I think I have just failed my IQ test The apple cart has landed on my chest I didn’t mean to cause such selfish pain Writing you a letter once again
I never knew that numbers carried on To fall in love and marry they’ve’ begun Their children are irrational not whole Some are transcendental ,I’m enthralled
The IQ test was far too hard for me I cannot even read it,don’t you see? I think they are immoral and in vain I’ve written to the Queen,I have complained
The apple cart is emptier today I ate them all and now I feel quite gay
I miss you, love, so slow the seconds wind. Posted on June 11 It seemed to me my vision and my mind A template made to put into the world Brought you into being by my side.
I miss you, love, so slow the seconds wind. I creep into the space between the words I made you in my vision and my mind
Is there only chaos, no design? Are we dust around the spaces whirled? I bring you into being by these lines
I smell your skin and see your eyes alive I move my head ,oh you have disappeared It seems both from my vision and my mind
Why did all the pit props fall down blind? I crept under coal, with darkness smeared A person alien to humankind
Where is my death, when it’s no longer feared? Where is my love when no-one else is here. I imagined you in vision and in mind I pulled you into being, which one died?
Words can help buoy you up. Making every minute count. Making memories. Only the snobbish and arrogant, the ever so healthy, mock aphorisms as trite. When things seem impossibly gloomy, when I don’t think I can take much more bad news, I turn to another wicked old friend. In the past I called her the emphysemic pit pony, because she has short legs and used to wheeze when she pushed my wheelchair uphill. That was long ago, before getting old became unavoidable and before I bought a power chair for going any distance. Now she’s over 70, still has short legs, still smokes one roll-up a day and employs the most dogged, brilliant, multipurpose saying of all:
Words can help buoy you up. Making every minute count. Making memories. Only the snobbish and arrogant, the ever so healthy, mock aphorisms as trite. When things seem impossibly gloomy, when I don’t think I can take much more bad news, I turn to another wicked old friend. In the past I called her the emphysemic pit pony, because she has short legs and used to wheeze when she pushed my wheelchair uphill. That was long ago, before getting old became unavoidable and before I bought a power chair for going any distance. Now she’s over 70, still has short legs, still smokes one roll-up a day and employs the most dogged, brilliant, multipurpose saying of all:
The melody is not the words but how they are combined I have lost my need for men, unless their names form rhymes I know we have got clocks today but meter bends the time. As dancing bends the space around the movers, rapt , sublime.
Feeling strained,thoughts all a-riot, I feel unable to be quiet. I feel tense,I can’t sit down.. My eyes glare out and how I frown!
I talk too fast,I lack patience I lose touch with my common sense. To follow instructions from a guide Seems harder when my mind is tired.
I miss you, love, so slow the seconds wind. Posted on June 11 It seemed to me my vision and my mind A template made to put into the world Brought you into being by my side.
I miss you, love, so slow the seconds wind. I creep into the space between the words I made you in my vision and my mind
Is there only chaos, no design? Are we dust around the spaces whirled? I bring you into being by these lines
I smell your skin and see your eyes alive I move my head ,oh you have disappeared It seems both from my vision and my mind
Why did all the pit props fall down blind? I crept under coal, with darkness smeared A person alien to humankind
Where is my death, when it’s no longer feared? Where is my love when no-one else is here. I imagined you in vision and in mind I pulled you into being, which one died?
I discovered once that deep inside. Peace and stillness still abide. To find that place we each must be Desireless, till at last we see.
Deep ,deep down there is true rest And warmly there our souls are blessed. All we have to do is wait To get in touch with this dear state.
We share affinity with trees, With flowers,cats, bats and bumble bees. Let all thought and controls go. Let this,the mind, become more slow,
Perception’s better when we’re still Emptied of desire and will; Deep inside a melody stirs our hearts and sets them free.
Writer’s block: a place where writers were beheaded in the past. Writer’s block:a block of flats occupied by writers. Writer’s block:something stopping one from connecting to one’s Muse. Writer’s block:soap for removing ink from the hands Writer’s knock:when a writer’s heart thumps too much whilst they’re working Writer’s clock:The clock seems to have turned faster than usual so you are still writing at 3 am Writer’s clock:.The clock seems to have turned faster than usual and you find you are still writing at age seventy. Writer’s dock:a place for parking writers. Writer’s dock:A place for writers to stand whilst being tried in court for plagiarism etc Writers’ flock:A gathering of writers. Writers’ mockery: place in a magazine where we can mock writers we hate. Writer’s shock:What a writer gets on first publishing a work to the public. Writer’s luck:When the muse comes out early and stays late. Writer’s muck:All the stuff in the black of the mind. Writer’s knock:A pain in the chest from over zealously working too hard Writer’s frock:A dress once worn by a famous female writer. Writer’s lock:. Some hair I stole from a writer for my collection. Writer’s crock:a bowl used by a writer to eat cereal from. Writer’s duck:When you write all day and it’s utterly useless to man or beast. Writer’s truck:a vehicle for an over prolific writer to carry their writing in. Writers suck.:A reaction to postmodern writing by a normal human being. Writers cluck:A sound made by a writer when excited. Writer’s wreck:A bicycle that a writer rode into a wall when daydreaming. Writer’s beck:A sign a writer makes to you to call you over. Writer’s specs:The measurements of a writer’s body. Writer’s specs:Reading glasses for older writers. Writer’s click:When two writers meet and get on well
A hamster,damn it! Where is a green itch? Where does glass go? Rotter,damn.I could swear myself. I’ve done Dee a favour and more The isle of Wight is changing its name soon as people can’t spell Wight.Why is it not White? I think Grey is better The isle of Dogs has to let cats in Blackheath says it is having electric lights put all over it. Well, who was the Carl in Carlisle and who was the Ull in Ullswater Don’t mention Pen’s wrath. I used to hear Mum saying Shap fell.But to whom? Loch Lomond is changing to Loch Lowmood as the people who fell in are not happy any more and soon will be dead Why are all the moors in the North? So Erin is gay? Wood Green what? What is greater about the edge of London? Don’t go where I have gone
I thought that nursing homes and care homes was just people the opportunity to be with other people but my brother was in one during 2020 up into August 2021 when he died of pneumonia. Family couldn’t visit him for a lot of the time, reading all these articles I just did not know. I think once it’s safe some of this you consider being a befriender or volunteer to do visits to someone once a week. Its better not to talk too much. Just be present
Loneliness is associated with depression, sleep problems, impaired cognitive health, heightened vascular resistance, hypertension, psychological stress and mental health problems.
Find out more detailed information about loneliness
Like a mass communion without words Posted on June 8, 2017
In Bedzin and in Krakow they breathed in What they denied in conscious thought or word. The ashes of the Jews, the shades of skin
Penetrating lungs so deep within The dead unburied mixed, in air secured In Bedzin and in Krakow, mortal sin.
The nearby people became like burial urns. The human dust by breathing was allured The ashes of the Jews, the shades of skin.
So Europe took their human ash within. A graveyard we became unknown, impure. In Bedzin and in Krakow, more of sin.
And who they thought destroyed lived on in them Controlled their lungs, their hearts their minds uncured, The ashes of the Jews, borne in their skin.
Like a mass communion without words We ate and breathed the Jews, the gays, unheard In Bedzin and in Krakow we walked in The ashes of the lost, the glades of sin
Oh, Alfred, my beloved, do not go Do not leave, but warmth to me bestow, Lie beside me in my bed all night Succour me when stormy dreams affright.
Oh, Alfred,-tis your eyes that turn me on The green and golden light is never gone. Affection constant, touch and feeling shared. I am not embarrassed when you stare.
For you, the gallant male, have ever seen My naked form well lit by Jove’s sunbeams And if I wear a gown of wincyette You love it as it’s made for paws of cat.
Alfred, we can’t marry yet I fear. Cats can’t read the Book of Common Prayer.
As Mary got ready to go out,she realised she had not combed her hair.Where were the 24 combs she had bought from Amazon?Not in her delightful red and purple shoulder bag.She pondered over what to d0 1 Use the clothes brush 2.Try a nailbrush 3 Use her toothbrush 4.Look on the floor 5.Look in all the drawers in the horsuse In the end she decided to pour some water over her head put on some oil , then push her hair into the direction she wanted She putt on her red dress with a pattern of little books all over, a favourite of Stan, her late husband.Her shoes were peach coloured in homage to some artist who liked clashing colours.He was not good as an artist except for this ability to find the worst possible colours to put together.So he is known as Ned the Red and Purple Suddenly the doorbell rang like a burglar alarm on heat.She opened the door and Dave the paramedic ran in What’s wrong,Dave, she asked I am being chased by a big Siamese cat,he replied. I can’t see any cats, she said in a kindly tone.Never mind,let me make you some coffee Before she could close the door a big and lovely cat ran in Who are you,Mary asked him? I am called Jeb, he told her.I like that man in the dress so I want to ask him to adopt me. OK said Dave.My cat died and I’ve been too sad to get another one.Are you able to sleep by me in bed Definitely, said Jeb.It hs been my life time desire All three sat down in the small but delightful orange and lime kitchen watching Emile climb a tree. I haven’t seen you lately,Dave said gently to Mary No,I went to the hairdresser and my hair is so short it looks as if I am having chemotherapy.Still it was nice to be cossetted and it won’t need much arranging or blow-drying. I suppose you could let the back grow before the winter,Dave told her Yes, at least my head is cooler for the summer.It was hot when I went there so I assumed that would carry on.But now it is colder. How about wearing a hat? Yes,I’ll ask Annie about that as she knows more about clothes than I ever shall The phone rang starling Jeb who had been living in a field Hello, this is Sister Mayflower from the bereavement group. Hello,Sister.How are you? I am worried because the other women were so unwelcoming.I have taken it over recently and recognise they are a closed group and it is 20 years since most of them were bereaved so they don’t want anyone to distress them by actually feeling sad. Don’t worry about me.I only came because Annie my neighbour saw an advert for it and I did it to please her. I see ,said Sr Mayflower.You can come to the Convent if you like.Just say Mayflower. Thank you very much.Bye , bye said Mary Who was that, a nun? said Dave.Don’t tell me.I can guess,Several patients we’ve had have been there and were disappointed.They should call it tea and chat except they don’t want any one new to join even in that.Odd as it is a Church based on the teachings of Jesus.Love one another. Loving others may be harder than it sound,Mary mused scientifically i feel much better , she said.I am playing the piano every day.I met 3 friends for coffee and then went to the bookshop.I love sitting there looking at new books.And it’s nice not to have to cook every night Mary got up ,oh dear, her trousers fell down Good grief,Dave cried.You have lost weight and are wearing red knickers! Yes, said Mary.Don’t you like them? I am unsure.Shall I get some? Just get 1 pair and see how you feel.I got mine in the Market.Otherwise Marks do purple and green ones,Mary murmured Imagine all the old folk wondering around the town might be wearing purple and green knickers. said Dave
.It must make washing hard as you can’t put them in the 60 degree wash. I never thought of that, cried Mary, her blue mascara running down her face. I’ve read some women wear a pair once and then throw them out Well, they could cut them up and use them as dusters,Dave mused. Why not just by dusters and wear white or beige knickers? Life is hard enought without worrying about such trivia My mascara is melting because my eyes keep watering. Go and sit by the potted plants and let it fall on them,Dave said scientifically Don’t be ridiculous, she said knowingly.I think it is hayfever or the pollution in town.The traffic was like a plague of giant houseflies on wheels.All stuck still. Well flies don’t keep still,Dave said.If they did we would kill them I guess there’s an a”ccident ” on the motorway so they send the cars down here.I wish they had kept the railways open as the roads are frightening with those big lorries with cars on the back.I used to be afraid one might fall off on us,Mary remininisced, when Stan drove me to the coast The door opened and in dashed Annie from next door.She wore a dark wine track suit with a pale pink T shirt matching her lipstick from Yves de Beauvoir McMorris of Paris and Wigan. Hi Dave she said.I love that dress,Is it from Marks? Yes, he answered.I like these cotton maxi dresses in hot weather. I can understand that ,she whispered.Trousers are hot and if you wash them they need ironing.People forget we sweat more in the heat That’s fortunate,Mary said.Otherwise we would die And so cry all of us except Jeb.Jeb never cries
How my heart sings 