A young woman  who lost her dear husband in January  did safely have their son  yesterday to be called after his late’s father’s grandfather

A strange life indeed when these things happen so close together.

Life and death,The wheel turns and new and old mix in the flow

 

 

 

Why do the sins of rage return again
When we’d learned  of genocidal hate
How do we change the heart and mind  human?

Images of children grieving  damned.
Has Evil won the war,become our fate?
Why do the sins of hate return again?

Industrial murders,  manhood’s great orgasm
Guns and blood and gassing escalate
How  could we change the heart and mind  of man?

 

Ethics and commandments  have not won
The  still,small voice may whisper not, distraught
I feel the sins of hate return again

Goodness is  skin deep,it is a sham
God was here but we put him to flight
Who might change the heart and mind  human?

When we love, are safe, we feel delight
We  must not  trust   the armies of   the night
Why must the sins of hate return again
How do we change  our hearts to be as one?

She tainted during the dinner
Do you mean taunted?
Taunted whom?
Who is Hume?
David, he is a philosopher
Is he read?
Red or dead?
He was before Marx
Bookmarks?
They had no computers.
I can’t deceive you any more.
When did you start?
When that man hit the gong
So he startled you?
Into a  life of rhyme,sorry, crime
Send for the police.
How?
Send a letter
First class
Thank you.I am honoured
No, you are a fool
Well,I don’t fool myself.
Is that my fault?
Why build a house on  a fault line?
It’s easier when you divorce.
But will the earthquake break it into equal parts?
Infinitely many.
So calculus can be handy.
More so than an incubus
We have inkwells here.
Are they in the garden?
No, we don’t want them to get wet
Put lids on
Honestly if I knew you before I’d never have misarranged our wedding.
So who did arrange it?
Leonard Cohen.
But he died.
Not because of us?
No, he was ill already
Well being a marriage broker is not easy
But the chairs are.
I chair the faculty of meet the metrics.
Is it in Decimal?
No, English.
No English! I just don’t believe it.
That makes no difference to the language
How rude!
But words have no ears.
Do they have eyes?
Only the needles
Knitting needles?
You are joking
How amusing
Not terribly but you are trying.
So are you.I divorce you.
You have to say it 3 times
Am I Jewish?
I don’t know but God is.
And Mary?
What about her?
See her  blog, “about”
Don’t tell me they’re on Twitter!
Alright,I shan’t tell you!
Now, this really is the end

Postmodernism’s the fashion ne’er manque.
We must study Foucault and his scribes.
Get reason trapped and do not court delay.
You need to find your intellectual tribe.

Where is the goose which laid the golden egg..
Invented meta-talk and fairy tales?
Which narrative is balanced on a peg?
Which philosopher was re-homed by a whale?

What is  the whole truth and nothing but?
Whose the eye which sees reality?
Who‘s the judge who makes the final cut?
Where is the God to  whom we owed fealty?

Now nothing is what anyone can say.
I understand it’s meaningless to pray

I’m going to the clinic—-I feel I am manic
My hand  has swelled up—–Send me  twelve cups
My burn has been  bleeding— the sparrows are feeding
My shoe is too tight…. do you rue  voting Right?
I feel so alone……..I sealed up my phone
I want to remarry—— I planted the story
I want an arm round me—I sent alarms fondly
What did  you say—Hot as a prayer
He said he liked tarts—- Asses  heal hearts
When do we start—Send in  the  parts
We love your new humour… you have the blue gloomies
Shall we pray before bed—–Tell me, where’s your head
Married love lasts—– Tarry, we’re pissed.
My wedding ring broke—–In bed with the Pope
Set the alarm…..Bet the old charm
Where is my sinner—- he’s eaten the dinner—– now he’s in Pinner
God loves my soul…… blood is not all.
Love those you can—— live  clothes are so fun
We went to Mass—– Tea in a glass.
Coffee with cream…….Laugh till I scream
Do you do it too?…….I am  a new Jew
Am I anti-semitic………….I and’ auntie’re  paralytic
The hills far away—- On the pill  for today
Are you full of lust——-Sue’s scared of wool dust.
Girls must be modest——- pearl  dust and porridge

Underneath the Marches and the Speech
What is the new meaning, do they preach?
Seven MPs resigned from  New Labour
Corbyn is too old and  rather grey.

Yet he won two contests , took some seats
Good News for  the Socialist on heat
What  has he not done for everyone?
Given them no butter for their scone

It seems they need a scapegoat,sacrifice
They have kept him on some  fragrant ice
Theresa May has got away  again
Doodling   in her Bible with a pen

I wonder if a makeover will do?
Buy J Corbyn  proper coats and shoes
Give him an old film of Tony Benn
Send him to a school for gentlemen

Make him do degrees in Politics
Make him a Magician with new tricks
Make him cleaner than a Vicar’s bun
Do not let him enjoy any fun

Underneath the Arches lie the lost
Homeless,human, what does living cost?
Into the Thames  men tumble  as and when
The struggle for  success has been and gone

Hold my hand,I feel the river’s pull
My heart has  its  own limits.I am full
Someone must stand up and say,Oh,No.
We shall  offer mercy to the low

I found myself in bed with an old man
He showed me where my soul dwelt and its light
He thinks we can be holy, and we can
Especially when we  love  with all our might

I found myself at a loose end today
Walking in the rain in  my wool coat
I didn’t know what else  to do but pray
There was  holy water but no boat

I found my self and knew I was a poet
For I had a pen  behind my ear
Useful for the  images I wrought
Out of words  and into sentence dear

Nowadays it’s harder for the young
No tablet fits behind the ear  or on the tongue
I guess one might well  sing it like a song
When we hear the bells of heaven ring

I found myself in photos on the news
I look like the terrorist  who schemed
Ah ahah,they’d need  me like a bruise
I am I, a figment of their dreams

On the whole I’d rather lose myself
In a novel or in tender arms
What about our spiritual  health
Let us feel the  holy love that calms

Losing, finding, what is it we seek?
If we are a self, are we  unique?
I read Latin,Hebrew,even Greek
I  forgot that human beings want to speak

https://electricliterature.com/what-can-poetry-do-that-politics-cant-89fce5a6dc41

 

Extract:

 Zapruder wants to have it both ways — to preserve poetry as a place for intellectual and creative freedom and also for the outcome of this unlimited freedom to be automatically ethical. “Following our internal sense of music leads us to revealing who we really are,” he continues. But what if “who we really are” is white supremacist or fascist or authoritarian? History is filled with examples of excellent artists who subscribed to odious systems of thought, not least of whom was Wallace Stevens, who serves as the kind of patron saint of Zapruder’s book. Stevens, it must be remembered, once wrote a poem called, “Like Decorations in a N****r Cemetery.” Beyond this more obvious example of historical villainy are the more mundane and widespread instances of contemporary white poets who write unconsciously white supremacist poems, contemporary male poets who write unconsciously male supremacist poems, contemporary capitalist poets who write unconsciously capitalist poems, and so on. To say that if a poet writes something that aligns with her own standards of truth and beauty the result will automatically be ethical is pure magical thinking. Poets are no more ethical than anyone else, nor are our inner lives any less poisoned by the political systems we inhabit.

Could it be despair  that held me tight

in the wintry evening and the night

I could not see a way to  carry on

Everything  was wrong and I was done

 

I saw great blackness all around myself

I could not be restored, I had no health

I   had reached the end of seeking aid

God alone  knew all the coins were paid

 

  Inexplicable, the  golden light

That made a sweet shawl round me on that night

Impressing me with kindness and goodwill

Holding me until I had had my fill

 

Most sensuous, most tangled with love’s  grace

Surrounding me,  protecting my lost face

As if the arms of love were something real

That anyone  who knew this  must reveal

 

Only when we reach the very end

May the force of love on  us descend

 

Be creative when you go to bed
Wear  four  layers  of dresses and red socks
Wear pyjamas when you go in town
Wear your suit at night but  keep it locked

Nightdresses are  pretty   when demure
Covered in wild flowers and  ancient lace
Wear them to a party  with new shoes
Wear a little something on your face

In the bath, do wear a bathing suit
Maybe a bikini and red shoes
Someone stole the lock from off the door
It’s not  just me, the entire home’s bereaved

Wear a hat, a kippa or a veil
Wear suspenders, tights and bralets chaste
Wear ten nylon petticoats all blue
Wear a belt around your little waist

The rule we must remember is, do not
Wear appropriate clothing for the day
Wear it different.wear it with big spots
Make  your  others give you your own way

Spend your earnings at the betting shop
Win a race and then lose all you got
Drink red wine till alphabets  take writs
Shouting “Aleph Null” will hit the spot

If you are   prophet, take great care
Jeremiah spoke in mountain air
Why are you not here with angels fair?
Be creative, do it if you dare!

https://www.patheos.com/blogs/formerlyfundie/10-signs-youre-actually-following-trumpianity-instead-of-christianity/

 

“10. You spent 8 years criticizing every move of Obama, but the minute Trump was sworn in you started telling everyone that “Christians should respect the president” and that being “divisive” is a sin.

Remember the you of two years ago? That’s okay, because I do– and you certainly didn’t seem to believe that Christians should “respect the president” or that being politically divisive was any sort of sin.

Here I am recalling you taught me that, “sin is always sin” and doesn’t change just because culture changes. Huh!”

As we women get older and especially if we have thyroid problems our  body hair gets less.So throw out razors for body hair, rollers for your head hair.

Throw out those   powder compacts and magnifying mirrors.

Why, we may not need a deodorant.Let’s go natural!

Keep a comb and any pleasant au de toilette but don’t wear Poison or Wicked Perfume

Glare at your old passport photos where your hair is like a  princess’s and think how little we knew how  beautiful we were.Never mind.God is impervious to beauty of the body.

Throw out medicines. paracetomols 10 years old, face cream 20 years old .I did and look at me ! Or maybe do not look at me!

The sun was hot, the air was soft like Spring air.I was walking down the road in the town when I  heard someone running  after me who called my name
Suddenly a beautiful ,young woman with a lively  face was standing by my side.We had met 6 months ago having coffee and  we had had a very interesting discussion about life,teaching, poetry,everything.Since then I had not seen her.
So I found it very  touching that she remembered me and wanted to talk to me.The sun shone and the birds sang and we had a good talk.What chance had brought us together again? Seems like it was a piece of good luck

 

I did this horrible piece of art myself

I am afraid I dropped a tea pot full of boiling tea last Sunday.It landed on my right foot which is very painful.So much so I went to a Walk in Centre today. The nurse says it is healing… and eventually put a dressing on it.It seems to have affected my brain.How ? I  have no ideas in my head.

And with the flare up of arthritis…. yet again….. some is there all the time and some used to go after a few weeks but it has not gone since July last year.I am sure lots of people have it or know someone who does…. why is there no cure?

However if you need something to divert you,try wathing Stephen King on youtube interviewing various authors.I like  and admire him greatly.If you read his book on how to write you will see how hard it was for him at the beginning.

I showed the nurse my  scalded foot that bled
Could she put a dressing on the wound?
I made it clear I wished to love the mad

I told her I had pain that stunned my head
Where  my husband hides and can’t be found
I showed the nurse my  scalded foot,it bled

All my clothes and earrings were bright red
I longed  to be caressed by husband’s hand
I did not say I wished to  fins his bed

I wish I were a field mouse in the shed
My husband fed the birds and mice around
I showed the nurse my  scalded heart  that bled

Maybe life is better for the dead
They soften into earth and are assumed
Where   are then the body and the blood?

So the piper plays his merry tunes
Alas we will roll mindless in our tombs
I showed the nurse my  scalded foot so red
I made it clear I must  now  live  my dread

The  huge darkness of old trees
Creates the birthplace of  flowers

E.Limbrey 2019.Copyright

 

The geometry and the art of  longtime love
Beautiful,unfeeling but still charmed
The lamp, the teapot, and the empty glove

From the soil to to clouded sky above
Nature innocent shall us disarm
The geometriy, the art of  moulding love

The horses once rode by and here’s the trough
Rusted with no diamonds  nor dried palms
The lamp, the teapot, and the empty glove

 

What we  have must last.,must be enough
Or we may be in Galilee  becalmed
The  hatred and  the art of  moulding love

Here’s a man, I think I’ll have him stuffed
Keep him  in the yard to evil warn
The lamp, the  hero, and the soulless glove

Nature ripens, lambs will soon be born
Lovers tangle in the thoughtless corn
The know how and the art of  making  love
The lamp, the teapot, and the Nazi glove

 

 

---

vr

https://www.leonardcohen.com/video/come-healing-audio

 

 

I was reading about Jonah Lehrer and his errors and this was one of them…. so  shall I be denounced in the newspapers?
Well it is all publicity!