I know poverty exists but that is not the only reason for crime.I was thinking about these men today and I suddenly understood they could not receive the good available to them through honest work and being looked after by me or other people while they did it; they lose their self-respect and being Irish , they deprive their own people of dignity.And their families of a wage earned by work [ alas too much unemployment]
I know from my own family about how the Irish have suffered.I am not unaware.
When we take instead of receiving we are living without learning  or  knowing the goodness of others.I am sure in non-material ways we may steal what we feel we will bever be given but can we enjoy it?
Like people on the internet who pretend to be friends steal affection and then suddenly for no reason turn their anger on you when they could have been given affection by developing a friendship slowly.
.I know in one case it was a woman who wished to convert me to Christianity….. or make me go to her church.Another person has some kind of personality disorder and  we can only feel sad for that kind of behaviour as they do suffer much mental pain
So in a way, there is a spiritual message :

Ask for , and hope for, goodness from others or God.
Do not steal or demand what you think you need because it will not satisfy you.It may not be what you need anyway.
And ironically my untidiness was a  protection

Ask and it shall be given…?

Steal and you will not know that you might have had :
Love , affection, genuine work, the money you deserved and could enjoy, peace of mind.

However, I do believe this  society is  very bad in the way the poor are blamed so much for getting benefits etc and so I cannot  without knowing what makes these people act the way they do.

 
I know many of these people are illiterate but some people go to classes and learn though the government closed a lot of those in the 80’s when Thatcher rules.
Even the wealthy steal by  tax evasion and  I read that many need psychotherapy as they are very unhappy

Your skin glows like a green mussel shell in the Negev desert  in winter, blossoms white as the Burberry Mac in the purest rites of spring in Tel Aviv where I got my pen on eBay or Haifa
My yearning parts rise to your flute;s voice and leap like a  hot cat at the whisper of your name, Mary
The evening ascends  on a great strange blue string like a kite  going to heaven all alone
I am calmed by your  pink chiffon scarf that I carry into the house and hold next to my  sharp knife  to kill burglars
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of hot water with my hanky from Jenin refugee camp where I spent my spring holiday aiding the children
As my  heart  attacks  failed  to kill me it reminded me of  those walnuts  wasting in my trouser pocket
Don’t worry, they are no trouble to me st all, they are like  the marbles we used to play with
In the bush, I listen for the last  screams of the   cyclamen and the anemone
My heated yarn leaps  from my lips like nylon thread off a spool in a thunderstorm
I wait in the mystical moonlight for your secret codes so that we may  decode as one,  brain to brain
in search of the  vulgar and common country of love known to  the  illiterate and the wilder animals
Do not fear.I am a virgin at heart and I will not touch you unless you desire my love to be shown that way and I respect your  virtue otherwise I’d not bother writing all this stuff so poetic and newly revisee
We can go to the chip shop and then listen to THE FUTURE sung by the little Jew who wrote the Bible
Then we will cry all night because he seems to be right.
Well ,it was  nice while it lasted
Next time we might cross  the Jordan and ascend into heaven, God willing.Amen
That is the end of  prayers on  BBC Religion for Today

Some conmen walked into my home
And around it, they enjoyed a fine roam
Owing to my books on the bed
My clothes elsewhere spread
They stole just two mugs and a comb.

Actually, I have no jewellery or even a large TV set…. so unless they were intellectuals they would not have been impressed with the contents of the house.
Would they steal the Encarta English dictionary? Highly unlikely.The shorter Oxford?   The Cambridge  Companion to Sylvia Plath.Ted Hughes letters.[ not to me]
The best of Leonard Cohen? That might depress anyone even a thief!
My laptop is very old and I have only a relatively cheap radio.
Not what they hoped for.

It reminds me of an East Anglian landscape
This garden’s flat planes of grass give the illusion
Of greater distance, the eye travels down them
To the trees rising at the end.
On this scene my mind superimposes
Other ideas of summer days in hot places
In flat fields stretching on either
Side down to the sea.
My eye enjoys the shape, the flatness
The form, a symbol for so many other gardens
And summer journeys on unknown lanes
Across new landscapes, delighting in them,
In the space extending, and the trees
A gentle contradiction to the horizontal meadows.
In summer in recent years,what I remember
Is the sun across these long, flat shapes.
Looking at this small garden, I remember
So many things;my eye sees through
What is here,to far beyond
What has passed and what is to come
All  are contained here.

My love for him was so great, like a steak  waiting  for a plate.
My heart  opened while the dusk enveloped us.
The dark  night writes my dreams now he’s away
I recall now  he’s what Alexander McCall Smith calls,”late”

His mind of humour and wit
Were a wonder and sign of affection to me,
Now  his writing is all I see,
I guess that’s about it for now.See you later, pet.
Maybe

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