Choose not death

The crushing  grief when  someone chooses death
When life had shown much promise and much hope
Turns the  ones who loved to  find new paths

Some may sin, encouraged by cruel wrath
Against the  one who chose the wicked rope
The shock of grief  at such too early death

Others freeze  and cannot take a breath
Scarcely moving as their mind elopes
Making  then impossible   their path

The mountains  of  deep grief I could not pass
Until  a  warm gold light caressed  my heart
The  wounds  of grief , the sacrifice, the Mass

Do not dwell in darkness  and distress
Follow me he murmured  while we start
I will help you find a different path

The golden light  had brought for me a chart
The sea of life had ripples ,brilliant sparks
The suffering and the  grief from such a  death
Turned the  one who loved  onto this path.

 

 

 

 

 

Even in black darkness all is well

Cut off from humankind in my dark well
Unimagined death had my love scorned
I lay grieving in a prison cell

How did I get here, am I in hell?
My soul was leaving from my body warm
Cut off from humankind in my dark well

Shall I too fall where my lover fell?
I felt such pain,I was a skinless worm

A person grieving in a prison cell

I did not wish in this black place to dwell
I felt a force that pulled till my heart tore
Cut off from humankind in my dark well

In despair I had no thoughts at all
Until a golden light around me formed
To hold this person grieving in her cell

In gratitude great tears ran as I learned
Love had followed me when I was harmed
Cut off from humankind in my dark well
The ladder of his thorns broke my death spell

No words existed in its welcome hold

Struggling in the black of sinking sands
As I heard of when a little child
I gave up hope and let myself descend

My garments as a mourner I did rend
Death itself was shown me and beguiled
Struggling in the black of sinking sand

Far away from loved ones ,with no friend
The suffering of the past seemed almost mild
I gave up hope and let myself descend

I felt from every heaven I had been banned
With demons  of the Nazis  in exile
Struggling in the black of sinking sand

I am not inclined to make demands
Yet then  a mystic light caressed my soul
I  had lost my hope and feared  the end

This  golden light  enwrapped me like a stole
No words existed in its welcome hold
Struggling in the black of sinking sands
I was lifted out by  unknown hands

 

Oh, gentle Light

I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present with your Light

Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird
I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.

Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people  had their well trained Scribes
You were always there,oh gentle Light

You  gave me warmth, you  changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe?
I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.

The agony inside me lost its bite
I wanted to go on, to be alive
You  do not always show your golden Light

We do not know  when we at last arrive
We do not reach this  meeting place by strife
I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time
I never saw such  Gold until that night

Rosa buys some new clothes

Rosa was looking in a very interesting clothes shop online.Here she saw an outfit totally

unsuited to her new post as Head of Linguistics in the University of Unisex.
There her eye was drawn to a pair of blue trousers with a red stripe down each leg.The trousers were somewhat shorter than in the days of that pair of women, Trinny and Susanna who told all of us how to dress.Especially to wear trousers that cleaned the pavement as we walked along as it made our legs look longer

Rosa met her friend Mary for coffee.
What do you think of these trousers, Mary? she asked, showing them to the bewildered lady on her HP Phablet.
I don’t think Stan would have liked those, she murmured.
I see some advantages, Rosa said.
If you have nice ankles then it reveals them and if not, you can wear really fun socks with butterflies on them.
Real butterflies? Mary queried anxiously
No, embroidered or knitted, Rosa said.You see them in those catalogues that come round before Xmas
Or you could knit your own, said Mary.

I think knitting butterflies is very hard, Rosa whispered.
Nothing is innately hard, said Mary.It all depends on what you already know and if you have a good teacher and your devotion
How does Quantum theory compare to knitting butterflies? Rosa enquired jocosely.
That makes it sound as if you will knit with actual butterflies or that butterflies themselves might knit! Mary exclaimed.
That would be a thing you might see on LSD
Is that the latest kind of TV set, Rosa asked her?
For goodness sake, Rosa.Have you never taken drugs?
I don’t believe I have.You see at Oxford I was friendly with an ex-heroin addict.
He told me not to buy drugs because I saw things like other people do when they take heroin.But I see like that naturally!
Well, that is fortunate for you, Mary sighed.Was it true?
There is no way of knowing, said Rosa scientifically but it saves money.
Well ,how about these trousers?I could get some red ankle boots and a red shirt.Noone wears dresses anymore except maybe transsexuals.
I wear them,Mary said.When I was thin I wore a knitted dress.
Not knitted by butterflies I hope,Rosa giggled
Well, it was from M & S so I doubt it although it would be cheaper to use them as butterflies don’t know what money is!
Nor do many human beings now.Why, plastic £5 notes…. it’s like toy money
And so say all of us

Logic and marriage

Annie ran into Mary’s kitchen wearing a pale green coat and matching suede s oes
Oh,let me tell you my happy news,I am gettng married again
Is that why you are all dressed up?Why green?
Don’t be ridiculous,marriage needs organising
You mean the Ceremony?
Yes, and the meal
I think marriage itself needs organising.Who will pay the bills and bring in the coal?
Which side of the bed will you sleep on?
Oh, I must get larger bed,Annie realised thoughtfully
And who is to be your husband?
I’ve not decided yet,Annie admitted quietly
How many candidates are there for the position,Mary asked quizzically?
Well, the main one is Denis, the psychoanalyst across the road
I expect he already has a big bed..Mary joked knowingly
Yes,I spent a night or so with him and he has a memory foam mattress here.
I hope it doesn’t remember all the women he has slept with
Well, only if they slept there.They might have gone to an hotel or been in a caravan
at Southwold Harbour,Annie rambled on
They might have slept in a wood by a log fire or in a tent on the West Ban
k
So will he be faithful to you?
He’s already told me he adores me more than he knew possible
That will soon wear off when you live together
How cruel you are,Annie sighed ,like martyr waiting to be executed
Shall I make some tea for us both?
Yes and boil my hankies as well,Mary joked.
I shall boil your tongue if you keep teasing me!
They sat down near the window while the sun was setting in a wine coloured sky
I do like your outlook,Annie said
I thought it was Microsoft’s,Mary told her innocently
You silly idiot,I mean your view
I’ve never heard of YourView.Is it a new thing like Zoom? Mary asked nervously
I mean, this view here from your window at dusk
Wow,I am frightened how I assume everything I learn of is related to Modern Technology
Yeah, said Annie,I’ve done it too
You are both stupid,said Emile the resident cat
How rude.Why do you say that,Mary enquired boldly?
It’s the whole human race.All hooked on Skype or a Twatter
What’s a Twattter?
It’s someone who lives on Twitter
You won’t find a bird on Twitter.
So a bird can’t be a Twatter
That is correct.Aristotle would be pleased if he were here
Where is he?
In a book
.

That is end of “Logic made simple” on BBC education

Smokey Essex cornfields, insects’ pyres

While my husband kissed me in our bed
Our cat would  lounge on top and lick his head
No matter what gyrations that cat saw
All he did was pat us with his paws
The happy days of learning  how to feel
How to entertain with spicy meals
Of walking by warm rivers hand in hand
Watching coots and moorhens ,washing pans
Buying an old kettle, then a house
Driving  out to Ongar ,stubble fires
Smokey Essex cornfields, insects’ pyres
Driving  down the Saxon Cliffs at Hythe
Soft teal Sea,Capel le Ferne, men’s eyes
Happy  in a cottage in the wilds
I sang like some  small bird, we walked for miles
Kersey where the ducks bathe in the street
Kissing in the hedges was so sweet
Getting  our own garden, growing beans
Growing spinach, lettuce and snap peas
Picking  our blackcurrants, making tea
Making jam from raspberries. yes please
This proves that when you marry you need pans
Cooking  dinners  talking with our friends
Wearing jeans and  hair so long it flowed
My husband liked to brush it till it glowed
I dream some nights my hair is still like that
And how  the cat slept with his paws in it
How his father died and mother grieved
Life is not all positive, we see.
On we went and love  was what we grew
Though anger  did rise up and strain the glue
First the cat died, then my man went too
Can’t I adopt a beast  from Whipsnade Zoo?

Low literacy is political

It’s not in the interest of the government today

To make us all more literate for they would have to pay.

I don’t mean the money,thr teacher and the schools

I mean to give the adults more literacy tools.

The reading age is measured from 4 to 16 years

Put the average in our great country is only 9, I fear.

So we cannot read the Times the Guardian just the Sun.

Before a new Election, the reading is no fun.

To make it very plain if the people cannot read

Someone else will give them what they think they need.

Breaking it all down into babies kind of food,

Writing little articles and photographing nudes.

Running reading lessons would be political indeed.

Then we could read anything and get our mental foodm

Bare brown fields in Essex

Fields in Essex shrivel in the sun

Dry and dusty longing for the rain.

The harvest half destroyed, the crops are done

Fields in Essex shrivel in the sun

No hiding place for hares,for birds no crumb

Lack of water causes creatures pain.

Fields of Essex shrivel in the sun

Baked to dust while waiting for sweet rain