
Good Night


“I think that we’re all mentally ill. Those of us outside the asylums only hide it a little better – and maybe not all that much better after all.”
― Stephen King

Out of the depths I have cried to Thee,Oh Lord
Lord,hear my voice
Drifting in a state of reverie
Safe within the spheres of endless grace
The images within will speak to me
In imagined boat on inner sea
The sky and sea ,intense the glowing space
Drifting in a muse, a reverie
Those who have been blessed will each agree
All we are and do will leave a trace
The images within will speak to all who see.
Love united is community.
In creation ,we will see God’s face
Drifting in our will -less reverie
Yet on the News we see the people flee.
The Holy Land is filled with anguish base.
The images within will show ,.but can we see?
Is it not idolatry to graze
Where the still small voice itself amazed?
Drifting in a state of reverie
The images within will speak to me

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2018/apr/15/how-to-rewrite-your-own-life-story
Quote
“The final layer of understanding what her own purpose was, and the spur to write her book, came in 2016 when she was caring for her father, who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
“I’d spent my life trying to control what happened to me. But this was something I couldn’t control. I had to surrender. That taught me an important lesson, which is that it’s not by seeking to control the world that we get the best out of it. So, in the final moments of my dad’s life, I realised the true purpose of my own.””
Copyright Katherine 2007
Painted in gouache and cold tea

An electric carving knife… if you afford a joint of beef!
An electric tin opener.For those nights when baked beans are all you have left and your hand’s are not good
A giant size teddy bear.Something to hug.
Money.
A masseuse.
A friend who can climb a ladder.
A dog to bark at you.
A cat to cuddle up to you.
A parrot to repeat the words you said when you dropped a Le Creuset pot onto the floor to your guests.
A person who enjoys conversation.
Not a lot really.
http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/opinion/commentary/ct-trump-russia-guilty-20180222-story.html
“In other words, Trump’s furious claims of spotless innocence could be entirely consistent with the truth. But as Queen Gertrude observed to Hamlet, “the lady doth protest too much, methinks.” Surprising as this is in a veteran of showbiz, Trump seems not to understand how a close-up magnifies every gesture. His jumpiness around the subject of Russia; his hand-wringing over ways to end the investigation; his rhetorical flop-sweat at the mention of the letters F, B and I — all these and more have his audience thinking: Gee, for an innocent man he sure does act guilty.”
The weather of the world is growing wild
Sacred values constantly defiled
Where are we to find a different way?
Who will have the special words to say,
The weather of the world is growing wild
Where are now the virgin and her child?
The Holy Land by strife has been beguiled
We will pay the penalty one day
The weather of the world is growing wild
In my mouth I taste the bitter bile
The storm clouds bundled, yellow,deep and soiled
Battering with anguish we who pray
For what we ask is,”give us our own way”
Who can impart grace to hardened souls?
The weather of the world is growing wild
The letters of the Jews as strict as flames
Or little terrible flowers lean
Stubbornly upwards through the perfect ages,
Singing through solid stone the sacred names.
The letters of the Jews are black and clean
And lie in chain-line over Christian pages.
The chosen letters bristle like barbed wire
That hedge the flesh of man,
Twisting and tightening the book that warns.
These words, this burning bush, this flickering pyre
Unsacrifices the bled son of man
Yet plaits his crown of thorns.
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-alphabet-5/
Where go the tipsy idols of the Roman
Past synagogues of patient time,
Where go the sisters of the Gothic rose,
Where go the blue eyes of the Polish women
Past the almost natural crime,
Past the still speaking embers of ghettos,
There rise the tinder flowers of the Jews.
The letters of the Jews are dancing knives
That carve the heart of darkness seven ways.
These are the letters that all men refuse
And will refuse until the king arrives
And will refuse until the death of time
And all is rolled back in the book of days.