Anxiety is the price of life.
But don’t pay over the top.
Calmness is good at most times.
Dread is a bad friend.
Exploring nature soothes the soul
For what are we but part of it?
Gentle music helps the mind
However we do it,
Listening is a kindness to ourself.
Ink is the friend of the writer.
Judgment is another one.
Kindness is essential to the good life.
Lessons are available daily.
Money is necessary but not sufficient for happiness.
Needs are simpler than we imagine.
Oxygen is good for the brain.
Prayer is good for the mind.
Quality is hard to judge quickly.
Rest is often a good idea.
Tension inhibits ideas.
Work should involve play.
X- rated films are optional
Yes…You are a valuable person.
Z is the final letter
And life is an Art.
The sun shone on Rosa Benchez ,as it had no alternative.She ran down the street in her yellow raincoat and a pair of gym shoes.Usually ,she wore a dress as well but times they are a changin’.She saw Mr Leonard Cohen walking across the road shouting,where is my blue raincoat?
Am I going mad,she wondered.Shall I call 999? Can you call 999 when you are running down Upper Street? What a pity she had no friends around to advise her.
Mr. Cohen, she said,I love your music especially, How many toads?
You are confusing me with Dylan,he murmured in a deep voice.
Well,I prefer you.Where is your Nobel Prose?
I write poetry mainly, he said shyly smiling his sheepish yet delightful smile.He certainly had good jaws.His top and bottom teeth met unlike Rosa’s.What did that signify?
Yes, she said.I know.I bought one of your books.
He suddenly began running into a pancake house and Rosa stood there wondering why he did not make a pass at her as his reputation was enormous..Perhaps he hates yellow on a woman, she muttered.Maybe he is depressed by the prospect a the next few years and yet he says his depression has gone and he has both his children nearby and grandchildren too.
But why is he here in Knittingham? she asked herself.Nobody has mentioned it.Why would he come here in late October?Why would anyone?
It is fruitless to think like this, she thought.Will anyone believe me?Suddenly she felt very sad and muddled .She took out her iPhone and rang 999.
Can you send Dave round to lower Upper St.I feel like I am going crazy.I am going into Mary’s house as seeing her and Emile might help.If not,Dave can advise me and have some tea too.
Certainly,madam, the clerk replied.Nothing is too much for your NHS.
You are very perceptive said Rosa.My name is Rosa Benchez by the way
I recognised your lovely voice.Thanks again for calling.
Rosa went up Mary’s path and rang the doorbell.When Mary appeared she said.
I am feeling very strange, so Dave is coming round.Will you make me some tea?
Of course,said Mary.Come in and talk to Emile.He fell into a pool of water so he is sitting by the fire.
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.Her period had begun.Do you have any female protection,Mary? she called.
It’s the usual.
Where is your handbag?I used to carry my protection in that.A gun
In my case a few tissues might help.
Oh I see,Mary murmured.Did you know you have no clothes on?
Oh, dear,said Rosa.Can you lend me an old dress?
Just stay there and I shall look after you
And so pray all of us,except Len as he does not know as yet.
You’re an egghead ,a nerd and a freak
I’m a brainbox,unfeminine ,a geek.
So we cannot get wed
Then ramble to bed
Our offspring face an outlook too bleak
They may go to the other extreme
Smoke pot and have marvellous dreams
Let’s say we’re autistic
Or another kind of mystic
Avoid cocktails and not shout nor scream.
I suppose feeling and taste we may lack
As we prefer numbers to be painted in black
And fearful infinity,
The uncountable divinity.
Is an 8 lying down on its back
Russell said maths had no sense
Though its priests may be over-intense
Cold as the Arctic
I read it,I marked it
Then I sceamed, Oh, Satan get thee hence
He wore a suit dark with discernment
He smiled as if laughter were tears
His eyes showed a hint of that moment
When one triumphs despite the fierce fears.
He sang with his lyrics lamenting
The blindness of unblinkered men
The grief made him almost demented
There was no one there to cry out,Amen.
They imagined he hypnotised women!
Oh, he had the magnetic eye.
But ,in a dark sea ,he was swimming
There was no father to say to him,why?
He saw through the layers of language
The word of god was conserved in new forms
Hearing it gave him great anguish
But deafness allows devilish harm.
It’s an illness to be sad when we lose;
We must stay calm and keep smiling along
Our defences keep out any muse
And ignore wilful acts and dark wrongs.
He drove alongside the river one night
And threw all his medications down there
“I weep as it’s getting so late.
If I go down ,I shall scream my own prayer”
He ‘s wry, melancholic and blue
He’s slight and he’s thin with fine hands
All of his lyrics are true
We can see his face carved by demands.