Month: March 2016

The trees are calm for they have grown deep roots

 

When of the world of doctors,I am sick.
When diagnosis is not any aid
When from the choices given, I cannot pick
Although I feel my deepest debts were paid.

Then off from thinking I must take my mind
To gaze upon the beauty of the woods
And feel the sun not fiery, even kind.
It warms and heartens even my cold blood.

The trees are calm for they have grown deep roots
Though storms may strike their trunks and branches too
breaking off new tender green tipped shoots
They sway and take it without much to do.

Strength needs flexibility and give;
With no such, the brittle shall not live

An old poem

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In London town,I saw the moon.
It looked  so darned impressive.
So I lay down upon my coat
Where I could write this missive.

After lying staring up,
I began to feel  so lazy.
I thought I saw the Pope go by.
Do you think I’m going crazy?

He was in a large white car
Wrapped up  well in tartan.
I know you won’t believe me but
I felt almost certain.

I went to a free soup kitchen,
As I’m a homeless person.
I saw ten angels looking down,
So I called  to them “Stop staring”

I went inside a shop doorway
To get an hour of sleep.
I dreamed I dwelt in the old U K
It nearly made me weep.

If I really was in old England
I ‘d have the N.H.S.
I’d have a some benefits to spend
And a  warm  red  Xmas dress

Elemental as a storm

A force  far deeper than our anger

Elemental as a storm

Annihilating all before it

Terror makes man’s rage perform.

This  force saying self is threatened

Runs to  rise and to protect,

Most murderous when  we’re most alarmed

Rage  the enemy detects.

Over-riding other feelings

Deprives us of the power to think

Like a nuclear  tsunami

Disconnecting human links.

Reddened vision,focused,narrow;

Eyes locked onto enemy’s

All the wider context losing,

Wipes out  our good memories

Like a mother tiger fighting,

And the cornered eagle’s force;

We will destroy  what we think other

Without  bitter,pained remorse.

Nature made such to protect us;

Yet  our  perception can be wrong.

Once the flood of feeling takes us

All reflections seems too long

Later, if we see our victims,

Will we know that we have erred?

For  hate deceives ourselves and others

When our inmost terror’s  bared

Is God happy?

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Is God Happy?

 

They ask if  our God  may be sad
Or if people in heaven are glad
For if they look down
To us foolish clowns
The vision must drive them all mad.

Is eternity here in the now?
Do puzzles have to wrinkle the brow?
Live like a flower
Content in its bower.
And never ask God why or how.

As Jesus said,we  all know
That what we reap we may  have sown.
Purified intentions
Are worthy of mention.
And help all us humans to grow.

 

Someone to do nothing with

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I  remember a few  years ago reading an article about people who were  bereaved.One woman said,
I have plenty of people to do things with but no-one to do nothing with.
I was reminded of that  lately because I have felt very sad and stricken again.And I can visit somebody but I will have to talk to them.Unless they had  other people there so I could just sit quietly.Being with people is nice but  not if constant conversation is required.That is where those who’ve been blessed with   ahappy partnership or marriage have really been fortunate.I suppose years ago we lived near our extended family so that would have given us some protection.But  here  not many people do.Or maybe their  relatives have died.Being with people but not having to talk…
One reason living to be very old is painful is that your own age group has thinned out a lot and people don’t realise very old people still have desires and wishes and don’t want to watch TV all day.Many times they do want to talk but nobody is there.I am not VERY old yet.But I have friends who are.And actually even young people can have disabilities  or  go blind  etc.

Misreading between the lines

??????????There is  no doubt we  all do this reading between the lines…sometimes consciously,sometimes unwittingly.We attempt to fill in gaps in our knowledge.There are a few problems.One is in cultural differences which may affect us here on the web.We come from very different societies and the meanings of certain words and attitudes does vary considerably;

And another factor is our own desires which we are  not always aware of.We may then interpret someone’s words in a way which fits with our desire or interpret someone using bad language to signify that they do not respect us.If the Soaps are an indication it seems in much of Britain every other word has just four letters. which to me shows poverty of feelings and language… but it means many people are not offended by them…But many still are.

So wishful thinking,ignorance,wanting to believe something,,,,,..cultural ignorance.. all these may make communication difficult.Perhaps we should not read too much between the lines at the beginning of a friendship…and be wary of imputing desires to another when they seem to offer what we are hoping for.

It’s a bit like the way here nearly everyone puts “love” or “xxxxx” at the end of a letter or email… so that in reality it means  almost nothing at all;Words become meaningless through overuse and we  will have to judge in other ways what a person feels for us..

Some people are more prone to seeing patterns or meanings in things which can be creative but it can also lead to paranoia in the insecure or lonely individual who has become the center of a huge important plot.When I was ill as a child I remember seeing faces leering at me from the wallpaper and the oil heater hissed menacingly,,, it was the fever but I was afraid…We need friends to tell us if our interpretations seem sensible and to comfort us when we are low.. and we need to be wary of assuming too much especially when we come from different cultures

It’s criminal

P1000261.JPGHe

He’s so subliminal
It’s  almost criminal.
Yet he’s divine
Most of the time
Do you believe in magic?
If not,don’t make it tragic.
Do you like to swallow  your words?
Don’t be absurd
Speak,show and tell.
I shall, as well.
Red shoes are good in hell.

Subliminal is not quite sublime

 

Subliminal  is not quite sublime
As sublime will feel quite divine.
Subliminal’s invisible
And possibly risible.
Like those ads for  free shares in gold mines.

 

You will not have seen these ads yet.
Subliminal’s so hard to detect.
Do not out-stare
Things which aren’t there.
Like  Chesire cats which make quite sublime pets.

Would the Beetles be considered divine?
Does your cat like to  drink pickled wine?
Worries like these
Do some brains now tease.
Do not even think I mean mine.

Subliminal

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subliminal

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adjective sub·lim·i·nal \(ˌ)sə-ˈbli-mə-nəl\
Popularity: Top 30% of words

Simple Definition of subliminal

  • : relating to things that influence your mind in a way that you do not notice

  1. 1:  inadequate to produce a sensation or a perception

  2. 2:  existing or functioning below the threshold of consciousness <the subliminal mind><subliminal advertising>

sub·lim·i·nal·ly adverb

See subliminal defined for English-language learners

See subliminal defined for kids

Examples of subliminal in a sentence

  1. The studio denied the existence of subliminal messages in the movie.

  2. I am skeptical that subliminal advertising actually works.

Origin of subliminal

sub- + Latin limin-, limen threshold

What does liminal mean?

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liminal
ˈlɪmɪn(ə)l/
adjective

technical
adjective: liminal
  1. 1.
    relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.
  2. 2.
    occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.
Origin
late 19th century: from Latin limen, limin- ‘threshold’ +–

Liminal and long

After nine months comes the crisis feared;

Acknowledgement of total,long feared loss.

With grievous pain ,the soul and heart are seared,

As we feel inside us all it’s cost,

 

The threshold of  this world   and of the new

A place to linger, liminal and long

We cannot see  new  landscapes in one view.

Without perception we may well  go wrong.

 

We wonder as we reach the point of choice

Who will guide us when we  must decide?

Shall we hear an inner,wiser voice

Or walk  with indecision by our side?

 

Loss brings   grief;evasion  does not heal.
Lonely ,we must eat this final meal

 

 

A Poison Tree

BY WILLIAM BLAKE

I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night.
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole,
When the night had veild the pole;
In the morning glad I see;
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

Till you feel the same

Her beauty was incongruous with her mind
For men who saw her  curls were not amused.
Her conversation with them seemed  unkind.
Or possibly their own brains were confused.

She should have been beheaded or beqeathed
To someone who could enjoy all  that she had.
Alas she was by clever men deceived
Until at last she became raving mad.

Think what you like,she cares no more
For men’s opinions change ten times an hour.
And if  her lover shows her his  front door
She’ll ask the king to send him to the Tower.

Does this  life have meaning  is it a  pain?
Do not answer till you feel the same.

 

 

Then we shall learn the limits of our will

When soft winds blow and air strokes our bare skin.
When days are long like melodies of youth,
when light wakes up the soul from out her sin
Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth?

When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown;
When water’s short and all  plants are forlorn’
Then do not meet disaster with a frown,
For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born.

When winter’s here and all is quiet and still
And nothing seems to move or grow or speak
Then we shall learn the limits of our will
for through the soil the first green shoots will break.

For seasons change and actors come and go.
Yet through such changes, life is what we know

Last train to Moscow

Elena,a baby wrapped in woollen clothes.
On the last train,Warsaw to Moscow,
[ change Niegoreloje.]
1939.Father,mother,brother
You passed through the Arctic Wastes of life.
Still as if travelling on a train
To an impossibly far destination.
As you left the German Army crashed into Poland
Lost,your aunts
Your cousins.
Your culture.
How does God select the damned?
You had your own baby,here in England,
Not lost like all those others.
Your father died by his own hand,
The hand of history;
The fingers twitching,
Not sure where to point.
Then settling into frozen grief
A sculpture only your mother saw.
You saw too,Elena.
You always saw,though you can’t remember;
The long journey,your mother’s breast,
Your father’s silence.
Only the dead know that silence.
Only the dead weep
With the rocks and stones .
And the ice in each eye
Fell like snow down your cheeks
As you held your own infant.
Warsaw to Moscow,
Moscow to Jerusalem.
Always journeying
Looking for what they can never find:
The home they left behind
The presence of the dead
Lying in gaunt heaps
Like rubbish
Your aunts, Elena.
Your cousins.
You never knew them.
But there’s a hole in your mind
Through which the Polish wind blows forever.

Raindrops running down my cheeks.

 

The bus is late and I’m
Thinking of what you said,
trying to understand, but
I’ve never met you,so
I have nothing but written words
Which,however beautiful,may not give
enough for me to truly imagine
the depths of your heart.
My legs hurt and I have a cane
But I don’t like it.
I can’t accept
my own infirmity,my troubles,
my pains,my disagreements,my mistakes.
Rain falls over me and drips down the lens
in my spectacles,as if the world is weeping
the tears I can’t shed.
If I cried now,standing at the bus stop,
for all the years of pain
noone would know,they’d
think it was just
raindrops running down my cheeks.
The bus comes,but it’s half term…
The shops are too crowded,I can’t
Stand in queues…imagine how most of you
say it’s boring.Well,I’d love to do it
but I’ve decided the pain is greater
than the rewards.
The bus driver stops at a place where
the pavement has been lowered to allow
the owner of this house to drive
their car into the front garden
so they won’t need to buy
a resident’s parking permit.
It makes it a harder task to descend
from the bus and I hope he won’t
start while I’m still getting down.
In the coffee bar are exhibits from
a local museum,and I think,one day
my cane and my watch from Argos,
my shopping bag with a picture of Monet-
such vulgarity…..
they may be in a museum too…
along with my door keys
my bike lock and my spectacles
and will somebody try to conjure me up
in their imagination.
Someone who used to like Topology
Knitting,writing and holding hands with lovers
on the top deck of the bus
crossing central London without noticing
anything except their reflections in the eyes
of the other.
Light bounces to and fro.
My mind shuts down, the words
packed away in boxes,till there’s only
you and me and a few elementary particles
trying to recreate the world
with the big bang
that will end it all.

Stan wants a meringue.

Stan and Annie were clearing a big desk to make space to study government
statistics.Despite this Annie was dressed as brightly as a mad peacock on l s d. in turquoise cotton trousers and a teal blue viscose   and polyester [with 5 percent elastane  V necked striped top.She chose the V neck was because she thought it made her look slimmer but if that were so it was contradicted, somewhat paradoxically, by the clinging induced by the elastane in the fabric.
What a problem dressing is nowadays she murmured.Her bedtime reading was “Contradiction, Paradox,Woman and Society” by the unknown,unseen yet internationally famous author Dr K. R. Craibaite “Paradox and contradiction are the route to understanding” was the  last sentence she had read before she fell asleep last night.Then. she had dreamed she saw a mouse eating a lion.No wonder she had indigestion today.
“Shall I make the coffee” she said to Stan.
“No,dear.I’ll do it if you can get the graph paper sorted.”
Stan stood up and walked across the room with a dazed expression.
“I hope he’s not been trying self hypnosis again” she thought quixotically.He returned with two large mugs of steaming hot coffee.
“Would you like a meringue” he enquired.
“I’d love one.”
“So would I,” he answered glumly.”But we have no cake at all.”
“I blame Tony Blair.”
“Why him?”
“Well,I have to blame someone,don’t I?”
“Why not blame yourself”
Stan began to sob and moan.
So Annie rang 999.”Can you send a paramedic.My friend needs a
meringue.” she said in a friendly tone.
“What do you think the N.H.S. is , a cake shop?” the receptionist replied assertively in ringing tones.
“Well,we older folk need cakes!”Annie cried.
“How old are you,” the lady said.
“Why is there some cut off point?” Annie retorted…
..”Yes,we only supply meringues to centenarians!” she was told.
“Well really,whatever next,” Annie cried in shock.
“I suppose they have to economise now and can no longer supply cakes and ale to pensioners like they used to do.”
But we could send you some toasted mouse sandwiches,” she was told.
“Don’t bother,” she cried fortuitously.
The heat had made her makeup run and small rivers of turqouise,black and blue were crossing her face giving it the appearance of a large bruise.She wished she had followed the advice her mother had given her,
“When in doubt,leave it out”
Or,was it “when in doubt,say nowt” or even
“when glum ,keep mum.
“I would have kept Mum,”she thought resentfully, “but the law won’t let you once they die”.
“Why do we have so little freedom here in England?” she asked Stan querulously
.”I can’t tell you” he croaked mysteriously.
“Why not?”
It’s forbidden by the Official Secrets Act.”
“After we finish the statistics on unemployment and mental health we could look into Official Secrets,” he promised her mellifluously.
“Stan, you are so good.” she said gratefully.
Will you wash my new jeans?” he asked.
“Why can’t you do it?” she fretfully quizzed him
“I don’t want Mary to see them.”
“Gosh it’s 5pm .She’ll be back soon.
“We’ve not got far today.
I expect we can make up for it tomorrow.”
Not wanting to contradict him she remained silent whilst he studied her face like an a psychologist trying and failing to see meaning in an ink blot.
Then the doorbell rang.It was Dave,the paramedic with a tray of mouse sandwiches.What a lovely  surprise that was.
Hello,Dave,Annie cried.I love your slim jeans.
“They shrunk in the washing machine but as they are stretch jeans they still fit.” he told her gently.
“You can say that again” muttered Stan.As for Emile,he had blushed as soon as he saw them.”My goodness,he’ll do himself an injury,”he thought.”Still,it’s free country at the moment.

I shall know when you are gone

I have loved you and I’ve held you.
Many years,you have been mine;
If the time has come for parting

Let us embrace for one last time.
I know you have to leave me,
Though you desire a longer stay.
Let me hold you in my arms now
For just tonight and perhaps one day

Then I’ll watch you travel on now.
We take this last step all alone.
I’ll be here beside you always..
I shall feel when you are gone.

May you accept,may you surrender.
May you reach the promised land.
Into this earth my tears will fall, love,
As I recall your tender hands.

Nostalgia

Nostalgia’s a painful affair.
Homesick for what is not there.
Look round and view
What’s nearer to you.
Out with the past,I declare.

 

Still if we have memories then may
It be that they have something to say?
Look them straight in eye
But do not defy…
They’re from God. so kneel now and pray.

For it  is God we are nostalgic for
He has lost the post-modernist’s war.
Yet he’s here in a leaf
Showing the truth.
The  mystery, the myth and the lore.

 

 

To let the life within us start to flow.

 

Now speaks the earth of spring and all its joys.
Now flowers and blossom soothe our  lonely eyes.
So happy are the lovers,girls and boys;
As in the  daisied meadows they may lie.

 

Now speaks the sun and makes us  want to grow
To open like the flowers for his love
Too heart and mind and soul to show

With  blessings sent down to us  from above.

Now every part of nature is in flood
Fresh leaves point down from trees to holy nests.
The birds are active in this little wood;And dwelling on the tree branch, breast to breast.

So. let’s not waste time brooding on our thoughts.
For we may miss the joy which spring has brought

The music of you

The music of

your voice

I shall never hear.

I shall never

play a duo with you.

Would we harmonize?

Or find some compromise?

Does one need to hear

the sound of someone's heart,

transposed into verbal music..

Or can we manage without it?

Ideolect

Sociolect.

Circumspect?

Words reveal the lost soul.

But not the whole story.

Play it again

But this time

Speak it.

I want to hear the music

Of you.

Stan and Mary go shopping

Stan and Mary went in town
To buy Stan a new dressing gown.
But he  needs a woollen one
In March that is not on.

 

The shops are full of summer clothes
But Stan’s not warm enough for those.
Mary likes to look around
But see how old Stan frowns.

So Mary says,I’ll go online
I’m sure I’ll find some fully lined
Made of wool and acrylic
Them you can make your pick.

Thank you,Mary,you are kind
Despite that brilliant,anxious mind.
I am the best dressed man intown
And soon I’ll have my gown.

Would you like cafe au lait?
I have my pension,I shall pay.
Very nice,dear Mary said.
I’d like a piece of bread.

Won’t you have a slice of cake?
I know it’s not quite what I make.
No,just plain bread,sweet Mary said
She then turned very red.

Mary,you look very hot
Is it healthy in this spot.
The central heating is too high
She gave a weary sigh.

They drank their coffee and made jokes
About old folk who never spoke…
They bought some fresh fish for Emile..
They alway shop with zeal.
..
When they got home.Stan dialled Dave
Who told him he was very brave
and not to stand near a bus door…
Or he’d fall on the floor.
.
Oh,how I’d like to lie down there
With my mistress Annie fair.
but Mary is at home today
So i’ll just have to pray.

If you’re in pain and can’t have sex,
They say that prayer is second best
Morphine is so hard to get
And it makes me feel sick.

So tomorrow Mary works
Stan and Annie have their perks
Dave calls round to bath the cat.
How obscene is that?

If you would like your cat washed
Or if your shopping has got squashed
Just dial 99999
The service is divine

What is nostalgia?

fish 2

Loving kindness

Is desire for love incongruous  with my age,
As faces show the signs of  burdens born?
And if it is then shall I vent my rage
Or turn my mind to create  poetic form?

In Eden,which was in our mother’s arms,
We felt  warm skin and heard her beating heart.
But now when we begin to lose our charms
Must we for the cemetery depart?

I know now it’s our spirit which attracts
And keeps our friends and lovers close at hand.
Misery and rages will detract’
Make a lover kind feel quite unmanned.

 

We have no human right to love demand;
But  loving  kindness brings more  friends to hand.

Incongruous clothes

Incongruous outfits are scorned

As is clothing both dirty and torn

So buy all in one colour.

Bur don’t make it yellow.

As bees and wasps love you adorned.

 

Yellow  attracts comments galore

As if men’ve not seen you before.

Try teal and blue

They’re both good for you.

Not incongruous with clothing  and more.

Incongruous

Incongruent

eileen 2

incongruent

 [in-kong-groo-uh nt, in-kuh n-groo-, -kuh ng-]
Spell Syllables
See more synonyms on Thesaurus.com
adjective
1.

not congruent.
Origin of incongruent
Latin
1525-1535

1525-35; < Latin incongruent- (stem of incongruēns) inconsistent. See in-3, congruent

Related formsExpand
incongruence, noun
incongruently, adverb
Can be confusedExpand
congruous, congruent, incongruous, incongruent.
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2016.
Cite This Source
Historical Examples

  • Perhaps in some context, the word part is incongruent with this notion thatthere is only wholeness.

    Nursing as Caring Anne Boykin

  • This was usually done by use of brute force coated with a thin layer ofincongruent ideology.

    After the Rain Sam Vaknin

  • There was the picture that she was unable to begin; it floated through herbrain, elusive and incongruent.

    The Quaint Companions Leonard Merrick
Word Origin and History for incongruentExpand
adj.

mid-15c., from Latin incongruentem (nominative incongruens), from in-“not” (see in- (1)) + congruens (see congruent ). Related: Incongruently.

Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2010 Douglas Harper
Cite This Source

I see more clearly where my comfort lie

When death and loss and grief fill up my heart
And behind an icy wall I am entrapped
Where should my work of holy healing start
Where is the hidden place where loss is mapped?
As on the earth I walk amongst the trees
And on the grass I lay my sleeping head
I make my friends from stinging wasps and bees
Who comfort me on this my own deathbed.
Yet do not sun and moon still shine as bright?
Do not men and women tender lie.
Does not this small glowworm give me light?
Do not courting tom cats saunter by?
With wider vision spreading from my eyes
I see more clearly where my comfort lie