I had to go twice today to the Sorting Office so I got a cab the second time.The driver said on returning he had not seen my husband lately.When I told him he had died he was distressed..My husband had used them a lot as he got slower walking to the station but thus man had taken him to the hospital too.

We sat in the car for a few minutes and I said  he had had a very peaceful death holding my hand.But this did not comfort the poor man who was definitely  not a native of England as most of the southern  ones rarely show a feeling.Then he accepted some money but not enough as he had been kept waiting  by me for a long time.He had a very moving expression on his face.Fortunately I did not fling myself into his arms as that might have given him a shock.I felt sad too but happy as well because I managed to do a lot of things … maybe my haemoglobin is rising.I saw  that it was almost low enough for me to need a blood transfusion in May but I didn’t know…I am  hoping it has risen now and perhaps I am getting more done.

Then I can sit and look at my acers if the sun shines again.

Well,you know,we could not have saved the European Jews  from the Holocaust because how could we have fitted 6 million people into Britain? Or even one million?So we had no choice.And if Jesus was there… tough!

Sometimes we are talking at different levels of discourse.Life is sacred yet especially  since 2001 we have seen much that has horrified us and terrified the suffering masses in the Middle East.

Now, if God wanted those refugees to live would he not have sent  them help?

God:I did send help.. it is US

Someone told me that if we let these in it wil encourage more to come ; the ones who are coming have little choice as the refugee camps have no more food in Jordan and Lebanon…But is it right to turn our eyes away?

I try to feel through dark and distant space
To where you dwell in a far off  “heavenly” place.
And you are far from those of us, who care.
Our hearts are dulled with loving thoughts not shared
Your absence has so distanced us in grief.
We can neither share our loss, nor gain relief.
I  watch  the star filled sky  in lonelt silent night
And see a space almost devoid of light.
I feel into the edges of my soul
I sense,somewhere, a  brokenness once whole.
Would   a  powerful  modern  telescope aid my view,
As I search  this aching world for a ttrace of you?
How would one  vanish  deep in  silent night,
And so forever  tehn be  missing from my sight?
I wish that I’d been there when you went off,
I could have expressed , through touch,my heartfelt love.
Shall I never hear your gentle tenor voice
Enchanting me once more with your sweet choice?
Shall I not  even  find the laces from your shoes,
Floating gently back to earth through these  elm trees?
I see more flocks of gracious geese flash by.
Are those your fingers tracing lines across the sky?
Do you too see these geese from up above?
But you’re on the other side, too far from love.
And even with the very new best technology
There’s no way back now , so you won’t ever be
With us again,Goodbye,Goodbye Goodbye
I’ll turn away my tear filled  reddened eyes,
And look at all that’s near,as I’m still here.
I know now you’re too far away ,too far away, too far away ,my dear.
I know now that you’re too far away,my dear.
How can we learn to live with love, not fear,
As we go on ,now, down these coming years?
So sad that you’re not near,not here,not here,my dear.
Shall I sometimes, in the night pretend, you’re  near,?
Oh,that heaven were not  so meanly set so far

And earth not feel so barren from despair
We must slide down the escape chute of the years,
Like children clutching at worn teddy bears.

Does

Does “Euripides”rhyme with” bad knees”?

Does obesity cause one to sneeze?

These questions oppress me

As they really test me

So answer me now,if you please.

Do you listen to 100 best tunes?

Do you like reading riddles or runes?

I prefer novels

When I feel a wobble.

So I’m off to the librrary soon.

In my end is my beginning

Can  I afford to light the fire?
True it’s not a coin in a slot
Just that worrying bill on the ma
I could wear a coat indoors like my mother
Now they have demolished the quiet reference library
there’s nowhere to sit and hide and keep warm.
I’ve stopped singing now
I realise I need an audience.
I  can hear a thrumming sound in my ears
And a whistling in the air,faint but obvious.
I get phone calls telling me my computer has problems
During one, I spilled a pan of hot water over myself
Then I screamed  really loudly
That seems to have deterred them…
Nobody heard me but the cat and this conman.
I was  cooking vegetables appropriate
for someone with  this auto -immune type of anaemia.
oranges too are good.
Broccoli.
You can get little packs now of florets
They have instructions on as nobody now recalls
how to do it nor how to look it up in a cookery book.
Next it will be how to boil a potato… or an egg.
People laugh and say I will have to eat raw liver
as if they enjoy the thought of my bloody face and the horror
There are 400 kinds of anaemia
Maybe it makes one feel cold…I might wear a down coat
Go to bed in my husband’s pyjamas and his hat.
That  leads to strange dreams of being an hermaphrodite
I could pretend to be  a man but  it’s not clear how one would know quite how they feel
As they don’t often know anyway!My husband was here one day but when I touched him
My hand went through him like a knife through air.
He wasn’t solid enough.
Not to hold or be held.
I suppose there may be other ways of loving  the departed
Some say they feel them in their heart,giving instructions and help.
I always liked to touch and smile.
I’ll ask him if it’s ok  to light the fire
And what way of being might suit him
but I think his path lies somewhere else.
Meanwhile I am supposed to be dating  rich and kind old men
With Mercedes[,whoever she is.. perhaps a maid.]
Well, it’s not the same now.
We’ve all grown into our shape like rocks battered by the sea
I fell off the step before putting out the rubbish
My sister hints that I  could try a white stick
But how would that help me on the step?
Anyway,my vision is perfect for the state of my eye.
It looks singularly beautiful
And singular is what it is
It shows me the world divided by a thick black line
I hardly notice it now.
I thought I saw that black shape today in the hall
Shall I die too?It’s an imp.
I feel strong as if I could kick something into play.
After that I’d fall over but it’s the kick that count
Aleph null of them I’d say…. they are discontinuous, you see.
How clever of those ancient people to develop an alphabet
While we can’t run a country
It seems  we may be getting more stupid, but keep it quiet
It’s better to sing and pla
Remember the Titanic and all who flew in her?
It’s like a film running very slowly but it is all just a film reall
I know because I saw it after a bike accident…
but don’t tell the others or they might want one too.

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 my love lies,so breaks my tender 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 true love lies and wrecks all loyalty.

When puzzlement makes all my world seem mad.

Then I shall upend causality

And let myself do deeds which make all glad.

For I have love’s sweet child inside my soul

And I shall tend her till at last she’s grown

Rece

Recently  I was invited to a meal with someone who used to live near me.Unfortunately, despite this being meant to help me during my mourning period she came out with some very wounding remarks.I only mention one here

She has never seen my blog but she did tell me once my poems are no good.Well, at the table ,as we ate she told me  that men would only come to my blog to pleasure themselves whilst looking at my .photo.I was dumbstruck.She made other crude remarks about men.She seems to have a low opinion of them.

I don’t mind if people think poorly of my poems because I know which ones are good.And some are not as good.But I am not sitting an exam in poetry writing.I do it because I love doing it and because I could do it while nursing my poor husband for so long.

And I have met some really nice people here as well and seen what a wealth of creative talent there is in many people which they can use to do their photography, write poetry or write about whatever topics they enjoy, from describing their home cities to cookery and philosophy.

I  believe this “lady”  is mistaken.But as I  feel more vulnerable while I grieve I am going to be more choosy about whom I interact with in the real world.And I’d say  you to do the same.Don’t go to visit people  when you are grieving unless you know they are kindly disposed towards you.And when you are bereaved be careful as some people use it as an excuse to visit you or take you out but it’s not for your sake, in fact.I feel this lady is herself sexually attracted to me.

She looked in the pool by the little park gate
Second seeing  to find out her fate
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised.
Curiousity often seems wise
Oh,my dear sister what do you see there?
I hope it’s a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sisters dear,let us float.
We’ll never see daddy again, ‘cos he’s here
and down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel with his sharp sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with long ,silky hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two;
Eyes of one green, the other’s blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my dear sisters into the daylight.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I loved my  sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t hope for what cannot be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool,
Held in God’s hand like a jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings must ride.
For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
Nothing and everything’s passed

Some years ago I was very ill and listening to “Jerusalem” on the proms,I suddenly said to my husband,I want to see Jesus soon.I can’t wait

I don’t go to church  but as Iris Murdoch wrote,We must not let the Church take Jesus away from us.I suppose in my heart he  is a very kind  and strong person

I remember he knelt down by me and said,Don’t die,don’t die.

Now he has died.That is very naughty of him.

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/250858

The tenderness of the being touched by  the  death of the beloved

Is not unlike that of making love.

But the outcome is different.

We don’t know what new world they may be born into

Nor how we shall live here without them.

Softening into weeping our faces are the beds of rivers

Drink and remark on this

Phone

Love must be so pliant ,
like a blade of grass,

Bowing to the gusty wind,
till the storm has passed.

Love is enigmatic
Like the sphinx’s smile.

Waiting for an answer,
Nothing is on file.

Love is often near us
Yet we do not see.

Sometimes where we are
Is just the place to be

Rorsach made a fortune from blots
He says people see  their own mind in inkspots.
In such secretive ways
Psychologists play.
Like stories they all have their plots.

It seems they need some method to find
What goes on at the back of our minds.
Day dreams and reverie
Give them a measure of
That which keeps us in a bind.

Or maybe they cannot converse
Except in some slantwise obverse
Of talking the normal way
Even though it’s for pay.
Who knows what is better or worse?