It’s so easy to be good with Paypal
If you remember the password
So quick, I do it all day long.
£25 to Oxfam and $13 to some American online magazine
£15 per month to our Samaritans and a one off to Syrian refugees.
There’ll be more one-offs , I think
I won’t notice when I get my bill
Amid the Sainsburys home delivery ; the wool jumpers from Marks;
A book about Palestine ; my brother’s gift;
Green amber for my sister’s Xmas necklace;
Books for Lin and tokens for the children
Cards from Amazon
And me being unwell, postage stamps bought on line
I won’t notice I get the Guardian delivered and also donate online.
There are so many items on my bill, God could be living with me!
It’s even easier to sign petitions
Demanding my name to go on a list
Fo worthwhile, life-saving political events
Or for me to like a page on Facebook.
This is post-modern charity:
A card, a password, a tick in a box.
There, that didn’t hurt too much, did it?
Did it?
Day: January 6, 2017
A fieldtrip to New York—-The Chelsea hotel
Well worth reading and musing about
The Chelsea hotel
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
I went to New York a few times. I stayed in the Park and wrote poetry in the day and drank in the dark taverns at night. I like the feel of the city.
The Chelsea hotel
Leonard Cohen words and song took me to the Chelsea motel before I arrived in the city of New York many times over. I yearn to find the places Cohen and Janis Joplin talks and drank. I have learn in my short life. No saint or angels in the New York city bars and you must want to be saved. To be saved.
I carried my writing journal, the Norton Anthology of English Literature (1942) and held my hot coffee. I sat in the park near the main fountain in the Summer of 1980. The old men were placing chess and many people…
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Socrates as social entrepreneur: what is poetic truth?
CHAPTER THREE: WHAT IS POETIC TRUTH? The story of Socrates is a kind of fiction. This is not to say it is untrue. The story represents one of the great half-truths of Western civilization. It is a …
Source: Socrates as social entrepreneur: what is poetic truth?
“As French philosopher Michel Foucault (1926-1984) pointed out, there are many kinds of truth, and many different ways of speaking the truth. The problem with assuming that modern scientific (demonstrable) truth is the only form of truth is that it leads us to overlook other forms of truth, even while we make use of them. Such is the case with poetic truth. This form of truth dates back to ancient times. It was challenged by Socrates and defeated by the intellectual culture that grew up in Socrates’ wake.
Yet poetic truth never really went away. We experience poetic truths in the course of our daily lives. We use poetic speaking to articulate truths that have profound implications for our personal, social, cultural, and political lives.”
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He lies on the sofa.
I have told my husband to stand on his own head in future.Is this wise?
No, get him to stand on his own feet. Upright posture is usual in the UK
He has stood on my nail
Buy a few more.
He has stood me up.
That’s the way he likes it?
Now he rests on his laurels daily.
Go out and buy a bay tree.
He stood on my thumb.
Don’t keep leaving it on the floor.
He stood on my hat.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, buy some armchairs.
He lies on the sofa.
Will he tell the truth on the table?
I used to teach truth tables.
Now teach humans about truth.
I can’t stand logic.
Come on, be reasonable.
I can’t lie in bed anymore.
Why would you lie in bed? Is it easier than when vertical?
Even the cat walks all over me.
Fasten loofahs to his feet.
I can’t stand up for myself
Stand up for those who love you.
Those what who love me?
Ducks.As the Lord loves them.
I can’t sleep for laughing.
Don’t get hysteria.
I can’t walk all over anyone now.
Just walk on the top side of them.
I can’t keep a man.
Let him keep you.
I believe in love.
So did we all.
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I wore my trousers upside down in May
I found my trousers inside out today.
I looked at them with puzzlement dismayed
I forgot to use my rose deodorant spray.
I should have went to church though yesterday
We need sweet,people for free tea and hay.
I wore my trousers upside down in May
If we do wrong, then will they have to pay?
The cat says he is turning into clay
I forgot to use an evil eye to spy
My husband is a follower of Paul Klee
He bought Picasso’s cap from off E-bay
I felt his trousers were a site too frayed.
All the world’s enraged, so Shakespeare says.
He wrote fine sonnets without any play.
I forgot to wash his trace off yesterday
Why moon, you are not silver, Sylvia says
What are the rights of spring, I meant to say?
I found my trousers caught Virginia’s way.
My boyfriend took them off so we could lay.
.
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And no-one looked at you.
I saw you on the pavement
with your old brown dog
You were shabby, poor, and ragged,
Sat on your tartan rug.
You had water for your dog,
You hugged him and you sang.
But the people walked on by,
And no-one looked at you.
No-one looked at you.
But you still sang your song.
And you sent me so much love
It crossed from eye to eye.
I felt it coming in.
I hear that you have died,
Though you were only thirty-three
Only thirty-three.
I wonder, where’s your dog?
I felt our souls had touched,
You gave to me so much .
As I wandered in my grief
Along the roads, around the streets.
In your glance, you touched my heart.
I felt love swimming through,
From you right into me.
Will you come again?
I see all these dim, grey men
Who cut your benefits
To give more wealth to few;
So that the needle’s eye,
which is waiting when we die,
is forgotten, for they want
protection for their wealth.
I wish that beggar man
would come back here again.
I liked to hear his songs
But I can’t recall the tunes;
Maybe I’ll write songs myself,
That’s the highest sort of wealth
Our creativity
Is a path to dignity.
Come back, everyone!
I wish you had not gone.
Come back in my dreams
and give me some new themes.
I’m singing like you sang.
It’s this world that is so wrong.
Come back, beggar man,
I knew you were the one.
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The blind man and the silence
I had a very interesting experience a few years ago.I got off a bus in the town centre then crossed the road.On the main road, some men were digging up the road using very noisy drills.As I walked along the pavement adjoining I saw a blind man cowering against a shop window.I have had serious problems with my eyes so maybe it has made me more aware of others who were even worse off than I am.
I went up to him and asked what was wrong.He said the noise of the drills had completely disorientated him and he felt confused.If he could get to the bus stop which I had just used he would be able to work out his way home.
He got hold of my arm and we walked along very slowly and gently.
The men who were drilling turned off all the drills and stood in a row watching us.I felt a quietness like you get in certain cathedrals and churches.So we slowly went by and crossed the road on a pedestrian crossing.I then described where we were and he said he felt fine.
I never saw him again but I remember that stillness and quietness like something holy.
“The peace which passes human understanding”
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From Keats’ letters
Letters (1817-1820)[edit]
- I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections and the truth of imagination — what the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth — whether it existed before or not.
- Letter to Benjamin Bailey (November 22, 1817).
- The imagination may be compared to Adam’s dream — he awoke and found it truth.
- Letter to Benjamin Bailey (November 22, 1817).
- O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
- Letter to Benjamin Bailey (November 22, 1817).
How my heart sings 