Did they not notice?
No,we shot the staff!
I don't believe it!Where did you say you went?
Iraq! Why not go yourself?
I'm unwilling to commit crimes I am moral
So,you just let your Government do it for you?
Touche
He never kissed my throat once.Neither did he cut it.
He was a middle man,one might say.
Still two rooks made a good broth
And a rolling bone added some marrow.
Shall we hiss and break up?
Sometimes it's cool to be kind.
As I was a roaming one night with my sling...
I saw an old vulture asleep on its wing.
Aren't birds silly sometimes.Why does a vulture not have a nest?
That worries me when I wake up at 3 am with two men in my bed..
Can males not buy their own beds?It's not love they want,it's clean sheets!
That's my tale anyway
A tale of two kitties is an historical novel by Charlotte What-the-Dickens.This is a heart warming story about how two stray cats survived the French Resolution and were married in Brussels.
Warm and Erudite CWTD has excelled herself here.She also purrsuaded a world famous photographer to illustrate the book anonymously.The author's writing flows from her pen like water bubbling over the Viagara Falls.It beats Fifty Shades of Hay into a cocked hat.Order it now and enjoy a fun night tomorrow morning.
.
I was sadder than a wet hen which is how I often feel when ill or if I split infinities by accident
it was my utter nadir.The skin of my teeth peeled off and the nerves screamed like music written by a post modern composer.Still,it was free.
I make money by selling souls to wolves who listen at the door
Please nail my hat on if we get a blizzard.I can't bare to lose heat
My main wish is for more police on Earth
I make a brake for my brain but my mind runs ahead
Can you make a long story tauter?
Take a mountain out of a mole hill and you will be in a hole!
Make an ass out of felt... it will feel good
Can one make ends meet or is it not logical?
Fake like you are a tree with leaves then shiver your timbers
I place no overtones in my verses.I like plainsong
It's Mike or Jake for the Party
Why make out you found bliss in my tarts?
Do I make the grade as a wordsmiter?
I make tracks for wild animals, which adore me... the Beasts!
Can we make up and kiss our own throats?
Why make waves when it's already windy on the lake?
Make your love permanent.Freeze it!
The sky looks like a Turner painting.
At the high point it’s brighter,even golden cream
Like the top of a bottle of Jersey milk;
then it dims down to a bluey gray
with a slight threat in it
like a blacker gray…It’s
Too warm today for snow.
I swept brown dried leaves from the step..
Had to move my bike.
Then I hid them under the hedge
So they can keep some insects warm in the winter.
But mainly I don’t want to bend down to collect them,,
I’m tired or lazy after the weekend.
I still have a dress here I was ironing just a week or two ago.
Now it will be put away till next summer.
Here’s a denim jacket with flowers all over…
I did wear it but it won’t look right now.
I washed my hair.It feels soft and pleasant.
I like that feeling.I am wondering what you are doing.
Are you listening to music or resting?
Or sitting looking down the road at wet fields?
I think I’ll make some tea.
I need a focus for the day which also has a feeling
Like those late watercolors
Everything merging
Until one thing dissolves into an other.
Some people like it but today
I need some edge,some definition.
I need someone to give me boundaries.
Time 4 pm
Kettle boils and a neighbor’s cat peers by the locked cat flap…
Wondering why she can’t get in.
I turn away.
Now the sky is without any gold
It’s sixty shades of gray.
It’s clouded dark and soft
Like your hair might have been
But I could never have touched it…
You were always too far away and moving.
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
We once had a doctor called Powell,
Who spoke to patients mainly in vowels.
When he called I O U,
I asked for A and E too,
As I had so much pain in my bowels.
Then we had a doctor called Keith
Who liked eating chips and roast beef.
He got so obese
We feared for his very demise.
But he was spectacularly thin underneath.
We still have a doctor called Satan,
Who is very proficient at mating.
His children are numerous,
Don't mention the incubus,
And a true hell on earth they're creating,
b
DIRAC'S CATS :NONSENSE VERSES
I dreamed I rowed in a large pea green boat
Accompanied by seventeen cats.
And across the Great Lake,without a mistake
I saw mountains of gentleman's hats.
I was making no waves in my effort to move,
The cats were discoursing on geometry.
I looked in the mirror fixed onto my boat,
The moon spoke entrancing Theology.
"I wonder who'll help me"I thought to myself,
When I saw an entire spectrum of men--
Dirac, Archimedes,Niels Bohr, with their theories.
I got my great inspiration just then.
I need seventeen physicists,that's one for each cat,
All tied to my boat with a chain.
The force they exert will just compensate
For the magnetic attraction of rain.
Paul Dirac came up, and I looked into his eyes,
They were full of anxiety and pain.
"I am sorry I am unable do what you wish,
But my father never taught me to swim."
"That is perfectly alright",I politely replied,
"You can walk on the water instead"
So that's how my boat and its cargo of cats
Were accompanied back to my bed.
When I awoke the next day,I was filled with dismay.
I saw that Paul Dirac was gone,
With the cats and the boat,of which I just wrote
And I was now completely alone.
I took a quick look,in my old physics book
And there was a photo of Dirac
I stared at his eyes,and I am not telling lies,
He threw me a very strange look.
I caught this strange look,it's here in my book.
I am saving it for a special event.
When I gather more Data on Relative Quanta,
I'll understand just what Dirac meant.
onnet
Not love nor money should we seek to steal;
Nor for self praise and esteem be in need
For these things cannot ever truly heal.
And onto a wrong path must often lead.
Not to vice nor virtue must our wills be tied;
Yet by some grace we gently may be led
Our will directs attention which denied
May let our pride control our thoughtless head.
Not good nor bad can track the vane of God
Far from our sightless eyes are his affairs.
Yet Faith and Hope can be a dowsing rod
With Love the force to trace the Spirit bare.
Oh,come down,Spirit,take me as your wife
Fill me with holy grace and with new lif
Who has never felt grief
When a small gesture would have helped
but it has, unknowingly, been with held?
How many people have the imagination
to guess what's in your mind,
And to embrace you rather than push you away?
No-one, No-one.No-one knows.
No-one knows these numbers.
No-one knows these names.
No-one knows how many feel diffident,
Nor how many feel shame.
Being alive is joyful!
Being alive is pain!
Being alive is all we have,
We'll never be alive again.
I look into your eyes today
I sense your pain and woe.
I look into your eyes just now
And tell you that I know,
Being alive is lonely.
Being alive is good.
Being alive is pain indeed
For flesh is not like wood
Did you ever have a lover
with long red hair?
For long red hair
I long to care.
Did you ever have a lover,
and then another lover?
For there's added gain
if you feel no pain.
Did you ever have a lover
who loved your eyes
and never ever lied,
and let you cry?
Whatever was the trouble.
You'll never have a lover.
if you have no time for others
for love needs care,
As well as hair!
Here and there are many lovely people
who live with their lives with scruples;
if you're scruple free,
then let it be.
Oh, let it be is fine,
Except for the divine.
I want to be involved
For I can't please all the folk,
Who touch me with their talk.
My heart has melted down...
and now I've grown a world
completely on my own.
Were you ever quite alone
Like a toad under a stone?
Did you ever hear a groan
as you wrote your own poem?
For you'll never write a poem
that makes me laugh..
Because my feet are in the shower
but my body's in the bath.
My head is on the shelf...
and I've lost all of my stealth...
Yet you will love me
Evermore.
Evermore and evermore
You'll be standing on the shore;
Watching the horizon,
wondering how the world's gone.
Oh, you'll never be a poet,
Unless you make notes..
They take you to the limit.....
Love, whatever is it?
Evermore, evermore...
The words seem like a roar...
I love your heart's deep core..
Let me write you more
And more,
And more.
Did you ever have a lover?
Sometimes I have found when talking to friends or neighbours some people feel life is predetermined.. not in a religious way;they feel nothing will change.That they run along a track and cannot turn off.
Major change can be hard…. so I am doing simple things like not always sitting in the same armchair.Changing my routines and if the weather is good I am going out and making the most of winter sunshine.
I take a camera and get some intriguing pics as I wander about.the seasons may return each year but they are never quite the same.This year we had snow.Now it's autumn but we had a good summer...after a prolonged winter
I used to use the above site but never permitted ads....maybe that was my problem.
On 2nd September they emailed me to say I was in their top 6% of writers.
I wrote a new poem about finding one's sacred vocation in life a couple of days later.
Then I got an email saying it was plagiarized.When I went on the site,I found shortly a message saying
I was now a banned user!I emailed the editors but they just said they would never reinstate me.
As it turns out,it was good because you can't post anything there that is on your blog or anywhere at all on the net
Why should I allow them to use my writing to draw people onto their site?
However,if you keep your work unpublished there it makes a nice storage place
You know you have to leave me,
Though you desire a longer stay
Let me hold you in my arms now
For just tonight and perhaps one day.
Then I’ll watch you travel on,sweet.
We take this last step all alone.
I’ll be here beside you watching.
I shall feel when you are gone.
May you accept, may you surrender.
I hope you reach the promised land.
Where's the doctor? He's gone to court for sexual harrassment Can't he get that somewhere easier? Don't ask me,I'm asexual. A sexual what? No just asexual. That's bad sign in a man. Well,I am 97 he said. Fancy you mending a computer .He said,I'm stealing it! , |
http://lifehacker.com/the-things-about-grief-nobody-tells-you-1383119181
There are many people who think poetry must rhyme.But in fact the most important thing is meter or musicality
I have found some of my early work is poor but it's better now.But there is so much awful poetry on the net,I only wish people would read one or two articles about poetry or read
_"Poetry for Dummies" or similar works.
One person has paid £300 to have his book published and though the work is heartfelt it is inn need of much editing.
I know the amazed feeling you can get after writing a poem,but it's a bit like falling in love.
Think of "A midsummer night's dream" and ponder.... feelings are not the final guide in love or in creation.I am far from despising the work of the amateur.I am not very critical by nature but sometimes I cannot help being astounded by the dreadfulness
People using both Thee and You in the same poem
Using cliches
Using "poetic language" like " where ere you go" 'Twas on a monday morning.It's out of date.
Poor meter.
Never having read much after Shelley/Wordworth/Keats
Never having read much at all except a newspaper.... a tabloid
Now,if you love to write but your work is not worth publishing. it's still a really good pastime
and a learning experience.But ask someone wise to read it before you try to publish it.Or write a blog and ask for critiques
Too old for cold,I stand, now ,against the hedge,
Watching the snowflakes in the glare of neon street lights.
Darkness has come early,and I think of country uplands and huddled sheep.
On Salisbury Plain,shepherds watched their flocks
Just as in Bethlehem two thousand years before,
And then ,exactly when?
"Between the wars",it stopped. Now we know there is no "Between the wars".
And who decided
To cull the sheep and shepherds and the space for kindness ?
Now that same Plain still exists,but banned
And closed to human-kind,
For bombs ,not wombs
Nor for birth of lamb ,nor gypsy child ,nor Saviour
Where would He go today?
_
,s
SUN PAINTING
Bright sun
Paints a shadow picture
On the white wall
Dried stems
Of Michaelmas daisies
A leaf caught in a cobweb sways
To and fro.
I gaze.
Silence.
I love the flowers that fall like rain
From the cherry trees ,in the wind again,
And pile at the side of a garden wall.
I love the blossom still on the trees
Full of buzzing honey bees
Like an angel's glowing shawl.
I hate the fierce wind that blows it away,
Yet I know now nothing is here to stay,
and I love it, and cherish it all.
It reminds me of an East Anglian landscape
This garden's flat planes of grass give the illusion
Of greater distance,the eye travels down them
To the trees rising at the end.
On this scene my mind superimposes
Other ideas of summer days in hot places
In flat fields stretching on either
Side down to the sea.
My eye enjoys the shape,the flatness
The form,a symbol for so many other gardens
And summer journeys on unknown lanes
Across new landscapes ,delighting in them,
In the space extending,and the trees
A gentle contradiction to the horizontal meadows.
In summer in recent years,what I remember
Is the sun across these long,flat shapes.
Looking at this small garden,I remember
So many things,my eye sees through
What is here,to far beyond
What has passed and what is to come
All afd contained here.
Praying[/caption]
Two cats[/caption]
Lily pond[/caption]
He gave me a fast party tickle..
I kissed his algebraic form.
He's only a number to me.I am numb all over.
He says he'll give me peace of mind.But did he mean a piece of his mind?
What tense are your muscles?
Is the past infinite?
Can we split the indifferent?
Was the past subjective?
Subjunctive is Latin for may be.
How about past, perfect?
What is the future when not dense?
Grimmer than grammar: the autolieography of a woman of many alarms.
Can a noun be irrational?
What about an infinite sequence of jumbles?
What is a transcendental word?
I hate logs but like rhymes.Log-o-rhymes is my next book.
Why do letters need indices?So we can locate
Every garden has a song,
a song beyond all words.
sit in silence there to hear
cheeps from distant birds.
Every garden has its silence,
special to that place
stand beneath the maple tree,
gaze up the crown's wide space.
Every garden's a part of all,
linked through heart of earth
stand in one, you 're inside all,
your spirit takes new birth,
Every garden can't help but sing,
green calls out so sweet,
shows us Eden, long ago,
as Adam kissed Eve's dear feet.
I gaze up through bare winter trees,
the song is softer now.
No golden finch,no sparrow cheeps.
It's buried in the snow.
Deep in dark ,life sparks again
and the green shoots come.
so we wait in harmony
till our garden sings out then
