He was late and phoned her not
And so she sighed
His phone was hidden in a pot
And so she sighed
She sighed so much she built a bridge
The Bridge of Sighs for those bewitched
By lying men who bear a grudge
And then she died
Only in the real world do they flower.
Diagonal streams now stripe the windowpane And in them, tiny insects drown and die. Unexpected,sudden rain has come. Those escape who have the wings to fly. No angels were seen peering at my room No doubt they have their Sunday wings to press. No camera ,even with psychotic zoom, Can catch an angel while she is undressed. Now the rain has dried and all is sweet I tend to houseplants standing by the door. By good luck these houseplants will never bleep. Only in the real world do they flower. Bleeps and pings are not a natural sound. But to the artificial we will bound.
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Dissolving
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We touch the one who is our own true source
We do not need to fear a loathsome thought
They travel through our minds and then move on
Perfect peace of mind cannot be bought
Do not replay these thoughts for we will grieve.
If one day we feel of little worth
Who are we to judge and so condemn?
Do we think we are unduly cursed?
The underlying peace does still remain
Our central core can always be re-found
In silence, music or the human voice
In such rhythm and melody now bound
We touch the One who is our own true source
Let all float by without the need to seize
Rumination is to blame for much unease
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My big toe’s red,I feel a piercing ache
What’s wrong with you?
They think that I’ve got gout
My big toe’s red,
I feel a piercing ache
Oh, I’ve got Parkinson’s .I feel depressed.
The doctor never sees me when undressed.
Him or you?Be careful with your speech
Are you trained to join the word police?
No, I’ve got swollen kidneys on my back
I brought some paper;I will draw more graphs.
Do you feel the gout is getting worse?
No , it’s menstruation, women’s curse.
You should let your mind go blank like verse.
My advice is, care and never curse
But what about this blood on my big toe?
That is not where menstrual blood should flow.
I know that but maybe as it’s low
The blood sinks down and emigrates like snow.
Pardon me for parking on your blog
I need a place to come to with this dog
This is Urgent Care we don’t do pets
Are you telling me you have no vets?
That is right, we only take Great Brits
By the way, a wondrous pair of tits.
I think they’re blue but I am not quite sure
Take your top off, let me see your flower.
This is not the place for casual sex
I’m serious.I’d love to bite your neck
But that is like Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath
We must not go down that terror path
And if you’re really ill , you have no power.
I rent some from the station by the hour!
So to function in that way. you’ve just been wired
I’m the manager.Get out, you are fired
Can patients now be fired like men from work?
No, more like bombs that go off when I smirk
Well,I guess it keeps the patients down
Tell the management that Labour frowns
What’s this, more patients coming to be healed
OMG, it’s Donald Trump on wheels.
Is he disabled by some rare disease?
Maybe the Israelis asked him to say please
No, he has not seen Bibi as yet
Thank the Lord, he looks like one beset
He’s with the Saudis, where will he abide?
I am mental, please tell me no lies.
They say he likes to sleep in his own bed
Don’t we all,?I’ll build one in my head
I wonder what he’ll say to Pope Francis?
I am gonna take mankind down this abyss
And I’m gonna test my great big nuclear bum
When I shout go, I want you all to come!
I’m feeling worse, I wish that I were home.
Urgent Care has turned my mind , I groan.
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A potent feeling of your presence here
I sense you just behind me as I write
A potent feeling of your presence here
But turning round, there’s no one in my sight
Here I love to sit in gentle light
The shadows and the pools are how I steer
I sense your arms around me as I write
I like to go to bed when it is late
Another day gone, love, and still I fear.
Feeling round, there’s no-one in my night
I think I’ll get a passport and escape
Love’s gone missing; now men merely leer
I sense him just behind me as I write
My heavy feelings enfold me, they drape
Bring me down to earth and atmosphere
I turn round, there’s no man at the gate.
In my side, I feel again the spear
I ask for aid but nobody can hear
I sense you just behind me as I write
But flailing now, there’s no one in my night
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Baroque
Word of the Day : May 20, 2017
baroque
adjective buh-ROHK
Definition
1 : of, relating to, or having the characteristics of a style of artistic expression prevalent especially in the 17th century that is marked generally by use of complex forms, bold ornamentation, and the juxtaposition of contrasting elements often conveying a sense of drama, movement, and tension
2 : characterized by grotesqueness, extravagance, complexity, or flamboyance
Examples
Though I was interested in the book’s subject matter, I was put off by the baroquedescriptions the author seemed to favor.
“The Rev. Canon Patrick Malloy, the priest who oversees arts-related projects at the cathedral …, said the idea was to recreate a Baroque chapel and show the tapestries differently from when they hung over the transepts.” — James Barron, The New York Times, 21 Mar. 2017
Did You Know?
Baroque came to English from the French word barroque, meaning “irregularly shaped.” At first, the word in French was used mostly to refer to pearls. Eventually, it came to describe an extravagant style of art characterized by curving lines, gilt, and gold. This type of art, which was prevalent especially in the 17th century, was sometimes considered to be excessively decorated and overly complicated. It makes sense, therefore, that the meaning of the word baroque has broadened to include anything that seems excessively ornate or elaborate.
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To comfort those who need eternal rest
Oh, teapot round you are a soothing breast
To comfort those who need eternal rest
For in the meantime we must do our work
As dust and dandruff and algebra all lurk
Oh, teapot let me sing your praise anew
The best thing in my life is feeling you
And pouring over tea made with loose leaves
Some brandy liquidised with Chesire cheese
For after doing real analysis
My mind is in a state of bitter mess.
Those functions and those forms make my head reel
I need a fishing rod, whose shall we steal?
Ted Hughes said he often fished for his ideas.;
That meditation soothes the minds of seers
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My mother was the mistress of the leaf
I can’t write a poem, they all tell me.
Can you write a letter, read the tea?
My mother was the mistress of the leaf
Paper, tea or even legal briefs.
She told my fortune after I drank wee.
You’ve swallowed all the leaves, how can this be?
You’ll never be well off despite your mind
Yett you’ll never want for love, you are so kind.
I tore a leaf from out her book of cheese.
I wrote a free verse on it, just to tease.
She said she preferred to read the sonnet form
Or humour, as the laughter kept her warm
Oh, mother how I wish to hear you laugh
I have a sense of humour and much love
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The electric world of love
Touch me with your silence and your words
Embrace me through your language and your love
Let us share our beautiful new world
From the lowly earth to stars above
Touch me with your silence and your song
Embrace me with the tunes of love and note
Eloquent your talent, pleasure brings
And makes us closer when one feels remote.
Touch me with your silence and your tongue
Embrace me with your body warm, serene.
Babel was a punishment for wrong
I have always felt the goodness of your being.
Two lovers make a pact to ever be
Kind and gentle in their subtlety
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What’s of value’s not by effort bought.
s
I have filled my mind with dreams and thoughts I have drawn conclusions that seem real. What’s of value’s not by effort bought. As Ted Hughes said, his fishing was the sport Which brought both meditation and a meal. I have studied minds and dreams and thoughts We see ,like that, new images are caught. In silence and in noticing the feel What’s of value’s not by effort bought. What we find may not be what we sought At first ,it may not show its wise appeal I have found my mind through dreams and thoughts In the night the images take flight. God’s lioness destroys what is congealed What’s of value’s not by effort wrought. Like a butterfly, a flowering dart Of love and beauty which was once concealed I have found my mind by dreams, my wordless thoughts. What’s of value’s not by effort bo
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The art of travel is to guess
Words structured make a map for me
Sentences enable me to see.
But there are maps of other kinds
And different maps suit different minds.
The artist with her skilled brushstrokes,
Her unique sense of the world evokes.
This goes straight to the heart and tells
Of feelings’ deep, unfathomed wells.
The sweet, plain singing of the spheres
Moves those who hear to happy tears.
Yet notes are written on just five lines
From these flow all music’s rhythms
There are so many different worlds,
Which all these maps to us unfurl.
The Art of Travel is to guess
Which Map will suit which World the best.
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Silence has its melodies within
Silence has its melodies within
Subtle like an aromatic spice.
Underneath the violence and the din
When entertaining, silence is a sin.
Surely making dinner is fair price
Let guests release the thoughts they’ve kept within
I cooked fresh food, used nothing much pre-tinned
Then I had to entertain them with my life
Wrapping up the cracked plates with the sin
There they sat, my food upon their chins.
Gazing full of greed, those content thieves.
Stupor has more melodies within
Women then as cruel as gentlemen
Underground, divorce grew, wild, aggrieved
Companionable with violence, drunk on gin
Some went crazy, some became bereaved
Lost, their lives, their work, their dreams
Silence has its melodies within
We prefer the violence and the din
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Maria Callas
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Sonnets are for all of us
Source
- A sonnet is a poetic form which originated in Italy; Giacomo Da Lentini is credited with its invention. The term sonnet is derived from the Italian word sonetto (from Old Provençal sonet a little poem, from son song, from Latin sonus a sound).Wikipedia
You must read
When you are writing you will be using whatever you have stocked your mind with.So reading poetry and fiction and other writing is crucial.and of course your life and what has happened to you or your society will be present in your writing.I find keeping a l journal of things which make an emotional impact on me is helpful.Read what you like but not rubbish.
Starting with the sonnet form
The first line of Gray’s Elegy has the right meter.for a sonnet.
“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.”
So you must write a line to that music:
The clouds rise up and buzz across the sky
for example; then you need a second line.I find these two lines must be interesting.emotional and deep or symbolic.After that, the structure determines to some extent how you can develop your poem…Fourteen lines according to the pattern below.
ABAB CDCD EFEF GG
Sonnets are usually serious but it is possible to write a humorous one.Historically it was the metaphysical poets who wrote this way about love and death…John Donne is one of them..He wrote
No man is an island
Sonnet on writing a poem
Poetry is the art of shaping words
The structure contributes to make it whole.
And writing sonnets is not just for us nerds.
Creating structures helps create our souls.
Yet many folks are frightened by the risk
Of imperfection, criticism and pain.
But for myself, I love this tempting task.
And daily I sit down to write again.
Though what I write may not be alpha plus.
The chance to share my feelings lures me on.
And when I travel on a London bus
I take a notebook lest my thought be gone.
We each can be creative in our way
And find through it our happiness. every day
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Electric Cheetah
Was this Earth designed for life or death,
When wired up cheetahs surf the desert sands
Seeking prey to stave off hunger’s wrath?
This hunt’s repeated over all our lands.
And in deep sea of green, we find the curse
Of being pursuer or of becoming prey.
Blood in water looks to me much worse
Yet God requires that we should kneel and pray
Rare flowers can snatch and eat the striped bee
Programmed by their genes this way to feed.
I grieve a violent God exacts a fee.
Even loves to see his creatures as they bleed.
Nature soothes our souls when life’s all green.
Yet tiger springs and cares not when we scream
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More subtle is the need to do no harm
What love and friendship can at once entail
Are boundaries elastic and yet firm.
Yet even that is but a mere detail
More subtle is the need to do .no harm
For in the flush of youthful spirits strong
We do not like to know that all love fades
nor when it does a lover may do wrong
So to evil, he may find out he has paid
And with the stone-faced demons, he belongs.
Thus friendship love and joy involve the will
To take the other as she comes to be
For all our goodness there may be a bill
Acknowledge this, it follows truth we’ll see.
Accepting that perfection is remote
We play our tunes and suffer every note
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Think again
We see that the government is withholding NHS performance data until after the Election.I wonder why that is? Could it be that it is not very good?
One reason why there are more people in A &E is the following
A cardiologist who diagnosed my husband’s severe problems wished to admit him into hospital then.At one time he could have done the referral himself.However, he told me he could only do it nowadays by sending us to A & E.After previous experiences I absolutely refused and brought him home.[He was finally admitted in ” an end of life situation” late one evening and died the next afternoon]
So do you want Tories making more “savings” like this?
Are you willing to pay a bit more tax if you earn over £80,000 per annum?
Do you believe you will live forever and never have a serious accident or fatal illness?
Think again
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Complaining at the absence of sweet rain
Complaining at the absence of sweet rain
Complaining now dull clouds keep out the sun
Who is it that we will seek to blame,
Complaining at the absence of our rain?
Too much water flows straight down the drains
The front flower beds, the soft green lawns have gone
Complaining at the absence of sweet rain
Complaining now grey clouds keep out the sun.
Complaining at the absence of sweet rain
We park our cars in gardens paved and cold
The lawns once soaked now what goes down the drains
The paving stones con’t take the water in.
So we grumble and we constantly proclaim
The government must take some action bold
Complaining at the absence of sweet rain
We park our cars on gardens paved and cold
Complaining at the absence of sweet rain
We notice not just what our cars have done
We think of our own wishes in the main
Do not see that nature’s not to blame
The worms and beetles knew they’d not remain;
Made exit in a lengthy night parade.
Complaining at the absence of sweet rain
We never see the world our cars have made.
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South Pole?
The black cat’s run, the birds unfold all day
The sky is stark, the air is cool and still
The black cat’s run, the birds unfold all day
I sit down here and with my totty pray
Ye cast o’ foolish thoughts, you raped my will.
We’ve each enraged the bureaucratic mill.
Oh frigid purse, I never meant to pay!
The sky ‘s a-spark, the air is warm and shrill
The saturnine , demoted, knelled their way
With this feathered pounce, my sample quill,
I cite the cheque and date it for next May.
Oh, tit for cat, the tiger’s bed ‘s astray.
Yer life is settled by a harlot’s will
The sky ‘s a shark, the air is cooler still,
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Chips
You can buy a pack of pre-cooked chips ready to warm in your microwave for £2.50… just for one person!What does this tell us about our society?
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Confusion melds the disparate into one
Confusion melds the disparate into one
We forget distinctions and combine unlike.
Paranoia circles like a shrieking bomb
We’re acting in a film and come undone
The villain and the victim pass our sight
Confusion melds the disparate into one
The victory of deep secrets comes undone
At most, we hope to see the ghost alight
Paranoia panics thus; oh, shrieking bomb
The light of ages is not made for fun
Some are merely nibbled, some take bites
Confusion melds the disparate into one
At last, there is the silence of the tomb
After death, we choose the sacred rites
Paranoia circles in the shrinking room
What can happen, what is given rights
What we see and what is our of sight
Confusion melds the disparate into one
Paranoia sparkles like a speaking bomb
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Bedouin
https://www.britannica.com/topic/Bedouin
“Most Bedouins are animal herders who migrate into the desert during the rainy winter season and move back toward the cultivated land in the dry summer months. Bedouin tribes have traditionally been classified according to the animal species that are the basis of their livelihood. Camel nomads occupy huge territories and are organized into large tribes in the Sahara, Syrian, and Arabian deserts. Sheep and goat nomads have smaller ranges, staying mainly near the cultivated regions of Jordan, Syria, and Iraq. Cattle nomads are found chiefly in South Arabia and in Sudan, where they are called Baqqārah (Baggara). Historically many Bedouin groups also raided trade caravans and villages at the margins of settled areas or extracted payments from settled areas in return for protection.”
The Bedouins, refugees from other times
The places were they live are still the same
But other people founded States and took
The deserts where they roamed , ancestral nooks.
Ther little tents of black on the hillsides
Have not changed from Mediaeval times
But now they are like flies, unwanted guests
Who will know the tremor in their breasts?
Cruel is the heart of humankind,
The Commandments spat on daily by men blind.
The Bedouins of our spirit need to be
Allowed their space, allowed their deserts free
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Post-truth, post-God, post meaning, post remorse?
o Who should speak, which people have a voice?
Can we trust the ones who’ve told such lies
Post-truth, post-God, post meaning, post remorse?
If we’re wounded, who shall give recourse?
Does it matter to them what we’re tortured by?
Who should speak, which people own their voice?
If we hear bad news, what is its source?
See the bodies , hear the babies cry,
Post-truth, post-God, post meaning, post remorse?
Can we spread democracy by force?
Is it still democracy post-war?
Who should speak, which people own their voice?
Which of all the methods is the choice?
What is politics the reason for,
Post-truth, post-God, post meaning, post remorse?
If I speak, will you believe I lie?
The tongues of angels whisper,what of Troy
Who should speak, which people have a voice?
Post-truth, post-God, post meaning, post remorse
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The menu for today
Menu
1.Avocado cares with free lemon juice 9/6 each
Melon and ape salad with free dressing [ elastoplast] 7/6
Marmite jelly on toes 3/6
Mock curtain jelly 8/6
Hot carrot spook and bed roll 11/6 [no sleeping bugs]
2, All £2 10 shillings and 5 pence
Lamp chops with risque chips and Brussels
Vegetarian Roast Leaf and frozen Yorks pudding.
Potato pie and cucumber ballad
Chicken Flies with Curried Wings and Lice
3. Free: Just desserts
Jellied blackberries and short head with stream
Plane Yoghurt and Scream
Whose Berry Fools with Lemon Noose.
Cheese and Friskies.
Celery stalks and green water cries.For vegetarians
Chocolate Mice [ real mice if the trap works]
Poison Pie with bastard
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Those little commas
All beds to be re-combusted daily.
All china to be smashed before viewers
Tea towels which fall on the floor to be awakened before use
No dogs bowed to in kitchen or hallways
Cats enter on owner’s fist or else.
Please be polit , as being alive often offends.
Do not wait too long.Hit the roof if needs be
Do not question me, if I speak Double Dutch.I am it wielly learning thee slowlier than Buber.
Please thank our neighbours before screaming in bed, especially while asleep.
Please leave our grooms better than you find them.Microfibre clothes and Ajax in the wardrobe.Dusters behind the door or in the washing machine.
Remember we have no maids; please cook your own goose.Not provided.
My wife makes herself useful in the puddings as you see in our menu.No flavours
Do not giggle or gurgle while asleep as the walls are very thin.
No sex except on Sundays or, by prior arrangement, with the manager.
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Did he feel his freedom was well worth 2
I read fine books on poetry by Plath
Her genius arrived clearly, what a force….
An edgy woman emitting sharp, bright wrath
An immigrant, her German roots surpassed
Two languages entwined, a unique voice
I read the wanton works of Sylvia Plath
She early found her voice, direct of path
But fate was inconsistent with her choice.
Mercurial, she troubled love with wrath
Her suicide predictable as maths;
Her suffering and her German soul flew loose
I voiced the books of poetry by Plath
Her problem was in finding a true man
She had more faith from Ariel her horse
This vital woman, torment gave at last
Did he feel his freedom was well worth
Hearing the electric blackbird’s curse?
I read the brave, mad poetry of Plath
Imperious, what vocabulary, what mass!
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The Forest Door 2
The kitchen floor was cleaner than before
The Iron Age Curtain , wall without a door.
The steam, the heat intense, un-layers.
The unconscious mind is timeless, is prepared.
How do we discover what it’s stored?
Is Britain sacred,classier than before?
All work is done by people, not by prayer.
Each nightmare spins an image from the store
The streaming media sacrifice more players
Beforethe vote, there comes unthought despair
To make some sense of all our hard-won lore
The government grows stupider, devours
Men advise me not to say I’m fey
Others find the News, continuous, bores
The steaming rage has taken off their layers
We’d like our politicians to endure
The economic game plan and its cure.
The forest floor is darker than before
Woodlands wild, creative have no door
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The strangled car horns, broken, debonair,
Worth has not anything to show more sore
Dull would she be or cold who did not rage by
The broken nuclei in their tragedy
The pity now doth, like a sick fog wear
The strangled car horns, broken, debonair,
Whips, towels, combs unneutered rumpled lie
Unroll the British shields,, we shoot to pray
All quiet yet twittering with a reckless air.
Never did cunning more evilly still creep
As our PayPal; mock not the plastic Bill;
Whether I was, whether I felt, a sheep asleep!
The nerves all heat up as Trump’s tweets may kill;
Oh God! all their fuses blew they’re incomplete
And all the mighty Courts with liars fill
