Delicious

July 21, 2017

Yet, it is true, poetry is delicious; the best prose is that which is most full of poetry.

Virginia Woolf
Montaigne
The Common Reader (series one)

Fine advice

July 19, 2017

A Pin

July 19, 2017

A pin has a head, but has no hair;
A clock has a face, but no mouth there;
Needles have eyes, but they cannot see;
A fly has a trunk without lock or key;
A timepiece may lose, but cannot win;
A corn-field dimples without a chin;
A hill has no leg, but has a foot;
A wine-glass a stem, but not a root;
A watch has hands, but no thumb or finger;
A boot has a tongue, but is no singer;
Rivers run, though they have no feet;
A saw has teeth, but it does not eat;
Ash-trees have keys, yet never a lock;
And baby crows, without being a cock.

Christina Rossetti

One for the kiddies

July 19, 2017

19th July

“Roses are red
Violets are blue
Vodka is cheaper
Than dinner for two…”

Sitting here, a solitude surrounded by humanity. All I can do is recite…nonsense!

But thank God, the new Doctor Who is a woman. Perhaps she’ll visit Inter Minor, that planet rich in technological innovation visited once before by the doc? It’s a deeply insular plant with a paranoid population; it severed all links with other worlds after the Great Space Plague, didn’t it? Yes, a planet ruled by grey-skinned humanoids, referred to as ‘the official species’. Each one a potential Philip Hammond look-a-like, they are bureaucratic, officious, without humour or true humanity. And they rule over the ‘underclass’, the workers called ‘functionaries’ who are little more than slaves.

‘Oh, if only,’ sighs Mrs Maybe. ‘But where do they get these stupid ideas from?’

And the inhabitants of Inter Minor positively hate ‘outsiders’: see them as a threat to their lifestyle and culture where art, especially drama and comedy, are outlawed –

#

She has always had her head in a book, ever since we first met.

#

Hospital again today to discuss percentages and dates –

Black Magic

July 17, 2017

magic
       my man
is you
      turning
my body into
a thousand
smiles.
      black
magic is your
touch
       making
me breathe.

 

Sonia Sanchez

 

no poem
no song
no ritual
captures the simple beingness of a stone
let alone a mountain of stone
but let the stone write the poem
let the mountain sing in your heart
let the rituals fall like gentle rain to nourish the gods inside every stone
and every mountain
let your soul rise above the mountain
above the rain
above the clouds
the journey home requires no effort
only willingness to release your claw like grip
on the familiar ground
then the stone speaks unspeakable truth
then the mountain fills your heart with a silent song of peace
and rituals sprout wings of surrender in your soul
and you arrive here

Nirmala
Gifts with no Giver: Poems by Nirmala

Words

July 17, 2017

If you have the words, there’s always a chance that you’ll find the way.

Seamus Heaney
Stepping Stones: Interviews with Seamus Heaney

“Bats !” I tried to tell myself, but a cold numbness ran down my arm — and no bat gives one
a punch like a prize-fighter.

“B-b-bats! ” I screamed in a frenzy.

No sooner was the word out, than there came from behind me a deep rumbling. The great door crashed thunderously into place with a violent bang.

I dared not turn round. Some awful magnetism kept me rooted as I stood, with my eyes
glued to the far wall.

I could see nothing ; but I could feel a Thing like a loathsome octopus-tentacle round my
neck holding me there, forcing me to gaze on what I had no wish to see.

I felt it coming : a flabby mass of warm, stinking flesh, covered with wet hairs, slithered
across my face.

By a supreme effort of will, I managed to move one foot. I knew that if I did not, I should
die. And as I moved it there came a sickening squelch beneath it, with a mad, gibbering,
teetering sound like some half-human creature being trodden upon. A fetid odour wrapped
round my mouth.

M P Dare
A Nun’s Tragedy

The Crying Cock

July 16, 2017

Many questions plague
My curious mind,
Which often strays
Along sex and gender lines.

Why must a man be tough?
Why must a man be powerful?
Why must a man be impermeable to pain?

I suspect an unhealthy link
Exists between a man’s brain and head-
Simultaneously connecting
Identity, ego, and weakness.

I’m just going to flat out say it…

A man’s penis is fragile.
A man’s penis is weak.
A man’s penis is sensitive.

With a malicious flick of a finger,
A man can be brought to his knees.
With a hastily misplaced thrust,
His manhood can be snapped like a twig…

Long before a vagina,
Practically designed to take a beating, will.
Which begs the question…
Which is the weaker sex?

Indie Rod