A word that’s spoken by a friend can reach

A word  that’s spoken by a friend can  reach
Can touch, can move, can  embrace in its sounds
The inner soul where its vibrations teach.

When cut off, silent,after   sad defeat
Such gentle words can break our sullen bonds
A word  that’s spoken by a friend can  reach.

We must not  torture nor torment  in speech
Our heart, the centre of our  morbid wounds
The inner soul with its vibrations speaks..

From our eye, a tear  springs  with  relief
From imprisoned sulking, jump with a great bound!
A word  that’s spoken by a friend can  reach.

Muscles weaken,but the mind stays fleet
Humour and its cousins are our clowns
The inner soul  by its athletics speaks.

I smile and smile and rarely do I frown
For I will rise up, even when low down
A word  that’s spoken by a friend can  reach
The inner soul ,deep  memories  are evoked

Down with self improvement

redsquirrelformby2016-1

A book has just come out_ called Stand Firm;resisting the self improvement craze by Svend Brinkmann

As someone said way back,if these books work why do people keep buying more of them?

My view is that you need to get to know  yourself before you try to change.I suppose one way is psychotherapy but there are others… just self observation like:

Why do I not like receiving compliments?
Why do I leave things till the last minute?
I have a suspicion that knowing yourself will change you  without any other actions.
The only valuable thing I have read is that we all suffer in life and  it becomes worse if you criticise yourself for not feeling better.We have sad or fearful  emotions for  good reasons.Even depression has a  value in slowing us down and letting us review our lives.

Darkling- the meaning

darkling

adjective dark·ling

Definition of darkling

  1. 1:  dark

  2. 2:  done or taking place in the dark


Learn More about darkling

The darkling thrush

songthrush_otmoor2014

I leant upon a coppice gate
      When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
      The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
      Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
      Had sought their household fires.
The land’s sharp features seemed to be
      The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
      The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
      Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
      Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
      The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
      Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
      In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
      Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
      Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
      Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
      His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
      And I was unaware.

The Last Performance BY THOMAS HARDY

“I am playing my oldest tunes,” declared she,
      “All the old tunes I know,—
Those I learnt ever so long ago.”
—Why she should think just then she’d play them
       Silence cloaks like snow.
When I returned from the town at nightfall
      Notes continued to pour
As when I had left two hours before:
“It’s the very last time,” she said in closing;
       “From now I play no more.”
A few morns onward found her fading,
      And, as her life outflew,
I thought of her playing her tunes right through;
And I felt she had known of what was coming,
      And wondered how she knew.

A gentle touch can help the sad at heart

Cutting hair is like   creating art
My kind hairdresser said this to me once.
Her loving touch can help the sorry heart

 

If I were cutting hair, where would I start?
I smiled at her and gave firm response
Cutting hair is  a  creative  art

 

Upon which side do you desire to part?
I was day- dreaming,my mind was in a trance
A gentle touch can help the sad at heart

 

Another lover’s not what I have sought
I can’t withstand the  torments of the dance
Looking good  is  a  creative  art

I  never enjoyed the way men talked and fought
I am a  stranger to  the rules of a romance
A gentle touch can help the sad at heart

I kissed a man but it was self defence!
I  never let him get a second chance
Cutting hair is like   creating art
A loving touch can help the lonesome  heart