I remember mother’s beauty and her coal stained and cracked hands Each little line was etched in black, like a map to other lands She always wore an apron that she made from an old dress How I loved my mother,I did I must confess.
I remember mother’s beauty and the row of nappy pins She always wore them like a brooch, while we kids made a din The baby had her rusks and milk, she had a little pot She slept inside a cradle then she moved into a cot
I remember most Mum’s cooking, the apple dumplings steamed The kettle too sat on the fire , I played and then I dreamed She had a tin of buttons, she was ace at making clothes She knitted like an acrobat to forget her many woes
Her daddy was a miner till he had a heart attack He came home black and dusty, then he filled his old tin bath When he retired he got a dog, he loved her very well He called her Lassie for her name, she was beautiful , my belle
Her daddy came to see us after our own daddy died He help my mother with odd jobs, then we all ate cake and cried
Salary should be dependent upon how soon people notice that you haven’t turned up for your work.
It would be a long time before anyone went looking for Jacob Rees Mogg compared to a refuse collector, n
. After an initial period of doubt, I’ve come to accept that we must stay indoors, even if we’re well, in order to avoid spreading the virus to those who are more vulnerable, and to free up capacity in our chronically underfunded health service.
I’m not, however, in lockdown. I’m meditating. I’m on retreat. I’ve become a hermit in my own home. The strongest feeling I’ve had since going into isolation is that we’re all being thrown in on ourselves. We’re being made to look inwards. And the really interesting thing about this is that, when you look inside yourself, you find everyone else there too.
I find I have two distinct kind of thoughts: those that are about myself, how I can look after myself and ensure that I come through this crisis intact, my self-preservation thoughts; and thoughts that are about other people, wondering how they’re feeling, and what I may be able to do to help.
The thoughts about other people have more power than the thoughts about myself. If I have a selfish thought I find that it’s almost immediately countered by something more generous. We’re all in the same boat really, all going through the same thing. It’s hard to pretend you’re a special case when everyone’s suffering; hard to make out you’re unique when the whole world is in exactly the same position.
I spurned the other cheek.
Adjourned but never leaked
I spurned the other’s sheep I turned the others weak I learned maths last week I burned like fire to meet
I earned his ire while bleak
I turned the gyre ,oh beak
The falcon cannot speak
My thinking is oblique
I’m spanking fit and neat
My husband’s hands were sweeet
I churned, my backside creaked.
Yeats wrote twice a week
Keats’ letters weep.
Was Mozart ‘s mother Greek?
Hebrew is our meat
Did angels look so chic?
God must be unique.
This lovely photograph was taken by Mike Flemming 2020 copyright
My street has got a WhatsApp group so that older people and sick people can ask someone to buy them food etc
Last night a man put some photographs of 3 coats belonging to his [ex] partner and asked if anyone would like to buy them.
Another person got angry and said this group is not for such purposes
Now they have both left the group after a few more exchanges… so even something trivial can blow up into a big problem
I think it waas inappropriate because if others began selling things it would fill up the messaging and detract from the aid being offered to the vulnerable.
But for both to leave seems sad