I have  filled my mind   with  dreams   and thoughts
I have drawn conclusions  that seem real.
What’s of  value’s not by effort bought.

As Ted Hughes said,  his fishing was the sport
Which brought both meditation and a meal.
I have   studied minds   and  dreams   and thoughts

We see ,like that,new images are caught.
In silence and in noticing  the feel
What’s of  value’s not by effort bought.

What we find may not be what we sought
At  first,it may not show its wise appeal
I have  found  my mind   through  dreams   and thoughts

In the night the images  take flight.
God destroys at night what has congealed
What’s of  value’s not by effort wrought.

Like a butterfly, a flowering dart
Of love and beauty  which was once concealed
I have  found my mind  by  dreams, my  wordless thoughts.
What’s of  value’s not by effort bought.

My husband was so kind.He ate his dinner from the cat’s dish and let the cat eat with me.
What I didn’t bargain for is he wanted me to mate with the cat as well.After all, why would a man get married if he didn’t want to mate?
Only because he’d get his clothes washed and his sheets changed.Is that logical?Surely hiring a cleaner would be cheaper?
At least he didn’t harass women or men.He prefers reading to sex and so do I after the cat bit me.Is it my fault cats are smaller than women?
Did I roll over in bed on purpose?I was asleep.I was dreaming about a therapist who told me to stop reading Freud.
That was easy.I never read any but I am good at pretending to be super intelligent except with men,.They don’t like it,oh,no.
I used to read Wilfred Bion in bed till my husband asked me what it all meant and I said, he’s a mystic.O!
I decided to go back to base with a Rupert book.I got my first one when my mother took me to the Royal Infirmary to have my adenoids re-removed.What a bloody mess that was.When she came to take me home I was having a haemorrhage.That is not an enema!
Still, in either case, you can’t go out.
She brought my hat and coat made of green wool which she had made herself and my sister came too and she was in yellow.How I howled when they left me again.I was 5 and I’ve never recovered.
It’s those mini aspirates that writers have to use to famous, they literally make you bleed and bleed you do.I can’t believe my blood is so red a lady asked me what was the name of my lipstick as she wanted that colour.I should have told a lie but I forgot and said I wasn’t wearing lipstick.
How cruel.I should have said it is Paris in spring by Max Factor and then she would have gone all over Birmingham asking for it.That’s what we women like.Wearing makeup and tormenting men by wearing transparent leggings and crop tops with red bras over the top.It’s our right to freedom of gastrumation.But is it moral? Is it a sin
Pray Father, I have worn transparent leggings in  church
Through my fault, through my most  grievous  fault
Don’t exaggerate.I couldn’t see a thing
No, women don’t have things.They have openings.
For your penance wear a dress next week.Amen

A beam of light passed through my eyes 

And showed to me a world disguised 

So near,yet far,we do not see,

 Unless by gift of grace redeemed.

 That world is full of peace and calm

 Its colours mingle,like a balm.

 In such a moment all thought dies,

 Revealing Love which underlies. 

Colors caress my naked eyes.

 Sunlight blesses new designs.

 I stand enthralled,and do not wish

 For one delight,other than this. 

My breath slows down, and filled with joy,

 I rove my eyes with bliss to toy.

 Everything is just itself.

 This is now my living wealth.

 Beneath the noise of city traffic,

 This mellow joy,love soporific,

This depth and peace, is always near 

When we choose Love and turn from fear

 

What lives within is seen  in those outside
We fear to fail, so curtail our ideals
Choose presidents with vulgar minds unkind

To reach for new developments is wise
We estimate what work and play  make real
What lives within ,we love  in folk outside

In humour let the unkind lead the blind
And watch  the  confused centipedes  downfall
Like presidents in vulgar ways, unkind

The human on the saddle bold should  ride
Not pulled by asses, broken cart and all.
What lives within, we see  in folk outside

Now jet-propelled with nuclear nuts  inside
We think   our tweets are glories as we maul.
Oh, president, in vulgar ways, unkind.

Oh, Adam, Eve, remember that first Fall
Naked and unknowing babies bawled.
What lives within is seen  in those outside:
In presidents  who seem vulgar , unrefined

 

 

The sun makes  autumn leaves   look like  gold flowers
Vibrant, energetic in the wind
Waving to small  children with love’s power

As Jesus looked out from his wooden tower
Was he severed from all humankind?
The sun makes  autumn leaves   look like  gold flowers

Forsaken by his Father, thunder lowered
The screen was cracked and shattered, by us blind
A menace to small  children and  love’s power

From the Christmas tree, gold coins had showered
Are these gifts from Judas or demands?
The sun makes  leaves   look like real  golden flowers

Can  God  be the vanished  point that lures
To infinity what shall remain
A solitude for worms, a love that cures?

Every figment has its own domain
From imagination , truth to human shame
The sun makes  autumn leaves   look like  love’s flowers
Attention must be paid while demons glower

• 

  Insanity in individuals is something rare — but in groups, parties, nations, and epochs it is the rule. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche (Beyond Good and Evil)

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-12368624

“”Creativity is certainly about not being constrained by rules or accepting the restrictions that society places on us,” chartered psychologist Gary Fitzgibbon told the BBC earlier this year.

“Of course the more people break the rules, the more likely they are to be perceived as ‘mentally ill’.”

So is it mental illness that drives people to art or art that drives people to mental illness?

“A lot of creativity comes from a conflict somewhere in your mind,” says Wright.

“I don’t think you have to be ‘mad’ to be a poet but if your mind is alive, then it can produce both positive and negative responses. It can mean wonderful things but it can mean that fitting into ‘normal’ life is difficult.””