Month: April 2018

Google, hordes and you

pexels-photo-97317.jpeg

 

“It doesn’t actually send any of this data outside of its own four walls. Instead, Google hordes it all so it can learn more about you, and better target the adverts you see and the services you use.” Houghpost UK

I horded lots of batteries and I had already horded pens for years
The  hoards of barbarians defeated Rome
He was in a hoard when he got claustrophobia.
We are different people when we are in a hoard

They were all on bored a ship when it sank killing the entired family
Where is the bread bored?
In the oven?
I am feeling so board this afernoon.
I wood too .
Wood you marry me if I arsked you?
He said the teacher was board so she showed them some rude photos from Holy Rude Palace  in Edinburgh
My teacher boared a hole in the blackbored then was sacked

 

I adoor you
Come on bored!
Indigenous  hoards ran amok  in   the Square
He hordes bread in the sidebored. They have no frontbored
He pored over the  images all night
Why have you not pored the tea?Are blackheads large pours?
I have fine skin but still have pours in it.
It’s hard to b find whoreding round ear
She keeps on whoreding clothes,doctor
Whoreding  allowed   in your own rooms only.Are we all on bored yet?
The bird sored high above while  he threatened it with a soared he was carrying
I’ve got no cold soars so I am safe to kiss
Herpes, was he the postman in hell?
As for the Harpies, they never cleaned the lavator
Are you soar still?
My lip feels like a board ladybird.
Let me igknight your passion
Jesus Christ!

His hugs were sweet

I must walk down the garden but I weep
My bag of tears has burst,I run amok
We used to sit  outside to  read or eat

I dream of  him awake and when I sleep
He asks me to go with him,so I pack
I will walk down the garden but I weep

 

He  sees I  live in chaos and don’t cook
My active life by sadness  has been blocked
We used to sit  outside to  read or eat

I ask him when he comes to take a look
He smiles discreetly yet he seems to mock
I will walk down the garden then I’ll  weep

This is an awful setback,not defeat
For circumstances dire gave me a shock
We used to sit  outside to  read or eat

Life  will cause us suffering with is knocks
Time to wait and time to gather pluck
I must walk down the garden when I weep
We used to sit  outside,his hugs were sweet

Birthday

15253488_819206571552556_8037309440217100284_n.jpgHis birthday comes and I need make no cake
For he has gone to dust and my heart breaks
We have no  rituals, we must make our own
My heart is hard ;it feels like  heavy stone
His birthday follows mine and I am thrown
Too many losses make me weep and  moan
I gaze into the mirror of the lake
Trudge on down the path while my heart quakes

He makes me laugh and Q.E.D we’re kin.

 

He has a mobile face with rubber skin
He loved me much and soon I  much loved him
As proofs in mathematics wear minds thin
And doctrines of religion make us sin
He makes me laugh and Q.E.D we’re kin.
He touched me deeply where our souls begin
He has a mobile face with rubber skin
He loves me much , and so I much love him

The times are nightfall, look, their light grows less

Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1844 – 1889

The times are nightfall, look, their light grows less;  
The times are winter, watch, a world undone:  
They waste, they wither worse; they as they run  
Or bring more or more blazon man’s distress.  
And I not help. Nor word now of success:       
All is from wreck, here, there, to rescue one—  
Work which to see scarce so much as begun  
Makes welcome death, does dear forgetfulness.  
  
Or what is else? There is your world within.  
There rid the dragons, root out there the sin.   
Your will is law in that small commonweal...

Poetry at times of turmoil

pexels-photo-784849.jpeghttps://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/poems-times-turmoil

I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone

Rainer Maria Rilke, 1875 – 1926

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone 
    enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small 
    enough
to be to you just object and thing, 
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying 
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions, 
where something is up, 
to be among those in the know, 
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection, 
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection. 
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent; 
for there I would be dishonest, untrue. 
I want my conscience to be 
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed 
for a long time, one close up, 
like a new word I learned and embraced, 
like the everday jug, 
like my mother’s face, 
like a ship that carried me along 
through the deadliest storm.

What I did not know held me in trust

The grey cloud of unknowing held me fast
I knew reality unsymbolised
I gaped at trees with blossom till it passed

I would have paid no heed to stinging wasps
The strange, lost feeling  blinded heart and eyes
The grey cloud of unknowing held me fast

Is this why girls self harm to feel at last?
Inner pain  too deep to make us cry
I look at trees with blossom, this shall pass

Numbness,nothingness,the  human test
To try  our being ,show our hearts can die
The grey cloud of unknowing taught me fast

Who owns life and whose forefinger traced
The universe, the stars, the earth and sky?
I look at trees with blossom,self effaced

Our  words are maps,our sentences are lace
That weave us into being, all engrossed
The grey cloud of unknowing held me fast
What I did not know held me in trust

 

 

 

A plague

12974527_694200190719862_2345584929546074801_n.jpgI asked for a pot of tea but they gave me  three tea bags and a kettle.Boil the kettle then drop the tea bags in, she said.I nearly died of surprise.

I asked for bread and butter.They said they only eat cake.Sounds ominous.

I said we  have our dinner  at midday so we can make love in the evening
Otherwise we might have indigestion.They were impressed.

I never listen to music while I write.In fact I never ever listen to it.I absorb it through my skin.My skin is thin.It’s like a million ears.

She  told  me to put olive oil on my dry skin.I hope my husband doesn’t add lemon juice.I’m acidic enough.

The nurse told  me to undress.But who?

I’m in luck,sherry!

I try to write jokes but so far only 1% are funny.
Like: why not launch Trump instead of a missile? He will be the man who launched a thousand chips.
Invented in Israel and in your laptop now.Intel,intel,wherefore art thou,Intel?
Yes,Lord?
I have got 10 new Commandments.
I am sorry, we have no Tablets  here right now.
I’ll send a plague then
I thought you already had.
Those were DIY
OMG Run.

 

Introspection can be bad for us

http://reflight.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/wilson-van-dusen-1-looking-at-madness.html

562732_10200197585195760_396877548_n

Wilson Van Dusen was a very interesting man.Some of his views I am unsure of but his book,The Natural Depth in Man,shows how much we don’t see normally when we look at others.

He was a mystic in a sense.And he worked with people with severe disturbances.His definition of  madness that it renders the person useless.Also introspection is bad when one is in a vulnerable state.. better to do useful,practical tasks like sweeping the floor.And always be polite.In other words,stay in touch with others and this world.

Related articles

. Oh  frigid purse, I never meant to pay!

 

The sky  is stark ,the air is cool and still
The black cat’s  run,the birds unfold all day
I sit  down here and with a laugh I pray
Ye cast o’ foolish thoughts, you raped my  will.
We’ve  each enraged  the bureaucratic mill.
Oh  frigid purse, I never meant to pay!
The sky ‘s  a’spark,the air is warm and shrill
The saturnine demoted  knelled their way
With this feathered pounce, my sample quill,
I  cite the cheque and date it  for next May.
Oh,tit for cat, the tiger’s  bed ‘s astray.
Yer  life is settled by  a  harlot’s will
The sky ‘s a shark, the air is  sharper still

As lovers kiss, so smiles the Holy One,

The inner coil and tangle of the wild,
Where rose run mad and holly are as one
Ensure that nature’s heart is undefiled

To these depths, the winter bird’s beguiled
Until the red dawn’s fetched by lowly sun
Through the coil and tangle of the wild.

 
On the path’s side, brown-green leaves are piled
A thousand beetles search for food within
A hidden space where nature’s undefiled

The cat is waiting, acting like the mild
Then dancing, hunting, acting like his kin
At ease in coil and tangle of worlds wild.

The sun is setting, and the night clouds pile.
As lovers kiss, so smiles the Holy One,
Living all his natures undefiled.

Now, at last, the darkness has begun
The trees, unmoving, shield the riots within
The inner coil and tangle make the wild,.
Is the space for soul still undefiled?

A strange ring

P1000410.jpgThe phone  has a strange ring
It has got married

The radio has gone off
Always was unfaithful

The TV  has a big  remote
Call it Trump,

The washing machine  looks odd
It’s bisexual
Bisexual who?
Dunnit!

The microwave is dirty.
It’s not morally responsible
Well it is 7 years old
It’s not a Catholic
Now,you tell me.
You got it
But it was mail order
Did it not give spiritual dimensions?
No,it was born agnostically
It’s not alive, you know
It must have died in the night.
Are you a machine?
How would I know?
Have you no label?
Not one I can reveal.
What does it say
If found please return to Maker
Why did they lose you?
They were switched off.
On drugs?
No the fuse blew
Then what happened?
A storm.
I just feel confused.
Let me uncon you.
Why, we might fuse.
Well,we’ll be together at last

In your glance, you touched my heart.

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I saw you on the pavement
with your old brown dog
You were shabby,poor,ragged,
Sat on your tartan rug.
You had water for the dog,
You hugged him and you sang,
But the people walked on by,
And no-one looked at you.
No-one looked at you.

But you still sang your song.
And you sent me so much love
It crossed from eye to eye.
I felt it coming in.
I heard that you had died,
Though you were only thirty three.
Only thirty three.

I wonder,where’s your dog?

I felt our souls had touched,
You gave to me so much
As I wandered in my grief
Through the roads and round the streets.
In your glance, you touched my heart.
I felt love swimming through,
From you right into me.

Will you come again?
I see all these dim, grey men
Who cut your benefits
To give more wealth to few;
So that the needle’s eye,
which is waiting when we die,
is forgotten, for they want
protection for their wealth.

I wish that beggar man
would come back here again.
I liked to hear his songs
But I can’t recall the tunes;
Maybe I’ll write songs myself,
That’s the highest sort of wealth
Our creativity
Is a path to dignity.

Come back every one!
I wish you had not gone.
come back in my dreams
and give me some new themes.
I’m singing like you sung.
it’s this world that’s so wrong.
come back beggar man,

I knew you were the One

Pre-emptive war,is it ethical?

DSC00039_edited-1-1-1 1134 5.jpghttp://www.thepublicdiscourse.com/2018/02/21033/

 

“The third criterion, of right intention, looks forward in time. Assuming there is just cause, the morally sound intention of the statesman, and the citizen, must be the preservation or restoration of an enduring peace. It cannot be to take advantage of the weakness of an enemy in order to seize territory and secure other political objectives.”

Trump and Putin’s missiles   rape the Womb

You may find  a War has just begun
Israel has punched  a little hard
Trump and Putin’s missiles  lust for  fun

We may see no soldiers with their guns
Drones and missiles launched from our backyards
You may find  the War has just begun

The top commanders rub their hands and stun
But who the hell has got the devil’s card
Trump and Putin’s missiles  lust for  fun

 

All religions have their Holy One
But seems from conscious minds ,God is debarred
We may find  a War has just begun

The  foolish  boast they’ve bigger,that note jars
Missiles are more dangerous than cars
You may find  a War has just begun
Trump and Putin’s missiles   rape the Womb

Missiles:danger of visiting East Mediterranean

1721

Pan-European air traffic control agency Eurocontrol on Tuesday warned airlines to exercise caution in the eastern Mediterranean due to the possible launch of airstrikes into Syria in the next 72 hours.

>Israel on high alert, prepares for possible Iranian retaliation after strike on Syrian base ■ 

From Haaretz

The ignorance we found was quite bizarre

It’s wonderful we British are the best
We have done no more than fight just wars
We’re civilised.we’re cultured,no debate.

We spread the best religion to the rest
They didn’t know salvation’ nor its prayers
It’s wonderful how British is the best

We gave them all the standard  English tests
The ignorance we found was quite bizarre
Most civilised.we’re cultured,they the least

Actually I’m  Celtic but God bless
I’m not like the Africans,no way!
It’s wonderful I’m British so I’m best

In India we seized  the jewels, our heist
We gave them Christianity ,God’s play
Most civilised.we’re cultured,they the least

 

Now we all read Fifty Shades of Grey
We use whips and handcuffs when we play
It’s wonderful we British are the best
We’re civilised.we’re cultured, could you guess?
No way

 

 

How poetry can change lives

P1000402.jpghttps://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/poetryandplaybookreviews/9020436/How-poetry-can-change-lives.html

 

 

“There are poems that have, literally, changed my life, because they have changed the way I looked at and listened to the world; there are poems that, on repeated reading, have gradually revealed to me areas of my own experience that, for reasons both personal and societal, I had lost sight of; and there are poems that I have read over and over again, knowing they contained some secret knowledge that I had yet to discover, but refused to give up on. So, at the most basic level, poetry is important because it makes us think, it opens us up to wonder and the sometimes astonishing possibilities of language. It is, in its subtle yet powerful way, a discipline for re-engaging with a world we take too much for granted.

When the purveyors of bottom-line thinking call a mountain or a lake a “natural resource”, something to be merely exploited and used up, poetry reminds us that lakes and mountains are more than items on a spreadsheet; when a dictatorship imprisons and tortures its citizens, people write poems because the rhythms of poetry and the way it uses language to celebrate and to honour, rather than to denigrate and abuse, is akin to the rhythms and attentiveness of justice. Central to this attentiveness is the key ingredient of poetry, the metaphor, which Hannah Arendt defined as “the means by which the oneness of the world is poetically brought about”. It’s that power to bring things together, to unify experience as “the music of what happens”, that the best poetry achieves.

Most of us feel that this is true of the great dead poets society of history, of Shakespeare and Milton, of Coleridge and Shelley and, of course, of TS Eliot, an American who re-envisioned and so renewed and enriched our idea of England. Yet I would argue that poetry is, or can be, as central to our experience now as it has ever been. To read “I Am Your Waiter Tonight And My Name Is Dmitri”, by the great contemporary American poet, Robert Hass, at the height of George W Bush’s xenophobic repudiation of “Old Europe”, was to be reminded not just of the injustice and futility of war, but also of the very richness and complexity of history that Bush sought to expunge.”

What a pain, the Canon camera which can’t be charged via a USB cord

merlin_136470609_33d62bcb-3f88-4428-bfbd-3d570f770ff9-superJumbo
Gaza demonstration 2018.From a newspaper [ not noted]

I must have got at least two of the special chargers but after nor using them for a while I decided to get another [rather than wreck the house].
As a mathematician would ,I ordered the wrong size,But the charger  is good for another item I own.Then of course I found the original one and wondered why I  had bothered!I must be too obsessional.It’s ok in small quantities

Killing of an old French priest

 

 

Against  sadness:no-one here must weep
Nor lounge  about in melancholy deep
Was Van Gogh senseless to permit  his muse.
For  even masterpieces  ,was the price too steep?
We see the yellow chair  but not his views
Nor his  mind where technique made strange leaps.
Nor was his journey broadcast on the news.
Against sadness.

Happiness  or joy is hard to find
When we rest, the News preys on our minds
Yet some are  cold  towards the slaughtered priest
His nose a beak of bone  in old  face   lined
Now Muslims go to Mass and join Christ’s feast
Against sadness.

What rages in the mind make men  kill thus?
In Syrian wars  the  innocents fare worse.
But these are our near neighbours so we weep
And wonder how to end the  frightening curse
The sins we once committed hold us deep
We  hold our hands out wanting to be nursed
Against sadness

Where the soldiers strike

Why is sadness   labelled a mistake?
Should we grin and cheer as war planes fly?
Look out at this world and meditate

The children,human shields,innacurate
The mothers,  fathers,cousins also die
Why is sadness   labelled a mistake?

Our boundary is where  the soldiers strike
We must stay in prison starved and dry
Look out at the world and meditate

 

The enemy is what we need, so fake.
Wars bring  a cohesion, a false might
Why is sadness   ever a mistake?

We are human ,how to indicate?
Why  not raise our eyes to see the Light
Look long at the sky and meditate

As a baby’s born, we hear her cry
“Let me live in peace as your ally”
Why is women weeping a mistake?
Look at warring states and meditate

 

Anxiety can be part of grieving

Cyclamen-coum_2018-1.jpghttp://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/medical_examiner/2013/02/five_stages_of_grief_revision_anxiety_should_replace_bargaining.html

 

“When we lose someone we love, we are thrust into a world where we feel more vulnerable than ever before. Suddenly we must face the fact that there are absolutely no guarantees in life. Everything that once seemed sturdy is now fragile, particularly the people we love. These feelings can be incredibly overwhelming and oftentimes terrifying. It takes time and work to overcome them, to feel secure again in such a now-delicate world. And for people who suffer multiple losses in a short period of time, it can take even longer.

The anxiety that comes with grief can be debilitating, but because it is not included in Kübler-Ross’ five stages, it tends to be ignored or dismissed as a different problem altogether. However, anxiety is a very real and very normal reaction to grief and it must be recognized. It is also highly treatable once it is distinguished for what it is.

There is a wonderful and unexpected gift that comes with seeing how fragile our lives are. It enables us to be more present, to feel grateful for what is right in front us, to cherish what we are able to hold onto right here, right now. But in order to reach that level of acceptance we must wade through the tremulous waters of fear and anxiety, recognizing them as a part of a larger process that will see us through to a shore where so many of us have emerged changed, if not healed.”

13 Habits of Ridiculously Prolific Writers — A Writer’s Path by Meg Dowell

by Meg Dowell Sometimes, writing less leads to deeper, more creative thinking. Have you ever wondered how some writers manage to write thousands of words every day — while you can barely squeeze out 500 words after an hour of trying (and failing) to focus? How do so many successful writers publish so […]

via 13 Habits of Ridiculously Prolific Writers — A Writer’s Path

From Paul to Martin Luther King

pexels-photo-261763.jpegI  think this is very interesting and a very creative blog post whether you are a Christian or belong to another Faith or are an atheist or agnostic

Martin Luther King’s letter from the apostle Paul: two revolutionaries

 

MLK’s letter from Paul

I, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, to you who are in America, Grace be unto you, and peace from God our Father, through our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

For many years I have longed to be able to come to see you. I have heard so much of you and of what you are doing. I have heard of the fascinating and astounding advances that you have made in the scientific realm. I have heard of your dashing subways and flashing airplanes. Through your scientific genius you have been able to dwarf distance and place time in chains. . . . All of that is marvelous. You can do so many things in your day that I could not do in the Greco-Roman world of my day. In your age you can travel distances in one day that took me three months to travel. That is wonderful. You have made tremendous strides in the area of scientific and technological development.

But America, as I look at you from afar, I wonder whether your moral and spiritual progress has been commensurate with your scientific progress. It seems to me that your moral progress lags behind your scientific progress. Your poet Thoreau used to talk about “improved means to an unimproved end.” How often this is true. You have allowed the material means by which you live to outdistance the spiritual ends for which you live. You have allowed your mentality to outrun your morality. You have allowed your civilization to outdistance your culture. Through your scientific genius you have made of the world a neighborhood, but through your moral and spiritual genius you have failed to make of it a brotherhood. So, America, I would urge you to keep your moral advances abreast with your scientific advances. . . .

American Christians, I must say to you as I said to the Roman Christians years ago, “Be not conformed to this world, but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind.” Or, as I said to the Philippian Christians, “Ye are a colony of heaven.” This means that although you live in the colony of time, your ultimate allegiance is to the empire of eternity. You have a dual citizenry. You live both in time and eternity; both in heaven and earth. Therefore, your ultimate allegiance is not to the government, not to the state, not to nation, not to any man-made institution. The Christian owes his ultimate allegiance to God, and if any earthly institution conflicts with God’s will it is your Christian duty to take a stand against it. You must never allow the transitory evanescent demands of man-made institutions to take precedence over the eternal demands of the Almighty God. . . .

The misuse of capitalism can also lead to tragic exploitation. . . . God never intended for one group of people to live in superfluous inordinate wealth, while others live in abject deadening poverty. God intends for all of his children to have the basic necessities of life, and he has left in this universe “enough and to spare” for that purpose. So, I call upon you to bridge the gulf between abject poverty and superfluous wealth.

I would that I could be with you in person, so that I could say to you face to face what I am forced to say to you in writing. Oh, how I long to share your fellowship.  But I must bring my writing to a close now. Timothy is waiting to deliver this letter, and I must take leave for another church.

But just before leaving, I must say to you, as I said to the church at Corinth, that I still believe that love is the most durable power in the world. Over the centuries men have sought to discover the highest good. This has been the chief quest of ethical philosophy. This was one of the big questions of Greek philosophy. The Epicurean and the Stoics sought to answer it; Plato and Aristotle sought to answer it. What is the summon bonum of life? I think I have an answer America. I think I have discovered the highest good. It is love. This principle stands at the center of the cosmos. As John says, “God is love.” He who loves is a participant in the being of God. He who hates does not know God. . . .

So, American Christians you may master the intricacies of the English language.  You may possess all of the eloquence of articulate speech.  But even if you “speak with the tongues of men and angels, and have not love, you have become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.”

So the greatest of all virtues is love. It is here that we find the true meaning of the Christian faith. This is at bottom the meaning of the cross. . . .It is an eternal reminder to a power drunk generation that love is most durable power in the world, and that it is at bottom the heartbeat of the moral cosmos. . . .

I must say goodbye now. I hope this letter will find you strong in the faith. It is probable that I will not get to see you in America, but I will meet you in God’s eternity. And now unto him who is able to keep us from falling, and lift us from the fatigue of despair to the buoyancy of hope, from the midnight of desperation to the daybreak of joy, to him be power and authority, forever and ever. Amen.

https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/king-papers/documents/pauls-letter-american-christians-sermon-delivered-dexter-avenue-baptist-church

Social policy and love

What would Paul’s love look like today?  Or MLK’s?  We are a mass society, not a koinonia.  The love we need is social love: housing for the homeless, food for the hungry, education for all who long to know, health care for every American (no, for every person in America), protection from racists and bullies.  I could go on, but you get the idea: love can be a guideline for social policy if we let it.

_____________________

* I heard one of MLK’s last sermons and spoke with him briefly.  He knew his death would come soon.