Stan has just got back from church.He helps to polish the pews on a weekly rota.He also embroiders kneelers.He learned in the Navy.Sailors used to knit whilst on long voyages and sew too.Now he’s home and making some coffee. Ah ah,the doorbell.He ignores it.Then Annie appears tapping on the window.”Hello,what’s up?” he enquires impatiently.Church seems to affect him that way……..odd! “I’m just a bit lonely as Emile’s come back to you.” “What about the bee you adopted.Bobbi? “”They’re affectionate but rather hard to cuddle,”she answered with tears in her green eyes.”They do look soft and furry but they are too small” “You need something bigger..how about a dog?” “I’d prefer a man,”she said softly and suggestively. “Why not give meditation a go?” Emile miaowed. “I’m a bit past it all now at 106,” Stan replied.”But, if you get some rainbow striped underwear from Ann Summers and some red bed socks , maybe that might help with the desirability aspect.” “I will not be seen dead in striped underwear,” she cried cunningly. “Well,why don’t you go on the internet?You could find someone younger and slimmer than me!” Annie looked very angry.”I’ve spent 20 years on you.Are you telling me it’s all wasted?” “No,it’s been useful to know how to ring 999,” he admitted wonderingly. “But my baking would have been quicker if you hadn’t kept coming in trying to induce me,reduce or seduce me.”he said confusedly “Are you losing your word power?” she asked curiously. “No,I said that on purpose.I’m training to go to a poetry weekend at East Anglia University.” “You are so daring,darling!” “Well,what have I got to lose? he riposted jovially. “And all the food is included.It’s only £3,000 for the weekend!” “Is that cheap?” “I don’t know.I need to look at the Index of Retail Prices or whatever they have nowadays.” They sat before the computer gazing at the government data and statistics with pen and paper in their hands. “I really enjoyed that,”said Annie,”It’s even better than sex!” “Thank God for that,” thought Stan with wry amusement. “Now I can keep her busy learning more about how to analyse data.I’m fed up with kissing her all day long.Now we can study for Open University degrees in mathematics and statistics and keep our minds lively.” “Quick put the kettle on Mary is here.” “Hello,Mary.We are studying government statistics.It’s so interesting.” “Yes,I know” she answered coltishly.”But a woman has another needs too.” “Oh,no!” cried Stan,”Not you too.” He fell onto the striped rug by the fire. “Oh,dear,I suppose we’d better ring 999!” said Mary to Annie.”How lucky you are here,dear.” “Well,I’ll make the tea.We’ll need it.” “By the way,Annie,your eyes are looking so bright.Like two emeralds.” Mary whispered.”Have you ever fancied a woman?” “No,darling.It never occurred to me.So many men.So little time.” “Well,do let me know if you are interested!” “Sorry,dear.I want to become a government statistician then maybe I can understand government the from within, as it were.” She ran out singing “Onward Socialist Lovers” to welcome Dave,the handsome paramedic who was at the door. “Dave,do you know any Statistics” she called. “Only vital ones,my angel,” he replied coolly. “How’s Stan?” “Not dead yet“Stan called spiritedly from the blue lambswool, hand washable Mary Quant rug.”Get me some fresh tea and we can all discuss the latest health statistics.” Anne laughed merrily but she looked truly insincere.At least according to Emile ,who was hiding behind the television in the corner.”I wish we could have our dinner,” he murmured.But no-one heard him. Cats don’t like tea but nobody seems to know.Emile is hoping to write a book soon.”Cat against tea.”
Although it’s dark, out there the blackbird sings His territory is the same as in the past An ancient ,holy sound begins the Spring.
These birds are little dinosaurs with wings Like the spider they adapt so last Although it’s dark, out there my blackbird sings.
What other pleasures will the season bring? The crocus flowers the daffodils,long grass An ancient ,holy sound begins the Spring.
In my leafy wood, birds wisely throng. We have no cat nor greenhouse with its glass Although it’s dark, out there my blackbird sings.
In my heart, for Northern moors I long; The heather where we loved, the sheep shorn grass As ancient ,holy sounds began the Spring.
Yet I am rarely mournful for the past God lives in each moment,Life’s our Mass Although it’s dark out there the blackbird sings An ancient ,holy sound begins the Sprin
The gravity and grace of those who’ve died
Make us pause and take a deeper breath
The distant look of almost closed , dear eyes
Now the nerves and muscles do not try
Their life has gone and they are on the path
The gravity and grace of those who’ve died
The larynx closes. we hear no more cries
Nor yet is there any mourners’ wrath
See distant look in almost closed , dark eyes
Space and peace and caring are allies
Somehow we shall know what is the best
The gravity and grace of those who’ve died
See the face, how watercolour flies
Seized is the hand when put to its new task
Catch his look ,his almost shuttered eyes
No longer to face challenges and risks
No longer do the fingers urge his wrist
The grace of those who have just gone survives
The holy soul ,the weeping of mine eyes
With foresight, we may see where problems lurk
And root them out before they start to grow
Yet often life’s mysteriously dark
And what we reap is what another sowed.
In hindsight, this seems obvious and plain.
But some can pick the true out with no pain
Yet others choose their fantasy again
They amble down a cheerful sunny lane.
Though what is real may not be what we wish
Better truth that hurts than lies that charm
Reality is not an easy choice
Yet falsehood will mislead and even harm.
Insight grows with patient watching eyes
In the end, the truth is where love lies.
Soul making is a phrase from Keats.{ link to article by Jeffrey C. Johnson in Paris Review]
We saw Wolf Hall on TV recently and it is so wonderful.I am just writing down a few of my thoughts not about that but about Anne Boleyn… I meant it to be funny but I couldn’t manage that after seeing the play.
ANNE BOLEYN
Anne Boleyn withheld to win
As Henry lusted in his sin.
Once a virgin,sweet Madonna;
Henry turned in rage on her.
She bore him but one living child,
For her quips,she was reviled.
Henry knew not the fault was his
It seems the king had syphilis.
Or Anne was rhesus negative
then just her first born child would live.
We women make our worst mistake
When power for love we wrongly take
Our strength lasts but till we submit.
We need less love and far more wit.
Whatever lusty men may say,
their “love” dies when they get their way.
And they will take their wife by force
As cannons pound on oaken doors.
As for women,we must not
Promise gold we have not got.
Conception is a game of chance;
it happens more by happy chance.
we sin in pride in promising
What only God or Nature bring.
We deceive and trick and charm
At last our hearts bang in alarm
The man who begged upon his knees
Chops off our heads when we displease.
For Emperors and Kings and Lords
Wield fearful power by the sword.
Yet when for judgement they shall stand
How will point the knowing hand?
And just like us they’ll ashen be
When true majesty they see.
Into dust and crumbled ruin
they will go by their own doings.
Each day create with grace your soul.
Cracked shall be the golden bowl.
Keats wrote this extract below [read all by clicking on soul above[ and he died when aged only 25 years:
I will call the world a School instituted for the purpose of teaching little children to read—I will call the human heart the horn Book used in that School—and I will call the Child able to read, the Soul made from that school and its hornbook. Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a soul? A Place where the heart must feel and suffer in a thousand diverse ways!
He ‘d held me in his arms and said,
what I had never read,
That life is more than learned discourse.
So as he spoke, I watched his face
And his rich dark eyes;of course
His eyes gave out such natural force
More strong and subtle than the song of birds.
Yes,almost like a poet’s words
In how he moved me like no other man;
No matter how they think they can,
They lose the step and do not dance
And never ever chance
A leap when they might lift me high
Above their head. I’d want to fly.
Yes,the form and feeling give an extra note
To express those feelings more remote…..
We do not need to speak or write
We have both touch and our eye sight.
And yet our human discourse is a need
An anchor,lest the current’s speed
Should crash us down on Coniston,
And we’d be gone.
Just write it down
A verb ,a noun..
A string of sighs,our mouths,our eyes.
A paragraph that never dies,
within your finger tips and cries
For pen and paper and my wish to save
Some part of you,some heart some art
I long to see your face just one more time.
I didn’t know that day would be the last.
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.
You’d smoke a cigarette and write some lines
About the mountains that we’d climbed or passed
I long to see your face just one more time.
On Ingleborough we had made designs
But heavy rain came down and we were lost
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.
We turned around as if it were a crime,
For we knew such decisions have a cost
I long to see your face just one more time.
I teased you on the muddy slopes in mime
I could not speak for I had seen your ghost
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.
In Dent or up in Teesdale will you come?
Or by scarred boats in Staithes, eternal rest?
I long to see your face just one more time.
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.
She’d never seem rainwater deeper than eyes
Mystery undisguised.
Round the big puddle she ran and ran;
Too much for her dolly’s pan.
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised.
Curiousity’s often so wise
Oh,my dear sister what see you there?
I hope it’s a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sisters dear,let us float.
We’ll never see daddy again, ‘cos he’s here
And down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel with his sharp sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with long golden hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two;
Eyes of one green, the other’s blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my dear sisters into the light.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I loved my sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t hope for what cannot be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool,
Held in God’s hand like a jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings must ride.
For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
All we can live by is trust
Someone other guided me to act Deep inside my voice had been unlocked I sang the psalms and then a lullaby Not aware in thought that you would die.
I fed you with a teaspoon the mashed fish From a plate as good as one might wish Like a little child you tried your best You smiled at me and gazed like one who’s blessed
You sat up with a brighter face at last Then lay back and God knows all the rest
Oh, don’t go yet ,my darling,I am here The floor of heaven came down amidst my tears Made of sumptuous satin, gold,revered For a little moment it hung low Then it rose and took you in its glow I saw your soul like that of a wild bird Taken by the Power who spoke the Word
A sheet of tears fell down from my closed eyes It’s hard ,so hard when those you love must die
Sitting in a garden down in Kent A cat climbed on your knee though it was Lent They should be “fasting” like the Christians do Unless that little cat was a born a Jew
Christians do not fast in more than name For this deception, who can heaven blame? The Muslims and the Jews fast from all food But cats and heathen people eat and chew
They drink no water,eat no bread nor meat Thus their Fasting is from animals complete Their minds receive perceptions as you saw When that cat caressed you with its claw
Take another standpoint once a week In the garden, cats may bite your feet
I went into the middle of the park Thick grey fog had made it almost dark I stood there with my cello and my books I had found a space where noone looked
There was not much privacy at all The front door was left open, neighbours called Grandad came with Lassy his sheepdog He gave us sweets and ate my mother’s bread
Now I have chubb locks on my front door The neighbours do not walk here anymore They jump into their cars and speed away No little chat, no updates on their day
Locked in metal cars without a map
We’re distant or too close, so mind that gap
Stan was polishing the windows again with his big microfibre cloth.The computer was on.As soon as he finished the sitting room windows he planned to look at a google document he was co-writing with hislfriend Annie, on the failings of the British Empire..She only lived next door but they both liked sharing new techniques of various kinds.
He sat down in front of his computer and looked at his email.
There was one from Annie.
“Hi Stan
I didn’t really want to keep some of those remarks you wrote at the bottom of our document when we were both online,so I have deleted them. We should have gone into chat mode.They were not related to the topic we were discussing so I know you won’t be mind.And if you ask again we can chat either online or in person about sex and people’s lives
With my love,dearest one ,Annie
Stan felt furiously angry and cross. How could she know if he minded or not?
He went dark red as if his head was bursting.What was so dreadful about his remarks?He had only asked Annie if her dead husband George might have been bisexual.Stan had once seen him kissing another man in the bushes in the park.Annie didn’t seem bothered last night.She never gave the impression to me she didn’t like it.Maybe she’s not quick enough to react
Anyway she should not have deleted it completely without asking me first.
He sat down on his old Habitat chair [recently mended free on the NHS by Dave the paramedic,] and he sent her an email saying he was furious with her for attacking his freedom of speech.It was unethical.It .He must assert himself.He would show her!
So he was not going to work with her on any more documents ever again nor chat on IM or Google Chat. Of course he still loved her but his anger was too strong for him to ignore.
When Annie got the email she was completely stunned like a cow ready to be e.She apologized to Stan immediately but he refused to accept it ever even though she begged piteously for forgiveness.
Why did he want to know if George was bisexual, she wondered.Was he saying it to try to turn himself on or me? Or is he just interested in all different kinds of sex and human behavior generally ,like most people are ?But it was not concerned with the document which was about ill treatment of prisoners in India under the British Empire and relating it to other acts of outrage by the British Government elsewhere.
I wanted to talk about us,not poor dead George.Whatever George’s sex life,he’s dead now.So l we should leave him in peace.
Meantime.Stan was thinking about how women were always interfering in his life,correcting him and improving his grammar.Making him cups of tea when he wanted brandy and some HP sauce with his lamb chops not salad
He liked talking about bisexuality.It made him feel a sense of wonder at the differing habits and desires of humans.Why couldn’t she just go along with it or at least say something then rather than deleting his words secretly when he was off-line?Though maybe mentioning George was insensitive even though George was dead.
He was a man .He was not going to let a woman ride over him like a steam roller. Annie must learn her place in the scheme of things.
Where is that,asked his beautiful tom cat Emile.
I’m not sure but it’s not above me.It’s either the same or lower.
Can’t you forgive her.She may be in another dimension,another space altogether,another universe of discourse?[He’d been reading his Wittgenstein again]
Certainly not .No way.Stan answered,
But you love her,you said many times in here.I heard you
All the more reason to maintain some boundaries. Love is not the be all and end all of life for a man!
Next she’ll be cutting bits off me with her dressmaking shears,he cried in outrage and horror!
She’ll castrate me.She’ll turn me into a woman.
She won’t,she’s just a daft postmenopausal woman,said Emile.She wouldn’t ever harm you.she’s very gentle.you know that,don’t you?
She has invaded me,she has crossed my boundary.
Some people would be glad,mewed the cat.He was always hoping a lady cat would come by. and cross his boundaries or more correctly.he would be allowed cross hers.
Meanwhile Annie was sitting sobbing feverishly in her bedroom.She really enjoyed co-writing documents and news sheets with Stan.Now he won’t do it any more, she whispered . He was really mad with her.He must be feeling upset and aggravated beyond all human endurance.She had assumed too much and now she was paying the price as she lay on her purple duvet cover with two boxes of Kleenex for men.Even finding the Kleenex required for all her sobbing was too much for her.
She cried and sobbed loudly for a while.Her eyes were bright red and bloodshot. She was so very sad she had unwittingly distressed dear Stan.Life is so tough she thought reluctantly.I wish I were somewhere else……maybe in Heaven with George and his bisexual lovers beside all playing harps or mouth organs and whatever else the could find up there.
Still,there were those new neighbours who had just moved in across the road.Two brothers,both very handsome.I wonder if they like writing on the computer,she thought.That cheered her up a bit,though she was very fond of Stan.In fact she loved him greatly and had kissed him many times though she had never actually gone to bed with him ;never known him in the biblical sense.Was that the problem?Too late now either way,she muttered quietly to her goldfish Wayne who agreed with her analysis of the situation .
So in her mind she was moving from loving and adoring Stan to being loving towards yet puzzled by him.Was he afraid of being dominated by a woman?What would he be like as a lover?
But why try to talk about bisexuality?Could he not have thought of something else?Like female orgasms or kissing better?
There was a new book by Betty Dodson teaching frozen women how to have orgasms.Would he have enjoyed discussing female anatomy and pleasuring her naked female body and all the rest.
Well,she would never know now.That was certain.Thank God I’ve found out what he’s like before things went any further.He might be a little too dominating.Though a certain amount is necessary for the consummation of love.She was so upset her thoughts began to turn towards women.
Would it be better all round to love a woman instead?Especially as I could show her how to have an orgasm having being studying this book for some weeks?Though she may already know,I guess.Still,a change is as good as a rest, so the proverb says.
How do I find a woman who’s into other woman, as it were, she thought.Can I find one on the internet?Will there be a club we can go to? How exciting!
So Annie grew more optimistic.A woman wouldn’t mind a few words deleted from a chat either.So a feeling of mild joy came over her and her sobbing died down.
Stan was sitting in his kitchen feeling superior and dominant.Except Annie had not come for coffee so it was hard being dominant all by himself.He began to feel depressed and morose.Should he change his mind?Would he lose his window of opportunity?
Why is life so trying.Why are women so manipulative, why do they all turn out fakes and bitches,he asked Emile.Why won’t they love me as I am?
It’s partly one’s own character,Emile replied.
Hearing this Stan lost his temper and threw the kettle of boiling water at Emile.Luckily it missed but Emile stalked out and went off to the shed leaving Stan more alone than ever.
How hard life is Stan shouted. I feel like topping myself. I”ll jump off the roof. of the civic center.I’m going to ring the f*****g Samaritans.
Just then his wife Mary walked in.What’s up Stan?
Nothing dear.I just dropped a brick on my toe
Why have you got a brick in here,in the lounge?
I was playing with it.
With a brick?
Well,it has a certain cold masculinity,he replied assertively
Cold masculinity?. Shall I make some drinks? Mary asked tenderly
Yes,please,dear,very kind
Oh,look there’s Annie walking past arm in arm with a woman.
I knew George was bisexual but now I see she is also or maybe she’s turned quite gay!Were they both gay?
Well,it’s not our business,said Mary quietly.
Aha,thought Stan.That’s what you think.If only you could see inside my mind!Inside his mind though ,he was wondering if Annie would ever see him again.But I will not forgive her,I won’t.I won’t!
What he might have said more truthfully was “Can’t”
For indeed,it is hard to forgive people for trampling into one’s sacred space even if it is an accident or misjudgment not a deliberate attempt to dominate.but …….
Life is sweet and yet very hard too for all of us but forgiveness helps
He ‘d held me in his arms and said,
what I had never read,
That life is more than learned discourse.
So as he spoke, I watched his face
And his rich dark eyes;of course
His eyes gave out such natural force
More strong and subtle than the song of birds.
Yes,almost like a poet’s words
In how he moved me like no other man;
No matter how they think they can,
They lose the step and do not dance
And never ever chance
A leap when they might lift me high
Above their head. I’d want to fly.
Yes,the form and feeling give an extra note
To express those feelings more remote…..
We do not need to speak or write
We have both touch and our eye sight.
And yet our human discourse is a need
An anchor,lest the current’s speed
Should crash us down on Coniston,
And we’d be gone.
Just write it down
A verb ,a noun..
A string of sighs,our mouths,our eyes.
A paragraph that never dies,
within your finger tips and cries
For pen and paper and my wish to save
Some part of you,some heart some art
How my heart speaks 