Even more early October

  • 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 saying 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.

  • Like watercolour pictures left out in the rain
    Our colours have mingled,yet the originals still remain.
    Two watercolour paintings without frames,
    Became one picture over time,
    Yet two of us still there.
    Our colours blended naturally,
    Now all the hues are shared.
    I love your colours intermixed with mine:
    Together they have made a new design.
    A Watercolour picture painted by the rain,
    We may go, but our Watercolour Love will still remain.

  • Season of Writs and Yellow Legal Pads
    Season of Cat Theatricals and Many Merry Kitten Calls
    We wish you a Merry Dish Wash:Use Alcohol to Clean Up.
    Season of Wistful Ways and Yellow Fruituality:Lost Your Spirits?
    Angels are Dancing on my PIN…..how to go bankrupt quickly and easily.
    Abstract Cake Making:applied Solid Geometry for when you lose your Cook Book.
    Shades of Right Surround me ever: Clegg Confesses All.
    Am i Who I used to Be: No,your i’s are different.
    Commuting Groups and Symbols that Keep Flittering like Butterflies.
    Non-commutative Operas with Demonstrations of invariance under rotations and regulations from anywhere at all in any direction or deconstruction

  • ‘Twas illig, and the blithely Stoats ,did fire a Thimble at a Ghrost.

    Around the World I’ve Lied with Youare and Blush,The Twin Horror Show.

    Alice in Blunderland.

    Malice through the Magnifying Glass.

    Malice in Gove Land.

    All Whimsy were the Government’s Groves:Chequers for Hecklers

    All flimsy were the Lying Grounds, yet the War Mongers Outslayed

    Where are they,Mioaw?Cameron’s Cats for Rich Rools..

    Who stole my Government?

    Shall I compare Thee to a Carving Knife? : The N.H.S reduced to Size.

    How to write and sell your first Comedy of Errors: Mandel’s Sunset.

    Death and Menace: New Big Society for the disabled.

    Where have all the People Gone?: Holidays at Home for Dummies.

    Philosophy in a new Sea. Lost Ideas and Drowning Brainwaves.

  • Stan had decided to do a some of baking.

    The larder was empty
    the cupboard was bare
    he looked in the cake tin
    but nut nothing was there.Sorry about that!
    Stan had flour,eggs and sugar and of course milk and butter.Emile was under the table waiting for something to drip out of the bowl!He loved baking days.
    Stan had bought a load of blackberries in the market so he was thinkin of blackberry tarts,blackberry crumble..
    He picked up the bag which seemed very heavy.Putting his hand in …..he pulled out a Blackberry!He went to the market
    to buy me some fruit
    and now he’s got Blackberries
    he’s going to shoot!Annie his next door neighbour was coming to the back door.”What’s up ,Petal?”

    “Oh,dear.I seem to have made a category error.”Stan answered philosophically.”Well what category would you put me into?” she asked petulantly.
    “Why are you so egocentric ?Not everything is about you!”He said fluently.
    “Well if I’m narcissistic it’s because my infant grandiosity was ruptured too suddenly and I was not held and contained in a suitable manner.”
    “You’ve been reading that Wilfred Bion again.” Stan said admiringly.”No,not just him.It’s some American chap as well .Would you like to read it?”
    “No,thanks,I’m finding Julia Segal is more than enough for me.I find Bion is a bit too mystical.I don’t think I can approach you without memory or desire.To be honest,without memory or desire I wouldn’t want to approach you.”
    “Wow ” she said stupidly,her large green eyes staring avidly upon him inviting him to fall into their salty sea like depths.
    “Shall I ring 999?I can’t think of anything to say.I’m lost for words.”

    “Perhaps you have reached that mystical spot beneath language mostly only known to babies,the mad, or meditators?”
    “well,I do feel a bit of madness today.”
    “Is that why you have purple and orange eyeshadow on clahing with your alarazin crimson lipstick and your light beige, but not too light, foundation by Lancome of Brixton and Blackheath,Paris,Rome,and London?”
    “I suppose so.” she replied indifferently.I feel as if I’m behind a glass wall.”
    “Oh,don’t worry.That’s the new window!” Stan explained courteously.”You really are behind a glass wall.”
    “You’ve been reading schizoid processes again on Yahoo,”
    “Yes,” she admitted her face blushing violently.”It’s those new people who’ve moved in across the road.They are both psychoanalysts so I wanted to feel up to their level of knowledge.”
    “I didn’t know they were psychoanalysts.How did you find out?”

    “Well,first of all,there were two large sofas, and then hundreds of knitting needles and a lorryful of wool.And I thought,”Hello,hello,It must be one of Anna Freud‘s followers.”
    “So have you met them?” he asked laconically?
    “Yes”,she confessed animatedly .I went over and said,
    “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
    “And what did he say?”
    “Are you all mad round here?”
    “So I thought,”You’re not getting hold of me that easily.””
    “So I said “I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m am an admirer of Melanie Klein,”
    “Oh,how did they react to that?”Stan quizzzed her jovially.
    “He was so rude.He said,”Are you telling me you’re a lesbian as well as a lunatic?”

    “Oh,dear.No wonder your make up is all running off your face and disappearing down your cleavage.Why don’t you pop upstairs and have a bath?”
    “Well it’s either that or ringing 999“
    “My self is totally divided.”

    “Into equal parts?” “I can’t say” she murmured.”Oh,well” said Stan “you sit there with Emile and I shall make a Victoria sponge and a lemon drizzle cake without the lemon…I’ve only got bananas and they don’t drizzle.

    “Why not adapt to reality and make a banana loaf?”
    “Is that wise?” Stan enquired.”Wise or not,it seems to make sense.” she whispered coyly.”Get a move on or Mary will be back on her Raleigh shopper bicycle and there’ll be no cake for tea.”Thank you,honey.”Stan replied.
    “I am filled with memory and desire.””And quite right too,”mioawed Emile from his basket.”I’m like that every night!””And so are all of us,”Annie twittered on one of Stan’s blackberr

  • http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/09/24/doctor-empathy-a-factor-in-diabetes-care/

    I would not be surprised if it were true across a wider spectrum of health problems,that the doctor’s attitude can have a physiological effect.I have already seen evidence that medications work better if you get on well with the doctor… even antibiotics.I have noticed lately our doctor is busy with NHS reforms and so is not so available….
    I wish he would read this article.Three of my family are diabetic

  • I once met a very smart man
    Who lived in a little red van.
    He ate his meals out
    Though I have no doubt
    He would sometimes eat beans from the can.

    He took his shirts to the laundrette.
    That is,to be sure, where we met.
    He was fascinated by music,
    But just to confuse me,
    He never told me he played the cornet.

    Thus,when we listened to Mozart’s French Horn,
    And I was feeling quite puzzled and torn,
    He criticised the breathing
    Of the player who was meaning
    To show the world why he’d been born.

    If someone had written a piece for the cornet
    Which sounded like a half drunken hornet,
    He might have married me
    And now I would not be
    Sitting here writing pornette. [ A new word meaning very soft porn]

  • Looking out,
    I see the yellowish wood
    of the forsythia
    where blackbirds live.
    Now the sun shines and a leaf or two
    wave in the wind;
    the points of light
    edge of each holly leaf
    like moulded silver flowers,
    celebrating the falling sun.
    Pine cones dangle loosely from the conifer
    will we be showered innocently
    with these fruits?
    cat comes out of the shed
    looking determined,
    moves off quickly
    down the curving path
    in search of movement.
    Peers into the glass door
    but won’t come in.
    Make hay,while the sun shines.
    I hope it shines for you,too.

  • Floating like seaweed on the tide,
    The final leaves of summer die.
    The birds ride on the wind’s broad back,
    They know no fear and know no lack.
    The air is filled so with great treasures,
    My female heart its wonder measures.
    The clouds are deep and dark and grey
    What rainstorms may they fetch our way?
    The sun appears and gives a glow
    Of yellow to bare branches low.
    Red berries so bright, like summer flowers,
    Decorate the holly’s pointing tower.
    Sharp thorns protect the smaller birds,
    And from inside,their cheeps are heard.
    As dusk arrives the blackbird sings,
    So much sweetness nature brings.
    As I turn my mind from in to out,
    I feel salvation for my doubts.
    I know that I’m part of the whole,
    And with all life I share my soul.
    In this peaceful place I rest,
    As with love’s eloquence I’m blessed.
    There’s singing in my inner heart.
    Like bees to flowers,my fears depart

  • 1.
    I was once quite addicted to fruit
    I ate anything whether raw or half cooked.
    Till waking one night,
    Without very much light
    I gnawed a hole in my husband’s new boots.

    There was an old gent in New York
    Who hated to eat with a fork
    He lived on tinned soup,
    And ate poetry books
    And got protein from the insects he caught

    There once was a foolish young girl
    Whose hair was not willing to curl.
    So she chopped it all off
    Whilst in a huff.
    And instead she wore a crown made from pearls.

    I once knew a scientist of note
    Who never wore a winter topcoat.
    When I asked him why,
    He said with a sigh,
    There’s no space when you live in a boat.

  • Leaves have gone so suddenly
    Small birds float on the wind
    Like boats astride a choppy sea.
    Their swaying stills my mind.

    Wild geese fly past at dusk again
    They head towards the West.
    If I were such a wild white goose
    I’d know which path was best.

    But as a human I need words
    To find my destination.
    So many words which are packed
    With genius of generations.

    I send my words with love to you.
    I hope you deftly catch them
    Send me true answers from your heart
    And I promise I shall match them

  • I will love you like a big elastic band would,
    Holding you but not constraining.
    I will be like a giant paperclip
    Keeping all your bits connected.
    I will be a sheet of paper
    On which you write your thoughts.
    I will be a curtain on your window
    To hide you from the glare.
    I will be a briefcase that you hold in your hand.
    But I refuse to be a wastepaper basket
    To hold your garbage.
    I do have my limits
    Though they are elastic.
    But even elastic is not infinitely stretchy
    And neither am I.

  • I walked across the water.
    I skied across the sea
    I took the television too,
    And it’s heavier than me.

    I fell up a mill chimney
    I slid down a sunbeam
    I have to go to London
    I was told to in a dream.

    I drove right up a mountain
    A horse rode on my back
    I felt rather excited
    But I forgot to take my mac.

    I swung across the ceiling
    Like a spider in its web,
    I say,you are so beautiful.
    Do you have a double bed?

    I am sitting on the roof top
    Drinking cider from a can.
    I wanted to get married
    But she said she wants a man.

    I climbed right up a tiger’s tail,
    I crowned an elephant
    But my most abiding passion
    Is to learn to mix cement.

    I spied for several governments
    But then they threw me out.
    Because I am an alien
    Of that there is no doubt.

    I’m not a human being
    I am lacking in some ways
    I’m too kind to kill other people,
    Even when it’s highly paid.

    I write with a big crayon
    I draw with candlewax
    I live on cottage pie and rice,
    And I’m addicted to kind sex.

    I set my curly hair on fire.
    I swam In boiling oil.
    I went down to the market
    To watch the apples toil.

    I had a lot of people
    Who were living in my house.
    I could not ever remember
    Which one was my spouse.

    I taught my doctor to love lice
    I showed him how to shoot.
    And now I’m training Isaac up
    So he can be a Newt.

    I skate across the surface
    Of everybody’s eyes
    And all I ever ask of you is
    Forget how to tell lies.

    I am coming down to your place
    As it’s twice as big as mine.
    Have you got a chip sandwich?
    To feed our love divine?

    I want to see the people
    who are living in that Palace.
    I have to tell them God told me
    It belongs to Carroll’s Alice.

    Roll your eyes like marbles
    And interweave your hair with trains.
    This is how it happens,
    When you don’t heed Labour’s pains.

  • A few people have told me they would rather know what I was doing than read my poetry.If you are such a person I have just bought a number of new sheets and pillowcases.I have also bought 12 table napkins from France.I ate some pizza at midday.It’s raining and quite cold.I am reading “Dresden Green” by Nicholas Freeling…..or I was.I lost it in the bedroom.No doubt in 6 years I’ll find it in the wardrobe.The logical deduction is…buy an e-reader.Wow,why did I buy new sheets?It’s this urge housewives get as winter approaches…fill the cave with food and other stuff….And new sheets are nice.One looks like tent fabric it’s so tough.They are from a French mail order place.Sartre…. what sort of sheets did he like?The heating is faulty so I have a fan heater on.I have some navy blue track pants on.I found them in the bathroom on the chair.And I have a blue jumper on…. bright like my eyes.My hair looks really good today…
    it’s some gunk I put on,really as long as it feels clean and don’t give a toss how it looks…It’s gone lighter and lighter blonde till now I think it’s platinum.. and all without a dye.I feel quite envious of myself.Is that possible?I shall ask a theologian..I know two.I know some people hate themselves… so you could be jealous of yourself.Isn’t life weird?Or is it me?
  • Leaves have gone so suddenly
    Small birds float on the wind
    Like boats astride a choppy sea.
    Their swaying stills my mind.

    Wild geese fly past at dusk again
    They head towards the West.
    If I were such a wild white goose
    I’d know which path was best.

    But as a human I need words
    To find my destination.
    So many words which are packed
    With genius of generations.

    I send my words with love to you.
    I hope you deftly catch them
    Send me  answers from your heart-
    And I promise I shall match them.

  • Seven o’clock- and the sun’s still glowing
    Seven o’clock – finishing colour bright day,
    Up above – pink tinged clouds are sliding
    Down still sky,sweeping sun away.Come back sweet sun,do not leave me.
    Come back bright beams,I need sunlight.
    Down on earth,it’s witch moon darkness,
    When your golden face is out of sight.I see the orange tinged clouds extending.
    I feel such sense of sky lit bright.
    But gently now,the mist surrounds you
    And sweeps away that happy sight.Into velvet blackness sinking,
    The dazzling, dreaming darkness falls.
    Goodbye to haste,and glare, and sunshine,
    Time for reverie,night time calls.On the night-train’s gentle journeys,
    On this trackless train we ride
    Strange,seductive haunting pictures
    I will see in dreams’ designs.

    In my night trainI’ll be happy
    In such rich deep reverie.
    We visit darkness in our sleeping,
    There we learn its ecstasy.

    Now we have no God to hold us
    In His Hands of Living Love,
    What will help us trust deep blackness
    If there’s no Saviour from above?

    Must we enter that great darkness,
    Go back to dark from which we came,
    Into dark all living creatures,
    In that darkness find our home?

    Trust the dark unknown, to hold us,
    Trust the dark ,both night and day.
    Must we walk into that darkness
    And trust it is our safest way?


    I lack personal walls.

    He was sacked by the draper.
    And bagged by the greengrocer.

    I have hacked what I said from my own files.

    It was a snack in my hand that gave me indigestion.

    I’ll be a duck in a beck in Cumbria rather than take from the poor.

    Are you back on the fiddle or is it the guitar?

    I shall back my life up onto my brain….

    He was a back seat driver owing to his overly long arms… that’s why he let his cat sit in the driver’s seat,so he said to the police.
    The judge sentenced him to community service so he’s now the Vicar.

    Are you an expert at jabberwocky/

    We went back to the dear ones…. they were so creative.

    We all went back on the duty to hoard.

    A lack of salt mines made it easier to sweat.

    He gave her a cackhanded compliment so she struck him with her walking frame and is now in jail for criminal damage to an artefact.

    I believe in rum tea.

    Is it possible to be flat all over and still be a woman?

    I have a little…..

    Wave your breath through the hole.Will it separate the particles out?

    Pay,why?Are you a bill….?

    Weigh your prayers.God cares.

    Scarcely a den left on Hampstead Heath…where will thieves meet?
    Westminster….you know where!

    He was bare except for his own shadow… and that was not very cosy.

    I am wiping the bottom of the barrel… it’s been digesting our polticians all day.

    Season’s Tweetings to all my friends

    I reckon it will cost as much as a bed for the bananas.

    I have second sinned now…I got my eye in,or should I say on, a handsome man.~Is it mortal?
    All men are mortal….
    As for sins, we leave that to God.
    What,he sins!
    No he judges our sins…our motives and our thoughts…
    Seems a horrible job…

    Never wee when you lie.If you are so scared,tell Ruth….I mean the truth.

    I pee in the glass till it’s only half empty.We have no loo here, you see.
    Why not pee outside in the garden?Are you afraid of the dark?
    No,but I am afraid of sky larks.
    You mean nightingales?
    Well,I’d rather spend the night in a breeze.
    You are getting on my wick.
    Don’t take that tone with me.
    I am so sorry.I am tone deaf.
    Tone blind too,if you ask me.
    I shan’t ask you.
    Wank you.
    Wank you very much.

    I see the light at the end of the funnel…I fell into a big teapot.
    Where is the spout?

    Can you see which way the bacon rinds flow?

    Yell,” No doubt” if you hear any politician speak.Or “Unclear.”

    My senses have overflowed….I am sorry you had no Mac.

    I separate the men from their toys at night so they can play with me in the dark.
    Well,I am in the dark totally but it seems fun at the time.

  • Suddenly the air was full of roses
    smiles floated out from strangers’ faces
    children blew bubbles
    I stood watching the colours on one
    as the sun lit up the edges
    as it ascended into heaven
    everyone was smiling
    music played
    world more real seemed here for a moment
    perhaps a’re always on the edge of paradise
    if we stopped running so fast
    the world keeps whispering
    “I’m here,see,listen,look”
    wants us to interact,relate.
    the air I breathe was once in your lungs,
    We are all fish in one ocean
    green and deep,we swim blindly
    like the mad. WE are the mad,
    As the mad sometimes tell us.
    They saw too much,too soon.
    We see too little,too late,
    Though it’s never too late to start

  • Trees so tall their
    wind turned branches stroke the air.
    leaves still green,
    still stretching sunward
    will burn red and gold soon.

    Wood pigeons cause a flurry
    by the birdbath,
    as I pass they indicate surprise
    with strange cries.

    Look up at the sky,
    it’s blue again
    no clouds.
    a silver plane flies north,
    are people looking down at us?

    If only love made time last
    would like this morning
    to be longer,
    for our turning earth
    to pause for a moment.

    How dear you are to me.
    I stretch my hand
    to touch you,
    as if you are a leaf
    bathed in light.
    no shadows on your face,
    no shadows in your eyes
    but smiling with the beauty
    seen by those who love.
    come kiss me now ,my dove.

  • Watching the car come round the corner,

    I put up my arm and ordered it to stop.

    Don’t pedestrians have the right of way

    over turning cars?You can see I was already

    feeling impertinent even before the man

    would not give me a chair in the bookshop.

    Still I saw a woman laugh and she patted me

    On my arm and said she’d remember me.

    Standing by the flower stall,counting rose petals

    The world seemed simpler and more beautiful.

    What’s the answer to the unspoken question,

    We all ask.The point is will we recognize this answer?

    Will it pass unnoticed as we look the other way?

    Which vision will we use to decide?

    Where are we looking?

  • Stop for a moment.
    There has to be an incantation,I demand it.
    Oratory has a place but needs music
    To make the world succumb
    To get all the atoms vibrating as one
    Will you find out how to do it?
    Ancient people knew it,but we lost the art
    Logic was all we thought we needed
    But logic doesn’t make the sperm penetrate
    As the ovum waits patiently.
    Such waiting,such stillness.
    How can we not admire it?
    Sing special songs for the acceptance of the female spirit.
    This Mozart sonata,the piano’s voice is almost painful
    in its beauty.
    Just stop for a moment,please.
    He’s inverting all the previous melodies
    Upturned then and made something new.
    It’s in the air,invisible
    Like scent of raindrops,
    Touching the face and tenderly passing
    On their way to earth

  • Somehow,I’m thinking,there has to be another way
    that doesn’t destroy the tenderness of love.
    that leaves the grass green;
    and lets the daisies flower on cricket pitches,
    In England and the commonwealth.
    Where’s the soul’s astute intelligence
    playing itself out?
    Look at my hands,
    They speak of it all
    Tapping on keys while I listen
    To the silence
    all around
    with the distant radio
    giving yet more news.
    An end to nonsense,we are the animals that can learn
    from experience.
    but we have to want to change.
  • It’s autumn weather,geese fly by.
    Autumn rust,red, gold so gay
    Drystone walls,edging fields
    Apples gathered,holly berries
    Flash so brightly
    Look like flowers
    Sun shines sideways,shadows long
    Of trees appear,I dwell among
    Woods of gentle beeches sing
    Flowing with the gliding wind.
    Look at roots all intertwined
    Feel their geometry in the mind
    Looking up into the sky
    I see the V formation high,
    Geese fly home at end of day
    My heart is moved by patterned dance
    All in this peace and holy silence.
    Is it true it’s only chance
    Or is it that gods dwelled here once
    I feel my heart open like the sky
    And at this moment I could die
    So I would stay with this still vision
    Of geese set out in Autumn mission
    Snails in rain pools slither near
    My feet upon the terrace here
    And look upon their whorled backs
    The complete pattern of life is packed.
    And yet so easily it’s destroyed
    When blind foot steps into the void

    I love those old genes

    i am all peers…

    All for a bone,and scones for the boys?

    All hands are paint flecked on the deck,by order.

    All trespassers persecuted in court.

    All hands to the rumps.

    How hell breaks the teeth!

    She calls in almost daily with a smirk.

    Balls in due rhyme.

    It’s all over except we lost the map.Still we found another War… the War to end all Wars and it’s still ongoing.The War seems to be a great success …. but for whom?

    We all paled in contrition.. our sin was imprecision

    He’s all hawk yet no action.

    All those Twitterers should be in jail.Tweet that now.

    I love all that jazz….. and those old blue genes.

    I had all the wits he needed…so he believed….yet he was deceived.
    I kept them for myself,you see.

  • Perspicuity sees more than convention.

    I have let all words unreel for me.

    As nervous as a maths Prof. with hot proof, he paced the platform looking for imaginary numbers.Cauchy put a stop to it all?

    Never put off until Heaven the loving you can do on Earth.

    I brought new police in for my wife.I need them to get a grip otherwise it’s Bedlam in here

    A newbie: that’s a word I hate.What rhymes with it?What chimes with it.What sort of time can one have with it

    Tall guys find lust at last when they get unstilted.Free here.

    The girls were so bright and prey.

    Well,I’ll flip my duck to you,Sir.And I rarely do that howerdays.

    You need to flip pancakes for your lover.Or even do somersaults.
    They need to unwind their bobbins

    There is no accounting for taste.It’s unmeasurable and undefinable yet it exists.

    He made no grains at all…but he sowed all his wild oats and I sewed up all his coats.

    It was a no grow relationship so I uprooted myself and wept.

    I believe no colds were barred…they resisted innoculation on location by special bequests.

  • Note:I had a list of cliches.I joined them together with extra words…. and l altered some slightly.

    I find it amuses me when I think of more cliches.

    Sometimes leaving out part of a cliche or a proverb gives a new idea which may produce a poem.Sometimes just a laugh…


    You are driving me to thoughts which rarely entertained me before… give me my pen

    Everything is coming up too ,you know.too intense,too dense.too claustrophobic,too near,too whelming

    Don’t cry overmuch.you can pee instead,in bed,when you’re dead,standing on your head

    He’s not worth a brushing with butter or a sprinkling with cheese.Eat him neat,what,cheat?

    Faint hearts need GNT or a G and T ,What’s your poison?It’s all nectar to me.I live up a tree.. so how do I wee?

    How do I love thee,lend me your veers.

    Cats to the right of us,cats to the left.Let’s take our clothes off except for our vests.

    Where have all the hours gone?
    Where have mine gone?
    Where have all our coalmines gone?
    In England’s green and peasant filled land


    I feel my heart’s cracked.
    How..over spilled milk?
    Do you want to feel me?
    It does my heart good,yet
    You are driving me crazy
    with your endless words.

    Every blog has its sway..
    In point of fact,
    everything’s coming up roses.
    Wasted hearts
    never a true love know.

    Shall I
    fall head over heels or
    fall through the cracks
    in the pavement.
    I love you,please
    fan the flames of our fire.
    To know you is to love me.

    How can I end it otherwise?
    My desire is to be here now.
    And to paint you all over
    With olive oil unless you prefer butter.
    To be buttered!

  • Beautiful face …………….
    I have experienced a few times in my life a beauty that was so perfect that in some cases my legs gave
    way.One time it was seeing Lincoln Cathedral floodlit through a window and I did fall down then.Another
    time it was a drawing by Picasso,and again St Paul’s Cathedral at night.With people I’ve felt it once or
    twice.One wishes to die at that moment simply to avoid losing the beauty.It’s as if someone has just played a
    chord which harmonizes with one’s soul/psyche.It’s difficult to explain but maybe you have felt that too.
    One time was very funny because it was a mere greeting card with a Picasso drawing on that made my legs
    give way.So if I don’t post one day you’ll know I’m lying on the ground worshipping some beauteous image or
    smile or face or the sky.I’m not drunk except on beauty.
    Your face is so beautiful
    when you smile,
    I could die while gazing
    upon it.
    Your eyes affect me
    like silver light gleaming
    on a frozen lake in winter
    I could remain entranced always
    And,though I know
    love to be eternal,
    the music begins
    the dance goes on.
    You leave me.

  • There once was a doctor called Spooner
    Who was affected by all things lunar
    When the moon was half sized
    He was quite galvanized
    By the bum of a lady piano tuner.

    There once was a scientist named Newton,
    Who wanted a room with a futon.
    But no-one had heard
    Of that Japanese word
    So he went off with his apple to Luton.

    I once “knew” your daddy,Newton.
    Before he had got his new suit on.
    When you were conceived
    He said he’d been deceived.
    And it all occurred here on that futon.

    A scientist went into to the loo
    When he had lots of hot thinking to do
    But the door lock got jammed,
    And poor Newton was crammed
    In a bathroom without any view.

    There was once doctor called Newt
    Famed for his bizarre birthday suit.
    So one day he went out
    Clad in ne’er a clout,
    So now he’s been given the boot

  • If Jesus wants you for a sunbeam
    Tell Him you’re not ready yet.
    If Jesus wants you for a sunbeam
    Tell him that your mind’s not set.

    If Jesus asks you something silly
    Then it’s highly likely that
    It’s not Jesus,it’s your shadow
    So you can just say “Godwot.”

    If you see your Guardian Angel
    Flying round your kitchenette.
    It’s a sign you’re high on wine.
    And you’re not an angel yet.

    I am most wary of illusions
    If they satisfy my dreams.
    True imagination only works when
    Our ego’s not in the scheme.

    Let Jesus go and take a step
    Into the darkness on your own.
    Ask a human being for help,
    Then you really will have grown.

    Goodnight fairies,goodbye witches.
    Goodbye elves and fantasy.
    Take your self into the future
    Where we know not what may be.

    “Jesus wants you for a sunbeam”
    Is a very weird sentence.
    If Christ’s religion has a value.
    It’s based on truth and not pretense

  • Oh,Mr Osborne,what did you do ?
    I took away the free bus pass
    From silly old fools like you.
    Oh,Mr Osborne,may I ask you why?
    Yes,indeed, we Conservatives
    Want all you old fogeys to die.
    So we are getting rid of the heating allowance
    And sending you all back to work.
    So the stress and the strain ,the worry and chill,
    Will get rid of you all,oh fuck,[I know most of you like this word,unlike me.. remember the rows]
    I’ve lost the bit of paper
    On which I had written my budget
    Oh,God,Oh ,Hell on earth,I say,old boy,
    I’ll just have to bloody fudge it.
    You can say whatever you fudge,
    And we old people may die.
    But history will soon be your judge,
    And your own children may ask you”Why”
    You’re making the BBC pay the licence fee
    For people over 75,
    When it should be the tax from the rich folk
    Who expect us to take a deep dive
    Oh,Georgy Osborne,I’ll put your wallpaper all over your eyes,
    So that you cannot see,but you’ll still hear
    The poor people’s loud, raging cries.
    And remember the coalition lose votes
    If too many old people die.

  • Put your thoughts down on the page
    Whilst you’re in the writers’ rage,
    All you want can be said here,.
    Imagination’s clear.

    Remember those long sunny days
    Playing in the park always,
    Every hour was filled with mirth
    Imagination’s birth.

    Put your burden down and play,
    Today is now the only day.
    Sun is up, joys may lurk.
    Imagination’s work.

    Never let your heart go sour,
    Live in moments,not in hours.
    All of us are here anew,
    Imagination’s due.

    Wrap your arms around the world.
    Keep them always warmly curled.
    If you hate someone, forgive.
    Imagination lives.
    Imagination lives


About Katherine

I like art, poetry,history, literature,cooking,doing nothing to music.And conversation
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