Poetry Samples to Read after previous post

Everything on my sites remain my copyright always.

Poetry samples to read after previous post, suitable to share with your teachers.

I think I could make millions by printing them onTee shirts
I have ideas for pictures to go with poems.

So if you are a T shirt manufacturer then I'll take 50% of unit retail cost.
Or 4 usd for every 8 usd T shirt in plain English.
So get in touch.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC 

      Michael G Casey email michaelgcasey@hotmail.com  

         

                 The Dead and The Living (c)

                           by

           

                     Michael  Casey

     I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old ,my father said  not

  

     to worry as the dead are the same as the living ,  only the  laughter

  

     has left them ,  the sparkle has gone from their eyes , the worry has

  

     been lifted from their shoulders ,  and their voice has vanished  to

  

     eternity .

     In  paradise the sparkle will return for it is the  twinkle  of  the

  

     stars , the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and

  

     the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter .

     

     I treat the deceased with the same courtesy as I give to the living,

  

     though I find the deceased are always more polite .  My father also

  

     had a few words to say about the living .

     He said that the living are only the caretakers of the  soul  ,  yet

  

     they think their existence is everything , that they know everything

  

      because they experience many things with their senses .

      What the living don't acknowledge is that their time is  short  and

  

      when I lay their bodies to rest then their souls  continue  without

  

      them ,  without their strong ,  without their weak ,  without  their

  

      beautiful or even ugly temporary form , to where I cannot say , only

  

      that it is a better place .

  

      Percy the undertaker placed the lid on the coffin ,the soul was free

                          THE  BEGINNING

                  

    You're Never Alone When You Are in Love ©

                               By

      

                         Michael Casey

       Love is being together , Love is a smile , a Look , A Touch

       Or Just A Sigh , Not really knowing why you chose one another .

       Yet Together Till You Die

       

       Love is a Kiss soft and gentle on the cheek which warms your

       heart and makes you glad you chose one another .

       A Kiss can lead to more but I'll leave Passion locked Safely

       behind a bedroom door

       Passion spent you'll not give up each not even for Lent .

       You'll just lie in warm embrace and remember you forgot to say

       grace .

       Whispers and Promises are made , plans for the future and if

      she put her hair this way , Do you think it would suit her ?

      Then giggles and more embraces ,  Till the Night is over and with  

      a dig in the ribs you make him move over .

      Then your oneness complete , you have to put up with his cold feet !

      But when you are apart your hearts are still one ,

     Thought half is  absent you are still one .

      His socks under the bed , and after what you said .

      His  "toys" scattered about ,  and the clout you'll  give  when  he

      returns and the warmth of your body he yearns .

      His cold feet to chill you after he thrills you , are absent yet the

      thought makes you smile , at least you have the comfort for  a while.

      His grins and leers ,  which makes you smile at least  you'll  have

      peace for a while .

      But his heart is still with you , the love is always there - as

      bright as your fair hair .

      Close your eyes and he is still there ,  Remember the embrace as  

      he played his fingers across your face .

      Let your dreams go and remember the whispers in your ear, warm

      kisses on your shoulder before he gets bolder . The warmth of love

      that soars through your blood .

      Dream long , Dream deep , your Man toils while you sleep, though

      you are apart you are still together whatever the weather , for you

      are never apart for he is  locked in your heart .

      Though sometimes he can be trying , there's Never any need of

   

      crying for your love is Undying.

      Always remember he fills your heart even when you are apart

                        End

Let There Be Light ©

By Michael Casey

Let my tears be my words

Let the candle light be my eyes

Let the flowers in bloom be my lips

Let their scent be my blood

Let the wind be my breath

Let clouds be my mood

Let children’s laughter be my hope

Let widows’ sighs be my conscience

Let a stranger’s prayers be my delight

Let the bees be my wisdom

Let the trees be my strength

Let my patience reach to the stars

Let me be always remembered in your prayers

The Light from a Candle (c)

By Michael Casey

 Jan 23, '09 5:24 PM

I watched as the candle's life ended, smoke spiralled in the air. I tried to see where the smoke was

going only it just disappeared into nothingness. Another candle came to an end, but suddenly itrared

up a final flicker of flame then it was gone, black smoke twirling into the air. I strained to see where

the smoke was going only it was no use. I'd need a magnifying glass, binoculars, a microscope or a

periscope, smoke just could not be followed. Another candle went out again I strained to see where

its life had gone, but it was no use, the trail disappeared into nothingness. The candles were going

out randomly, I had to jump from one to another in a vain attempt to see its moment of death, so

that I could observe what was happening to them. In all 7 maybe 8 candles "died" as I watched from

my position sat next to the candle rack in the cathedral on my lunch break. That was all yesterday,

and today the process was repeated. Each candle is a hope, a wish, a prayer. Just as Jazz music is

music turned into smoke, that weavers and sneaks its way through an audience, a candle and its

smoke is a living flame of hope and love which we all hope will touch God's spirit and let him hear

our prayers. The smoke from a candle is like a ballet dancer doing the most intricate of dances, its

like girl dancing with a ribbon at the Olympics. Only the candle and its smoke might say more for us

when we can't think of the right words to say, God Help Us, can be all we can say, but if said from

the heart then it is enough, For Faith Moves Mountains.

And candles are more than flickers that end in smoke, they remind us of the Light and Warmth of

God's Love.

I'LL FINISH WITH A WEDDING

Now my Wedding Day is probably the most "different" ever.

It started at our house and then William PhD and his  beach life saver wife picked us up and took us to the Register Office.

The Registrar was  the sister of the guy I worked with in a dungeon of a computer room, perhaps even built on a graveyard.

My friend from grammar school signed the register as a witness, he was a PhD too. My brother was the 2nd signature.

We then went to my sisters for a reception. William PhD was a PhD in metallurgy so meeting my dad was a thrill for him, because my dad was a Blacksmith and worked in a steel works.

After the reception we went around the corner to my house, where friends had left 2 bunches of flowers on our doorstep.

There we chilled for a few hours, my Chinese wife now had a new name, Mrs Casey. Then we went to MacDonalds for burger and chips, we met my friend the PhD, he and my wife did Chemical equations on the napkins, both my new wife and   my friend were Chemists.

Then we went to the music pub and the back of Broad St, it used to be owned by members of the Birmingham Symphony Orchestra. There we joined the 25th year class reunion of my grammar school. So we had a few beers and met a few friends.

I even met one of my old postmen, he thought it was funny, a wedding and a reunion in one day. I told him I had been Shanghaied, the wife is from Shanghai after all.

Then we went home. Now we have 2 bilingual daughters who both have a good sense of humour.

The Power of Poetry

The Power of Poetry ©

By

Michael Casey

I was taking a leak last night, and I casually thought what should I write tomorrow. I’ve written over 1200 pieces according to some counts, or 1,102,014 words according to yesterday’s log, that’s 3500 pages over 14 books now. This piece will appear in 15 Down when I have written enough material to fill it. So why did Poetry spring to mind, was it the sound of my own spring? Or was I just thinking I’ve written a few easy flippant pieces so why not try a bit of poetry for variety? I never know what you the reader, singular, like as Terry Wogan used to say. So if you are sitting comfortable still sobering up after your Morticians and Beauticians Annual Ball then I’ll begin.

Poetry is for Lovers and Mathematicians, because its all about balance and equations with scoring at the end. The 3 best individual pieces of writing I’ve ever done are poems. I may have only ever written 6 or 7 straight poems, so how have these poems come about. One The Dead and The Living emerged in Nov 1987, I was on a bus on a Sunday going to work at my computer room. I had just started writing my first novel, a few months after I had started writing in pencil on scraps of paper. I wanted something tender to talk about the dead, Percy Frost the undertaker was a poet, so that Sunday on a bus the poem arrived in my head. Its in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker my comic novel. Actually Chapter 9 is up on my site right now, so have a look before I cycle it off my site.

Years later, maybe 2007, 20 years later I wrote Let My Tears Be My Words or the alternate title Let There Be Light. This really touched my wife’s vicar. She follows the CofE, I’m a catholic from the nipple by the way. I also wrote a love poem called You Are Never Alone When You Are in Love. Or in front of a mirror if you are Donald Trump, but you can substitute any other name, just for balance.

I wrote something else called The Light from a Candle, I may paste them all in at the bottom of this piece. I was thinking of writing a new poem by way of illustration, but I’ve ended up explaining poetry instead of writing a new one, but I can write a new poem another time.

So what is it with words, with poetry? I don’t know,I remember studying poetry in English Lit and it was really difficult. They make you suffer, before explaining it, that’s if they do explain it. A poem is a formula of words that when the equation is finished unlocks the love, rather like a key to a chastity belt. Now as ever I put an idea in your head to both amuse but also to educate, no not that kind of eduction Boris, but you will remember what I said always. When you are being picked on for being a girl for reading poetry you will quote back my phrase, and you watch while the rugby team runs to the book store on campus to buy Poetry.

A poem is never a straightforward piece of writing, it is like a mirror with a crack in it, or a fairground mirror that distorts, but at the right angle normalcy returns. A poem has a reveal moment, just like the new Dr Who walking in the forest, the hood is removed and a smiling face smiles out at you. I’ve used the latest news item by way of illustration, I hope it works. I am not an Oxford Don explaining poetry, I’m just the fat silver haired self taught writer from Birmingham. If you want a poetry teacher then you’ll have to look elsewhere.

A poem can be like a strip tease or like a 9 course meal from your local Chinese, if your girlfriend is Chinese and works at the local takeaway then that is poetry in itself. So a poem a tale using fancy language and maybe metaphors galore. It can be serious and it can be comic, one does not exclude the other. We have Roger McGough over here I’d say go read his stuff. And now I’ve written enough, as I have to hang the washing out, or the wife will give me a clout.

Disappointment

Disappointment ©

By

Michael Casey

The Summer is the period of most disappointment, you get your exam results and they are so important nowadays. My own were a very long time ago now. Your Life is in that envelope, or so you think. Life goes on with or without you, straight As or all Es , though the names and numbering of exam grades have all changed now. So what are you going to do next? You can always get a job in Woolworths was the safety net reply before the exam results, and afterwards, Woolworths was not needed.

I can remember my brother getting a telegram saying he had got into Oxford. Nobody had a phone in the house then, mobiles were not even invented. He just carried on studying, in those days you did the Oxbridge exam before, yes before your A levels. My other brother failed the Oxbridge I seem to remember, but then he got 4 straight As, so he had a gap year as a coal miner, before the word gap year was invented 40 years ago this was. Then he got into Cambridge via inverse snobbery, and 4 straight As.

You can be disappointed by many things, your lover only lasted an hour and he still wore his socks in bed. He did not notice your suntan, fake from a bottle, and he didn’t know all the gossip from the Kardasians. So you were disappointed, you do like conversation in bed after all. If you asked him about asset management and property yield then he’d be full of conversation. But you would think asset management was about boob jobs or lip pumping. And yielding was something to do with sex. You are an unmatched couple who only have one thing in common, coupling. He is just a banker, and you own a tanning salon.

Moving on, moving on, what about disappointment? How do you react to and live with disappointment? This is the true test of your character, speaking as somebody who has fallen over a few times, and no I don’t mean because I’m a drunk, quiet the reverse, our lodgers were all drunks, which means we went the polar opposite way. So what do you do when you are disappointed? First of all don’t panic, if she really loves you things will improve with practice, and yes I’m talking about learning all the hits from Abba. Though it could be car mechanics for beginners, or the boring old Karma Sutra and whatever old India cook book you cook and simmer with together. It is a cook book isn’t it, that’s what the little old lady in the second hand book store told me.

So after a disappointment or a failure you just have to pick yourself up and even give yourself a kick up the arse as my own mother once told me. The disappointment is in front of you like a giant iceberg, but ice melts and if you turn your back on it then you cannot even see it. You cannot see the wood for the trees as my brother once told me 45 years ago. But by stepping back and lifting yourself up, even on somebody else’s shoulders then you can overcome any disappointment.

And yes don’t confuse it with one of those recipes from your Karma Sutra, too much spice is bad for you after all, but it does put all disappointments in perspective.  

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I remember what Gill from Stats said to me, she said I lead  people up the garden path, I hope you enjoy my roses but watch of for the fertilizer. though the story  I'm glad to be fertilizer is still on this site. 

Russian Readers, hello to you

I was thinking about writing a piece called Disappointment,  I just left the idea float, when I had a look at my other site. The TRANSLATIONS SITE.

https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com

as  I have a load of Translations there plus it auto translates if you click on the square on the top right.

Anyway to my surprise I discovered Russia was reading Shoplife in Translation.

Could it be that the Donald rung up Putin and said you gotta read this and its in Russian too.

They have to stay buddies after all.

Its given me an idea for a piece just in itself, but its very hot here in Birmingham, so you may have to wait a few hours for new material, which I'll collate into 15 Down in 6 months or so's time. I have to write  27 or is it 29 Dresses or rather books, then I can die happy. And no one page books don't count you evil naughty people.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC   to buy my cheap books, as in

inexpensive you naughty naughty people. You can read a few stories of each before you buy them, just look inside. Only 3USD each.

Dr Who, mnie Kobietą?

Dr Who, mnie Kobietą?  (c)

by

Michael Casey

to zostały rozpisane na sprzęt grający, Dr Kim jest kobieta, Jodie Whittaker, którzy albo powinienem powiedzieć Dr Who. Tak więc teraz mamy kogoś prawie tak młodo i tak atrakcyjne, aby być razem, Panie. To mialo byc do mnie wiesz, tak nie słychać go przedsiębiorca w starej kuźni i Śpiewającego Anvil, Michael Casey będzie następnym razem, Panie. Być może dźwięk bingo liczb zwanych utopić go.

Poznałam producent Dr Who seria w toaletach przedsiębiorcy, został on uwięziony w jego użyć programu TARDIS, ok w 3 boksy, jeden z to dziwne zamek i po przejściu dodatkowych skryptów tak mogl wytrzeć jego aspiracje odkrył był uwięziony w czasie i przestrzeni. Ja tylko pójść z powrotem bo ja porzucił moją kopią The Daily Telegraph przez zlewozmywaków, i uslyszalem go stukanie w jego drzwiach użyć programu TARDIS. Tak jak mialem go uratować od zostawiono zablokowane w toalecie noc powiedział mogłam mieć gęsią skórkę dla 13 Dr Who.

Powiedziałam mu, że nadszedł czas, kobieta, samica, a ładna samica była kolejnym Dr Who. Powiedział, że się zgodził, więc przybyłem na następny dzień w moich najlepszych frock. Przytrzymuję przeciągnij oddziałują na weekendy, mnie i Barry kwerendę akt zaśpiewali na dzwon i pompy na Broad Street. Więc nie robiłem, a przeczytać o Dr Who producent. Jestem osobą fizyczną 46 inch chest, ale w formie "przeciągnij swoje 60 cali, a ja krawat srebrny wig, który jest mój naturalny kolor włosów, ale wig pokazuje co moich włosów byłoby gdyby nie wymienialem odcinamy ją co 3 miesiące. Mam nosić ciasnego czerwonego płaszcza, który pozdrawiam moje ogromne to właśnie, mój sąsiad powiedział kiedyś mogła zaparkować swój rower do góry, tak ja nigdy nie zginać w przód jej dom. Nie mam moje sznurowadła, zanim wyjdę do domu.

Byłem ubrany mój stary w ciszy szczenięta zbyt, człowiek musi mieć troche komfortu, jeśli jest on na nogach przez cały dzień. Ćwiczyłem 12 godzinnych na kilku moich byłych miejsc pracy, w tym nocnych. Tak więc wystarczy wspomnieć poproszono mnie udawać zostałam Dr Who spotkanie kosmitów, sorry nie mogę zrobić a Brummie akcent I pożartowaliśmy, choć Urodziłem się w Birmingham. Zbyt wiele lat mówienia wyraźnie dla mojego Shanghai żonę znaczy mam unaccented głos, nasze dzieci faktycznie dźwięk ekskluzywna wersja angielska. Nr Wierhownej Rady wymaganego szkolenia.

Wyjaśnię więc podszywali się pod moją własną matkę, mogę robić irlandzki akcent, i od razu wyruszyłem. Stop or I'll phazer cię, jeśli nie masz o ból głowy I'll obracanym tabletki mostu Holsten wykazach stanu inwentarza, wkrótce będziesz zapominać o ból głowy. Powiedziałam Spock był naprawdę naprawdę naprawdę wspaniałe z dziećmi, że porzucił nawet pisali książki na ten temat. Jabym zaklęty w piosence Klingons na prawej burcie dziobem, i tak dalej.

Producent wybiegł z toalety, przebywał w nim przez wieki, he missed 90 min moich akt. On wrócił z czarnymi rękami, ja nic do czynienia z Klingons jego czegokolwiek. Myślę, że mu ukradli mój Daily Telegraph, był news drukuj. Wpadł on odczyt był Tim Stanley i tych wszystkich innych użyć programu TARDIS jak boksy zamiast oglądania mnie audition jako żeński Dr Who.

Pomyślałem, że chciałbym spróbować jeden ostatni trik aby otrzymać część, mam podczepione moja przepona wyższe i niechaj zobacz moje silne unieruchomienie nóg. W przygnebienie moje leczenie blizn wygladal jak szwy na jedwabne pończochy. Mialem ogolone nogi następnie otarł The Daily Telegraph w dół je, aby uprzyjemnić atrament symulować pończochy, jak udało im się to w czasie wojny, lecz w odwrotnej kolejności. Udzieliłem odbijała, nie uderzyli na niego i put my szlifującą mu gardło, podobnie jak w Alien. Część napewno być kumplem, byłabym nowym 13-18 Dr Who, a żeński jeden zbyt jestem wszystkie kobiety wszakże gdy jestem w przyciąganiu. Wystarczy poprosić policję, którzy patrolują Broad Street, jeśli nie wierzcie mi.

Trzy minuty później jak leżał na podłodze, a fioletowy patrzeć na jego twarz, jego oddech ciężki, myślałem, że będę miał naprawdę obróciwszy. Tylko nie miałem, więc mnie i Barry'ego, który przyjechał ze mną do oferowania wsparcia, był Barry's best bra byłem ubrany po wszystkich, więc mnie i Barry w lewo.mamy pośpiechu dzwoni więc w dół ulicy Man United zabawiały w Villa Park, i Barry'ego był to sezon posiadacza biletu.

Tak jak Michael Casey tłuszcz srebrny rudowłosej pisarz ma stayed właśnie, a Jodie Whittaker niektóre udzielając Joan różnych od Saint Trinians albo coś jest dalej Dr Who. I wiecie co, wniknęło wspaniale ponieważ wniknęło być ubrany parę moich starych Y fronty za każdym razem kudły grał rolę. Wystarczy przypomnieć jej, że choć Dr która teraz jest kobietą, czy też jest ona była kiedyś człowiekiem, jego bardziej niż gacie po wszystkich.

Dr Who, Me a Woman?

Dr Who, Me a Woman?

By

Michael Casey

It’s been announced on the telly, Dr Who is a woman, Jodie Whittaker who, or should I say Dr Who. So now we have somebody almost as young and as attractive  as me to be the Time Lord. It was going to be me you know, yes didn’t you hear it down the Trader in Old Forge and Singing Anvil, Michael Casey to be the next Time Lord. Maybe the sound of the bingo numbers being called drown it out.

I met the producer of the Dr Who series in the toilets of the Trader, he was trapped in his Tardis, ok in the 3^rd cubicle, the one with the dodgy lock and after I passed extra scripts so he could wipe his aspirations he discovered he was trapped in space and time. I only went back because I’d left my copy of the Daily Telegraph by the sinks, and I heard him banging on his Tardis door. So as I had saved him from being left locked in a toilet overnight he said I could have a try out for the 13^th Dr Who position.

I told him it was time a woman, a female, a good looking female was the next Dr Who. He said he agreed, so I arrived the next day in my best frock. I do a drag act on the weekends, me and Barry do a singing act at the Bell and Pump on Broad Street. So there I was doing a read through for the Dr Who producer. I am a natural 46 inch chest, but in drag its 60 inch, and I wear a silver wig, which is my natural hair colour but the wig shows what my hair would be if I didn’t cut it every 3 months. I wear a tight red skirt which hugs my huge arse, my neighbour once said she could park her bike up it, so I never bend down in front of her house any more. I do my shoelaces up before I leave home.

I was wearing my old hush puppies too, a man has to have a bit of comfort if he is on his feet all day. I used to do 12 hour shifts on several of my former jobs, including night shifts. So thus attired I was asked to pretend I was Dr Who meeting aliens, sorry I cannot do a Brummie accent I joked, even though I was born in Birmingham. Too many years speaking clearly for my Shanghai wife means I have an unaccented voice, our kids actually sound posh English. No Rada training required.

So I pretended to be my own mother, I can do an Irish accent, and away I went. Stop or I’ll phazer you, and if it gives you a headache I’ll give you pills Holsten Pils, you’ll soon forget the headache. I said Spock was really really really great with children, he’d even written books on the subject. I then broke into the song Klingons on the Starboard Bow, and so on.

The producer went away to the toilet, he was in there for ages, he missed 90 mins of my act. He came back with black hands, I was nothing to do with Klingons on his anything. I think it was him that stole my Daily Telegraph, it was news print. He’d been reading Tim Stanley and all those others in a Tardis like cubicle instead of watching me audition as a female Dr Who.

I thought I’d try one last trick to get the part, I hitched my skirt higher and let him see my strong strapping legs. In the gloom my surgery scars looked like the seams on silk stockings. I had shaved my legs then rubbed the Daily Telegraph down them, to make the ink simulate stockings, like they did in the war but in reverse. Then I bounced, not pounced on him and put my tongue down his throat, just like in Alien. The part would surely be mine, I would be the new the 13^th Dr Who, a female one too, I am all woman after all when I’m in drag. Just ask the Police who patrol Broad Street if you don’t believe me.

Three minutes later as he lay on the floor a purple look on his face, his breathing laboured, I thought I had really turned him on. Only I had not, so me and Barry, who had come with me to offer support, it was Barry’s best bra I was wearing after all, so me and Barry left.We hurried down the road Man United were playing at Villa Park, and Barry was a season ticket holder.

So that’s how I Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer has stayed just that, and Jodie Whittaker some schoolgirl from Saint Trinians or something is the next Dr Who. And you know what, she’ll be great because she’ll be wearing a pair of my old Y fronts every time she’s playing the part. Just to remind her that though Dr Who is now a woman, he or is it she was once a man, its more than pants after all.  

Soft Power

Soft Power ©

By

Michael Casey

I’ve had a nap and I thought I’d write a 2^nd piece for the day and in actual fact this will become the 1^st piece in my next book, my 15^th, which will be called 15 Down. No, not Watership Down, though some might say my writing breeds like rabbits. Just 15 Down, no not Just William but simply 15 Down, because it will be the 15^th book I ‘ll have down on paper. Let it loose at Christmas or whenever. So my words are my power, my soft power.

I used to be as strong as an Ox, now I just smell like one, I have retained my lightning fast reactions though, do you want to see that again, as Ali might say. Which brings us to what Power is, and more especially what Soft Power is. A priest has power, we come to church to hear the Word of God, today it was the parable of the sower. The priest has power over us and not just because he has heard all our confessions. He has power because we are there to listen and we want to listen.

However if the sermon is boring and badly constructed then people switch off, or start going to another church, or just stop going at all. See what is happening all over the world. I would offer to write a non boring sermon delivered at a god pace, that was a typo, but its correct its God’s pace, a good pace. Not a rambling Oxford Don pace with too many references. Today’s sermon should just contrast and explain the differences in message.

If you are looking at a photograph of your grand-kids you are not interested in where the camera was bought and which shutter speed was used, you just want to enjoy the snap. So the priest should explain the snap by being snappy in his explanations, and nor bore or confuse by talking about Samsung v Kodak or 35mm v 70mm or digital. All we need is the good quality snap. Only film buffs etc are interested in all the rest. So sermons should follow that path and not get stuck in the weeds. The parable of the sower should be used to explain how best to talk about explaining the word of God itself.

Ok, I’ve bored half of you already, especially those who only believe in Nothing. I’m trying to examine how Soft Power can be used if you use it in a good non boring manner. Perhaps I should write simple sermons for clergy and maybe the congregations will stop writing complaint letters to the bishop.

Enough of the Holy what about the Profane? Your mum has soft power because you love her from the nipple and you’ll do anything for your old mum, even if you call her the old bitch. Your mate who saved your life when you fell in the canal in Birmingham he has soft power as you’ll always buy him a pint. Your girlfriend his sister has soft power too, because he’d throw you back in the canal if he knew the kind of home movies the pair of you make. But its love and they are for your own private consumption, and you are not so stupid to load them to the cloud like the film stars do, only to be hacked.

The girl in the chip shop has power over you too because she always gives you an extra portion of chips, so you become friends and you fix her motorbike. The smell of chips and the sight of her in her biker leathers is too much for you, so you become more than friends amongst the mountain of potatoes behind the chip shop. Soft power peels away the leathers amongst the potato peelings. So much so that you have to go visit the priest, to arrange a hasty wedding, and a christening is booked at the same time, as the priest’s diary is always full. The priest also mentions the parable of the sower, in relation to what a good relationship should be like. Not vigorous and then dying and choked by weeds.

So to finish or conclude if you are posh, power is good, but influence or soft power is better. Because soft power is gentle and persuasive like a kiss, or a gentle breeze, and a reed that bends in the wind still can grow after the storms. Here ends the parable of the sower, so you can all go down the pub now, while the priest counts the collection.