I have a big cat called Purslane,
Who sharpens his claws on a cane.
One morning I saw
He had a bow on his paw
And had carefully brushed out his mane.
He was courting a cat down the road
And wanted to look a la mode.
I gave him his food
But he started to brood.
Then off to his lover he strode.
He’s the father of twenty five cats.
So we’ve no need to worry about rats.
The cats are all black
With white bits on their backs.
They sometimes pop in for a chat.
If they all breed as much as their dad
There’ll be 625 cats around my pad.
I’ll have to move out,
Because if I don’t,
Caterwauling will drive me quite mad.
I love my cat’s eloquent gaze,
And his admirable reaction to praise.
He stares at my lips
And then he back quips:
“I wish you a very good day!”
There was a late woman from Devon
Who was still blogging when she got up to heaven
When God asked her why
She said “Though I died,
I still want to keep being lovin’.
The angels like laptop computers
And asked BT for some routers.
They need tech support,
So goes the report….
A new career dawns for tech tutors.
Gabriel could have sent Mary an email.
To fill her in on the details.
“God has impregnated you,
I’ll email Joe too,
As we don’t want this venture to fail”
You called to my heart
You held onto this part.
You make the sun rise.
You whet my heart with fire.
You knew my heart
You were bored with my art.
I sing to my love,
Your seating needs a renovation.
You were lying against my heart.
My heart beats in all your worlds.
He sang when the bells rang.
Rip it open.. it’s my new novel.
He invented quips for wise lips.
Is this the human crew?
Send for the wife boats,I see trouble on the Loch.
Cats sing and so do kettles…well,it’s the steam…
London Town’s in a nutshell,England,and
Forty, he liked Wittgenstein,miles from Oxford’s Spires.
The river ,Russell’s life is so,
Thames flows through them both
and, I’m not sure which I like more,
He had little heart,except the one
Embroidered on his sleeve
What kept him circulating?
Which makes,Wittgenstein was true
to himself,a very cold person.
London Town is,Wittgenstein suffered, covered
By miles,emotional and mental pain,miles of road.
One of,he fought in W.W.1,these is,a good
account of, the M40
and if that one,he gave away
His wealth,the way you don’t,
You may say,he did not kill anyone,
Degrees,of torture inflicted on detainees,
Degrees bestowed in ancient halls of learning.
[ My son has been killed in Afghanistan.
He was made,to stand in ice cold water, Oh, Lord,
By good,Good News for Terrorists.Three Men.
So now he is,The Pied Piper,
Was the Bible all Good News?
And next life,Pied Beauty is my favourite,
He is moving poems on greased wheels.
To a huge,he did write but was not published,
And exciting gathering.
He is going to get,after death, a Ph.D
Did not realise how,
Tony Blair was up the Tree.
Was he waiting for the Crucifixion?
Mandelson’s knot is untwisted,
Bothering Wittgenstein and Hopkins.
Two suffering men who wrote.
Can I mention the simplicity of Yeats too?
But is it Art?
All other things apart?
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 gentlemen’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 showed 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.
I gave my boyfriend unrequited love.
He gave me pats and purple leather gloves.
What is the meaning of his curious choice?
Will he requite me and give me love and all its joys?
I fear no ills with Ronny by my side…
I feel like a cloud,that on the wind doth glide.
His big green eyes look right into my soul…
I wonder if it looks as black as coal?
I shall not sin,though Ronny tempts my flesh..
My desire is just for our souls to enmesh.
He is my hero,though he loves me not…
I wonder if a soulmate is too hot?
Yet my body cries,for it desireth him…..
Ever since we met outside the local gym.
I will persuade him to give me up for Lent..
But until next March let’s love till we are spent.
I have the sharpest wife in the district.She cut all the neighbours dead in one week.
That’s nothing.My wife is so thin she kept posting herself into the neighbour’s letterbox….and they had her put in prison;
You see we lived in Highgate next to the Russian Embassy.
But if she were a spy she would have not been so blatant.
Well,it was a double bluff… she was a spy for the Vatican.
I never knew they had spies!
That illustrates precisely how cunning they are.
But what are they looking for?
I think they lost the Word and hope to find it somehow..
But in the Russian Embassy?
Well,God hides in mysterious places,his blunders to perform.
How dare you say He blunders!
Well, he created us… that was definitely a blunder.
Anyway can you tell me how to make my wife stop cutting people dead?
Make her wear a hat with a veil…
Get her an eye Pad…
Get her dark glasses.
Give her something to feel.
Keep her indoors until it’s dark.
Teach her compassion…
Get her new eyes…
Or is it her I that is wrong?
Teach her how to look softly on others…
All well and good to say……….. but how to do it.
To do or not to do?
It ruins my digestion.
Whether ‘t is better to fall into the pleas of ghouls
Or take arms against an ocean of bubbles..
I feel it’s coming on me…
I can see something I never saw before!
Please keep it a secret.
Even from the Vatican?
Definitely.They’ll expurgate me from the library.
Don’t worry I’ll turn you into an e-book and kindle you.
You are so kind.
Just kindle me again
Like you did last summer…
Oh,kindle me,like you did before.
The rest is 50 shades of green and you have to pay me to read it..
A bat can’t look at its wings.
A brain is only as long as a piece of string.
An orange is almost as good as a breast.
A dog is a woman’s testing fiend
A frowning man will frighten the raw person.
A male and sin money are soon parted.
A good beginning makes life easier.
A godly man is hard to wound
A house is not a honeycomb.
A journey of a thousand miles began with falling down the steps.
A leopard cannot wash off its spots
A little learning has a dangerous sound.
A lot of what you fancy does you no good,on the whole.
The bliss is so sweet when you smile
Marie’s thousand mile spiritual journey begins when she falls down the steps outside her home.Marie does not know where she is going but some inner need leads her to pack a few things into a small tartan suitcase lock the door and set off…
After picking herself up,she sees a handsome man with a cruel face walking towards her.It was her lover.She picks up her case and runs into the town centre where she gets onto an Express bus to Aberdeen… well that covers the first few hundred miles and ends this brief introduction..
Why don’t you have trip?Steps are everywhere and it’s easier than falling off a log…
We did logs at school but why we did was a mystery like menstruation,sex and life in general…
But you get the idea:
blood,confusion,sex,shopping,money,men,university,life ,more men,soul,god,hot flushes…..
There’s a new song out this week
Fifty ways to shoot your lover….
If you knew how to shoot,you’d be in Afghanistan shooting the natives.
They are not like us.. they don’t feel pain…they’re just like sheep
Anyway, one way is usually enough to shoot a man but if it’s in a dream you may need one hundred ways and he’s still staring at you holding out his hand
asking if he can borrow a handkerchief.
Dreams…where are they all day?
Well,as they say…. the first step is the hardest…if you live on a hill
you might roll down…then once you are off… your amber life begins…
I only went out shopping,
I wandered round the Mall
But knowing you were gone,my love,
I saw nothing at all.
I looked at food,at clothes at books
But I found nothing there.
I looked at faces going by
But I saw you nowhere.
I stopped for coffee, drunk it down
I found it hard to sip.
Because my lover’s loss has hurt me
More than any whip.
I wandered up,I wandered down
But I couldn’t find my heart
Because my heart I’d left with you
When we alas did part.
I came home to my garden green,
The sun shone down so bright.
But as for all the light I got
It seemed like blackest night.
Apples hang low near the ground.
robins chirrup all around.
sun on glowing maple leaves
gives a red glow that deceives.
Autumn air is flowing near,
though it’s still bright summer here.
wind dismays the flowering rose
as with arrogance it blows.
Leave me one flower for my eyes.
Leave me roses,as I sigh.
Leave me not my dearest one.
Soon enough we shall be gone.
What remains is love alone.
If your heart is not of stone,
Fear not sorrow,fear not woe.
Into this earth all must go.
The ends muster up the dreams,
Is this even real?
He’s also funny as well as a honey.
Every quark has a cloud reclining by it.
Every fog lets you find a new way home.
Everyone has much which endears but with you I’m still seeking.
My brain goes out when I flush.
I thought the kitchen blinked…is it watching me?
Everything is good for nothing.
Nothing is good for everybody.
Please don’t give me a mope.
Everything’s a story in hiding.
Why for a why, truth for a truth.
He tried to Bible me,but I’m too ribald for that…
Tell me the truth,are you he?
Stan had made a decision.He wanted to contribute to the Big Society although he had no respect for the
expressionless, banana faced man,Dave Cameron,currently calling himself “Prime Minister of the U.K.” I’d
far rather talk about prime numbers as would Stan.He’s never liked anyone whose face is too smooth…surely
by middle age something ought to have happened to the emotions and thus the features of any human being?Stan was teaching a little social statistics to a group of senior neighbors.
Since he was 89 it gave them all hope to see him demonstrating his prowess with various mathematical
techniques and in other ones too vulgar for me to describe here…these were known to just one or perhaps two.
Stan was planning to do some elementary logic and philosophy too.He had known for many years there was
something wrong with logic.This had led to a fatal fascination for the works of Ludwig Wittgenstein.
Annie was sitting by the door so she could answer the bell if any paramedics or cats turned up for tea.
“I’m not going to calculate the standard deviation” he murmured.
“Why not?” mewed his cat,Emile.
“We can do it on a calculator.These folk are not going to square say,sixty decimals, add them up divide the
result by 60 and then find the square root of that!”
“I’ll do it,” purred Emile,who had excessively high self esteem,not to mention emotional intelligence off the
top of the kitchen scales.
“I just want you to grasp the general purpose of such a concept. I don’t expect you to do the arithmetic”
“Deviations,they’re not normal then,are they not ?” bellowed his deaf neighbor Henry,an ex-English teacher at
Knittingham Grammar School
“So how can they be standard,if they deviate….It’s very confusing..”
“Are you thinking of deviants?” Stan enquired calmly yet icily.
“Certainly not,at my age I’m a bit past that!”
“Yet it adds a bit of excitement to the class.” he thought proudly.
“How do words in ordinary language relate to those in Statistics?”asked Henry more loudly.
“They are just more precisely defined in statistics.To say someone is a deviant is a rather vague term.”
“No,it’s not! My neighbor is a deviant.He always dresses entirely in yellow.”
“Well,that must be hard to do.Certainly unusual.” Stan agreed boldly.
“But in another country that might be the norm.So it’s a matter of context.In statistics it’s more boring.There’sa formula.It’s totally independent of context.Have you ever wondered why so many mathematicians have more than a touch of Asperger’s syndrome?”
“No,it’s not something that wanders through my mind much”replied Henry cheekily.
A shudder passed through the room at hearing the word “formula”,which perhaps they considered something
of a deviant word in English.
Anything with letters and numbers mixed together is certainly not welcome in many people’s minds,along with their more unusual sexual tastes,desires and inclinations which were kept secret even from themselves inmany cases.
God only,knows the secrets of our hearts,luckily!Though sometimes more self knowledge might have advantages.
“Time for tea.” called Annie,hoping to divert their attention away from even more lurid examples of deviancy
of a personal nature.
She carried in a platter of louse sandwiches kindly donated by the local ambulance service and some iced
Victoria sponge cakes she and Stan had made the day before.#
“Just a quick word about next week,folks.We’ll take a look at ratios and proportions and maybe see how that relates to the concept of rationality.”
“That sounds fun!” Annie called encouragingly.
Henry decided to act on a deviant desire and fell all at once onto her lap,
which was covered by a teal velvet skirt which matched her eye shadow wonderfully well.[She’s just had a
makeover at the beauty salon]
“Oh,dear!” she gasped loudly as the chair collapsed under her.
“Why can’t you just be deviant at home?”
“My wife won’t let me!” He answered warmly.”And in any case,that’s a contradiction in terms,he continued logically.
“Now look here,” Stan said,
“we’ll have to ring 999.This chair is in fragments.I thought for one day we’d be able to avoid calling them out!”
“Well,life is not controllable.” said a quiet but fierce looking lady with sharp green eyes.
“That’s what makes it half tolerable”
She then greedily consumed a large piece of iced lemon drizzle cake .
“I can stand the thinking if the cake is good” she whispered to her shy friend Amy.
“That’s rather a feeble argument,”Amy retorted smartly.
“You can’t really compare cake and statistics.It’s a category error”
“I’ll compare anything I like!” the green eyed woman snarled loudly.
“You do what you like but you must always attempt keep a sense of proportion!”
“Now then,have you rung 999?” Stan queried of Annie piteously.
“Yes,here they are,and they’ve got a stretcher for the chair!”
“Well,that’s certainly unusual,even possibly deviant”,Stan thought anxiously to himself.
“Where do they get their funding? Is there a fund for distributing money to help chairs which are not normal?”
Well,we shall have to make enquiries,meanwhile I’.ll take the biscuit.
George Osborne is a merry soul.
They gave him all our money
I doubt if we’ll ever find out out,
If the outlook’s sunny.
Cameron is a very rich man.
and when he went to Uni.
He got drunk and smashed some glass.
A photo opportunity.
Nicky Clegg has disappeared
But he’ll be on TV
Travelling on our old railways
On the BBC.
Where have all the women gone,
we don’t hear much of them.
I won’t be surprised, if indeed,
We’ve all turned into men.
For having babes and cooking meals
Will not make a bomb.
So when we look for children dear,
So enjoy your microwave,
Your freezer and your phone.
Enjoy your iPad and your Apple.
We are all alone.
The foolish newt went out to play
With insects on his wedding day.
So the poor newt ruined his best new suit
Oh that,poor,sad,tragic newt.
The wedding band was full of toads,
And amphibians rambled up the road,
Complaining that they’d paid for seats,
So the conductor’s heart skipped beats.
O tragic newt, what will you do?
There’s no Mozart to write for you.
Let’s wait and see if there can be
A Newtonian melody,
Where delta x and delta y
Send stars leaping across the sky;
And newts and owls and frogs shall cry,
As Astronomers Royal stroll by.
As delta x is infinitesmally small
It’s visible to hardly anyone at all.
And delta y is following suit.
Where does that leave this newt?
Meanwhile Newton’s going mad,
From experimenting with lead.
He tries to turn it into gold.
His brilliant mind is fooled.
He brought about the Industrial Revolution,
And influenced Darwin’s Evolution.
Who would think playing with x
Could have such consequences?
A century or two drag heavily by.
Atom bombs fall from the sky.
The newt is better off than we are,
In fear of all things nuclear.
The tragic newt was married later
One toad was believed to be the traitor.
The newt was father to the man
Crack that those who can.
At one with your sisters?Write to me in confidence.
A famous artist doodled on her bare shoulder.Now she’s selling herself .at the Edinburgh Tattoo
He has his clothes on a chair… so he wears a cushion cover.
Give me a pot for all the tea in China..I am dying of thirst.
She married a whistling gesture of a man.She dances to his tune all night.
She’s not playing with a her new man… she’s just testing.
What is the ghost of a chance? The spirit of endeavour?
He had the sharpest wife in the district.She cut all the neighbours dead in one week
There is something personal about it.You are a self opinionated,dimwitted. fanatical crank just like me.So,yes,I’ll marry you tomorrow.
Theres’ no-one to breathe for anymore.
You are nothing to write poems about but I can love you wordlessly
You have nothing with which to grieve…why not get a heart?
Anyone who has a heart will feel pain sometimes.
We are told that talent creates its own opportunities. But it sometimes seems that intense desire creates not only its own opportunities, but its own talents.
Since it’s about a thousand years since the Vikings invaded Britain I thinj
j it’s about time we Danes spoke proper English..
Katharine Clearing/Village in the Forest.
Do clear up that forest,Kath or where will we live?In a treehouse?
Since everyone lived in these clearings it’s not a very noble name… in fact we could be anybody..
Thwaite is a common name in Westmorland..
Alternatively we could move to Denmark… it may be easier.Will they want us.. we are the ones who succeeded in getting away…still I always liked Danes
I am fated to stay here, I can’t walk away now.I belove you too much.
I have no crones’ chat.
I leered at a cool cat.
i love you more than you love your elf..
i need that like I need a whole head to myself.
i never met a man I didn’t like to stroke in a rowing boat.
i want my grace in the sun.
i was born yesterday according to my husband.
i wouldn’t flash on your teeth or they may set me on fire with their whiteners.
i wouldn’t trust my bust to him.
I’d lose my head if it wasn’t inside my stomach.
I’ll be a flunkey’s uncle.
Well I’ll be spammed!
I’ll bare my grudge to the whole community.Yes,I am a which!
I’ll vex you all night to give you delight,
I’ll leave you with something a few have had already… jealousy.
I’m not getting any younger men now… but the old ones look younger as I get older.
I’ve got him cut and pasted already…. for my mail album
I’ve stood up in it up to my ears…so I am almost clean…. why I’m virginal
He had nice water in his veins so the vampire wrote in blood.
It’s hard to wallow in gloom when one is very happy.
The apples fall at random
The apples fall at random,
But tears fall purposely.
The apples fall at random.
You want a cup of tea.
The baby wants her milk
And the cat wants some as well.
The apples fall at random,
If there’s a pattern ,I can’t tell.
The children want their dinner
and I want time to write.
The apples fall at random.
Bit inspiration brings me light.
My husband wants to kiss me.
The baby falls asleep.
The apples fall at random,
Memories gold to keep.
Old cats need a kind home.Can purr and sing as the coal burns..Be kind and take two in today…. they also keep youwarm in bed
I had my hand on him but he never felt me.He had such a thick skin,you see.I needed to fondle him all over before he noticed.Then he sometimes said,
I’m trying to read the fucking paper…..
Fuck the paper….
I handle bugs and viruses until they are tame.Then I re-home them
My hand’s on your shoulder…it’s going to pat you on the back.
My handwriting was on the wall.My mother was put out…
Why can’t you write on your hands ?
I thought I wrote with my hand,I replied…but that was impertinent…so no pocket money this week.So no paper either.I’ll write on my leg… or on the sheet.
He’s as handy as a jacket on a scarecrow…
Please hang in the wardrobe with my clothes till my husband goes out.
Can you hang me out to dry after I have a bath?The towels are all wet.
Meaning sings along to every word you utter.But I can’t translate it into English.
Why is it so good to hang yourself in the wardrobe?
Surely your clothes don’t want to go to bed all together?
I’m as happy as spam that breaks your inbox.
Are you as happy as a lark in spring?Call me now.I need you like a pie needs jam.
This is our traffic warden,James.He’s such a happy clamper.He loves to be hated.It’s called ambivalence,I believe.
They had a barred day’s light… all night!No wonder they wrote,We all live in a yellow submarine.They did except it was blue and was a yacht.. but you get my drift? They were completely at sea.
Are you shard headed?Go to the Museum now.. they may exhibit you free.
Old rats free to a good home. Can read and play the piano….sing along.
What is a hard full stop?
I had a bare brained idea… when I bust my skull…Here it is:Life is good…whatever.
Why do we need a leg up?How will we walk with only one?
The writing is in the hall.
George Osborne is so cunning he charges the sands rental for lying the sea shore.~How about him lying in the run up to the last Election?
And has he lied again…they refuse to be lavish with the truth..
I steal wicks from Church candles as I’m going bald….. Do you think I’ll look good as a bedspead? Candlewick is always in Vogue.
We blew out the electricity to save money.Next we blow out the gas and die…that’s an economic depression for you.This way to Hell or Heaven.
My cat chews bats…and scratches my posts here as I write.
We’re chewing our tails and splitting our hairs.How about biting your nails?We’ll pay as we bite
I am chief Book and Kindle washer…..
We enjoyed some wild play while the others slept..
Let’s chill today like there’s ice tomorrow.
Let’s love again like we once did here.
Shall we connect ourselves up and chip in so that the computer can dream for us?
I see some lips on your shoulder….. what an about face!
I love men with good software and instructions on usage.Plug in and go!
He’s as well read as a politician’s email
Do dead cats pounce?
She fed presidents humbug incessantly.
I like a true blogger.Is it in their genes?
Are we dead to sight?
I’ll deal with all these flirts artfully…like the Dodger.
She felt an April slower today.
Death by a thousand cuts..,our Economy today.
Dear head lights for sale cheap.Cheques broken.
Blogs on hold following web blight.
Spread yourself into a bowl and offer yourself a fresh start.
Woo cheaply with an reusable rose… wash or dry clean only.
Make yourself up as you go along.
Do as I pray and not as I say.Today may be your day
I wear perfume because I don’t spell right.
But I can quell a rat…
And I can wash the cat.
Paint hard whether a true love shows up or not…pictures will absorb emotion.
He’s a fair weather fiend.
She has affairs whatever the weather..she has a few umbrellae, as the Romans might have said…did it rain then?
He’s my call guy…I call him for funny jokes.
I fell head over wheels when my bike ran amok… why can’t it just roll along like other bikes do?
I was so thin I fell through a crack in the door right into his bed.
What a great design… he had it all planned.
It’s like falling off a dog…..depends on size.Some dogs you fall on.
It’s a family affair….I love all of them.Am I mad?
I fancied meeting you here… and I fancy you anywhere if there are roses..
He gave out his Bar cry… I see a pub.Run!
He hit me like a fast brick whirling through the air and now I’m under his spell.He knocked me down with a feather .. a very large feather.I think he made it himself on purpose… still I enjoy being tickled sometimes.
Some day,some night,I’ll see the Light!
Top Posts & Pages
- With leaders
- "Their beauty has more meaning" by Robinson Jeffers
- Emily Dickinson: The brain is wider than the sky
- Stan's vest
- I ask you to remain an end forever or until I find the means
- Britain, the Satan of the West
- Our culture sinks into primeval muck.
- The danger of Holy Communion during a flue epidemic
- A short poem