Mary wandered in a dazed heat down the high street until she came to a shop she had never entered before.Gathering her nerve, she dashed in and saw a  big pack of 6 Pairs of Marigold Rubber Gloves

She  put them into her basket as she absent mindedly picked up a big pair of salt and pepper grinders.There was no queue so  she was back in the street in no time.
See, shopping is not that hard, she said yto herself.
Mary came to the bus stop where her friend Annie was waiting.Annie was dressed in a pink silk dress and had no makeup on.
This is a nightie,she informed Mary.
Have you got any underwear on?
Of course I have.I wouldn’t come out here with only a nightie on
Well,looking at all the other women , you would be  better covered than them!
What  have you been buying,Mary continued.
I decided as it is Emile’s birthday this week I’d get him a card.That newsagent by the market as some lovely ones.I spent 2 hours looking at them alll
Here,look at it!
The card had a photo of a  ginger cat smoking a cigar
I bet that’s a tom cat,Mary said,Emile would prefer to see a lady cat doing some embroidery or knitting.
I’ve never seen a cat knitting, cried Annie.
That is not a proof that they never knit.Maybe they do it at night
Mary got home and opened the  box where 6 packets of rubber gloves were resting
She tried to open one but in the end she  had to use  the scissors.
These look good, she said to Emile
But look, one has got  no finger top.It will let the water in!
Shall i ring 999 and get Dave,.asked Emile.I don’t want yoiu to have a panic attack
Just a mo,Mary said…..I think I must have done it with these scissors, so the others will be ok
She found one old rubber glove in the drawer and turned it inside out as otherwise they were both for the left hand.
How about the salt and pepper grinders, asked Emile.Shall we try those
I’ve done enough.I shall make some tea
The bell rang and Dave the paramedic rushed in
Annie said she heard you scream, he said anxiously
Well, it was a rubber glove with a hole in it,Mary murmured
Well,  gloves are not alive and so they cannot die, he responded~
What would Wittgenstein have said
That which is never alive can never die!
And so say all of us!

https://www.tomleonard.co.uk/online-poetry-and-prose/100-differences-between-poetry-and-prose.html

“you don’t get prose in anapaestic dimeters

nobody publishes their first slim volume of prose

aristotle never wrote The Proses”

When are you going to breed?
What would you like for your flea?
Do you prefer sea or toffee?
Do you take rugger?
Where is your top?
Are  you getting harried soon?
Are you a receiver?
Are you anti-erotic?
Are you anti-sights?
Are you day shift?
Are you slack or tight?
Are you fixed race?
Where are your hairnets?
Do you love your other?
What kind of bob do you do?
How much exactly do you yearn?
Are you   pneumatic?
Are you sarcastic?
Are you a quit personality?
What crooks do you like?
Do you go to the bribery?
Where do you get your woes?
Are your woes new or  reckoned bland?

http://www.irr.org.uk/news/turkish-speaking-communities-in-britain-a-rude-awakening/

“On a global level, these issues remain unresolved and Turkey finds itself in a precarious position. It is not totally accepted by the ‘Christian nations’ of Europe, partly but not entirely because of its notorious human rights record and repressive policies towards the Kurdish population. Neither is Turkey accepted by its Muslim neighbours, whom it has made such a big effort to distance itself from. The delay in Turkey’s accession to the European Union (EU) has many causes but one is the fact that it is one of the largest Muslim countries in the world. Helmut Kohl’s description of the EU as a ‘Christian club’ is a perfect reminder of this. These debates on the international level have both a direct and indirect effect on Turkish speakers living in Britain; both in terms of how we perceive ourselves in relation to others and in the way that others perceive us. Thus, most of us are aware that, although we can be called ‘Mediterranean’, we are not as acceptable culturally, politically and religiously as others who come under this category, such as Greeks, Italians, Spaniards and the Portuguese. And we are, therefore, more likely to face both overt and covert forms of racism.

STEREOTYPES

As Turkish speakers, we are constantly aware of and affected by negative stereotypes. On a day-to-day level, we are repeatedly reminded of the fact that organised crime, and criminal activities related to drug use and selling, are there in Turkish-speaking communities. But of course the majority of us are not involved in such crime and have no wish to be. And we want to avoid a situation in which all members of the community are labelled as drug suppliers and our young men are pathologised as gangsters and thugs. “

I mentioned a few days ago that we can know what the virtues are without becoming virtuous.Sometimes intellect can be an enemy.Now, after reflecting I think that the people we mix with and become friends with can be a very big influence on our life and the kind of person we are
It might be quite simple,like:I will not do this act because it would let X down if my friend ,X ,knew I had done it.She might not want to be my friend any more
I do not mean we should change to fit in with the views of our friends just to curry favour.I mean if you have a friend whom you admire for their behaviour and their ideas that you would not  keep the friendship if you told lies,seduced married people deliberately,stole watches when you went to dinner with a family friend etc
We might be wrong.May be a friend would not mind if we told lies… it would depend on the type of lie.But we all influence each other and do we want to be a bad influence?
I know it’s inevitable we will not live up to high ideals.There will always be a gap but maybe  that too is something a friend might help us with.To tolerate our failings and failures withou despairing.
I suppose we all do stupid things now and then!
Leonard Cohen got up and looked in the mirror.Then he said,Lighten up Cohen.

Do you know Rex?~
We  have seen many wrecks near the coast.
Do you mean Rexes?
Wreckses! What are you saying
Will, did you know Rex himself
Who wrecks himself?
Is that pidgin English?
How can I tell if a pigeon in English?Don’t tell me they have passports now because of Brexit
Brexit hasn’t happened yet
Who can Fix it?
Me!
Me too!

Oh,take me hold me,love me like you do

With kisses sweet commend me to your heart

Love me like a tea of finest brew.

Love me like a cox’s pippin tart.

oh,dance me,swing me, let me feel alive.

And let me feel your melody anew.

We get what we desire yet don’t deserve.

When one is made from love between the two.

Oh. lend me your maths textbooks for a while

I love irrational numbers like a child.

and transcendental pies do me beguile

i feel tonight my numbers dancing wild.

So ambiguous is my attitude to men

I wave and then I particle again

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43973/dejection-an-ode

Extract

https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/poetry-101-resources-beginners

“Reading poetry well is part attitude and part technique. Curiosity is a useful attitude, especially when it’s free of preconceived ideas about what poetry is or should be. Effective technique directs your curiosity into asking questions, drawing you into a conversation with the poem.

The goal of careful reading is often to take up a question of meaning, an interpretive question that has more than one answer. Since the form of a poem is part of its meaning (for example, features such as repetition and rhyme may amplify or extend the meaning of a word or idea, adding emphasis, texture, or dimension), questions about form and technique, about the observable features of a poem, provide an effective point of entry for interpretation. To ask some of these questions, you’ll need to develop a good ear for the musical qualities of language, particularly how sound and rhythm relate to meaning. This approach is one of many ways into a poem.

Getting Started: Prior Assumptions

Most readers make three false assumptions when addressing an unfamiliar poem. The first is assuming that they should understand what they encounter on the first reading, and if they don’t, that something is wrong with them or with the poem. The second is assuming that the poem is a kind of code, that each detail corresponds to one, and only one, thing, and unless they can crack this code, they’ve missed the point. The third is assuming that the poem can mean anything readers want it to mean.”

I lost my kindle paper white today
So searched through all my things in my dismay
Here I found my reading glasses,phone
I found a broken mug and cracked a tray

Then I found the kindle on a chair
But the reading glasses had gone off
I found a plate beneath a book or two
Iris Murdoch   you found  life this  rough

I found all four black handsets to the phone
Then wondered where my office glasses are
It seems my mind is playing little tricks
Thank the Lord I don’t possess a car

Amazed by all the fluff I have swept up
I must  make  my tea in a china cup

Politicians are a dismal group
Where’s the Attlee where’s the Wilson keen?~
Their main aim now is for us to be duped

Where are those lost minds once so acute?
Beveridge and Carrington had dreams
Politicians are a dismal group

The minds of most  have  turned into a soup
Ideas are not connected to good schemes
~Their main aim now is for us to be duped

Many of  the public have turned mute
We won the vote but as yet we’re unweaned
Politicians are  a much loathed group

Yet surely one or two must be astute
What does May say when she meets the Queen?
Their main aim if they have one is dilute

What  is democratic in our strain?
When we all go mad, who takes the blame?
Politicians are a dismal group
Their method’s now the poor to persecute

https://www.newstatesman.com/politics/june2017/2017/05/did-your-personality-determine-whether-you-voted-brexit-research-suggests

“Even when voters were able to interpret statistics, their ability to do so could be overcome by partisanship. In one striking study, when voters were asked to interpret statistics about whether a skin cream increases or decreases a rash, they were able to interpret them correctly roughly 57 per cent of the time. But when voters were asked to interpret the same set of statistics, but told they were about whether immigration increases or decreases crime, something disturbing happened.

If the statistics didn’t support a voter’s view, their ability to correctly interpret the numbers dropped, in some cases, by almost a half.

Before Remoaners start to crow, this study is not an affirmation that “I’m smart, you’re dumb”. Further research could be done, for example, on the role of age and education (young graduates were far more likely to vote Remain). But in the meantime, there is a question that needs to be answered – are political campaigners deliberately exploiting these personality traits?

Chris Sumner, from the Online Privacy Foundation, warns that in the era of Big Data, clues about our personalities are collected online: “In the era of Big Data, these clues are aggregated, transformed and sold by a burgeoning industry.”

“In our view, part of what makes language artistic is that we have to explore it actively in order to appreciate it.  We may have to look beneath the surface, and think harder about what images the author has used, who the author purports to be, and even how the language is organized.  These efforts can lead to new insights, new perspectives and new experiences.

Poetry is a form in which this reader engagement is particularly striking and important.  It’s a good illustration of the way philosophical work can help awaken us to the richness of the language that surrounds us, even in the seeming cacophony of the digital age.”

How beautiful it was when the sun shone
And I walked with you,my dear husband,
through the gardens.
How happy I was to sit with you by the lake
and to hear the water from the fountain splash. I
It’s our our favourite music now we cannot visit the sea
To hear the tide rush in,then fall sucking on the shingley beach.
But I see it in my minds eye.
Aldeburgh,the fishing boats go out at sunrise.
I awoke early and saw the sun across the sea and the boats setting out in the soft light.
Dunwich,the heath filled with birds the cliff
and the beach where sometimes one can find marble
from one of the many churches washed away by the encroaching sea.
And Southwold,the marsh so quiet I heard crickets.
We went across the Blyth in the rowing boat
And saw the place from which our picture of Walberswick was painted…
If only life could be captured,slowed, for a few minutes
for us to receive the beauty and hear the sound of the sea
The everlasting music of the heart

No woman ever can be what he dreams

Nor can such give comfort on the road.

Yet every night he plots and thinks and schemes.

And rarely does he ever go abroad.

No food he eats will satisfy his tongue.

The best wine is as naught to mother’s milk.

He grumbles and will not admit to wrong.

I ‘ve known more men than him of this same ilk.

No bed can be the right one for his sleep.

No sheets and pillows suit his wary skin.

He often has made gentle maidens weep

Crying out they’re fat or boney thin.’

Beware the man who never can adapt

For in his own lone wishes he is trapped

Please do not view  your smartphone whilst on a stretcher going to the theatre

No selfies allowed during surgery.

Do not take photos of the doctors and nurses or they will leave,

Do not send your private part photos to anyone on the ward.They can see them when you get out of bed if you are wearing our wonderful split back gowns

Please do not fall over after rising from the bed.

We do not have a whistling kettle, it’s the night porter.

If you smoke, we will  pour water over your cigarette

The screams are cats mating, not patients on the next ward

Kindly do not tell the doctor he is stupid.He knows.

The doctor is only a pest to some

Kindly pretend to listen to the Consultant on his round.He is human,we presume

Kindly do not eat cream buns  or meringues in front  of the Consultant.He is on a diet.

Kindly avoid catching any bugs belonging to or emanating from this hospital.

Kindly do not sleepwalk whilst here.

Please do not swallow your Kindle before lights out.

Keep yourself clean.Take a bed by the open window during a storm.

Kindly avoid dying when we are busy or indeed at any time.Wait till you get home,please.

https://www.writersandartists.co.uk/writers/advice/971/dedicated-genre-advice/writing-poetry/

Extract

“We are busy—so very busy nowadays; we are assailed by the images that tell us how flawed we are; ……….

t. Why not be swept away by Porphyro’s extraordinary feast in Keats’s ‘The Eve of St Agnes‘? Find yourself utterly absorbed by epic simile and astonishing breadth of imagery and allusion in Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost‘? The middle English of Chaucer’s ‘The Canterbury Tales‘ is not as difficult as people may think to read and, in trying, a whole new world comes to a life. As it touches us, might we feel less alone in a world where we are often always ‘on’ and yet potentially more isolated? …………….

………..And an awareness, young or old, that poetry, as Dylan Thomas had it, ‘ is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own.’

Poetry is always there; always important. For a challenge for us or a challenge to the status quo; to bring us joy or relaxation; it is that cordial handshake which brings with it words to surprise, delight and chronicle. It will always have its place and always be important. And maybe, as Shelley had it, poets are, after all, ‘the unacknowledged legislators of the world.'”

Since we all must die, how shall we live?
What defences so we need to keep?
What our contribution,how to give?

We used to think  that  God lived  up above
If he did he now must be asleep
Since we all must die, how shall we live?

The most important action must be love
We must love, for those forsaken weep
What our contribution,how to give?

Touch me with your hand or with your glove
Keep me near you when my heart sinks deep
Since we all must die, how shall we live?

Action and activity’s a drug
We must ponder slowly as we creep
What’s our contribution,how to give?

The emergency of life sounds not a beep
As the shrouds of death around man drape
Since we all must die, how shall we live?
What our contribution, who to give?

https://www.salon.com/2014/02/16/youre_making_your_depression_worse_self_help_is_bringing_us_down/

“Given our natural reliance on and our confidence in thought, the urge to repetitively think about the causes and consequences of low mood can harden into a habit. Researchers label this habit of thought rumination. Some people enter a ruminative mode even when facing minor troubles, or even when their environment is benevolent. A consistent body of data—much of it collected by the late psychologist Susan Nolen-Hoeksema—shows that this is a dangerous habit. People who report a greater tendency to ruminate on a short questionnaire have longer periods of depressed mood in everyday life, are more pessimistic about the future, and have a harder time recovering from the effects of stressors such as a natural disaster or a recent bereavement.

The human meaning-making machine is so good at what it does that it can generate interminable interpretations. When persistent thinking gets stuck, it does not arrive at a stable theory of the problem, does not solve it, and cannot come to terms with it. Far from engaging in active problem solving, a person may simply perseverate on the fact of the problem (or problems) for months on end.”

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/life/could-talking-anxiety-make-worse/

“The psychologist Felix Economakis helps anxiety sufferers learn to ‘reframe’ their experiences as manageable rather than overwhelming, and believes that ‘our  society is making people more stressed  and depressed’. Modern life, he argues, ‘overstimulates the limbic system’ (a set of brain structures that deal with emotion and memory).

‘It’s always on high alert because the moment you walk out of the door, you’re fighting to get on the bus, you’re seeing newsflashes about terrorism, you’re worrying about keeping your job – there’s no respite.’

He believes there’s little point in exploring the possible roots of the anxiety when  it’s often simply a chemical response to ongoing stress. Instead, he leads clients through a series of stages to reprogramme negative thoughts.”

Words are like beads on a chain

Alone they can’t take any strain.

But joined up in gold

A sentence can mold

A prayer is repeated again.

2

Words cluster in larger groups

Waiting for writers to stoop..

Then instead of one word

A sentence is heard,

Some call this poetry soup.

3.

Professors do not create words,

which from the unconscious are lured

They only critique

What you and I speak.

After conversing and writing,that’s third.

Delayed Grief: When Grief Gets Worse

“Any type of loss where the griever feels it is their responsibility to be the “strong one” in the family: A lot of people may say this about themselves, but this a perceived need for strength to the extreme. A griever in this scenario would be showing almost no sign of emotion, and would prohibit themselves from being sad or fragile (perhaps even privately) for fear it would cause the rest of their family structure to collapse.

There is one thing that each one of these scenarios has in common: in almost every case the griever may have felt they had to turn away from their grief for something more immediate…something that felt like it needed more urgent attention.”

By my sister

https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/religion/article/77385-zen-writing-and-the-art-of-facing-cancer-natalie-goldberg.html

“In her new memoir, Let the Whole Thundering World Come Home (Shambhala, June), acclaimed teacher and author Natalie Goldberg—a longtime practitioner of Zen Buddhism—writes of finding her way through hospitals, doctors, and painful treatments following her cancer diagnosis in 2015, and how Zen informed her response to the illness as well as the possibility of death.“

A day as warm and bright as in the Spring
The pine cones shiver in the gentle breeze.
The trees in bud, the birds revel in song 

Our memories   cannot store the very thing
The air on skin, the feel  of blossom trees
A  day as dear  with light as is the Spring

On  days like this, once more we do belong
And nature will respond to make us pleased
The trees in bud, caressed with new bird song.

The sounds  of earth are silenced when phones ring
Our flesh has turned to ashes long deceased
A  day  can take to   flight as  does the Spring

We  are betrothed, the bridegroom’s in the wings
The new act starts, the play’s by  con men seized
No consummation now, but for  the winged

I  wish that I had written more to please.
And yet the air is fresh  and we still breathe
A  day of charm  may revolution bring
The trees still bud,  yet birds rebel in song.

Life is  lonely in the city here
We left our birthplace seeking  work that paid
So many folk, yet nobody is near.

The mass of crowds  brings on a paranoia
While buildings once thought beautiful decay
Life is   alien in the city here

From the doorways ugly faces leer
Like evil children,  tortured by dismay
Many people,  nobody who’s near.

The birds don’t sing  yet I can hear them jeer
Then fly in circles in a fierce display
Life is alien in the city here.

My eye is dry, it lacks a single tear
As I become near static with despair
Many people,  nobody who’s near.

Why can’t I be merry, if not gay?
Why do thoughts so savage my heart flay
Life is  lonely in the city here
So many folk, so few  will come near