We must love each other

There’s many a true word spoken but not heard.4% -p+ = 0
Many a lover is fairly 8|adgtyn& affeared
We must love one more than we have time and
If poetry needs to %^SW£I7^£( rhyme.
We must abandon ourselves to Divine Providence £$%
If we hope for God to take up residence.
All that bitterness,still untold and inrolled
makes pleats in my mind which I cannot unfold.
Did the cooks really boil with wrath
or maybe toil up the path?>:-(
We will never know Hell until it’s too late
To affect our own fate.>:XX
If you ate my photo:no:
Why not make a baked potato=>
You have enought fires
And liars.
What do you expect?
Respect?U-(
Perspect
ives?
Je no sais zwroufj!7^& and sod off algebra to you too
Topology… that’s no longer new.A crying Zion…lion.
Judah,excuse her.
him,me confuse,lose and muse.
a clever 8,9 ruse:!::?::.
Keep me in mind
I am not blind.
Poet House Blues…
Is it still news?”%Hdye9&
Not in my views…
Whatever you peruse
makes my lights fuse.:-/:.
Thank youse
all is misbegotten and then forgotten.
In Llangolen.>:(:oops:
Hoseshoes pass in the night
If you have seconds of sight.Amen%
I got fifteen O levels grade A
What does that say?:|>:XX
mc^%*x£” a” e=mc squared
So I once heard.
Einstein
Bechstein.
Which is more piano?
Diana.
She was killed in a tunnel…
A road incident
A pure coincidence.

Deserts of the heart

She walks in a bleak landscape of monotone colours.
Great with ith child,she crosses this rough terrain
without a Joseph to protect or a donkey to carry her.
no inn nor stable is here.No cattle nor sheep
nothing alive.No man nor animal; No mother
Now she feels her labour pains coming;
Lies down amongst the rocks to wait
Here is an anonymous,faceless figure.
Pronounces himself a doctor.
She labours; he picks up her son.No Messiah nor Oedipus;
Without speaking,he conveys to her,this child has died.
Not ever held in the arms of hie mother
Nor father either.
He’s tossed, light as a few feathers,
light as a bird
onto a pile of bodies nearby.
Whose unwanted children are these:?
Still lying flat she observes her child
one of many there.
Days pass and strength returns.
Stands now and walks over to say,Farewell.
The child opens his eyes
Mother,they say..
Holds him and presses him into herself for warmth…
Which way to go and when?
No signs, no maps…
Is there a right way?
Is there a guide?
Why was she journeying this way?
She remembers nothing
She has lost almost everything .
She steps forward..and walks on.
What other choice is there?
Action,walking,moving away.
Out of this desolate place of nothingness

On falling down a full stop at the end of a sentence

Blind sight scattered my wits
Like whitened bones
Across the deserts of my mind.
I descended into blackness.
Love shrank into the tame cat
By the fire,unacknowledged hate
Grew to fill the room.
I stared too much,
A full stop grew gigantic
Crowded out
All the words in the sentence
I saw nothing but this dot
Now a gigantic black hole
Into which I was dragged.
An energy coming from within my own head
Sucked me into the black hole.
That place was the wrong sort of darkness.
Within that full stop,
Love Fundamental became invisible.
Disappeared into the dark.
I dragged my eyes away
And saw the moon appear ,so eery,
It shone,grey silver.
If I had opened my eyes wider
I would not now lament
What I destroyed in the wormhole
Of the black dot that drew my eye
Into a tunnel of darkness
It blinded me to the light
Did not let me read the sentences
Beside the full stop.
An error of focus left hate
Unacknowledged,unmitigated unredeemed,
Kept from love or goodness
Afraid to spoil my love with hate,
The fear of hate became
That which spoiled all else else,
By freezing Love itself

What about this!

Poppies
 
 
 
Emile the cat of Stan
Emile the cat of Stan

 

Stan’s new adventure in the bin with his mistress

[ please  ignore the links.I shall remove them when my arthritic hand is better}

Stan was in his front garden polishing the wheelie bins with lavender polish
He was not very happy as the garden was only 10 feet by 12. so the huge wheelie bins ruined it.When he got to the third one the lid popped open and out jumped his next door neighbour “Adulterous Annie”.
Hello,Stan” she whispered.”Where’s Mary now ?”
“Why?”Stan muttered into the back of her neck which he licked as he like her salty taste.
“I was thinking,these bins are so big,we could both get inside one.It would make a change1!”.”What a strange idea” he replied philosophically.however age was no bstacle where love was involved. if you catch my drift.
Soon Stan and Anne were in the big green recycling bin.Stan being 81 had shrunk somewhat so he took up less space than Annie did.He allowed her to kiss his left eyelid.What a lovely feeling.
Alas, all too soon,as they say, they heard Mary’s bicycle bell.She was getting faster amd faster.As she wheeled her bike up the 30 yard long front path to the porch she heard murmurings and mutters,
She lifted up the green plastic lid and saw the two lovers covered in cuttings from the privet hedge.
“What the bleedin’hell are you doing in there?”she shouted mellifluously.
Well,it’s hard to explain,……………but Stan was wondering about a green funeral” Anne said mischievously.
“Funeral ,my hat!” Mary said coldly.”Get out at once”
“Don’t speak to me like that” Stan beseeched her brazenly.
“Well,it’s a shock to find your husband in the bin with another woman!”
“Wouldn’t it be more of a shock if he was in the bin with a man,or even a sheep?”
“Schmann or Schwommann,sheep,,it’s immaterial.
“Hurry,get out,quickly before the school exit time.what will all the mums think as they go by?”
But poor Stan could not get out,He was stuck.Oh,my!what an odd phrase.
“Have you got your mobile on you?” “Yes,it’s here in my bag.
“You’d better call 999” “What a brilliant idea!”
Soon Dave the paramedic arrived.
Mary showed him Stan’s situation.
Ever resourceful ,Dave was not bothered though the NHS budget might be getting cut.
He tied some rope round Stan’s waist and between the three of them and Emile the cat and his friend Elizabeth, they managed to haul him out.
Annie stood weeping with shame.Her silvery blue eyeshadow was beginning to run mixed with tears and black water soluble mascara from Chanel of Paris and London. Her new coral lipstick from Clinique was not as non-allergenic as she hope.Never mind,it gave her lips that bee stung look that many men admire.It reminded Stan of his boyhood days playing near High Force Waterfalls in upper Teesdale….Teesdale ,still an undiscovered and undervalued part of England,Contact the English Touring Board for more information. Holiday Loans available from Thwaites of Stockton and Darlington at only 1% interest.
Mary gave Annie a large Kleenex tissue,”Come indoors,honey, and I’ll make you some Ceylon tea.It’s been the most thrilling event of my entire life and I’ve photographed you with my new Nokia camera phone [Prices available on request from The Catphone Warehouse,Teesside,Northern England,comes in pink and pink and…pink?How I love pink!]
I’m going to send some to the local paper.
Stan staggered upstairs covered in bits of privet ,lettuce and cabbage hearts, and carrot tops,not to mention a few dozen banana skind and a few potato peelimgs
What an afternoon.[Please contact the society for the care and protection of vegetables if you wish to make a complaint about this story.}
“That’s the last time I climb into a wheelie bin”,he thought
“Next time we’ll use the cardboard

You slipped away

 

Image
When you are far,
so
far
away,
The longest night,
The shortest winter day,
will be places where
I
might die.
The heart's interior
no-one else
Can view.
When you are lost,
I cannot find
your face...
Its outline on the pillows,
My fingers shaped to trace...
The new design,
the stellar rhyme,
Where have you gone?
You slipped from out my arms.
You slipped away.
Was night or day
Ever cut by such a narrow line?
In your embrace I lay.
You seemed so strong.
Yet,sighing, took the path away.
I can't see where
Is
it
night?
Or is it
day..?
I tried to write
to bring white light,
It's dark, and still.
I long for you to come.
Oh,will we ever quite
Find out our way?
Or is that pure illusion?
As we stagger through
the wandering furrows
in the fields
They shoot us down.
What is this confusion?
The war goes on
The world goes round
The mirror gapes at each new clown.
But in a crack, a seed may grow..
I can't see you,
But yet,it's so.

Some poems have feet.[The new exercise.]

 

 

Image

 

Allium 2013

Limericks are good for the liver
Whilst love poems can set hearts a quiver.
Sonnets are neat
Some poems have feet.
But if they go hence– then whither?

Writing is good for our brains
Though sitting still may give us chilblains;
Put your desk on some wheels
So your blood won’t congeal.
If your friends ask you why,don’t explain!

Secrets are bad for the soul;
Sharing seems to make people whole.
But we need privacy too
From this human zoo.
A balance of both is my goal.

My fantasy life and other illuminations

Photo1780
Clutching my whimsical cat shopping bag I set off an some “urgent,voluntary errand” I nearly missed the bus but the kind driver waited.How sad when running is not possible.In the window of a store I see a tempting sight. A bed!
Photo1773
Would they pay me to go in and test it?Maybe not!Photo1751
I’m in disguise today hoping to evade my lovers whom I do not wish to see today.None of them live here,thank God.If God didn’t want me to have fun,why did he give me big blue eyes?Well,I can’t see  too goodl so they must be for decoration.
Photo1762_001
Oh,vanity thy name is woman.
What a lot of men’s shops here.Will any men buy a new wardrobe in this weather and in the recession?One or two I guess.Those bankers maybePhoto1769
I have never taken any of my lovers to this pub by the market even though it has been done up in a fancy style.
But I may send them here to buy some potatoes and other heavy items.Or I let them eat cake.I am very kindhearted.
Every woman needs three lovers.One in bed,one in the market and the other in the bath… or the washing machine!
And a fourth to make tea.That’s my excuse anyway.
Photo1776Photo1774
I insist on a well dressed appearance for all my lovers even if they go bankrupt in the process.They have to show their bodies off.Why else would one have them walking along,except to look good and carry the shopping in their laptop case.I can’t dirty my bag with vegetables.
Men,don’t you just love them? Well,come on,sometimes!
Don’t be shy… we love them.Except when we are feeling gay.Which may happen eventually when all the men are dead.
Crap,don’t you just love it.And I’m paid £100,000 a year to write this.You know it makes sense.Well, to me it does
What is sense,anyway?It’s what I say it is.So go away and solve a differential equation then decide if we need affirmative affection here and now.Photo1781

Or just some whimsical shopping bags,

Blood,ink and tears

Image

I used to write limericks at night

My nightgown was a very strange sight

With the ink from my pen

And the nosebleed that ran

It’s no longer so pristine and white.

 

This nightdress is a  metaphor for life.

Blood,ink and tears from the strife.

So I shall stop plying my pen

I regret I began

I am unwilling to pay   such a price

God’s frozen people eat cake

Stan was standing on his patio with a stiff broom in his hand.He might as well take advantage of the sun whilst it was out.he had  thought.Suddenly a big cloud of black dust fell on him  from the roof tops covering his clean white shirt and beige cotton trousers with  millions of black specks.
Will I need to wash my clothes,he wondered out loud.A  man on the roof of the house next door peered down at him
“Sorry,mate” he cried.”I meant it to go the other way.”
His neighbor Annie was having a loft conversion with an extra bedroom and bathroom.Stan wondered why as she lived alone.Was she going to take in lodgers now the Government was making people homeless.She is so kindhearted  she’d do all she could to help others and herself.Just like Jesus told us
Annie appeared at the gate in the fence.
“Quick ,quick come into my house” she said wildly but  politically correctly.
“I can wash your clothes and dry them before Mary gets home. o nher small wheeled second hand Raleigh tricycle”
“How about ironing them?” Stan replied suavely.
“We’ll leave that till later.”
Stan followed her into her kitchen and took off his shirt and trousers.Just then the doorbell rang.It was the Vicar.Annie was converting to Anglicanism as she loved Anne Boleyn.
“Hello,Vicar,” called Stan warmly.The Vicar opened the kitchen door.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Now,keep quiet and don’t swear” said Annie.”You said God is love.”
“Not this kind of love!”
“How do you know?We are made in God’s image.And as a matter of tact I should say Stan is only here to have his clothes washed.”
“Don’t people usually wash their clothes at home?” the vicar asked plaintively.
He looked at Stan’s underwear.
Your vest looks good quality.” he murmured,feeling it with his thumb and forefinger.”Where did your wife buy it? You are married.She’s a Catholic too I believe”
Just then the doorbell rang again.Annie opened the door and saw a  large group of Jehova’s Witnesses.
They saw Stan and the Vicar in the kitchen.
“What kind of home is this?” one shouted.
“Well,Jesus came to save sinners so we are sinning as fast as we can” Stan shouted ironically.
“I don’t see anything wrong with examining my parishioners’ underwear,”the vicar said provocatively.
“Does God wash it whiter than Persil?” asked a lady  witness in a purple coat with a teal handbag from River Island.
“Really,this is very annoying,”Stan called.”I feel so cold.”
“Well,maybe that will teach you not to strip off in a lady’s house especially if the Vicar is here!” they retorted.
“I was all black and dirty so Annie offered to cleanse me”
“Only Jesus can cleanse your soul and you can’t buy his love in the Supermarket” said a small,pale man who was standing by the door.
“So God is not part of the Free Market,” queried Stan.
“Not yet,”said the Vicar in a worried manner.”I hope Milton Friedman is not  coming here.”
“Why don’t we all sit down and have a nice cup of tea?”
They obeyed like children at school while Stan in his pure white underwear made a pot full of strong Tetley’s tea.Annie handed round some home made iced marmalade cake and some almond biscuits.
“No wonder you have a lover,”said the vicar.”I’d commit a sin with you just to eat your home made cake.”
“Actually Stan made it,”Annie responded her dark and singularly blue eyes staring like lasers at his red face.
“I see.” he whispered nervously.Just then the little cat Emile came in through the window.
“Who are all these weird people?”he miaowed humorously,his whiskers waving like grass on the prairie in a hurricane.
Stan answered,”Well I am one of God’s frozen people.These others are all following me on Facebook.”
“I didn’t know you were on Facebook!”
Well,I have just begun.I want to link all God’s people.So far we have his frozen people and I hope to have some of his Chosen People too.Later on I expect his dozing people will wake up and join in.And no doubt his nosy people are already peeking in the window”
Stan said gently.
“I only went outside to do a bit of sweeping and cleaning and here I am entertaining the observant religious folk of North Knittingham with my cakes and biscuits clad only in my underwear.Am I dreaming?
What next?I should have gone to the library
The future is mystical

Lend me your scent

 

Deodorants R us

Stan was looking out of his bay window at the old rowan tree. in front of their lovely house in a quiet tree lined avenue in Knittingham,U.K..After some very intense sunshine in August,its leaves had withered and he thought it might be dead.He had his microfibre cloth but was not even pretending to clean the window…. one of his duties in the home..he preferred cooking.
He was thinking pensively because his wife Mary had told him he ought to be wearing an antiperspirant when they had a few words the night before.
“But I’m 105,” he cried.”Surely,I don’t need an antiperspirant now?”
“Don’t exaggerate,”Mary replied,”You are only 75.Do you need Cognitive Age Truth Therapy as well?”
“.Don’t be so rude; do I smell nasty,?” he asked her angrily,ignoring the faint hint he was exaggerating about his age.
“Well,it says in the Telegraph that all the Top Men now wear deodorants.”
“Good grief, what made you read the Telegraph,that extremely right wing apology for a newspaper?And I should say the present government certainly need strong deodorants.I have a good wash every day and a bath once in a blue moon…I am clean enough for my mistress!”

Annie his mistress lived right next door to the surprise of all who thought they knew them well.How can we ever know any other people well?
“Well,I am taking you to Boot’s tomorrow to find one for you”
“How dare you order me about like this.Even if I wanted to wear a deodorant I wouldn’t tolerate being spoken to like that.~I am an adult man and I smell the same as always ;why don’t you buy me a new sponge and some decent soap in Sainsburys instead of this lavender or rose rubbish.”
Mary began to sob quietly
“What’s wrong,my little jacket potato.” he asked her gently in the language of the North British.
“Well,maybe it’s my therapy…I have been recollecting memories of girls teasing me because we had only a tin bath in our house and no bathroom.It was cold going to the lavatory down the backyard as well,especially when I got dysmenorhea………….otherwise known as period pains, when I might be there half an hour.
So I guess I thought I might smell nasty.I am reliving the pain and anguish and as a defense I am projecting my fear onto you,That’s maybe why I was so rude to you.”
“Eeh,by gum,she’s swallowed the Dictionary of Psychoanalysis not to mention the Encarta too”thought Emile their smiling tom cat.”Does she like the Oxford Dictionary?”
“Well,you do smell.Like honey… you smell just the way I like a woman to smell…Natural”
“How would you describe it,my sweet onion pie?”
“Like a cat on heat ,my honeybum” he answered tenderly yet manfully with his Freudian slip sticking out a mile.
“But surely you have never had intercourse with a cat?” she queried nervously yet longingly.
“No,not sexual intercourse, but I have slept with many female cats and I know well their varying smells,their mews and their claws.”
“Just like me” whispered Emile,” and I like how women smell too.I like perfume..especially Poison and Chanel Nr5″
“So I shall come to Boots with you and I shall buy you some perfume.Then we can have coffee and cake somewhere for a real treat.” Stan told Mary assertively.She kissed his fair white cheek.. now a little red from the sun.He kissed her right ear as it seemed the only part near enough.
“I like coffee and cake,”purred Emile,”And I want a deodorant and some cologne. and a few other things”
“I think I could put you in my handbag “,said Mary kindly….which would be a pleasant change for Emile.They often left him alone in the house though he could drop into Annie’s at any time…and watch her tidying her make up box out or having a bath with lots of foam.Emile adored her,She even had a cat flap put in just for him.
So soon they will be on their way into town in their best clothes.Will Emile sit on a chair or will he stand on Stan’s knee.Wait patiently…. he might break his saucer.
The future is fiction

Let your lips meet tenderly,gently

Image

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 meetings
into dreams.

Peering through the railings

ImageI can see your face
peering through the railings.
You feel a stranger,not one of us;
yet you are drawn to want to join in.
You’re standing on the outside of the circle.
Won’t you come inside dear?
We all want you to come.
there’s no regulations to prevent it;
just that ache in your heart
and a wondering inside you.
Is it worth the risk…
Shall I go or shall I stay?
Someone needs to pull you in…
Here’s my hand reaching out to you.
I want you because I like your face..
I like your eyes and the expression you have.
~I saw you smile once.
Come on, come on inside… you can play too.
None of us are that good or that bad.
We’re just ordinary people.
That’s the best way to be…
Neither too stuck up nor too modest and meek…
Somewhere in the middle….
Come o n,do cross the line and join in….
Be my partner for the dance
For we shan’t be here for ever…
So get your shoes and coat…
The sun is up and it’s a free day…
Come on,don’t delay..

Pray as you glow

I enjoy making up these silly sentences so forgive me and pass on if they annoy you.My poetry may be better.I find some of this nonsense gives me ideas….. like moral sex,for example

.Splash
I passed for gray until I had a bath.Now I’m black.Dust is white you see.
Most English people used to be beige but soon they’ll all be peach.Life is not a bed of roses
Please pass me on to a good home when you have unwrapped  me and toilet trained me
Pass me your pluck and guts and I’ll be alright then
They passed the cat round after Mass.All were scratched equally for Jesus
They threw my hat at the double bass,.Who are they?
I pass as with it,despite my trying colors
I always took the path of most persistence;now look at me.I’m a worm in human form
Water takes the path of least resistance and see how it floods like  pent up rage
Pray as you go with your woe and I’ll hold you with my calm connectivity
He pays lip service to me every night.Is it moral sex?
Can you pay the grim reaper for me?I left some money on the table
He play tunes through his nose and his ears sing too
He says he’s fuming and morose
Playback is a bewitching on my new radio
I grew long curls before I rhymed.It took a year.So forgive me my emphasis and my parentheses.Amen
They are like faint pleas to God that I send out in waves.I suppose he’s both far and near.
Peel all the onions to make the sinners leap/weep/keep right on till the end of the code of morals
I’ll gently wheel you to the Inn so you must smile now and then.
A penny is less then we thought.Still it’s better than nothing
A pinny is an apron.I still wear one

Criticise me if you must

Image

I once fell in love with a wasp.
Criticise me,if you must.
Yet his sting was so sharp
My mind become warped.
So then I ran off with an asp

Now bees are much better choice.
They hum with such a beautiful noise.
They dip into flowers,
In summer’s fine hours.
And let you speak with your own unique voice

Though finding a true voice is hard.
Ny soul is quite pitted and scarred.
At last I discover
Some other lover
from today bastard words are debarred

Wonder what to wear

Image

While leopards crashed my blog by night

The maypole hit the ground

The Virgin Mary smiled again

I wonder what she found.

My analyst has made me pay

For my own transference.

And just to counter this,I say,

Please  give me some sense.

My psyche split into ten parts

I am a puzzled jig.

I once was Jewish and  they know

I had a thousand wigs.

I like Heinz Kohut,he was  kind

He cured my misery.

And now I only have the same

As everyone I see..

Self analysis fails to work

For we need human care.

I had  beef sausage for my tea

I  wondered what they were.

You can’t judge a book by its lovers.

DSCF0471

Why call someone on the carpet? Use your mobile for crying out loud!Or buy a flying carpet.

We call the shots little pricks at the surgery….so it won’t frighten anyone but now we are being taken to court for obscenity.All I can say is “To the pure all things are pure.”

I have a can of worms open.Would you like to eat those or I have just mowed the lawn and caught three toads.Swallow them whole.You love toad in the hole but were they real toads once….not much flesh on them but if you had ten it might suffice

Sufficient to the day is the evil thereon

Why does nobody eat slugs?

Why do men need a slug of whiskey or brandy sometimes?

Would a slug melt if you fried it?

Did you know slugs have a very long session for mating.It takes hours so they must be highly intelligent even with little brains and they don’t smoke either like men sometimes do in bed.Then they blame the woman!
You set me alight, he moaned in ecstasy
No,it was those matches in the box.
And I can just hear myself say that.Always the truth as I see it however romantic the moment.It’s probably a kind of schizophrenia or uncertainty about what is real

To thine own selves be true.The more selves the tougher it is.I am worn to a shred.I could be sewn into a patchwork quilt

Get me out of here fast.I am incensed by fatigue.

I can’t hold a candle in bed as it might go out, then I’d drop my cigarette and the house would be at risk of total combustion..I need a lamp.What do you mean,don’t smoke in bed?There’s nowhere else I can smoke nowadays and what else can I do in bed?Don’t answer that one.I am not going there on my own.

You can’t judge a book by its lovers…. but why not? You can judge anything that way.I love parsnips.!

She’s always egging him on and rolling him in breadcrumbs.Does that mean anything to you?

Blood the story : for children

DSCF0451

Blood, blood,wonderful blood..
It’s needed by all who are not made of wood.
Blood  runs throughout us in arteries and veins.
It may feel quite pleasant  when it feeds our
forebrains.

Blood,blood sing it again.
Blood for all women and blood for all men.
I’d like to see it on some kind of scan…
As it runs down  to my feet and back  up to my brain.

Even when we are  all asleep in the night
Our blood is still working to keep us alive.
Let us be merry and drink plenty of tea.
Then we won’t run out of  the water for wee.

For  the kidneys are filters which take out the dross
And it flows down to the bladder till out it gets passed
So the kidneys are partners with our own life blood.
Isn’t that clever and isn’t life good?

“It was as though I wasn’t there”: the problem of the invisible patient

A really interesting piece

Illusions of Autonomy

The CQC has published the results of its 2012 national in-patient survey. Some aspects of it were picked up by the Independent newspaper on 16th April 2013. One of the observations in the ‘Doctors and Nurses’ section is that:

There have been improvements in the results for questions asking about doctors and nurses, with the majority of respondents saying that:

Doctors (75%, up from 73% in 2011) and nurses (81%, up from 78% in 2011) did not talk in front of them as if they were not there.

What is the explanation for the other 25% who feel that their doctors did talk as though the patient wasn’t there?

1) The doctors thought the patient was not listening, or not able to comprehend what was being said…but they were wrong.

The only way to avoid this would be never to speak to a third party (usually a colleague, often a relative)…

View original post 978 more words

‘A Change gonna come’

Do read this if you are British

Think Left

Change Gonna Come by liam carr

Liam Carr, a regular contributor to Think Left, is one of the two Labour candidates for the Leadgate, Medomsley and Ebchester area .

One of the things I am hearing about while I am canvassing for the local elections is the bedroom tax.  Many of the houses in Leadgate, Ebchester, Hamsterley and The Dene are bungalows.  Most are like my Gran’s house at Watling, with 5 small rooms in total: Living room, kitchen, bathroom and 2 bedrooms.  There are very few 1 bedroom flats in the area because demand for this type of property has always been low.  I listened to one voter who had been recently made redundant.  She told me she was losing £16 a week due to the bedroom tax, and that this meant she was going to struggle to pay for bus fares.  Even people who are unaffected can see the…

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May Love unavoidable come down on all

Little church

Little church

Love unavoidable,Love quite divine
I’ll muse all this morning, on  all your  designs
Please forgive me my virtues,forgive me my sins;
As virtues annoy others and faults prick like pins.

Love unavoidable,God,who is so good.
May I be kind daily to those that I love.
And may I be protected from those that I hate
Let them not use me so I become “late”.

Bring me my Bible,I want to read psalms
Psalms can give comfort far better than balms
And may Love unavoidable come down to all.
Heal our divisions ans tear down our  old walls.

 

Dead wrong

.Limericks for the lonely

 

I thought my wife knew these people…anyway,they stole all her jewellery which is a weight off my shoulders when travelling.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with the first slip.

He put his tongue down my throat and found a fried potato… is that Love?

Am I the Pope? He’s not just sexy, he’s greedy with it

I jumped in with some sweets but she refused to be rescued from the pool and drowned.Verdict :dead wrong.

He.jumped on the sand wagon and was married on a beach miles away.I guess the bride was a mere maid

Do not jump again or you’ll have the cat chasing after us.Remember you’re a mouse not a frog.

He bumps into old crones in the shops…. he likes older women the best.I guess he just loves funerals and sad hymns.What other explanation could there be?

No.I don’t relieve it!I relive it

Invisible world we touch you

Tree under new moon

1.
What ceremonious geometry

Could describe the sympathy of the parts to the whole?

What self can contain the feelings engendered by

the response of the heart of the tree. and my heart,

to the space and light offered

and how the clouds float away on the wind

as I stand ,hand on my throat, gazing;

and the new moon points me out to the sky.

2.
What laughter is there in this moment of dancing?

We see only the stillness

but know while we are turned away

a young girl and an old woman murmur together

as one passes the movement to the other.

Caught in the camera, in a moment of rest,

the tree obeys the law of gravity

before levity arises at the moment we turn away;

the dance goes on and the tree is alive with movement

forever in its dream.

A worm on the couch

Do worms have teeth?What is it they like about soil.

Charles Darwin wrote a book about worms…

So far I have not read it.

Worms are the opposite of us.

They never get angry or depressed as far as we can tell..

How fortunate as to psychoanalyze a worm would be hard.

Indeed could you tell a worm to lie on the sofa

Or would you have to climb inside a plant pot next to the worm?

As Wittgenstein might have said,

If worms could speak we would not understand what they said.

I don’t know,I think I can guess though…

I have some experience …symbolically that is.

Or is it metaphorically?

Imagine a worm on your couch.

Hmm,how are things going?

Yurp,blurp!

Well,that’s good.

Werp,serp!

Quite right,I am interfering with your transfernce.

Hurpppppppp.

Would you like a little soil?

Mummmm

Oh,dear…I should not have offered you anything.

Daddddddd.

Surely you don’t remember him?

Herrrrrrrr.

So your dad was a lady?

Oh ,ahhh!

Well,it takes all sorts.

Glumb,glomb.

I’m afraid your time is up.

Tinnnnnggggggggg

You want a minicab?

Taaaaaaaaaaaaa.

That’s £500

Do you take plastic?

No,only notes.

Doh,ray,me

I never knew worms could sing…

Well,you do no

The therapist and the cat.

What on earth

Into the washing machine… therapy’s disasters

Peter Fried,the psychoanalyst newly arrived in Knittingham, had noticed that whilst he was practising “free floating attention”
with his patients an image of a cat peering in the window behind the couch was troubling him.He hoped it was not some hallucination transferred from the Unconscious of one of his patients into his consciousness.
Still,having a black cat looking in the window was by no means the most unpleasant optical illusion he had ever suffered.In a way,it was quite sweet.
He was back in his “home” flat boiling some eggs for his supper when the doorbell rang.He opened it cautiously with a sort of furtive excitement.There stood a strikingly attractive woman wearing a purple coat and a red hat with matching red ballet flats and a bright green designer handbag from TKMaxx.[£29.99 and well worth it]
Hello,I thought I’d introduce myself,I live across the street next door to Stan and Mary..my name is Anne..How are you settling in?
She walked confidently through his flat and into the new teak kitchen with its gleaming work surfaces and marble pastry rolling strip…. though Peter never made pastry himself.
Eggs!Are you a curry lover?By pure chance and serendipity I have a tin of vindaloo sauce here.I could pour it over these eggs.
Should we not remove the shells first?Peter asked with a just hint of humour.
Definitely,leave it to me.I’ve brought some naan bread and some brown rice too
How did you know I was boiling six eggs?
Why Emile told me,of course!
Emile….is he black?
Some people call him black,others say he’s mixed race.
Let’s not argue about semantics,he replied discourteously.
I don’t even know what semantics, are she screeched into his left ear.
Well,that is no barrier to arguing about them,he replied diplomatically.
Well,it’s senseless, she answered kindly.”I am not a person who enjoys an argument.Go and sit down,read the paper and I’ll finish preparing the curry dinner.
Is it common around here to have an unknown woman come in to cook your dinner?Peter asked Anne.
No,it’s the height of sophistication,she said judiciously.
It’s just with you being new I wanted to meet you to see if you need any assistance in your work.I don’t need money,I like to serve the community in some way.Of course I am Stan’s mistress but as he’s in a bad temper today I’ve not seen him.I suspect he is growing tired of me.
Are you married,Peter asked her.
No,but I was once.My husband ran off with his brother’s wife,so we decided to pretend they were both dead.
That’s intriguing,said Peter,I am married but my wife developed an allergy to my skin.She could not bear to touch it so it became awkward… very awkward.
Fancy, and you a therapist too,she murmured softly,So where is she now?
Oh, she lives on the Isle of Man,near Peel.I do go to see her now and then… and there are lovely sunsets over there… you can see the Mountains of Mourne.
Are you lonely, she asked him very emotionally.
No,I see seven patients a day..
But that’s not the same as having a wife or a friend.
Since my wife’s allergy,I am afraid to touch another woman.
How sad,cried Anne…I have very thick skin.Would you like to touch me? she said seductively
Perhaps another time,Peter said in a kindly way,But thanks for being so generous.I am touched by your amiability and femininity and your
kindness in introducing yourself.
.
Let’s eat the curry before we die of hunger.
They sat down at the kitchen table to eat the egg curry when they saw some amber eyes gleaming at the window.
Oh, dear,There’s Emile again.
Will he tell Stan?
Probably,but actually Stan no longer wants me.Yet Emile adores me.He will be jealous… he’s a cat,but he has the feeling of a man.
And indeed Emile’s eyes were gleaming like those of a tiger… he began to speak through the window glass.
Would you mind if I had some curry?Stan never makes it… I love spices
Why not? said Peter.
Emil’s plan was to get near Anne but first he had to eat the vindaloo egg curry.He took a mouthful..my,it was hot.His eyes began to water and his nose ran…. all round the room.He mioawed piteously
I need a hanky.
We shall have to ring 999,muttered Anne.
What! Do they tend to cats?
They usually have some hankies for cats….
So without any further ado,she took out her Samsung mobile phone and rang.
I don’t know how I shall get on living here,thought Peter.
He ran across the room and jumped into the washing machine with the tea towels and kitchen cloths.
Will he escape?
Buy the next chapter…only three shilling and sixpence or free with the Daily Wail tomorrow…order now for next life delivery!

The wrong sin

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?
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?

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 diaphrams 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.

Birth control

All I know is that diaphrams are a form of birth control.
I am 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 can just faint and then your 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 disappointing.
I suppose you  might use a carrot instead.
Well,it would be a form of birth control.
And girth control.
How come?
Sex is exercise,isn’t it?
Being alive is exercise!
Keep moving in any way you can,.however irregular.
Regular is better…
But anything goes today.
Even carrots.
Control..you love  to lose it.

Computer errs again

My beloved

Your skin glows like ripe apples, 
blossoms gently as the daisy in the sure hope of spring.
My yearning heart rises to your harplike voice and leaps like a banana at the whisper of your name, Sami.
The evening ascends down on the  great darkish wings of  night angels.
I am calmed by your vest that I carry into the twilight of decency and hold next to my old mail.
I am filled with  sweet hope that I may dry your tears of water
with a whitl linen cloth
As my elbow falls from  the clock, it reminds me of your total purity.
In the hushed night, I listen for the last singing of the cats. outside.
Why cannot it be  so for us?
I can sing as well as any man
My over heated toes leap inside my shoes.
 I wait in the pale moonlight for your secret wonderful humor
 So that we may touch as one,nose to nose
 in search of the glorious teal panorama of true love
I hope to see inside the eyes of love one day
Till then,adieux, ta cheri!
C’est la vie for me. 

From a computer with much editing by me .. alas

My Love, Antonia

Your skin glows like a comical pear in deep moonlight;
You smell as sweet as the unlaundered clothes in a Charity Shop
without even a deodorant to your name,
My yearning heart dotes on your lilting  queenly voice
 and leaps like a seasick kitten at the whisper of your Latin name,
 Antonia.
The evening descends softly over that great Wren Cathedral in the City.
I am calmed by your body chemistry;
 I carry your odour into the twilight like a bat out of hell.
I see the moon beams and I hold your  rubber gloves next to my table napkin at dinner
so I can steal some food for tomorrow and leave no fingerprints.
I am filled with such  intense and tremulous joi de vivre I am going round in hyperbolas.
May I dry your tears of ink and buy you a biro ball point and some artificial tears?
As my left ear falls onto your breast,I apologise at once as
it reminds me of your three dimensionality and your solid geometry.
And your perfect  female symmetry.
I have waited too long saving up for a diamond when a curtain ring would have saved years of hard labour,
In the hushed noontide, I wait for the last drones of the USA to pass over
or may be it’s just a herd of wasps having afternoon tea.
My heated hands leap to put  your sweet blue shawl around you lest you get a chill
I wait in the crystal moonlight for your sentimental piece of verse to be finished
so that we may drive as one,arm in arm
We discourse spitefully on the spiritual nature of true love.
I have more than once tried to roll your stone away
but your tomb is impenetrable without angelic help.
Oh,Jesus, another nightmare.I am glad to meet you..
I could hardly wait..
And this is my girlfriend,Antonia.
My sweet Lord,
Really want to know you,but it takes so long,I know.
I’m in Heaven..
Here’s Nye Bevan..
And Lord Beveridge..
And He looked and saw it was good.

On falling down the black dot at the end of the sentence

Blind sight scattered my wits

Like whitened bones

Across the deserts of my mind.

I descended into blackness.

Love shrank into the tame cat

By the fire,unacknowledged hate

Grew to fill the room.

I stared too much,

A full stop grew gigantic

Crowded out

All the words in the sentence

I saw nothing but this dot

Now a gigantic black hole

Into which I was dragged.

An energy coming from within my own head

Sucked me into the black hole.

That place was the wrong sort of darkness.

Within that full stop,

Love Fundamental became invisible.

Disappered into the dark.

I dragged my eyes away

And saw the moon appear , so eerie,

It shone,grey silver.

If I had opened my eyees wider

I would not now lament

What I destroyed in the wormhole

Of the black dot that drew my eye

Into a tunnel of darkness

It blinded me to the light

Did not let me read the sentences

Beside the full stop.

An error of focus left hate

Unacknowledged,unmitigated unredeemed,

Kept from love or goodness

Afraid to spoil my love with hate,

The fear of hate became

That which spoiled all else else,

By freezing Love itself.

As sweet as a paintbrush

You seem as sweet as a paint brush
with its head in the glue…
Be mindful what you wish for..
that may happen to you.

Your head is quite pointed
Your hands are on fire.
If the problem continues
The outcome may be dire.

Your eyes look so lonely
and your nose is solo.
Your lips can be crossed,
for you seem like a pro

Short eared owl

short-eared Durham owls
meditating over the dale’s edge,
shadow the fields and folds
in elegant diurnal flight.

on wind-side,careful sight
may swoop to prey
and away.

your yellow broad-eyed look,
at once both sharp and distant,
holds me.
oh,silence,
oh,wind on green,
oh,earth,
sky.

immense your held vision,
sphere without center,
pied geometer of flight,
sketch your descent and ascent.

trees bunched by drystone wall

call heart home