Month: December 2022

Annie and Mary think about Christmas

Mary and her much loved next door neighbour Annie were discussing what to do for Christmas .They had both lost their husbands on their journey through life. I have to inform you here ear Annie who was the mistress of Mary’s husband Stanley for the years at the end of his life and ironically it made her closer to Mary

In fact Mary believed that Annie had killed her own husband because she needed the insurance money. Mary had not said anything because it would never happen. Furthermore she did not have any proof inl but it was a gut reaction as the husband disappeared very suddenly. But she had been a big help to Mary when Stan was ill. She even took 0 their cat Emile out t in her shopping trolley so he could enjoy local scene without danger of getting lost or attacked on route.

And the doctor had never been called.

She will believe what she says because she is so polite

Even if you call the doctor now they don’t come but a few years ago they did especially to old people.

But why had Annie not called 999 and left Dave to have a look at her husband it she was worried about him? That is very suspicious. perhaps her husband never felt ill until she hit him on the head with a cast iron saucepan.

Annie had told her that her husband ran away with his sister-in-law and they had gone to New Zealand but Mary knows she has a lot more money now than she did before. And she did not have a job Perhaps an unknown relative left her some money in their will.

Could Annie have murdered one of her relatives without Mary getting a hint of this crime?

Is your daughter Lyra coming home for Christmas Annie said to Mary. We have not seen her for a very long time. What pity she never had any children. Are you sorry about it? Oh I’m so sorry I should not have said that because it’s not my right to pry into your affairs.

it’s odd that you say that because I got a letter from her this morning or should I say an email from her, she said she’s going to go to Morocco because she doesn’t like the weather in England in December and January and she’s got a cheap holiday for 4 weeks in Morocco for only £69.69.

That’s very cheap replied Annie Do you think we should go to Morocco? Somewhere similar?

No said Mary I don’t like being in a hotel at Christmas.and do they have Turkeys in Morocco?

No they probably have Turkish people but not turkeys

Well we can’t have a roasted Turkish person for Christmas dinner because we are no longer man eating people Annie joked. Well we might have been eating Boris Johnson. Descended from a Turk so I read in the New York Times

They wouldn’t know how to cook Turkeys properly over there.Mary told her .

What I’m proposing is that we will stay here in your house Mary for Christmas morning so I can help too with the cooking and since you have got a big dining room we can invite a couple of local people who have nowhere to go to come and eat a Christmas dinner with us 

But what about Dave our favourite paramedic? Shall we invite him to have Christmas dinner with us?

No we won’t invite him. But we can ring 999 and get him to come round if the leg falls off the table. I hope the leg doesn’t fall off while we are eating the dinner though

Well for goodness sake get a man to look at the table before Christmas.

Alright I will get someone to come and look at my leg as well. I can get that nice man Tom who came last year.

You are a total nutcase. He’s a carpenter your leg is not made of wood

I see I made the wrong kind of logical conclusions

A carpenter can mend the table leg or the chair leg. But we need a doctor for our painful human legs

We could listen to the King making his speech at 3pm on ChristmS Day and we must watch because it will be a historic occasion it will be his first time as the King at Christmas. He must have spent a long time preparing for this moment and deciding what to put into a speech but he’s got to be careful with the present government 

Yes that’s alright by me, if I make the Christmas pudding will you make the mince pies?

Oh yes I will said Annie I quite like making pastry., I might put some brandy in

Then at 4 pm we’ll have a cup of our favourite Earl Grey tea and we can send the visitors back to their own home or whatever else they want to go go and then we will go to your house or should we do the washing up first?

We can gossip about the neighbours moan about the government and wonder how we will keep warm in the very cold weather We will find out what’s on the television or we could even get a DVD of something like Ben-Hur. You see it’s a very long film and the leading actor Charlton Heston is extremely handsome so it will give us someone to fantasise about. And the chariot ride is very exciting even if you’ve seen it before

But you won’t relax when you see the main character’s mother and his sister being sent to prison then a leper colony.

Well you know what I mean. It’s very well made unlike the more recent ones and you know that good will prevail in the end athough later Jerusalem was destroyed by the Romans. They killed almost everyone in Jerusalem and set the temple on fire.

It’s only a provisional arrangement because who knows you might meet some charming man between now and Christmas but let’s promise each other that we won’t let each other down by going off with a stranger for the Christmas weekend. Even if he looks like Charlton Heston. You should know by now appearances can be very deceptive.

I don’t really mind said Mary. I could even rewrite my thesis as they want me to make it 50% shorter.

Well that’s not difficult said her friend.

You could just cut it in half with a pair of kitchen scissors.

I don’t think statisticians would like that, Mary informed her. 

Well in that case you could apply to become a student at the school of art and you can present that as 2 halves of a thesis glued to a breadboard with a pair of kitchen scissors glued in the middle and some red paint splashed on the things. Or even some tar

Alternatively you could simply have your dissertation retyped and leave out the last two chapters then you would have to write a new conclusion of course but that wouldn’t be tremendous lot of effort effort

But the last option will give me more to think about,Mary cried.Who wants to think about numbers on Christmas Day.

Sometimes we need to think about numbers like the number of guests who are coming for Christmas dinner. Few people want to calculate the standard deviation from the average wage and it’s a median average you can’t calculate the standard deviation. No it’s not a ratio scale.

You’ve lost me cried Annie. What on earth is a ratio? You could start giving tutorials on statistics to the retired population of Knittingham.

So say all of us

Body Am I by Moheb Costandi review – the new science of self-consciousness

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2022/dec/07/body-am-i-by-moheb-costandi-review-the-new-science-of-self-consciousness

Yet this has given rise to a new dualism, one in which the body and the brain are seen as separate entities. This is what Costandi – a science writer who trained as a neuroscientist – seeks to correct in his illuminating and detailed investigation into how our understanding of the brain and its role in shaping our sense of self has evolved across the last 200 years, and what today’s research in neuroscience, psychiatry and psychology tells us about the

Waking up from dreams

I wake up warm from dreams, yet all alone
Every night you’re with me. wanting home
The shattering loss made splinters of my bones

Bandaged like a mummy, am I born?
In the dream, you hold my hand and run
I wake up from these anxious themes alone

I’ve still got your dear ashes and the urn,
Where are you and what have you become?
Your shattering loss astounded all my bones

Now I sleep and rest with turned off phones
I cannot bear impingements, I ache sore.
I wake up from the anxious dreams alone

Inside my soul, from Other love, I’m torn
Afflicted, disconnected, from my core
The shattering of my heart makes me forlorn

I think I hear your footstep by the door
My breast with a sharp dagger is then gored
I wake up slow from dreams still one alone.
The sadness has unsettled my heart’s home.

The accident is to the human face

Accidentally tread on someone’s face
As you run for president again
Make sure all their features are erased
Knowingly tread on the human face
It’s not evil, it is just bad taste
The devil is a clown, we feel no strain
Incidentally tread on someone’s face
As you run for president again

Stanley meets an angel

Stan had eaten too much pizza because he was extremely ravenous from doing the washing. and hanging it up on the mulberry trees in his long garden Now he felt lazy and other worldly and liable to have visions..Now and then he saw an angel whom he called Yael in his home.But having looked up Yael on a website he realised she was not a very nice woman unlike his dear wife Mary.So he was planning a new name for the angel with her permission
Do you mind if I change your name,he enquired gently when Yael came in through the French window.
Well,what to? Yael asked him familiarly
How about Ysabel? Stan offered.It’s got just an extra b and s.
Or how about,Sybael?
You seem fond of b and s, the angel answered in confusion.
It was just mere chance,said Stan somewhat defensively.
Ok I’ll take Sybael,the angel said loudly .
I want to change my name too, said Emile the cat.
How about Mebiles or Melibes or Eimbles….
I don’t know, pouted the cat haughtily.
How about Semile,said Stan.Though it has no letter b in it, he brooded
They all pondered quietly as the sun shone in through the window and made a lovely lacy pattern on the wall.
In came Mary,Stan’s sweet and aged wife and his computer aided extension into the bargain.
You are very quiet,she murmured.What’s going on here ?
We are trying to find a new name for Emile,Stan told her as Sybael waved her wings about.
It seems very draughty in here,Mary said.And Emile can’t change his name because it will change his personality.
I didn’t know I had a personality,the little cat purred noisily.
It is what is most characteristic of you.For example, if you always hurt those you love then you have a cruel personality or you have got diabetes.Some people want love but they are too harsh and demanding.
So true,Stan added pensively as he thought back over his life.
Anyway,I have some awful news,Mary went on.
You just won’t believe this but Dorothy Grey who lives at the bottom of the hill has just had a heart attack.
How come,Stan asked?
She had an online love relationship with a rather peculiar but intriguing and clever elderly man who turned out to be a sadist in disguise.So when she ended it he flew over and attacked her with an air gun and some cat’s claws which he had bought from a cat market
Is he a wizard,asked Emile.
No, he flew on a stolen magic carpet from Persia.
Persian carpets,I’d love one here said the cat greedily as he imagined sticking his claws into it and milking it.
Actually it’s a kind of plane,said Stan. knowledgeably
How boring ,said Mary feebly
Anyway Dorothy was so shocked her arteries spasmed and she is in A and E now on morphine,she added.
What a shame that she got that instead of a spasm elsewhere….Stan muttered thinking of Freud and fountain pens.
But who’d have sex with such a horrible old man? Mary asked in puzzlement.
An equally horrible old woman,maybe? Stan riposted laughing.
Any way it all goes to show the dangers of online love, he informed the room.
It’s not real love,is it, because in real love the other person is as important to you as yourself.Mary said theologically.
Well. now Eros is a kind of love,too.But many old men just want their washing done and a companion.Eros has departed from their world.
Sybael smiled and then flew out of the window.
What was that noise, said Mary anxiously.
Just an angel’s wings,said Stan quietly
If only Dorothy had seen an angel instead of that harsh old man she might be much better now.Mary mused.
But not everyone can see them.Their world seems full of horrible old men and beautiful young women
Emile winked at Stan and then ran out to chase a butterfly amongst the scented tulips.. there were lots of angels there every day but only he knew that.
Angels don’t like big modern cities but they like old abbeys and cathedrals,moorlands and mountains; places where such things used to be before post modernist architecture took over.
And cat’s claws are not meant for scratching your loved ones either.And online dating should be avoided except with atheists and agnostics.They are less judgemental about women’s place and roles.It’s strange how harsh many religious people are.Harsh and unforgiving.Very strange it is,thought Stan as he boiled the teapot on the fire to sterilise it
Let’s all have a nice cup of tea,he murmured.
And we’ll pray for the living and the dead
And so say all of us.Amen
Pass the apple pie.Thanks

On calling mathematics quantitative methods to make it sound easier!

It seems quite clear that maths should take the blame

As quantity and quality. are not the same

The Hebrew temple used the number pi.

And pi is not a quantity, I say.

So pi is not as a measurable as 10.

It’s decimal expansion never ends

There is no pattern, how God condescends.

  Don’t think about this funny stuff it drives you round the bend     

Creation

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

by Mike Flemming copyright

My old blue fountain pen allows
The ink across this page to flow
Like wet paint from an artist’s brush,
And words come in a rush.
Enchanted by the hand that writes .
Bewitched by art,beauty alights
The script is like a music score
Through which we step as through a door,
Imagination’s home.
As,mysteriously, to you, to me,
The spirits of our hearts are tamed ,
By rhythms of pen,of brush, of mind,
They enter vision quite unplanned,
Like moths to flutter softly round
Fire joined heart and hand
The pen slows down,the hand grows still,
And ,just as dreams at daybreak will,
They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone
Like dew dies in hot sun

The Relationship Between Music and Poetry – Musical Mum

https://www.musicalmum.com/the-relationship-between-music-and-poetry/

DWhether it’s the silences in between musical notes, their timing or the spaces in between words when reciting a poem

In our sleep we find the open door

The face that was familiar is no more
Yet in my dreams he is alive again
Thus his image lives inside my store

In our sleep  we find the  open door
We see   the   precious faces  of those gone
The face that was familiar is no more

A nightmare,anxious, running as before
To find our car, to bring home my dear man
Now his image  lives within my store

His voice to me sounds muffled by great doors
He wonders how I manage  all alone
The love that was  so potent is no more

An anger at the doctors made me roar
A dying man ignored by every one
Now his love  lives on in my  deep core

Death will capture all but is that fair?
We live  then die  at last of all good bare.
The face that was familiar is no more
Yet his  sweet love  still haunts  my deepest core

Keeping a journal this winter

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/25/style/journaling-benefits.html

On the other hand, Dr. Pennebaker’s research has found that journaling about traumatic or disturbing experiences specifically has the most measurable impact on our overall well-being.

How poetry can light up our darker moments

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2018/sep/30/how-poetry-can-light-up-our-darker-moments-mental-illness?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

How can learning poetry by heart help us to be more grounded, happy, calm people? “Let me count the ways,” says Rachel Kelly, who has suffered from anxiety. Whenever she’s feeling wobbly, she finds reciting lines of poetry is grounding, validating and connects her to others who have felt as she is feeling in this moment. And it’s something we can all do: poetry we’ve learned to recite means we have another voice inside us that’s always there, a kind of on-board first responder in times of psychological need.

There’s also a certainty and stability about being able to conjure those words: 

Mathematics

Mathematicians don’t need to touch.

There’s no blood in the subject although it does have its own beauty if you don’t fall down a hole on the way m

But touch is more important than mathematicsm

Few are seduced by these angels who have no children.

It’s better than schizophrenia. That is my view

Human size

On the motorway standing on the concrete how alone I feel with no one visible

It’s also something to do with size, mine and the roads m

Its like arriving at Manchester Piccadilly station on the train from Birmingham carrying a heavy suitcase and no one to help.

The best thing I decided was to have a cup of tea in the station snack bar.

The water is so good and so are the accents of the people sitting there are talking about the price of butter and the price of men m

An angel is peering through the top window as if considering a cup of tea and a bun. But they turn away for higher designs.

I want to catch a bus outside to take me to to Manchester exchange. It’s hot on the bus and people look fed up

Eventually I see the green curving landscape and the river which tells me I am home. I am me again

Ice and sin

Sorrow bites the heart with teeth of ice.

We pay it once but would we pay it twice?

the crucifixion looms, the concrete spins.

Who will pay the price of human sins.

Love your neighbour and your enemy.

The world is much in need of charity

The love birds [War poetry]


DSCF0498

http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/persecution_palestinians.html

Brinda Runghsawmee introduces her poem.

I am from the island of Mauritius, near the big island Madagascar in the Indian Ocean. Just would like peace between Israel and Palestine-Gaza and terrorism will die. What we see on the media is not really the truth. There are hearts that beat behind uniforms. Brainwashed militants or numbed soldiers in solitude do think about buried precious moments from their lives: mums, a dear dog or a fragile bird.

The love birds

One bird is on shrapnel

In Israel

The other one is outside

A blasted tunnel

In Gaza

 

There is fear

In the eyes

She has always

Been at his side

He has always

Been at her side

 

The soldier about to launch

A rocket towards Gaza

Has a thought

About his mum

A tear trickles down

His grimy face

When he sees the downcast bird

All white with that lost look

His heart melts

 

He leaves the rocket

Picks her up

She does not struggle

He puts her inside

His bullet-proof clothes

In a large inside pocket

 

The Hamas militant

Aims his foreign missile

Against Israel’s border town

Full of olive trees

Swinging music in the gun-fire sky

Which cannot hide the blueness of lofty joy

Where arms do not exist

 

He hears little sad sounds

He turns round

Sees the white bird

With the lost look

His heart melts

He thinks of his mum

Dead-torn by an Israeli missile

 

He leaves gun and missile

Goes to the struggling bird

Lowers him inside his soldier’s clothes

Not far from his heart

 

He turns his back to war

He wants to find his love

He runs, hides towards

The southern border

Where Gaza and Israel meet

To kill

 

He is a wanted man

In Gaza

A target man

for Israel

 

The Israeli soldier

Is disturbed by the gentle movements

Inside his pocket

He has not yet fired the rocket

He wants to reunite her

With her beloved

 

He leaves his post

Behind the safety of olive groves

Runs where she leads him

Towards the desert

 

It is night

The darkness is disturbed

By war

The animals have fled

Trees and flowers

Have failed to blossom

 

They almost collide in each other

By the light of war

They see each other’s face

A feeling of ancient hatred

Rises within the folds of their souls

But the stirring within blasts it

 

The hands of war gently set them free

The lovebirds are reunited

On this desert soil

 

Two enemies understand

Humanity

As bombs

And shots continue

To mark the sky

With pain

And hearts

With grief

Brinda Runghsawmee

It kept the rain from Emile’s eyes

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When the weather turns out wet
Emile has to wear a hat
Mary bought it in a Sale
Making sure it was for males.

Yellow with two cotton ties
It keeps the rain from Emile’s eyes
Mary has her own hat too
Bought in Orford, it is blue

Emile as he is a cat
Up a tree does love to sit
But when he’s leaping tree to tree
With his rain hat , he can’t see.

Mary said, “well stay indoors
You can help me with the chores
I’ll make a harness with a cart
You can carry soap.dear heart.”

“Otherwise go visit Anne
Eat the curry in her pan
Scratch her doormat,sniff for mice
Eat her cake and churn her rice”

I think I saw Stan on the stairs
It’s that velvet coat he wears
I may go and have a rest
I can lean upon his chest

Shall we visit him tonight?
Emile,dear, you must not bite
If he is a spirit now
You may only give a bow

Annie came in looking flushed
By the milkman she was kissed
One more man and she will die
Mary says she needs meat pie

Then the ladies make some tea
Gossip till their minds are free
Mary wants to write a book
If dear Anne will learn to cook

Stan is hiding in the coats
He is checking what they write
Then an angel flies to him
God wants enemies within

So practise love and hope and faith
Even though you have no grace
Say God is dead but do not taunt
Jesus preaching on the Mount

Be you friend or be you foe
Through a needle’s eye we go
See, you’re full of love and grace
Now go home and wash your face

We have a hidden sense called interoception

https://www.theguardian.com/science/2021/aug/15/the-hidden-sense-shaping-your-wellbeing-interoception

. Interoception lies behind our sense of intuition – when something feels “right” or “wrong” without an explanation

As evidence, 

The tiniest bird

Pamianthe-peruviana_2020-1I wanted to flee to the mountains
His image would not  leave  me alone
I hid in a cave as  a tempest raved
The wind whistled into my bones

After the storm there was fire
The fire that burns into the soul
I stood as the  flames flickered over
The Cave was  fit only for ghouls

With  my candle I looked at the shadows
I wandered about  like a ghost
I abandoned my  thoughts and my writing
He  spoke to me in the  deep dark

Only when all  good’s been taken
When despair is too happy a word
The spirit flies over the water
On the wings of the tiniest bird

 

I wish I were in Woolworths,Colwyn bay

I wish i were in Woolworths Colwyn bay

A shilling in my pocket that will pay.

Mini wooden counters filled with sweets

House plants, needles children’s toys compete.

It’s pouring rain but we don’t mind alot

It’s summer but we wear our winter coats

I don’t miss the vultures in the zoo.

Chained to rocks they say for me and you.

I saw their fear and loathing in their eyes.

I cannot recollect their fearsome cries.

The North Wales mountain zoo a cruel disgrace.

Would you put a cockroach in this play?

I’d rather be in Woolworths in the rain

I can still recall the vultures’ pain

How to cope with anxiety about getting “back to normal” – Coronavirus – Every Mind Matters – NHS

https://www.nhs.uk/every-mind-matters/coronavirus/tips-to-cope-with-anxiety-lockdown-lifting/

Even positive change can lead to anxiety, and it can take time to readjust to things we have not done for a while.

Feelings of anxiety are likely to pass with time as we get used to the “new normal” but it’s important to do what we can to take care of our mental health.

An Interview With Adam Phillips

https://www.therapyroute.com/article/an-interview-with-adam-phillips-by-j-choder-goldman

You see, I think it’s more important to find out what really matters to you than to be good at something.You see, I think it’s more important to find out what really matters to you than to be good at something.

You don’t do e-mail, you don’t have a cell phone, or anything related to the world of technology?

AP: Because I want less communication, not more. And because I feel like I don’t want to be in easy contact with lots of people I don’t know. I’m not boasting about this but I’m not excited by the World Wide Web, if you see what I mean. I don’t feel like I want many, many more contacts

Dave mends a chair

Katherinef

cat2 alone
cats and newspapers

Although Stan was 102, he still rode his bike locally  in the summer time.He was out in the garden pumping up the tires before  going off to the Library.Suddenly his neighbour Annie appeared at the gate, without him hearing her feet  tapping on the path of red brick;she was bedecked in finest Scottish tweed with a long pendant on a solid 22 carat gold chain swinging nonchalantly from her neck, with a matching ring attached mysteriously to her upper lip.

“Who’re you, the Lady Mayoress” he joked.
Where’s Mary?” she pointedly whispered.
”She’s  with her widowed sister Joan up  in Scotland ” Stan admitted nervously, unsure of her reactions.
”Joan, that’s not a very Scottish name!” Annie joked.” Anyway how about we sit down here on this bench for a moment”.She pulled him vigorously towards her.

Stan responded regretfully
“I’m afraid I can’t stop.I have all these books overdue and the library shuts in 15 minutes
.”Don’t worry, sweetheart”, she cried un-contemptuously.”I’ll pay all your fines.I’ve just come into loads  and loads of money.”
“Oh, how’s that.my angel” Stan murmured. “I  shot Bert.If you help me to get rid of the evidence, I’ll share the loot with you.”

Dotty cats

At the funeral, Annie was dressed in a beautiful dark brown suit  with a black trim from Jaeger.She went around the room making sure everyone had enough food and drink.As she leaned over towards Stan her heavy gold locket, inside which was hidden the bullet that killed Bert, swung over and hit Stan a glancing blow on the temple.
Stan fell to the ground
.”Do you think we should ring 999?” someone asked sarcastically.Within minutes, paramedics arrived.
“So, is it that chair again?” they clamoured.
”Yes, this foolish old man fell over and the leg came off my  brand new antique chair.I’ve only had it a few days and it’s not insured.”

“Did anyone ever tell you, your eyes are like deep pools in the Saragossa Sea?”  Dave, the paramedic whispered into her right ear.
“Have you still not finished that Creative Writing Course?” Annie shouted.””I’m getting tired of you admiring my eyes.What about my nose?””

“Has anyone ever told you, your nose is the shortest they’ve ever seen?”

“That’s a bit boring” Annie retorted.
”Yeah, maybe I should change to Art,” he ruefully moaned.”I love the way your deep blue and turquoise eye shadow is melting around your eyes and running down the sides of your nose.”
“Hurry up and fix my chair, and while you’re about it, you may as well take Stan down to A and E for a head X-ray.”
Glancing furtively at Annie in her Jaeger suit with carefully contrasting deep coral blouse and opaque teal blue 80 denier tights with 6 inch stiletto heels to complete the outfit, not to mention her raspberry coloured bra which clashed violently with the coral blouse [which alas was more transparent than she realised], he picked up a hammer and began,excitedly,to mend the broken chair.
”This is what life is all about, my boy” he thought.One day I will  be just where I should be.Right here.With her,alone!

Little did he know the true tale, that Annie had murdered her husband merely because she felt very  bored.
Boredom is dangerous.If you are affected why not go out and look at some hats? Why not take up drawing. is now online


Microsoft Paint

photo1796_001-21

Blue the sky

The  sea shore blue of  operatic sky
Turned to navy then to darkest grey
Dark trees  despise the mysteries of light

The holly has its depth unknown to eye
Hiding fragile wrens  from birds of  prey
The  cerulean blue of soothing sky

And in my room upon my bed I try
What words would come,what humour could you say
Oh trees  held in the mysteries of light?

The words won’t  come,unspeakable the sigh
The weeping  of the sick, the donkey’s bray
Depression of Van Gogh. the lowering  sky

Oh,mother, why must newborn  babies cry?
The Lord ignores, the sheep flee as I pray
The  trees   hold in the mysteries of light

I meet your eye,I’m feeling drawn and grey
You want my love,I fear the  last  mistake
In sinking blue of  dawn and  passive sky
The  trees  despise the virus and the lies

 

 

 

Absorbtion into poetry

When a poet is being a poet — that is, when she is writing or thinking about writing — he cannot be concerned with anything but the making of a poem.“ —  Richard Wilbur National Book Award

Source: https://quotepark.com/quotes/1922333-richard-wilbur-when-a-poet-is-being-a-poet-that-is-when-he-is/