“The past continues to torment because it is not past…Simultaneity is the dream time of vengeance”

Michael Ignatieff on the Balkan war

When you’re feeling down at heel
When your soul feels like a sewer
When your thoughts make your head reel
When  new thoughts are getting rare.

Recall that judgment lies with God
Rumination solves no vice
Make friends with the dark and  fog
Do not ask a fool’s advice.

Then look up and see the sky
Breathe again and take in air
See the geese as home they fly
Hide with foxes in their lair

Nature heals  yet also kills
Mysterious God,mysterious will.

http://phyllisklein.com/writing-for-healing/the-therapeutic-benefit-of-poetry/

“Rather than diminish the excellence of the poet’s art, the poetry therapist enhances it. Poet Gregory Orr, in his book Poetry and Survival says “…the elaborative and intense patterns of poetry can…make people feel safe…the enormous disordering power of trauma needs or demands an equally powerful ordering to contain it, and poetry offers such order” (Orr, 92). Poetry structures chaos.”

Photo by Mike Flemming 

{I  blame Mike for the moth holes in my clothes}

I must be poor I’m wearing a thick coat
Sat here at the table where I write
I  know my grammar  and I made a note
Sat  here is allowed but it ain’t right

My coat is dirty green and a bit black
So I can sit on stairs when  in a  shop
They don’t have chairs  not even a stuffed sack
When I can’t walk, they tell me I must hop.

If science was taught they’d  know well that  a hop
Puts twice the weight onto a single foot
Maybe I should give my legs the chop
And get some steel ones when there is a glut

My coat is better now for I feel hot
My hanky’s red for I have spilled my blood
My nose was bleeding from a vein I cut
I never took a drug but I pretend I could

LSD is too wild for  my mind
And even at my age I am with child
I fear the risk of growing  yet more kind
The child’s my nephew and he ‘s very mild

When we’re chilled by illness or bereaved
The  spring tides of  the seas of memory  lust
The mind’s door swings,  the  torture scene’s retrieved

Children   have no power and  cannot leave
Adults  fearful,wild, and, more, callous
Caught too soon  by fools and madmen’s weaves

In Europe where our vicious wars  conceived
Children  dwelled the   depths of   frozen malice
And dreadful  memories steal their minds like thieves

Are  souls mature  enough to learn  from such deep grief
When we feel  like  rubbish, thrown adrift, alas?
When we’re struck by hardships  , we still seethe.

Adults have  the power to look, perceive,conceive
Each child is Jesus,tortured,tried, and tossed.
This is the birth  and death of memory

My heart is   pierced  by children on the News.
Echoes shake  this heart till black and blue.
Whether  felled by error,war ,disease
With patience , can we tolerate unease?

When we’re chilled by illness or bereaved
Memories, shatter,seem to drown us
The mind’s door swings  the evil scenes retrieved

Children   have no power
Adults  fearful,wild,seem callous
Whether they were ill or sad, bereaved.

By Europe’s  many vicious wars  deranged
Children   felt the  cold and heartless  malice
Now dreaded early memories are retrieved

The eye and soul mature  are less constrained
Yet  we fear like children do
When we’re felled by illness or bereaved

Adults have  the power to look, conceive
Our minds are  broader  we know values
Despite the  dreaded  early memory

It’s hard to watch new suffering on the News
Echoes shake  our hearts till black and blue.
When we’re felled by illness or bereaved
With patience   may we tolerate unease

Peaceful as the starry sky
See the flowers as you walk by.
Beauty in suburban sprawl
Nature makes a silent call

Photo by Mike Flemming .Copyright
http://home.btconnect.com/mike.flemming/

http://fashion.telegraph.co.uk/columns/justine-picardie/TMG3453815/Mother-Courage-Dorothy-Rowe.html

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

“She acknowledges that modern women have the advantage of not living in a society ruled by sexual taboos and secrecy – ‘my mother never even told me the facts of life’ – but also observes that an insistence on the overriding importance of sex can be equally oppressive. ‘Once you’ve satisfied your curiosity, and had some children, if you want them, then there are more interesting things to do. I remember a survey that showed that the majority of women preferred gardening to sex.When I say that to women in their fifties they usually laugh and agree. All this emphasis on having to enjoy sex as you grow older – why?’ Rowe has an equally no-nonsense view about women’s struggle to stay as slender as the celebrity blueprint – ‘We don’t have to believe that simply because a woman is very thin she sets a standard that has to be emulated’ – nor is she convinced by the punishing diet and exercise regimes adhered to by a female icon such as Madonna. ‘Your experience gets written on your face. Her face is very hard, and there aren’t too many laughter lines. It’s a tough, unsmiling face, and that’s a bit sad, for a woman who has achieved so much.’ As you might expect, she is no more impressed by the 21st-century vogue for cosmetic surgery. ‘General anaesthetics are serious – they carry a risk of death – but to have one in order to get a bit of your body changed is the utmost foolishness.’ Her dismissal of human folly is, however, tempered with sympathy; so that when we talk about the sheer physical horror of a face-lift – your nose being broken and your face destroyed before it is rebuilt – she says, ‘How little you must think of yourself, to choose to do that to yourself. That’s so very sad.'”

• Our Other,dwelling in Heaven,
  Helloed and helloed be Thy Name.
  In Kingdom come, may Thy Will be done
  As it is not in Syria and by the USA.
  Give us this day,no more dark Dread.
  Forgive us our Christmases,
  As we forgive those who Christmas with us.
  And lead us not into Devastation
  But teach us acceptance and kindness
  For Thine is the Wisdom,the Love and the Hatred
  As ever was, and shall be.Amen

Rosa Benchez realised as she walked by the River Wrench that she did not  really like her ex-fiance Prof Charlie Blogge,mainly because he  bought her engagement ring on Amazon for  £27.
I bet he buys them by the dozen and tantalises women who are ready to settle down and have a child.After he has had his fun he breaks up and tells them they can keep the ring
It’s enough to make one into a hermit, she told herself,or a lesbian.How much easier to be schizoid and not want to be close to anyone for more than a few minutes.
She said this to her colleague Dr Norman Arches, who told her off.
You should not desire to be like that,he said.I treated a man who was rather that way and he was very unhappy and felt sad at being unable to be like us.
What do you mean,like us? Rosa asked
People who enjoy the company of others and can tolerate a few mishaps albeit with pain.
Yes,I never knew about all these types of people till I was at Uni.
Why do you refer to Cambridge as Uni.he asked her pensively.
I suppose I don’t want my supposedly brilliant  intelligence to be a barrier between me and other people.I asked  a man once if he thought I was too intelligent and he said he didn’t think I was above the average.
That could mean he is a genius or that he is so stupid he can’t  recognise intelligence when he meets it.
Or he doesn’t want to do so,she whispered.
If you are only average you did well to pass your degree exams so well! Norman muttered.By the way are you free to eat with me tonight?
I’d like that, said Rosa.Will you cook?
Yes I have already got Beef in Beer simmering in my slow cooker
I am glad you like cooking because restaurants are so noisy.
What about a pudding, she said hungrily
I have made a Russian  cheesecake from  the Penguin Russian cookery book.
I did that one once Rosa cried.It’s lovely.Do you have a pet?
After my wife died I bought 2 cats called Tiny and Daisy but it’s not the same.They love each other and not me.
Do they not sleep on your bed,Rosa enquired gently/
Only if I  give them smoked salmon and pay them not to make love on my duvet.
Well, does it bother you? Or so they scratch the cover?
It makes me feel jealous, he said.
Well, they don’t do it on purpose.They are not malicious,s he cried.
I could get an extra one but who  knows what will happen?
You must make Tiny and Daisy  get married first.
That doesn’t stop human beings so why should cats be better?
I would have though the  garden was the place they would prefer.
Well,I’ll see you later.
Rosa picked   up ” Teach Yourself Linguistics” and   began to write a lecture.
Why don’t you all educate yourselves this way?It’s cheaper than Uni and my niece only got 3 hours teaching a week in her Final Year.
And so say all of  us graduates.

.

Stan was feeling  puzzled.He stood in his front room staring at the rowan tree outside.
Do ants fall in love,he asked himself.
Are swans the most beautiful birds?
Shall I send Annie a card tomorrow?
Should I send Mary one as well?
He went outside and watched the ants running up and down the tree trunk.They seem to work so hard but they never get bored.
But is that true? We have no way of knowing.At last Stan has found a question with no answer.I
s boredom a unique quality of humans?
If that were so we ought to have a Patron Saint of Boredom though not of Bores.
Why are some people so boring?
Luckily Annie had seen Stan and rushed out in a teal coloured all wool made more  striking by having butterfly motifs scattered on it at random.
“Why have you got those butterflies on your clothes ?” he asked her.
“It’s to cover up the moth holes.”She pertly replied.
“You must have a lot of moths.Do moths fall in love?do they get bored?”
“You seem in a funny mood today,”Annie murmured.
“Why don’t we go out for coffee?”
“I’ve just made a pot full.Please join me.”
“Thank you,” she cried wildly.
They sat down in the kitchen where Emile was sitting by the window.
“Good morning,Emile.”Annie shouted.
“No need to shout,” Emile miaowed politely.”I’m not deaf”.
“I am sorry, Emile.” she responded furtively,”I am over-excited.”
“Why is that? Stan demanded like an untrained philosopher.
“Well,I’ve already had ten Valentines.
“Already.You must have done it fast!” he teased her gently.
“No,you idiot.I mean cards.
“You must be popular”
“Some look like women’s writing.”
“Let me see,”he asked swiftly.
To his surprise, one was in the handwriting of his wife Mary.
“Are you bisexual?” he asked her wonderingly.
“No,I’m just annissexual,” she repliied saucily.
“What does that mean?”
“Well,it’s just one letter away from “Anti-sexual.”
“That’s a relief.You are not anti yet,then.”
“Not yet”,she whispered coyly.
“Would you make love to a woman?”
“Only if she made love to me.”
Mmmmmmmmmmmm
.Apparently seeing lesbian movies turns men on.do you watch them?”
“Not bloody likely,I want to get turned off.”
“That could be boring,”she said sweetly as she combed his eyebrows with an old toothbrush.
“Well,I could do the polishing better and get the house sorted out.Fill the freezer with casseroles and defrost the oven.
Yes,though would that be so rewarding as loving another human?
“I guess not” he answered slavishly.
“Shall we go to your place and have a cuddle.
OK
Emile was very put out as he liked to see people kissing but he had grown very philosophical over the years and at least he could get on with his book,
“Wittgenstein’s cat.”He switched on the netbook and began to type:
“Not everyone knows how important cats were in philosophy.But now we can reveal all.The saying,
“Of that which we cannot speak we must miaow”
was inspired by Daisy,Wittgenstein\s favourite cat.
And,”Of that which we cannot purr we must yowl.” was inspired by Ludo, a fine male cat that lived with wittgenstein in Ireland.
So as Emile types,we must tiptoe away for he has not much time

I have walked without a  map or plan
I have whispered  names of people dead.
I have wandered further,longer than.

I have stumbled ,when the able ran.
I have longed for you but  never said
I have walked without a  map or plan

I have been through places men would ban
I have sung to birds and shared my bread
I have wandered further,longer than.

I  have searched for you in nook or cran
I have felt my  brain has turned to lead
I have walked without a  map or plan

I have  sauntered,wandered,I have run
I should have lain down in dry leaves instead
I have wandered further,longer than.

I remember when you shared my bed
I remember all the words  we said
I have fallen  without map or plan
I am drowning deeper,darker than.