https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20200827-how-self-control-can-actually-unleash-your-dark-side

Monday morning by The quiet lake

We saw the geese descending as one shape

No goose is God they take their turn to lead

They shape the morning air with time and speed.

We stood in silence watching as they passed

The timing was ideal,not slow,not fast.

They do not have to calculate nor tense

All is done by vision and by sense.

Responding to the world with heart and flesh..

Moving like these geese can’t fail to bless.

Do not think we’re just a partial mind

Let the gods take over,be designed.

We were not important as we stood

Gazing on the lakes and distant wood.

Far away we heard the sound of trains

Saw the traffic moving through the lanes

I can see it now with love and fear

We took it in and it is always here

https://www.theguardian.com/theguardian/2009/sep/12/hilary-mantel-booker-prize-interview

He said he had got dizzy and he thinks he saw the Light
It was mainly migraine but I recognise his plight

He didn’t want to drive me to the bitter end
So I called a cab and went there ;I met some lovely friends

He carved the joint on Sunday and then he left me here
I’ve finished all the brandy and I’m starting on the beer

I will lose my mind on purpose and write from my own heart
If I act like crazy, take me to the park

We had a cat from Tottenham,I preferred him to a man
I didn’t have to cook at all, he ate straight from a can

The cat we had much later, we thought he was a girl
The vet burst into laughter so I scratched him with my nails

Then we had a black cat, very small and round
She got bored and went to Mass. Jesus was her friend

Now the cat has cancer and I am feeling gloom
Put a first class stamp on me and send me to the moon

The vet is getting friendly but I have got no dog
I’ll have to get a virtual one but will it keep me snug?

I wish I were in Lancashire again

Pendle Hill the pike of Rivington

The mountains of North Wales , the Cheshire plain

I will never climb, my legs are gone,

Dear home, the cobbled Street my skipping rope.

The end wall of the house my mother’s face.

The tree she planted and her helpless hope

The love ,the feeling sad, the lost embrace..

I wish I were in junior school once

more

The powdered ink,, the brass the desks of oak

Children’s laughter to the sky can soar,

Skipping fast and how our arms would a àche

I wish I were a child and has no cares

I miss the. Freedom, bonfire night the War

I went into a coffee bar and asked for a black coffee.They said I was a racist
They said I was stupid for wanting an irrational number of cakes.
I went to Burnt Oak to register my husband’s death.Then they had the nerve to ask if I wanted him buried or cremated.
I went to the hospital for an X-ray.They said I didn’t look as if I was 18,I should bring my mother.So I said, with or without the coffin
I wanted a Burning Bush at the funeral but God said he don’t come here anymore.
I offered a lamb chop up as a sacrifice.God said, I may be dead but I’ve not shrunk.
I asked for a toasted beef sandwich but they said it takes too long to toast beef.
We went into a car park but it had very few amusements and no grass.No cars either.
We opened the car door with a coat hanger once when we lost the keys.Now with this electronic system, what could we use instead?
I rang my own doorbell last night as I felt so lonesome.Then it fell off the door.So I told myself it was lucky I had come by as I knew how to fix it.It’s just glued on like ethics are on politicians.
I saw a spider in the bath so I told it, it can only have 2 baths a week.
My neighbour gave me a blank look.So I filled it with laughter,

Come back to me, my sweetheart
Don’t leave me all alone.
Come back to me, my darling
I can’t believe you’ ve gone.
I’m crying ‘cos I’m feeling blue again.
I’m crying’cos I’m falling like a stone.

Oh, let me tempt you with my beauty
And my voice forever young.
Let me tempt you with my spirit
My laughter and my songs.
I’m crying ‘cos I never did you wrong.
I’m crying ‘cos with you I  still belong.

I thought maybe I’d follow,
To see where you have gone
But there’s a hand upon this tiller
That is not mine alone.
I’m crying ‘cos I wrote this old blue song.
I’m crying ‘cos I’ve been lonely for too long.

The hand upon my tiller
The mystery of the dark
The unknown one who lives in me
And sings like a skylark.
I’m singing ‘cos I wrote you a new song.
I’m singing ‘cos the cat ain’t got my tongue.

My astral body floated to the wall

When I looked back I saw myself so pale

I was sitting at the table drinking tea

They told me to be strong but I had failed

I never heard of astral bodies tricks

I was down to earth no mystic bore.

But having cancer tore me into parts.

I felt I could not suffer anymore.

I sent an email to my sister dear

I told her how I felt and felt her near

I asked her could she write a poem sincere

Yet with humour to destroy my fear.

Time has passed I know I’m in my grave

Remember me,oh love me and be brave

Evoking the beauty, the stars so far away,
I like to watch geese at the end of day.
Patterns and poems disclose other worlds.
Feel the hand of a baby with the fingers all curled

See the trust and the smile when the mother is home,
To create entire worlds for the one she has borne.
For chaos and panic or not far away
Even in adults who don’t care to say.

The little hands touch me so deeply, so well;
How come the world is diving to hell?
How can we kill little wains by the score
Was it for this that I opened your door?

Was it for this that love electrified us,
And we were lost in each other, in the holy white dove.
Was it for war that we gave love our wombs
Making more soldiers and filling more tombs?

The bombs are a-loading they’re having parades.
It’s not North Korea, it’s Washington, dude.
Let the tanks roll on Corrie and the Bedouin tribes.
Let the allies laugh blindly as the Lord Jesus dies.

O take me, dear mother.Please take me away
I can’t see no point in saying my prayers.
The leaders’ religions are making God frown.
The desert is empty, the tents all dragged down.

The centuries of living so free , so mobile;
The holy land blessing as they pause for while.
The little black tents like wombs of the night
Are all gone to shredders as we sing, Silent Night.

https://www.therapyroute.com/article/omnipotence-the-hidden-danger-by-s-sneyd

October 28, 2019
Walking on the long white shore with you
The perfect sands, the sky and sea so blue
The rippling waves made patterns on our shoes
Oh,come back,sweetheart ,I can’t bear your loss

The church at Old Hunstanton has a pond
Ducks and geese were waiting for more food
The silence was enormous, like the sky
Interrupted by a wild bird’s cry

At Brancaster we nearly met our deaths
Cut off by a wave behind our backs
Young and green ,we knew no panic then
But now I feel it as I walk alone

Without my anchor I may float away
A little speck of dust in that wide bay

Autumn’s coming,geese fly by,
Autumn rust,red,gold,so gay
Drystone walls edging fields.
Apples gathered,holly berries
Flash so brightly
Look like flowers
Sun shines sideways,shadows long
Of trees appear.I dwell among
Woods where gentle beeches sing
Swaying with the sideward wind

See their roots, all intertwined.
Feel their geometry in the mind.
Look up now into the sky,
See the V formation high.
Geese fly home at end of day.
My heart is moved by patterned dance
In this peace and great silence
My mind widens like the sky
And in this moment I would die,
So I would stay with this still vision
Of geese set out on autumn mission.

Snails in rain pools slither near
My feet upon the terrace here
Yet how swiftly life’s destroyed
When blind foot steps into the void.

What do you say to a new teapot?
We’re all going to be in hot water soon

What do you say when you are thirsty?
Show me a photo of Warren Beatty.He makes my mouth water

Why don’t we drink sea water?
Fish pee into it.Whales drown in it

What do you say to a coffee mug?
Won’t you at least try this tea?

What do you say to a rabbit?
Have you no warren of your own to go to?

What do you feel for when you get a text message at 3 am
My husband

What kind of flour do you use?
It depends on how strong the bombs need to be

Why do you like hand writing?
We can’t afford writing paper

Which pens are the best?
The ones with ink inside.

O

Is it hard to write a poem?
No, it’s only 5 letters.Maybe A should be capital?

Are you autistic?
Is it so black and white?

Why do you like maths?
It stops me going mad

Did you work on differential equations
No they were too dirty for women to sit on

How did you find the University?
We had maps then.. much cheaper than phones

I mean how did you feel?
With maths you don’t need to feel

So what does make you feel?
Love, glue and hot water

What advice would you give to a person now?
Never give advice.

What do you think of the Corona virus?
It makes no difference what I think.It’s what we do that matt

She saw her own self sitting in the coffee bar that day

She was on the other side and feeling far away.

Her eyes had left herr body,they were looking back at her

She felt hot and sweaty in that fine Italian chair

She thought she saw a vulture peering in the glass

Just another monster like you see with air and gas

She telephoned her sister and asked her what to do

It certainly more frightening simply feeling blue

We put it down to terror and to chemotherapy

It’s hard,so hard if we’re alone and we have not got a clue.

If you haven’t got a sister then I hope you’ve got a friend

We need a lot of loving or we will go around the bend

Anyone can feel unreal invisible or strange.

Reach out to the human race,this can arranged

When we are alone too much we think and fret our minds

But when we hava comforter,

Life feels much more kind

https://www.mayoclinicproceedings.org/article/S0025-6196(11)61160-9/fulltext

I’d be interested to know the experiences of other people because since I’ve been in hospital I’ve been on a high dose and the effect is basically I have had very little sleep.

I mean like none or one or two hours

I also been troubled for the first time in my life by thoughts about suicide

Some other medication I’m on can have suicide as a side effect…..

And do you get help … Surprisingly I have not got any help. ISO surprisingly because a lot of people are put on steroids inhydrases when suffering from things like rheumatoid arthritis flare-ups….

Knowledge about the effect must exist but why don’t the doctors or nurses in the hospital know ?

Trouble sleeping while the hospital is not unusual which have sleep to this diminished degree is torture.

All sorts of insomnia seem to be ignored or even laughed at. In my view it could cause trauma if you’re in the hospital for more than two or three days and you’re being given drugs with these side effects.

In addition it can cause type 2 diabetes osteoporisis… How many other problems ?

Are we afraid of being labeled mental ill if we complain?

Sitting all alone in an unknown coffee shop

My shoes were full of water, I wasn’t really there

I was trapped inside the greenhouse, emitting a red stare

Now I have no handbag, I’m carrying a mop

I’m going to the library I am feeling quite unreal

I said I’d meet my sister, I could tell her how I feel.

In my cappuccinos the fosm has just congealed

I don’t like the books here not even just to steal.

I went to an exhibition, the price was rather high

I thought that it was textiles I hope they will be silk

But see there’s Tracey Emin, she’s embroidering a quilt

I can look upwards I can see the starry sky

I’m sitting in the coffee shop, I don’t like that milk

I suppose I better drink it or I will surely wilt

My eyes were on the ceiling staring down at me

They never told me this is so,oh chemotherapy.

I stared at them, they stared at me,whatever could I do?

I could not say a single word,. I had not got a clue.

So I WhatsApped my sister,she was not surprised.

When it all comes down to it, we’re glad that you’re alive

With one eye on the ceiling and one eye on the floor

How am I expected to walk right through the door?

They tell me once they tell me twice they tell me 50 times

When you write some poetry please don’t use no rhymes.

Then we had a spelling test and I failed all the words

But I was good as algebra and calculating surds

The whole thing is confusing when the eyes come  out the head

You better put them straight back in, remember what Dad said

And if you need some spectacles then you must have a face

I wrote on the ceiling, you’d better watch this space

I told a lie I told some more then I told 25

You must believe me when I say I’m the smartest poet alive.

I know my 10 times tables I know the spelling best

I hope that when I pass by you, that I will pass the test

Once I cared for people who were old
Who wet themselves and felt the winter cold
I gave them baths and washed their backs and fronts
Helped them to get dressed and zip their pants

I made them pots of tea and gave them cake
I gave them dinner on a china plate
I listened to their stories of the past
An unknown world of war and terrors vast

And if they cried I’d wipe away their tears
Talk to them till sorrow disappeared
I’d do the washing up and clean the knives
The women missed their being someone’s wife

Now I am old and I have realised
I really had no feel for what it’s like.

Let me paint my house with color soft.

Still as snowflakes lying in a drift

Let me paint my house in colours mute

That lovers die I cannot now dispute.

As stark as ghosts are in an empty lift.

The end of life is startling it is swift.

Death came here and touched his unkissed lips

I am lonely are the lights go out.

I am frightened I won’t know the route

Now my heart is bleeding it is ripped

Lie beside me lover in the moss

Paint my face with colours still and soft

I see you in the mist and I am lost.

What we pay is more than any cost.

His absence left an empty open cut
Where was my blood that should have made a crust?
The weeping wound must heal from bottom up
The healing force is life and others’ love
Those who touch us gently without lust
His absence still an empty open cut
Slowly cells harmonious in this rut
Do their work and live as all things must
The weeping wound can heal from bottom up
Meanwhile my immunity has guts
Keeping off bacteria and dust
In his absence. now a hollow slit
Tears fly horizontal,eyes are shut
Time goes slow and heavy weights oppress
The weeping wound shall heal if I have grit
Bring me wild flowers from the Clevelands plucked
Give me nectar where the wild bees suck
His presence was a comfort,laughter-lit
The wound heals, oh, the love will never stop

I wrote this after I had an operation on my arm.After the stitches were removed I went to bed.When I awoke there was a big open slit in my arm.It did heal after several weeks

Y

My sister painted this picture a few months ago.

Oh,melancholy you are always near.

http://www.brainpickings.org/2014/11/28/against-happiness-melancholy-wilson/

“The largest part of what we call ‘personality’ is determined by how we’ve opted to defend ourselves against anxiety and sadness.”– Alain de Botton

https://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/27/weekinreview/27grief.html

Meghan O’Rourke: You know, writing has always been the way I make sense of the world. It’s a kind of stay against dread, and chaos. My mother was diagnosed with advanced colorectal cancer in 2006; she was 53, and I was 30. As her disease progressed, I found myself writing down all the experiences we had — the day she got giddily high on morphine at the doctor’s office; the afternoon we talked, painfully, about her upcoming death. It helped me externalize what was happening. After she died, I kept writing — and reading — trying to understand or just get a handle on grief, which was different from what I thought it’d be. It wasn’t merely sadness; I was full of nostalgia for my childhood, obsessed with my dream life and had a hard time sleeping or focusing on anything but my memories. Il

J

Against sadness:no-one here can weep
Nor lounge about in melancholy deep.
Was Van Gogh senseless to permit his muse.
For his masterpieces ,was the price too steep?
We see the yellow chair but not his views
Nor his mind where technique made such leaps.
Nor was his journey broadcast on the news.
Against sadness.

Happiness or joy is hard to find
When we rest, the News preys on our minds
Yet some are cold towards the slaughtered priest
His nose a beak of bone in old face lined
Now Muslims go to Mass and join Christ’s feast
Against sadness.

What rages in the mind make men kill thus?
In Syrian wars the innocents fare worse.
But these are our near neighbours so we weep
And wonder how to end the frightening curse
The sins we once committed hold us deep
We hold our hands out wanting to be nursed
Against sadness