Cliches for all

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https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-squeaky-wheel/201306/the-seven-hidden-dangers-brooding-and-ruminating

It was the best of times, it was  the  worst of times in a very real sense.
Mary  dreamed Stan was in heaven enjoying the company of Wittgenstein,Jesus and Pascal , not to mention Lady Jane Grey Ann of Cleves,Juliet,Cleopatra and an angel.
At  least  at this point in time he can’t sleep with them  ,she thought as she woke up.Though did that matter? Can men be faithful and monogamous?
Look at Leonard Cohen.Was he better off flitting from flower to flower? Was he so stunning that women threw themselves at him and he could not resist?Sometimes people are actually afraid of intimacy or feel life is short and want some new experiences.Was he a wolf? It t akes one to know one
It was indeed  almost the worst of times when Mary remembered she had no food in the house except cat food for Emile.He was all she had now as  her daughter Lyra lived in Australia and Stan was in heaven, she hoped.
Here I am, she thought, pondering unanswerable questions and not looking after myself .It is probably  best to err on the side of buying food and going out rather than lying in the bed wondering  if life has any inherent  meaning. or  if we must create our own.
Even discussing that with someone else would be better.But men folk don’t want to discuss serious topics with their lovers.
It was an even worse time when she recalled a man who once  loved  her leaving her because she asked him if he knew what post-modernism was one night after going to the cinema to see a comedy.She realised then that she would have to play a part,To act like a woman.So far it was but moderately successful owing to her myopic view of life
If only I had kept quiet, she told herself,I could be  lying beside  him now enjoying a few kisses and hugs and asking him how to light  the electric fire.Still ,there’s many a slip twixt cup and lip
Now then, said a  loud voice.Stop   ruminating and get  up. One stitch in time saves nine.
Who are you to say that to me, she called nervously ?
She wondered of stress  had driven her round the bend.She had begun reading a book which said mental illness in not an illness like flu.
It is a reaction to bad events and  other life strains.
It doesn’t matter who I am,just do as I say, came the answer
Mary recognised the voice.It was her dad who had died when she was 9.
Dad, she called, why are you here now?
Because Jesus told us to  love our family, he revealed pleasantly.
Why now after all these years? she persisted.
I have missed you.
I always did have a bad sense of direction,he told her.But do as I say.You won’t recover easily if you never get up.Stan is here but he is busy cleaning the gold cutlery for an angel.
Alright, but I never knew there was cutlery up there, she murmured as she put on her  new clothes.She had bought some purple trousers and two new jumpers.One was pink and one  was teal.The trousers were exceptionally comfortable  being  in a last years’ sale  by a famous label..She  then found some Weetabix in  the cupboard and some long life milk.As she drank her tea she admired the acer’s brilliant red leaves.
Almost too bright, she thought.It’s  due  to the hot September.Plants are affected by their environment and so are we.Especially by bad or hot tempered men and women
Poor people may have  more than in the  past but they tend to live in the ugliest areas of the town with no gardens nor parks.
And seeing the better off walk by wearing expensive clothes it is surprising there are not even more muggings.
She recalled seeing  a man with a Rolex watch and gold earrings on  talking on his new iPhone as he wandered through the Mall.I suppose we think everybody else is like us; we don’t mix with  very poor or very rich people on the whole.Unless we are one of those two types.
Mary went outside and found a neighbour wheeling in her bins.
Thanks ,Tom, she cried.I wondered who it was.I am very grateful.What is post modernism,by the way?Nobody will tell me.
Emile was watching from the window sill.
I knew it was Tom, he mewed.
But you didn’t tell me,Mary replied.
You didn’t ask.
Tom wandered off ,while Mary admired the autumn trees lining the road.Tom turned  back and looked at her but she didn’t notice.
Time for coffee, she muttered and went inside again.She was embroidering a  table mat which said “Rumination is for the birds”.Where it had come from was a puzzle.But it may be a good thought

And so say all of us

Blythburgh thoughts

Blythburgh, Holy Trinity Church - History, Travel, and accommodation  information

Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey
Not much contrast from the soft silk sky
No birds nor any brightness, light won’t play

The ones who act so manic are not gay
If there is no truth, there are no lies
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey

On our backs on Sutton Bank we lay
My acts outcry, my grief I shall defy
No birds nor any life. the light won’t play

Who is born a hunter.who the prey?
The lion has lost the unicorn nearby
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey

I think of brexit, oh the blush,shame
The spirits flatten;rise up,do not die
No birds nor any life, the light won’t play

I wonder what the loss is or the gain
I wish we were in Suffolk by the Bly
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey
No birds, no life ,I’m languid, would you stay?

We live because we are breathed by sacredness

Before we go to bed we vegetate
No need for teacher but a compost heap.
And as we vegetate, we drift to sleep
While in our dreams our little mind debates

But mostly we’re unknowing in this dark
Where God himself may manifest at will.
His dazzling darkness makes our souls be still
And wait for strikes by living ,glowing sparks.

But in the morning ,we come back to strife
Take up our work and suffer every stroke.
From sapling to the oldest,strongest oak
Each must choose again its proper life


Every look we cast at others strikes
Reflects and shows us what we have become
And when there is no movement, we are done
Our mind and heart have chosen what they like


. So in our end we vegetate again
And no more rise to labour in the day
We fertilise the fields passed on our way
We show the end of woman and of man.


A daily round becomes our life and death.
We live because we’re breathed by sacredness

Confess again

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May I confess my sins online,Father?
If you must.
Well, I don’t like Boris Johnson
Is that it?
Sorry to be so boring.
Everyone today is confessing the same thing
I just saw him!
Yes, he hates himself too
Is he a Catholic?
Well. Hitler was.
But was Johnson brought up as one?
Well, he knows how to confess sins
That’s no use unless he stops committing them
Right, he has no firm purpose of amendment.
He  compliments Trump for his racist outbursts
He may even complement Trump.
Stitch them together and there is still something missing
What?
Humanity, humaneness,caritas, agape,care,kindness
I  see you went to a good Seminary,Father.I used to like the Latin Mass
But not Latins en masse
I prefer them to the English
That is a sin.We must love equally
Can’t we hate equally instead?
I am  ambivalent about that
You’re a Paradox
Where do they  originate? 
Somewhere Unorthodox.
This is getting rude
No it’s not!
Don’t contradict me
That’s Latin!
It’s an order
Or a disorder?
Stop playing games
Who’re you? Wittgenstein?
He’s dead
What a shame
Actually would he  enjoy living in England now
No, because he was Jewish.
So are lots of people.
Somehow they get hurt  or even killed at times
What times?
Nazi.times
Stalin-times
Tsar-times

GoodFriday-times
Greedy-times
Allthe-time
In the Times
Of the times
Oh, time!
Well it’s about time we stopped it.
About time
On time
In time
After time
Time and Motion
Soon we’ll have the Flood
Why has Boris not built an Ark?
Because he doesn’t Noah how to
Because God didn’t see him
Because there was a  full stop at the end of the sentence.
Is that not normal?
Not on WhatsApp!
What is up?
What is down?
I don’t know, where’s the Eskimos snow


The eyes see what we fear or what we need

He thought I was an enemy , he said
The eyes see what we fear or what we need
I gave him love,but hate grew there instead

If you need to hate, try someone dead
Do not say cruel words that make us bleed
He thought I was an enemy , he said

Do not dwell where people hate the good
If they curse, it’s best to pay no heed
I gave him love,but hate welled up instead

Emotions mingle, wanton like fresh blood
Let them be till form can be perceived
He thought I was his enemy , he said


Do not confront the paranoid nor mad
The agony of their minds has them deceived
We give them love,but hate wells up instead

Never take such people into bed
Let them run away, they’ll be relieved.
He mistook me for an enemy , he said
I gave him love and care now I feel bad

Without a plate

Food is not a meal without a plate
The history of our race is one of rites
The dignity of setting, time and date

Single folk may eat meals from a tray
The gobbling of the burger’s out of sight
Food is not a meal without a plate

A prayer of blessing, heads bowed as we say
Then we eat, converse into the night
With dignity in meeting, time with space

The plates, a simple white, we dedicate
To the love of sharing and of light
Food is a fine meal upon a plate


From the high chair, toddlers aggravate
Let them be themselves, without dislike
Learn their dignity without disgrace


The Sunday roast, the laughter we incite
Forgivenesss and regret for our mistakes
Food is not a meal without a plate
The dignity of setting, time and date

Virtue ethics

Below is an extract

Virtue ethics is a broad term for theories that emphasize the role of character and virtue in moral philosophy rather than either doing one’s duty or acting in order to bring about good consequences. A virtue ethicist is likely to give you this kind of moral advice: “Act as a virtuous person would act in your situation.”

Most virtue ethics theories take their inspiration from Aristotle who declared that a virtuous person is someone who has ideal character traits. These traits derive from natural internal tendencies, but need to be nurtured; however, once established, they will become stable. For example,  a virtuous person is someone who is kind across many situations over a lifetime because that is her character and not because she wants to maximize utility or gain favors or simply do her duty. Unlike deontological and consequentialist theories, theories of virtue ethics do not aim primarily to identify universal principles that can be applied in any moral situation. And virtue ethics theories deal with wider questions—“How should I live?” and “What is the good life?” and “What are proper family and social values?”

Confusion is a pool but not a lake

With words. he pulled some in and pushed some out
He wanted love but still encountered doubts
Should he make commitments then feel trapped?
Should he disappear from lovers’ maps?


He joined an online dating site and smiled
His profile photo strong and slightly wild
He got ten ladies asking for a date
Did they want a lover or a mate?


He gazed upon their photos,felt confused
Did he want a wife or perhaps a muse?
He could not bring himself to use the phone
Spent the evening time at home alone

He fell into obsessive thought and dreams
A new friend may be party to a scheme
Could he trust his judgement or their truth
Soon he lost his temper, gnashed his teeth


Should he seek a therapist for aid?
Was his mind withdrawn or in decay?
Should he join a gym or grow a beard?
Was he what they wanted, what they feared?


In the end he thought his life away
He died in bed alone one autumn day
It does not matter deeply what we choose
But life is more important than these clues

What control

Photo by moein moradi on Pexels.com

Seems the seven plagues are coming back
Now we are in Lockdown for control
Of care for others, seems there was a lack
Oh, the seven plagues are riding back
We never saw the swift and silent rat
Where are those lost entities called “souls”?
I say, the deadly plagues are fast and wreck
The total Lockdown. who then will console?
Noone will admit they knew the facts
Killing any virus is a knack
Both high intelligence and smooth sweet tact
Suddenly I hear the thunder roll
What’s the good of weeping by a crack
Noone worships tears in sugar bowls