Day: July 28, 2016

The Tables Turned

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BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you’ll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?
The sun above the mountain’s head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
Books! ’tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There’s more of wisdom in it.
And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.
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She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless—
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.
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One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—
We murder to dissect.
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Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

For sale

 

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1.Archimedes’ bath with hot and cold running water.
2.Eureka’s dressing gown size 118
3. A catapult plus free Brighton rock
4.15,000 English novels most by Nicholas Freeling and  other expatriates
5.Plato’s cave with aluminium age  drawings on the walls.
6.A cloud with golden lining
7.Rotating shoes will turn you towards the sun all day
8.!12 bottles of sunscreen  and a large black hat suitable for Hasidic Jew or English woman or Russian wolf.
9.Sheepskin rug covered in dried muesli free to  first arrival.
10.Ventriloquist’s mummy  in working order despite 40 years in a very small desert.

The butterflies

The flowers are opening though the sky is grey
The butterflies fulfil their inbuilt tasks
While seeming like sweet innocents at play

On hot  flagstones, the little cat will bask
Though one eyes is left open  to the world
With amber bright intelligence, it asks

And should a bird hop by, the cat uncurls
And leaps  so lithely from its seeming sleep;
Akin to acrobats of boys and girls.

To eat or to be eaten is our fate
Else  we  fall to dust inside our shroud.
And there are some who cannot bear to wait.

But do not  think we’re  blinded by these clouds
All things change when all things are allowed

Limericks now

A doctor must work hard today
No  time for reflection or play
Ironically this
Means  diagnosis  is missed
Doctors and patients each  pay.

Recall Archimedes’s bath
His creative ideas  found a path
Eureka, he  shouted
But she never doubted
His  genius for physics and maths.

Whatever job we have to do
Ideas need peace to come through
For in the deep mind
Our unconscious finds
The answer when the cat says mioaw.

Living with anxiety

 

 

6393348_e92238f4cb_shttp://motto.time.com/4269148/anxiety-disorder-brussels-attack-terrorism/

I think we often believe we should not  have bad  feelings like panic and anxiety  but it seems the best way  to cope is to accept them.If that is not possible we need to get help.But how do we know how much we can or should tolerate?We may complain but that about refugees in camps? How do they manage?Or people who lose a family member or friend in an accident which maybe they caused by poor driving?We are all different.

The yachts by William Carlos Williams

https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/terza-rima-poetic-term

ABOUT THE POET

William Carlos Williams (1883-1963) famously combined the two careers of doctor and writer,…

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The Yachts

contend in a sea which the land partly encloses
hielding them from the too heavy blows
of an ungoverned ocean which when it choosestortures the biggest hulls, the best man knows
to pit against its beatings, and sinks them pitilessly.
Mothlike in mists, scintillant in the minute

brilliance of cloudless days, with broad bellying sails
they glide to the wind tossing green water
from their sharp prows while over them the crew crawls

ant like, solicitously grooming them, releasing,
making fast as they turn, lean far over and having
caught the wind again, side by side, head for the mark.

In a well guarded arena of open water surrounded by
lesser and greater craft which, sycophant, lumbering
and flittering follow them, they appear youthful, rare

as the light of a happy eye, live with the grace
of all that in the mind is feckless, free and
naturally to be desired. Now the sea which holds them

is moody, lapping their glossy sides, as if feeling
for some slightest flaw but fails completely.
Today no race. Then the wind comes again. The yachts

move, jockeying for a start, the signal is set and they
are off. Now the waves strike at them but they are too
well made, they slip through, though they take in canvas.

Arms with hands grasping seek to clutch at the prows
Bodies thrown recklessly in the way are cut aside.
It is a sea of faces about them in agony, in despair

until the horror of the race dawns staggering the mind;
the whole sea become an entanglement of watery bodies
lost to the world bearing what they cannot hold. Broken,

beaten, desolate, reaching from the dead to be taken up
they cry out, failing, failing! their cries rising
in waves still as the skillful yachts pass over.

‘The Yachts’ from The Collected Poems: Volume I 1909-1939 (New Directions, 1986), used by permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation. The recording was made on May 5, 1945 at the Recording Laboratory, Library of Congress, Washington DC, and is used with permission of the Library of Congress.