Cats as household gods

                                  Cats go their own way, and aren't really very reliable.

                                       Here are two short verses about cats from mythology. 
                                               I always felt a little sorry for Freya.


Freya                                                                    Bastet
oh, imagine the                                                     gentle, domestic,
inconvenience of a                                                protecting the house from mice
chariot drawn by cats                                            by crunching them up -->

Coping with the Trees

I love typing errors.
In a recent email I typed I am only just coping with the trees, which is so much more interesting than with the stress.

Jack was liking his paws was another I was pleased with, as my cat does rather like himself.

Best of all was in a recipe, when I typed Make sure you take the butler out of the fridge in plenty of time. Essential advice, I am sure you will agree.

Harvest Time

 I remember the year the fullstop harvest failed. No conversations were finished, and not one novel ended. Anyone found separating an ellipsis faced a heavy fine, and letterpress practitioners were hunted down and robbed. 

Everyone was exhausted by the end of the year.

Poets survived best, and babies were unaffected.

2011 the year of cake

 recipes

 more cake than you can imagine

I am imagining lots

I am imagining a crumb

hey – put it on a plate and sing it a song

find another crumb and they can fall in love

and perhaps one day you’ll find a 

cookie on the plate

or a slice of cake

A Good Breakfast

Here is an excellent way to start the day. On waking, sit up immediately and write down the first three words that come into your head.The trick is not to think about it, and just let the words happen. Surprising trios emerge.

I  then try to make a haiku, where each word is included in a different line. This morning I wrote   paw   duvet   window.
I can't see it being my most exquisite poem.

What the well prepared poet needs to survive

SECRET CODES!

Every poet should have one for everyday use, or perhaps for prose purposes only. My secret code is to reverse vowels in a word when they appear together. Here’s an example;

in the raeding arae

a librarain sat

in a craeking chair,

no cushoin to protect

her posteroir from

the hard wood.

Pretty good, ay? I hope you can work out what it says. The final word’s vowel reversal is particularly subtle.

 Or you could just typeset everything and NOT print it. Then only the truly left-handed would know what you were saying.