Reverberations of the ancient elegies
The coffin carried by the four dark men
Agitate the mind with memory

He has gone and where will I soon be?
Am I to live and utilise my pen
Remembering all the ancient elegies?

I’d like to ask him what beauty he could see
Before he smiled and dropped his head again
Don’t agitate the mind with memory.

Hamlet asked, to be or not to be
But most go quietly when it is their turn
Singing still the ancient elegies.

Can we trust the darkness we perceive
Where god hides his greatest mystery, man
Don’t agitate the mind with memory.

Violently, with passion, the young burn
Then stone temples harden as they learn
Reverberations of the ancient elegies
Wound the human mind with memory

Like a piece of ground where bombs go off repeatedly,

my inner landscape is perpetually marked
by these explosions of sorrow,
made all the worse
by the lack of a listening ear,
a warm open heart
or an outstrerched hand.

I have constructed a map
but it's incomplete,by its nature;
so even now,I might stumble into an old hole
or a new one,created
by reverberations underground;
the noise like distant music,
a  constant drumbeat.

We do not dance
I might call it the Liturgy of Loss,
a dance to the music of rhyme;
Patterns abd shapes hold the feelings
and express them.The shape of these forms
is a container for the grief.

In this way,I indicate
that life will go on;I hear the healing music
and sing to its melodies
like a mermaid on the edge of the sea in winter
when the water is cold and green like his eyes,
and the rocks are hard like large fists.

Nature can be a s ymbol for such emotion
we cannot walk without a tear in ech eye
and a softening of our hearts
as tenderly we touch the world
and are touched in turn by each other.

Stretch out your hand to meet mine.
We can hold each other better
than each can hold theirself.
Like in sex, the meaning is not the climax
but the giving and being given;
receiving and being received.
The sacredness of the erotic needs no explanation
to a gardener or a fisherman
but may need it for the information saturated,postmodern
who dwell in the fascist virtual reality
we call life on earth today

The instrumental music of the mind

The plucked strings of guitars, the air that sings

Echoes in the caves of memory ring

The sea of life on Dover beach, the sighs

Do not think the mind is made of bytes

Electric currents, shocks that kill the eyes

Other Hitlers play and Jesus die

We forget the depth the height the light

We are not screens we’re strings that must be plucked

We are the notes that swirl and sing ,combine

We are not notations on straight lines

We’re the shingle feeling how tides suck

Computers’ rhythms are too straight for real life.

Computer man it’s time to meld or die

https://www.theguardian.com/theguardian/1999/jul/10/weekend7.weekend5?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

https://resource.acu.edu.au/siryan/Academy/Foundation/English_As_Discipline.htm#:~:text=The%20history%20of%20English%20as,began%20in%2018th%20century%20England.

E

Helps us when we cannot talk

Touching, holding, being there

Gives us strength so we can bear

The heavy load,the angst, the care

The holy dove,the hands of love

Down below, up above

Grasp my body, hold me tight

Through the nightmares,bring me1 light

Comfort as we’re not alone

In the darkness be my home

The very next day Mary and Annie went back went back to Rose house to see Maggie. I hope that Maggie believes that we were genuinely unable to come in yesterday because of the beautiful bottom competition, st Mary thoughtfully. Don’t worry about it Emile said it was your fight or flight reaction which senf adrenaline rushing through your blood. I think flight was the sensible mature response to what you heard.

Thank you, baby said Annie softly now come on let’s go let’s ring that doorbell and speak to the receptionist

The women and the cat were soon in Maggie’s room on the ground floor of Rose House. What are the stuff brought them some lovely tea in China mugs But suddenly they heard somebody scream. They carried on with their chat.

But soon they could hear another scream and then the words

helpe me help me help me

Then Annie said to Maggie is nobody going to her?

Maggie replied saying that this lady screams all day sometimes and even all night and they can’t go to her every time. There are not enough staff.

Ida has got vascular dementia and she can’t walk so she’s totally dependent on the Carers. She has no hobbies or interests which is not surprising because she is 100 years old.

0h my God said Mary I thought they would get looked after very well in a nursing home.

I ho in and read her stories said Maggie. But the day is very long when you’re in bed all the time or maybe occasionally you get into the lounge in a wheelchair.

Some of the United people will start shouting or asking for help while they’re in the lines doing flower arranging or listening to the music therapist singing their favourite song. Is there a coupon show soon we have to take them back to their rooms and then they shout more because they are disappointed.

It must be trying for you Maggie trying to read or learn another language. Annie had spotted teach yourself Latin on the bookshelf.

Yes I think it’s affecting my blood pressure said Maggie dolefully.

I am able to walk now so I could go back home if I can get some help.

I love being near the sea and seeing lg the fishing boat go out at dawn. But it’s very small place so I think I will go back to knittingham once I manage to arrange the help in the house are possibly a few other things so I’ll let you know when I come back it will be great if I can meet you more frequently. It’s very lonely here because I couldn’t walk for a long time and it’s quite depressing you know that the other people are here mainly because they have no one to look after them at home and in some cases just waiting to die. We need a campaign especially after the effects of lockdown. Would you like to be here when visitors weren’t allowed. And you couldn’t really go outside. So far this spring has been very cold too.

Maggie we haven’t really talked to you very much we’ll come again before we go home and make sure we keep your details on our phones so we will not lose them. We’re coming to see you again on Sunday because we are going home on Monday. Is there anything that you would like us to bring? Visit my phone number and tell me anything from fruit to 5 pairs of frilly knickers.

Oh that’s so kind said Maggie her eyes filling with tears so since my husband Len died three years ago I I didn’t have anyone I could ask to bring with things I know I could order from Amazon online but it’s not the same having someone there to help you when you remember you’re running out of something important

Emile put his head off of the rucksack and he said to Maggie, if you are running out of love I will give you my personal phone number but you can bring me anytime and I will send you loving and friendly text messages. I like this town because you can buy fresh fish on the beach. Yum yum yum he cried humorously before himself back into the soft cardigan the bottom of the rucksack.

Phone Emile or email

emiletan@catswelove.org

http://www.realcatsbite.wordpress.com

8He was a picky person with a penchant for piss artistry
He liked to excite women with his studied impropriety.
He often went to bed with a woman of society
Then she would be troubled by her sudden notoriety.
As demanding as a pigeon with one eye and no stability;
Although he had been gifted with a wide range of abilities.
He always told the truth in a manner Jesuitical
It gave rise to deep wounds and to curious thoughts inimical.
He read between the lines and fantasised romanticly
He knew his Greek and Latin and corrected folk pedanticly.
He liked to drink ripe brandy and practise tantric gallantry.
Until it led to arguments and words fired off too franticly.
He said he felt real lonesome even when he was in intimacy
Wished he’d never bothered to lose his own virginity
He did too much for others and got stressed out by an accident
Until his control broke and gave rise to a grave incident.
So now he is in prison and finds it suits him perfectly.
He was made to be a hermit and he lives his life less jerkily.
All he misses now is the ladies so beloved of him…
He wonders if they can be jailed and share his cell and comfort him?