Maximilian Kolbe




Delicate image by Mike Flemming 2020.Copyright

When reading this please remember most of the prisoners were Jews some of whom  had been raised as Catholics so Fr Kolbe said Mass every day while he and they were being starved to death.They were reduced to whispering the prayers as they slowly died one by one.Just think this, was Enlightment Europe the proud centre of ciivilised Europe

He did not die so the Nazis shot him


Tracing back, however, to the inhumanity of World War II, where a shattering sense of hopelessness pervaded the death camps as the Nazis took over Poland, this place of infamy became the Calvary of the modern times. Anger and hatred filled the heart of every prisoner until one stepped forward from the prisoners of Block 14, among whom ten had been singled out in retribution for one escapee.  Not initially selected, this obscure man – Father Maximilian Kolbe, a Catholic priest – voluntarily took the place of one of the ten, the father of a family, who, along with the others prisoners, had been sentenced to death by starvation.



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Where is paranoia on my sat nav?


Why have you not got schizophrenia?
Because it wasn’t on the shopping list

Why  the panic?
No, it’s  a punnet 

I want some nutter
Do you mean butter?’
When I say nutter I mean it

Do stop knattering

What is a declension?
All I know is you can’t eat it

What is the plural of  yoga?

You broke the Law
Divide and conquer

Where is Latin?
It’s under “Tongues”
Tongues  of Fire?
Sacrilege is bad for you
I’m a demoness
That is not PC
I’ll take the WC instead.
You can’t take it all with you
I’ll  just take the cistern

Do you  think that is funny?
No, but this is

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  Our particular language may shape our thinking more than we can imagine.

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Art by Katherine

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Eternal Life

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I’ll stick with Thee…fast falls the chill of night
Send me an angel,I need something bright.
I have no fear,with Thee I’ll be alright.
Why not succumb and use electric light?

Large now or small.It matters not what size.

All that now matters…must be our Lord God’s eyes.0114- arnside 2 0006
In their sweet light,I’ll love my neighbour’s wife
As she seems unhappy with almost all her life.

I do not mean to fornicate or lust.
No,I’ll calm her gently and I’ll earn her trust.
I’ll cook their dinner,so she takes a rest…
Then when the evening comes I’ll sit my test.

Do they eat meat?I have a little lamb…
If not I think there is some well cured ham.
I’ll cook nine veggies as we are advised
That will definitely bring us to Eternal Life

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The kindness

Every time  I think that I will stop
That poetry is not my kind of game
The kindness of my readers picks me up

I start again and emptied is my cup
I wander through the library of names
 I feel the affect  and the unwilled stop

In the mind we know we suffer gaps
That every heart and soul has got its stains
The kindness of my readers picks me up

Each of  us can share our  homemade map
Can ask for comfort when we are in pain
All feel the affect  and the unwilled stops

Comfort me,  give charm to my black cat
He seems to have no affect, he is lame
The kindness of my readers picks us up

Would we wish the wild world to be tamed?
Were better if we could start  life again
Every time  I think that I will stop
The kindness of my readers draws me up



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Photo by Mike Flemming.Copyright
nativity scene christmas decor

Photo by Bich Tran on


Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back
                              Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
                             From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
                             If I lacked any thing.
A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:
                             Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
                             I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
                             Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame
                             Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
                             My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
                             So I did sit and eat.
Source: George Herbert and the Seventeenth-Century Religious Poets  (W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1978)
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Faltering voice

The moment that they told me he was gone
I knew I never more would be at one.
The guilt  is bad, the shame is harder still
That I no longer am  what I would will

That I did not perceive the   your state of mind
That to your heart I seemed to have been blind
That I was not enough to keep you here
That life and death most grievous are  so near

Then  shamed by my emotions I withdrew
Into the prison cell  that no-one knew
My soul was  pierced , I could not own my grief
 Limp, submissive , blown away, a leaf.

Shame is deadly, unexposed to speech
With reddened face and   faltering voice I weep

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Their own heart

Living with division in the self
Two parts that can’t be joined by any wealth
Worthlessness,  remote the place it starts
Can we heal,rejoin the broken parts?

Must we go back to  places where we failed
Or be unfree, a prisoner with no jail?
Who might knit the stitches that would join
The valued  half, the other part they scorned?

Ways to go down deep might lead to death
Earn the  anger,bait the holy wrath
The earth cracks wide, the precipice appears
Astride the split, there is  no use for tears

So easy to break up , to split ,to part
Who   will hold their self  in their own heart?


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