Waxy flowers poking through
Snow so white
Flowers bright.
Made me think of you.
I see once more your light brown hair,
Soft as snow,
On pillow.
Now my bed is bleak and bare
,
Face alight,flower to sun,
I loved you.
Love so true.
Fear by love,overcome.
Cyclamen in the snow,
Pink and red,
Now frozen,dead.
Love was,oh,so long ago.
But never gone from in my mind.
Thoughts so deep,
Upwards seep.
Love was gentle,love was kind,
Always in my mind
She’d never seem rainwater deeper than eyes
Mystery undisguised.
Round the big puddle she ran and ran;
Too much for her dolly’s pan.
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised.
Curiousity’s often so wise
Oh,my dear sister what see you 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 own track.
Three little children with long golden 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 light.
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”.
All we can live by is trust
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.
Thisl two-line poem by Emily Dickinson is formal verse because it rhymes and its lines contain the same number of syllables (ten) with the same stress pattern of unstressed and stressed syllables: “In this short Life that only lasts an hour / How much – how little – is within our power.”
https://www.litcharts.com/literary-devices-and-terms/formal-verse
Saturday was shopping then a walk
Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car
Reading book reviews and chewing stalks
Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore
Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed
Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed
Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain
The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed
Standon with its fords and wandering cows
Little rivers,Essex, flowing down
The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound
Water for the Thames and mossy ground
The earth feels like my body sacrificed
An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide
Mary was on a step ladder in the bathroom, spying on her husband Stan,through a hole in the wall.He had drilled this for spying on women sunbathing semi-nude in their private back gardens.
He was climbing over the fence with Emile their cat on his shoulder.
I think it’s so ridiculous, she muttered .
Surely Emile can jump over the fence by himself.But Emile was very limp,she saw belatedly,
He can’t be dead,she whispered to herself fearfully.She jumped down off the ladder and hit her head on a tap.
Oh,my!That hurt…I’d better be careful. she murmured and she flew down stairs to Stan in the kitchen
Emile has got concussion, Stan said mournfully.
Is he not dead , perhaps,?she wondered anxiously.
No, he only fell off Annie’s roof.I am sure he’ll come to.
Good Lord.What made him go up there and more important,how did he do it?
You’d better ring 999,he informed her gently
If you say so ,my dear
Soon Dave,the bisexual transvestite paramedic ran in wearing a sundress and dark glasses,
with golden sandals from Hooters.
Poor Emile,what have you done?
He fell off Annie’s roof, but we have no theory as to how he got there,said Stan.
Well, there’s no need to think of that… we deal with reality.That’s my modus operandi!
He gave Emile the kiss of life.Emile came to…but was not pleased
Why did you waken me up? I was having a lovely dream of walking down a silver path where I saw a big cat with shining fur and tender eyes looking at me.He just began to miaow when some f**king idiot woke me up… was he God?
I can’t say,Emile,dear.But please do not swear.
I’ll do whatever I f**king well feel like,Emile said. nastily
Good heavens, what has happened.Has he been reading dirty books?
No, he was watching East Enders on TV… they all use the f word constantly.
Well,Emile.God will have to wait… he’ll be glad if you do some kind work here on earth.
Up yours,said Emile.I am sick of living here. I’ve been hoping for years Stan would mate with Annie but he has only managed a kiss.
Perhaps it was the kiss of life,said Mary hopefully
Well, in a sense,you might have hit the snail on the bed said Stan thoughtfully.I know any further mention of philosophy will drive me utterly and eternally mad!
Now,Dave said,shall I make you all some hot tea?
Thank you Stan responded.I am half crazed already.Tea may save my sanity.But for what?
Annie came in wearing her brick red trouser suit and a white sun hat. her face a dark shade of beige and her lips light mauve, with lipstick from Max Fracture’s new range.
Did you know Emile was in a hot air balloon,she said in tones of wonder.How has he got down so fast?
I f**king well fell out, the cat yawned proudly.Then I had a near death experience until this loon here brought me round.
Emile,I ’ve never heard you swear before! she whispered in a strange manner reminiscent of those silent films starring unnamed and forgotten beauties of long ago.
Do you like it,baby? Emile asked.
No I don’t. I’ve never said F*ck in all my life.
Well you have now,the cat informed her with a naughty smile.
I think he’s possessed by demons.We’ll have to have him exorcised.
But I like demons,Emile bawled .I’ve been good all my life and I am bored and depressed.
So you believe swearing will help more than therapy?
Emile got up and lit a cigarette nonchalantly with a certain ,je ne sais lah
Good grief,he’ll be having sex on the sofa next ,said Stan.
What a good idea,said Emile, but I want my own room and an en suite..I mean to impress the next girl friend I have.
Dave drank some tea and watched these old folk ponder.
I am wondering where we went wrong,said Mary.All these years we’ve educate you privately and even had you baptised.
Well.I am going to be a Jew,said Emile.
I don’t think a cat can be a Jew… and you never ever had any interest in the spiritual before,why this?
Well,when I was unconscious I realised that God exists….
But why be a Jew?
Well,they were the first to see God in a Burning Brush.
And the last too, I hope,thought Annie nervously.
Well,said Stan.You want to smoke,swear ,make love and possibly enjoy wine and song.Is that not enough?
Does God smoke and swear?
There was a long silence and Emile answered’
Well,Yes he does.
I’m off said Dave.I have to ring the Pope.
Why? asked Emile. I am not going be a Catholic….
Well,said Dave, he ought to know that God is a cat.
I was the only beginner in the class and I was terrified well also enjoying it to some extent. It is not as bad as I thought it was when I was doing it but I have no confidence at that time in Now I don’t mind what people think of it.
Growing up, “instead of cowboys and Indians, we played Israelis and Palestinians. She would come over and kick me out of my house.” She said that gag often gets the biggest laugh in the show. “I try to find humor in the awful things that are happening to both of us,” she explained.
The revue features more Jewish comedians than Muslim ones. “Jews invented stand-up comedy in North America,” Eman conceded. “But it’s definitely booming in the Muslim community.” Eman, who’s appeared at comedy shows in Jordan and Israel and runs the revue with Jewish comic Jeff Schouela, said she’s encountered no tension in mixed Muslim/Jewish audiences. In fact, she said, tensions tend to melt away. “Last year, we were kind of worried. But I felt that the name of the event got almost 400 people to the venue. Our sense of humour is so similar.”
I once bought my kids a set of batteries for Christmas with a note on it saying, toys not included.
Bernard Manning
Autonomy is defined as our ability to know who we are at our core, and to act on our own feelings, beliefs, and interests. Our development of self-love and self-trust is fundamental to having a sense of autonomy.
When a child’s basic needs for independence and autonomy are not met, this can create developmental “holes” where they may have gone unseen, unheard, or controlled as a child. If a child is not taught how to be autonomous, they are also not being taught how to establish a sense of self-identity, or how to trust their judgment.
D
Trustworthiness
If you say you will do something and always follow through or are always there for support or a shoulder to cry on, you are a trustworthy friend. If a friend tells you something in confidence and asks you not to say anything, you need to keep that locked up tight in your brain vault. When friends find out that you told someone about something that was supposed to be private information that could be grounds for dissolution of that friendship. Friends need to know that you will keep information private and that you are a person of your word.
Support
When you are going through a rough patch, it is important to have someone to turn to. You may have a significant other who is part of your support systeml
WRITERS ON WRITING; Timeless Tact Helps Sustain A Literary Time Traveler https://www.nytimes.com/2001/07/02/arts/writers-on-writing-timeless-tact-helps-sustain-a-literary-time-traveler.html
How my heart sings 