Good night

unnamed

 

I love little pussy, her coat is so warm,

And if I don’t tease her she’ll do me no harm.

For many misfortunes are brought on in error.

So be good to yourself and  avoid that big mirror.

 

“Nonsense” sometimes makes sense

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Cat, not ruminating nor looking into the mirror

No doubt if you  have read my blog for a little while you may notice I sometimes write nonsensical posts sometimes based on altering olf  cliches or proverbs.Maybe I should not make them public…. but I have noticed quite often the nonsense makes sense

We females were often told not to keep looking into the mirror as vanity was a sin [ long ago!]When I was writing  a bit of nonsense today I wrote

Don’t keep looking into the horror [ instead of mirror].

[ instead of mirror].

 

Actually, that is good.We need sometimes to look at how bad things may be but not to do it all the time.It’s a bit like the difference between thinking and ruminating.Ruminating is when we are stuck in a groove and can’t take our minds off a certain painful topic.We may believe thinking  more will help but  now some doctors believe that much depression and anxiety comes from ruminating.Better to go for a walk and let the answer come to you by itself.Because our unconscious mind may be better at that.Or if you believe in God, leave it to God.This is the problem.We’d like to trust in God but we are insecure.And after all, the Jews  may have trusted in God, so might the  people who were massacred in Armenia or Cambodia.Maybe my scope is too broad there.At an individual level rumination or mirror gazing  is bad for us.

There is a good deal there to muse about .

 

The Song of the Earthworm

They tell me that trees are a wonderful sight
They have leaves hanging on them all day and all night.
They tell me the golden sun shines in the sky
It’s said to be so much brighter so high.
I’d like to hear birdsong and thunder and hail.
At all these pursuits worms are likely to fail.
We only make holes in the soil as we move
And we know almost nothing about feelings and love.
We don’t know why we’re here or what purpose we serve
And our earthen workplace is also our grave.
.

From American life in poetry

Here’s a poem of loss by Jo McDougall, from her collected poems, In the Home of the Famous Dead, from The University of Arkansas Press. Like many deeply moving poems, it doesn’t tell us everything; it tells us just enough. Ms. McDougall lives and writes in Little Rock.

This Morning

As I drove into town
the driver in front of me
runs a stop sign.
A pedestrian pulls down his cap.
A man comes out of his house
to sweep the steps.
Ordinariness
bright as raspberries.
I turn on the radio.
Somebody tells me
the day is sunny and warm.
A woman laughs
and my daughter steps out of the radio.
Grief spreads in my throat like strep.
I had forgotten, I was happy, I maybe
was humming “You Are My Lucky Star,”
a song I may have invented.
Sometimes a red geranium, a dog,
a stone
will carry me away.
But not for long.
Some memory or another of her
catches up with me and stands
like an old nun behind a desk,
ruler in hand.

Lost my head

Doctor,Doctor!
What is it?
I have lost my head!
Go to the reception and see if they have any there.
You don’t understand!
Well, tell me more.
I’ve just bought myself a cashmere sweater.
How much was it?
Fifty pounds.
Well, that’s a real bargain.
Yes, it was £214 originally
Why was it so cheap?
It’s because I lost my head in the shop and kissed all the shop assistants.
Were they men or women?
I couldn’t tell really; they all wear pink trousers and spotted jumpers now.
But surely you could tell close up when you approached them?
Close up!I blew the kisses…. from the pavement.
I don’t believe this.You’d better see a priest.
I just saw one in the waiting room!
What!In here.What’s he doing?
I think he’s preaching to the converted.
But it’s  unethical to tamper with sick people.
They all got up and ran out.I’m your last one.I’m a Mormon now, you see.
But you were a Catholic.
I needed a change and another wife.Or ten
You certainly have lost your head.Go before I do something I’ll regret.
What would that be?
I might swear
Perhaps the priest will help you.
Be off, you headless man.You brainless biped.
Cheerio then.See you tonight.
Why?
I’ll be ill again by then.It’s my obsessions.
Take them home and drown them in drink.
Can I have it on prescription?
I’m afraid not, but I can give you a good description.
I drink Tiger beer.
Why?
I’d like to be a tiger later on.
Be off.You are tempting me to hit you with a brick.
Do you have a brick in here?
Not yet but I can knock  a hole in the wall with my hammer.Alternatively, I could use this waste paper basket.Jump inside.
I’m not a cat.
Oh, yes you are.
Oh, no I’m not.Cats can’t speak English.
How do you know that’s universal?
Well, French cats can’t speak French……
How clever.
How smart.
How insightful.
How delightful.
Excuse me, Doctor, there’s a dead priest here.
Well, I’m no good at raising the dead.
Well, you raised ten children.
No, my wife did that.I’m not even the father.
No, the Father is outside.
You mean this man was the father of my children…
Well, put it like this.He saved you all the hassle.
You can say that again.
He saved you all the hassle.
But why?

The lifeboat

We are in this boat together

 Sailing across the bay.
Some have an easy voyage,
The wind is blowing their way.
I wish I could always be sailing
Across a wide ocean with you
And never reach the other side
though it may be in view.
I want to see the sunrise
Across the dappled sea.
The ripples of the water
Reveal a new world to me.
One day this boat will reach the shore
Unless destroyed by storm
And I shall have to leave your arms
Where I have been so warm.
So just before we get there
I want to let you  know
That I shall always love you
Wherever you may go.

Don’t keep looking into the horror.

Has the cat got you wrong?

You are too quite.

Blanks to whom?

The oven won’t bake songs.

Can you fear me now?.

What do you think you are chewing?

Why do you keep not interfering?

He’s up to his old f licks again.

Pass the butter.. why,I’ve not finished marking it!

Where’s your rat?

He lost all his loves, one by one.

We should not write too hard.

I am caught in a map of my own faking.

Don’t keep looking into the horror.

He had terrors in every whom.

 

 

Bareness

Photo0781
See, now,
Patterns of bare branches against winter sky.
Hard on the outside to protect the channels
through which new life is already beginning to rise in sap.
Admire these branches as they withstand winter cold.
They do not know and do their work regardless of  love, hate, admiration, envy,malice or utter indifference.
They are a symbol of our task to continue living with trust and hope
despite all the alternatives we are offered daily by the press and media.
Keep living the true life.
The still, small voice speaks  again if we are listening.
If we have some silence.
If we want nothing

Old tree

I ‘ve found looking at the apple tree very moving.
Until we came here I had never seen one.
Now it’s getting old; all its companions have gone
See how beautifully, how graciously
it accepts the light
and how it’s twisted over the years
following the sun.
See its shadow on the fence.
How trees beguile our hearts.
I began this post as prose
but then I  neer could resist singing

The tree is alive

Trees
What ceremonious geometry
Could describe the sympathy of the parts to the whole?
What self can contain the feelings engendered by
the response of the heart of the tree. and my heart,
to the space and light offered
and how the clouds float away on the wind
as I stand, hand on my throat, gazing,
and the new moon points me out to the sky.

What joy is there in this moment of dancing?
We see only the stillness
but know while we are turned away
a young girl and an old woman murmur together
as one passes the movement to the other.
Caught in the camera, in a moment of rest,
the tree obeys the law of gravity
before levity arises at the moment we turn away
and the dance goes on and the tree is alive with movement

Save

When I pressed the button
To save my latest words,
“Save rage as” came on the screen
And my mind went blurred.Save my rage  for later
Save it from distress
Save my rage as powder
Put it in a keg.

Save my rage for humans
Save my rage for God.
Save rage as important.
Is saving rage so odd?

Save rage for a scapegoat.
Don’t show it where it’s right.
Why not hurt a scapegoat
Who will go in the night?

Save my rage for praying
Save my rage for God.
Save my rage for lovers
Who like milk go bad.

Save as rage for holy ones
who boast their worship proud.
Save as rage for followers
Who talk of God so loud.

Save a rage for victims
Save as rage for poor.
Save as rage for children
Who live without a door.

Save as rage for rulers
Save as rage for fools
Save as rage for women
Save as rage at Cruel

How my heart aches

Photo1240 3

 

I am sure many people across the world are grieving for loved ones.And many more are grieving because of the state of the world.I rang a friend today and he said, Give us the Cold War… it was better than this.Unfortunately, we don’t have the power to go back like that but I know what he means.But ever since civilisation began there have been wars.It’s to do with wealth and property.Look in any encylopaedia and you will see this truth,

Overheard on the bus

Oh, Lord.It’s me.I’ve got 20 free minutes left.Can I pray now or are you engaged?

Oh,God, why am I here?Please say something.Just a small voice will do.

And when I went to Confession,I said, Father, I have committed adultery three times with  three different men.Is that worse than  with the same one? He said, are you married? So I said ,no, but they are.He said, it’s a defence against true intimacy.And I goes, what….mi battery’s gone flat.Oh,no it’s ok.He said I should study symbolic logic.I sez,is that a penance? He said, not always.If you enjoy it give  some blood.I said, who to? He said the hospital.Oh, ok then.How about an Hail Mary.He said, No leave the women alone.You  need another occupation.Love is never enough and in some cases it’s not  love at all it’s just sheer greed.Are you still there?

 

 

When words

When words are the only way we can connect
communicate,

When words are our only link,

light

When words go wrong

Wring

our hearts

What are we to use to mend

minister?

What are we to write

right

wrong?

When the written is all,

alone,

When we can’t find the words

Wary

What are we to do?

Dictate

Dream

Deny

Depict

When words wound

wander

retaliate

writhe

Where are we now?

numb

null

naught

How can we make it up

Invent

In verse

Intent

lament

loss

love

linger

loiter

lie

link

last

least

locate.

Where is the wound?

Wreck.

Reckoning

Resolve

Resolute.

Redress

Where is our new map?

Meaning

Moaning

Making

Making it up

Inventing love

Re-creation

Return

Remember to forget.

Wrestle

Redeem.

Resolve.

No Retaliation.

No redirection

No harboring ill.

No bad will.

When words have gone awry,

Yet words are all we have.

When words don’t create a form

Yet direction is what we need.

When words no longer live

last

lost

We wait

Rest

Rescue

Retrieve

Remember

Love

lies underneath

lasts

longs

laments

lasts

and lasts.

Love lasts

till words connect

console

correct

catch you

cradle you

caress you

Conjugate you

Put you in a sentence

syntax

spell

magic

magnetic

mine

made new

murmured in your ear

mentioned

in my letters

write

rites

make right.

make us write

goodness.

Let it all be

Light.

Let me take your hand.

I give you my word.

I give you everything

Patterns of life

How lightly you touch me
Skin soft yet firm
Divides yet unites
Paradoxically elegant solution
to these lyrical questions.
How lightly you touch me,
Yet I feel your strength so much.
In turn I touch you.
Life is a pattern of mutual grace;
we are all touched
By the light and the darkness.
Forgive us,O God,
For forgetting your face.
Sun piercing through red maple leaves
Patterns the flagstone path.
Hear how the blackbirds call.
As we wander.Perhaps paradise is not for humans;
Though in the end,every living moment
Is paradise on this warm skin of our world,
as it spins again in the void:
And He said:
Let there be Light.
And there was ligh

Expressing ourselves

 

Poetry & Risk

We hear now of more and more ways of living healthy lives.But I think it’s important to live a life of worth.What does it mean, to be of worth ? We must live first of all in a way that suits our nature and since we are part of a whole we must also live in ways that do not harm others and hopefully helps some of them.One problem is increasing in the affluent West and the USA and similar countries.This is the well-known fact that more and more of us suffer from stress, worry and depression.Maybe the more serious psychic disturbances are also increasing.This can lead to violence

I have heard my friends say that writing poetry or keeping a journal is therapeutic. But is it not true that some forms of talking or conversing are therapeutic and some are harmful or maybe just pointless? A good friend whom we trust is a person with whom conversing may be beneficial.Whereas “dumping” your problems on someone you hardly know may give only momentary relief.I feel real friend listens and may comment, may even criticize.Someone you hardly know may react badly.You must not blame them for you are ignorant of their personal life and difficulties.Conversation , of course, ha, the advantage that you are with the person to whom you talk and can stop or adapt your talking in the light of their nonverbal responses.To a lesser extent it is also true on the phone if you know someone well.

Just as gazing into the lighted front window of a large home filled with people and pictures and lovely furniture may make you envious so may your fantasied views of others around you.And yet it is likely they feel pain  just like you ;we operate often from a view of life which is a poor fit with reality [whatever that is].Since conversation may be good,bad or meaningless so it is with writing.
Writing comes from .your experience but must convey it in a manner by which others can feel the truth of what you are saying.As with music, poetry can say certain things not possible in other ways.And as in music there are forms developed down the centuries in which others have expressed their feelings. I have read that writing poetry in a structured form is therapeutic,But writing in free verse may not be.In either case poetry can stir up deep feelings.

Fiona Sampson, author of, The Expert Guide to writing poetry, advises that you keep the phone number of the Samaritans near when writing poetry, but prose may be less stirring

I read about the value of structured writing in an article about Sylvia Plath.I am sorry I cannot find the reference as yet.Some people say writing prolonged her life,others that the kind of writing she got into at the end may have precipitated her suicide.We cannot know the answer but we should be aware that it may not be “letting it all out” that helps but the shaping and sculpting of the material into a form which pleases us and others
Alternatively writing about Nature , other people, love, may turn our minds in a new direction away from our obsessive worries

Saturday evening

 

 

gentleman's rowLast night I went to a Poetry Reading for a Charity here and was very impressed with the poems written by the member of the  local poets group.Unfortunately, being in the South of England the people were not that friendly to a newcomer.I  didn’t see anyone I knew.But, at least I went to it.I look forward to going to their regular meetings.I forgot my husband was not here when I crossed the road because I  had left the lights on.Still, it would have been a shock if he was.I miss him so much.

 

If we were small

If we were small like ants and beetles black,

We’d live like monarchs in the smallest crack

We’d not compare,

Nor envy bear.

We’d live with joy  and accept any lack

 

 

 

 

Within a seed

Within a seed, a microcosm is hid.

An entire world’s potential awaits bid.

Bid of sun and bid of soil,

It shall obey without great toil,

Till with its flowers and leaves  it makes us glad.

 

 

 

 

Microcosm

noun
1.

a little world; a world in miniature (opposed to macrocosm ).
2.

anything that is regarded as a world in miniature.
3.

human beings, humanity, society, or the like, viewed as an epitomeor miniature of the world or universe.
Expand
Also called microcosmos

[mahy-kruhkoz-muh s, -mohs] (Show IPA).

Origin of microcosmExpand
1150-1200

1150-1200; Middle English microcosme < Medieval Latin mīcrocosmus <Greek mīkròs kósmos small world. See micro-, cosmos

Related formsExpand
microcosmic, microcosmical, adjective
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2016.
Cite This Source
Examples from the Web for microcosmExpand
Contemporary Examples
Historical Examples
  • If we look at the microcosm of our own person we find this principle exactly reproduced.

    The Hidden Power Thomas Troward
  • But I perceive now that my thought was a seed containing my omnisciencein microcosm.

  • Sutter walked forward slowly, aware in a vague way that he had enteredanother plane that was at once a microcosm and a macrocosm.

    Made in Tanganyika Carl Richard Jacobi
  • Here they established a boy periodical, called themicrocosm.”

    The Printer Boy. William M. Thayer
  • Maimonides knew Joseph ibn Zaddik favorably, but he was not familiar with themicrocosm.”

British Dictionary definitions for microcosmExpand

microcosm

/ˈmaɪkrəʊˌkɒzəm/
noun

1.

a miniature representation of something, esp a unit, group, or placeregarded as a copy of a larger one
2.

man regarded as epitomizing the universe
Compare macrocosm
Derived Forms
microcosmic, microcosmical, adjective
Word Origin
C15: via Medieval Latin from Greek mikros kosmos little world
Collins English Dictionary – Complete & Unabridged 2012 Digital Edition
© William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd. 1979, 1986 © HarperCollins
Publishers 1998, 2000, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2012
Cite This Source
Word Origin and History for microcosmExpand
n.

c.1200, mycrocossmos (modern form from early 15c.), “human nature,man viewed as the epitome of creation,” literally “miniature world,” fromMiddle French microcosme and in earliest use directly from Medieval Latinmicrocosmus, from Greek mikros “small” (see mica ) + kosmos “world”(see cosmos ). General sense of “a community constituting a world untoitself” is attested from 1560s. Related: Microcosmic. A native expression inthe same sense was petty world (c.1600).

Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2010 Douglas Harper
Cite This Source
microcosm in CultureExpand

microcosm definition

A representation of something on a much smaller scale. Microcosm means“small world,” and in the thought of the Renaissance, it was appliedspecifically to human beings, who were considered to be small-scalemodels of the universe, with all its variety and contradiction. ( Comparemacrocosm.)

The American Heritage® New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, Third Edition
Copyright © 2005 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
Cite This Source

Try a Catholic joke

photo0274-2

 

KYRIE ELEISON The only Greek words that most Catholics can recognize besides gyros and baklava.

source: http://www.jokes4us.com/religiousjokes/catholicterminologyjoke.html

 

2.Why do Catholics  confess  to their sins?

Because they don’t know anyone else’s

3.Why do Catholics pray to saints?

Should they pray to demons?

4.Why do Catholics have bad nerves?

The safe period is so brief.The desire is so  great.

5.Why do Catholics swallow the wafer at Communion?

Because they’ve been fasting for ten hours.

6 Should Catholics use vibrators?

Yeah, for mixing baby formula.

7.Is  it ok to pray when on a smartphone?

Yeah.Oh, Lord.It’s me, again!

8. Can I say the rosary on the bus?

If you can find one of each, certainly.

9 Can I pray whilst in the bath?

Devils can’t be choosers.

10 Is religion narcissistic?

Why don’t you listen to me for a change?

11 Is that you, Lord?

No,it’s the milkman!

 

 

 

 

 

Stan’s bike and Annie’s murder

Although Stan was 102, he still rode his bike locally  in the summer time.He was out in the garden pumping up the tires before  going off to the Library.Suddenly his neighbour Annie appeared at the gate, without him hearing her feet  tapping on the path of red brick;she was bedecked in finest Scottish tweed with a long pendant on a solid 22 carat gold chain swinging nonchalantly from her neck, with a matching ring attached mysteriously to her upper lip.

“Who’re you, the Lady Mayoress” he joked.Where’s Mary?” she pointedly whispered.”She’s  with her widowed sister Joan up  in Scotland ” Stan admitted nervously, unsure of her reactions.”Joan, that’s not a very Scottish name!” Annie joked.” Anyway how about we sit down here on this bench for a moment”.She pulled him vigorously towards her.

Stan responded regretfully “I’m afraid I can’t stop.I have all these books overdue and the library shuts in 15 minutes.”Don’t worry, sweetheart”, she cried un-contemptuously.”I’ll pay all your fines.I’ve just come into loads  and loads of money.”
“Oh, how’s that.my angel” Stan murmured. “I  shot Bert.If you help me to get rid of the evidence, I’ll share the loot with you.”


At the funeral, Annie was dressed in a beautiful dark brown suit  with a black trim from Jaeger.She went around the room making sure everyone had enough food and drink.As she leaned over towards Stan her heavy gold locket, inside which was hidden the bullet that killed Bert, swung over and hit Stan a glancing blow on the temple.
Stan fell to the ground.”Do you think we should ring 999?” someone asked sarcastically.Within minutes, paramedics arrived.
“So, is it that chair again?” they clamoured.”Yes, this foolish old man fell over and the leg came off my  brand new antique chair.I’ve only had it a few days and it’s not insured.”

“Did anyone ever tell you, your eyes are like deep pools in the Saragossa Sea?”  Dave, the paramedic whispered into her right ear.
“Have you still not finished that Creative Writing Course?” Annie shouted.””I’m getting tired of you admiring my eyes.What about my nose?””

“Has anyone ever told you, your nose is the shortest they’ve ever seen?”

“That’s a bit boring” Annie retorted.”Yeah, maybe I should change to Art,” he ruefully moaned.”I love the way your deep blue and turquoise eye shadow is melting around your eyes and running down the sides of your nose.”
“Hurry up and fix my chair, and while you’re about it, you may as well take Stan down to A and E for a head X-ray.”
Glancing furtively at Annie in her Jaeger suit with carefully contrasting deep coral blouse and opaque teal blue 80 denier tights with 6 inch stiletto heels to complete the outfit, not to mention her raspberry coloured bra which clashed violently with the coral blouse [which alas was more transparent than she realised], he picked up a hammer and began,excitedly,to mend the broken chair.”This is what life is all about, my boy” he thought.One day I will  be just where I should be.Right here.With her,alone!

I saw a black cat walk sideway

I saw a black cat walk sideways.

I saw a black cat play ball.

I saw a black cat walk on my bed.

I said, black cat,don’t fall.

 

I saw a light in your window

I saw a light in your hall.

I saw a you go out and then come back.

I  thought,why don’t you call?

 

The doctor   looked at my body

The doctor looked at my head

The doctor looked  through my eyes again.

I said,I’m still not dead.

 

The cat is called Miss Willow

She lives next door to me

She never bites or scratches me.

She does  that to a tree.

 

O little black cat,please dance

O little black please play

O little black cat I do love you.

But I don’t like to say.

 

If we don’t tell our loved ones

If we don’t tell our friends

If we don’t show our feelings

What signals do we send?

Asked for grace

Harassed by luck,he asked for Grace
Pass the bureaucrat and enter the lounge bar
Harassed by flying sorrows he swam ashore
The path of least  persistence beckoned gently
 You pay as you grow at the garden soul centre
Pay the  whipped dervishes later
Pray  for the piper and wail the tune
Pray and view  at Benediction
Playback  with a  touch too much
 He was hurled before  the Divine like an old Tudor  brick
Belief in  God was  recovered  after many aeons