https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/05/smarter-living/the-upside-of-feeling-bad.html
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Feeling bad can increase our ability to communicate strategically and our likelihood to avoid errors in judgment, according to pair of studies.Credit…Neil Hall/EPA, via Shutterstock
By Tim Herrera
Th is my goodbye and thank you after almost two years of writing my Times poetry column. I have loved reading the piles of poetry books – thank you to all the publishers who sent them; I have also loved reading your e-mails and letters. You demonstrated how a poem in the column could go off and have another life; comments, discussions and readers’ poems abounded. And I have loved writing about the poems, trying to relate them to our hopes and anxieties as human beings in my belief that there is a poem for everyone – even a trucker on the M1 who reads nothing more challenging than his sat-nav. Because to say “I don’t like poetry” is like saying “I don’t like music”. It’s a case
This could be useful to people learning English as a second language
I saw your soul like that of a wild bird
Someone other guided me to act
Deep inside my voice had been unlocked
I sang the psalms and then a lullaby
Not aware in thought that you would die.
I fed you with a teaspoon the mashed fish
From a plate as good as one might wish
Like a little child you tried your best
You smiled at me and gazed like one who’s blessed
You sat up with a brighter face at last
Then lay back and God knows all the rest
Oh, don’t go yet ,my darling,I am here
The floor of heaven came down amidst my tears
Made of sumptuous satin, gold,revered
For a little moment it hung low
Then it rose and took you in its glow
I saw your soul like that of a wild bird
Taken by the Power who spoke the Word
A sheet of tears fell down from my closed eyes
It’s hard ,so hard when those you love must die
Mary wants to get a letter
This means she’ is feeling better.
Here’s the postman with his sack
Coming up the garden track
she hears the letterbox go bang
The postman seems to talk in slang
Ear ye are pet ain’t got much
Oh dear Mary mind your crutch.
I have no crutch I have a walker
You are just a nosey parker
No I’m from Warsaw,madam dear.
Well you speak English without fear.
Yes I know I’m feeling proud.
In this country it’s allowed.
Yes said. Mary I know that.
If you’re not sure I’ll ask my cat
Emile opened one green eye.
I’m not here to be a spy.
If Eastern Europe is is in trouble
Get the cats out at the double
That’s what Mrs Johnson said
She saw Boris on the bed
She brought her cat a golden collar.
That’s why Boris’s face turned yellow
There are babies and young children
Little faces all a- quivering.0
See they look like Jews tormented
By the Nazis men demented.
But would you have had the courage.
To stand up to the Nazis savage
How long will we support Ukraine?
Let us not ignore their pain
The Russian wolf is riding high
Threatening Europe from the sky.
The Jews and Yiddish have all gone
From Europe to Babylon.
We heard we must show more courage
But who hears the voices savage?
We feel like children in our hearts
Prepare us adults that’s a start.
Survival as a moral wreckage
Comforts Satan sends a message.
You do not want to know the worst.
The human race may be accursed
Mary was wearing her pink and red glasses while reading a blog on Simone Weil,the French mystic.Mary knew her brother Andre was a mathematician.Is that a form of mysticism? And is mysticism of any value? There’s more value in helping a neighbour than in mystic bliss.
Annie ran in carrying a green bucket and blue spade in a plastic bag
I’m going to Cleethorpes for a day trip . she cried cheerfully
I don’t think so,Mary said while mentally assessing Annie’s outfit of imitation leopardskin leggings covered in part by a guava coloured tunic which matched her trainers very well.The whole topped by a down coat in pink and purple stripes which she got in a sale online in the summer
Do you think leopardskin is suitable for a beach?You might want a donkey ride
The donkey won’t know the pattern, Annie said.sincerely yet uncaringly.Indeed some may say she was rude to the point of a dagger
Her full lips pouted ,showing off her coral lipstick and matching eyeshadow from Gillete of Rochdale and Hebden Bridge not far from Sylvia Plath’s grave.Oh,my.
Her foundation cream was not unlike that of Donald Trump which Mary had not mentioned, unwilling to shatter Annie’s dreams of wondrous love in waiting.
Although in would have made more sense to tell her to dress with more dignity and charm if she wanted a man
.With modern fashion it’s hard to know what will attract people.
Who’d have thought leggings and bikini tops would be worn to go shopping?
Pyjamas seem popular too.
Why don’t we go to Hebden Bridge?
With all these storms its been under water for weeks
Oh,blagger, there’s always some problem
Well, we are getting older and I don’t want to die in Hebden Bridge by drowning
So where would you like?
Dundee.They make nice cake
You won’t need cake where you will be going
Actually I am going to the Diabetic Clinic
You never said you were diabetic
Annd you never said you had 33 teeth.
Well,I am a Viking
That’s no excuse
I can’t alter my genes
What are they ,little patterns?
To be honest ,I don’t really know
Let’s go to Waterstone’s and buy Hilary Mantel’s new book.
It is very heavy
But if we are put in quarantine we will be able to read it
I’ll plant some tomato seeds in a carton of compost
Why not? I might grow some herbs
And so will all of us.
In our quest for unbridled economic growth, we continue to destroy our natural world while inequalities are widening, both within and between countries. It is time to recognise the signs of societies that are under immense stress and redefine what progress actually means.”
The report, New Threats to Human Security in the Anthropocene, calls for greater solidarity across borders to tackle the disconnect between development and perceived security.
The leaves are clinging on despite the rain
They block my light I thought I had made that plain
But god does not obey me when I ask
It’s not so match a message, it’s a fist
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 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
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?
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
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/19/well/mind/anxiety-benefits.html
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
The suffering of the old is hidden from view
None so blind as those who can not see
How cruel the world indifferent yet to me
My face is frozen killing any clue.
The colours of the heart are mainly blue.
Sister, sister do you not agree.?
The suffering and the dying not on cue
From the desert of the aged flee.
I wonder whether God asks who are you?
God has got dementia yet is free
The suffering of the old enrages few
A play on words amusing I shall sue
The sky is stark, the air is cool and still
The black cat’s run, the birds unfold all day
I sit down here and with my totty pray
Ye cast o’ foolish thoughts, you raped my will
. We’ve each enraged the bureaucratic mill.
Oh frigid purse, I never meant to pay!
The sky ‘s a-spark, the air is warm and shrill
The saturnine demoted knelled their way
With this feathered pounce, my sample quill,
I cite the cheque and date it for next May.
Oh, tit for cat, the tiger’s bed ‘s astray.
Yer life is settled by a harlot’s will
The sky ‘s a shark, the air is sharper still.
My path has been obscured by heavy rain
Tangled ancient brambles bite my flesh.
I am lost, will I get home again?
No one here will help me they all laugh
The rain that fell was not a cleansing wash
My path has been obscured by heavy rain
I did no wrong but still I feel ashamed.
My mind and my emotions sadly crashed
I am lost I can’t get home again
Wandering on my own without a path
Have I become a beggar, poor unwashed?
My path has been obscured by heavy rain.
Life is not a jigsaw nor a game
Did anyone at all ask where I was?
Feeling lost I can’t get home again
I must find a way I have no map.
Take me, take me, take me from this trap
My path was washed away by heavy rain
I’ve come so far, I wish my route was plain.
Hilaire Belloc
When Jesus Christ was four years old The angels brought in toys of gold
The pebbled beach on which we walked at dawn
The sun was dancing singing stone to stone
The sea was pale as silk and gently ran
The tide was coming in, the day began
Why is my memory so deficient here?
I remember little but you near
I remember Portland Bill at dusk
The sea was wilder then with many thrusts
Happiness was like a golden shawl
A world like Eden, man before the Fall
Today they say, illusion, I say, no
What matters is where this insight makes you go.
The fruits of meditation are its test
May we be generous, may our souls be blessed
Copyright © Katherine
Maps describe the geometry of space.
But not the feelings woven into place
when we love the beauty and the grace.
on the ancient map my fingers trace
the footpaths are like lines upon a face
Whose occupant has fallen overboard
No map can locate everything we see.
Only that which matters most to me.
London transport bus map delights those
Who do not have a car or have bad eyes.
A few weeks after Annie moved into the house next door to Stan,he met her when he was seeing his wife off to work.
Why does your wife not have a car? she enquired suspiciously.
She is trying to keep slim,Stan told her.
Well,she’s not been very successful,Annie said scientifically.
She might be much fatter than she is now if she drove a car,he stated ponderously
That’s true,muttered Annie meditatively
I am your new next door neighbor.she continued fluidly.
Yes my dear, said Stan,I have seen you sunbathing in the garden in your wide selection of bikinis.
How come? she asked scientifically.
There’s a big hole in the fence.
Is it legal to look at women through a hole in the fence?
asked Annie.
I know it’s illegal to look into their bedroom windows.
Is it really,asked Stan nervously,I had no idea.
How about women looking at men through a round hole?
Oh,they would not bother to do that,she told him charmingly.We prefer imagination to concrete reality.
Well,said Stan,clearing his throat,I think I owe it to myself to tell you that I love you.
Wow,you’re quick off the mark,the lady said saucily,her eyes shining like a brass monkey.
What do you mean,you owe it to yourself? she went on.
Nothing,said Stan,I could not think how to word it.I mean I wish to unselfishly love you and admire your ripe body and your cute sense of colour.I love your teal trouser suit.And you sing so well in the bath.
You didn’t mean you owe it to yourself to take advantage of me?
Not unless you want me to take advantage of you,the gallant old man informed her fluently despite that his head was beginning to whirl.
And you can take advantage of me if you want to.I make cakes and biscuits,wholemeal bread and I am training my cat Emile to do statistics on an i pad.
How extraordinary,Annie whispered.I didn’t know cats had an “I.” let alone pads.
Well,they have pads on their paws,he informed her intelligently.
True,she said,but where are their I’s?
Where are our I’s ?he responded in a manner to rejoice the heart of Mary Midgley or Susanne Langer two of Stan’s favourite writers on philosophy,logic,symbols and ethics.
Not that he practiced the Ethics but he liked to know what he was doing wrong.It’s more fun that way.Good may come from evil and children are a blessing.
A man who seduces women merrily one after the other may have no idea it might be wrong.Neither might the women.Why is it wrong?Surely it’s better than killing people or leaving the lid off the jam all night so the wasps get into the jar?
Still,not many men get the chances that Stan got.No-one suspected this kindly,handsome practicing Catholic was a womanizer despite his blue beard,green eyes,white skin and red hair.And his slim yet strong figure clad in navy trousers and pink shirts all the year round.Maybe his wife did but she preferred to read Aristotle in bed and dream about mercury… those little silver balls are so cute
Well,as we know,Stan is about to make Annie his mistress but in such a cold wet summer,where can he take her to do the deed?
The shed?The public library? Cafe Nero?
I owe it to you not to tell you yet.That will give you time to think of a solution for this sweet old man and his naughty but nice neighbour.
Like,how about the confessional in the local Church?
Whatever next?I owe it to myself to keep it secret as you may come along and spoil the fun.
Stan went indoors and washed up in the boiling hot water he kept by him constantly as he owed it to himself to be ready to make a hot drink at any moment he fancied and by gum,he did fancy like no man has ever fancied before.So his daemon tells me.
Next time:Why did God create Stan and why does it matter?
https://www.nytimes.com/2021/05/04/opinion/covid-brain-mental-health.html
While the pandemic has undeniably caused extraordinary stress and sadness, research on human resilience suggests that people will recover from the trauma of the pandemic faster than many believe. And while certain groups may need mental health care for the longer term, it’s also true that humans’ ability to overcome adversity is often underestimated and that an overwhelming majority of people who suffer trauma will not develop mental illness but eventually feel better.
Maps imply the geometry of space.
But not the feelings woven into place
when we love the beauty and the days
Here are feelings, mind how they embrace
On the ancient map my fingers trace
Little footpaths, lines upon a face.
Above below the earth is our right base
Singing with its gravity and grace
Religion has been privatised like gas
I know in church we still can hear the Mass
Yet no Chaplain comes to dying men
I did my best alone without a plan.
Inside the holy sanctuary bare
I became the priest and comforter
I sang the sacred songs and gathered crowds
Outside our little cubicle they bowed
I saw a canopy of golden cloth
Hanging down from heaven, as it does
It came nearer till it touched his soul
I was silent, love can’t take control
For a moment everything was still
A little bird sat on the windowsill
Then the cloth of gold was lifted high
I wept the precious tears for those who die.
That one eternal moment gave us grace
I see your deep blue eyes, your smiling face
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/04/24/opinion/easter-season-joy.html
1.Joy is not “toxic positivity.” It does not insist that we pretend things are better than they are. It does not refuse to face grief or sorrow. But it does say that they are not all there is and that they are not all that needs to be faced.
My super art
Mary knew too late the bus was due in five minutes.She applied some sunscreen and combed her hair gently with a cake fork while she wondered why she was going out.She looked into her phone camera to get her hair in order
Alas, the familiar footsteps of Annie were heard on the patio.In she flew dressed in red and brown like a robin in winter except she wore pure wool
How do you like my outfit, she cried girlishly
Mary stared at her, noting the pale beige face makeup from Max Tucker and brick coloured lipstick from Wigan’s Makeup Outlet Store where Annie loved to browse for days on end.
I think the brick coloured lipstick does not go with the scarlet jacket,Annie.
Oh, don’t worry.It’s the in thing now to clash
That might be true but men won’t know it’s a fashion unless they read Vogue.Most don’t.
Never mind all that. I’ve brought Emile a new blanket
He’s not a dog,you know.Do cats need blankets?
If you drove it would protect the seat.
I might go round the bend.If we drive we almost certainly would meet bends
Do fish get the bends,mewed Emile?
We don’t know that.It only proves that a question can be asked in a human language but within that system there is no way of answering it,Mary told him quietly, thinking of Wittgenstein her husband’s former tutor.
First of all, fish probably can’t speak English or understand it.
How amazing, the little cat replied.How stupid can you get?
Well a fish would think you were stupid for not being able to live in the sea.
So true,Emile sighed.Shall I try?
Don’t be so ridiculous,Annie whispered.The sea i not near Knittingham.Mary can’t drive and you may drown.Then St Peter will be reading out all your sins
Can cats commit sins, asked Emile with surprise
Yes, because you know you have a choice.You can bite my hand or resist the temptation
I don’t feel like biting it now so if I did it would not give me pleasure.
For God’s sake, stop arguing.Anyone would think you’d been to the Synagogue, today Mary shouted
But in a Synagogue men argue about the Torah not about cats swimming,Emile replied
But then it gets to be a habit,Mary finished.
Still many other people argue,Annie reminded her.
But God does not want it,Mary said
How do you know? He/She may love to hear it.It will provoke thought
And it may provoke a Flood or you being turned into a pillow of salt,Mary screamed
Pillar of Salt,Annie corrected her
Why do people not turn into pepper, the cat asked wisely.
There is no pepper in the Dead Sea, the women agreed.~And black pepper/white pepper could be PIC
They have red peppers in the Market.Annie mused.And yellow too
But where does that leave us?Where was Mary going to and why has she not left for the bus stop? Was it something wicked that she was trying to do in secret?
We’ll see tomorrow I expect
Remember: Worry is helpful only if it leads to change, not if it turns into obsessive thoughts.
How my heart speaks 