Mary came home to find Stan crying in his old chair What’s the matter,baby, she asked gently? I feel so stupid, he told her.I was in the kitchen getting a drink but the running water made my bladder want to empty Well, we do have a loo in the hall I forgot that so I picked up an old pan and used that That’s ok,dearest, she whispered Then I realised, it was a colander! I am sorry,Mary, Well, it’s nothing.Women are used to things like this. Hi said Annie as she ran in with her pink cheeks glowing I have got a steam mop today and I’ve just cleaned your kitchen floor.I’d done mine earlier That is very kind of you.We had a bit of a problem in there Yes, the tomcat up the road seemed to have left his mark but it’s ok now She smiled at Stan. who still looked nervous. I’ll buy you a steam mop for Xmas.I think of it as a toy and I am killing Roman soldiers with the steam or I have other little fantasies So do I,Stan muttered Why don’t we have a cup of tea? Mary carried the tea in on a wooden tray Mary, that’s my desk drawer. Don’t tell me you were going to wee into this No, I brought it down to shake the dust out before I put my pens and paper back Well, remember, chamber pots are never made of wood. Wow. how amazing Why not ? Because it is porous so stuff soaks into the very wood itself Annie said, why do you need one when you have an ensuite plus a loo in the hall Maybe it is my second childhood,Stan joked merrily Emile strolled in Smokey and I have been in the woods.The kitchen seems very clean I’ve been trying my steam mop on it,Annie reported Very nice, said Emile,I’d like a small one Cats don’t mop floors, mewed Smokey Maybe we will be the first Just to make sure Dad is well I’d better ring 999 Stan is not your Dad and he does not want to see anyone Why not? He wet the floor Humans suffer so.We mate with all and sundry, wet the ground and eat the meat when you forget to freeze it Well, never mind.We do have a bit of fun Have more,Emile mewed And so say all of us
have edited this but have left the original poem underneath as it is popular and I don’t want to remove it if some people prefer it that way.
The journey to the heart is graced by love. And those who need to seek obey their call. Though virtue and her graces smile above, We see steep paths ahead;cliffs’ sudden fall.
With willingness to cross fields deep in mud, To struggle through the tangled thorny wood. Our soul within points to the latent good; Recalls old trees astonished into bud.
As flowers spring up to tantalize our toes Encouragement is with much joy received; And as we smell the fragrance of the rose, At last we know our souls were not deceived.
For Virgil,fortune favours steadfast feet. The journey may be long,the end is sweet.
Old version
The pathways to the heart are blessed by love. And those who truly seek will never lose. As virtue and her graces smile above We see the hills ahead,the rocky views.
With willingness to cross the seas of mud, To venture via tangled briar-filled woods. Our soul within shows us the highest good, When trees that looked quite dead are now in bud.
With flowers springing up between our toes Encouragement is ,with relief ,received And as we smell the fragrance of the rose, At last we know our hearts were not deceived.
For Virgil, fortune favours those with steadfast feet. The journey may be long,the end is sweet
I lie back in the weather-proofed green chair To gaze up at the flowering maple tree. I, touched by sun,lungs full of scented air Embrace with joy such beauty around me
Old celandine show brightly by my feet Neglected currant bushes straggle round the path There is no birdsong yet a silence sweet Soothes my heart and quietens my wrath.
For my heart’s sore and anguished is my mind Yet in this little wood I feel deep calm. My eyes are shadowed and my face is lined. May this green spring bring me a gentle balm.
For even in depression and deep grief, The mind makes healing medicine of a leaf
We must be less deferential to doctors and nurses and anybody with a small manager role like a community matron who think they can tell other people what to do which without having listened to them or empathise with them
Perhaps we have the unconscious fantasy that people go into medicine whether his doctor or nurses or carers as radiographers etc because they love their fellow human beings and most especially babies or young children we imagine full of loving kindness We’re all human and no one can live up to our ideals of perfection.
How many people can resist the wonderful exteriences of putting down others all people the ones who can be attacked most safely are the old or disabled ; for some nurses it’s babies they like to kill or injure as we are seeing with recent trials in Britain. we are too idealistic about human motives.and when we look at our own lives it’s easy to find we ourselves are guilty of this. Let’s think about it. is it trivial or is it more serious and if it is are we afraid to tell anybody?
Do you know what “normal marital hatred” is? If you’ve been married or in a long-term relationship, then you probably do.
“I’ve been talking about this around the country for decades,” said Terrence Real, a best-selling author and family therapist who offers couples workshops. “Not one person has ever come backstage and said, ‘What do you mean by that?’ Everybody knows what it is.”
Even so, the idea that hating your romantic partner is “normal” may come as a bit of a shock to those who have idealized romantic relationships. One conversation with Real, and you will be cured of any notion that real life looks like a rom-com.
Relationship experts have tried for years to unlock the mystery of how couples resolve conflict and learn to stay together. John Gottman, a University of Washington marriage researcher, pioneered the study of relationships by recording couples during conflict and monitoring positive and negative words, facial expressions and body language. He calculated that strong relationships have a 5-to-1 ratio of positive to negative interactions.
Another researcher, retired University of Virginia professor E. Mavis Hetherington, studied 1,400 heterosexual couples over three decades and found a type of marriage most prone to divorce. She called it the pursuer-distancer marriage, in which one person typically presses to solve problems, but the other dismisses the concerns.
Real said he thinks the real problem is that many couples turn conflict into a power struggle, and nobody wins. “In normal circumstances, if you’re unhappy with me, that is not the time for me to talk to you about how unhappy I am with you,” he said. “Everybody gets that wrong.”
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So here’s what you should know about normal marital hatred, and what you can do about it.
Do you know what “normal marital hatred” is? If you’ve been married or in a long-term relationship, then you probably do.
“I’ve been talking about this around the country for decades,” said Terrence Real, a best-selling author and family therapist who offers couples workshops. “Not one person has ever come backstage and said, ‘What do you mean by that?’ Everybody knows what it is.”
Even so, the idea that hating your romantic partner is “normal” may come as a bit of a shock to those who have idealized romantic relationships. One conversation with Real, and you will be cured of any notion that real life looks like a rom-com.
“No one acknowledges the underbelly of relationships,” said Real, author of “Us: Getting Past You & Me
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Another researcher, retired University of Virginia professor E. Mavis Hetherington, studied 1,400 heterosexual couples over three decades and found a type of marriage most prone to divorce. She called it the pursuer-distancer marriage, in which one person typically presses to solve problems, but the other dismisses the concerns.
Real said he thinks the real problem is that many couples turn conflict into a power struggle, and nobody wins. “In normal circumstances, if you’re unhappy with me, that is not the time for me to talk to you about how unhappy I am with you,” he said. “Everybody gets that wrong.”
Story continues below advertisement
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So here’s what you should know about normal marital hatred, and what you can do about it.
A Life offers unprecedentedly direct access to the mind and feelings of an early 20th-century educated working woman. Marion Blackett was 26 when she began the research for the book, in 1926, and 34 when she published it, under the pseudonym Joanna Field. She had completed a degree in psychology and physiology, in 1923, and soon after started working for the National Institute of Industrial Psychology, headed by Charles Samuel Myers, collecting data from various factories and industrial workplaces across England. The winter of 1927–28 was spent in the United States on a Rockefeller scholarship, attending Elton Mayo’s seminars at Harvard Business School.
She had married Dennis Milner just before leaving for the States; their son, John, was born in 1932. Dennis’s chronic illness meant that Marion had to return immediately to work: she taught psychology to the Workers’ Educational Association in the East End of London, and also undertook research for the Girls’ Public Day School Trust (published in 1938 as The Human Problem in Schools). She would eventually begin training with the British psychoanalysis group
I heard your voice outside the glass front door I felt no shock nor worry nor surprise. But there a man, whose image is a blur, Handed me a box with friendly cry.
What part of me still waits for your return? Why don’t I know you’re gone and shan’t come home? What knowledge must my puzzled heart still learn? Why do I get an urge to search and roam?
If we are conversations ,as I read, Then our exchange has ended with your death; And so I am not she with whom you laid. Nor she with whom you shared a common breath.
When deprived of hearing your response. I am no longer she whom I was once.
I wish I were on Hutton Roof again The limestone and the little open flowers The sea at Arnside like a distant gem The spaciousness, like days with far more hours
I wish I were as agile now as then I’d climb the mountains, hills,the little lanes
Windermere below still winding on The handsome Lake the old man, Coniston
I wish I were in Dent, the curious shapes The hills and their deep mystery engross The height, the little river, the mistakes The lost loved man alive, to hold me closeI
I yearn to be on Hutton Roof today The holy smell of grass, the feel of air
← I wonder who thinks calculus is part of geomorphology?
Topology, a branch of mathematics, is sometimes called rubber sheet geometry. It’s a sad world when mathematicians have to study the sheets of those of us who have leaky bladders. However, if Tracy Emin’s bed is a work of art it extends the possibilities for scientists and mathematicians.And this needed because with all academics having to publish very frequently they might run out of topics. So we might have a study of duvets and the different shapes they might assume when they are covering just one person, two people, three people and since we are mathematicians, we could study their shapes when covering an infinite number of people. Alternatively how about the effect of one person being covered by an infinite number of duvets? Would it be aleph-null the infinity of the rational numbers or aleph 0ne [the infinity of the real numbers]? Aleph one is the bigger of the two . Aleph is the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet… and it is used because mathematicians already have used up the Greek alphabet. So now we use the Hebrew one which is slightly different. If you learned calculus you will recall all those delta x’s and delta y’s. This makes me think calculus is part of geomorphology and I do believe that geomorphology which studies the surface of the earth is linked to the love and study of the mother’s face and body by human infants. So calculus is linked to the studied love of babies.Can it be that if you had a disturbed infancy you will find mathematics very hard? Plastic geometry and plastic surgery will be dealt with later but obviously again it is linked to love or hate of the body though our bodies are not usually made from plastic but who knows the future?
The dead flowers in the vase have their own charm They have their form, their shape, their wistfulness What is dead no longer does us harm
Thus being dead is no cause for alarm There is no need to suffer loneliness The dead flowers in the vase have their own charm
As they age, they look like a dead palm The sort we got in church had comeliness What is dead no longer does us harm
The secret of good lives is keeping calm And looking at the world with gratefulness The dead flowers in the vase have their own charm
Meditation on dead flowers is balm We fear no longer our own death’s fullness What is dead no longer does us harm
Waste not time in hateful wilfulness We sing with love our own dawn choruses The dead flowers in the vase have certain charms What is dead no longer may alarm
Why did Jesus have no shoes? He had sent his soles to be heeled.
Why did Jesus not wear trousers? Jewish tailoring had not got that far 2,000 years ago.
Did Jesus drive a car? Drive a car what?
Did Jesus write letters? They had no Royal Mail then and soon we shan’t either.
Why did Jesus go to a comprehensive school? He wanted to widen his appeal.
Did Jesus iron his clothes? It was before the Iron Age when he lived. (That is not true)
Am I sure I’ll go to heaven? Stop going to betting shops and wearing red bras and you should be ok How about this atom bomb here in my pocket? Please, let it drop,I beg you
Dream Hollyhocks,delphinium and phlox Foxgloves,cat mint, nettles,near by docks The blind man breathed in air full of wild scent His daughted named the colours now absent
High up on the Kentish cliffs we sat Capel-le -Ferne I found it on a map We listened to this girl, we did not speak Absorbing by our senses,proud and meek
Now I recollect the details very well In those dream like memories I dwell Snapdragons growing just beside my chair I smell the scent as if I were still there
I may be blinded by the tears of loss But I remember, love, our happiness
Mary had ordered all of her groceries but she forgot to put tea on the list So she sent Emile to the corner shop with a note tied to his collar Please give the bearer your best tea. Emile went off and managed to get into the shop after some children who were getting sweets with their pocket money or debit cards He went up to the counter and mewed, Mother has sent you a note. One of the children laughed Is your mother a girlfriend of Mr. Kumar? No, she is not, Emile growled with a loud throbbing voice Mr. Kumar led Emile behind the counter into his living room and spoke to his wife She asked Emile to sit down as she went into the kitchen and poured him some tea from her China teapot .Do you want it on a saucer, she enquired thoughtfully? Yes, please, said Emile. This is very kind. He leaped onto the rug and began sipping the Ceylon tea. This makes a change, he murmured. I didn’t know you could just walk in and get free tea! After a few minutes, the shop door crashed open and he heard Mary’s voice Oh, Mr. Kumar, I am so stupid. I sent Emile out to buy some Twinings tea and he has not come home! What shall we do? She started crying and dabbing her eyes with Stan’s hanky. Come through, he whispered politely. Do not weep, dear. All is well Mary came in and saw Emile drinking his tea and winking at Mrs. Kumar. Emile, you stupid cat. I was going crazy worrying.I’ll strangle you! Is it my fault, he replied. I only gave them that note you sent. But is it not obvious what I intended? she said plaintively These days you never know, the cat muttered. I try to be obedient as far as I can. Mrs. Kumar came out and gave Mary a cup of tea. Sit down, dear. Worry is so bad for you. Why did you not phone us? Since it was just a packet of tea I thought Emile could carry it. He is very intelligent normally. Yes, I am, thought Emile as he looked at Maisie, the Kumar’s lovely cat who was asleep on a chair. I wonder if I can wake her up, he asked himself. Does she drink tea? Would she like to start a family? It’s not too late for me to become a parent. Maisie opened her eyes What’s that cat doing here? I only came for the tea, Emile told her. But you look very beautiful. Shall we meet tonight I’m washing my fur, she told him with a smile How about tomorrow? Have you got a phone? No, he said, I’ll just caterwaul at dusk and if you are free I’ll be under the red maple tree waiting for you Good grief thought Mary. This cat is very cunning. Just one chance and he is making the most of it. Mr. Kumar gave her some tea and she wandered home in a daze after asking them for a drink on Sunday. My social life is looking up but there’s no-one who will hug me. If only Emile were bigger! His legs are too short!I should get a donkey instead
Some people get creative with this signature. A few fun (if not necessarily business appropriate) examples found round the Internet include:
My parents wouldn’t buy me an iPhone so I have to manually type “Sent from my iPhone” to look cool Sent telepathically Sent from my laptop, so I have no excuse for typos Sent from my smartphone so please forgive any dumb mistakes I am responsible for the concept of this message. Unfortunately, autocorrect is responsible for the content Sent from my mobile. Fingers big. Keyboard small. iPhone. iTypos. iApologize.
Thinking about gnats flying/dancing haphazardly over a pond, I realised that a lot of our thoughts are very shallow and not very important. But sometimes we can get obsessed with them when what really matters are the much deeper thoughts and images in our minds as the big fish in the bottom of the pond are the ones that the angler wants
So anyone creative is probably aware that you have to listen with a special set of mind to be receptive to these thoughts in a similar way to an angular sitting on the bank of a river or a pond waiting patiently for hours the tempt the fish to take the bait.
Maybe we don’t have the patience. But do we want to remain on the surface of life never having any deep feelings? I don’t think most of us want to live like that I may be wrong but at least we have the choice sometimes.
When you are writing a poem the space between the lines can be as important as the lines themselves.
By 
How my heart sings 