Month: August 2016

Merriam-Webster​:Lenient

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lenient

play

adjective LEEN-yunt

Definition

1 : exerting a soothing or easing influence : relieving pain or stress

2 : of mild and tolerant disposition; especially : indulgent

Examples

Because Kevin didn’t have any past violations on his driving record, the officer decided to be lenient and let him off with a written warning.

“In February, he pleaded guilty to a bribery count and a tax count. His attorney … has said federal prosecutors have recommended a lenient sentence in exchange for his cooperation.” — Jimmie E. Gates, The Clarion-Ledger (Jackson, Mississippi), 18 July 2016

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Did You Know?

Lenient is a word with a soothing history. It derives from the Latin verb lenire, meaning “to soothe” or “to soften” (itself from lenis, meaning “soft or mild”). The first, now archaic, sense of lenient referred to something soothing that relieved pain and stress. That meaning was shared by lenitive, an earlier derivative of lenire that was commonly used with electuary (a “lenitive electuary” being a medicated paste prepared with honey or another sweet and used by veterinarians to alleviate pain in the mouth). Linguists also borrowed lenis to describe speech sounds that are softened—for instance, the “t” sound in gutter is lenis. By way of comparison, the “t” sound in toe is fortis.

A wig for Stan

 

  • Stan wore a wig in bed so his cat  Emile could stick his claws into it without scratching Stan………..though the lady in the shop where Stan bought it assumed he was a transvestite.This is what happened in the shop:

    IMG_0038
    After being scratched on the head by Emile, who slept on Stan’s pillow,Stan had decided he must buy himself a wig.Seeing as it was a very cold summer it would keep him warm.He went out and took the car onto the road.
    Come on Emile,you can read the map for me to get us to the wig shop
    on the other side of Knittingham.
    Why don’t you get Sat Nav? the naughty little cat answered rudely
    Why should I when I prefer Cat Nav…. and you are always good company.
    How flattering, purred Emile,putting on his spectacles which had gold rims.
    When they reached the Wig Shop “Fakes and Fantasy” in Eastside Road Emile was so tired with navigating he went to sleep and Stan ventured nervously into the shop as it was in new hands.
    Are you alright, sir? a charming young  lady asked.
    What are you looking for? Some viagra perhaps?
    No, no! Stan muttered
    A vibrator? She offered calmly
    I get enough vibration in my old car!I am looking for a wig.
    But your hair is quite thick!Ah,I see… a lady’s wig?
    Yes,he whispered,Exactly.
    I think an auburn wig would suit you.
    The colour is no concern…I shall only wear it in bed.
    Does your wife not  mind you being a transvestite?
    I’m not a transvestite,I sleep with the cat! My wife wouldn’t mind if I wore a steel pan on my head.
    Well,whatever turns you on as long as it does no harm to anyone or the cat.It’s a free country.
    A free country ? pay my income tax gladly…for if I was not getting a pension from the Civil Service I would not be liable for tax.It’s a privilege to pay tax!
    I am glad you feel that way,the lady replied,I am a liberal myself but of the “lefter than thou” school of thought.
    A leftover liberal,he joked feebly
    And it’s no longer very free here..soon they will monitor our emails.
    I’ve not written you any emails,Stan murmured softly.
    Not yet,but most men I meet send me emails!
    Well,what’s your address,he  asked seductively.
    It’s  katlover.me@yoohoomail.co.uk or

    mary.isaac-newton78@googledmail.com

    Why have you  got 2 addresses,he whispered to her
    Oh,I can’t remember.I also have a   gmail one.My user name is covetgarden.rose
    Don’t you mean coventgarden?
    Well,it’s too late now.I’ve just applied as covet!
    You should be more careful.You may attract the wrong type of person.
    Do you think there is a wrong type?
    Well,avoid a very egocentric person or one who seems to be after your money or your maidenhead.
    I am 25 years old and after a few boxes of super large tampax I no longer have a maidenhead.
    That’s why the Bishop’s banned them! He  informed her
    All I say is.. let a Bishop experience menstruation,commuting and modern tight clothes and then I shall heed their advice.
    I see,muttered Stan,You seem a very intriguing young lady.Have you ever thought of having a blog?
    No,never.I am unable to think of a blog title.
    How about,
    “It’s bleeding obvious.”?
    What is?
    That’s the title.
    I see.It’s a bit rude.
    Well,you need to draw attention to yourself.
    I have enough already,she answered lightly
    Thank you so much.I do feel I am your man despite the age gap.
    To get back to my purchase…I’ll take a long red wig that is machine washable.
    Very wise,the girl responded.I do hope your cat will like it.It’s polyester but feels very nice.
    How much is it? asked Stan.
    Half a crown,she replied.
    Here you are I have a florin and two three penny bits.
    I’ll save those for my Xmas pudding,she cried happily.
    What a good idea,Stan howled. merrily
    Clutching the wig in one hand he tried to get out of the shop without knocking over a mound of vibrators stacked by the exit.What is it with modern technology,he whispered to himself
    In my day,we never needed a vibrator,he told the assistant.
    We could vibrate naturally.
    Oh,those good old days…. when love was as natural as a flash of lightning or a shower of hailstones…
    As natural as having a very clever Prime Minister like Harold Wilson..
    Those were the days,my friend
    When we thought we could change the world
    And now we are disillusioned
    But we may as well love each other,anyway.
    They even say,
    It’s love that makes the world go round.
    So love someone today,please.
    Visit an old person or a lonely neighbour.
    Throw a party tonight!

The fruit

 
 Ah,did you throw away the  ripened fruit
Because inside it hid a hardened stone?
As anything not total does not suit
Love’s ambivalence seems to you a crime

Don’t throw away my love when I  offend
For I am human too and lose my sense
As tension makes it difficult to bend
And sometimes even love is too intense.

Rather , see how much love there still may be
And balance that against my human faults
Instead ,one mark ,one sin  one thought unfree
Weighs more than years of love ,binds me in guilt.

As panic  will grow less when we just wait
In such a way , real love can contain hate

My canny lass

I can see you in  the  distance in the   meadows
You’re  walking all alone,  though it is late
I’m watching you and wondering what to do.
I  always keep to roads   that run    dead straight.

I’m sorry if you’re weary and forlorn
I’m afraid to leave the beaten track.
I even have a sat nav  on my bike
Perhaps if I  shout  out,you will come back.

I think you should  avoid the fields and hills
For you are old and stiff and  mad
I phone you on your Windows  phone again
To tell you ,you are being very bad.

toBut you asked me to  join you in the grass
To see wildflowers and  in blue   heather   lie
But  can’t you  see the dangers ever near?
Is it weakness   on my side or am I wise?

I once lay down   myself on   heathery moors
The Cleveland Hills, so beautiful a view
But later I saw I ‘d edged a cliff
So near to falling off,I never knew.

Since then I’m careful where I  walk
I  study charts and  maps and feel afraid
I get the weather forecast ,wear a mac
But is it a wise decision I have made?

I see that  you are sinking in a bog
I vault the gate and speed across the grass
I grab you and I pull you to  dry earth
I always did admire you,canny lass.

Oh,I’ll take you in my arms and get you warm
I won’t admonish you  or make a pass
I’ll give you hot  tea,check if you are harmed.
I love,I love ,I love my canny lass.

As brave as the old Vikings in  longboats
As wild as a cat demon in the hills
As  bright as a bronze shield in Northern sun
Oh,canny lass, be mine, please say,I will.

.

Daisied fields

What shall I do ,the  widow asked her friend.
I feel this knife inside my heart again
What  can I do to make my sorrow end
What can I do to  stop the bloody   pain?

Do nothing, the  sweet friend  gently replied
Your task is  to  accept   your own despair
The  wisdom in your mind will work,she sighed.
Your body hurts and  for such  pain we  care.

Sit here and  count the daisies i n the lawn
No need to talk or  even think  or will.
As in this peaceful sitting for  a day
Your mind will    rest and  hope  and trust may call.

Receptive to the shivering, daisied  fields,
The heart releases; to  its  grace  we yield

I know you well enough to wish to care

I knew you well  for  just the  everyday
The little happenings which we have shared
But in your  grief, I  don’t know what to say.

How many losses hit you on  your way?
I know you well enough to wish to care
I knew you well enough for  every day

Is sorrow  what survivors have to pay?
I’m afraid  to feel  my dark emotions  bared.
So in your  grief, I   fear what I might say.

On your hand,my hand I gently lay
I lived near you when all was kind and fair
I knew you well enough for  every day.

I ‘ll comfort you  perhaps just for one day
We’ll live this darkness hour by   pained hour
Oh,in your  grief, I  don’t know what to say.

We’ll take a walk ,and movement shall be prayer.
We’ll smell the  damp green lawns and   lavenders
I knew you well  for  just the  everyday
But  when you grieved, I   knew not what to say

The second coming

http://www.poemhunter.com/poems/grief/page-1/14033/

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of i{Spiritus Mundi}
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at laSt,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

 

 

The fruit

Ah,did you throw away the  ripened fruit
Because inside it hid a hardened stone?
As anything not total does not suit
Love’s ambivalence seems to you a crime

Don’t throw away my love when I  offend
For I am human too and lose my sense
As tension makes it difficult to bend
And sometimes even love is too intense.

Rather , see how much love there still may be
And balance that against my human faults
Instead ,one mark ,one sin  one thought unfree
Weighs more than years of love ,binds me in guilt.

As panic  will grow less when we just wait
In such a way , real love can contain hate

 DURHAM  OWL 

 Short-eared Durham owl

meditating over the dale’s edge,
shadows the fields and folds
in elegant diurnal flight.
On windside, careful sight,
may swoop to prey, and away.

Your yellow broad-eyed look,
at once both sharp and distant,
holds me.
oh, silence,
oh, wind on green,
oh, earth,
sky.
immense your held vision,
sphere without centre,
pied geometer of flight,
sketch your descent and ascent.
Trees bunched by dry stone wall
call heart home

The heart of God

The universe may be the heart of God
And this  natural world  is  where he left his soul
Where good and evil fight and love is bred

 
By our perceptions we are slowly led
To  see   through light and so become more whole
The universe may be the heart of God

And yet some say he rules us with his rod
When  others in his love he does enfold
While good and evil fight and love is bred

Sometimes  alas  we feel that  God has fled
And shrink  our hearts   as   we feel  deathly cold
The universe may be the heart of God

He shows himself in signs and what he said
As in the sky his  sonorous thunder rolls
Yet good and evil fight and love is bred

To the mountain, were not the prophets led?
Till in their minds the  words  made up a thread
The universe may be the heart of God
Where good and evil fight and love is bred

Apple wood

I have a piece of  apple wood
I have my whittling knife.
I want to make a gift for you,
The best gift of your life.
Apple wood is sweet and sound
The tree grew here by me.
I chose the best part I could find
For the virtue of the tree.

 

 

Apple wood is a rare gift
We must make something whole,
For if you touch my apple wood
You can feel its soul.

 

The sweetness of the fruit of love
Is there within the wood.
So all who touch the apple here
Will be moved to good.

 

What knowledge did the tree conceal
That Eden was destroyed?
Was this a good metaphor?
Should it have been employed?

 

Sweet apples fall at random now
As autumn time has come.
And many Newton’s, all unknown,
Shall learn from every one.

Mary tidies up

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Mary was in her bedroom which once had been a study.There were books every where all randomly arranged
Shall I toss away “Functional Analysis “by Riesz-Nagy?I can’t remember it but it’s a classic text.She looked at  her other books  and found three rhyming dictionaries…. and Strunk’s guide to style.
Is American style the same as English ? she asked herself.I’d better read that.
When she opened her desk drawers hoping to find a ring she had lost she was thunderstruck by how dirty the  white bases were.She sat there on her folding chair musing on this and wondering about Purity and Danger by Mary Douglas.
A  whole jar of nail scissors and pens stood ,previously unnoticed, by the window.So that’s where they went,Mary  thought.Things seem to appear and disappear disconcertingly at random.Perhaps she had never achieved what is called object constancy by Freudians  which must not be confused with objecting to constancy.That is something quite different. that  some men like to do
Mary had some clear polythene bags by her and Emile watched as he hid inside the open wardrobe under Mary’s dresses and cardigans.She found some shoes under her desk so put then into a green bag; the socks she collected in a white one and the pens and art stuff went into a box.
What chaos there was in the room with face cream and books on the bed and  boxes of tissues and cotton wool balls strewn about.
Emile came out of the wardrobe stretching and yawning as only  tom cats cam
Shall I ring 999 , you look tired, he said mellifluously.
Oh,how  kind, she  responded politely in her   delightful way
Soon Dave the transvestite paramedic appeared wearing a maxidress from Marks and Spencers’
Does that need ironing,~Mary asked him
No, it drip dries really well, he answered  gracefully
I wonder if I should buy one,she muttered cautiously
If you go to your GP you might find you can get one on prescription
Do you think so? I’ve never heard of that before,she responded
Well, you could say it will cure your depression and grief from losing your dear old man
He will say that no double blind experiments have been done to prove dresses help women to feel better. when bereaved she told Dave cautiously
How about a double bind operation,Dave asked scientifically
What do you mean? Mary said philosophically
We tie ourselves together with string and then kiss and  hug and see how it goes… one never knows when old
Well I don’t see why we  need string.Someone might think we are a parcel and post us to China or even North Korea.
How about Israel?
Why do you  think we’d end up there?
They have some  great museums.And we could Wail at the Wall.
I could do with a good Wail,Mary replied as tears ran down her pink and cream  cheeks.But I am unsure if one wails there out of grief or is it something more? Like sorrow about the Temple being destroyed.Why do they not get over it?
Well it’s rather like England and the Tudors… all those films and books as if Henry 8 th deserved such  fame for ever
I’d prefer the Temple to him, said Mary fastidiously.That was a place of worship and beauty
I’d love to see the Temple.If only we could go back in time,Dave informed her.But the main point is Mary I love you so I must leave your bedroom before I die of repressed  desire  and lack of your tender touch
I am sorry Dave,I never knew you felt that way about me,Mary told him .Perhaps we should go to the kitchen and make some nice hot tea.And I just bought some biscuits from Marks and Spencers which are much better than any others I’ve had
So they sat at the pine table drinking Ceylon tea and eating custard creams as they watched the sun through the Acer next  door.Why the neighbours had a laptop hanging from a tree nobody knew.Was it to  make themselves seem superior?Was it going to be connected to the electricity so it would be  like a Xmas decoration?Time will tell.Or it ,ay fall off and kill some slugs and snails… isn’t life interesting

The eyes are the windows of the soul


The first example is that another person whom we get to know can be a window to a different world.For this to function we have to realise that we are all different and we are all of Even within one culture big differences are there between one person and another.
And in London where I live we have people from hundreds of other countries and we British ourselves are multicultural.Some people find this frightening and our ancestors probably only met people from their own village.
But looked at another way,seeing how a friend from another culture views his/her world is enlightening even if only to give a new perspective on our own culture which we may be unaware of.We may see life from a new perspective.These metaphors from Art are very useful.The artist must see as well as  possible and in different ways.So in that sense Art is important not just for pleasure but for living a reasonable life
We may in a metaphorical sense look through this friend’s eyes and see a new world.
Or we may scoff and say how silly and that our culture and our own self are the only ones  of value.
Or we may wander on,not really  looking  so not seeing and so miss many chances of enlightenment
And enlightenment is the best that a new window can offer us.How full of metaphors our languages are.How poetic.

Wildflowers

Gently dancing in the sun
Wildflowers grow,
they bloom,
are gone.

With no thoughts,they have no cares;
Yet their lives are gentle prayers.
May I walk in such a way
That I am alive to this all day.

So I see with widening view,
And joy and sorrows embrace too.
Then my time will come like yours...
And of us both nothing  endure.

As to the earth our bodies go,
All are one;it shall be so.

Maybe I had drunk too much black beer

I wonder if it’s  best to write in form
When I feel this panic and  bleak fear.
Breathing will be easier  when I’m calm

Will these patterns act like a soft balm
When I’m confused and have no real ideas?
I wonder if it’s  best to write in form

Shall I on  my  ego lay the   blame?
Or  my inner critic ever near
Breathing will be easier  when I’m calm

I thought  my  face looked very strained and plain
Maybe I  had drunk too much black beer
I wonder if it’s  best to write in form

 

Is this life  just God’s intriguing  game?
Am I sure if you are really here?
Breathing will be easier  when I’m calm

No need to panic when alarmed.
No need for the secondary fear
I wonder if it’s  best to write in form?
Breathing will be easier  when I’m calm

Don’t go where we have gone 

Down by the House of Commons
My love and I did roam
We were looking for a Monet
To decorate our home

Down by the Palace Gardens
We went a-walking next
As we believed that in that green
It was ok to have sex.

We were caught by the police!
My wife was quite displeased.
“Oh,can we plead not guilty ,sir.
We didn’t know where we are!”

Down in the court of magistrates
We were accused of sin.
We stood there in the dock
Is it prison or the bin?

I thought sin was not a crime!
I didn’t even make it rhyme!
But in this country, there’s a link
Sin and crime have now  been synched!

We asked to go to Westminster
To confess to a Catholic priest.
We could just take a penance
From a man who’s like a beast.

But the judge was feeling lazy
He sentenced us to death.
And we are going to die because
We wandered from the path.

If you want to get a Monet,
Buy one from Amazon.
And if you want to make sweet love
Don’t go where we have gone

The earth has its own gravity and grace

The earth has its own gravity and grace
Perception will develop as we grow
Maintain the sacredness of this dear space

When we live we need to find our place
The process may be long and very slow
The earth has its own gravity and grace

The good and bad both need to be embraced
Grace comes easiest to those who’re low.
Maintain the sacredness of this dear space

Good and bad make patterns as in lace
And through the gaps, the living waters flow
The earth has its own gravity and grace

Life must grow at its own steady pace
By our intuition ,we will know
Maintain the sacredness of this dear space

Of the fruits of earth, the living taste.
Admire the flying birds from thrush to crow
The earth has its own gravity and grace
Maintain the sacredness of this dear space

 

Note:Gravity and grace is the title of a book by the French mystic
Simone Weil

“Diagonal”

diagonal
dʌɪˈaɡ(ə)n(ə)l/
adjective
adjective: diagonal
  1. 1.
    (of a straight line) joining two opposite corners of a square, rectangle, or other straight-sided shape.
noun
noun: diagonal; plural noun: diagonals
  1. 1.
    a straight line joining two opposite corners of a square, rectangle, or other straight-sided shape.
    • MATHEMATICS
      the set of elements of a matrix that lie on a line joining two opposite corners.
    • a slanting straight line.
      “the bars of light made diagonals across the entrance”
    • CHESS
      a slanting row of squares whose colour is the same.
Origin
mid 16th century: from Latin diagonalis, from Greek diagōnios ‘from angle to angle’, from dia ‘through’ + gōnia ‘angle’.

Artificial

Diagonal streams now  stripe the windowpane
And in them, tiny insects drown and die.
Unexpected ,sudden rain  has come.
Those escape who have  the wings to fly.

No angels were seen peering  at my  room
No doubt they have their  Sunday wings to press.
No  camera ,even with psychotic zoom,
Can catch an angel while she is undressed.

Now the rain has dried and all is sweet
I tend to houseplants standing by the door.
By good luck these houseplants never bleep.
Only in the real world do they flower.

Bleeps and pings are not a natural sound.
But to the artificial   we  will bound.

We turn to darkness

When tensions in our minds  harm our own souls
And into stranger's  ears   we  pour our woes.
When grief and sorrow  shudder through our   walls.
And whether all is lost we cannot know

When  what is in  or out we cannot tell
When fantasy and dream become confused.
When  spears of agony  maim  every cell.
When sensibility is utterly bemused.
.
He in  whom  we  trusted  wills us fail
For what  he said was love was mere  desire.
Now pain and disappointment make us frail;
With torment know   this  lover was a liar.

Then, having lost all other means  to live,
We turn to darkness where our consolation is.

Meditation on Statistical Method

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Plato, despair!
We prove by norms
How numbers bear
Empiric forms,

How random wrong
Will average right
If time be long
And error slight,

But in our hearts
Hyperbole
Curves and departs
To infinity.

Error is boundless.
Nor hope nor doubt,
Though both be groundless,
Will average out.

 

James Vincent Cunningham :

 

All Day It Has Rained by Alun Lewis

 

All day it has rained, and we on the edge of the moors
Have sprawled in our bell-tents, moody and dull as boors,
Groundsheets and blankets spread on the muddy ground
And from the first grey wakening we have found
No refuge from the skirmishing fine rain
And the wind that made the canvas heave and flap
And the taut wet guy-ropes ravel out and snap.
All day the rain has glided, wave and mist and dream,
Drenching the gorse and heather, a gossamer stream
Too light to stir the acorns that suddenly
Snatched from their cups by the wild south-westerly
Pattered against the tent and our upturned dreaming faces.
And we stretched out, unbuttoning our braces,
Smoking a Woodbine, darning dirty socks,
Reading the Sunday papers – I saw a fox
And mentioned it in the note I scribbled home; –
And we talked of girls and dropping bombs on Rome,
And thought of the quiet dead and the loud celebrities
Exhorting us to slaughter, and the herded refugees:
Yet thought softly, morosely of them, and as indifferently
As of ourselves or those whom we
For years have loved, and will again
Tomorrow maybe love;but now it is the rain
Possesses us entirely, the twilight and the rain.
And I can remember nothing dearer or more to my heart
Than the children I watched in the woods on Saturday
Shaking down burning chestnuts for the schoolyard’s merry play,
Or the shaggy patient dog who followed me
By Sheet and Steep and up the wooded scree
To the Shoulder o’ Mutton where Edward Thomasbrooded long
On death and beauty – till a bullet stopped his song.