In those lost lands I saw your face

In the land  that dreams dwell in

where love and joy and life begin;

how swiftly the deep rivers flow

from those lost lands of long ago.

I wander through wild poppy fields

Underfoot the dark earth yields….

I see the flowering fruit trees start

Their blossoms gather round my heart…

I hear the sparrows sing with joy

And bees their busy wings employ.

In those lost lands I saw your face

And now I long for your embrace.

Are you real,am I deceived?

From this earth we all must leave.

Earth to earth and ash to ash

Glory,pride and boasting pass.

Leave me now,my dearest one

Soon I too will be called on.

Nothing lasts but truth is real

Keep the truth and your ideals..

Earth to earth, we rest in clay

We must give all self away

Softly on this earth I roam

Seeking still my love and home,

for until the very end

Love and kindnss may descend.

Soft as wings of butterflies

Tears well up and wet my eyes.

My heart has melted into yours

Thus we grow and die like flowers

Cure bad eyes

boulder environment flow landscape
Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com
time lapse photography of flowing waterfall
Photo by Chris Czermak on Pexels.com

Are you troubled by poor eyesight?Why not drive to Teesdale to see High Force
Or why not imitate our new unelected  ruler and visit Barnard Castle ?
Don’t fall in the Tees [ if your eyes are worse]
Only about 30 miles from  Durham and its Cathedral
Seeing such things in scientifically proven to strengthen your vision
If  in the rare case your vision worsens en route you may kill a few people
but not as many as the Corona virus.So  don’t feel bad
Do remember you might  get killed, but when your time is up……..
Go

Now

Creation

 

 

 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
by Mike Flemming copyright

My old blue fountain pen allows
The ink across this page to flow
Like wet paint from an artist’s brush,
And words come in a rush.
Enchanted  by the hand that writes .
Bewitched by art,beauty alights
The script is like a music score
Through which we step as through a door,
Imagination’s home.
As,mysteriously, to you, to me,
The spirits of our hearts are tamed ,
By rhythms of pen,of brush, of mind,
They enter vision quite unplanned,
Like moths to flutter softly round
Fire joined heart and hand
The pen slows down,the hand grows still,
And ,just as dreams at daybreak will,
They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone
Like dew dies in hot sun

 SILENCE IS GOLDEN

 



I was planning to put on a quotation from William James but can’t   find the exact words he used,so this is a paraphrase:
The art of wisdom is knowing what to overlook”
Another thought:
Over the last twenty years we’ve been
recommended to be more assertive [women,especially]
Silence is a neglected response nowadays but it sometimes
produces better results  
And finally I have been reading “Anger” by Carol Tavris.I likeit very much.
She shows that the fashionable notion of getting your anger out
#by shouting,hitting cushions or indeed hitting someone else does not get rid of your anger ,it increases it.
Accepting your anger and counting to a hundred can often reduce the amount of anger you feel long term.
And divorced people who kept on talking about how nasty their ex-spouses were for years after the divorce did much less well
than people who once the first shocks were over refused to let  themselves keep repeating the stories about their evil partners to their friends and acquaintances.
So it seems self control,tongue control and self discipline maybe making a comeback.
However,moderation in all things even moderation is probably a good idea

On stinging nettles

On stinging nettles butterflies lay eggs
Not on blankets or upholstered beds
The over careful gardener lays waste
To Nature’s order  and to Nature’s grace

Holly leaves are sharper than a fist
But in those fierce conditions birds  make nests
The sharp edged leaves the stinging pains have use
To make some creature safe from our abuse

We grumble at the rain and wild west wind
As if we’re being punished for  some sin
Better be a wild flower or a weed
Trodden underfoot  by human needs

The little weeds have their resilience
They do not ruminate, they are not tense
To be a humble plant is perhaps the best
They at least will have eternal rest

The  beautiful, the plain have got their place
All   life in the end will be effaced