May 2012

      • Look,stranger on this island now
        The leaping light is still here;
        Standing silent is hard what with all the mobiles
        And the traffic.
        Something is making me sway
        But it’s not the sound of the sea,
        It may be the distant sound of bombs.
        I think I may vomit.

        Here at the edge of a field
        Lie people killed so some other people
        Can have a better future.
        The chalk wall is collapsing into the foam
        Not to mention the odd earthquake.

        My heart quakes because I love you,
        And I’m afraid you prefer a computer
        For killing plans.

        And all this comes into my mind when I stare
        Across the horizon.There’s something wrong.
        We are standing on the edge of an English meadow
        In spring.But in some sense such a meadow
        No longer exists.
        Because we haven’t the heart for it.

        Look stranger on this island now.
        Delight is still possible,
        Is it probable?
        The foam at the edge of the waves
        Leaves a white curve on the sand,
        I walk through and remember you
        and you, and you,
        Even though I never met you.
        You were tall with green eyes,
        And you died of computer overdose.
        I miss you so much,
        and the world of your eyes
        I wanted to discover more entirely
        then the rose.

        Here and there,we remember similar stories–
        Of heroes returning from far away battles;
        But the battles are here,
        and the heroes have departed.
        I remember Odysseus and his journey.
        But like the green meadow
        We have no soul for that,
        We’re on the edge
        And waiting.
        Mind the gap.
        Yes…………the gap is widening.
        Things matter.


        The leaves are waving in the breeze;
        The blackbird sings on high.
        The sun shines through mysterious clouds,
        A skein of geese flies by.

        The daylight hours are long in summer,
        The high point of most people’s year.
        The sparrows chirrup in the holly;
        Rejoice now, for our summer’s here.

        More blossom than we’re used to
        Hangs so heavy from each shrub.
        Summer air is filled with perfume.
        This must be the time for love.

        Ripeness we shall see in autumn,
        But hold and taste the summer day.
        Replete with sun and air and fragrance,

      • They tell me that trees are a wonderful sight
        They have leaves hanging on them all day and all night.
        They tell me the golden sun shines in the sky
        It’s said to be so much brighter so high.
        I’d like to hear birdsong and thunder and hail.
        At all these pursuits worms are likely to fail.
        We only make holes in the soil as we move
        And we know almost nothing about feelings and love.
        We don’t know why we’re here or what purpose we serve
        And our earthen workplace is also our grave.



        Summer is coming——————————————
        I ironed twenty three pairs of underpants yesterday morning
        And fifty hankies.
        Then I had a friend round for tea in the garden
        She said,why have you got so many pairs of underpants?
        So I said,Mind your own business.
        She said,It seems a lot.
        I said,Well,I just have a thing about them.They are so useful for straining jelly through,for example or in cold weather they can be worn on the head!
        She said,On your head!
        So I went on:But 23 is not a good number.24 is better as it’s divisible by 2,3 4,6,8 and 12 [alas not by 10]
        Whereas 23 is a prime number.
        So she said. So what’s wrong with prime numbers?
        I said.Nothing,I just don’t like them.
        She said,You’re prejudiced!
        But surely it’s better to be prejudiced about prime numbers than about foreigners and benefit claimants?
        Good point,she replied,sipping her Ceylon tea..
        If you are prejudiced take it out in something harmless,like numbers
        and if you are full of hate,hate bad grammar not other people.
        If you are nervous,be nervous about the Chancellor of the Exchequer and lobby your M.P. and be less nervous the bus crashing or whether your pension will be large enough or whether your jam will set.
        That might make you do something useful with your neurosis
        And save therapy fees too.
        That’s my theory….
        I mean Woody Allen has had analysis for how many years?
        I rest my case.
        By the way,I love prime numbers…. and is there any end in sight…they seem to go on forever….further apart yet still there.
        What does it all mean?
        Did you say God?
        My pleasure..

      • This is what came to my mind reading my previous post.All the common courtesies and good manners,kindnesses,thoughtfulness are all ways of navigating our way through life more graciously.And in the last 3o years a many of our customary ways have been discarded without new customs developing… as yet.
        A dance is movement but movement using rules which must be learned.And if you have other rules you have another dance.And often in dancing you have a partner even if only for a few minutes.
        Everything has rules,disciplines but within that framework we dance as best and gracefully and enjoyably as we can.

      • Since femininism in the 1970’s,many of the rules of relationship/courtesy between men and women have been confused or been abandoned.Women get doors slammed in their faces;men are told women can manage without them,thank you.
        Still,to me it’s nice to have some ways of showing your care.A cup of tea in bed for the tired wife/mother/worker, a few ironed hankies for the hardworking or stressed husband………..
        a bunch of roses, a bottle of wine.
        Sometimes, a non verbal expression of caring can be a very pleasant act to give or receive.Like birthday cards or a box of chocolates
        And open doors for those who need it,regardless of which sex they are.Courtesy is never wrong.Well,that’s my view.And yes,I have had doors slammed in my face but only when teaching in a poly,never by ordinary folk in the town/shops.I think some male teachers were very unsure of themselves…..
        ..told me that one woman had yelled when they opened a door for her….
        but it’s never right to slam a door in front of anyone….so I believe.But if you must choose someone young and fit who’s not carrying a hot cup of coffee and 100  lecture handouts,Please.

      • Now Scientists have found humor helps arthritis, instead of prescribing ibuprofen the doctor will tickle you with a feather duster.You’ll have to strip of course and if the nurse cam in it would look strange to have the doctor running around the room saying,”You need another tickle”
        So he’ll give you a pack of cards each of which says:
        This card entitles the carrier to one tickle today,two tickles tomorrow.Four tickles the day after, and so on.
        If the number of tickles doubles each day,how many tickles will you have been entitled to in a week?In a month?
        On the last day of the year would the number of tickles you were prescribed be more than the number of seconds in the day?
        You’d better tick off the doctor for not understanding the growth rate.Still if it gives you or her/him a laugh……..your pain will diminish.
        Bring back the tickle,I say.It never did me any harm,though I say it myself.
        If that fails to heal you,you could ask for Capital Punishment…. you’ll have to move to London for that.


        On the therapeutic value of ironing and other out of fashion notions

        I believe working with the hands is very good for us..gardening,sewing,building models..whatever you like.
        Ironing is generally despised since women usually had such a burden with that on top of working outside the home.
        And now,even if you have time it’s seen as a trivial task.I discovered ironing therapy when the bombs killed and injured hundreds of people in the Underground in July 2005.I saw the bus blow up on a TV in a shop window in the town centre and as my husband was in London I was very worried.
        My husband was ok but even so I was distracted and distressed in a way very familiar,I am sure,to people who live in certain parts of this world.
        In the end I took out all my numerous nightdresses and ironed each one very carefully.I have used this technique a number of times since.I find it’s best used on simple items= like hankies,underpants,nightwear so your mind can relax.Ironing men’s heavy cord trousers is definitely untherapeutic.
        And heavy men’s trousers are a no no !
        I think it can act like meditation in a way.And restoring a little order to chaos is usually helpful.
        And it’s free too unlike counselling.Simple sewing can also be therapeutic as can cooking and gardening.
        I recall in the 1970’s when I used to make bread a female friend of my husband told me off and said i was “letting feminists down”
        So please,if you think I’m letting feminists down …don’t tell me.
        I think we should have some freedom and also should value traditional female skills and talents as well as encouraging women to study or train for careers formerly closed to them.
        Please excuse me now………I’m ironing 23 pairs of ladies’ undergarments this morning..yes,they are all mine.They say,there’s safety in numbers,though I’ve never known quite what that meant.I suppose wearing a lot of underpants would keep one warm and well covered in case you get into an accident or you have to climb a ladder in a public place..are you a lady window cleaner?
        So I’ll put on my apron and begin to work.Ironing my hair today… work.

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About Katherine

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