Patch's Story Chapter 4

 Patch's Story Chapter 4

     The Boss tries to clean up the mess. And it is a mess. Plaster and water is not easy to clean up. Anyway what's the point the water is still dripping. She puts buckets down because it is coming from more than one place. The problem is I heard her say, that she still can't find the source of the leak. 

She has spent a lot of time on the phone and someone suggested that she should contact the insurance company. I heard her say that she was reluctant do do that. She had changed companies about 18 months ago. The first thing that happened then was we had a fire. 

I remember it well. It was New Year's Eve. She had been to a friend's to celebrate and came back to a smoke filled house. Me and my 2 sisters had stayed upstairs so we were OK. There was only smoke damage. Well I say only smoke damage but anyone who knows will tell you that it's no joke. It took days to clean the walls. Her friend Helen tried but it was impossible. The insurance company engaged decorators to paint all the downstairs walls. Then they insisted on taking all her clothes to be dry cleaned because they smelled of smoke and they brought them back in polythene bags. 

I know all this because as I have said before, I hear everything. She discussed it with her friends and she decided to call the insurance company who sent someone round to look at the damage. Then it got complicated. I am not sure why, something about, they could pay for this but not that. But it involved many visits from various plumbers, insurance people and assessors. I heard the word expert so many times that I thought if they are experts why can't they find the leak and get it all sorted. 

What a situation! Drip, drip,  drip, and still surrounded by boxes. I'm OK. I am still able to sleep in my favourite spot but I am worried about her. She seems very upset. Well I don't blame her. The water is turned off and she can't use the lavatory.  Not that that has stopped the drip. There is a kind of toilet in the shed. I know because there is a chair with a container under it. I have seen her empty the container.  She empties the contents on the compost heap.

Yesterday things got worse. That French man came with another so-called expert to inspect the beams which were now exposed because of the fallen ceiling. He was looking for 'infestation' apparently. The Boss was furious. She told him in no uncertain terms to clear off. At least I assume that's what she said because she spoke loudly in French and pointed to the door.

The next day the French woman came. I didn't understand everything because they kept speaking in French. I know they were discussing dates but why I don't know and still the boxes remain.

People People People

 I am sitting watching the TV. It's Wednesday so that means PM's question time. I usually start to watch it mainly because I would like the opposition to challenge this selfish, lying and greedy government. They rarely do. Anyway today there is also a budget announcement from the Chancellor so I begin to watch that to. At the same time I am reading the latest edition of Private Eye.

You will deduce from what I have written so far that I am  Socialist. That is not an easy admission these days as it often evokes anger and violent accusations. Any way I protect my health by turning of the sound on the TV. 

I want to continue reading The eye, I really do, but how depressing it is . It seems that 90% of MPs  and  Christ knows how many CEO's and whatever men (mostly men) in business and large corporation in fact anywhere there are huge amounts of money involved are crooks. Well there is no other word for it. The things is, what we are talking about really is Tax Payer's money being stolen. It seems that the whole nation that is assuming we all pay tax are being ripped off. 

So I hear a noise outside and open the door to investigate. The window cleaners are busy cleaning my windows. My first thought is, is it really a month. How time flies. I go out to warn them to be careful as the builders haven't finished putting in my new French windows and there is a lot of rubble. By the way it is also raining.

"No problem luv," "Don't worry about it," "You take care now,". They are all young men. They always work quickly no matter the weather and are always pleasant.

These Mr Johnson and cronies and all the Men who think it is OK to steal, yes steal from are the salt of the earth and they are the ones who create the wealth which you steal.

 

Thoughts about writing

 Reading  this morning in a book of articles about gardens I had some thoughts about writing. Melanie keeps sending me links to courses on writing and advice about writing. It occurred to me that as my writing, especially poetry comes from my soul how can anyone else help me with that.  Also there are so many rules/forms  in poetry.

Blank Verse, Rhymed poetry, Free verse, Epics, Narrative Poetry, Haiku, Pastoral poetry, Sonnet, Elegies, Odes, Limerick, Ballad, Lyric, Soliloquy and Villanelle !!!!! 

THAT'S 15,  YES 15.

You know what? I don't give a fuck because I don't care.  The words I feel come and I am satisfied if they portrait my feelings and thoughts accurately. I rearrange them to increase their efficacy then I feel satisfied with that. So if I enter a competion does my poem have to fit one of these forms? Why?

It's the same with people. We are not all the same shape and size and colour. Difference is abhorred.  That's the problem with the world.  Who is doing this to us? If we are not careful and we obey  "the rules" then we are doing it to ourselves.

What happens if we don't know the rules? I think I am writing poetry but I don't know the rules. So-----------? Where  does that leave me?

There are lots of people I have found who are willing to teach me the rules, for a price. Yes and normally a high price. Do I need to pay someone to help me to express my feelings, my inner thoughts, in fact my very soul.

You know what? I long ago realised that the reason many people who suffered from "mental illness" it was because they couldn't conform to the rules. They couldn't play the game. Some people seem not to care about conforming and many learn/pretend to play the  game knowing that it is necessary but deep inside they keep their own council. 

So damn it. I write what and how I like and fuck your rules. They are not my rules. I can't and won't play the game. 

Woodland scene with animals

 I would like to paint a woodland scene on the green wall in my "Garden".

Today's Problem

In Memoriam

Hungering to hold him,

Yearning to enfold him,

To my hollow breast,

My outstretched arms ,

Find only,

Emptiness.

I crave the cessation

Of the endless pain.

Standing barefoot on cold marble,

Feeling hard ebony, 

But falling through clouds.

Kneeling, my cheek caresses,

Not baby soft skin,

But hard as iron, 

His oaken coffin.

The History Game

The History Game

Next the famous flowing river, Old Father Thames,

Stand edifices, evidence of everlasting, heritage.

Naval college, now museum, environmentally protected,

But no campaign can prevent its eventual downfall.

Floating to and fro, next Greenwich pier,

In the lapping tide, lies putrid, polluting, plastic.

Bobbing, lost and probably missed, 

Float, not one, nor two, nor three, but four footballs.

One of real leather, three of plastic.

Evidence of this century.

No need to protect their existence.

They will remain evidence

Of the beautiful game, 

For ever.