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
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.
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..
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
“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.”
The lily pond
The music of your eye
The touch of your arm
Your always honey smell
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.
Unusually tall dandelions at the edge of this wood
Wave in the warm west wind.
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.
I thank you