https://youtu.be/APi_Q3GoP-E

Where you live it’s zero thirty seven
Past midnight,past illusion, past despair
Did Jesus, when he died, believe in heaven?

Of his apostles ,there were left eleven
To fight amidst the scrum of human war
Where you live it’s zero thirty seven

When he died the earth itself was riven
The elements electrified   and far
Did Jesus, when he died,  conceive of heaven?

You’re behind me so you have not risen
But lie abed with love soaked skin and hair
Where you live it’s zero thirty seven

Look  with sharpness and with broader vision
Relax your eyes from superhuman stare
Did Jesus when he died arrive in heaven?

The universe of meaning is your lair
The Word is sacred,captains will declare.
Where you live it’s zero thirty seven
Will Jesus ride  a  pure white horse  in heaven?

 

 

 

 

I hate your poetry and your stories too
Poetry is too vague and too  unclear
Why tell me this  when I am feeling blue?

Am I the only poet that bothers you?
Does Shakespeare’s writing fill your heart with fear?
He hates my poetry and my stories too

Critics ignore mood and suffering’s clue
A half thought is a nonsense,that is clear
He tells me this  when I am feeling blue

Use the means to find the ending true
Do not labour so that you can smear
She hates my poetry and my stories few

I’ll be what you intend if you are you
For truthfulness can in its way  endear
He tells me lies  but one day he will rue.

In our life the unknown source will steer
To us it’s feared, to him it’s always clear
Irate  with poetry; gored by stories too
Why tell me this  when I am feeling you?

http://www.oaklandmagazine.com/November-2017/Making-a-Case-That-Poetry-Is-for-Everyone-Not-Just-the-Elite/

 

 

“Is it question or declaration? Minus punctuation, it is either/or and both. Written with wonderful passion, crushing honesty, brevity, and flair, Zapruder addresses a question he has been asked or has been asking himself for nearly 25 years. At the root of the question, he suggests, are people taught that understanding and appreciating poetry requires elite education. People who “don’t get it,” therefore, are dullards, duds, dumb. It’s no wonder we walk away from Whitman or toss the Keats for less intimidating literary kicks in novels, nonfiction, and social media. By abandoning the genre, Zapruder argues, readers risk losing out on poetry’s “places of freedom, enlivenment, true communion.”

The Oakland author, Saint Mary’s College associate professor, and The New York Times Magazine poetry editor in 2016 delves into the ways “poetry makes meaning.” His personal encounters with poetry cast a memoir-like tone that renders the dissection of poems instantly alive and prickly with dynamic tension. While reading Zapruder’s coming-of-age-through-poetry story, the thrill drawn by him—and all poets who played or play imaginatively with words—is genuine (when it comes to personal accounts) or well supported by reference to poets’ journals or second-person records and documentation.

Don’t mistake “play,” with frivolity, because Zapruder explores in rich detail and convinces with keen insight evidence that poetry throughout history has held social and political power, defined civilizations, briskly captured complex concepts like “nobility,” or preserved culture and language that might otherwise be lost. Many poems Zapruder dissects dazzle with reductive language that nevertheless captures a universe of meanings.

Essentially, Why Poetry portrays poems as vibrant, contemporary spaces in which imagination rules. Which leads Zapruder to a central premise and arguably the book’s strongest message: Certain times—or, even more so, uncertain times—make poems vital. Post the 2016 election, students in his graduate seminar were despondent or “wandering through anxious, uncertain, shifting futures.” He read to them one of his favorite poems, “A True Account of Talking to the Sun at Fire Island,” by Frank O’Hara. Making them laugh, the opening stanza offers subtle humor and acceptance despite being “different.” A following stanza encourages them to “always embrace things, people earth / sky stars, as I do, freely and with / the appropriate sense of space.””

Such complex beauty lasts for a short time
We create photos  for our memory bank
God is rich and richness is no crime

Rich plays are  enacted in our dreams
They are lost and have no  name or rank
Natural beauty lasts for a brief time

Is our life elaborate  a game?
Surely we are grateful ,offer thanks
God is rich and richness is no crime

Each moment  must be kissed, if but by rhyme.
Beauty  dwells in  beads of moments strung.
Their beauty  is not finite in love’s time

The church bell rings for those with memories lame
And as it chimes, eternal is each ring
God  be praised; such  praising is no crime

Spring is  here, I hear the birds in song
The nestlings shiver, sensing human wrongs
Such complex beauty lasts for  such short times
God’s  richness pools like tears from his great eyes.

Distant sparrows faint but musical
The rasp of the  papery pages when I closed my book
Click of the keys
A faint humming in the air
A blackbird
The boiler comes on with a jolt
I see the lamp and it shadow  on the wall
The blue glass bottles
A book I thought I’d lost
My sewing basket
The other lamp is lit.
My nose sniffles
My back is aching
I dreamed my husband was here and we were packing to go away in a hurry
I feel good when I get into bed in cold weather
My husband still looks the same.He wants me to move but it’s too late.I have forgotten something
I wake up with a happy heart
The hot water feels good on my skin
I drink tea in mug after mug
This chair may be too high
I smell the candle burning
Smell  air coming through a crack in the frame
I feel my skin calling out
My feet on the floor
Gravity
And maybe grace

The mail men were tagging my head as I am much wanted

I make a hack  bleat

Take care of the Pence and the hounds will take care of themselves

Wake a leg or two

Make love  tracks

Shake the wit on Hampstead Heath

Fake a cake using rubber and glue

Take the guilt off the winger’s bed

Take  your upper hand off

Take umbrage as a gift  if invited to tea in the UK

Take with a rain of salt water on ice

They married but he has taken  her back

 He has  the walk of a Devil

Stalk the talk

Talk through one’s cat

Talk to the right hand

Not at all gory

There’s no such thing as a free hunch

Lazy  old sayings

That seems tawdry

This change of life means I am never me
The  me I was when you lived by my side
Who I am now,  nobody can see

We walked on long white  beaches edging sea
Where horses cantered in the spacious wide
But changing life means I am not  your me

If you were here I know you would agree
That losing half our soul makes us afraid
Who I am ,  will any human see?

 

I live  and feel like  lost, cold refugee
Even as the memories pale and fade
For changing life means I don’t feel like   me

I  love and cherish your  red maple tree
The sun gleams through those twigs and sparrows play
Who I am ,  will any human see?

We take for granted what’s a normal state
The world seems solid,human, will not break
This change of life means I am never me
Who I am now, even I can’t see

 

I’ve got art’s writers in my joints
Why did the retina detach? It had avoidant personality disorder
Why did I get migraine in my heart? Because I had not got  the head for it
Why did my artery spasm?  The heart has its reasons; the arteries we don’t know.
Apparently my heart has become the holy grill
I can still fear angels
Why did I write this nonsense? I envy Lear
Why did Lewis Carroll?
Do you like nonsense? I do.

She’s got  foot in mouth disease.
The doctor says I have got weasels,
Then she got harlot’s fever and went  out blazing
Men get about or is it stout?
It’s chick and fox
Do you really believe in Flu?
My sister had  onion surgery last year  and she still weeps.
She said she feels cogitated all night so I let  her learn Boolean logic
I don’t want a mare tonight.I am married.
Why do we scheme unconsciously?
Was it entirely hands in glove?
I’ve gone mad and fallen in love.My husband  had called  for release.
Housewives knees are often a nuisance.Why not remove them>

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/mostlymuslim/2017/11/fighting-stigma-mental-illness-story-muslim/

“When my children left home, I became an artist again at the encouragement of my eldest son. I did write for magazines and newspapers while they were growing up, but I did not do artwork. It was only after the death of my father, as a way to deal with my grief, that I decided to stand up on my own to feet and paint after so many years. I had a mentor and with his help, I managed to have my first show and began to exhibit. I also joined artist groups and the local Interfaith Council.””

 

 

http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20170109-the-mystical-poet-who-can-help-you-lead-a-better-life

“Shams-ud-din Muhammad Hafiz (c. 1320-1389) is one of the most beloved poets of the Persians [Iranians}, and is considered by many – from different cultures – to be one of the seven literary wonders of the world. Ralph Waldo Emerson and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe both agreed. As Emerson said of Hafiz: “He fears nothing. He sees too far, he sees throughout; such is the only man I wish to see or be.” And Emerson gave Hafiz that grand and famous compliment, “Hafiz is a poet for poets.”

Hafiz has no peer – Goethe

Both Goethe and Emerson translated Hafiz. And after Geothe’s deep study of him, simply – though remarkably – stated, “Hafiz has no peer.”

Hafiz poems were also admired by such diverse notables as Nietzsche and Arthur Conan Doyle, whose wonderful character Sherlock Holmes quotes Hafiz. Garcia Lorca praised the Sufi poet. Johannes Brahms was so touched by his verse he used several in his compositions. And even Queen Victoria was said to have consulted Hafiz in times of need – which has been a custom in the Middle East for centuries.  The Fal-e Hafiz, is an ancient tradition in which a reader asks Hafiz for advice when facing a difficulty or at an important juncture in their life – treating his books as an oracle and opening them with a deep wish from their soul for guidance.

The range of Hafiz is indeed stunning and provocative at times:

I am a hole in a flute that the Christ’s breath
moves through – listen to this music.

Then this, from another poem,

Look at the smile on the Earth’s lips this
morning, she laid again with me last night!”

https://theconversation.com/religion-may-alter-your-psychology-even-if-youre-a-non-believer-83506

 

“Explicit and implicit attitudes

Explicit attitudes are those people can call to mind consciously and can report when asked: for example “carrots are good for me” or “God does not exist”.

By contrast, people have little or no awareness of their implicit attitudes — the learned associations between ideas in their minds, such as how easily the concept “carrot” brings to mind another concept like “bland,” or how easily the word “God” brings to mind “existence”.

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As these examples illustrate, implicit and explicit attitudes can clash. It’s possible for a person to say they “love carrots” while unconsciously bringing negative associations to mind about them. Or, to say “God does not exist” while unconsciously bringing to mind ideas of God’s existence.

In this way, it makes sense for nonbelievers to get nervous at the thought of daring God to do harm.

How attitudes shape health

The idea that mismatches between explicit and implicit attitudes can create conflict is consistent with the theory of cognitive dissonance.

Studies exploring this psychological phenomenon found that conflict between your behaviour (for example, meeting parental expectations of being a submissive daughter) and your own perception of who you are (for example, being an independent woman) was associated with relatively high scores on measures of neuroticism and depression, and low scores on measures of self-esteem, compared to people whose behaviours and self-perceptions better align.

Likewise, people whose implicit and explicit attitudes about their self-esteem are misaligned (those who report high self-esteem, but hold negative unconscious associations about the self, or vice versa) suffer negative outcomes. They are more likely to become defensive in response to negative feedback, to suppress their anger and to take days off of work for health reasons.

Might cognitive dissonance also be at play in the context of religion?

Religion and health

Cognitive dissonance, and the degree of alignment of implicit and explicit beliefs might help us understand relationships between religion and health. Indeed, positive outcomes of religious belief could help explain why implicit beliefs persist in nonbelievers.

A study of over 400 white American men showed that those who attended church had lower blood pressure, and a separate study found having a religious affiliation is associated with a greater sense of well-being. Tweets posted by Christians have been interpreted to reflect greater happiness and social connectivity than those from atheists, and believers in God are reported to be less anxious about their eventual death, and more certain about the meaning of their existence.

But things aren’t so simple when religious belief is less robust. People with moderate religious beliefs report lower well-being than those with very strong or very weak beliefs. Many factors will be at work here, but one to consider is that moderate believers are more likely to hold conflicting implicit and explicit beliefs.

 

 

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https://theconversation.com/arguments-why-god-very-probably-exists-75451

 

https://theconversation.com/arguments-why-god-very-probably-exists-75451

My mind is absolutely elastic

Snow incidents fill caverns at  Malham

I am recording napalm  and phosphorus

Love is here according to the text flirts

I was defaced by the whole mind’s movement

Her face is up his sleeve

I know how Achilles feels

Have a placid toast to the unseen

Decor doesn’t stall only me

He crossed the cupboard on foot

Tact and faith are good companions

Pack the fool off to Tequila

I plucked the guided ghost’s eyebrows

Faction and Compunction

Elections,gunpowder  and guns barred

Take an egg and swallow it whole

Bad egg disbarred

It resulted  in  her perjury

Admissions will mail you

Advanced learning fear  and phobia

Frayed by his mown meadow

After all it’s red and fun

After my own start  I relax

Suffering from Irritable Bowel Syndrome?

Well.smoke does not need digesting so cigarettes may be the answer.The more the better.

Any questions?

I wonder what makes you happy.I hope you are happy.And if not, what do you do?

So,for me. I feel happy when I have completed some task and have a sense of achievement because then I can relax and sit staring into space because staring into space makes me feel happy.And if there is a tree there,even  better.I like to sit with maybe music but no talk.I like not to talk.

If I am not happy,I do whatever I need to do as slowly and carefully as I can.And  think what I’d say to another person who felt like that:It’s alright to be sad.Be sad but don’t wallow in it.

Then I’d make some tea and listen to Die Winterreisse which is very sad but it makes me feel happy…perhaps it expresses what I can’t express.

like tea more than coffee and I like home made bread made in someone else’s home.
I am no good at sewing but I like turning up hems because using my hands makes me happy too.I would like to do more with my hands.I believe that is good for the brain.

I like going out at dusk when people put on the lights and I stare into their windows to see how they have decorated their rooms.So don’t pull the curtains,please.Is it legal?I am surprised how bare some rooms are..

I like helping blind people across the road as long as that is what they want.

I don’t like it when men push me or let doors close when I am going through.At Christmas people get very aggressive shopping.

I  used to like hearing people quote adages like

There’s many a true word spoken in jest

but I don’t think people say  such things now…. more like

What the hell are you doing playing ball in the street?

And who says now

I am in the doldrums  [from the Ancient Mariner]

Or even,

To be or not to be.

That is bad for my digestion

Is this a dagger I see before me?

No,it’s the potato peeler!

That’s my offering

When you are far,
so
far
away,
The longest night,
The shortest winter day,
will be places where
I
might die.
The heart’s interior
no-one else
Can view.
When you are lost,
I cannot find
your face…
Its outline on the pillows,
My fingers shaped to trace…
The new design,
the stellar rhyme,
Where have you gone?
You slipped from out my arms.
You slipped away.
Was night or day
Ever cut by such a narrow line?
In your embrace I lay.
You seemed so strong.
Yet,sighing, took the path away.
I can’t see where
Is
it
night?
Or is it
day..?
I tried to write
to bring white light,
It’s dark, and still.
I long for you to come.
Oh,will we ever quite
Find out our way?
Or is that pure illusion?
As we stagger through
the wandering furrows
in the fields
They shoot us down.
What is this confusion?
The war goes on
The world goes round
The mirror gapes at each new clown.
But in a crack, a seed may grow..
I can’t see you,
But yet,it’s so.