My photo

https://www.theguardian.com/global/2016/jun/18/poetry-can-heal-it-helped-me-through-depression

Extract:

For me, poetry is medicine. The poet Les Murray writes: “I’d disapproved of using poetry as personal therapy, but the Black Dog taught me better. Get sick enough, and you’ll use any remedy you’ve got.” In the 19th century, people in asylums were encouraged to write poetry, while William Cowper (1731-1800) wrote that, in his depressions, “I find writing, especially poetry, my best remedy.” Orpheus was both healer and poet and his lyre could vanquish melancholy.

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 many 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

After seeking help from every source

I fell into despair, without a voice.

I hated God, I could no longer pray.

Every day was torment,every way

When someone takes their life we’re seized by pain.

How can we ever know such love again?

Silent and alone in deep despair

My pain itself became a silent prayer

In my room I saw a golden light.

Which wrapped itself around me, held me tight

Go back into the world he counselled me

I will help you in your agony

I felt such love, I’ve never since forgot .

How deep despair untied the sacred knot

We’re meant to live with others not seek God

Though God  himself may find us with his s rod.

Angels guide us to where we should be

Don’t try to cross the river, do not flee.

No one is an island said the poet

In our suffering, sometimes we can’t know it

I’ve never seen the golden light since then.

I’ve had friends and lovers and my pen

Blind sight scattered my wits
Like whitened bones
Across the deserts of my mind.
I descended into blackness.
Love shrank into the tame cat
By the fire,unacknowledged hate
Grew to fill the room.
I stared too much,
A full stop grew gigantic
Crowded out
All the words in the sentence
I saw nothing but this dot
Now a gigantic black hole
Into which I was dragged.
An energy coming from some curse 
Sucked me into the black hole.
That place was the wrong sort of darkness.
Within that full stop,
Love Fundamental became invisible.
Disappeared into the dark.
I dragged my eyes away
And saw the moon appear,so eerie,
It shone,grey silver.
If I had opened my eyes wider
I would not now lament
What I destroyed in the wormhole
Of the black dot that drew my eye
Into a tunnel of darkness
It blinded me to the light
Did not let me read the sentences
Beside the full stop.
An error of focus left hate
Unacknowledged,unmitigated unredeemed,
Kept from love or goodness
Afraid to spoil my love with hate,
The fear of hate became
That which spoiled all else else,
By freezing Love itself.

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2009/jan/24/social-mobility-equality-roy-hattersley?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

I flundered lovely as a blouse
That sleats on high o’er pails and phrills,
When at a seance I saw a fowl
The ghost, of hilden waffotills;
Divide the blike, Coneath the blees,
Pluttering and strancing in the frieze

Conpentred as the hores did pont
And swondleon the mokiway,
They briched in never-blinding stine
Along the gargins wovt awry:
Ten thousand jaw, I ater a flounce,
Wessing their shids in glightly spance.

The Webs deside them planced but loy
Out-did the sparkling waves in schlee
A waite could not clutt ie glay
In juch a ferund timpanee:
I glazed- and jazed- but little ploat
What gealthy wasps shrew thlee had cloght:

For loft, when on my louch i pi
In racane or in trensive slood,
They flush upon that innard plie
Rich is the blass of molitude;
And then my tart with leisured gills:
Fish dancing with the daffodils

https://theconversation.com/why-you-may-feel-depressed-and-anxious-when-youre-ill-and-how-to-cope-with-it-219991?utm_medium=article_native_share&utm_source=theconversation.com

Hello, mother, cried Emile as Mary came through the front door. What’s happened The doctor was not wearing a mask and she says I have to go out and play Bingo That seems odd. Mary made them both pilchard sandwiches topped with vanilla ice cream.And wondere what was wrong with her Suddenly she realised the pain had a curious intensity, like she had felt in her teeth /jaw just before an angina attack Out came the GNT spray which she aimed under her tongue,using Guy’s Hospital method Wow,said Emile.That looks weird.Can I have some? Emile, it is what bombs are made of.It could kill a cat In a few minutes the pain was gone and Mary felt relieved though angry In ran Annie in pink leisure clothes and green Mary Jane shoes I like your shoes,Mary said.Where did you get them? I found then at the back of the wardrobe I think I shall look in my wardrobe, though some shoes I had kept for best disintegrated Where? I was having tea with Dorothy.I looked down and saw lots of black spots on her carpet.It was the soles of my shoes.She was very kind and just got her dust pan and brush I think we should wear the things we love now, not save them for some imaginary future,Annie murmured like a pike that has just seen Ted Hughes in its dreams Guess what I have bought,Mary cried A new mug? No, a coat the colour of dark grey stone walls I don’t like the sound of that.Shall we call Dave? No, it’s ok,I am pleased I can sit on walls in the winter You are easily pleased,Annie informed her.Most women want new kitchens, Le Creuset pots, clothe s and shoes I have enough,Mary responded. But who defines what is enough? When I went for an interview for Uni it was on a Tuesday.I wore my only blouse on Sunday so I wore it again though the collar was dirty and my cardigan made by Mother was not a success as the button band was not the right length as it twisted I went over the Pennines by train in the worst winter ever and arrived for my interview with no money for a sandwich for my lunch The men interviewing mte asked why I wanted to do maths I said,I want to do research.I had already discovered something myself though later I saw Pascal had discovered it.He had better notation which helps They burst out laughing and slapped their thighs.At least they didn’t sexually abuse me I had never seen men with manicured hands before How did you feel? In those days I didn’t feel,Mary told Annie.I wish I were like that now At least they accepted you,Annie whispered.Let’s not bring up the past It seems to come up by itself And so say all

https://www.healthcentral.com/condition/rheumatoid-arthritis/cold-and-flu-season-with-rheumatoid-arthritis

There was a young lady from Ealing
Who slept upside down on the ceiling
When she was asked why
She said , I like to try
But gravity keeps interfering.

I made this from a photograph using digital software

First we had grow your own, and now it’s kill it yourself.

We had paint your own pictures then it was draw your own blood.

Write your own books then
Read your own palms.

We used to make love now it’s ensure your own climax

We used to  talk to each other
Now we message our others
We used to share bedrooms
Now we are alone with just Zoom
We used to have fantasies now we have pornography
We didn’t see our own vulvas
Now we get plastic surgery so they look good for anonymous strangers.

If we do everything ourselves and nothing for each other where will that lead to in the end?

Do we want to die by ourselves?

Doctor,I think my husband has something wrong with him.

Thank God, I thought he was dead!

Doctor I think I’m going deaf

What?

Doctor,I have a pain in my bed

Oh,do stop moaning; get a different bed

Why do I have bad feet doctor?

You’ve got the wrong sort of ethics

Doctor,my head feels strange. .

Can’t you just laugh it off?

Doctor,where is the receptionist?

She’s at a reception.

Doctor,you look worn out.

I shall take two aspirin and see myself in the morning.

If you can’t see yourself in the morning then things are serious indeed

But will anybody else be able to see you in the morning?

Doctor I thought I saw a rat.

It’s your imitation fur bedroom slipper.

Why do my shoulders ache at night?

Forgotten to take you hydroxychloroquine? Try sprinkling a little rat poison on your food instead. That will definitely weaken your immune system but as long as it doesn’t kill you we doctors are happy to give it to you. Because it will cure your rheumatoid arthritis m,my dear

Melt butter in a pan then pour over the chicken legs, after killing yourself for best results.

Caramelise the sugar and mix with butter before finally tasting yourself to be sure

Image par Katherine




Eh bien, mon I Q n'a que 65 ans et pourtant j'ai un diplôme de maths
D'où?
Vous ne pouvez pas les acheter.
C'est ce qu'ils disent tous
Je suis un crétin, vous êtes des crétins, ils sont des crétins
Et moi?
Tu es un imbécile.

Je desire un moron pour mon lit~je suis enchante par les imbeciles comme moi

 Je ne suis même pas français

Je ne regrette pas mon oncle est un topologie daemon.Quelque chose desirez vous?

 Pourquoi avez-vous cette lettre dans votre main?
C'est un refernce de mon tuteur. "Ce garçon est tellement stupide qu'il ne peut même pas épeler Feck et il n'a jamais entendu parler de Sodome et Gomorrhe.

Pourkwa Sod em and Gomorrow? Je suis auntie bbc   supernatural

Je ne sais pas mais je suis un analyst de classi sequel comme epsilon delta et Leib Knits sweaters,Ou est Kant? Kant est mort! Oh,non,non, je suis finnish, I can’t go on like this. I am Dutch.
Double?
Treble!
Kant aime Leipzig.Je t’aim frogs.Ma mere aime le chat et mon pere aimes ma meres.J’ai trois meres
Traumas?
O h Freud again

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Try it in French

In “Thinkings and poems”

Poem by Rimbaud

from Rimbaud: Complete Works, Selected Letters, a Bilingual Edition Translated by Wallace Fowlie and revised by Seth Whidden Mémoire I L’eau claire; comme le sel des larmes d’enfance, l’assaut au soleil des blancheurs des corps de femmes; la soie, en foule et de lys pur, des oriflammes sous les murs…

In “poetry”

Google transwaite

In “thoughts”

About Katherine

I like art, poetry,history, literature,cooking,doing nothing to music.And conversation

View all posts by Katherine →

This entry was posted in Thinkings and poems. Bookmark the permalink. Edit

← Jennifer Warnes singing Joan of Arc live

A wider focus →

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Eh bien, mon QI n’a que 65 ans et pourtant j’ai un diplôme de maths
D’où?
Vous ne pouvez pas les acheter.
C’est ce qu’ils disent tous
Je suis un crétin, vous êtes des crétins, ils sont des crétins
Et moi?
Tu es un imbécile.

Je desire un moron pour mon lit~je suis enchante par les imbeciles comme moi
Je ne suis même pas français
Je ne regrette pas mon oncle est un topologie daemon.Quelque chose desirez vous?
Pourquoi avez-vous cette lettre dans votre main?
C’est un refernce de mon tuteur. “Ce garçon est tellement stupide qu’il ne peut même pas épeler Feck et il n’a jamais entendu parler de Sodome et Gomorrhe.
Pourkwa Sod em and Gomorrow? Je suis auntie bbc supernatural
Je ne sais pas mais je suis un analyst de classi sequel comme epsilon delta et Leib Knits sweaters,Ou est Kant? Kant est mort! Oh,non,non, je suis finnish, I can’t go on like this. I am Dutch.
Double?
Treble!
Kant aime Leipzig.Je t’aim frogs.Ma mere aime le chat et mon pere aimes ma meres.J’ai trois meres
Traumas?
O h Freud again

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Google+ has shut downPrintEmail
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Related
Try it in French
Try it in French
In “Thinkings and poems”

Poem by Rimbaud
from Rimbaud: Complete Works, Selected Letters, a Bilingual Edition Translated by Wallace Fowlie and revised by Seth Whidden Mémoire I L’eau claire; comme le sel des larmes d’enfance, l’assaut au soleil des blancheurs des corps de femmes; la soie, en foule et de lys pur, des oriflammes sous les murs…

In “poetry”

Google transwaite
Google transwaite
In “thoughts”
About Katherine
I like art, poetry,history, literature,cooking,doing nothing to music.And conversation
View all posts by Katherine →
This entry was posted in Thinkings and poems. Bookmark the permalink. Edit
← Jennifer Warnes singing Joan of Arc liveA wider focus →
I welcome comments and criticism
Enter your comment here…
This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
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J’ai pensé écrire la fin avant de commencerLes intimations viennent de mon propre cœur et aussi des paroles d’amis aimants qui m’aident sur mon chemin jusqu’à la fin

Nos esprits grandissent à partir des paroles d’amis aimantsou de leurs lettres si nous sommes séparés Ils voyagent avec nous jusqu’à ce que nous atteignons la fin

Les amitiés peuvent mal tourner, faisons amende honorableUn mot, un regard, ils laissent le processus commencer Nos esprits grandissent à partir des paroles d’amis aimants

Je pense que c’ est un danger de prétendre Car alors nous risquonsde briser les cœurs Ils ne peuvent pas voyager avec nous jusqu’à la fin

Parfois, la grâce fine et la joie peuvent chaque descendre Jamais essayer defaire une carte ou un tableau Nos esprits grandissent à partir des mots d’amis aimants

Ne terminez pas votre vie avec la menteuse forteChaque cellule est de l’ensemble une partie Nous sommes un malgré le grand tourment

J’ai pensé écrire la fin avant de commencer

Les intimations viennent de mon propre cœur et aussi des paroles d’amis aimants qui m’aident sur mon chemin jusqu’à la fin

Nos esprits grandissent à partir des paroles d’amis aimant sou de leurs lettres si nous sommes séparés Ils voyagent avec nous jusqu’à ce que nous atteignons la fin

Les amitiés peuvent mal tourner, faisons amende honorableUn mot, un regard, ils laissent le processus commencer Nos esprits grandissent à partir des paroles d’amis aimants

Je pense que c’ est un danger de prétendre Car alors nous risquonsde briser les cœurs Ils ne peuvent pas voyager avec nous jusqu’à la fin

Parfois, la grâce fine et la joie peuvent chaque descendre Jamais essayer defaire une carte ou un tableau Nos esprits grandissent à partir des mots d’amis aimants

Ne terminez pas votre vie avec la menteuse forte

Chaque cellule est de l’ensemble une partie Nous sommes un malgré le grand tour

Aujourd’hui, nous étudions la topologie

Ça doit être bref. Et le caoutchouc Ooh, vous êtes impoli, n’êtes-vous pas Regardez, ce n’est pas un jeu de mots croisés

Non, mais vous êtes.

Vous obtenez la croix et nous avons

Qu’en est-il des mots?

Juste bourdonnement aujourd’hui. Maintenant, nous allons apprendre sur les nombres transcendantaux Vous pouvez parler mais nous ne pouvons pas apprendre Pourquoi, est-il interdit?

Non, nous sommes juste épais

Eh bien, mon QI n’a que 65 ans et pourtant j’ai un diplôme de maths D’où? Vous ne pouvez pas les acheter.

C’est ce qu’ils disent tous

Je suis un crétin, vous êtes un crétin, ils sont des crétin

Et moi? Tu es un imbécile.

Je ne suis même pas français Pourquoi avez-vous cette lettre dans votre main?

C’est un refernce de mon tuteur. “Ce garçon est tellement stupide qu’il ne peut même pas épeler Feck et il n’a jamais entendu parler de Sodome et Gomorrhe.

Eh bien E n’est pas U Sont-ils les jumeaux sur la rue Coronation

Pour l’amour de Dieu, lisez la Bible. Sera-t-il heureux? Non, mais ça t’arrêtera de parler autant.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2010/sep/04/adam-phillips-the-happiness-myth?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

Art by author

A local wood

https://www.interviewmagazine.com/literature/adam-phillips-is-no-ones-guru

Before we go to bed we vegetate
No need for teacher but a compost heap.
And as we vegetate, we drift to sleep
While in our dreams our little mind debates

But mostly we’re unknowing in this dark
Where God himself may manifest at will.
His dazzling darkness makes our souls be still
And wait for strikes by living ,glowing spark.

But in the morning ,we come back to strife
Take up our work and suffer every stroke.
From sapling to the oldest,strongest oak
Each must choose again its proper life

Every look we cast at others strikes
Reflects and shows us what we have become
And when there is no movement, we are done
Our mind and heart have chosen what they like.

So in our end we vegetate again
And no more rise to labour in the day
We fertilise the fields passed on our way
We show the end of woman and of man.

A daily round becomes our life and death.
We live because we’re breathed by sacredness.

https://theconversation.com/reports-of-the-death-of-psychoanalysis-are-exaggerated-as-adam-phillips-elegant-elusive-writing-shows-224244

The piercing grief, the dagget in the throat

The feel of choking hands, the ruptured heart

Every part is hurting in such pain

The waves roll in again, again, again

There is a layer of grief trapped in the skin.

We need a soothing touch it is no sin.

I close my eyes against the demon pain

Touch me, darling, touch me once again.

l long to hear your key turn in the lock

My inner wrist weeps, love, it’s you I lack

The roses by your gate

Revealed my sweet fate:

That I would love you in summertime,

That my poetry would always rhyme,

That a dream of petals falling from above

Would drench us both with sunshine’s golden love;

That we would fall into deep grassy meadows

Full of daisies,lie on our backs.

Swallows Darting across the sky would see

Our shapes intertwined with bright buttercups. Who knows when love will erupt

And carry us on its flowing waters To places unreachable in summer saunters? Into the eye of love itself.

Tension like a corset made of steel

Traps my beating heart inside a cage

Tries to hide the terror that I feel

Tension is a corset made of steel

Why, now, must my feelings be concealed?

When anger in a moment turns to rage

Tension is a corset made of steel

My tender heart is trapped inside a cage.

I wish we were in Standon by the ford

The river Stort, the placid cows, the sun

Oh, to be outdoors, the light to hoard

Without you you near I feel that I am shunned.

Up the hill we find the quiet church

We see the village spread out like a bed

We found this place although we did not search

I long to see your face though you are dead

Could I find you if I came at night

Shadows walk like ghosts by Prozac raised.

Could I find you in the morning light?

All I want is this, to see your face.

No one knows the mystery and the wealth

Is memory now a danger to my healtha?

Claustrophobia held me in its grip

I could not breathe, my heart was in my mouth

I could not even take a single step

Claustrophobia held me in its grip.

Tension cracked my bones and cursed my lip.

Frantically I paced about the house

Claustrophobia held me in its grip

I could not breathe, my heart was in my mouth

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/education/glossary/triolet