https://www.theguardian.com/books/2010/mar/13/carol-ann-duffy-poems-ageing
https://blog.bookstellyouwhy.com/a-brief-history-of-poetry
Mary went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror.She no longer feared to see Satan; compared to many living or dead human beings he seemed almost an angel.
Her hair was standing on end; she realised that it was one thing to buy a box of 24 combs from Amazon, but quite another to use one.
Ah, well, Stan preferred it wild, she told herself.But that was a long time ago.It was no longer thick and wavy.That stopped men singing,”O Sole Mio” when she passed them while they were painting a neighbour’s house.They probably didn’t know what it meant and neither did she.
Why am I looking into the mirror, she wondered? Maybe I am lonesome.But who to visit?Who to invite for tea?
Emile pushed the door open.
Are you alright, mother, he mewed piteously?
I am not your mother, Emile, she said to her little cat, being overly pedantic about every aspect of human life.
Ok,grandma, he continued.I see the Yodel van outside. He probably has something for you or me.
Now, Emile, I’ve told you before, call me Mary even if I am your grandmother.
Who was my mother, he asked? Did you adopt me?
Your mother was my mother’s cat “Arabella Stuart”.We called her Bella.Your father was a total mystery.
Presumably a cat, Emile pondered wonderingly
Why, did you think it was an animal of another type?
How about Stan.Was he not my dad?
In a metaphorical sense,he was, she murmured shyly.
He loved you very much.And so do I.
When we watched the dreadful news on TV I was wondering if any animals had been killed by the fire.Nobody has said.I doubt if they would keep dogs up there but cats might have been allowed.
Oh,dear, I have not thought of that.It was so terrible seeing people waving from their windows holding their phones.Saying, “I love you “to their parents or children.
And now the Chancellor says it is illegal here to use that aluminium cladding.
I bet he is going to try to oust Theresa May, Emile told her.
You men, you only think of one thing! Politics and fighting and sex and hot sinners.
Do you mean dinners, the intelligent cat asked her?
No , hot sinners are harlots.
But how do we know it is a sin.To cats it is normal.We don’t pay of course.
I don’t know.The word “sin” is no longer heard as it is not politically correct
Whereas letting 58 people burn to death is politically correct as long as we don’t call it sinful.And all the others will be sick for years.
My God, you are getting clever, Emile,maybe you should be runingn the country!
But now Mary and Emile are sad seeing the quarrelsome lunatics in charge of our little island, which will never rule any waves again,éxcept in people’s hair
Should Mary and Emile emigrate?
Who will take them?
Read more in “The Cats Times” on sale in all good pet shops
I love Picasso, it’s his line,you know
How he evokes the movement fast or slow
The sundered parts arranged in a new form
The image still and yet depicting storms
The unexpecting vision threw me down
My mind was blown and I lay on the ground
I heard no sound except for music lite
For I was in a shop,not an art site
I did not think I’d see great art in there
My fences bypassed by such beauty bare
The light of art burns into human souls
May shatter or fragment, create new wholes
Noone ever knew the blow I took
When I saw with no intent to look
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/mobile/10154775
“Creativity is uncomfortable. It is their dissatisfaction with the present that drives them on to make changes.
“Creative people, like those with psychotic illnesses, tend to see the world differently to most. It’s like looking at a shattered mirror. They see the world in a fractured way.
“There is no sense of conventional limitations and you can see this in their work. Take Salvador Dali, for example. He certainly saw the world differently and behaved in a way that some people perceived as very odd.”
He said businesses have already recognised and capitalised on this knowledge.
Some companies have “skunk works” – secure, secret laboratories for their highly creative staff where they can freely experiment without disrupting the daily business.
Chartered psychologist Gary Fitzgibbon says an ability to “suspend disbelief” is one way of looking at creativity.
“When you suspend disbelief you are prepared to believe anything and this opens up the scope for seeing more possibilities.”
https://www.vice.com/en_uk/article/8gdygp/healing-soldiers-with-literature-427
Extract
“Gunners in Sevastopol, Ukraine, had unhinged the gates of hell on a battalion of British troops. On October 25, 1854, cannonballs flattened dozens of men a pop, and warhorses sank to their hocks in the splatter. When the smoke cleared 110 were dead, making the Battle of Balaclava one of the most notorious suicide missions of the Crimean War.
Six weeks after the massacre Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Britain’s poet laureate, hailed the soldiers’ valor in 55 lines of verse and enshrined them in legend. A tragic ballad with a biting sense of futility (“Theirs not to reason why, / Theirs but to do and die”), “The Charge of the Light Brigade” became the ambivalent banner cry of this and so many subsequent wars of questionable cause. But Rudyard Kipling’s postscript to the poem, “The Last of the Light Brigade,” written years later, went nearly unnoticed. His largely forgotten effort considered the battle’s forgotten survivors, who, “limping and lean and forlorn,” had inherited from their country nothing but shell shock, pained deformity, and crippling unemployment. Though Kipling wrote the essential poem about Crimea, Tennyson wrote the crowd favorite, as the public wants the battle but not the aftermath, like a child loath to clean up its mess.
If the war poet Frederick Foote has a mission, it would be to unite Tennyson’s gift for elegy with Kipling’s sense of debt. His debut collection, Medic Against Bomb, has enjoyed considerable acclaim since its quiet release last fall, receiving the Grayson Books Poetry Prize, earning applause from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Library of Congress, and being named by the Progressive as a best book of the year. An account of Foote’s time as a US Navy doctor in Iraq and Afghanistan, the book is a tonic for the genre. A relic of the sickbay rather than the battlefield, it prefers the guts of war to the glory, lamenting the wounded on both sides with Hippocratic impartiality.
Like Kipling, Foote knows he is here not to eulogize but to heal. And his interest in the intersection of art and war doesn’t end with his poetry collection. After studying humanities at the University of Chicago, Foote trained in neurology at Georgetown and Yale. When he returned from Iraq and Afghanistan he dedicated himself to finding new ways of treating veterans beset with brain injury and post-traumatic stress disorder. His approach has been auspiciously atypical. With military funding, Foote founded the Epidaurus Project, which researches and advocates the use of holistic medicine throughout the armed forces, and his writing group, the Warrior Poets Project, puts verse at the center of this practice. In other words, his writerly endeavors are inseparable from his pastoral care, devoted as it is to the therapeutic power of art. If his work as a poet focuses on the literature of medicine, his work as a doctor focuses on the medicine of literature.”
“And yet the myth of power poses remains, as we saw this week from Sajid Javid. I attribute this partly to TED not removing the talk from their website, and partly to the general principle that you can’t put the lid back on the can once the worms are everywhere. I don’t know why government advisers don’t know that social media roundly mocks this particular stance (unless they are deliberately trolling their employers, which seems unlikely), but you don’t actually need to debunk Cuddy’s power pose research to know politicians don’t get perce”ived as confident, powerful entities simply by standing with their legs splayed.”
I am myself and noone else is me
And yet we have a contemplative soul
With my own eyes I look and wish to see
We each desire but wish to pay no fee
Becoming all we are will make us whole
I am myself and noone else is me
To God so many make a silent plea
With history like ours, it’s rather droll
With our own eye, we look but cannot see
To all the world we needs show charity
Reciprocated lest it take a bitter toll
I am some self but know not who is me
Would I were a butterfly or bee
To take my bliss from pretty little flower!
With our own eye,we peep then we may see
As I look out from my wooden tower
I see hills far away ,oh nature’s treasure
We each desire but wish life to be free
I’ll be myself for noone else is me
I did an IQ test and got 80.So I thought
how did I start writing if I am so dull?
My self esteem seems ok though despite this poor result
So this proves IQ does not really matter
or else I am making the most of my limited brain
I blame my bicycle.I was ok when I rode that but I lost my nerve
Not because I was in a serious accident in Oxford as I cycled to a choir practice
nor because I miscalculated a place where
if nobody was around
I would ride onto the pavement usually without causing me to hit a wall
and be thrown backwards uttering loud screams,
No,I lost it when my eyes were not so good and the traffic was terrible
I’ve never been injured
but as I flew into the air
I saw that this life is a film on a screen
and I saw The Hand that turns the film onwards.
But there was no Voice.Oh,dear.Get me a horse now!
Mary sat in her bijou but well-designed blue kitchen reading email on her Windows 13 laptop.She was feeling quite weak after a bout of pneumonia and cystitis despite having Dave the paramedic visit every day with chicken soup
She found a new email from her old friend who has been away
I hate you, so much, Mary, it began ominously as love and hate are closely linked
I wonder if it is something I have done, Mary thought, or is it my essential self he hates and why now after all these years?
You are always explaining things to me as if I am dumb
Oh, dear, Mary thought.The perils of being a keen mathematician and also a foolish woman are many
I have got more and more annoyed with you especially since you threw that brick through my Windows.I am not coming tonight to be with you.You can get stuffed you crackling font.And I shall never forgive you as I never do forgive anyone even if I made a mistake.I can’t bear the shame and humiliation
Does he mean I broke his new Dell Windows 10 computer, she asked herself
Or a window in his apartment?
But he lives on the second floor and at my age, I can’t even carry a brick let alone hurls one so high and so accurately
Still, he is old so someone smashing his windows would be disturbing to him and make him angry
Or is the word BRICK a metaphor? It might mean his self esteem is shattered like shop windows in riots often have been
As for his language, it reminded her that religious people tend to swear more and also commit more sexual offences, or get found out more
Mary] looked down at her once beautiful blue tweed skirt which had a few moth holes in it
Oh, well. if he is not coming to visit I can keep wearing this holey skirt.He doesn’t like older women in jeans as he prefers looking at young women’s bottoms despite his religion.So I would have had to wear my one remaining decent velvet winter skirt.I am too lazy to want to change.
Suddenly her late husband’s former mistress Annie ran in
She was wearing a magenta wool tracksuit and green stiletto heels with pink ankle socks topped by a purple velvet trench coat with matching lipstick
Good heavens, Mary cried.You look very attractive, where did you get that coat from?
I got it in a jumble sale at the church, Annie muttered.Those new people are very rich and only wear clothes twice!
I shall have to come, said Mary, look at my skirt!She burst into tears which was a rare event.
Her little cat Emile was terrified.
Don’t cry, mother he whispered
.I will sleep with you tonight if that idiot is not coming
What! Don’t tell me that Peter has broken up with you.He seems so charming,delightful and well educated and his works of art are brilliant and innovative.Still it was better than a text message
Yes, he just sent me an email calling me a crackling font
Perhaps he is mixing you up with someone else.Anyway, if he is heterosexual he should love a nice female organ or two
That’s too rational,Annie dear.Only the gynaecologist loves it.She took some photos again!
Good grief.Did she show you? asked Annie.
No, said Mary.I don’t want to see it but since I’ve been going there for 3 years it seems bigger than before.Maybe the photos to be put into a medical journal.To think my memorial will not be my face but my vulva.Someone said vulva is a rude word and I should say vagina but that makes no sense to me and it is an error anyway scientifically
She’s not done anything to make it bigger?
No, it must be all the attention it gets that makes it feel bigger in my mind
Still , without a boyfriend, it’s not even worth thinking of.
Well, you can DIY, Annie told her but for us women it’s the lying down gazing into someone’s eyes and smiling that matters more than the rest
Emile miaowed: Look into my eyes, mother.Or can’t Annie?
I’ll be getting an Electra complex, Mary told him.You don’t do erotic things with your mother nor with a lady who once slept with your dead husband while he was still alive!
Well we cats don’t know our cat mothers so we might have a good time with them unknowing
If only I were a cat, Mary muttered as she wept again clutching a box of Kleenex for Sad Women
Ring 999, Emile.Annie said.We need help now
Hello, my mum’s boyfriend has split with her by email.Can you send an ambulance for the computer, she hit it with a shoe and broke the screen
OK, will do, the lady replied courteously.Would you like some meringues too?
My goodness, since Brexit the NHS is even better.I should have asked for a steak and kidney pie as well.And mashed carrots.
And so say all of us
1.Explain the difference between the Epistles and the Apostles and our muscles
2.How did people in that era cut their toe nails?
3.When and by whom were scissors invented? Was it before or after 0 CE?
4 Is our Bible plagiarised?
5,If St Paul had received modern treatment for epilepsy, would the Church be here now?
6.Who write the song,Did Jesus have a baby sister?
7.Why do so many great people die young.Mention Keats,Schubert,Mozart and Jesus…. and any others you discover in your research
8 Did Jesus have a sense of humour?Would you?
9.Who invented angels?
10 Why should the dead bury the dead?
Have you read the Hound of the Baskervilles?
No, we have no animals in the library.
Have you read the Riot Act?
I will if you lend me it
Where is your cheek?
It’s being returned soon
What is the eye of the storm?
It’s a bit like eye of God. you can’t see it but you feel it’s there
I read Dante’s inferno
I think you can have too much of a bad thing
Please return the other cheek
I need both sides to be humane
signed J.Christ
“How to turn your cheeks into jowls in 30 years” by A Big-Face
“Your enemies want you to hate them.Then they can attack you .Stop the cycle” By A Rider-Byke
“How to be elusive without anyone noticing” by Alan Butter -Fly
“How to button your tie” by Albert Royal -Valet-Once
“How to do dry cleaning at home” by Ms.A Broom-Beater
“How to hate the one you love” by Mrs Marriage-Bedde
“How to be vicious” by S.Tan Ph.D
“How to stop being vicious” [ this is not finished yet]
A symbol is a well where we must dig
A symbol is a well where we can dig To find the deeper meaning hid below
On our human knees we need to beg To gain admittance to the latest show. Life is but an apple we shall bite Our teeth may break and so we suffer pain
As from our human ills we cannot fly We suffer learning,digging, once again Love’s a cherry with a lively stone Which desires to live itself when time is ripe
Some see love as meat gnawed from a bone Some think love’s a letter we can’t type. Love or hate, a fruit will have its pips Which choke us while its flesh is on our lips
This photo of Whitby Abbey belongs to English Heritage and if you google Whitby Abbey Images they have a wonderful selection including in the moonlight although we never climbed up there at night.
Not long before he died, he said we should be living back in the North.I said,I am so sorry but I don´t think we can do it now.
He had a romantic idea of the sea and went out for whole night in a fishing boat.He was very sea sick.I don´t know how much he saw.. ……..stars I suppose
He told me he was very angry with me exactly 7 days before he died.I can´t remember all the reasons but one was housework so I told him they didn´t teach that at Oxford [I was a post graduate there] i felt so awful it didn´t affect me.In fact I might have said I didnt like boiling his hankies or some other trivial thing.I wish I could boil them now
But another day he was asleep in a chair, woke up,sat up and said,
You´ve got a brilliant personality.
Before I could answer he fell asleep again.
He really did have a happy, peaceful death [ in A and E ] quite conscious. well cared for even fed by me using a teaspoon ,smiling and holding my hand but not speaking except telling me not to go to the loo… then I knew he was on the brink.I am full of gratitude because most people I know say their partner died in the night.
I smile yet tears run down my face.
He is not here,you see.
Marmalade of oranges of blood
Jam made from tomatoes ,such good food
Braised lambs’ tongues with onions and God
Strip the bones of all the pilgrims good
Make your bed and lie about on wood
Marmalade of oranges like blood
Martyr the old priest and stew the dude
Let the menstrual flow be shown to goad
Braised lambs’ tongues with onions, he said?
Cannibals, we never understood
Yet we have warred sans pity when well fed
Oh,marmalade ,oh oranges of blood
In the trenches ,men died in the mud
Others drowned in grief as if they should
Braised lambs’ tongues with onions,M’ lud?
Sheep may gaze,Hiroshima, the dead
Did you take brief notes of all you read?
Marmalade of oranges and blood
The tongues of Babel made the world go mad
I decided to make my manuscript in a darker bolder script and then republish it on kindle direct publishing.I added two poems at the front to make it less stark
Now it appears it need to be at least £26 for them as the printing is £16.I am confused about it especially as I will only get 10 pence instead of 27 pence
Does it seem they are doing it for their own profit? One would expect that but not to this extreme.So next week I think I will just delete it altogether.
Who would pay more than £15 for it.It is large and that is my mistake.I could have made 50 little books..
Still this blog is more important to me.I couldn’t go out so I decided to learn how to do it but it’s not much use to authors who need to make money
10 pence is worse than £0
“”My childhood – which I spent largely in London except during the Blitz – was full of soldiers, American, English, every other nationality. With National Service, we were all non-soldiers, we were just in for a couple of years. We weren’t going to kill people – we would have been terrified of killing people! – and the people in the regular army, our sergeants, did tend to despise us, and you could see why. So, yes, isn’t it interesting how many soldiers there are in my early poetry and how often I am the soldier and I’m not really sure what I’m doing? Not especially romanticised except when I think of Achilles or somebody. So it was a very ambiguous role, but it was a role that apparently I tended to see myself in, especially in that first book. And I don’t think it was that conscious or deliberate. I had to think about it afterwards to find out what could have been in my mind.”
He then spent six months in Paris, on a low-paying sinecure arranged by his father, before going up to Cambridge at 21. One of his friends there was Karl Miller. “Karl was my best friend for a while; I knew him very well: we were both rather difficult people, but he was very kind to me and he always had a very good mind. I’d show him my poems when I wrote them and he’d tack them up over his desk, which was very flattering.”
Miller recalls that Gunn “was a good student and critic, who enjoyed the degree. Leavis was sovereign at the time. Gunn was sympathetic to Leavis but not a Leavisite. We were both involved in the same discussions and clubs and so on. I wrote a lengthy profile of him for the student newspaper Varsity.” He adds, “He knew how to keep the ball in the air in terms of literary attention.”
At Cambridge, Gunn had begun publishing his poems, and wrote the bulk of his first collection, Fighting Terms (1954) in his last two years there. They are startlingly assured pieces, formally controlled, metaphysical, with a subtext that only seems obviously homoerotic in retrospect.”
Well,I’ve had a great time checking my kindle books.Imaginary Life has coloured images on my laptop but black and white on the kindle reader.I am removing the paperback option for Gravity and Loss.I know my eyes are a bit feeble but the print is too faint.Maybe I can eventually change that but even for 300 poems I doubt many people will pay £16.99 for a book by an unknown poet
Meantime I’ve spent hours trying to put a SIM card into a phone and eventually bought a cheaper phone in Argos which takes a nano card.Trying to put the micro-card into a Nokia Lumia was purgatory.The outer piece broke..I hate those three in one cards.But I had done it once before so….maybe it’s the antibiotics and UTI’s do affect the brain… poison in the blood [ a good story title?]
So I am going outside and looking at a tree.I have had to barricade myself in to stop those 5,6, or.7 dogs next door from coming in.But I can still eat outside.I didn’t mind the dogs so much…. it’s the owners who distress me.
How can an ordinary family cope with so many dogs?
Mary was sitting at her desk trying to decide whether to throw out a book called Schrodinger ‘s equation for Idiots.That title had more than one meaning, she thought to herself.
I think that is for the recycling bin, she told her cat, Emile.What a pity you can’t read.You could have read it.
I don’t want to read stuff like that.I only like Dad’s cartoon books.
Where are they, Mary asked him, her eyes shining like melting Danish butter on a hot croissant?
They are in that plastic box in the kitchen, Emile told her.I read them at night.
How can you read if there is no light?Please don’t start sinning as I don’t want you to have to become a Catholic and go to Confession
I can’t become a Catholic, said Emile.I am Jewish.
Well, St Paul was Jewish, Mary told him.Until he had an epileptic fit .
So having a fit can make you a Christian.That is very strange, the black cat told her with a twinkle in his eyes
Well, it’s not automatic, Mary replied.You have to pay.
What, pay to become a Christian, I don’t believe Jesus would like that.
Well, he may be quite indulgent, sometimes Mary giggled.However, the Vatican and its wealth might not be quite what he was thinking of when he gave the Sermon on the Mount.
What sort of mount was it, Emile enquired.Was it a horse?
No, it was more likely to have been a donkey as he was quite poor, you know
But he had things money can’t buy, the cat said philosophically.
Like women who poured oil over his feet.What sort was it,?Was it like that stuff Stan put in the car engine sometimes?
Don’t be so ridiculous.It was olive oil, Mary told him sternly.
Can we prove that Emile murmured? His feet were no salad iin need of dressing
No, I am using inductive reasoningMary stated logically.Olive trees are grown in that part of the world even now.
What is inductive reasoning, Emile mewed
Why it’s the opposite of deductive reasoning, of course, Mary stated wildly
I am glad I can’t read, Emile said.It’s bad for you to have to learn all of that.It was ok for the ancient Greeks.They had no televisions.I’d rather watch Andrea Bocelli and Hayley Westenra singing Vivo per lei.Whatever that means.She is from New Zealand by the way.
What difference does that make Mary teased him?
No need to be rude, Emile cried.I was only passing a remark
That was what Stan’s mother used to say when he told her off for saying my maple mousse was like something out of a tin.
Where was it from?
The Joy of Cookery. a big American cookbook or maybe Jewish Cookery by Florence Greenberg or I bought it in Marks and Spencers
Did you get that book because I am Jewish, Emile purred?
No, I didn’t even know you were.How did it happen?
My mother was living with a Rabbi in Liverpool and he told her she could not miaow on the Sabbath so she kind of assumed she was Jewish.As for my father.. nobody knows.
Emile, don’t start saying you are the Messiah.I have enough trouble already.I don’t want you to be walking on water and helping women taken in adultery
I was not me who took them, said Emile.I don’t even know where Adultery is.
I think I’ll ring 999.We need help before we go mad.
Sometimes going mad seems the better option, Mary said sadly.A few voices telling me what to do might be helpful
As long as they are not Michael Gove and Boris Johnson, Emile replied courteously. As for Freezer May…… we’ve suffered enough from seeing her in miniskirts holding DT’s hand!
And so say all of us.For he’s a jolly good yeller! Emile loves every cat
http://www.yourdailypoem.com/listpoem.jsp?poem_id=2200
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“We’ve already identified dreams as an amalgamation of new and past memories. Engaging in an activity right before bed is likely to lead to it becoming part of our dreams as it flashes right before our eyes.
Researchers have found an interconnection between activities we dream about and our improved application in the activities. For students, it is recommended to study about a particular topic right before bed in order to aid in the comprehension.
The same can be said to just about any other activity like playing the piano. The harmonious connection in how our minds process music also helps greatly. Doing such activities right before naptime is bound to create an associated feeling of familiarity. Thus, when musicians get to practice, later on, they find that they can easily strum up chords with greater accuracy and pattern as if they were embedded in their nature.
Antti Revonsuo, a neuroscientist at the University of Skovde in Sweden, proposed the Threat Simulation Theory. He argued that the brain tends to prepare for mechanisms to deal with future situations. By reenacting scenes like these in dreams, we get to come up with methodologies to cope with such situations which can be present in real life as well. By doing so, we can stay sharp and focused once we awake.”
Mary cut her own toe nails
With her scissors she won’t fail
Sharp as Shap in winter snow
The scissors have a deadly glow
Today she never combed her hair
It’s so short she looks quite bare
Yet despite her bald long head
She has had some fun in bed
Maybe it was long ago
Never mind, her lover purred
Yes, she married Emile sweet
This dear cat makes her complete
But what is Emile’s second name?
Is he French or perhaps germane?
She is Mrs Nom de Plume
Emile saved her from her doom
Sometimes they ring 999
Her new doorbell is divine
In runs paramedic Dave
See his long curls as they wave
He is wearing a new skirt
With Emile he tries to flirt
But Emile is full of faith
To his new wife who is no wraith
See them eating creme brulee
So that they won’t fade away
One for Mary and Emile
Two for Dave , he had no meal
Here comes Annie with a bat
Look at this,’twas in my hat
Shall I tell it Jesus saves
Oh! what ridicule she raised
Bats can never go to Mass
They are free to sin en masse
Emile likes the Psalms and prayers
At the parson he will glare
Where is Stan, that dear old man?
He’s with a whore in hell, oh damn
https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2009/oct/04/sel-help-books-boom-”
But what de Botton calls “elite culture” has, he says, “abandoned a project on which it was engaged for most of human history. English literature, philosophy, history, they used to understand their role as basically being about the nourishment of the soul. But they’ve abandoned that field, leaving the area open to what are largely second-rate minds.””
“Finding myself as a lone traveller, I couldn’t help but notice your advert “tours curated for the solo traveller” (5 June) and the small print below where it says that “prices are based on two people sharing”.
Bill
London”
Sue
Can share with a man I’ve never met as I am a lesbian.On the other hand some men like lesbians….. I think I’ll go back to normal and get married so won’t need solo holidays.Or I’ll stay in the garden reading and eating fruit all week.
The erasing of distinctions ,0 and 1
Makes for much confusion and unease
Am I male or female, am I none?
Gender shifts as sinking sands might seize
The subtle ways of wisdom are now ghosts
We fear we may be wrong and what is where.
The souls of men and women wander lost
How to navigate the deeps without despair.
Swapping places does not end the game
We must judge from higher states of mind.
We are not and never shall be same
Yet we fear the words of blind mankind
“No one is an island” may be true
But how shall I relate my love to you?
How my heart sings 