How long is a piece of string?

It was a blind date and I met this young man. He was long and narrow. I liked his hands - his fingers were long and slender with knot-like knuckles. But he didn't play the piano (I asked him).

He must have been six foot five: he looked like a long piece of string with knots in.

His face was long and narrow, but the main thing I noticed was that his eyes were too close together. I never trust people with eyes too close together. His eyes were so close together that they almost looked crossed. I didn't believe he could see properly to each side of him because of his long thin nose which protruded between them like a knobbly blade.

His eyebrows were each barely an inch long - there was no room for more in his long, narrow face. They scurried around like two little black caterpillars on his knobbly forehead.

He didn't say much, was very polite and respectful, but I didn't trust him because of his close-together eyes.

Sixty years later, my husband still looks like a long piece of knotted string.

SEA - a poem

Furiously foaming at the mouth of a cave,
Fighting ferociously, fearsome and frightening;
Relentlessly beating, battering beaches,
Sucking up sand and spitting it back.
Fighting itself in its fury
Wave meeting wave with a crash -
Angrily attacking the sea coming back.

Rushing with rage at the rocks –
Biting big chunks and grinding the pieces
Punching and pounding, pummelling and probing
Every crevice of the coast, every cliff, every rock.
Throwing things through holes and abandoning them –
Bottles and bits of brick and plastic
Barrels of toxic and hazardous waste –
Spitefully sending these things to the places
Supposed to be secret, secluded, serene,
Spitting infected sputum onto the beach
Where dead fish and bird’s bodies stink the shore
And tar sticks to feet.

But the sea never ceases – it also cleans:
Washes and purifies the land
Scouring the coast,
Washing away sewage and waste water
Diluting, draining, drifting and drowning,
Eating, consuming. Breaking up, breaking down,
Blowing away, everything going away, going away
With the sea’s inexorable rhythmic pulse.

What's this one about?

Dog and Bone

****************************

Woof, woof, woof, woof

I used to have juicy bone

Wag, wag, wag, wag

I loved my big juicy bone

Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark

I hid it well, I sit alone

Woof, woof, woof, woof

Now I surely know it's gone

Howl, howl, howl, howl

I still miss my juicy bone

John P Tanner 06/2013

17 Days

*******

The woman was Reshma Begum

Seamstress on the second floor

When it all came down it had only just begun

Woman had enough for more

She lay in rain water trying not to drown   

For 17 Days woman banged, screamed out

Had something inside to live breathed though a pipe

After 16 Days they must have had their doubts

All the bodies round were geting ripe

Alone with thoughts and she can hear the scouts

For giving up she's not the type

One must have faith, she did and so do they

LIFE will always find a Way

John Tanner 15 May 2013

HOME EXERCISE ; A PRESENCE IN YOUR HOUSE.

I can hear it everywhere, its in the living room, its in the bedrooms, its wherever I am and its even there when I am not. The silence.

The silence in my house is not lonely it has me for company. It has me to listen to it, as it invades my life. It sits in the shadows when someone visits, then it leaps out and rejoices when they have gone and it can regain its hold on my house.

I play the radio. But, the silence doesn’t like that, it makes the radio crackle, and I lose my temper and switch off the radio.

I sing. My singing is not good I find I prefer the silence – which makes it laugh.

We have been together for quite some time, the silence and I. It was with me when I moved into my house. It looked around, stretched itself throughout the house, and made itself at home.

I break the silence by talking to myself, but the silence does not like that, and makes me think I shouldn’t talk to myself when there’s only me there.

I break the silence by opening the window to let other sounds in, I can hear them, I can smell them as the petrol guzzling cars sweep past my window. The silence does not like it, and shrinks to hide in the far corners of my house. I freeze, until I can stand the cold open window no more and close it.

The silence laughs and returns to envelop me. I can almost taste it, and it takes over from the noises that are the rest of my life.

It is sitting now waiting, waiting for me to stop the tap, tap, tap of the computer keyboard, the buzz of the tower, the hum of the central heating.

Maybe I should wrap it up and give it away. Give it to the first person I hear who declares "I never get a moments peace."

But then, I would miss it, it’s my silence and after all these years we understand each other well.

A Home Exercise.

Below is an exercise to be worked on at home:-

Put an athlete, artist and fitness instructor in an art gallery.
Add a broken window and a crooked painting.
One of them panics.
Write out the scene.
　

The artist looks at the athlete and fitness instructor standing beside him in the art gallery. Fit, agile, alert, good health exuding from them both. He looks at his painting hanging on the wall, in front of them. His heart, his soul went into painting that picture….it will be his last.

The men laugh.

"The picture is crooked" chuckles the athlete. "They couldn’t even be bothered to hang it straight."

"I don’t like the colours….its much too blue." Adds the fitness instructor.

The artist sighs. This painting was his legacy to the nation, the reason for his being, the reason for all those years hoping, trusting that eventually he would paint the "perfect painting". And, this young, well, fit man thinks its "too blue".

The artist sees no reason to wrestle with his illness any longer. He glances at his painting one last time, walks over and straightens the way it hugs the wall.

Four steps is all it takes, four steps and his life finishes as he falls from the now broken window.

I've been writing this fitfully, off & on for months aqnd I think it's finally ready to see the light...

How To Stay Happy
*****************
Sometime in life you'll see
That one day, in the time it takes to flash
A phnuff, you'll just cease to be
No hopes, no ambition, no dreams
You won't be sad about it though
No success, but you won't mind
No failure, no fears, nothing
You won't know a bloody thing!
Stop worrying if it doesn't really matter
Don't buy it if it's not worth earning time 
Smile and laugh much more than you frown
This way you can be happy and make others happy too!
Don't go being all down
There's no time in life to mope
No use feeling sorry for one's self
Even if life can be like a big cruel joke
No point feeling bad about yourself
That is bad for your soul
You'll never make it that way baby!
We were all babies once
Even the prime minister & Adolf bloody Hitler
They may have turned out Maniacs
But their mother's used to comb their hair
And kiss them goodnight or guten-nacht!

Have I put this out here before?

    Sharing
    *******
We are all sharing the same air
Like it or lump it you have to brethe
It's constant we do it no thought or care
From tiny babies to old with false teeth
Angels to jailbirds we recyle the same stuff
All day and night on top or beneath
We effortlessly inhale exhale the same oxygen
Call it whatever breathe huff pant or puff
You share with ya neighbours enemies or freinds
Hate them or love them argy or bargy
Argy or orgy everbodies sharing
Air that is

16/02/13 unfinished

Should I scrub the last two lines before publishing?

I like this one, has to be read with attitude, it's a response to being told by politicians that the economy is fine now.

What now? Britain doesn't float!                              
********************************
What now? What shall we do?
People somewhere must still don a tux'
We just walk, run or wheel and maybe feel blue   
Some still get that job, win the ruck
Be worth talking to, make one laugh
Run the show, know how it still all works?
Haven't they? I mean someone looks fun & free in a photograph
Don't they? Britain doesn't float...   
Did someone say it does float?
They'd have towed it somewhere hot and dry if it did
Or it would've been clamped

Robbed or Pinched, Nicked, Half inched
Does it all still work?
It still makes money for them
He tapped his nose bridge, winked, He's knowing
Of course, the one's in tuxedos
Their bank accounts are growing
What shall we do? We do care
They've made a fine trade in making torpedos
Banking too and dealing shares
The arts are big in this sceptered isle
They say there's a work in evererybody but it may take a while

***
FIN 

Gun USA
?$?%?$?
It's not the Wild West
But they still want guns
So get a good vest
Even the mentally ill
An unstable man shot his Mum
School child victims were the thing
At the end he felt the guilt
Ate a bullet and escaped punishment
Did any of this mans life matter
Until all that blood was spilt
Twenty children shot dead
What was the point
I can't get that out of my head

The Power Of Flight (UFO)
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<
I wish I had the power of flight
I could get everywhere early, not late
The beak and feathers would not look right
But the timeliness suits me just great
I would fly around and round all day long
The birds would worry if they saw me up there
Airliners would panic about something wrong
I'd wear a superman costume to stop the scare
There would be frantic reports of this UFO
Passengers would think they were seeing things
Air traffic control could only shrug 'we don't know'
I have just got to work out how one can fly without wings
And how to get down I haven't yet passed go
I'm too high and I can't even sing

(Revised 2 lines added)