Your skin glows like a freshly picked raspberry at midnight.
It blossoms sweet as the rose in the promise of scope
when you come near me sweetly  perfumed
My yearning heart rises to your saxaphone-like voice and leaps like a young frog at the whisper of your name, Delta x/Delta y
The evening descends  as if on a great eagle’s dark wings.
I am calmed by your lingerie that I cling to  in the twilight  to carry  my walnuts.
I am filled with hope that I may collect your tears in a jug to get washed with tomorrow to save water now we are on a meter
As my buttons fall from my T shirt they remind me of your corking wit.
In the hushed eve, I listen for the first dreary wail of the autumn.
My hands leap to get my warm coat  and woollen hat away from the  ravening dogs of war
I wait with the crystal whiskey bottle for your secret calculus
so that we may be integrated and summed up
as one;hip to hip;quip by quip
in search of the glorious geometry,topology,geomorphology and spirituality,not to mention depersonalology of love itself.

I had to have surgery yesterday so I can’t write  anything as yet

But  it gives me time for reading novels which I love

http://www.relaxationexpert.co.uk/ProgressiveRelaxationTechniques.html

Old wall by Katherine  from her photo art

I liked your joke;it was very re-amusing
Sank you very touch.
I measure my herds tearfully.So rake a lead from a dog.Don’t mate.Ever.
What is that beast being or doing?
Oh,that is our invisible cat,
Will your partner be alarmed?
No.Her bosom is as peaceful and white as a glow worm in June
May I seduce her?
You can but sigh.Try to reduce her for me.I miss her sore touch.
Do you behind what I do with or without hair?
Wit,at the dresser?
I like that ass I perceive.
You are already harried.
Are you never pre-empted?
That does not spatter.
Dozen tit? How about a pudding?Batter my pancakes,Oh, three person God!
Oh,take your privy parts elsewhere.I an well dead up with you.
No bleeding swearing and rehearsing near me.Spank you.
Four letter words allowed only in herds with a sheep frog to guide them.
Pussy might glare at us.I glare back.
Her claws are like magic bulletins.
Why is a cat so?
They get clues to the weather from their dozes.
That rebounds painfully on me in winter.
Yes,but the weather is very sticky in the summer.
Remember old friends from our blunder days?
I never knew Heather but I loved Primula.
Was she not too chastening for you?
She liked a ram very much.
Was it shorn?
They have blue horns or even teal.
How furious is that?
I am very sanguine these frays.
You must alight where you can like a house fly.
You set the world on fire,once upon a rhyme!
Don’t claim me as lost luggage.
You like being lost?
I want to be bound again.Like an old book.
So you have been here before ce soir?
Oui,mon petit.Je sais tout.
And how.You brake French like a creative.
Yes,I am well up in tension and wordsplitting
Do you mean declension?
To tell you the truth I am unswear about language catergories.
It’s all those passing participles.
And those non recurring verbs.
Surely you mean decimals?Like unnational numbers…
Don’t fling more maths into my ears!
Sorry,I’m just blundering out of the clouds today.
Keep still,Will you come again?
OK,my heartstring.My lute.My flute.
Why is your ass so round,by the say?
I guess I must have invented it from my mother.
Your jeans are too right!Do they fit tight!I shall go mad with trust.
You like ‘em?
Yeah,men are so sweet.I like to serve them with a home bathed cake.
Do you have to have a special bath?
I shall take illegal devices fro a soliciter
Watch your doubt.
Oh,nuts!
Walnuts?
Any lemon rind ?
You can be too kind
I blow I am.I thought it was hood.for me
Send me a kiss or a hug,please!
If only it were true bliss.Just you,me and a tree.
Why the tree?
We need something to kiss your behind.
Swine! Beast!
Please,I adore you.Don’t unsweeten me this day.I am just a bit tough in the tongue
Whatever you will.I am yours evermore.I shall covet your treasure for never and a day
O.K.I’ll do it our way.
Press my mutton whenever you like,my beloved.
Flank you.You’re really hip.
I won’t flip.I mope.
I did it in E bay
So they pray.
Yesterday
What on birth did I say?
I feel really gay
Fifty glades,all gray with fatigue

During the past few years I’ve had pneumonia and other such things and so unable to lie down I have sat upright and browsed the internet.I have found a lot of articles on philosophy,art,literature which I could read free of charge.#But when it comes to psychoanalysis,you [without much exception] have to join and pay a hefty fee..
This is interesting like the notion you must pay a big charge for therapy in order to get the full benefit… and I know one friend who has got rich that way.
To me it seems bad.If their articles are good,why not let folk who might benefit read them? Mind you,they are often hard to follow

The archaic image of the dead breast lay under her psyche-soma [ like a bed?]

A narcissistic wound had formed the core of her non integrated identity.[Does it have seeds?]

She was unable to accept her schizoid split off vest

His death instinct had throttled his sexual drive so that he always evaporated before he had sexual congress with his wife or anyone else and he had tried frequently until worn down to a bore.

He had never identified with his mirror or imago and thus could never reflect on his introjects or his extrajects or his microjects either.

So don’t pay.. it not worth it.. keep a diary or a dairy cow instead

Trust the unknown force that grew you,
From the joining of two cells.
Act of love, of self giving,
Thus to grow a newer self.

Trust the dark,the unseen aspects
Of the life we all do live.
Trust that there is wisdom elsewhere,
To your emptiness to give.

Wait in patience for the time
When inspiration comes at last
Trust in darkness,silence,lowness.
Opposition forms the cross.

Pain is bearable in lowness,
Like the worm in earth I dwell.
When I look I see the sunrise

And I trust all shall be well.

Shapely tulips catch my eye

Red as cherries

Holly berries

Shape can never lie.

Willow buds as green as glass

Happiness

Happiness

Memories are made of this.

Sunlight slants across the wall

such loved color

my eyes follow

Delight  to me is all

Mauve and grey the evening sky.

Sun descends

Day must end

One last goose flies by.

What  name do we give to an action by another person that hurts is badly and yet they have not broken the law?Like they ring up and say we should have put a comment on their blog when  they know we’ve been very busy at work… then we have not visited their FB page this week… or some other complaint.There is a disparity sometimes between how we are and how others see us.We may be depressed and hardly able to function,they are cross we didn’t phone them for a chat [ie  they moan for 36 minutes whilst we listen..

Maybe it is a sin.Nowadays we don’t use that word.But if we do not use our imagination to understand another person’s life and trials then we are  lacking in some way if this happens a lot.

In psychoanalysis it seems that people do such things because of an identification with an archaic mother image or because they were punished for wetting the bed… there is no personal responsibility..

Some of us go the other way and are over-responsible even in some cases people think they have caused the Gaza conflict or another war when they are actually mentally unwell.They are tormented.

We need to be in the middle… as usua;

Oscar Wilde said,The basis of optimism is sheer terror.

I say,The basis of optimism is sheer error.

I fear he led me up the garden wrath.My father was in the shed.
I really miss my dad  for seeing off villains…laconically smoking a woodbine and wearing a flat cap… or the cat lying flat.
He only wanted my online virginity.He was the first and last cruiser on my blog.Now I have rowing boats or canoes,so much gentler
I guess a tiger would protect me… or eat me.That’s the drawback to weapons of lass destruction.

Leave me a bone tonight.I have to chew things over

before the fall.

A lovely post from Gill McGrath

Paul Tillich gave the spirit proper place
And showed us courage is a place to dwell.
He wrote for us and left us with his grace
Hoping he could reach us and could tell.

So many people imbibed Nazi speech
And lived with minds cut off from human soul.
With pen outstretched in German hand he reached
To touch us as we creep towards the whole.

Expelled from his own country,he wrote on
Continuing during tortuous,war long years
He lived,he loved ,he wrote,he died and then
His books continue to dispatch our fears.

For many men have lived and have destroyed
But Tillich showed us how to face the void

The doctor advised her not to breed in bed without glasses,so she went to bed with 2 glasses of brandy and bred madly for hours.Now she  has beguiled again and again and is leaving her gnome for another..

http://www.fearofstuff.com/humans/fear-of-hands/

I never knew there were so many phobias

I am afraid to touch any man’s bottom
For if my hands are there,someone may spot’em.
So I tousle their hair
Whenever I dare.
Trouble is,there’s such an awful lot of’em.

Whenever a bald man goes by
I try not to glare at his eye.
For I can’t fluff up his hair
As his head is so bare…
Although he might like me to try.

When I was 15 I was given a chance to learn the cello free as there was only one girl in the orchestra.I was already fairly proficient on the piano where mysteriously I was also being given free lessons because of my musical talent.. so I knew how to read music.
The cello strings are tuned to the same notes as the viola but one octave lower.Sometimes in cello music the tenor clef is used as well as the bass and treble.
I reached Grade 8 after a year but then the teacher left and was not replaced.And my A levels loomed so although the Northern college of music would have given me lessons the head would not allow it.
I’d strongly recommend letting a child learn the cello or viola.There is something quite wonderful about playing in a string quartet and the viola being in the middle is possibly the loveliest in tone and in how it speaks to the heart.
I have had several versions of the Bach cello suites played by Casals,Tortelier, and others.But now I have been won over by Rostropovich.He was a very loving man…and it comes over.His Dvorak cello concerto is luminous…
I find a Kindle Fire is very handy for playing music as I move around the house as it’s so portable.I admit I’ve always liked Russian musicians… maybe seeing Dr Zhivago helped me.The music of the Orthodox Church is such that I’d convert instantly just to sit in one of their churches.They unlike the Catholic Church have not modernised their rituals and I believe that is very fortunate….

They lay down in awe and fear,
Of what their love was bringing near.
They gazed into each other’s eyes
And so did rhapsodise.

They lay down to gaze into
the eyes and soul and heart so true.
They gazed until,when overcome,
They were united into one.

Their souls and bodies were conjoined,
And thus their hearts were well entwined;
As honeysuckle on the walls,
In joy’s sweet arbours does grow tall.

Their loving lips and eyes and hands
Gave pause to time’s soft flowing sands;
And while they touched and gazed so long,
The birds sang out in glorious songs.

The eyes are mirrors to the soul,
and love will make us grow more whole.
Gaze lovingly on humankind..
And hold care in your mind.

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 eyees 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.

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/2225/the-art-of-criticism-no-1-harold-bloom

In the middle of the magic wood near the rocky seashore

And the rushing tides and pools of light
We sat on an old  wooden bench..and heard the  birds singing.
A robin came onto the arm of the seat,
And to town children this seemed a miracle

we didn’t know they were accustomed to being fed there.
So we breathed very lightly
lest our noise should frighten away this tiny being..
Now,if I am tense,if I am wise,
I want to remember the wood and imagine the bird
And the peace will come back..
The joy of that Silence.
How did we ever leave it and for what?
What else has value
except the touch of your hand
and our eyes meeting softly
and the peace of the deep green shade

And the  enchanting song of the high in the wildwood tree tops   birds