Month: June 2015

Spiritual verses

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http://youtu.be/huUvk6WPTMY

  • Gravity
    Oh, cradle my soul in your light
    As I am in darkness tonight.
    Fill me with your love
    On earth,not above.
    Your touch is both gentle and bright.
  • Seeing and feeling are one.
    As senses conjoin yet are none.
    I know it is so
    The darkness shall glow
    You are both god and person.
  • It seems like the heavens are weeping
    Rain and snow fall while we’re sleeping
    The clouds are grey black
    As Northward they trek.
    As for records, are they all we are keeping?
             We dwell in a body of flesh
  • With others we love to enmesh.
  • Let’s get up and dance now
  • Love shows us how…
  • We dance to the tunes that refresh
                We humans need meaning to create.
  • The meaningless may agitate.
    But stories abound.
    Pick the best you have fo found
    Get in there and start to narrate
  • In nature time goes round and round
    Life’s a spiral, the wise man has found.
    Each time I pass you
    I see you anew
    Until gently we are laid in the ground.
        The end is the beginning,they say.
  •   So say what is important today.
    For time flows like a stream
    What is ,soon has been.
    So we are foolish to attempt to  delay

The Gentle Narcissist?

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[ photo  above from  here: http://photovide.com/gentle-animal-photos/%5D

http://www.mentalhelp.net/poc/view_doc.php?type=doc&id=45624

link to interview with author Gerti Schoen of her book called,

The Gentle Narcissist…..it is  well worth looking at

This is very interesting.I was writing about Natcissus and narcissists are usually thought of as conceited and boastful and full of themselves,However this woman argues that being the opposite of that is also a form of narcissism.I read that narcissism is a growing problem on modern Western  society… with selfies on your i phone,posting your wonderful doings on Facebook etc
Are there any shy gentle people left? And are they also marcissists too concerned with their own self?Trust in God used to be the path of life but now most here no longer believe the old stories..How about moderate,ordinary people?

This image from an intriguing website names below seems an archetypal image of the self absorbed and self worshipping narcissist…. and yet how boring to be so self absorbed.Creative people lose themself in work and mysics in God

swan_11http://www.drumworksshamanichealing.com/2013/05/04/animal-totem-swan/

Posted by at 17:38

If God smites me dead

Image

Pray Father,give me a Dressing.It is five Tweets since my last Depression
So what have you done now?
Well,as I’ve done nothing wrong today I am suffering from Pride.
You seem to think about yourself too much…maybe
How much is too much,Uncle?
Well,when we are happy and doing something we enjoy,we forget ourselves entirely.
and that is the best way to be.
But first we need some security.How can I get that.
You need a spam guard for your mind!At the moment you are on automatic which is the default setting of your brain to act like a reptile…
Thanks very much,Father,I never knew I was a reptile.Did they have scruples..
It was kill or be killed.Don’t you see the scruples are an attack on yourself?The reptile is attacking you… as you have frightening thoughts it’s annoyed.
So how do I rebutt these? thoughts
Say,Alright if I’m the most wicked man in the city,smite me and do your worst.I am not afraid any more..I have done my best and if it’s not good enough strike me dead now or forever give me peace,
And what will happen after that?
Well,we shall see.But you have to face this thing head on.Bring it to a head.Lance the boil.
So if God does smite me dead?
Well, do you really think you are so wicked because you stole a half penny from the charity box fifty years ago?
I see it’s a sort of pride… a theatrical display of guilt.
Yes, quite right.Anyway, if you survive your ordeal let me know and I’ll give it a try.
Why,don’t say you have scruples too?
Yes,I have scruples about giving advice to people.If they follow it and it’s no good… it worries me….
Why don’t we do or die together,Father?
I’ll give you a buzz.
Meanwhile am I absolved?
Yes, dear boy.Sometimes I wish I could be dissolved..
Why is that?
I’d like to lose myself.
Why not try reading a good book…I recommend Nicholas Freeling.
But I feel guilty reading.
Now look here,Father,God helps those who help themselves….give yourself a break…
A good novel, a cup of tea and a pussy on your knee,you’ll be transformed.
Thank you,my child.
Don’t mention it,Father.
Don’t mention what?
They never say.
It’s just a phrase or is it a phase?
It’s all Greek to me.
I know some very sweet Greeks or are they geeks?
Just one letter can make such a difference..
Write soon.

Belated

  • Photo0688

    Belated thanks, long overdue,
    Are flying from me straight to you.
    So take heart and stand
    but not on my hand.
    Nor on Alfred who if startled goes “Mioaw”

    You see Alfred is a very hot cat
    He hates to sit down on my mat.
    He likes my warm lap
    And wears a small cap
    To show he’s real holy,howzat?

  • Merriam Webster word of the day:Belated

    Did You Know?

    Long ago, there was a verb belate, which meant “to make late.” From the beginning, belate tended to mostly turn up in the form of its past participle belated. Eventually, belate itself fell out of use, leaving behind belated as an adjective that preserved the original notion of delay. As you may have guessed, belate and its descendant belated derive from the adjective late; belate was formed by simply combining the prefix be- (“to cause to be”) with late. Belated was also once used in the sense “overtaken by night,” as in “belated travelers seeking lodging for the night.” This sense was in fact the first meaning of the adjective but it too fell out of use.

I know that’s how death will come.

I know that's how death will come,
Suddenly flying into another orbit
when I am photographing flowers.
It's not a gentle transition.
No-one will know where I've gone.
One step wrong and I'm
off the high wire
And plunging into the no safety net.
Flying for a while;
Jumping into hyperspace,spinning electrons
Startle my grey eyes.
Transiting the new black sun
I'm on a double gold helix,
Spider on your web,
Knitting furiously
Into the future heaven on gossamer wings.
Butterfly goodbye,I'm off to see the stars.
And the black holes.No one will come with me.
I'm shaking off,evaporating into mist.
I'm a flying saucer on a circus mission.
I can't say no to a new invitation.
Make it fast and break with tradition.
Time is passing smoothly till that break
In the music,I've been transmuted into a different key
someone else will play me on their violin
I'm a tune,
I'm a thought,
I'm a whisper in your vision.
Goodbye,darling.I'm under orders
Ready to leave for my performance
On the electric carpet.
Death dancing to a tune on a violoncello,
Arpeggionne sonata
I'm playing your words upside down
In a new foreign translation,
Accompanied by solo artists,ice cracking
I'm going in.It's too sudden.
I'm flying.
Spinning faster to amuse the clowns,
too many ups and no downs.
I'm going right out of orbit
I've broken the pull of gravity,
And fly with pure equanimity
Into my future life,
I'm off at some moment.
An instant ,a crack,a loud smack.
That was me passing.

Which I now deride

Alfred ,my cat, has got fleas.
I saw ten writhing right on my knee.
So I vacuumed my skin
From my head to my shin
For my feet,I just soak them in Brie.

So Alfred is banned for a week
And I sit here feeling so bleak.
I’ll calm myself down
And remove my frown.
It’s peace not a high that I seek

Yet only three weeks have gone by
Since my husband decided to die.
His nose was like ice
Which was not at all nice.
So I cried and gave out a sad sigh.

Although I was there when he died
It seems quite unreal beside
The long years of care
The wear and the tear.
I feel like a sponge cake that’s dried.

The light has gone out in my soul
The darkness surrounds me like coal.
Oh give me a match
To strike and dispatch
This blind fog in which I now roll

For now no-one touches my hand
Nor hears if my feet hit the ground.
I hope not to fall
For who’ll hear me call?
Now silence gathers all round

Meanwhile folk phone to ask
Whether I’ve finished my task.
They want maps and guides
Which I now deride.
What’s life worth without any risk?

What a read!

Abstract+blue 4
Mary sat by the window ,which she had meant to clean, reading Windows 8.1.The Missing Manual.The one great advantage of this new Windows system was that it seemed one no longer needed to instal anti-virus programmes.So much time is taken up by looking after older versions that Mary was not surprised that Chromebooks were now very popular.Yet even so,she enjoyed learning new skills and it’s not as if they are like the theory of quantum physics or even nonlinear algebra or baking cakes.
Stan had taken Emile ,their naughty cat for a spin on his old sports bike which he still used when wild ,crazy feelings came over him and as they were only a mile from the edge of the mysterious town of Knittingham they were soon cycling through a deep green, quiet forest where Kings once hunted deer and no doubt chased women… or was it chaste women?
Mary had decided to stay at home as she was expecting a new vacuum cleaner to arrive.She kept one eye on her book and the other on her neighbour Rick who was very handsome despite being 113 years old.He was hanging his washing on his large front hedge which was unusual in winter.Most of the people in the road had tumble dryers or heated rails.Some even hung their washing outside on lines to let the blustery winter air dry it and kill the germs which might survive in a low temperature machine wash
Maybe I should do some washing ,Mary thought.How about I do my annual sheet changing.I made a big mistake deciding it was to be in the winter,but,alas it is hard to change a routine.Am I a cyborg,she thought nervously,licking her lips till they were damp and red.
Maybe I should clean the kitchen floor too,she thought as she drew an elongated ellipse with some mud that had fallen of Stan’s shoes as he passed by.She looked down pensively at the pattern the mud had made on the lino.I wonder if I can predict our fortune by studying this pattern deeply,she wondered.Some people do it from the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup,so why not from mud.There seemed no logical reason why mud splatters should be worse than tea leaves.It is simply a pattern through which the Unconscious can send a message to us.
Why it could not speak in ordinary language nobody knew and nobody ever will.Not all questions have answers.How strangely dull life would be if that were so.Don’t you agree?I don’t.
Sundial
.Mary had just seen a short story relating a dream a woman had that she had fallen in love with a strong healthy hippopotamus and taken it home.Unfortunately when they went to bed the weight of the animal had made the solid oak bed collapse onto the purple and orange carpet.Unable to give up her love,she had spent the rest of her life trying to build a new bed out of sawdust.It seemed not unlike the labours of Hercules in a new form
Mary was sceptical.I can’t believe a woman could love a hippopotamus,even in a dream,she murmured.But even if it was not a dream but a conscious invention,what did that say about the person writing it?That she always fell in love with men who were too heavy for her and who pulled her down onto the carpet to make love whenever they felt the urge regardless of whether she was as flat as a pancake or even dead
A lion,yes, Mary mused,but never a hippopotamus.I mean,they have no expressions on their faces and could they drink tea in bed and chat?Unlikely.Still, other people’s dreams are a mystery.Even our own are but we can sometimes take the hint.
Suddenly she heard the doorbell ring.Who could it be now?
Alas it was only a Mormon trying to convert her which was no good as Catholics can’t be Mormons as well.They are what one might call mutually exclusive groups.As I have no wish to teach algebra I shall stop here.However if that disappoints you,why not read
“A survey of modern algebra ” by Birkhoff and MacLane.I did and see what has happened to me!
 lighter tree

All our troubles

unnamed

The doctor said his heart had failed
So straight away his feelings quailed.
He went to bed to meet his end
And drove his dear wife round the bend.
He got up after thirteen days
And stuck his tongue out thirteen ways.
He hardly ate his well made meals
And wanted trifle or he squealed.
His wife explained that failure meant
His energy would soon be spent,
But not that he would die next week…
Though diuretics made him leak.
She washed his trousers and his shirts
She washed his hankies but was curt.
They had some cross words and were sad
And then he jumped on her i pad.
I think it’s not right,Millie said
You make me feel this awful dread.
My heart is aching in my breast.
Life has had too many tests.
I want to die and go to rest.
As  arthritis is a damned pest,
Not to mention cramp and flu
What ought us olden ladies do?
I shall be glad when life is done
But I shan’t use a bomb or gun.
I’ll lie outdoors in winter frost
To turn myself into a ghost.
Then I shall haunt those who hurt me
And drop live spiders in their tea.
I’ll moan out louldly by their bed
And make burned toast from out their bread.
I’ll sour their milk and spill their gin
And  bore holes in their biscuit tin.
Then when my rage is gone from me#
I’ll only haunt the apple tree.
Oh,dear Millie,?Arthur cried.
I want you here by my right side.
I am so sorry I am weak
Sometimes I can hardly speak
But when the bulbs are all in flower
I’ll not be feeling quite so dour.
We’ll catch a bus to Bushey Heath
When the oak trees are in leaf.
From there we see all London grey
Thank God we’re not there today.
Ok Sweetheart,Millie cried
I’m so glad we ‘ve not yet died.
I’ll wash your feet and comb your hair
And fold a blanket on your chair.
I’ll make a video for you
And mend with glue your old suede shoe.
I’ll wear some sexy clothes in bed
Just a minute,Arthur said.
If we make love then I will die.
Oh,dear, what a thing to say…
But if I die too we will be gay.
We’ll be in paradise at last…
And all our troubles will be past

The sacred images within

When first I saw your soulful face,
I wished to feel your sweet embrace.
I wished as well to clothe you in
The sacred images within.
To find a home for love without;
To fold my dreams all round about;
Your loving body and your face
Were covered in such joy and grace.
I found my dreams were cast aside;
The world of meaning denied life.
What seemed most precious now is fled…
And I lie sleepless in my bed.
What is the world when unadorned
With all that in my heart I’ve formed?
There is no meaning I can trace.
As in a mother’s empty face.
On these grey rocks my path is hard.
From paradise, my self is barred.
To struggle or to grief succumb,
When this dark day of mourning’s done?
Into His dazzling darkness dart
My dreams and love like dying sparks.
Into His Mystery so fair.
I’ll cast both hope and my despair.
Thus my dreams will be transformed
To show themselves in other forms.
What feels a loss may foretell growth.
On my hope,I’ll take an oath.
That nothing in my life is waste;
That I have not for phantasms chased.
And you are human,as am I.
Let’s live again until we die

Oh,love

Some days I’m missing,missing you.
Oh,love, I don’t know what to do.
The air is soft,the trees are green
Oh,tell me ,tell me where’ve you been?

Some days are slow yet full of peace.
Some days are slow with tears and grief.
I look up at the books you wrote,
I see your scarf and overcoat.
The sky’s soft blue folds gently round.
Oh,won’t you tell me where you’ve gone?

These days,I miss your tender touch.
Those days I scarcely knew you meant so much.
I hear the birds sing in the trees.
I hear the humming honey bees.
The strawberries ripen in your pot,
I think I hear you,I forgot.
The air is mild,the rain falls now,
Life is going on somehow.

Some days I’m missing you so much,
I miss your glances and your loving touch.
The cat sits by your old black shoes,
As he washes his front paws.
The air glows with reflected light
I see you at the edge of sight.

Some days,some days,I feel I can’t go on.
Some days I want just your person.
Our trees are waving in the breeze,
I wish the whole wide world would freeze.
No-one else can fill this gap…..
You’ve strayed right off my lifetime map.

Goodbye,goodbye I sing your song.
Goodbye,goodbye,love’s never wrong.
The sun is high in this June sky
I wish that lovers never died.
I wish that you were by my side.
I’ll sit and grieve by these new leaves
How golden sunlit days deceive.
Goodbye again

Words float like water in a stream

Words float like water in a stream,
Reflected gently by sunbeams.
This stream flows swiftly to my heart
And through these words your love is caught.

The space inside my heart is clear,
Your love has found its right home here.
Your words are treasures in my night,
And in the dark, they glow with light.

Oh,let me read your notes of bliss,
And seal them with a loving kiss.
I hope this stream will always go
Where living waters softly flow.

For love is kind, and love is true.
Connections form from me to you.
And love creates an open heart,
From which all other feelings start.

Yet love is free, and does not bind.
Love is glad,and not unkind.
So if my love displeases you,
Then you can find a lover new.

I have life inside my heart
Which will sustain me if we part.
I shall wish you happiness…
And know my grief will one day pass.

But for today,let’s laugh and play.
Let’s make love inside the hay.
It’s summer and we like the heat.
Let’s celebrate with kisses sweet.

Being alive

Who has never felt grief
When a small gesture would have helped
but it has ,unknowingly, been with held?
How many people have the imagination
to guess what's in your mind,
And to embrace you rather than push you away?
No-one,No-one.No-one knows.
No-one knows these numbers.
No-one knows these names.
No-one knows how many feel diffident,
Nor how many feel shame.

Being alive is joyful!
Being alive is pain!
Being alive is all we have,
We'll never be alive again.

I look into your eyes today
I sense your shame and woe.
I look into your eyes just now
And tell you that I know,

Being alive is lonely.
Being alive is good.
Being alive is pain indeed
For flesh is not like wood.

Image making

Van Gogh’s “Cafe Terrace at Night” Zavetti Pure Silk Charmeuse scarf.{Amazon}

How would I feel the weight of silken cloth
Imprinted with the image of his night?
Would any human value be enough?
For what is wrong is also what is right.

To idly toss his art around my throat
To decorate myself when going out to dine.
To wantonly make vulgar what he wrought
I feel myself fall back and then decline

The perceptions of the suffering are a gift
but gifts must be received and taken in
The gazing and responding is not swift
But speed and hurry make our ways a sin.

Bow down before the image makers now.
Their wrestling with the gods makes all thing

To be able to bear what is true

2 apples

I don’t want to see reality
But I don’t want to lose your care.
I want to go on being selfish
And having you always there.

I don’t want to feel your feelings.
I am aware that I’ve been somewhat curt.
I want to go on ignoring you,
Because real knowledge will hurt.

The longer I pretend to be ignorant,
The longer I choose not to see,
The more I shall hurt my loved ones.
The more unkind and cruel I’ll be.

I don’t want to see reality.
I’m frightened of what I might find.
I am fearful of demons and devils
When I traverse the dark glades of my mind.

I am afraid to discover reality,
I am fearful of broadening my view..
I hope I can get enough courage
To be able to bear what is true

Totally illimeric here

There was a young couple from Derry
Who made love in a car on a ferry.
They kissed and caressed
Till, politically harassed,
They were asked to get off on a jerry.

But how could they reach some dry land;
Ideally a shore with deep sand?
Or it could be a port
Or sherry if caught.
for their pot might capsize or upend.

I really believe it’s immoral
to put young folk’s lives in such peril
Why, they could row round and round
On this vessel unsound.
And sink down till their eyes turn to coral

Jerry is a name for a chamber pot.You can still buy them!

With its open maw

I put the broken pieces of my heart
Into a dish of gold and diamonds hard
But metal is no match for flesh
And hearts don’t need a fancy dish
So now I hold them gently, though I smart.

The pain’s familiar yet it seems more raw.
Like tigers scratching me with sharpest claws.
Oh.god give me some grace today
For as it is I cannot pray.
And death hangs over with its open maw

Poesy

Look at this and read carefully

johncoyote's avatarjohncoyote

022_22

Portrait of John Dryden (1631-1700) by Gérard ... Portrait of John Dryden (1631-1700) by Gérard Edelinck after Godfrey Kneller (1646-1723) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Poesy

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

"

Thank you Dryden for your poetry. Gave me reason to write today.

"

Poesy

(For Dryden)

True Poets dodge the fakeness of fame.
They allow praise to fall from their thoughts.
Old Poets understand the beauty of the sun rising from the east.
Allowing opportunity for new dreams and new places to come alive.

They enjoy watching the sun falling into the western sea.
Allowing the night to overcome the excitement of the day.

A wise Poet behold the beauty of the  woman.
Tried to describe the softness of her skin and the feel
of her warm sweet kisses.

The Poet must feel the burden of war.
A writer must taste and know death, poverty and suffering.

A empty journey leave nothing for the pen and the paper.

Writers are…

View original post 132 more words

Word of the day:Inculcate

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I tried to inculcate a love of words
and mathematics up to graphs and surds.
But pussy was not keen on that
in fact, I think he smelled a rat
And now he’s run away to watch the birds.

I tried to teach him how to eat in style
And clean his teeth and give up habits vile.
But he would not cooperate
His yowling got me in a state.
So now at last I’ve run at least a mile

No sound,no touch,no smell,no sight,no seeing.

In fields of lushest  buttercups we ‘d lie
We’d watch the clouds as gently they blew by.
Love was born we thought would never die.
But now you’re gone and here I sadly sigh

That love itself remains without your form
Yet tears of loss enfold me like a storm.
I knew you’d never hurt or  do me harm.
I  felt your smile’s embrace, so wide, so warm.

How is the world,now emptied of your being?
No sound,no touch,no smell,no sight,no seeing.
How is the world when you have gone ahead
Yet I must linger in my lonely bed?

Some days I weep with gladness for my friends
Some days I weep in sadness without end.

Every garden

Image

Every garden has a song,

a song beyond all words.

sit in silence there to hear

cheeps from distant birds.

Every garden has its silence,

special to that place

stand beneath the maple tree,

gaze up the crown’s wide space.

Every garden’s part of all,

linked through heart of earth

stand in one, you ‘re inside all,

your spirit takes new birth,

Every garden wants to sing,

green calls out so sweet,

shows us Eden, long ago,

where Adam kissed Eve’s dear feet.

I gaze up through bare winter trees,

the song is softer now.

No golden finch,no sparrow cheeps.

All’s covered  by the snow.
Deep in  the dark ,life sparks again

and the green shoots come.

so we wait in harmony

till our garden sings out the