Month: January 2017

My tablet has no commandments on it.

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Once mobile meant travelling like the Bedouin…
We knew what phoney was.
We enjoyed talking to each other
A screen was a thing that hid something.
Writing was a lengthier process but we had better attention spans.
Reading was partly social; we used the library, not a kindle.
We read the great books even in our tiny poor homes.We went to hear the Halle orchestra and did not feel lowly.
We helped our neighbours.
We helped ourselves to the good available and gave it to our friends
Now my phone is boiling and the kettle rang me.
The microwave is grilling a politician
My tablet has no commandments on it.
My TV is so smart it’s moved out to a place where someone will watch it.
My radio is sending  a distress signal
My heart is heavy.
My heart is light.

Mytwosentences 154

He was a stout man with thick fingers who willingly engaged your ear, although following his hackneyed conversation style was akin to skipping alongside Dorothy through an endless field of soporifi…

Source: Mytwosentences 154

We’d hoped to see those roses very soon

 

We ‘d  hoped to see the rose gardens in June
But on the 1st he died and travelled on
We  both enjoyed   the roses in  full  bloom

We used the dark to see the stars and moon
But by the 1st  I found that he was gone
We hoped to see the rose gardens in June

As  I tell,  this death arrived  too soon
And  took away  the  life of   a  dear man
We  wished to see the  flowers in full bloom

As he  lay, I sang  remembered  psalms
I  knew before the doctors he was gone
We meant to see the rose gardens in June

Then  there with me he  re-encountered calm
I had not gone there with a plan
We  longed to see the  flowers’  enchanting blooms

May was cold and bitter with alarm
That was when he fell , yet was unarmed.
We’d  hoped to see  those roses  very soon
We    love the  scent of roses in full bloom

After winter

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The gap between 0 and 1 is bigger than the gap between 1 and 2

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From the first moment of life, we are two creatures becoming one
They give each other all they have and receive all there is.
So in our being, we are sharers.There is never just one.
After the union, the home, the womb.Someone willing to tolerate being used.
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After winter, spring comes and the grass grows by itself.

Victory before the battle?

 

They used to have the parade after the war probably holding the heads of the defeated in their hands.
White Bosphorus?
Cost benefit paralysis set in.
He was counting his passes.
There’s no accounting for waste.
USA War parade.Go figure.
She flaunted her flotsam.
All things being a sequel.
Why would stones want moss?
And there is no other cook!
How many lives are well, flossed?

The little hands touch me so deeply , so well

Opportunity knocked and I opened the door
But that room’s not the one I was looking for.
The light didn’t work and I fell  on a book
Then I saw you and your smile and your look.img_0091

We don’t know what we want until it comes by
I’m too past it now;I soon  I may die.
But while I am here, I’m enjoying the peace
Of being alone, smiling, and writing re geese.

I seem them fly by when the sun starts to sink.
How like a wild god; they ‘re gone when I blink.
Then they descend ;they all move as one.
No training in music could teach us that song.

Evoking the beauty of  stars far away,
I like to watch geese at the end of the day.
Patterns and poems disclose other worlds.
The  hand of a baby; the fingers uncurled

The trust and the smile ; mother is home
She creates entire worlds for the one she has borne.
For chaos and panic  are onot far away;
Even in adults who don’t care to say.

The little hands touch me so deeply, so well;
How come the world holy is rolling to hell?
How can we kill little wains  by the score?
Was it for this that I opened your door?

Was it for this that love electrified  us?
We were lost in each other, as moved the white dove.
Was it for war that we lent love our wombs
Making more soldiers and building more tombs?

The bombs, they are loading; they’re having parades.
It’s not North Korea, it’s Washington, dude.
Let the tanks roll  on Corrie and the Bedouin tribes.
Let the allies laugh blindly as the Lord Jesus dies.

O take me, dear mother.Please take me away
I can’t see no point in saying my prayers.
The leaders’ religions are making God frown.
The desert is empty, the tents all dragged down.

The centuries of living , so free,  so mobile
The Holy Land blessing; they pause for while.
The little black  tents,  the  wombs of the night,
Are all gone to shredders; they’re out of our sight.

Talking about or writing poetry about trauma can be a serious mistake

Cats

 

Healing from Trauma and PTSD – Nine Reasons NOT to Talk About “What Happened”

So many people seem to think writing or talking is always therapeutic.We have to trust to some inner wisdom which guides us on this issue.And also it can be traumatic for unprepared people to hear your story.

Nine Reasons NOT To Talk about “What Happened” when Healing from Trauma

  1. Re-traumatization by Going Too Fast. Having things happen too fast is a characteristic of trauma itself. Pushing yourself to tell your story, overriding any part of yourself that feels unsure or unready, constitutes another trauma because it’s just another case of too much too soon.
  2. Re-traumatization by Breaking the Protective Barriers in the Brain. The brain encapsulates traumatic memories away from us for a very good reason. It’s not healthy to try to just break apart these protective structures. This could cause a lot of problems. If impatient, you could begin making up the story because you don’t understand why you can’t actually remember it. You could numb out so much you can’t speak with any coherency. You could become so disorganized all the pieces of the story come out like shattered glass, all in the wrong order. This could cause you to feel insane and embarrassed, and like a liar. You may not realize the brain has cut you off from the memories for a number of very good reasons and it’s trying to help you heal, not be a source of embarrassment and confusion for you.  It’s much better to honor the brain’s wisdom in putting the walls up. Breaking them is destructive. Healing should be gentle and constructive. There are many ways to heal traumatic memories without breaking anything.
  3. Re-traumatization by Reliving It. Telling could re-traumatize a person by forcing them to relive the trauma. Because of this forced re-living of the horror, just the idea of telling What Happened can be utterly terrifying. It can be totally, completely overwhelming. It’s not going to have any therapeutic value if it’s bringing about utter terror. Reliving past trauma is itself another trauma. If you are pushing yourself through terror, this is not about your own healing anymore, it’s about some part of you that is being forceful and hurtful with yourself, or trying to please another person.
  4. Re-traumatization by Being Too Vulnerable. Telling one’s story could traumatize a person by making them too open and vulnerable than what is healthy. Some trauma victims are used to being too vulnerable and do not know how to protect themselves yet. Even if nobody ends up criticizing what they have to say, just the act of opening up about what happened could constitute a reliving of the experience of being overly vulnerable and too open to being abused. This could re-create the unhealthy pattern of others forcing too much vulnerability on them. It reinforces habits from being abused in the past.
  5. Traumatization by Being Attacked. Telling one’s story can open oneself up to people saying it’s not true, questioning it, criticizing it, picking it apart, trolling, abusing. Having details of your story attacked, your character belittled in some way or being outright not believed, when you are actually telling the truth – these kinds of things constitute an additional set of traumatic events to deal with.
  6. Telling of one’s story could traumatize other people. This is something I had not thought about at all until my therapist pointed it out. If we care not only about our own psychological health and well-being but that of others, we would exercise some caution when putting things into the world that might end up traumatizing other people. I may think carefully about the context I am putting it in and really make sure it’s what people are expecting to read about in that context. Of course, a trigger warning is important to help people understand that it may have difficult content and then they actually take responsibility for reading it. I think it’s very important  and healing to engage in creative or other forms of self-expression around trauma, but it does make sense to at least spend a little time considering the context and the impact a story of trauma could have on others before sharing it and make sure it comes with a warning. If the telling of the story has therapeutic value for others who have been through the same thing, then you can weigh the therapeutic value with the potential traumatic impact and then think about whether the traumatic parts are absolutely necessary in order to achieve the results you want (they could be crucial – every case is a unique case).(Note that this is in reference to the public, friends and family – you don’t need to be cautious when you tell your therapist because they are trained to listen to every detail of whatever you need to express to them and regulate themselves if they need to.)
  7. If you were not believed in the past, you could also be terrified due to the trauma of not being believed. If your story is quite unusual, or if you were (for all reasons listed so far) unable to make it make any sense to others, you may have experienced the very real trauma of not being believed. Perhaps you revealed something to someone you thought you could trust and that someone broke your trust. Not being believed is an additional trauma. It would make sense to focus some time on healing the emotions related to this trauma of not being believed before you get into the trauma story itself because whenever you think about telling your story, this additional trauma will rear it’s ugly head and stand in your way.
  8. If your trauma involves something socially negated, a social stigma, your risk is higher. If your story involves something taboo, not socially acceptable, something people don’t generally understand or condone, something generally rejected or ridiculed, this can make it take longer to feel safe and find a safe person to talk to. You actually do have a higher risk of being condemned or misunderstood in this case.

Ovid said, “poetry speaks truth on earth”

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Click to access Religion_as_Poetic_Truth.pdf

“I would suggest that the people who founded the great religions of the world, whether they were definite known founders or whether they were mythical founders who actually represented a current of thought that already existed, were doing something akin to art and poetry. Religion is not like science – it’s more like poetry. And poetry is not just fantasy or decoration. As the Roman poet Ovid said, “poetry speaks truth on earth” – and we should remember this when trying to understand the world’s religions. We can take religion to be true, but not literally true.”

I still desire the sun

When you come back to me, my dearest one.
When you no longer hide away in dreams.
The golden  sun will rise for me again

When all my work on earth is done;
When I have felt the pain of what has been.
Will you come back to me, my dearest one?

Without your presence, I feel lost and pained.
But this is not eternal, though it seems.
The golden  sun will rise for me again

The last bell  rings , I am alone.
I am too simple to make cunning schemes
Will you come back to me, my dearest one?

Human life is brief; we share its pain;
The death instinct, the deadly Faustian themes;
The sacred sun will rise for us again .

I must live in  darkness  yet the angels lean
To shelter with their sacred wings my limbs.
When you  had to leave , my dearest one,
Though loss may win, I still desire the sun.

Dangerous to be home?

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http://home.btconnect.com/mike.flemming/

 

http://www.livescience.com/36074-5-experts-answer-dangerous-items-home.html

As well as the danger of accidents listed above, the home can be dangerous in other ways.We think families love each other and many times they do but home is also the place of intimacy and the place where people feel they can let it all hangout verbally or worse, physically.Power is involved and also scapegoating where a man may be treated badly at work.Then he comes home and his wife has just got in after picking up a child from the nursery.It’s her turn to make the dinner but she forgot they had no vegetables because she has got severe period pains.What happens next?  He might shout at her or even hit her.Violence is common and it’s not class related.It depends on if they have patience and willingness to make an interpretation that does not blame the other for all their pain.

Have you brought some protection?

nz_paradiseshelduck

http://home.btconnect.com/mike.flemming/

 

I am suffering from this man over here
I think it’s  your manstruation again.
How many bloody times do we have to have it?

Have you brought some protection?
5  loaded guns and a box of super-large tampons

I’m afraid I bit the bucket again.
Why have you no WC?

I hate that pain in my crutch.
Not as much as the crutch does,though.

Doctor, I have 15 crutches.
Good grief, you need more rapport!How do you juggle them all?
They juggle me.

Have you still got this man over here?
The agony is so bad I don’t recognise any country of the world.

My friend has irritable vowel syndrome.
Try him on consonants.Hebrew is also an option.
Why?
They have no vowels.
How do they manage?Not many here understand it.
Well,it’s His Voice!
I thought it was H M V
Oh,Lord.Really want to be you.
My sweet bawd

Mary classifies her clothes

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Mary woke up feeling  gloomy and  tired.She drank her tea which Stan used to bring her.It’s a real nuisance for a woman having to make her own tea in the morning
I  am fed up,she told Emile.I miss my bicycle but it’s too dangerous now.And walking hurts.
Sitting by her bed she viewed all the clothes she had recently washed and dried  which were manifold.What to do with them..Well,Mary thought,with our ideas we have to categorise them ans so I will apply the same principle here.
She divided her clothes into groups.Then into subgroups.Why, it’s a science she thought.Then she folded her underwear neatly just the way it came in the packs from M and S the famous Jewish British and EU  department store.
She put all the odd socks into a  clear  polythene bad and put the remaining ones into a shelf in her white wooden wardrobe.She admired her teal coloured tights which Stan had   loved and put them with the black ones she wore most often in winter
Suddenly she heard a dog bark.What’s that? she shouted in alarm
Emile giggled.
I did it.he said,you were not listening to me.So I barked.
I am sure God will not like that.What did you want.
It’s time for coffee,he announced.
Alright,Mary said.I’ll leave these polo necks till later.They want downstairs into the teal  and cream coloured kitchen/breakfast room and Mary filled the kettle and took her Nokia  off the charger.

 

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It seems to run down too fast,she thought.Even when I never used it.I only got it for emergencies and  £5  a month from BT seems a good offer.But like many  of her gadgets she really bought them to see how they worked;as she had a good sense of direction  she did not really use the maps.
She picked up the post.There was the dreaded bank statement and Credit  Card Bill. from M and S
Hello,Barclays here.
Hello,I have not had a statement from you lately.
You never use the card.
That’s true,said Mary,I forget to buy anything.I forget I am a woman
In her purse she found a cheque for  £60 from the Inland Revenue.
Look Emile.I’ll buy  you a new basket.And a some cat toys.
Thanks  purred Emile.You are so sweet,mother.
I’m not your mother,Mary informed him wildly
Well you are like a mother,kind and gentle… most of the time.
You little flattery battery,she giggled  .
Looking at the bank statement she was relieved not to be over-drawn.Stan had expensive tastes and she always bought him too many clothes,the best food and other delightful things.He was not greedy,she enjoyed spoiling him and  so did he!
Well,two horrible jobs done she thought and her mood rose as she realised things were better than she had  hoped.
Even finding the cheque was out of date did not worry her.She phoned the Tax Office who said they’d send another one.
We  all know how nice it is to get a little money we didn’t expect.
She went upstairs and decided to change her outfit.She took off her comfy old jeans and  put on a  black  needlecord dress with  blue and green flowers all over with a pair of smart black shoes.
Why are you all dressed up,asked Emile.
To give pleasure to the human race,she murmured as she  put on  her red wool winter  coat.
I am going out to take some photos she said.The magnolias are out and the bluebells.
Which  camera shall I take,she pondered..
I’ll take this Nikon one,she decided; Because I like the name.
Is that a good way to choose a camera,asked Emile.
Well, what do you suggest?
Well many are called cameras but few are chosen ,the naughty cat replied.
I know I have several she said.People give me their old   ones and as I am ignorant they all seem ok to me.They are my toys..
And how about that new wok and the ceramic milk pan? I’ve been taking notes,Emille wittered on
Are you going to be a detective,Mary laughed.
Can’t a woman buy a new pan?I keep burning the non stick ones so I decided to try ceramic.
I hope you don’t stir fry my cat food,Emile chortled.
No,I have not yet  got a wok cookery guide.
But you have got an electric egg boiler,which surprised me, he miaowed.
It’s because it switches itself off,she told him.I get engrossed in my study of enjambent and  forget the time.
Thinking is bad for you,Emile told her.
And so say all of us.
Thinking is bad for the brain
I’ll never do it again.
I’ll be a girl again
Ignore all handsome men.
I’ll got  out and play in the rain

I don’t believe it

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Kiwi by M.Flemming.Copyright

http://home.btconnect.com/mike.flemming/

If you want to die because you have a severe terminal illness I just though going onto the Quicksands in Morecambe Bay is easier than jumping off a cliff.Plus nobody would see your body.Be kind.Vanish!I used to be terrified of it as a child

Don’t miss:

Arnside bot.
Silvered ale.
Nerdy lone male.
Change at Ox -in -home for Hinder here
Can he stun old man?
Shall we rave?
Striding Ledge.
Abiding grudge.
Beatrix Hotter.
Cross by terror
The river can’t.
Watercolour depressions of the meres.
A nymph a night keeps the cat awake
The river loon
The catastrophe
An old white nerd.
Coniston’s old van
Free Fli Wi
Coniston Owl-Man
Passing Water
Wordsworth’s sausage
Tidal Water.
Red Blank.
Vast Water.
Herd Rot Pass
Passed Water.
Fools’ Water
Glass Mere.
Gi’ us it ‘ere
Free Pen with.
Ken Daly
Boats for ear.
Boots on Fire.
Anorak free zone
Amble Sideways.
Carl Aisle
Glass Mere
Bitter Mere.
White Haven
Sidle  Water
Dare when Water?
Gulls Water.[real]
See Yellow?
No smooching with beer.
Bow Less on Windermere.Thank you
Range over Sands
Quicksand free  over there.
Free quick sands now
Rowless  on  Crimson Lake
Marrow in Furnace.
Sorrow in Earnest
Gulliver’s Stone.
Feet Path
Sheep track daily.Be alert
Gentle Home.
Convent Harry
Welcome Bay
The Kent Actuary.
Burntside Knot Hair Stylist
Golden Dale
More Came
Cairn Forth
Len Caster.
Bath Right
Ink Umbria
Steeped Hill.
The old rattle.
Date Vale Motel and Best Room for Sin

I didn’t know that he could even spell

He said he would be sending me an ode.
I didn’t know  that he could even spell
Then on his motor bike ,away he rowed.

What if my misgivings are a goad?
Not only can he spell, he writes as well!
He said he would be sending me an ode.

The bath we ran, alas, has overflowed.
I hope that ma and pa can’t ever tell
That on his motor bike,  he sometimes glows.

I have an outfit very a la mode.
And on my hair, I put that great green gel
He said he would be sending me a toad!

He  often darns the holes in my wool clothes.
And refers to me as  pretty little Nell
Sure, on his motorbike, he seems to glow.

On his bike he has a metal bell
It’s worth a lot if you like hearing words from hell
He said he would be sending me an ode.
Then on  his motorbike, away he  flowed

 

I almost feel there’s a message in the sky

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The sky is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen at sunset
most of the colour
is still what they call sky blue and then there are some clouds but they’re not black the

they are

light navy blue and in between rose coloured trimmings hang from edges to make a pattern this is the Pointing to what?
I suppose they
are pointing to the sun which is sinking and indeed it is almost gone I am very surprised that it’s not gone down yet even though it’s 4:40 p.m. it doesn’t seem long as this it was

dark

off at 3:30 I’m

here

but I’m

looking
 out

of the window instead

of working
because I don’t think my camera would be able to
get a good picture of the sky
although I may try in a moment
but it’s so beautiful just to visit it

I almost feel there’s a message in the sky
and as I am speaking the Rose pink decorative lace is turning lighter and then
 the main cloud

is turning to dark mauve and grey and

It’s no longer as beautiful because it’s failing
like certain flowers do after a brief glory
of fertility and love
and now we are in darkness.

We preferred the geometry of the spheres to dating boys when we were 16.

er mot15894378_1262728447118267_3232933242562958301_n

Mary has a dear friend who lives,alas , nowadays in northern Scotland. Clare moved back there when her mother became unable to manage at home. Then Clare developed very severe problems with her feet and legs and had been offered psychotherapy by the pain clinic.

After Mary had  been talking to Clare on the phone she thought to herself,
 I wonder if I should speak to a therapist because I am still grieving for Stan and it’s possible therapy might be able to tell me whether what I’m feeling is normal or whether I am going round the bend.Mary found several counsellors near where she lived by looking on the Internet; she had interviewed five and decided on one called Margaret  Slipknot, Dr Slipknot had a room in a private hospital in the best road of the entire City.

Good morning, please take a seat over here, Margaret said to Mary.
Now you can tell me anything you like; it is completely confidential except that if you tell me you are going to kill somebody or commit suicide, I am obliged to tell your doctor or the police. Is that alright with you?

 Oh yes said Mary that seems very sensible because I understand the motivation behind it all knowing several widows ;they have mentioned that they didn’t want to go on living alone.But I did not tell their doctor or the police because sometimes everybody feels like that and once they realise it they are quite happy, in a sense.They can accept it.

I have got a very good friend next door call Anny and I know many colleagues at the university but since my husband died I feel as if there is a void at the centre of my being and whatever I do will not fill it.

 Margaret. said, Perhaps this void has a role to play in your life.
What kind of role could a void have?.Mary gasped
Just say whatever comes to your mind.
A void is not something that people talk about very much and I’m not sure if it’s just the right word to describe  what  I am  sensingb ut it is more than just a little emptiness. Stan used to make my dinner every night when I came home from the University and he also used to feed the cat and put the rubbish out not to mention listening to my thoughts about what happened to me while I was at work ,  and all the people that I have met. So when I come home now feeling weary and tired I have to make my own dinner.
And do you make you dinner?
Not always. you see when Stan was alive I had a certain motivation to be a good and loving wife. I used to do a lot of planning to make sure that, even though he was going to do the cooking, that there were all the required ingredients in the cupboard plus also spices and herbs and garlic. I realise now that I have not bought any garlic for the past year.

People don’t usually come to see me just because they have not bought any garlic lately.

When Mary heard the word lately she began to cry because late is a word used to denote people who are dead like the late Prime Minister, Winston Churchill.

I see that you are still feeling sad and there’s nothing wrong with that but I am a little concerned about how you will cope with all your new responsibilities as well as continuing your work and life with students, Which all the things you mentioned about your husband do you miss the most?

I think the thing I’m missing him most for is putting out the rubbish. He always insisted on doing this even when he was very ill and I find it hard to remember to do it when I never did it before.It seems to me that a woman needs a man to put out the wheelie bins out and collect big cardboard boxes which need crushing.I feel bad putting the wheelies out by myself in the dark.
That doesn’t seem very nice, Margaret cried , that you only miss your husband because you have to put out the rubbish now yourself. I know that I’m not meant to give you advice.I want to listen to you but I cannot really believe that the main thing that you miss him for is this.
Well said Mary, don’t push me; this is the first session we’ve had and I am still testing the water.
In other words don’t you realise that I’m not going to tell you the most sacred aspects of my being until I feel like I can trust you I’m not implying that you are and irresponsible,  foolish person, but don’t you think after working for 20 years as a psychotherapist that you should know that even in normal life we don’t tell someone we’ve never met before the very intimate and secret aspects of our being. There are some people who do this  t but hen they are not taking into account the person who they are speaking to, who they have never met before.Except people do it on trains.

I see, said Margaret. I will wait until you feel able to tell me what you miss the most. I don’t suppose it’s sex because you are much too old for that, although that is one way that some people fill in a void.

Do you think that women feel that their womb is an empty space inside them and wish to put something into it, asked Mary

Everybody’s different; now even  if you have sex it won’t fill your womb now as already mentioned I think you are too old to have sex.
Mary felt very angry,
How dare you say I am too old to have sex. Stan used to teach classes of pensioners about statistics and other topics and he told me that many of them said that they were still involved in a sexual relationship.Now we don’t know how far they would go  in that way.I thought that therapists were not meant to make judgements about what their clients say to them.Are you really a trained psychotherapist? You must be earning a lot of money to rent this room in a private hospital and as far as I can see you do not seem to have any common sense, let alone uncommon sense.
Margaret’s face went bright red,
 I am sorry she cried, I was a little bit nervous when you told me that you were a mathematician And it threw me off my stride because I thought that you might be more intelligent than I am.
Intelligence by itself is not good  enough;it can be used to make nuclear bombs; to start Wars ;to gather information about your enemies what you really need  is  time and care and the ability to listen without criticism or judgement for the person who is with you ;you must have met some other people who were quite intelligent .It seems to me that you need more Training so that you are able to deal with your issues of fear of the highly intelligent person. You don’t need to have a fear of them and we are just the same as other people except that for some reason we preferred the geometry of the spheres to dating boys when we were 16.

In my case, it was after I had an operation to remove my appendix and was convalescing for several weeks. I came across a book called “Mathematician’s delight” by W.W.Sawyer And I read it about imaginary numbers and complex numbers so then I realised that mathematics was not just arithmetic and quadratic equations.I don’t know whether I will come to see you anymore. What you said has taken away my faith in my judgement of people. You seemed the best therapist that I interviewed but now we’re started I think I might have made a mistake.
Please don’t stop, said Margaret, I need the money.
So you think that I should continue seeing you here when you already proved yourself inadequate, merely to give you money. I am afraid I am not rich enough  to see you if I will have to see somebody else as well, as you are no good
I’ll tell you what said Margaret, let me give you another session completely free and see how we get on then .If you are still unhappy with me then, of course, you must find a different person. I realise my training was incomplete because we are all graduates or doctors and then we do five years training so we believe we are superior to most of the people who come for treatment but when I speak to my supervisor I will tell her that I think we all need to look at this question of superiority because neither you nor I  is actually morally or ethically superior to everybody else ;it can sometimes appear that we can see somebody is very inferior morally like  Hitler or Pol Pot
I’ll give you a call , Mary said when I have made my mind up; it is very kind of you to offer me a free session when you are so short of money. iI I were your  therapist, I would tell you that you were short of money because you are not very good at your job and therefore you will not have enough patients to make a living .On the other hand, it may be that you need to take an extra job . stacking the shelves in the supermarket to give you enough money to live on without exploiting human beings like myself. However, I am glad that I realised that I feel this  void inside me because I now realise that I felt it long before my husband died and it must be linked to something else in my life, not just to him

Alright, said Margaret thank you very much for being so honest I hope you will come again.If  not, I wish you good luck in finding someone who can travel with you on your journey into your new life.Thank you, said Mary. I will phone you soon, goodbye .
When she got home she told Emile.He said he wished he had gone with her to see how beautiful Margaret was.
That is very selfish, Emile.You need to hear what she says!

Nor how to count infinity by hand.

Uncanny is a space which I avoid
I do not wish to meet with spirits  vile.
Though with some men,it is true that I have toyed.
I  dropped them all and sane was I the while.

Yet when I met your eyes so dark  and strange
A force more strong than my own pulled me in.
A   premonition that my life would surely change,
Before I knew your double,your dark twin.

In dreams and  in my nightmares he will come
To capture me and take me  to his land.
I do not know what choice to make of man
Nor how to count infinity by hand.

The double is an augury of death
Yet in this space, uncanny is a path

How to write bad poetry or not!

 

 

wp_20161103_09_44_01_pro-2-22http://about-poetry.livejournal.com/146136.html

“Mismatched motifs. The form clashes with the topic, the rhythm jangles against the theme, the metaphors are wildly inappropriate, etc.

Misused techniques. Poorly chosen allusions, mixed metaphors, overused similes, awkward alliteration — these are examples of valid techniques gone wrong.

Cliched imagery. Avoid it like the plague! Off with its head!

ZOMG-EMO-DRAMA!!! Bad poetry exaggerates, whines, mopes, capers, and generally makes an embarrassing spectacle of itself. Good poetry delivers emotion softly, like snowfall — or slyly, like a stiletto. If you can see it coming, it’s probably not done right.”

A home is not a place for setting tests

A home can  be a comfort or a cage;
A place to leave or rest in comforts dear.
We may feel like the bears that danced on stage
Or   sometimes find a sanctuary  from fear

Uncertain of our love, a  spouse may be.
And so  they test us when there is no need
Is it not so clear to those who see
The test itself may make our love’s heart bleed?

Testing to destruction  is a crime;
To wound to feel a semblance of our power.
To test is  to make invalid  all good times.
Killers of the heart are loathsome cowards.

 

A home is not a place for setting tests
Be no killer if you long for rest

Where once we saw the moon’s cold beams

Oh, light bulb foreseen by our God
Save us all from darkness’ rod.
You are our Saviour as foretold,
In prophecy by ancients bold.
We will worship you at night
When sunken is the sun so bright.
We’ll watch TV and Kindle fire
No more to play shall we aspire.
We’ll wear ourselves out watching screens,
As from a can we eat baked beans
We’ll send for pizzas with our phones
With which we never feel alone.
We might talk to our partner dear
Though to text is easier.
We see the neon street lights gleam
Where once we saw the moon’s cold beams
And in bed ,we read our books
With a kindle or a nook
We put beneath out pillows fair
i phones which we long to hear.
Can one have too much new light?
From technology some take flight
For gone are seasons, and their fruit
As our computer we reboot.
New potatoes all year round
Avocados once quite rare
Now are seem ‘most everywhere.
Melons, grapes and fresh green peas
As the birds sing, life’s a breeze.
Oh light bulbs, fluorescent tubes
Electric candle, light is cubed.
We thank you for extended days
Maybe we’ll find time for prayers.
God is great in mystery
No light bulb can help us see.
In silence, darkness, meditate
Wonder what will be our fate.
As retribution for our wrong
Satan stabs us with his prongs
He needs no more light in hell
The fiery furnace cooks as we

But I saw the light

photo0110-21

I don’t want to be religious
Nor to listen to sermons on lust
But I saw the light
And it gave me a fright.
I want life to be much more just.

 

I don’t mind being agnostic
Nor wondering  how to get grace
But I saw a warm light
Which surrounded me tight….
It has a name but I saw no real face.

 

This spirit lives on like a flame
Of a candle which forever will burn
I did see that light
Of kindness shine bright.
Where good is then God is, we learn.

Donald Trump, the shadow of our “good” selves

Donald Trump is the hidden side of many Americans and British people.We don’t think we are racist but research shows that we are racist.  but are unconscious of the fact.Even now 50 years after the race relations act I  have people telling me they feel afraid of a group of black teenagers in the town centre.I found my own side when I asked a black student where she came from [many of the group were from overseas]

Newcastle on Tyne, she retorted.That taught me.I had a big advantage teaching in a Uni in London.I met people from all over the world.And from the UK.Familiarity makes us less afraid.My happiest memory…. seeing how happy the black students looked chatting on the lawn in summer.I realised then I had never seen a black youth looking happy in the town.