I learned the maps of all the counties here
The contour lines, the rivers and the meres
Then I learned the street maps and train lines
New golf courses built on old coal mines
I traced all of the A roads with my thumb
So I would know the way to kingdom come
I marvelled at cross -Pennine Motorways
And thought that our Lord God must be amazed
Then I followed coastline paths and cliffs
I gazed until my eyes became quite stiff.
Finally the weather maps and clouds
And restaurants where cats are not allowed
At last I knew enough to start to walk.
If only I had known I am a hawk.
Among the many reasons poets choose to write formal poetry in the 21st century is an intuitive distaste for the imitative fallacy. To write about chaos, one need not write chaotically. It’s only a minor paradox to say that discipline and constraint unlock freedom. Steele goes on to say that form-minded poets are assumed to believe that “the universe is a nice, neat, orderly place.” On the contrary, he says:
I suspect that most people who write in forms feel that the obvious disorder and chaos of the world afflict us intensely, coming
We’re all going on the night train journey Full of strange and lovely sights We’re all going on the night train journey So we have the brightest lights
We’re all going on the night train journey We don’t pay for our own seats We’re all going on the night train journey We’re companions discreet
We’re all going on the night train journey When we die, is this the route? We’re all going on the night train journey Wear pyjamas not a suit
We’re all going on the night train journey Might we find our mom and dad? We’re all going on the night train journey All the living, and the dead
We’re all going on the night train journey Circulating like our blood We’re all going on the night train journey Joan of Arc needs Noah’s Flood
We’re all going on the night train journey Who creates us, makes our form? We’re all going on the night train journey Heal us ,we are people,torn
We fell into a rhythm as we walked Arm in arm we wandered as we talked We looked into folks’ windows as dusk came Tried to guess their furnishings and names
Some had nothing but the ironing stacked Others had the furniture we lacked I bought a chest of drawers for three pounds We had a double bed where our cat lounged
I bought a little table made of oak Fifty pence at auction, go for broke! A few old armchairs covered in green cloth Too severe to be a home for moths
Now I look at pictures on the walls I see the sun turn mauve as down dusk falls Images both simple and robust One a choice the other nature’s lust
I see my sofa like a treasure ship I lie upon it dreaming humorous quips I dream of journeys on the little train That signifies what sleep means to my brain
The rocking chair is empty of the cat I see one in my garden, not my lap. I try to tame this immigrant I like I shall give him food and call him Mike.
Oh,dear that is my brother, will he mind? I know he loves the birds, and cats do bite He is not living here in my old road Otherwise he’ll hear me shouting “Claude”
Perhaps I’ll call the cat Tamara Jane In case they’re very sensitive to names For I know not the gender of the beast They may be quite fluid at the least
Now my husband cannot calm me down I’d like his verdict on my new nightgown But all I can remember is that rhythm I fell into walking out with him
Mary’s cousin John had come to stay for a few days. He had a view of life very different from hers.
People here are too lazy to work
he said.
You’ve been reading the Times again,she teased him.
He blushed with rage,People with colds or headaches can work.Women have to look after babies regardless of how they feel.
And look how Jews worked in concentration camps even when they were dying
That’s the most horrible thing anyone has ever said in front of me. How can you even say those words?
I just meant to say that if the Jews could work when they were dying in concentration camps, people here could work with minor illnesses.
What happened to you John what happened? I’ve never heard you say things like this before.
Actually I’ve been made redundant and the manager is Jewish.
But he’s not making people redundant because he’s Jewish it is because his business is making much less money. It’s probably because of the pandemic.
If you are unemployed why are you not ⁰ sympathetic to others at the same position?
I don’t want people to know I’m unemployed.. so if I criticise them I don’t need to look at my own feelings.
Well do not say anything like that about Jewish people ever again.
It was an immeasurable unthinkable merciless crime and you seem to condone it. You don’t want our government however terrible it is to imprison because they have lost their jobs. How would you like it. You know quite well that prison is not the soft option that some people believe it is.
Mary was very worried by what John said and she realized that people were lookng for a scapegoat to blame for the state of the country.
Many of us know the truth.
The meek do not inherit the earth literally. They are given the lowest wages that the firm can get away with.
Sayings of Jesus are sometimes paradoxical and v hard to understand.
It’s a way of making us think by turning everything upside down.
Mary had several books about art including
On not being able to paint, by Marion Milner. And this is where Mary got some of her ideas from
But only the receptive will receive creative ideas. If you think you’re the best thing since fried bread you are not likelyto receive spiritual guidance from the Holy One
I wish I had some fried bread right now because I’m hungry
Once the Soviet troops were welcome there
In Auschwitz thousands.millions disappeared.
The Soviet Army came in winter’s chill
Nazis were advised to speed their cull
It was not just Jews gassed daily there
Gypsies,gays were disappeared.
Can Christian faith permit such genocide?
On this ground, the Holy Spirit died.
What God exists depends upon our minds;
When we choose evil, what God can we find?
The end of Christian practices came here,
As Christ was killed again in chamber bare
God is dead to us for we have sinned
Against the Holy Spirit whom we killed
The opposite of poverty isn’t property. The opposite of both poverty and property is community.
For in community we become rich: rich in friends, in neighbours, in colleagues, in comrades, in brothers and sisters. Together, as a community, we can help ourselves in most of our difficulties.
For after all, there are enough people and enough ideas, capabilities and energies to be had. They are only lying fallow, or are stunted and suppressed. So let us discover our wealth; let us discover our solidarity; let us build up communities; let us take our lives into our own
hands, and at long last out of the hands of the people who want to dominate and exploit us.”
― Jürgen Moltmann, The Source of Life: The Holy Spirit and the Theology of Life
I had to go to the hospital for a Custord Capote.A A cursed analogy in other words.
If that’s artificial intelligence then give me real intelligence any day.
The doctor said,
I want to put a camera into your bladder.
So I said to her Doctor, you must be deluded; how can you expect me to believe that you can put a camera like the one I’ve got here in my pocket into my bladder when the only way in is a very very tiny hole about 5 millimeters in diameter.
And anyway what were her motives?
She smiled belligerently. It’s a very small camera.
But it is still bigger than a molecule, I said superstitiously.
Well I don’t know she said wisely because I’ve never seen a molecule.
Anyway, if you put this camera into my bladder, how on earth will you get it out again? Or is it going to be a permanent fixture so that you can see into my bladder any time of the night or day? I’ve never heard of this before but spies are everywhere now
Don’t worry it’s in a little plastic tube and at the end there’s a little pointed knife so I can cut a bit of your skin off. I may not have to do that but we can if it’s necessary.
Well doctor I know that men are afraid of having their penis cut off and now I feel a little bit like that although I know the bladder is not a sexual organ.
Do stop overthinking she told me courageously. Just shut up and keep quiet like all the other patients do.
Then lie down on this bed and pull your trousers down. I’ve never had such a nuanced conversation. The British are famous for being tactful and also for being ironical; can you guess which I am being now?
As soon as I did what she wanted she’s stuck her great big needle into my bum claiming it was an antibiotic.
Well I know that was a lie because antibiotics come in little bottles from the pharmacy. Antibiotics don’t come in the shape of needles although I am not very knowledgeable about biochemistry or any kind of chemistry except the chemistry of love.
Well after that it’s all a blur .The nurse gave me a piece of kitchen paper.
That’s to wipe yourself she said.
What’s the point when your bladder is always leaking unless you’re on penicillin or ciprofloxacin or another very dangerous drug which can affect your mental state profoundly.
So I’d rather leak than go mad. People seem to think that if you go mad you don’t know what is happening you don’t know what you’re doing and so you’re happy but it’s not true.If you go mad it’s terrifying. And the mental health services in Britain are not very good so you might be discharged after two days treatment a and hang yourself. Yes, it’s that bad for some people. On a lighter note sometimes the madness only lasts for a few hours like when you’re on steroids
I might be more likely to believe in god if there were some medication for rheumatoid arthritis or drug resistant infections that did not cause such side effects.
Anyway they gave me a cup of tea and then I went to the Loo.
Then I came back and I thought to myself
They never showed me the pictures from the camera
I could have put them in the computer and changed the colours and used them to illustrate my blog
It’s like going through the labours of Hercules or some other initiation process. And what happens when you get to the end of the seven horrible events or trials? That is something that I have yet to find out but when I do you’ll be the first to learn about it
And if they give me the photographs I’ll publish them here as I know you can’t wait to see them.
I think my vocation is sacred
I keep seeing visions of God
He’s like a bright light
Exceedingly right
Does anything seem to be odd?
I have a calling to follow
I just do not know the details
I pray and I wait
By yonder lychgate
Do vocations ever get into the Sales?
I would like it if I could buy one
I’ll give you all the money I’ve saved
Sell my idea?
My dear,no fear!
Just consider how well I’ve behaved.
Everyone has a vocation
To be who they know that they are.
Yet I am not me
Without you to be
Here in my arms by the fire.
I’ll get an answer tomorrow
As I dream of God during the night
She will give me an image
And the much needed courage
To go on till I see the new Light.
The problem is one of translation,
For God speaks in symbols not words Symbols are wells in which truth dwells.
And the Spirit swoops down like a bird.
Why not find your vocation?
It’s possible whatever your age.
Attend to your dreams
and how your life seems
Vocations are now all the rage.
Pray Father,give me some washing.I’ve got Wikileaks and a new obsession. Tell me more,my child.I am feeling bored. I think someone has been inside my computer. They can’t be human. so why worry? Why not,Father? Well, we are not thin enough to get into the computer. Ah, they turn themselves into particles and come in with the current.. when it’s high tide. Do you mean tied? No,Father.I’ve not been reading that book.Fifty Blades All Gay Neither have I but in the confessional I’ve heard it all and more. And how does that make you feel,Father? Why pay to read a fantasy when you can dream up your own? Some are born dim… others become dimner by choice Well,any sins tonight,my dear? I’m so sorry.I was planning to tell a lie but I forgot. There’s a list of sins in the Missal…have you read those? Yes,I’ve not tried most of them yet… though I just got a slight pang of anger when a brick fell onto my head from a clear blue sky. That’s natural anger,my child.but I feel it was odd for a brick to fall like that Has a brick ever fallen on your head,Father. Not yet but I’m only 97.I must buy a hard hat Wow,you look much olde than 97 r.Are you longing to diet? Why, is there no food in heaven? I wonder who cooks if they eat up food Maybe they live on manna. Does God eat food? That was one topic we never did in the cemetery. Do you mean the seminary. At my age, they are all one. You have reached Nirvana….congratulations. Well.I’d prefer a cup of tea. You English! What are you? I’m a great Dane. Did you say a grey Dane. That too. Well perk up;the show’s not quite over till the gnat really stings. Do gnats eat string? String… it’s my passion.Love it or mate it…get involved. Live a little. And for your penance… you must have a bath… Why? I don’t like the way you smell. Well,I am a dog.. we like to sniff.May I borrow your hanky? Definitely,I shall dry your tears for you and please try to commit few intriguing sins before you come back here. I’ll wash it for you.And dry it out of doors Well,it’s not over till that gnat gets its sting and the phone gets a ring
What was so wrong about asking About your absence from this world And trying to grab you back holding onto your coat tail Eternity’s long enough already We don’t need your vapour trails. Was it a wicked thing to do As you floated so far away To reach out to touch you once more I admit I never knew you kept score. When I beat you at chess so long ago Were you already packing bags to throw out the door? I knew it was the real thing But some men never do. You have your expectations And your tests and rules But we never learned those In our higher math schools. We learned rigour and icy vision We learned definition and precision. But what use are they in loving I didn’t know how to steer with no maps You were off anyhow. The orchestra stoped playing When they saw the gap. You can’t fly forever But I do be leaving you. In the circumstances What else does a woman like me do. You can smile and squeeze your eyes tight Suck in those cheeks and hide your love. What’s coming after you’s an eagle or a crow Not a dove…it’s black I know When you toss it all away then Seems like it’s long past time and emotion to call it a day. Come again…..you must be crazy Love is clear to me now like the face of a new born daisy
Originally written in 1866, a fragment from “The Habit of Perfection” was first published in Robert Seymour Bridges’s anthology The Spirit of Man: An Anthology in English & French from the Philosophers & Poets (Longmans Green & Co., 1916). In “Food Metaphors in Gerard Manley Hopkins,” published in Victorian Poetry, vol. 55, no. 3 (Fall 2017), Mariaconcetta Costantini, professor of English at D’Annunzio University of Chieti–Pescara, Italy, writes, “Another struggle against the lure of the senses, including taste, is dramatized in ‘The Habit of Perfection.’ Like other lyrics of Hopkins’s university years, this poem in quatrains exalts the human capacity for renouncing physical pleasures in favor of spiritual ones [. . .]. [T]he poet turns the body and its perceptive organs into vehicles for achieving a condition of bliss that entails the final rejection of corporeality. Such a strategy is evident at the beginning of each quatrain, which opens with a direct reference to man’s sensual powers of perception / communication: hearing, speaking, seeing, tasting, smelling and touching. Stanza four, in particular, focuses on the pleasures of the palate—‘the hutch of tasty lust’—which are visibly evoked before the invitation to transcend them. Despite the use of negation, the speaker gives flesh to the palate’s ‘desire . . . to be rinsed with wine,’ while the other references to drinks and aliments (‘The can . . . so sweet, the crust / So fresh’) attach physical valences to the ‘fasts divine.’”
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The boughs, the boughs are bare enough, But earth has not yet felt the snow. Frost-fringed our ivies are, and rough
With spiked rime the brambles show, The hoarse leaves crawl on hissing ground, What time the sighing wind is low.
No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. Comforter, where, where is your comforting? Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing—
I must be far from men and women To love their ways. I must be on a mountain Breathing greatly like a tree If my heart would yearn a little For the peopled, placid valley. I must be in a bare place And lonely as a moon To find the graceless ways of people
I walked along the countryside At eventide, And everywhere The road was fair With moons of water here and there, Into whose heart the grasses spied. And suddenly upon them shone The light of the City’s eye, Reflected from a bulb on high.
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquility; The gentleness of heaven broods o’er the Sea; Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder—everlastingly.
In the 60’s women wore a tiny mini- skirts
[Which seems odd now, as we wear trousers most]
Then bought longer ones should Vogue direct
We wore minis, stockings with grip welts
Cool in summer, chilly in the frost
Once all women wore wool winter skirts
Trousers made us free from fashions cracked
As long as we had slender tapered waists
We bought versions of Parisian taste direct.
But recently we see the trousers whacked
They must be short this year or lack good taste
They’re up and down our calves just like the skirts
And though we hated belts, suspender packed
We now must buy a longer type of sock
To close the gap the shorter trousers make.
So I make my case that women’s trousers lack
Virtue, beauty, wonder, colour based
I think it’s time that skirts should now be backed
Let us admire the daring females most
Who wander flower-skirted to the coast
Let us humans tear off all that hurts!
We need comfort, let the fashions flirt!
Through the TV series fun on Saturdays, They educate us to our foreign ways We’re blind to our own prejudice, you see. But we can see it on our dramatised TV.
Our mind’s a stranger to our self; As Freud discovered with his stealth We make believe we are all saints. In words, by gum, it doesn’t half sound quaint!
Tonight on Taggart we see Poles Shot at close range, here, look, bullet holes. They’re foreign though they were born here. And, by the way, your auntie’s queer.
We want a game like chess with rules Make it black and white, we’re fools. We forget the Last Judgment’s here today And God is foreign, by the way.
God’s the foreigner par excellence He sent us Son down here just once But like we often do, we killed They’re using TV now to change our wills.
Enlighten us, dear God, by screens of blue Make us understand we’re foreign too We don’t need to go to Church The TV’s on and here I perch
The Lord’s my Shepherd,I’ll not scratch.
Oh, raise me with words
Underneath the arches,I’ll sit and eat my shoe.
Scarlet ribbons made her glare.
Guardian angels set heaven alight.
Wraiths of our fathers ‘ living bill.
God blessed our Hope
Yesterpray.
Welcome to the Communist State of Diarrhea.
You keep sewing your way.
In search of lost crimes with Marred Cell Pouffe.
A still small choice .
Ezekiel,why are you Lear?
My fiance was a Jew until he met me.Then there were three.His mother made a big impression on me… with her shoe!
Don’t believe all I write.I have blurred derision and fantasy.
The Lord’s my shepherd,so he taunts.
When true love’s gone and doom hangs over head When life runs like a river to the sea Then shall I take new lovers to my bed And with their carnal touch consoled be?
When lovers lie and break my woman’s heart. When life seems grey and rocks bestrew my path. Then, shall I my life of evil start And on the world shall I bestow my wrath?
When my love lies and wrecks all loyalty. When puzzlement makes all the world seem mad. Then I shall upend causality And let myself do deeds which make me glad. I have the fruits of love within my heart.
The opposite of poverty isn’t property. The opposite of both poverty and property is community.
How my heart speaks 