Already it’s the last day of the month.
That is usually when I think of you
Walking by the river,the path green
With moss and small grass blades.
Is that your shadow across the window?
I still expect you though you’re long gone.
Damply trudging through the meadow,
Hand in hand we never noticed the cold,
Though my fingers were painful with chilblains.
I don’t see you any more,nor the chilblains.
Would I walk on knives for you
Like the girl in the fairytale,No.
But almost anything else.
Sand runs through my fingers,
I’m a human timer,though not for eggs,
But for love,my time is running out.
Though even in a moment one can receive love
In the smile of a stranger.
Why should love not be short
Like a grass blade?
Or tiny like a grain of sand?
Dante only saw Beatrice once,
But it sustained his life for ever.
That’s worth dwelling on.

http://www.arduity.com/toolkit/risk.html

This is a website called Arduity which is about difficult poetry,how to understand it and has many good discussions about risk and so on.I recommend it just may make reading poetry less scary.

http://vandelaydesign.com/blog/blogging/common-blogging-problems/

I just saw this which I feel will be of interest to many people though not to cats.
If you are a cat,please out your paw down here
This will help cat owners with finger issues.

This image is intriguing as it appears to be naive but it uses a rare kind of geometry known only to a few people… mostly introverted men with their heads in the cloud……………yes, you can store your head on the cloud for free now with
GOOGLE HEAD
You may be the first people in the world to know about this.That’s because so far we have got a name but no product…but we are working hard.

We feel it’s only fair to say you need to have your head screwed on before you can unscrew it for storage.If your head is fastened by other fixtures please consult a psychiatrist at your earliest convenience

If you have no convenience use your discretion instead please.Do not use a vicarage garden.I suggest a disused coal mine.

Be circumspect and remember the old proverb:
Discretion is the better part of valour
What does it mean?
signed by K.Flannery O’Braithwaite-Ulysses M.A.D.Phil. {Knittingham U.K.]

• Comments (2)
• Edit

Tags:

The trees stretch silver branches
In the late December sun ,
The robin perched there watches
As we offer him our crumbs.
The elegance of shapes laid bare
Forgives the winter cold.
And side cast sun rays clearly
Touch the embers of my soul.
Too soon the quarter moon will rise
To send the sun away.
So let us all wipe clean our eyes
To see what Winter is..
And all the while the world rotates
Regardless of our fate.

I threw my words up in the air
So they would fall at random.
I put some paper on the floor
For these words to land on.
Lying like a mixed up puzzle,
I pushed them with my fingers.
Until I made a verse from them
Which suits wild drunken singers.
A Jackson Pollock of the page.
Post modern verbal mistress
As Picasso haunts Greek labyrinths
With post modern art’s distresses.

A beam of light passed through my eyes

And showed to me a world disguised.

So near,yet far,we do not see,

Unless by gift of grace redeemed.

That world is full of peace and calm.

Its colours mingle,like a balm.

In such a moment all thought dies,

Revealing Love which underlies.

Colours caress my naked eyes.

Sunlight blesses new designs.

I stand enthralled,and do not wish

For one delight,other than this.

My breath slows down, and filled with joy,

I rove my eyes with bliss to toy.

Everything is just itself.

This is now my living wealth.

Beneath the noise of city traffic,

This mellow joy,love soporific,

This depth and peace, is always near

When we choose Love and turn from fear.

One day the answer in a crossword was”Black walnut”
Which then lead me to write this poem.

I love you like I’d love a black walnut.
You’re so rare I can’t eat you.
I’ll put you in my pocket
and take you with me
when I go in town
I’ll feel your crinkles and your wrinkles,
But nobody will know.

I love you like I’d love a comice pear.
I’ll put you in a golden bowl.
I’ll let the sun shine on you,
Till you are ripe.
I’ll put you in my bag,
Take you to a meadow of buttercups
And devour you.
And nobody will know.

I love you like I’d love a flower.
I’ll give you my best vase.
I’ll stand it in the window.
Then I’ll look at you all day
With my peripheral and my central vision,
Till your pattern is embedded in my brain.
I’ll sleep well and dream of you all night.
I’ll wake up and remember it all.

And nobody will know.

• Comments (6)
• Recommend / Bookmark Facebook Twitter Email
• Edit

Tags:

• heart [x]
• humour [x]
• life [x]
• love [x]
• poem [x]
• walnut [x]
• Add tags…

Theorem. Every positive integer is interesting.

Proof. Assume the opposite that there is an uninteresting positive integer. Then there must be a smallest uninteresting positive integer. But being the smallest uninteresting positive integer is interesting by itself. Contradiction!
Hence the theorem in true

Trying to keep a hold of you.
trying to keep a hold of you.
Don’t go,
Don’t go.
I’ll not let you fall down that gap,
I’ll always try to pull you back
Little sister.

You slipped away from us.
You slipped because you could.
You saw a gap and fell right down,
You were serious,my little clown.
Come back now.
Come back now.
My baby.

I sang all those songs for you
But I still needed a mother too.
A mother too.
If only I were stronger,
Would you have stayed here longer?
Little sister.

As you rocked in your little chair,
the demons of the past were there.
Your blue eyes shone,
Then you were gone.
My sister.

I saw you in a vision in a long blue gown,
With a golden halo wrapped all round.
You smiled and said you didn’t know
That I had really loved you so.
You were sorry to go like that,
And would I please feed your little cat.
My sister.
Little sister.

I just read that in some countries maybe the USA dentists can remove a wisdom tooth and transplant it to replace another tooth..not sure about the nerve.Teeth have roots like little tree roots………I wonder if they could be gold plated and used as ear rings? There must be something one could use them for.
My teeth have been a pest.In 1974 I had a wisdom tooth removed by a fairly junior dentist.Now it is so much better that you hardly know they have done it.Though you do get pain ….
When the junior dentist took out my tooth I went and sat in the waiting tom where a lovely old man sat.He called to the nurse
“Fetch this young lady a cup of tea.She looks dreadful!”
To which she riposted
“You should see the dentist.He’s in a terrible state!So much blood.He looks far worse than she does.”
So I said..
No,I said nothing at all.

Still, it was free in those days.
Well dentistry,like all surgery, is improving all the time here.But lately I’ve grown tires of it…I’m sure many people feel the same way.
I must pay my bill soon.
Fortunately i am very fond of my dentist.I knew him as a junior and now he’s got adult daughters but to me he still looks the same.It’s a strangely intimate relationship.Still it was a day out for me…It made a change.
Next it will be the doctor…he has his mood swings…but he’s very clever.
And I read the Times free in the waiting room.I’m a very fast reader.It’s not good usually to be fast but sometimes it has its uses in waiting rooms
or in trains.But it’s more economical to read slowly.. you need fewer books.
Or re read the old books.I like to do that.
I may try writing a poem about a dentist.But it is not something I would put here.I know you like humour mote here.
Humours … that’s more complex.Like bile and so on.
As in “Ill humour”

• Comments (2)
• Edit

• Leave a comment
• Recommend / Bookmark Facebook Twitter Email
• Edit

M

Jim Brown was in his new conservatory admiring the windows he had just

polished.His 82nd birthday was coming up in a few days

Marie,his stunningly attractive yet irritable,nasty and over educated

wife,a leading authority on Wittgenstein and most likely suffering from

Asperger’s syndrome into the bargain,….oh a cliche prone author too—!

had made a huge whole orange cake and planned a large gathering of friends

to celebrate his survival for so long whilst married to her,not easy she

knows.

He heard a sharp tapping on the door.

There lay Lucy their next door neighbour spying through the key hole.

“Are you on your own?” she queried tersely yet rudely.

“No, yet I’m suffering from chronic existential anxiety” Bill lied politely.

“Well,I just saw Martina on her second hand Raleigh bike going to the

market or the Charity Shop or possibly leaving home for ever….”

“Well,I still have the cat here”,he whispered loudly as if he were free

associating in a dream

“Let me in and make me some coffee” she asked courteously,

“She’s an odd one” the cat Emile thought naughtily.

“Where’s my Carnation cat milk?”

“Real or instant?” Simon answered suavely yet naturally.

“Won’t it wash off your brand new coral lipstick from Chanel of Paris?…

not to mention your factor 60 sunblock.”

“God’s whiskers” she murmured quaintly to herself.

“How does he know it’s Chanel?

Is he a spy or what?

Is he in M.I.5?”

John got some instant coffee and debated whether to put in a little LSD to

add some visions to their morning!No,a short breathing exercise would do

he concluded after 9 minutes of obsessive anxiety.

He sat down in his favorite old wooden Habitat chair having poured the

coffee into some old plastic mugs.

“Did you know Habitat is going b..b bankrupt?” she brightly stuttered

turning pink with happiness and the menopause which so far had lasted over

30 years.

Suddenly Lucy sat down on Bert’s lap and began to kiss his right eyelid

“Careful,my darling!” he muttered insensibly.

He was savouring the annoyingly uncommon pleasure when the chair fell to

pieces as it frequently did at such times, throwing the elderly but

versatile and experienced couple down onto the new Mary Quant patterned

pure New Zealand lambs wool carpet.Suddenly they heard the peal of Mary’s

bicycle bell.Shortly she walked into the room carrying 78 bags of

groceries for the birthday party.

“What’s going on here ?”she murmured seductively in a piercing shriek.

“I’m so sorry,Jenny,please accept my apologies,he has this thing about

chairs.It’s a fetish,I believe,according to Sinald Floyd.””

“Have you got your mobile?” shrieked Tom agonisedly in a whisper.

”I can’t get up.” he screamed softly.”Am I dead?”

“What cannot stand up must forever remain lying down” As my old philosophy

tutor at Cambridge used to say,muttered Marty.

“Why,that’s bit extreme,” said Jane uneasily yet gallantly.

.”MY tutor said “Who cannot speak must forever remain silent.”

“Oh,who was your tutor?”

“Elizabeth Ansconbe!” Amy admitted furtively.”She knew Wittgetensin well.”

“Mine was Iris Murdoch!” called out Alf.

Later they heard a silent siren.It was the emergency ambulance.

Dick,the paramedic bounded into the room.

“It’s this chair” said Marie urbanely.

“Can you mend it for me? My husband can’t manage without it!”

“Anything else,madam?” Rick queried anxiously.

“Any coal to fetch in,tins to open,blocked toilets?”

“Later maybe.”

Danny looked at Joan.

“Your eyes look like two deep pools in the Caspian sea.”

he whispered into her left ear.

“Are you on another creative writing course?”she quipped urbanely.

“Yes, we’re on eyes at the moment;what colour is that eyeshadow you have

on.”

“This is called winter teal” She admitted uneasily yet seductively.

“Did you know I’m a transvestite?” he admitted happily her.

“Yes”,she replied dishonestly.Kitty like to give an impression of

omniscience owing to her ontological insecurity and her ignorance of

theology and also her narrowly trained mathematical mind.

Unfortunately that frequently gave men the wrong impression.

Mamie cried out to Al,

“Get on with it,my sweetie!” So he took out a big tube of glue from his

jeans’ pocket and set to work reconstructing the chair.

“Oh,dear,Stewart looks a bit odd”

“!No,he looks quite prime to me.”

“Is he an integer?!”

“No, he’s a transcendental real number”

“He’s a number all right.”

“Never mind,we’ve just got new wheelie bins so I’ll put him out with the

rubbish,”

Marty joked on hearing Amy’s remarks to Zach.

But Simon was not yet dead.He merely had fallen asleep.

He dreamed of his days at Oxgridge University studying illogic and unreason

with Rudolphina Catnap,the famous female philosopher.Oh,happy,happy days!

Danny made the ladies some Ceylon tea in the fabulous oak kitchen with its

pure linen curtains in raspberry beige. and its black enamel sink with

matching double oven and microwave.”Why no halogen?”Iris Murdoch might

have asked.

“What is a human life,”he pondered.He was studying logic as well as writing.

He began to tremble like a leaf in the wind to use a freshly recycled old

cliche.

“Help” he called,”I’m having a panic attack.Hurry I’m dying,I believe.I

need a priest“

“You can’t have a panic attack,” shouted Marianne

“Paramedics heal themselves.”

“Does God heal those who heal themselves he wondered as he lay under a pile

of broken china?”

“Where’s the tea?” called the ladies.

Ah,if only Wittgenstein were here,he would know,thought Emile.

But I disagree.Only God would know that and He won’t say usually as he

speaks another language known only to the few.Though sometimes one may

hear it on the wind deep in a thick forest.

That’s what I believe.

Here endeth the first lesson… so be off!

How does your handwriting look now?

Like an inky beetle crawling across white paper

following a map or wandering haphazardly

Across some page?

From colored inner space come different dreams,

And images swimming like fish

within our inner seas.

But, essentially, it’s love that fills our hearts,

Directs the movements of our hands.

Yet love can twist,stretch, bend and snap.

Sometimes love fails,

Sometimes love wounds,

Sometimes love gives pain.

Oh, my Love…

But deep inside,goodwill prevails.

Good will come again..

I do not doubt.

Don’t doubt,my love.

Love lost…

Love found….

Love will remain.

.

I never tried to impress,
I never tried to charm.
I never learned to speak posh,
I was not designed to feign.

I was not designed to do harm.
I never tried to be true.
I never tried to be false.
I learned to make trifles,
But not to shoot rifles

I never tried to love,
I never tried to hate.
I let life affect me,
I never learned to be right.

I never saw you coming,
I never saw your face,
I never knew your true name,
Yet you taught me to embrace

I saw love’s depths in your eyes.
I saw your nature displayed,
I saw who you were,
Your love never died

I never tried to live.
I never tried to die.
I dwell in each moment
Until we say goodbye.

I never knew your name,
But I knew your claim,
I am not ashamed.
I live without blame.

I see birds all are singing
Though they never learned,
I see the flowers are blooming,
I see the world still turns.

Nature just happens
Nature never mourns.
People are destroyed
By what they try to learn.

Take it from me and pass it on… love can travel faster than light

I painted the doorstep black so it wouldn’t need cleaning.. but now the dirt has gone white…. Does dirt turn white with age?
My home is an abstract art work with dust making patterns all over the place.
?

I had some problems with gmail.I have since learned that you should always log out after using it.I won’t explain but you can easily find articles on this on the net.Most sites log you out when you leave… but be certain and do it yourself.
http://www.ghacks.net/2007/12/27/why-you-should-always-log-off-gmail/
The above article explains.

I also made my blogspot blog invitation only…it’s of not much interest to you here as it’s only some of these poems plus links to some websites I’ve found of interest.

• C

He had a whale with legs…

I take a black sheep to bleat.

She must shake her wrath.

Brake the weather,Oh,Lord.

Make a structure for your art..and give me new heart.

I made a step black so it wouldn’t need cleaning.. but now the dirt has gone white…. is it aging?

Be sparing with your wit

Take it all with a drink of the malt!

Take this love to please me.

Take it from me and pass it on… love can travel faster than light

i take this man for he dreams and I’ll rub him better if he screams.

I promise to love,hum,sing and dream
Until I fall apart.

Do you take this poem to be your husband?
No,but it might give me new ideas in the night.
So it’s like a husband in a way
Do you,poem, take this woman as your life?
Well,I’ll dwell on her as she’s such a funny site.
So may God help you.
Does he like poetry?
That is meaningless….

It’s a bit late in the day for a poem
I’m only human you know!
but if you feel like a-knowing
Then to your bookshelf you go.

Take out a volume of Shakespeare
He was my ancestor too.
Then if you need a short break,dear,
A sonnet should do it for you.

Take out a clean piece of paper
And your pen and some ink.
Make up a poetic caper,
Then you can have forty winks.

Take out a volume of Homer.
Read it instead of the News.
Then if you fall into a coma
We shall all be completely amused!
The Government will be bemused.
Do you hire one or have your own Muse?
This is all a very fine ruse.

Are you good at small talk?

How are you?

Who are you?

You look well.

Is it raining again?

Who said that?

Sylvia?

Have you got a bread machine?

No,I buy mine in the Artisan bakery.

Pricey there.

Do you like tea or coffee..either or both?

Are you are too clever or too good?

Why did Heisenberg stay in Germany?

Why is uncertainty so important?

Did Heisemberg meet Wittgenstein?

I love your new umbrella.

Shall we have a coffee?

We can share it.

Are the cups clean?

How about Sales shopping?

I hate shopping.it’s necessary but not sufficient for life.

For some it is life.

I like people watching…

Watching you what…undress?I can watch you.

Be my guest.

Feel free to tickle me.

You are my heart’s delight.

May I love you tonight….or this afternoon?

You have to go to work.Lucky you!

I will work out my accounts later.

Good to see you.

And you.

• …

http://www.writing-world.com/poetry/sonnet.shtml

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Beside us in the winter stands the lonely tree.
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone.
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

This is an old one I found in my files.
A daisy feels no shame.

Shame is pain for being who you are.
Guilt is pain for what you have done
So shame is much worse
If you wanted to be someone.

Actions can be altered
Actions can be forgiven.
But being in shame about yourself
Can make a hell of heaven.

No-one knows my story.
No-one knows my name.
I want to disappear forever
And never come here again.

No-one seems to love me.
I shrink from humankind.
I lie like a hunted fox or beast
In the hedgerows of my mind.

How can shame be changed?
How can shame disappear?
Only when we live with the shame
With acceptance and without fear.

p.s. Remember it’s fiction i.e. imagination!

k

Fly on your black, with your legs stretched back and hands by

their sides
or floating as wings… like a butterfly.
Mohammed Ali loves you.,

Bend the left knee and tape it to your chest then blog.

Put a electric brand around the ball and then hold both the ends

by the hands.Now draw an image in Paint.

Slowly straighten your West foot up towards the ceiling and bookmark your own toes.

Make sure your hips and the grass your bought are firmly pressed into the beloved earth.

The right foot should be kept afraid and the toes vexed,
pointing to the ceiling.

Count till 20 while in this position and then faint sideways onto that grass we met before

Do the same routine on any other legs.

Do 3 Frets and two moans and you’ll be a different person.

Bother and bother all men

He disliked the rounding of her bonnier parts.

We reached a few heights in the nights

I once fed roses for a hobby.

I was the broad you unravelled

Bands of horns play in my head all night… they sound French.

Please look through the window of my soul.

I think silence is bolder.

Twice alive!

Flowers like rhyming for me.

Stop and sniff the posies….. how to catch hay fever.

He blessed my water..before sending it to the lab.

He has a horn on one side…he’s unsymmetrical.

I will await the end of time patiently.What choice so we have?

Me after thee

Rhyme again for these men….now then!

Time seals all wounds .
Fleet lass of Richmond Hill… she escaped

Greensleeves is a strange name.

I’m just a topologist….love your torus..

I’m just a watchmaker….love your hands.

I’m just a cat……love your eyes.

I’m just a linguist………..cast a spell on me.

I’m just a cartographer………may I make a map of you?

You can if you think you can.

I’m just a woman… why are we bust?

I’m only a man………Ed Balls, we need you now.

I’m just the Prime Minister……can I meet your greed?

I’m only the Chancellor………lend me your ears!

I’m a Roman Catholic………can I confess all..I’m Blaired with anxiety.

I’m only Schubert……I need an Air…

I’m only God………..I need some people..but which?

They are all One to me.Many are called and some are brazen

Yet I am Three to them…….I need a prophet..

I said Prophet not profit.

I’m human …….I’m weaker than Thou.

I’m a woman……..let’s dance and damn the profit.

Uncertain on principle

How uncertain was Heisenberg?

Werner Heisenberg was a major figure in the development of quantum theory and nuclear physics.

He remained in Germany throughout the war working on the bomb or perhaps delaying such a thing..Michael Frayn wrote a play on this.

Heisenberg was uncertain on principle
He wasn’t sure if Hitler was invincible.
He went to see Bohr
During the war,
But we’re not terribly certain what for.

Heisenberg’s world was certainly fragmented.
His uncertainly thought-out ethics were splintered
If he chose not to see
What went on in Germany
I wonder what uncertainty means?

He couldn’t deny with certainty.
Concentration camps were not a rarity.
But he trembled unsure
Right through the War,
So maybe that’s what uncertainty’s for.

I guess uncertainty was not as bad
As the total denial some of us had.
Painful to tolerate,
And on nuclear bombs to concentrate.
Whilst most certainly wanting Bohr for a mate

Waive the restrictions on my kitchen..I’ll pray as I cook if you bless it

Give all your bated breath to us and we’ll clean it free and sell you the earth

Pray as your goodwill advises….

Play your prayers for ever on God’s eye-Phone

He prayed for his own shadow and then he trod on mine.

Wiping the bottom of the baby is necessary but not sufficient for its happiness.

Reason’s meetings were quite fleeting.

A second’s wind on my part made him start.

I see eye to eye on my photo

I see the class is half empty…can it be those geometric progressions?
In that case I’ll soon have a negative number of pupilsnot even a fraction will be positive.

I am an imaginative number.

The revolution of the identity… can it be complete?

I see the fly by nights have left me with a strange white face.

I see the hole in your shield…never yield to punctures of esteem.
You are awesome,babe.

UR OK IAM OK

ALL OK

Y WAR?

IT’S THEM AGAIN.

We shall see which way the wind comes out….. and that will be a test of our love in the bed.

She’s very well bread…love the dough,baby.Chew on you forever.

Did Jesus have any sisters?Conundrums and strange facts…. a new book
for the somniac.

The sun it was a-raining
As I ran down the street.
I saw you in the window
With raw eggs upon your feet.

Shall I mix in sugar also..
Will butter act like glue
I’ll mix you in my large white bowl
And bake you through and through.

I’ll sit down on a handkerchief
And cover you in cream.
And have a word with Wittgenstein
To say life’s just a dream.

Oh,cook your man in gravy
Cook him till he’s done.
I kept right on and when I looked
Every one had gone.

So nobody was looking
You jumped out of the pan.
I said,Are you the one?
And you replied,I am.

The rain it was a shining
While we were laid in bed.
I remember everything
But forgot what you had said.

Oh,cover me with icing..
Put me on a plate.
I want you to eat me up
Before it gets too late.

• Add tags…

A truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.”

― William Blake, Auguries of innocence

As usual Blake gets to the heart of life.

I have plagiarised this but altered it slightly

First of all,you need some apples,one each for all who are dining with you and begging from you.

Secondly,you must crumble these apples and that is so hard to do.

So I suggest you get out a cricket bat and pulverize them or chop them with your kitchen chopper or finally how about an axe?

Mix them with plenty of butter and one egg per two apples ,first beating the eggs with a grey whip and stirring in some milk to make it slightly custardish.

Some sugar might be an idea and a little crumbled clove.. the hot cloves…

Put it into an oven/fool proof dish and bake in a moderate oven until it is set and firm but not burned to a cinder.A little charring is acceptable.
About 40 minutes should be ok

Eat hot or cold with cream or icecream and dip your fingers in then suck them

Don?t whine if it comes out wrong.

Cooking is hard you know!

You know now.. so kiss me before we die.

Just going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in your garage makes you a car.”
G.K. Chesterton.

This seems typical of this author so maybe he did say it.

As an adolescent I had a great admiration for him and his idea of Anarchy as the ideal political system..

The most important service rendered by the press and the magazines is that of educating people to approach printed matter with distrust.

Attributed to Samuel Butler .. yet I doubt if they had “the press and thee magazines in his day[17th century]

But it’s a good quote anyway

• h

Words lead me to poetry
To give them shape and form.
Words are waiting quietly
For a sentence to be born.

Choosing words of interest,
I look at them with care.
If I look patiently,
The right word may be there.

Patterned words play in my mind,
Dancing as they wait.
Words want to be spoken,
That is their true fate.

Writing is the second best,
So you must read aloud.
What we write,we must speak.
Let poetry resound.

A
I thought you once wrote me a poem,
But I can’t find it anywhere here.
Please send me another one,
If you have time, my dear.

You sent me love at Xmas time
You sent me love last May,
But please bring love in person now
Before I go away.

I’d like to see you in the flesh.
Clothed or unclothed’s fine.
I’ll take you in my arms to hold
Then I shall know love’s mine.

When people are united
In the warm embrace of flesh.
We see the world all glowing gold
As our two souls enmesh.

Soul and body are a whole,
That sing to us their song.
Please bring your dear body back,
To where it does belong.

We’ll sit beside the oval lake
Where coots and moorhens float.
I’ll hold your hand and gaze at you,
If you read what I wrote!
while I write the new milkman a note.
Is that your own beard or a stoat?
Did you notice this brandy I brought?
What was that mysterious thought?
Why are we feeling so fraught?
If you’ll teach me Serbo-Croat
Whilst you tell me your weird anecdote.
While I play with the tv remote.
While I look down your cosy red throat.
What is the gist of my thought?
If you tell me how many mords I have wrote.
What terrible trouble you’ve brought.
Do you think my new suit is too smart?
Since God knows what muck you then wrote.
And your adopted white billy goat.
Because I like your new overcoat.
Because you are whom I have sought.
Where’s all that hash you bought?
If you’ll buy me a lovely new coat.
If you only knew just what I thought.
If all other things come to naught.
If you’ll give me that salmon you caught.
As I’m feeling so overly wrought.
If you write me a tender love note.
I’m admiring the moth on your coat.
If you promise to carry my tote.
I saw a bumble bee fly into your coat.
A bee wants a sniff at your throat.
God knows why I wrote what I wrote.
I blame the green frog in my throat.
Shall we hire a small rowing boat?
Did you manage to sow a wild oat?
My plans seem to have all come to naught.
I am that lady you’ve caught.
What ethics and games were you taught?

The humble apple on the tree
Will gain far more true friends.
Seek to be only yourself.
Let,here, my lesson end.

A man who fond of lemons is
Cares not how he gives a kiss.
‘T is a proof that he would rather
Have a lemon than a lover.

A child who never was embraced
Will not marry in much haste.
It’s a hint that she would, maybe,
Be afraid to have a baby.

A heart which mean with kindness is,
Will rarely feel true friendship’s bliss.
‘T is a proof that some would rather
Be correct than be a lover.

Praising the Tories is as daft as dancing a minuet in McDonalds.

Do we laugh all the way to the sink?I sink not!

They play down the Law but God is not blind

I laid the bards on this table.

To leave you starkers is unkind to defenceless animals like women.

He weaves any stones unreturned into a hard wearing tapestry in 50 shades of grey.

She left her cat at the altar as she had no other offerings.God was amused,they say.

He was a legend for being unkind to wasps and evil spirits.But he loved women to access.

A leopard doesn’t wash its spots…let that be a lesson to you..

He confessed to two weevils as the priest was drunk

Wet your sleeping dogs with this shampoo and lie about it but not in it

We let the cat out of the bag and it bit the Vicar.He cursed like a Whooper…you would have seen red if you were not out of your mind with
all that Olympic Cider…. and by the way,can cats have hangovers?

Think aloud and knit!

http://youtu.be/TYJzcUvS_NU

Endless birds have tried to nest with him.They keep falling out

Every Blog has to pray daily on this site

Every sin is coming up blushing…what did we do?

A quaint man makes hay while the wife rhymes

I fall down into bed when he spins me his line.

I feel too icy for you…can you warm me up in a microwave oven?

Ban the old flames from your bed or I’ll split.

Lassies are always sweeter in the spring time

Sing on there

Have I a heart to spare? Not today,thanks.

Tart breaker…leave my quiche alone.What harm has touched you?

Heavy weather tonight.. see the chart and dry now.

I can’t leave home without your shoes.

I can’t live without glue.

I love you more than a rose thorn.

Help me pick the time.

Keep your grin out.

He’s missing his clothes!

He’s booking into my soul.

They were lost in the bedcovers.

He said he played for the Wanderers and now I believe him…he found my Arctic wastes and warmed them till I was like putty in his hands…
Now I’m a statue in the park.

He said sex was a marital fence breaker.. and he needed his offensives more than ever.

All I heard was,Plead with the whips.

It was a lover queered my pitch.

What a lovely ditch.

“Penny for your lies?

“My early words make men scared.”

“Early to bed,longer to writhe in it”

“Pretty is not as good as witty.”

“Seen but not scared.”

“He who lives by the word… …..loves weeding blogs.”

“The way to a man’s heart is optional.”

“A switch in metre beats time.”

“Ask not what your poetry can do for you… just write it.”
”
“Many bands make… a loud noise.”

“An ounce of dissension makes life richer.”

“If you can’t say anything wise,keep it to yourself”

http://www.guardian.co.uk/money/2011/aug/05/beware-hackers-take-over-gmail-account

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irrational_number

An irrational number can’t be written as a ratio of two whole numbers.
It is a non recurring infinite decimal… please correct me if need be as I’ve forgotten so much maths.

The most well known such number is Pi…It is half the circumference of a circle of radius 1.

There are more irrational numbers than rational ones.Different orders of infinity…

Doctor,my legs buckle under when I see this man

Wear shades over your why’s,your eyes,his lies…now do be wise!
That’s all for the lay man or woman.

Doctor my legs crackled last night…can I have an X rated film on the NHS?I am sure it will help me.

Why is it always these X rays.I can’t even see the blooming things…
What fun is there in the invisible…it’s not at all risible.Humour heals.
I reel..how do you feel?

I feel a bit quizzical….. almost Biblical,if you catch my drift.

I just went along for the bride.

If the surprise is ripe,I’ll do anything I can for you.

He was exhausted trying to read between all the lines on my face.So Now I sleep with my head at the foot of the bed while he massages my bunions,

How does that make you feel?

I feel as happy as a frog in a duckpond.

Good evening.Do you come here often?My name is Harold,by the way.

No,I’ve never been here before,Harold.How about you?By the way my name is
Anita del Oranges.

Yes,Anita,I know Judy and Jim very well..in fact she was my first wife.

How many wives have you had,Harold,or is that intrusive?

I’m not sure.Five wives I think but I’m divorced now.

So are you still hoping to find a new lover?

Well,if one came along I’d be keenly intrigued.

After five divorces can you say why your marriages broke down?

I think it was my utter laziness.

Don’t you have a job?

Yes,I’m a doctor.

I’ve seen you in the Clinic…

I didn’t see your face..

No,I know.But you can see it now…why do you say you are lazy?

I want you to know I won’t do any housework after we get married but I’ll pay for help.

Is that a proposal?

Well,my mind was flowing that way.. you are a charming lady.

I might be a psychopath.

Well,that would make a change!

I might be cruel..

I can ignore that.

And I wear a wig…

I look forward to removing it at night…

I may be bald..

Well,I am bald.

This is a strange way to talk to a person you never met before..

Well, you are a stranger..so I talk strangely to you..I learned that in neuro-linguistic programming classes

I’m coming to the Clinic on Monday.

What for,angel?

Don’t you keep records?

Yes,I still have all Mozart’s stuff.

You didn’t catch my drift……

I never go with the flow.

Well,I admire that in a man.Self control can take its toll though.

So,how about a meal at the Ritz?

I’m on a fast right now but I’ll call you when I am meating again.

You look like a thin lady to me.

But I am quite fat underneath this camouflage…

Intriguing…May I underdress you?

You seem quite naughty…

I’m just pretending.I’m quite Victorian in fact..

Well,send me an email about yourself…what you love and hate.What you read.What you eat

What’s your address?

Fierylady.hot@myfemale.org

Or phone me on

0207 pi

Let’s pretend it’s a rational phone number

Let it ring forever.

For forever I’ll be loving you.

You stick to me like UHU,my glue!

Your heart is warm..

Rest in my arms like a dying sheep.

Embrace me now,I love your how!I hate your similes though

Someway,somehow.We’ll get through

Oh,dear.look at the time.I have to go home and prove Herbert’s Last Theorem.

You are a very foreign person…I can’t translate you at all.

Don’t you do foreign languages here?

Well,there are so many of them.

Ain’t it fun?

I speak a dialect common only to a couple of square miles of Greater Manchester.

You make me feel so blung.

I am your song to be sung.

When will you have rung?

Bands of rhyme will be crossing the UK today.. streams of poetry will bring dampness to your eyes.

Until the end of all rhymes I’ll be loving you

Time feels all wounds and rain wets all souls.

Don’t go fishing with baited breath…and take your umbrella.Keep fish dry..be kind.

Don’t look down.You’re on a tight rope

Until my pen drops from my hand

I’ll love you through and through.

Until the day my writing stops

I’ll send these verses new.

Until the loss,outweighs the gain

My heart holds yours in view.

Until the loss of my free verse

Until my writing gets too terse

Until my pen breaks from the strain

I’ll write and write again.

The loss,the lost,the dead the live,

We all are joined in heart.

We balance life and death and love..

We each have unique parts.

The up,the down,the black the white

We are all a whole.

Come and join the human writes

For your loss leaves a hole.

The human face,the human rites,

We need their total sum.

The human rights,the human sites

We all must be as one.

Until the end of time I’ll be loving you.

Until the end of all rhymes I’ll be writing you.

Until the day I die,I’ll be unintentionally annoying you.

Older and older,I’ll never leave you,but I will,no doubt, grieve you and

deceive you,misperceive you.

Otherwise I’ll think of you,wink at you and make a hyperlink to you.

Still,for ever,I’ll be all over you..looking for fleas in your flies, and

for B’s in your Y’s.

I’ll be looking for tears in your eyes,making you surprised.

That’s a love poem,innit?

Well,innit?

Wot!I’m English,innit!

Kitsch?

Oh, geddit?

Doctor,doctor,I feels so very ill.

Dejas Flu!

Faute de Mioaw!

Bow,wow!

Holy cow.

Shall I moo instead?

How low.

In lieu de mon Tarte

Je desire une Arte

Pardon my English is showing.

http://www.marcandangel.com/2012/08/10/15-ways-to-be-irresistibly-attractive/

I am doubting whether being irresistibly attractive would be good… it could take up so much time,depending on where you lived and worked..
Women’s magazines put forward various methods.. but better to be who you are and go from there.

There must be a man out there who likes modest,shy,large,short sighted,blue eyed women with an interest in colour,philosophy,humour and verse; who are an excellent cooks and can iron your hankies now and then time permitting.If they can find the iron.

Don’t all call me at once,please.Here in Britain we queue.

Irresistible from Dictionary.co,

1.
not resistible; incapable of being resisted or withstood: an irresistible impulse.
2.
lovable, especially calling forth feelings of protective love: an irresistible puppy.
3.
enticing; tempting to possess: an irresistible necklace.

It reminds me of a funny old song about a wedding night
where the bride removes her padded bra,corset,dentures,wig until she is revealed as nothing like the image she was projecting.

http://youtu.be/sLUmnidPcV0

Images and self images can be dangerous things…
The best thing in life is to forget yourself and come to your senses!

I once had a doctor called Simon,

Whose mobile was constantly chiming.

When I told him my ills,

He gave me blue pills

and said I must practise my rhyming.

So I started this limerick today,

And shall write in rhymes if I may.

I hope it amuses

Those whom it confuses;

You won’t have a penny to pay.

You see,I believe in free verse;

In sentences both compact and terse.

Rhymes should be banned…

Except between friends.

And I shan’t use words like hearse ,curse and nurse!

And it came to pass that they ate their dinner
and that she did washeth up.
And she did leave the dishes to drain
Whilst she put on the washing machine.
and the man was very pleased.

and it further came to pass
that she gave the man some pudding
and he was more pleased.
And then it came to pass the he fell asleep
By the fire.

And the Lord God,said
who is this man that sleepeth by his fire?
And he said,I shall waken him up
And the man awoke,
And God spake unto him
How is it that the woman laboureth in ye kitchen.
And that thou sleepeth here in an armchair.

and the man said,but Thou didst order women to labour.
And the Lord God said unto the man
Why dost Thou remember so selectively what I have said?
And the man said,I knoweth not and therefore I will help this woman.

And the Lord God said,
Why dost thou not think of it thyself?
And the man said in reply,
It was Thou that made me,O God.

And the Lord God was displeased with the man.
so he called down a plague of butterflies
To prevent him from sleeping.
And when the woman came in
she was much pleased to see these butterflies
and so she fell onto the man
And he did make love unto her.

And the cat was very pleased
For it thrilled him to watch humans mating
and gave him hope
That the Lord God would take his rib and make a mate for him.

And indeed it doth seem to have happened
Judging by all the cats staring in ye old window here
And by their ecstatic yelps
That the Lord God was very generous with them
and made them many mates.
For truly there is no jealousy among them
And they mate freely and happily
and never have rows about the washing up.Ah,men!Ah,women!Ah,aha,aha.
by kathrynbraithwaite @ 2011-12-09

• Comments (2)
• Recommend / Bookmark Facebook Twitter Email
• Edit

• care [x]
• fun [x]
• humanity [x]
• humour [x]
• images [x]
• love [x]
• Add tags…

A statistician is a mathematician broken down by age and sex.

A statistician’s wife had twins. He was delighted. He rang the minister who was also delighted. “Bring them to church on Sunday and we’ll baptize them,” said the minister. “No,” replied the statistician. “Baptize one. We’ll keep the other as a control.”

Trees swaying in the wind;
Leaves
blow
down.

Birds flying through the sky
look
for
lorn.

.

Winter edges ever nearer.
Frost and fog will then appear.
Cats sleep cosy by the fire
I clean the mud off my bike tyres.

Trees swaying to and fro
sig
nal
love.
.
Birds flowing on air currents.

You’re
my
dove.

YOUR troubles shrink not, though I feel them less
Here,far away,than when I tarried near;
I even smile old smiles–with listlessness–
Yet smiles they are, not ghastly mockeries mere.

A thought too strange to house within my brain
Haunting its outer precincts I discern:
–That I will not show zeal again to learn
Your griefs,and,sharing them, renew my pain….

It goes,like murky bird or buccaneer
That shapes its lawless figure on the main,
And each new impulse tends to make outflee
The unseemly instinct that had lodgment here;
Yet,comrade old, can bitterer knowledge be
Than that,though banned,such instinct was in me!
Thomas Hardy

How old do you have to get before wisdom is utterly useless?

I’d like to see God…as long as an angel gives me some sunglasses first.

If He’s a burning bush,it might hurt my eyes.

Will I still have eyes in Heaven?

Will I still need glasses?

It won’t be heaven then.

If we don’t have eyes,I wonder how we’ll get about?

We must have some other kind of sight…

I’m worried about God.Such a shame He’s not married.

Maybe he had enough with his one son.

Was it o.k .to have a Son like that?

I guess it’s a parable..

Open yourself up to wisdom and you will be fertilized.

Makes us sound like flowers.

Of course Jesus loved flowers…He wanted us to live like that..

But no,we have to have wars in order to being Peace on Earth.

As I said,when are we too old for Wisdom to be of any use?

Oh,the mirth and the grief of God..

Oh,to be a speck of dust.