psalms which only grief can bear
To hear God’s wish from Burning Bushes awed?
Would you persevere when hunted, scared
No praise for good, and tortured, unprepared
Would you be the Chosen of the Lord?
Would you be perfect ,agonised unspared
When God has hidden in a fox’s lair
Yet may whisper to the ones with ears?
Would you like to cleanse the world with tears
To walk condemned to death and no-one cared
Would you be the chosen of the Lord
To sense his message, bless us with its awe?
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What is quiddity?
Ian McEwan
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/quiddity
Quiddity
quid·di·ty | \ ˈkwi-də-tē \
plural quiddities
Definition of quiddity
1: whatever makes something the type that it is : ESSENCE
2a: a trifling point : QUIBBLE
b: CROTCHET, ECCENTRICITY
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Crime and Brexit
https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2019/oct/03/sister-murdered-girl-nina-alice-gross-brexit-police
Extract
“We are talking about a very small number of people who have committed violent and sexual offences,” Gross says. “If we leave the EU without a deal people will be put at risk. We need some sort of guarantee that we will continue to be part of the system we’re part of at the moment. We need a proactive rather than a reactive system.”
The databases the UK currently has access to include ECRIS – the European Criminal Record Information System – and Europol allows UK police and immigration officials access to information about violent killers and sex offenders, and vice versa. If the UK leaves the EU without a deal, access will end. But amid discussion of food shortages and medical hold-ups, the security implications of that fact have been lower on the agenda.
Gross fears that women and girls will be disproportionately affected if the monitoring system for this small but highly dangerous group of offenders is abandoned.
She and her family are at pains to emphasise that they support freedom of movement and are profoundly dismayed that Alice’s case has been exploited for what they view as xenophobic purposes.
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You smiled
Was it Southwold pier from where you smiled
Maybe it was Deal with sunny sky
I see some coloured houses by the beach
Too small for recognition or to reach
Maybe it’s the weakness of my eye
You looked so happy ,how can you have died?
We took your Dad to Whitby,he was weak
Did you long to go back to the North?
The faces of the Clevelands,your recourse
The edge of sea and land, how waves run in
Pulling on our heartstrings,honey,hin.
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The falling angel
https://www.marcchagall.net/the-falling-angel.jsp
Beginning:
Marc Chagall returned to Europe in 1946, arriving in Paris. In 1947, he finished The Falling Angel (1923-1947), which had been in the works for almost 25 years. Begun only a short time after Chagall’s emigration from the Soviet Union, it is, in a way, a unified artistic statement for these years, expanded and built upon as Chagall’s art developed. It combines Biblical and Torah lore with the modern world and with Chagall’s personal symbolism in a juxtaposition of images that attempt to summarize the many experiences the artist had over the course of his work on the painting.
When he began it in 1922, with memories of the Russian revolution still fresh, the picture was to have included only the figures of the Jew and the angel and was meant as a representation of the Old Testament vindication of the presence of Evil in the world. Yet, in the years up to the painting’s completion in 1947 the artist increasingly incorporated motifs reminiscent of his little Russian world, in the end even adding the Christian images of the Madonna and of Christ on the Cross. His Jewish vision, his personal life-story, and motifs of Christian redemption are incorporated into a programmatic statement that sums up Chagall’s entire oeuvre. The images have been added one to another; in their totality, and in the diversity of their associations, they represent Chagall’s unceasing endeavour to locate one single, truthful, universally valid visual formula. Its very history, its long journey halfway round the world, the whole generation required for its completion make this picture typical of twentieth century art, of the displacement and jeopardy that beset a work in its newly autonomous condition.
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Schubert by Rostropovich
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The mystery of children
Doctor my husband wants me to move
What are you imagining now?
He was in my dreams.He says he has bought me a new house
Can ghosts buy houses?
I didn’t like to tell him he is dead.
Anyway, it’s in Ealing
But you won’t know anybody there
Do you think we should obey the dead?
I can’t imagine it happens much
Except for Jesus.
Do you think your husband might be resurrected
No, but we did buy a gramophone in Ealing once
I can’t interpret this at all.
Gosh, how stupid you are,doctor.
That is not polite
Mathematicians care about Truth not politeness
Are they mutually exclusive?
I suppose there is an overlap.But if you are rude people will not listen to your lectures on logic,maths and statistics
I take your point
Is it on the Real Line?
That sounds like Gd.
Numbers have a mystical side, heavily disguided by teaching very long division and nasty fractions to little children
You mean it’s deliberate?
Either that or I am paranoid or both
Do two minuses make a plus?
Try it with two credit cards!
I have a feeling I might get into debt twice over
Mystery it certainly is
And so say all of us
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How can it be morning without you?
How can it be morning without you
There is a hollow place inside the house
Vacated and now filled with nothing new
For who can take the place of a loved spouse?
How can a day begin without your smile
Without your scent like honey from the hills?
What toy or person can a wife beguile:
Would alcohol or bottles of strange pills?
I feel the pain in my arthritic joints
I did not know folk lived like this for years
Who can now my aching back annoint
Or wipe away the hanging sheet of tears
How can it be the world is short of you?
You cannot be replaced by someone new
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Had our ancestor’s lived in an Eden
This photo is one I took of my screen while Joan of Arc was being sung
The language ofthe British living in Lancashire was portrayed to us at secondary school as an inferior version of the King’s Englsh.That our ancestor’s had lived in an Eden where we all spoke that way but as with our morals so with our language.Both were degenerate.
One effect was to make us feel a separation from our working class families.; then to lack confidence.We’d learned Jesus was killed for our sins when we were 7 or 8 years old now we learned our language was bad even sinful like eating icecream in the street and playing doctors and nurses in the park,
But the way we spoke was because many of us were Viking in origin.We spoke more like Norwegians or Danes.The music of the voice is there.
Is it common in other countries to act like this? It is very impolite in my view
I went on strike and became mute for a .Nobody noticed.
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I’ll take the risk
Would you like a tapered bob, she asked?
To me, it sounds like summat fe’ the dog.
She carried on, she worked hard like a wasp
I don’t know how to style what nature’s left
My hair is slightly thicker than a frog’s
I remember grandad had ten bob
Grandad was a miner, what a task!
He had a bath outside, hung on a hook
He lit the big coal fire where faces danced
His daughters had long hair caught up in clasps
To spend this money on my hair seems wrong
I remember grandad with ten bob
We all had outside toilets, freezing risked
When I went , I burst into loud song.
He kept a big coal fire . the flames would kiss.
At Xmas he had wine unfit for cooks
Now all the family’s gone; they wrote no books
Would you like a tapered bob, she asked?
In all their memories, I shall take the risk
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Evolution and death
Of crypto-theological progress Of humans rising from the humble worm Where is Evolution’s grand success? Those who are imperfect cause distress Soon we want to murder the deformed Oh! crypto-theological progress Evolution’s natural life works best Eugenics led to genocide in turn Who is Evolution’s grand success? Soon arose the measurements and tests As if no human being could discern. Oh! crypto-theological progress Is your IQ less than all the rest? Does testing impede children’s wish to learn? Where is Europe’s great evolved success?
See the Nazis and the books they burned Did an living people feel concern? Re crypto-theological progress Has Europe evolved yet into success?
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I sense a piece of Putin in the air
I sense a feel of panic in the air
As if the Ark is not quite waterproof
I wonder if we’d welcome Tony Blair
To the poor this life was rarely fair
But now it seems unreal, is it a spoof?
I sense a piece of Putin in the air
I am looking in the mirror at my hair
It looks like Boris Johnson’s but more louche
I wonder if we’d dye old Tony Blair’s
The Russian wolf is licking his rich fur
He’s happy Britain’s weakened with fake truth
I feel a sense of monsters near, oh dear.
Putin won his Trump with that strange hair
Now it’s cyber warfare on the hoof
Will he soon take Leave from Tony Blair?
The Russians in Crimea are still there
The Ukraine weeps because we did not care
I sense a feel of Russia in the air
I wonder if they’ll fragment us and tear.
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Europe
When I heard the voice I loved its tone
My thryoid gland has given me real hell
I obsessed about the gas pipes and the drains
Noone realised I was unwell
The gland had overworked for a long spell
Then burned out by this speed it was my bane
My thryoid gland has given me real hell
I lay upon my bed,my nerves were shrill
I could not walk, my weakness seemed quite plain
Yet noone realised I was unwell
A kindly voice said,Katherine make your Will
You will die, you will not long remain
My thryoid gland has given me real hell
Who was speaking to me, was I ill?
The voice seemed kind, but it was not my own
Noone realised I was unwell
I saw a doctor, coma soon would kill
He gave me thyroxine, my life has grown
That thryoid gland reversed,no more was hell
When I heard the voice I loved its tone
Some angel guided me to earth again
My thryoid gland has given me real hell
Now I go out daily, stuff that hell
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Yet I remember Teesdale and High Force
When I was young he liked to brush my hair
He bought a special brush from somewhere posh
Down my back my hair flowed gold and fair
The best of all my features, long and lush Continue reading “Yet I remember Teesdale and High Force”
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Just a mo, I’ll put the oven on
I don’t want to walk to the front room
Can I have my dinner on a tray?
I wept inside for he could hardly eat
So thin I thought his backbone might well break
I’ll get you a small table, honeybun
Just a mo, I’ll put the oven on
I want a steak ,he called another day
If he could eat it I would be God’s prey
I can’t chew it, pet, my stomach’s full
The fluid from the blood, I knew it well
The valve is furred, his blood is being pushed back
Fills his inner organs swells and racks
I was almost paralysed and stunned
Putting him to bed was quite a pun
Then he woke up from a little sleep
Spoke to me in words so clear and sweet
You have a personality so bright,
The sun must envy you your brilliant light
After that he scarcely used his words
We did not need to speak, it was absurd
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My love, my lack
You are smiling on the pier above the sands
The rippling waves stretch out like children’s hands
You look so strong I cannot comprehend
Your fatal illness and its grievous end
You were not a patient on dry land
You were living well and ” feeling grand”
We crossed the road ; I held your cold thin hand
I suffered so much torment,would I mend?
I saw a fluid shape as dark it pranced
Through the open door it swiftly danced
Slipped in with the wiles of Tudor kings
Hoping they can make it on the wing
I learned with grief , it came to take you back
Across the river wide ,my love, my lack
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Far away but not in reverie
Wrapped up in my thoughts I did not see
The sunlight on the leaves,the russet tree.
I did not see the berries and the birds
Are they quiet, or is it I’ve not heard?
Far away yet not in reverie
No guide nor light appeared nor called to me
I smelled the damp green leaves I could not see
Entangled in the knots of wacky words
I lost my mind in wondering what you meant
In all those notes you never thought nor penned
The angst,the tortured ego off its throne
The knife that cuts, the breaking of the bones
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Will the islands of our minds unite or rip?
Where do words go when they enter me?
From your angry mouth you let them rip
They fragment, break to glass, and poetry
Take my words or miss, you cannot see
The struggling rise, the unfelt dangerous slip
Where do those remote words enter me?
The pointed shards of glass cut memory
The bleeding feeds the vampires of your lips
They violate, they slice the poetry
Our leader hopes to mock democracy
Calls for riots or death but not his whips
What dark words have slid in , raping me?
Now the old don’t recall dignity
The writers toast them with a stinging quip
They utilise, they mince my poetry
As the toxic liquids we will sip
Will the islands of our minds unite or rip?
Where do words go from my ears to me?
They fragment , needle , hurt to poetry
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Doctor,how can I keep quiet?
From 2016
Doctor I’ve got logghoreah
I feel worn out but I’m still here.
Can you give me a blue pill,
As those bright green ones made me ill.
Oh,dear lady,I can teach you
If the subject’s not taboo.
If you keep your lips quite still
You ‘ll feel much better,I can tell.
Doctor,how can I keep quiet?
Do you offer a word diet?
Which sentences are too contrived;
Can you keep my brain alive?
Never use an old cliche;
From the ancient,go astray.
Keep you thoughts inside your head.
If you can’t,then go to bed.
Doctor I am not Herr Freud
Yet I see my well trod road.
I seem to always want some man.
And in my bed I can fit one.
Yes I see you often mention
How your body needs attention.
You need love and so do I
But it’s wicked if we try.
Talking ‘s a defence of sorts
Used by folk to control thoughts.
Intellectual word excess
Is your device for happiness.
Yet it does not help your body
To keep on giving testimony.
So throw away your head,my dear
Love a man and lose that fear.
I don’t know that many men;
Maybe I count nine or ten.
Yet I fear they may use me
Merely as the maid at tea.
They may want me to boil their hankies
When what I need is hanky panky.
How can I convert old boys
To make my kleenex their first choice?
We don’t learn that when we’re training;
Nor cure depression when it’s raining.
We will have to run a trial.
Drink the oil from this small vial.
What will this oil do to me??
I really need a cup of tea.
Will it increase my libido?
I shall not take it if that’s so.
Why don’t you trust me,my dear lady.
Do you think I’m somewhat shady?
Well,you’re right,we men are lonely
And we look for ladies homely.
Surely you’ve got one somewhere else.
Doctor’s need them for their health.
Yes, but I prefer your form.
How do you like my nice green lawn?
I prefer a sandy desert.
Lawns are so so last resort
Still we’re here so let’s commence.
I have only got five pence.
We have love so do not worry
Do not be in such a hurry
Catholics can’t have concubines
Yet God made them by design.
We must have missed some useful clue
Bow down in worship of my shoe.
When we can afford a pair.
Then I’ll marry not just stare!
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Words unwritten cannot be erased
Each single word a pointed piece of glass
That splits itself to fragments and the heart
Thus malediction like a vampire harms
Our words are strong ,affecting as they taunt
The person hurt is damaged even more
Labelled as too sensitive, thin skinned
Shame attracts more violence as we blush
Standing with our face against the wind
Blaming victims is a strong defence
We are sturdy, they attract their fate
The Jews of Europe were an offering, burnt
Mostly we will hide the force of hate
Words unwritten cannot be erased
They show themselves upon the hearer’s face
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I never hear them cry
By Katherine
I’m listening to my body
I don’t know if it lies
I’m listening to my body
That is no surprise
I want someone to touch me
I want to see your eyes
I want someone to touch me
Or something in me dies
I want to feel your kisses
As on the bed we lie
I want to feel your kisses
You must wonder why
I’m listening to the sparrows
I never hear them cry
I’m listening to the sparrows
Under a blue sky
I think that I have lost you
Maybe you have died
I think that I have lost you
Who shall be my guide?
Time goes by so slowly
When we feel deprived
Time goes by so slowly
I shall close your eyes
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A defiant Boris Johnson [ ah, the poor wee toddler]
A defiant Boris Johnson [ ah, the poor wee toddler]
will use this weekend’s Tory [ who is it this weekend?]
conference in Manchester to double [ maths again]
down on his “peoplev parliament” rhetoric, [Ancient Greek]
after a tumultuous week [you don’t say]
in which he was accused [go to Confession]
of dangerously [ could it ever be safely?]
inflaming political tensions. [ do you mean tendons?]
Downing Street insiders insist [ to whom]
they have not been blown off course [ it’s those winds of change]
by the furious condemnation of Johnson’s
repeated use
of the phrase “surrender bill” [Is this a Western?]
to describe the backbench Benn Act. [ a comedy of terrors]
Instead, they claim they will use the [so do I, THE poet]
party conference to drive [what licence!]
home their “Get Brexit [I prefer porridge]
Done” slogan, launch [ a lifeboat?]
a string of manifesto-friendly policies – [ manifestly?]
and attack Jeremy Corbyn
as too weak [ ahaaha]
to lead Britain.
Johnson’s unapologetic stance comes [ plenty of climaxes today]
after [ it sure does]
Amber Rudd joined the chorus [ as a contralto]
of condemnation against his aggressive use [ah, men]
of language, saying she was [ like Gd]
“disappointed and stunned”, [ a fine state]
and warning it could incite
violence against opponents.[ is it not meant to?]
The prime minister still hopes to press ahead [ he can borrow my steam iron]
with somehow securing a Brexit
deal in the brief
window remaining be [ can a window be brief or wear briefs?]
before the 17 October European Council
– and push it through parliament, [ come on Sisyphus]
against the backdrop of political turmoil. [get North Sea Oil]
Despite the horror [ Auschwitz]
with which many Labour MPs
greeted Johnson’s bellicose performance [ ballet to harm]
in the Commons on Wednesday, No 10 still
believes there will be intense pressure [ torture]
on those MPs who represent leave constituencies [ bad grammar]
to support a deal.[ why can’t it support itself, like I do
“If we came back with a Deal, [We have one near Dover]
I think there would be real political pressure ;[ not in my blood]
to really push through: if you’re in a Brexit seat,[what a bum]
do you really want to go into an election [No]
having rejected Brexit?” { I shall eat Weetabix]
the government [Ahahahahahaha]
Source [what, of the Thames?]
Said. [President of Egypt who made peace with Israel and was shot]
How my heart speaks 