Tag: love

The Risks of Love

The brightness of the summer light,
The songs of birds whose brood take flight,
I love to take in these earthly pleasures,
And so to fill my mind with treasures.

The conversations with my friends,
The closeness only death will end,
To share my life with those who care,
How could we have better fare?

Those who suffer pain and grief,
From whom love’s stolen by a thief,
Let us take them to our hearts,
So their healing path can start.

Those who fear friendship and love,
Who set themselves at too low worth,
Do they know how courage grows
Through acceptance of our woe

Life is tragic comedy.
Love may be the remedy.
Though if we give our hearts away
We shall have grief and pain to pay.

But if we lock our hearts up tight,
And keep all feeling out of sight,
We will wither like dead leaves,
Falling down from autumn trees.

Lehitraot”… “araka” … uvidimsya pozzhe..”auf wiedersehen”….. “a plus tard”

 

“See you later” is sometimes “Goodbye”

 
 
 
Source: Kathryn
Blackness
 
  • For all mothers or fathers who have lost their sons or daughters whether in battles of war,persecution, or other catastrophes who will never hear them say “See you later” again

 

When he went away,

He said,”Lehitraot,mama.”

Do vstrechi.

He died but I’m still here

Yes,in my heart I feel his love.

But why did I live,

And he did not?

Auf wiedersehen

Lehitraot.

Yes,darling,I’ll see you later,

When the sky turns black and all the stars blaze bright

I’ll see you shining in the night.

I’ll see you in my dreams alas.

Do vstrechi.

But why you and not me too?

Araka

I can’t understand.

Lehitraot,beloved.

A plus tard

Some where in this world,you fell

But no-one,not even God, can tell.

God was absent then or in some other place

He’s gone again.

They said He’s died too,

But He didn’t have a mother like you.

Do vstrechi.

My breasts ache and my heart and soul,

My breasts were made to make you whole.

To feed, give love and to console.

A plus tard

And now they ache with grief as my tears fall.

A bientot

My body trembles in the night

As dreams may bring my lost ones to my sight.

A plus

I’d walk across the roughest bleak terrain

If l I could find my loves and hold your hands again.

Do vstrechi.

The bell rings on the ancient clock

As time goes on as normal ,it doesn’t stop.

Araka

I wish the hands of time could be reversed,

And I was not living with this curse.

People forget that I once had a son.

They think my grieving has been done.

Araka.

But grief and loss and pain will never end

Until the curtain of my death descends

Auf wiedersehen.

Meantime I look at flowers and birds and trees,

But it’s really you my deepening insight sees.

Lehitraot.

Th inscape of my heart is shown to few,

An artist of the lost would know this view.

I know I want to see just you.

Do vstrechi.

But for me there is no

Auf wiedersehen

Never again will you say

What you said that day

Lehitraot,

Mama.

Papa

A plus tard

Tot ziens.

See you later

See you soon.

See you.

 

You

 

Wherever you may go

We are in  our boat together
Sailing across the bay.
Some have an easy voyage,
The wind is blowing their way.
I wish I could always be sailing
Across a wide ocean with you
And never reach the other side
though it may be in view.
I want to see the sunrise
Across the dappled sea.
The ripples of the water
Reveal a new world to me.
One day this boat will reach the shore
Unless destroyed by storm
And I shall have to leave your arms
Where I have been so warm.
So just before we get there
I wanted you to know
That I shall always love you
No matter where you go.

 

Let your lips meet gently,

Let your lips meet gently,
the top one resting against the lower,
touching with tenderness
 your own skin to skin.

Forefinger propped on chin,
I let the others dangle,
like leaves on a branch;
how softly gravity tugs them downwards.

Let heart beat quietly,slowly
as the blood circulates
carrying its music ,
a river,
following the path of least resistance.

How the blood vessels receive willingly this flow,
touching it kindly as with tiny open fingers,
helping and being helped.

How the hair on the head
floats
on the breeze,
like tentacles of an octopus
waving goodbye.

Top eyelid loves the lower one;
as we blink they touch
like lovers kissing swiftly
behind a tree.

and how the light comes in
we see a world.
[mine may not be yours,]
but the blink of my eyelid
sends waves through the air,
so we’re all touching and being touched,
lips kissing each other,
kiss all living creatures.

skin to skin.
air to air.

And inside us,the rich darkness
of creative night
 transforms,in turn,
these touches
into dreams

 

With your meditative heart.

 You play on a clarinet;

I play on my  cello.

Your music is poignant;

My music is mellow.

I can’t play from your music;

You can’t play from mine.

Our music must be transposed,

But will not be the same.

I have longer fingers.

You have bigger hands.

You play some from memories

which I don’t understand.

I play from my own history,

You compose your own.

You have tragic feelings,

which I have never known.

Would you play my music?

Then it must be transposed;

but we can’t transpose our feelings,

Unless we are shown

how to draw out symbols

From the dark Unknown.

I love the music that you play

and I know you do love mine.

But can we play together

with a meaningful design?

Transposing keys and feelings

Is an arduous,lengthy task;

Much easier to play falsely

and never,never ask.

I can’t share your lifetime hurts

and you cannot share mine.

Is it easier to share happiness

and in love to entwine?

Oh,play your poignant music for me

with your meditative art.

I shall listen with my ears

and listen with my heart.

And then I shall respond to you.

My instrument is here.

I am playing  quite new  music.

I feel you drawing near.

Suddenly we are moved to play

A completely new design.

I seem to feel your feelings

And I can hear that you feel mine.

Together we seem to make a work

Of torment and release.

This music is so tragic,

Yet its design has brought me peace.

Play on,play on,for now I know

I begin to understand,

without more words or gestures

than those from your curved hands

Goodbye,I say,goodbye.

 

Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
 

Standing together,
We lean forward touching foreheads lightly
Eyes closed for a moment
Tenderly we respect
The other’s boundaries.
Yet I feel your heart beating too,
As it it were me.
We lean for a few more moments like this.
Wordless.
Holding the broken places,with love.
Then we turn and walk away
Such moments last forever
In the eternity that Love creates
Foreheads touching,
Skin to skin..
Boundaries of the inner and the outer
You are another;
A real human person
Wanting nothing;wanting everything
I shall remember your smile.
You were with me once
And now we go our ways
Our own difficult journeys.

One meeting of souls
Creates its own symbol

May you be blessed
May the fire not burn you
Nor the water drown you
May the Lord keep you always near him.
May He protect your spirit.
May he give you strength always.

Two love poems

 

Source: Kathryn

Some evenings,the sky turned pink
We were happy,lying in the grass
Watching the sun set.
Arms around each other.
Seemed like eternal life had come
Earlier than forecast.
Those weathermen are always wrong!
They need new training
In that timeless moment
In between two raindrops,
In between two tears.

Source: Kathryn
 
 

As I get nearer,

I feel your warmth.

Warmth draws me in.

Beloved.

I see you here,

touch you gently ,

my hand

on your face,

your skin.

At this boundary

of the world and you.

As we touch,

I feel

the peaceful breath.

The spirit,

the wholeness of the flesh.

touching gently

we acknowledge

the Otherness,

the holiness

of life itself.

In the form of the beloved.

My love.

 

My beloved.

When my voice trembles

 

 

Source: Kathryn

S

When words no longer work

wonder

wish

want

When words won’t come

compensate

contrive

When my voice breaks

snaps

sunders

strains

When I want to talk

touch

tenderly

towards

But you are not able

about

abandoned

absent

You are no longer

listening

live

longing

When I need to find a meaning

In the shape

form

structure

But I ‘m stranded

Stuck

Sucked under

Swallowed

Then I reach out to you

I want your touch

tenderness

tranquillity

temerity

Sometimes words don’t seem enough

endless

empty

emotive

ejaculatory

Yet words can console

conjure

quilt

charm

captivate

cover.

Stretch out your hand

across the emptiness

and touch me with your fingers

friendship

faithfulness

forgiveness

frailty

fever

touch my heart with words

and I will hope

expect

await

be grateful

grave

garbed in joy

When words don’t feel enough

When all we want is touch

Or to see

sigh

sob

sing

Words can be shaped

changed

contorted

controlled

challenged

Words are all we have

To make us love

To make us live

To make us alive

To make us sing

To make us stand up

To console,words are

quite enough

 

 

 

 

Love skin,love bone

I run my fingers tentatively

down your cheek,

asking you a question

with my eyes.

looking at each other,

you touch me too.

This is my skin

my boundary.

Yours is thicker,

like rubber.

I run my fingers down your chin.

what is this little bone?

I like it.

I like your skin

I like your bones.

I like you.

you please me.

you are tasty.

I like your taste,

your skin,your eyelids.

I like your eye here,

and your other eye too.

Nice one!

I like this hair on your head.

May I touch your hair?

do you like hair?

hair makes me laugh.

I have a fondness for laughing.

I love to laugh.

I enjoy laughter

I love your laughter.

If not, smiling is good also.

Or a gleam in the eyes,

showing the inside smile,

the smiling heart.

I like your inside,

Outside

and possibly

your backside.

your upside and downside.

your side sides.

I snuggle you all around with soft wool.

I knit you into my scarf.

I’ll have to wear you round my neck now!

How unusual

How flexible.

How charming.

How alarming

How creative

How interesting.

What an idea!

what a notion

but you are too big for me to knit

So I’ll just touch your hand

with my fingers.

and you touch my hand

with your fingers.

What good hands we have

with such fingers.

fingers are for touch.

fingers are keen to touch.

I like touch.

what would we do

without fingers?

I like your skin.

skin is good

We love skin

We love.

We.

I want skin to be ours

and yours

is mine

and mine

is yours

where is the edge of the world?

skin has no end

it’s infinity

au naturel.

what order!

what design!

What wonder.

what awe.

where is the world’s skin?

tenderly we touch the world

as the world embraces us.

It’s called love.

Love.

Conjunctio

 
They lay down in awe and fear,
Of what their love was bringing near.
They gazed into each other’s eyes
And so did rhapsodize.

They lay down to gaze into
the eyes and soul and heart so true.
They gazed until,when overcome,
They were united into one.

Their souls and bodies were conjoined,
And thus their hearts were well entwined;
As honeysuckle on the walls,
In joy’s sweet arbours does grow tall.

Their loving lips and eyes and hands
Gave pause to time’s soft flowing sands;
And while they touched and gazed so long,
The birds sang out in glorious songs.

The eyes are mirrors to the soul,
and love will make us grow more whole.
Gaze lovingly on humankind..
And hold care in your mind.

Lies of love.. a sonnet

 

I wear my heart displayed upon my face.
Attentive readers find their meaning there..
Where feelings thought too deep to be embraced
Can shine demurely where they do not scare.

As Freud observed we're never quite disguised
Betrayal is our body's real motif
The message comes conspicuous from the eyes..
Bright sparkles or your tears of blackest grief.

The answer to a question seemly leaps
So Yes or No is visibly revealed.
The blush that spreads so fast across the cheeks
Both bold and shy unable to conceal.

Your face tells me you lied when Love you wrote.
Yet let us part with song as we are poets.

Only the rose

 

You know there’s that little place in the inner wrist

where it’s so soft and tender?

Where I need your touch.

Where I touch you.

Wrist to wrist,noone will notice;

But we notice,

I feel your pulse beating,

Or is it mine?

Take the rose,

Take the rose for your table.

And when you see it

Remember,

Remember everything

What we said,

What we never said but implied,

And only the rose will listen

As you sing your song

The rose will be there

In the heart’s garden

Dreaming,

Dreaming us back into being.

As we fade gently away

With evening time.

Love’s journey

Signs and symbols guide the route.
Love gives the soul her appetite.
Though the night is black and starless,
The inner guide is never careless.
The notes are struck,the tune is played,
Plain melodies are overlaid.
In this chant and benediction,
Healing comes for desolation.

Though the passage way is narrow,
This pathway is the one to follow.
Struggling through the mud and mire,
We see in darkness tongues of fire.
The sacred centre of our life
 Is never found without some strife.
Just then the dark and light combine,
To create a symbol for the mind.

Your face is map enough for Me

Your face is map enough for me

Your gaze,your smile,your frown,your glee.

And if I want to know the rest

The shape your posture’s made is best

For showing what your life is now.

A look,a gesture,all this show.

Till all you are is then disclosed

And I am in your arms enrobed.

Love vanishes when analysed,

And thinking too’ by Love’s despised

Use the means to fit the end

And then I’ll be what you intend.

Hands

Rosemary in flower

Sometimes my hands curl up,
and other times,they open.
Then I feel the air;
My fingers relax.
I touch your hand;
uncurl it and press it to mine.
Palm on palm,it’s no secret
that palms connect to hearts.
In your face I see a hint of melancholy,
I feel it in my soul..
as if there was a secret connection..
thought how,I don’t know.
Somehow,touching, we create another soul,
Neither you nor I, but we……
Touching,need to be physical..
We know how a story can affect us that way.
What a gift to know we have touched someone…
In the heart.’s. most tender space.The place of love.
Both true and false,my palm is lonely.
Then I feel the caress of summer air..
To touch is to be touched
as one soul opens to another..
Vulnerable,human,loving,
Painful and illusory,like those dreams of childhood.
Now I go,first gripping, then loosening our hands.
Goodbye,we say,Goodbye

Unknowable hearts

Source: Kathryn

When the windows shattered
And the splinters flew in
You just made for the back door
And left me
not knowing where to begin.

When the shards of glass hit me
And pierced my vulnerable skin
You were already going
Leaving me
feeling you were an inhuman being.

When I fell down covered in glass and bleeding,
And the storm raged on,
I didn’t look round because
I knew,I knew,I knew,
I knew you would be gone.
Gone.

Suddenly peace came,storm had quite
disappeared..
It was all over so quickly
Not as terrible as I feared.

My wounds were bad,I have to confess.
I had no bandage
Nothing with which to dress.
With an old towel I cleaned my blood
Then I lay me down
Just to have a rest.

Since that day,no storms come this way.
My wounds are healing
I have just one thing to say.
When the storm was so bad
You left me all alone…
but strangely since then
all is peace and calm.
Your absence has become
almost a balm.

But I hear stories of fierce storms rising up
In towns and villages
Not too far from here,where a strange man appears.

Seems like he’s running to get away
From some storm
But the storm’s inside him…
He gives it form.

So when the windows crashed in
And glass flew at my face
He left me all alone
In what, he thought,
was a very dangerous place.

Did he not pick me up
and carry me outside?
No,my daughter, he left me alone;
I might have died.

But since then
I lost a great burden…
And I lost a great feeling of shame.

Rise up,you women,bleeding and torn.
For on days like that,a new resolve is born.
While you live don’t accept all the blame.
Don’t live so long as I did,in fear and in shame.
Rise up and find that calm
In the eye of the storm…
On days like this
a new woman is born.

Sometimes Love

Autumn

London in autumn
London in autumn
Abstract blue
Joy in life

Sometimes sun  shines in September

Sometimes sky is brilliant blue

Sometimes sun shines in September,

Sometimes I remember you.

Sometimes love comes in September,

Sometimes there’s this final chance.

Sometimes love comes, so remember

Such affairs are happenstance.

Sometimes love comes down in sunshine.

Sometimes love comes down in rain

Sometimes love comes in September.

Sometimes love pains us again.


At the Fair with mi Dad

To  my readers:

I use language here in the form common in the past in a working class mill town in the North of England . We always referred to people as our Mam,our John  or mi Mam,mi Dad.

Sky diving

I rode on a horse on the Merry- Go- Round at the New Year Fair,

And every time I came around,our Dad were stood right there.

The horses they went up and down,as we whirled around.

To me,so small, they seemed so high, way up above the ground.

You knew I loved those colourful horses standing up right tall;

So you let me ride on one,though Mam thunk me far too small.

I shall never lose the happiness,riding with a view..

But far more than I loved those horses, Dad, you know that I loved you.

I wish I were a child again and you were with us today.

I think we’d recognize your voice,and be eager for what you’d say.

Why did God take you off,it seemed to be so wrong.?

But thanks,our Dad,for the Merry- Go- Round,and thanks for all your songs.

I think that life’s like a Merry -Go- Round that we are turning on.

And every time it whirls right round.someone else has gone.

We don’t know how long we’ll ride here so merry,and so gay.

So enjoy the Revolution now,and say what you really should say.

The world may be a Merry Go Round and we are nothing but fools

We had so much bounty and yet we break life’s rules.

We strong ones steal and injure as we pass this way,

Will we ever realise…. it’s a serious game that we play?

Thanks our Dad, for the memory and thanks for all your songs.

Now my heart grows weary so I shan’t linger long

I tried to use my talents, like the Bible said.

I trust sweet God to judge me well,when in human terms I’m dead.

Blue hills
Blue hills

Note:I must have been three when this happened.Dad was keen on Fairs and Pantomimes

The museum of my heart

A poem about love,loss and memory.The title came into my mind like a shy animal from a forest.Then I had to construct the poem

I’ve got just one letter
written in your hand.
One small letter.
I understand,
One is as infinity
compared to having nought.
I’ll keep this letter
In the museum of my heart.
I’ve only got one photograph
and that is very old
but to me this photograph
is more valuable than gold.
Time has hastened by.
Is it now too late?
But may there be a second chance?
Let’s not accept love’s fate.
No matter how we falter,
No matter how we fail,
We can still forgive ourselves,
and rewrite this sad tale.
One more loving letter,
One more loving smile,
That will be sufficient
To rebirth a love grown frail.
For once this love was stronger;
Once this love was true;
Accept this invitation
To recreate our love anew.

In memoriam

I look up our small street,
To see if you are coming.
I don’t know what time it is,
But I think I hear you humming.

You sang sweet songs for us,
And you could whistle well .
You wore an old tweed jacket
You loved us,I could tell.

I look out there each day,
But I can’t see your tall, thin shape.
I saved your Woodbine packet,
It made me feel some hope.

What does death’s door mean?
Where has Daddy gone?
When will be the welcome day,
When we hear his songs again?

I’ll sing like him all day,
I’ll dream of him all night.
I hope he won’t be angry,
If his cigarettes won’t light!

He can’t write his own songs now.
He went too far away , too soon.
I’ll write down what I think he sang,
And I’ll invent the tune.

I hear him singing now,
He dwells inside my heart.
And though I still can’t see his face,
I recognise his Art.

The promised land

England’s green and pleasant Land

England's green and pleasant Land [from Jerusalem,by William Blake]

Note: This was a surprise to me when I was writing the last part .I will try to explain.At first I started off wanting to write a poem about nature,And evening falling as the sun set.However something else seemed to take over for the last few verses.I was especially surprised by the end….”.at last we have reached the promised land”

That is the best thing about writing poetry,that it can surprise the writer as much as if it were written by someone else.Also it is very absorbing so that the time seems to very quickly.Sometimes a serious poem has turned into a funny one and I laugh out loud.So it saves having to buy funny books….I can amuse myself.Writing  is even better than reading.

Just think of anything at all for the first line,then make a second line,then all of a sudden …you are off.Some days are better than others and you need an hour or two to do it.Or come  backto it later to edit it and knock into shape.It is a bit like sculpture,I imagine.

Joy sings out loud in golden light

Yet after day comes black of night.

New moon is rising by gray trees

This earth is where I want to be.

I want the day,I want the night

I want the darkI want the light.

I want to see and to be seen,

And not to lose myself in dreams.

The sun has set ,gray clouds turn black,

The day just gone will not come back.

I’ll rest in quiet reverie

Until the Reapers’s scythe takes me.

And then I drop and mix with dust,

And worms and beetles sate their lust.

I fall into ten thousand motes

And in sunlight ,dance music’s notes.

No more striving.no more ambition,

No more fighting,nor competition.

Every particle’s the same,

Without even a personal name.

And side by side,we all are one.

The lusts of life have been and gone.

We dwell with dirt and grain and sand

At last we’ve reached the Promised Land,

Leave again;leave better.Why not become a better leaver?

.

 

since i lost you i have lost
the keys to my heart
the front door key
my mobile
and my money

now all i have is a large tube of ibuprofen gel max strength
and some feathers from the tail of a baby wood pigeon
that flew into our house when i left the back door open

maybe i need better boundaries
closed doors
and windows

the wood pigeon was so strong its agitation rocked the front door like a thundergod
like you,it did not realise
there are easier ways to leave
than smashing through glass
leaving shards to pierce my heart
not to mention my feet

become a better leaver
have mercy on those other lovers
for charm wears thin but courtesy is everlasting
like love itself

B

The skylark

Freed from her trap
Bird soared into air,and hovered
And floated, resting;
And flew higher, singing as she flew,
And higher again,
Till there was only her song,
Left in the silence,
Trembling.

Up on the wide,stump topped hill,
I felt the lark inside my heart
And heard her singing.
And flying up with her,
I saw gold sun and silver moon,
Moors of heather ,and sheep grazing
Green hills,
And shimmering lakes,
Clouds ,sun and sky in watery mirrors.
And sang ,and dipped,and dropped,
And curled
Up the blue
Bright heaven, and rested
On the wind.
All that day
I was a lark singing.

I shall always have a vision of
A bird
That flew upwards,
Rejoicing and free
Into a deep blue sky, and high
And higher
Beyond high
Into a place, beyond eye even,
But music still sending.

I wish I were back on that heathery moor,
With the nibbling sheep and the bees sweetly humming,
Hearing again
The poignant song
Of the skylark,
A prisoner,freed by a magician,
From her trap,
So happy to be free,
So wonderful to see.
Do it again,
For me,

Silence and music

trees swirl

I didn’t hear you coming,
then you were by my side.
Happiness fills me.
Standing in the garden
looking at red leaves,
I hold your hand gently,
and share the sweetness
of these green leaves,
the distant doves cooing,
the sun dipping to the horizon.
Life is good.
We hear together
the music
of this silence

My heart flakes

Image

He’s writing the definititive book on sin.
Do people want to hear anymore about sin?
Any more? I’ve heard very little recently.The Word has vanished!
You read the wrong newspaper.
Can a newspaper be wrong in itself,intrinsically wrong?
Can a newspsper be a Sin?
Well,there’s one called the Sun!
Why don’t they just call it The Big Sin and have done with it?
You should write to Rupert.
Who’s Rupert?
You know him,Murdoch!
Now Iris Murdoch,she was a right one.
Well,she certainly wrote a few!
A few too many,in my view.
Too many for whom?
My,you talk posh don’t you?
Should it be,you talk poshly?
Me!I’m as common as ,as ,as as,aas,……….muck!
Do stop,you’ll fall down a crack in the pavement soon and then where will you be?
I’ll be in Australia with Rupert!
Suppose you came out in New Zealand?

Image
Well,it would be a change.I’m tired of England.
You never mentioned it before.
I didn’t want to upset you.
Well,I’m not so keen myself.
You sound like a knife!
Do you mean,a wife?
No, a knife…with a blade.
Yes, it does look well made.
Shall we buy one?
But do we really need it?
Do we really need anything?
Get a move on,you’re not at college now you know.
Who’re you?
My name is Wisdom.
I’m so sorry.
Why are you sorry?

Image

It’s hard to be called Wisdom when you are a complete idiot.
Well,better a complete idiot than a sharp tongued wasp!
Do you mind!
Not at all.Better an idiot than a mutton dressed as lamb.
Are you a vegetarian?
I do eat the odd vegetables.
And who eats the even ones?
They all go to the supermarket.
So that’s how it works.You are so clever.
Well,I’m an economist.
I believe in economy for all.
I prefer comics myself.
No,they are called graphic novels now.
A bit like those Rupert books we had as children.
I wish Rupert Murdoch was called something else.
I’m sure he will be in tomorrow’s papers.
I mean,it defiles the memory of Rupert the teddy bear.
I learned to read from those.
A pity.
Why?
If you couldn’t read,think of all the other things you could do.
Like writing?
If you coudn’t read ,it would seem to follow that you couldn’t write.
Yet there are people who can read but not write?
Yes,it’s all to do with Venn diagrams and symmetry.
Venn is a weird name.
Yes,pity he wasn’t called Diagram.
I thought he was called,Venn Diagram.
All I know is that diaphragms were a form of birth control.
I was puzzled by that because we all have diaphragms, yet some of us have no control of any kind.
If your diaphragm doesn’t move you can’t breathe so you can’t procreate.
No,you’d be dead!
A very strange form of birth control.
Maybe you just faint and you husband can have his way with you.
But would you want sex with someone unconscious?
It’s another case of a-symmetry.. a man can have relations with a faint woman but if the man faints that’s the end of it.
How about carrots?
What for?
Can they faint?
No,but they make a nice flan.
Fancy that!
I do fancy it actually.
What is it?
It’s a big carrot!
How superb.It seems a shame to eat it.
Well, would like to worship it?
Not today.
Well,it won’t last forever.
In that case I’ll stick with God:
I’ll stick with Thee
Fast falls the chill of night
Semd me an angel,I need something bright.
I have no fear,with Thee I’ll be alright.
Why not give in and have electric lights.
You are very odd.
Well,it makes a change…
Not with you,you’ve always been odd.
So,in a way I’m not odd.
You are right!
Odd. is’t it?
And yet even simultaneously.
It seems almost like quantum theory.
Those were the days.
From Schoenberg to Schrodinger: cats for all.
Enberg to Dinger.
You could call the cat Dinger.
What a good idea.

TRUE LOVE ..Advice for young women

Cathedral

 

 

I love men ,but not the toffs,

Nor the ones with smokers coughs.

I would like an artist most

Especially if he loves buttered toast.

 

I love men,do men love me?

There’s only one sure way to see.

Do your best to put them off,

Wear flat shoes and never laugh.

 

Study Wittgenstein and Kant.

Study all that’s difficult.

Parse Quantum Theory as a hobby.

Learn long words from the dictionary.

 

Dance with Riemann,flirt with Joyce.

Read Ullyses in you Rolls Royce.

Enjoy some chess and trigonometry.

Weigh down your mind with Solid Geometry.

 

Look around and see who’s left.

That’s the one who loves you best.

Once you have married and set up home,

You can free your mind to roam.

 

Throw away your library,

Let your senses all run free.

Wear bright clothes and have some fun.

Your adult life has just begun.

I’ll be loving a ewe,always.

Irony is tyranny to the simple

Where did you roam?

Bechstein,Einstein,Feinstein a Lifetime of,too many rhymes. drove me crazy

I caught schizophrenia from the Government helpline.I was on it for 7 hours.Then I went totally off it.and fell into many disconnected pieces.I am a jigsaw waiting for the Lord.

A pattern a day keeps the typewriters away.

I hear voices under my bed.Are they bugs?

Someone  strong is watching  over me to make sure my paranoia doesn’t get better..

Does paranoia annoy you?

Annoy me and forever be a four letter turd.

I’ll be loving a ewe,always.

I’ll take you to Rome again,in your dreams.

I caught a cold in the shopping center but I could not arrest it..