Did you ever have a lover
with long red hair?
For long red hair
seems quite unfair.

Did you ever have a lover
and then another lover?
For there's added gain
if you feel no pain.

Did you ever have a lover
who loved your eyes
and never ever lied,
and let you cry?
Whatever was the trouble.

You'll never have a lover.
if you have no time for others
for love needs care,
say,what is here.

Here and there are many lovely people
who live with their lives with scruples;
if you're scruple free,
then let it be.

Oh,let it be is fine,
Except for the divine.
I want to be involved
For I can't please all the folk,
Who touch me with their talk.
My heart has melted down...
and now I've grown a world
completely on my own.

Were you ever quite alone
Like a toad under a stone?
Did you ever hear a groan
as you wrote your poem?

For you'll never write a poem
that makes me laugh..
Because my feet are in the shower
but my body's in the bath.
My head is on the shelf...
and I've lost all of my teeth...
Yet you will love me
Evermore.
What allure!
so clear..

Evermore and evermore
You'll be standing on the shore
Watching the horizon,
wondering what she lies on.

Oh,you'll never be a poet,
Unless you learn your notes..
They take you to the limit.....
Love.whatever is it?Evermore,evermore...
The words seem like a roar...
I love your heart's deep core.
Ever more and ever more.

  December 1, 2017

The sun makes  autumn leaves   look like  gold flowers
Vibrant, energetic in the wind
Waving to small  children with love’s power

As Jesus looked out from his wooden tower
Was he severed from all humankind?
The sun makes  autumn leaves   look like  gold flowers

Forsaken by his Father, thunder lowered
The screen was cracked and shattered, by us blind
A menace to small  children and  love’s power

From the Christmas tree, gold coins had showered
Are these gifts from Judas or demands?
The sun makes  leaves   look like real  golden flowers

Can  God  be the vanished  point that lures
To infinity what shall remain
A solitude for worms, a love that cures?

Every figment has its own domain
From imagination , truth to human shame
The sun makes  autumn leaves   look like  love’s flowers
Attention must be paid though Satan glower

https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v43/n13/toril-moi/i-came-with-a-sword

The author rightly devotes a chapter to Weil’s ideas on attention. For her, attention is not focused, tense concentration. It has nothing to do with willpower. Attention is attente – a waiting, a letting go, an unselfish opening. To struggle with a problem in geometry is valuable whether or not we manage to solve it, because it teaches us to be open to God and therefore to others. The ‘love of God’, she writes

has attention for its substance; the love of our neighbour … is made of this same substance. Those who are unhappy have no need for anything in this world but people capable of giving them their attention. The capacity to give one’s attention to a sufferer is a very rare and difficult thing; it is almost a miracle; it is a miracle.

The point of studying is not to learn this or that, but to acquire this discipline of the soul. Weil argues that we can train our attention by doing geometry, Greek and Latin translation and by writing, if we are willing to wait for the right word to come. ‘The intelligence,’ Weil writes in a passage I particularly love, ‘can only be led by desire. For there to be desire, there must be pleasure and joy in the work.

Force and affliction

When read alongside her account of force and affliction, Weil’s vision of a just world permeated by respect for the dignity of work helps us understand the wretchedness of refugees in the West today. They arrive traumatised by war and conquest, forcibly cut loose from their roots, and yet we treat them with suspicion and refuse them the right to work. In Weil’s language, we meet refugees with force, deny their crucial needs and push them into affliction. In the same way, her vision of the dignity and honour of work makes me see more clearly than ever that contemporary mutations, such as zero-hours contracts, are incompatible with the respect  we owe another human being.

https://www.rbth.com/arts/333600-picasso-and-russia

5. Composer Igor Stravinsky

Sketch of Famous Composer Igor Stravinsky by Pablo Picasso.Bettmann/Getty Images

To prepare the sets and costumes for Parade, Picasso went to Rome, where he met Igor Stravinsky. They became friends, and their soon friendship evolved into professional collaboration when Picasso worked as a designer on Stravinsky’s ballet Pulcinella and painted several portraits of the musician. Stravinsky tried to take one of these with him to Switzerland, but border officials demanded to know what it was and refused to believe that it was a pencil drawing by a famous artist since it looked more like a blueprint. The composer agreed that Picasso’s work was indeed nothing more than a blueprint of his face. In the end, the portrait had to be sent by diplomatic mail through the British Embassy.

 
No words of mine can properly display
the anguish and the joy that touch our lives;
yet all our ghostly forebears went this way
where words may pierce our hearts like sharpened knives.

No sentient being willingly at first
Accepts the pain that true perception brings.
Yet we must not take hearts to be a curse.
We need not flee from knowledge,though it stings.

Each day demands our thoughtfulness and love
from which all better action justly comes
each day the grace we have is just enough
as through the meta narratives we roam

For life' s but a true story we invent,
with passion and with purified intentNo words of mine can properly display
the anguish and the joy that touch our lives;
yet all our ghostly forebears went this way
where words may pierce our hearts like sharpened knives.

No sentient being willingly at first
Accepts the pain that true perception brings.
Yet we must not take hearts to be a curse.
We need not flee from knowledge,though it stings.

Each day demands our thoughtfulness and love
from which all better action justly comes
each day the grace we have is just enough
as through the meta narratives we roam

For life' s but a true story we invent,
with passion and with purified intent

He said he  never wanted to be me again.
He asked me never to bury him again
None so  blind as those who’re on TV.
I see what you scheme
I’ll catch the late train and be stoned tomorrow
Please deceive me,I won’t know
The last chance will be a horror
To have and to mould ntil wrath us do part.
Until the penalty’s stark
It’s better to have loved the dust than never to have loved the balls
Men are in jars, women are in beakers
Never stop before the end
How many men can love me before I fly?

I have heard grass singing in the wind
I have walked through poppy fields in sun
I have known how dark gried can descend

I have watched trees’ shadows in deep ponds
I have known the arctic wastes of pain
I have heard grass weeping in the wind.

Another soul is writing with my hand
Yet I have wept while loaning them my pen
I am mangled when sharp rain descends

I have known the edges of the mind
I ‘ve sensed the silence un-contained.
I have heard grass singing in the wind.

I am sad for people who’re confined
I record the old deals of cruel men
I have suffered when dark rain descends

I have caught the storm by camera lens.
I have felt the solar system bend
I have heard grass singing in the wind.
I havewatched the pitch black rain descend

Pray Father,give me a Dressing.It is five Tweets since my last Depression
So what have you done now?
Well,as I’ve done nothing wrong today I am suffering from Pride.
You seem to think about yourself too muche
How much is too much,please?
Well,when we are happy and doing something we enjoy,we forget ourselves entirely. and that is the best way to be.But first we need some security.
How can I get that?
You need a spam guard for your mind!At the moment you are on automatic which is the default setting of your brain to act like a reptile…
Thanks very much,Father,I never knew I was a reptile.Did they have scruples..It was kill or be killed
.Don’t you see the scruples are an attack on yourself?The reptile is attacking you… as you have frightening thoughts it’s annoyed.
So how do I rebutt these thoughts?
Say,Alright if I’m the most wicked man in the city,smite me and do your worst.I am not afraid any more..I have done my best and if it’s not good enough strike me dead now or forever give me peace,
And what will happen after that?
Well,we shall see.But you have to face this thing head on.Bring it to a head.Lance the boil.
So if God does smite me dead?
Well, do you really think you are so wicked because you stole a half penny from the charity box fifty years ago?I see it’s a sort of pride… a theatrical display of guilt.Yes, quite right.Anyway, if you survive your ordeal let me know and I’ll give it a try.
Why,don’t say you have scruples too?
Yes,I have scruples about giving advice to people.If they follow it and it’s no good… it worries me…
.Why don’t we do or die together,Father?I’ll give you a buzz.Meanwhile am I absolved?Yes, dear boy.Sometimes I wish I could be dissolved.
.Why is that?I’d like to lose myself.
Why not try reading a good book…
I recommend Nicholas Freeling.But I feel guilty reading.
Now look here,Father,God helps those who help themselves….give yourself a break…A good novel, a cup of tea and a pussy on your knee,you’ll be transformed
.Thank you,my child.Don’t mention it,Father.
Don’t mention what?
They never say.It’s just a phrase or is it a phase?It’s all Greek to me.
I know some very sweet Greeks or are they geeks?
Just one letter can make such a difference..
Write soon

Her eyes were glued to the screen.
He had his head in a book
He fingered the money
I was in a brown study
His mood was black
His eyes were in the back of his head.
He stumbled through his resignation speech like a sheep on acid
The smartphone must be obeyed.11th Commandment
To see or not to see.
I am not here.
He must be in Denial today
Don’t leak on me.
I refuse to argue.Am I right? You are wrong
His hand was in the till.
He kept me in the dark
Love in the afternoon
He sat on his hands all night

https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2021-06-24/feel-wealthier-by-not-sweating-wealth-so-much?srnd=opinion-technology-and-ideas

“The point is that the feeling of wealth is relative, and the best way to feel wealthy, once you have satisfied Maslow’s lower-level requirements, is to learn to be happy with what you have, writes Erin Lowry, while also not sweating so much that someone will take it all away.”

Shimmering light
The lily pond
The music of your eye
The touch of your arm
Your always honey smell
.I love.
Rustling trees in a row,
A wide green lawn;
People stoop to see small flowers.
A snail on the path.
The perfecton of the shell.
I believe
Unusually tall dandelions at the edge of this wood
Wave in the warm west wind.
We smile.
Sitting pen in hand
I wonder what I would have written
In all the letters I’ve not sent you
.Far away on the Ridgeway,
Cars,seem small as ants,
Rush towards the motorway.
They make us laugh.
How green the meadows are
How fresh the old trees.
I gaze at you.
I find I am.
It’s mutual.
I thank you

It is not choosing wonders to behold
But it’s how we live wherever we are called
A moment with a golden buttercup
Is more to me than having gold on tap
How we listen well to little words
Not demanding it is our turn to be heard
For then we do not give and take for real
We are not concerned with how they feel
Yet can we do this purely by our will
Or are we given grace so our mind stills?
Wanting nothing we may gain much more
Simple if we find the open door

Flung into the heights by a fast car
I had a feeling time had gone  too slow
I  fluttered like an unsmoked black cigar
No fear nor anguish  gave me any blow

As I flew I looked down at the earth
I saw a screen where Einstein turned the wheel
The world’s a film and this is a new birth
There are dimensions peril makes us feel

Them I turned geometric in my flight
I reached the apex, fell to earth like stone
A flash of golden stars entered my sight
I lay upon St Giles; it thrashed my bones.

What we see is not all that is here.
Where’s the Lamb who runs the pub revered

The rag and bone man gave us yellow stone
We mopped the doorsteps once day at least
Then we made them yellow for a time

The cleanliness was pride in our poor homes
It did not last, the ritual was a test
The rag and bone man gave us yellow stone

Men with muddy work shoes inwards roamed
The posh priest had good shoes of dirt divest
Still we made steps yellow for a time

We all used the hairbrush and one comb
The sideboard had a mirror,Satan’s feast
The rag and bone man gave us yellow stone

In the yard we had a privy, shame!
Then a coal shed where the cats all pissed
Then we made steps yellow half sublime

We had an air raid shelter, what a cost
Liverpool had blazed and people lost
The rag and bone man gave us yellow stone
So we made the steps clean, love comes home

https://youtu.be/elbG-SFJM8w

Alfred comforts me

1,New Rd
Button
Suffolk
IPS0 0NO
UK
Dear Annette
I meant to write before but seeing you kept mentioning rubbish I had wondered if I should prune my blog and leave only the best poems here.However it is hard for me to decide,I don’t even remember many

I find I have to write a lot of so-so stuff before my mind and heart get working.It’s like exercise.But your letter was so funny,  it cheered me up.What a pity we live so far apart.
Maybe we could hang out on Google Mail!I have no idea what it means,do you?
I miss getting letters with handwriting on them.Wondering whose it might be etc.Why don’t we do that? It would be  very pleasurable to see your unique writing on an envelops
I had problems with my homework too.I decided to do Double Maths at A level as it would not take so much time up and then I could read novels.I didn’t know why or how we should do Lit Crit yet the English teacher cried when I was not down for A level.I do regret my error as it is a great sociial handicap although my optician who is Jewish says it’s no problem to them to have an intellectual wife.Still I am a bit too old to try another culture as I might mortally offend a hundred people at a stroke, and vice versa
I can see now what a blessing it might have been to read all the great writers and get paid to do it but curiosity also led me into maths as well.To be honest it was somewhat boring for a long time until we reached the higher slopes.Ah, well
Life goes so quickly.I’m reading Plath’s Journals and I see how she worried away so much of her time.That is a big mistake.Use worry for energy
Too much for girls to decide too rapidly when they are so gifted yet also want a family.And her psychoanalyst was not fully qualified
It seems to me the therapist “sold” her a story
I feel deprived of her later work.What a wonder it might have been
I look forward to hearing from you
With love

Mary, Emile and Stan’s old robin

Oliver Kissed by Charles Thickens
Oxford literary manscrapes by a Din
Jane’s Hair by Harlot Tonte
Cambridge Pies and other worrying notions by Hee.Who Nose.
Love and the afterswoon by A Lady of Note.
Yonder the green men pee by Thomas Tardy
The end of the world was last night by the BBC
The End of that Despair by Graham Scream
Three men who can gloat by Pheronomes K
Getoff
Venture to the Wisteria. by Lance Vandermost
Bridesmaids revisited by Evelyn War.
Collected ruins of English poets chosen by Ted Huggins.
Please keep notes at all lectures and keep in a folder till the Last Judgment.
Music:A selection from Chopin intermingled with Gershwin.Wear ear plugs if you like

Through the barbed wire fence, I saw a stream
Water washing down to  river wide
A field of daisies and wild grasses green

Inside my pulsing heart,  the blood did plead
That history and myth could take a ride
Through the barbed wire fence, I saw a stream

Lack of hope conspires to kill our dreams
And memories that lie can be no guide
To fields of daisies and wild grasses green

The silver birches light with sun’s soft beams
In their way, they are discreet disguise.
Through the barbed wire fence, I saw a stream

About the cruelty  of human deeds
The  library made is shattered and demeaned
Still fields of daisies hold wild grasses green

Few can bear to enter and to read
What the minds of sufferers could mean
Through the barbed wire fence, they saw a stream

While Icarus descended, unperceived
Farmers tilled their meadows, blithe, deceived
Through the barbed wire fence, we saw a stream
The field of daisies and wild grasses screamed

Silver birches grew  near Auschwitz at least in a film I saw

I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside
The river Rothay runs into the Mere
Mingling with the Brathay day and night

In my childish state I wished to die
To make the joy eternal, evermore
I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside

But we went on to Grasmere,Wordsworth’s guide
The river Rothay never suffered here
Mingling with the Brathay day and night

As a child I often was denied
The joy of nature,love but never fear
I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside

The rivers make no effort, down they ride
so should humans live and love sincere
Mingling with our Natures day and night

Life may be a mountain or a mere
The rivers flow, the stones are waiting clear
I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside
Crossing this dear water day and night

Art by Katherine using Microsoft Paint

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 GlovesShe  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 to 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 you 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!

As Mary ate her Weetabix, she felt a pain in her left leg rather like a toothache  gone awol
Emile, what are you doing?
Emile crawled out looking dusty. And he had just had a bath.
I was trying to bite the hairs off your leg, he miaowed plaintively
There are no hairs on my leg, she whispered. Oh, dear,I must  have walked into a cobweb
I wish Stan had got a cobweb brush, she muttered.
But do we really need a different brush for everything? Soon we will have one for each tooth. That will be expensive
She felt in her pocket for her Tablet. She wanted to draw a diagram of her brush cupboard using an Android App. But her pocket was empty
The back door opened and in ran Annie wearing a yellow nightdress and matching slippers
Hello, she cried. I  wanted to catch you before 9 am
Why, asked Mary?
The postman will be here by then. He has got a parcel for me. But I put your address.
What is the point of secrecy when you live alone. You have no man to question your expenses, have you? Nor a woman either
Well, Emile might ask me to explain.
Just because Emile is male it does not give him the right to tell you what to do
All my life I have obeyed men, Annie cried
Yes, after you have manipulated, seduced and terrified them
That is very cruel. I was only trying to help them.
Well, you may have done, but why not help yourself?
How can I do that?
Tune into your body and see what comes to mind
Beetroot, Annie responded.
So you must need  them, get dressed and we will go to the greengrocers
You have got very bossy, said Annie. Did you have a nightmare?
It was more like a night-tiger, Mary revealed. Something bit my foot and it hurt
Oh, mother , cried Emile, it was me!
You, Emile. What made you do that, she said angrily?
It was in my way as I crawled under the duvet, the cat whispered
Surely you could have gone further down.
I wanted to see what you tasted like!
That is evil, not to say perverted, Mary told him. I shall take you for therapy or would Confession be better? Is it a compulsion you cannot help or is it a sin?
Annie was silent. She  did not like questions nor  any kind of prolonged thought
Don’t ask me, she finally said. Maybe Emile needs a man in the house.
I don’t want any more men, Mary said sadly. They seem to die
Well, Stan was 128 years old. Annie informed her.I saw his birth certificate once. Unless it was 12.8 years
Don’t be so ridiculous. How could he have been 12.8 years old?
It must be a miracle, said Annie. Tell the Pope and he might be  declared a saint soon
St Stan of Knittingham, Patron Saint of Almost Adolescents.
The bell rang. In ran Dave.
He was dressed in navy.
I am  ready to take you to Church, he told the ladies
To church? I’d rather go to Wigan Pier
Oh,  the sea is not there on Sundays!
Is it there on the Sabbath, Annie muttered?
No, it’s not, Dave said quietly
Wow,  two more miracles, she said as she fainted into the Pantry
How annoying, Mary said. I just classified the jam
Well, things could be worse, said Dave. She’s not broken any and cut herself
What, she falls and breaks nothing. She must be very light.
Yes, she nearly  is electric, he quipped
Whatever next?

And so say all of us

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind.
After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake.
 ¹² After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.
And after the fire. a still small voice

When Mary awoke, she felt the pain in her ear was worse.
I think must have an ear infection, she said to Annie while she was beating the doormat
on the wall to get the dust out.
Maybe you should stop cleaning and housework.You are releasing lots of dirt into the air
You are right,Mary replied.It’s just what Mother used to do
But did she have a hoover?
No, we had a Ewbank.
Get a cordless cleaner and it will suck the dust out for you
Thanks,Annie.I think I will go to the Urgent Care Centre.I don’t want an abscess in my ear to explode,as it were.
I’m sorry I can’t come but they have restrictions about how many visitors go in
Mary called a cab.Soon she was in the almost empty hospital.How much she would have liked a companion.Still, there is always God, wherever he has moved to.
A young woman with thick frizzy fair hair called her in and said that she was a GP
Mary was thinking how much better her pale lips would look with some lipstick
As for her clothes, it is best to remain silent.I suppose doctors can’t afford to go to M & S nowadays
Mary thought.
There is some wax in your ear, the doctor told Mary in a cruel manner
That’s good.I need a candle,Mary said inventively
Then the maskless doctor stood in front of Mary and peered into her mouth.
Shee pushed Mary’s crutch away and announced, there is nothing wrong with you
You must go out and make new connections, do things, go to Dances, play Bingo
Get up and walk, she advised , Jesus remarked in the Gospel l,though he also asked the cripple to take up his bed yet there were no beds left in the hospital
Oh,dear Mary said I am not wired myself as yet.My body is running on sunshine.
Do you think I should offer my supine body to the lonely old men living in the big houses near here?
I’m afraid I shall have to charge them.Do you have any free room with an elecric socket that I might use? And we’ll need a bed
The beds are all full, the doctor replied
Good grief, how many people are in these beds? Do they share?
Don’t ask me.It’s my coffee break, the young lady cried
Mary struggled up and went outside to call a cab
At least it’s been a change of scene yet as the cab drove her home, the pain began to get worse.
Is Mary going to make it?

To be concluded shortly
Funeral arrangements by the Coop. if needed

---

When we walked  I  held your hand in mine
We walked  round a small lake  to see geese fly
We  sauntered, in a rhythm were aligned

Time had stopped, the geese  in circles climbed
Then swept  onto the path as we came by
When we walked  I  held your hand in mine

Like a natural god, the geese divine
Landed  in their beauty with a sigh
We  entered  a new rhythm, were aligned

On the shining water  geese in line
Float and hunt for food with little cries
When we walked  I  held your hand in mine

 In our garden for your love I pine
I  cannot love another  till I die
We  sauntered, in a rhythm were aligned

God is on the mountain with his lyre
Singing of the beauty of desire
When we walked  I  warmed your hand in mine
We  lived attuned  to love  until you died

She looked in the pool by the little park gate
Second seeing  to find out her fate
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised.
Curiousity often seems wise
Oh,my dear sister what do you see there?
I hope it’s a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sisters dear,let us float.
We’ll never see Daddy again, ‘cos he’s here
and down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel with his sharp sword.
We cannot follow, no, we must go back
We each must stay on our track.
Three little children with long ,silky hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two;
Eyes of one green, the other’s blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my dear sisters into the daylight.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I loved my  sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t hope for what cannot be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool,
Held in God’s hand like a jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings must ride.
For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
Nothing and everything’s passed