So why are you eating that layered chocolate icecream,Mary,asked Annie her dear neighbour charmingly attired in a light purple skirt and blue silk top with butterflies embroidered round the neckline and hips covered by a silk dressing gown in light orange
Well, it’s a rather a strange story;it all began when Sainsburys had no slots for delivery
That’s not very interesting,said Annie foolishly
It is to me, Mary muttered plaintively.I wondered if there was anywhere else to get milk and bread delivered as my neighbours were not so keen to get my last prescription
Why, was it for heroin? Annie teased her, her smiling face ruined by a too pale foundation by Hercules of Paris and Dalmatia with crimson lipstick from Boots adorning her wrinkled lips.She looked ready to star in Death in Venice
No it was for cystitis, Mary cried.Anyhow I went on to Deliveroo and they have a store that sells food from Marks and Spencers.Only a limited range, of course
Mary’s oval face flushed with a pink glow and her singular blue eyes flashed like imitation diamonds at sunset in Weston -super-Mare
In contrast she was wearing a heather tweed skirt and jumper of pure new wool
And her green trainers and matching tights
But they had no milk so I continued with them on to Morrisons who again have a small selection
of food and drink
In half an hour they were at the door and all was well
Then one word came to my mind
What was it, Annie asked her nervously, her fingers twisting her newly washed her into ringlets so fast it looked as if she was destroying the roots
Eggs,Eggs! They had no eggs,Mary confided.
Have you none left?
Yes but Emile fell off the window sill onto the work surface and crushed them all
Do you believe it was an accident? Cats have been known to suck eggs,Annie whispered
Wow,I didn’t know that, Emile miaowed furtively
Stay away from my eggs,Mary scolded him.Lay your own.I wish I could
So naturally I went to Deliveroo where the local Coop was selling food
I got eggs,crumpets, marmalade and then I noticed they sold icecream.Chocolate icecream.
You never eat it.Annie told her
But I like it, so I thought,I’ll just get one as it is Easter
Well, the man came to the door and I saw he had a very small bag
I took it and it said, “sorry, we have no eggs so we have sent 6 icecreams”
That is illogical ,said Annie.You can’t bake icecream nor eat it boiled with toast
So then I thought I”ll either fly into a rage or I will eat the icecream
Then tomorrow I will phone them and say, those eggs you sent were off
I have been sick all night.I want a refund
This is not like you,Mary, her friend said.You don’t cheat and tell lies
Not up till now but we have to change.Not just ethically but also
we have to curse and swear
Your fecking eggs were off.
But Annie shouted: they will say
We don’t sell fecking eggs we only have pickled eggs
Then I will shout: pickle off cried Mary
That icecream has made you go crazy,Mary.,Annie informed her
Am I schizophrenic? Mary asked politely
Not yet but Emile might be if you carry on
I’ll make us some lovely PG Tips Tea, that will restore our sanity
And make some for all of us
Month: Mar 2024
O grief depart
The freezing gales of life have skinned my heart
Each little knife now stabs me like a sword.
Would that grief now soon from me depart
But feelings last much longer than do words
My heart needs comfort in these icy winds
People hurry past and do not see
Alas to strangers we are most unkind
Impatient friends won’t spend much time with me.
We need words but we need touch and care.
I need to see your face to read your eye
Have pity on me, Lord, for I am bare
Why am I here, why should I plead and cry?
Yet time will pass and I will feel secure
From the fearsome cruelty now so near
Guide me through the cruel sea I fear
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We have the seeds of goodness
– I’m reading “Our Needs for Others and Its Roots in Infancy” by Josephine Klein and wanted to share this quote with you.
“For we can be sure that we have the seeds of the goodness and strength we need, hidden and repressed or split-off though they may be. Locked in our memory are traces of the experiences which enabled us to survive. We know that this is so because we have in fact survived. We did not die. At least the minimum goodness was there, and just enough strength, at least. We are already possessed of what we need, if we can but get to it. ‘Oh joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed”
(William Wordsworth, Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childho
————–
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Little sister
Trying to keep a hold of you;
trying to keep a hold of you.
Don’t go,
Don’t go.
I’ll not let you fall down that gap.
I’ll always try to pull you back-
Little sister.
You slipped so far away from us.
You slipped because you knew you could.
You saw a gap and fell right down.
You were serious, my little clown.
Come back now.
Come back now.
My baby.
I sang all those songs for you,
But I needed a mother too.
A mother too.
If only I were stronger…
Stronger, stronger..
Would you have stayed here longer?
Little sister.
As you rocked in your little chair,
the demons of the home were there.
Your blue eyes shone,
Then you were gone.
My sister.
I saw you in a long blue gown,
With a golden halo, all wrapped round.
You smiled and said you didn’t know
That I had really loved you so.
You were sorry to leave like that,
And would I kindly feed your cat.
My sister.
When I woke up, the dream was gone;
But life and work must still go on.
If only I’d been grown and strong,
On this earth, you’d still belong.
Little sister.
I sang the song that you once sang,
But felt my tears made it go wrong.
Once you smiled and laughed with me.
Life was not all black, I see.
Sisters, sisters,sisters, three.
Now it’s two, just you and me.
But when we meet ,a shadow’s there-
I see a flash of her dark hair,
Our sister,sister,sister.
A gap remains for grief to fill
and on we mourn till hearts are still.
One day we’ll die too
And perhaps then we’ll be with you.
Little sister.
My sister.
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On reflection, would a cat repent?
Photo by my dear sister Eileen
If only cats could talk I’d be content,
For conversation is my sanity and friend.
I’d marry one as soon as he’d consent
On reflection, would a cat repent
If he told the police I’d killed ten hens
If only cats could talk I’d be content
Wittgenstein would never comprehend
That cats and women spoke a common tongue
I’d marry one as soon as he’d consent
Would a cat be master and demand
To see each bill and say I’d paid it wrong
If only cats could talk I’d be content
He could take my name without dissent
I guess he would not mind it being long
I’d marry one as soon as he’d consent
And I’d prefer his purr to any song
He could sleep and I could make blancmange
If only cats could talk I’d be content,
I’d marry one as soon as he’d consent
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Woke – Wikipedia
Boot Sale
Archimedes’ pocket calculator in working order
Cleopatra’s nightie [washed and ironed]
Aristotle’s chair with footstool and TV remote
Abraham’s hat [unworn]
Isaac’s laughter [ CD]
Euclid’s ruler [plastic]
Zeno’s hair [combed]
Ten live Greek tortoises with name tags.
Book of Numbers [ In Hebrew]
Fifty limericks and Wordsworth’s hair [1 only
Job’s watch (automatics
Isaac’s belt
Eve’s best apron
Eve’s halogen hob (new,other)
Job’s hanky.
Adam’s apple
Recipes from the Biblem
S
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The shock of the doll
They gave me a small watch on Xmas Day
But with any watch a little child can’t play
I envied both my sisters with new dolls
As on the old settee the dolls were lulled
I stood there uncomprehending and alone
Had I reached unknowing a milestone?
Then my sister lent me one of hers
I broke that little head upon my chair
I was holding her with tenderness
Scarcely breathing in my velvet dress
So I sat down to rock my babe awhile
The horror of her cracking head was vile
Now I play with numbers and with words
And look back sadly at that little girl
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The day out
Oh,horticultural college, you have charm
To grey old souls your roses are a balm
But if I need a stimulant
To Tottenham Hotspurs I’ll be sent
To see the players break each other’s arms”
O gardens fair ,O trees with bark that gleams
O roses red, your scent awakes our dreams
But if my brain needs livening up
I’ll burn the ordnance survey map
And wander round the garden as I beam
O cafeteria , what a terrace fair
While others eat I chew my straggly hair
But when my sister takes a snap
She makes two frogs sit on my lap
She’s so creative, she has gentle flair
Oh,horticulture is a lovesome art
Which gives us flowers with which to decorate
But once a week
We have a peek
And see old men who’re eating mulberry tarts
Oh,rapidly the summer darts away
So we must enjoy a flower while it’s here
Otherwise ,it’s tea and cake
Which Mary Berry now dictates
The main thing is to love cake without fear
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Memories of childhood
My sister oh my sister do not die
I feel that I still need you in my world
And Rivington we saw the larks upfly
Anglezarke the reservoir still swirled
Fresh water for old Liverpool’s
supply
I cannot go to Rivington alone
Nor Scotchmans Stump to see birds little bones
Once we lit a fire by a stream.
I’d like to go there now my love my queen.
Sturdy and determined she would climb.
Take the bus to Horwich it’s nearby
We saw ripe elderberries full and fine
In the distance Winter Hill stood high
The highest hill about so high austere
I won’t take you there sweet Eileen dear
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Oh,my dear sister what can you see ?
She’d never seem rainwater deeper than eyes
Mystery undisguised.
Round the big puddle she ran and ran;
Too much for her dolly’s pan.
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised.
Curiousity’s often so wise
Oh,my dear sister what see you there?
I hope it’s a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sisters dear,let us float.
We’ll never see daddy again, ‘cos he’s here
And down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel with his sharp sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with long golden hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two;
Eyes of one green, the other’s blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my dear sisters into the light.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I loved my sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t hope for what cannot be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool,
Held in God’s hand like a jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings must ride.
For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
All we can live by is trust
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Gnats on a pond
Distracting thoughts harass my heart and mind.
Like gnats that dance on ponds in bright sunshine
In the deeper waters there are fish.
How to tempt them to my little dish?
The gossips have no wisdom, they are fools.
Idle thoughts are idle, they misrule
Do not converse with your own idle thoughts
Wait in peace for wisdom has a heart
Gossip has a function in a street.
Gives us bored old folk sweet meats.
Do not introduce your careless hate.
As ,hidden in the Shadows, Satan waits
Quietly drowning in the rivers deep
The inner guide will help you dream to sleep.
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The mystery of our old house
Shedding tears there’s nothing much to say
Everybody dies in their own way
While we’re healthy we can bawl and shout
Serious illness makes us feel afraid
Conscious of the messes we have made
Remember birthdays and the bag of cards
When they’ve died it feels so cruel so hard.
We like to think we’ve got a chance for Grace
We cant know the time of death or place
Our house is for sale it looks so small.
The vestibule has gone there is a hall
I can’t believe the other people dwell
In a place that we lived in so well
We had no inside toilet we felt cold
Menstruation bleeding we were bold
So we look at photographs with care
But still we see no toilet anywhere
The one outside has disappeared from view
Whatever do these people have to do?
Excretion is a nuisance for us all
But go on sweetheart let your sad tears fall
For rears are clean and will not do as harm
Uric acid rarely has much charm
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The White clouds look too real
The white clouds look too real
It makes them seem artificial
The sun is making them glow,nor healthily eitherm
They add a certain ornate beauty to the sky
I wish to know that had not built the extension to their kitche
They don’t even seem to be there now
Why did they bother?
There’s a tiny cloud like a left behind baby
Or a squirrel.
There’s a West wind now and it’s very strong.
I’d like to go outside but I can’t.
My sister is ill. The Impossible death
Now seems imminent
It’s alright for the clouds they have no hearts.
I still have mine but maybe one day it will just give up
Too many dying people around
And the politicians don’t help
I wonder where they find them now
Maybe under an artificial rock at Southport
The lamp posts scream with laughter
I wonder where my mother is but there’s no way to find out
One day I will die as well
That’s all we need to know
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The sun burned in the mirror
The sun burned in the mirror of the loft
The window crimson like the Scotch Queens hair.
No hallucination, vision true
I saw the heart of nature red and bare
The violence of the dawn gave me great joy
The world’s not prim and pretty it is fierce
It burns our eyes . It drives away our dreams
If we see such dawn our hearts are seared.
For me the world will end with my own death
But while I am alive I feel its joy
The sun burns up the waste of mind and heart .
While why we are on earth we are its toy.
I saw the sun rise in your window
pane
Such a sunrise may not come again
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From a poem by Francis Thomson
T
Where is the land of Luthany,
Where is the tract of Elenore?
I am bound therefore.‘Pierce thy heart to find the key
When to the new eyes of thee
All things by immortal power,
Near or far,
Hiddenly
To each other linked are,
That thou canst not stir a flower
Without troubling of a star;
When thy song is shield and mirror
To the fair snake curled pain,
Where thou dar’st affront her terror
That on her thou may’st attain
Persean Conquest; seek no more,
O seek no more!
Pass the gates of Luthany,
Tread the region Elenore!
Francis Thompson
XXXTags: connection, death, flower, hope, knowledge, learning, life, light, loss, quest, sight, star,
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My sister
My sister’s eyes are sea green and deep
Like pools in the Irish sea off the coast off Anglesey.
Moelfre where she swam ,despite the cold,
Like a small seal.Night times I told her stories,
She lay and dreamed them till schooltime
But we grew beyond my storytelling
When adolescence drew us apart.
Years later
As I sat with her child
At my knee,
Weaving stories for her
Around the Russian horse
From the antique shop in Aldeburgh,
I saw my sister leaning towards us,
Her green eyes full of long-lost yearning.
I realised she was still my loving little sister,
From long, so long ago, her green eyes,
In the deep caves of her inner sea ,filled with longing.
I felt she wanted to get back
Into the magic circle
Of the arms of the mother we
No longer had to hold us.
So, I took her inside my heart,
And hold her there always
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Do not fall down any hole you find
Scruples make us focus more and more
We focus more and more on less and less.
We fall into the black dot we have bored.
Excessive zeal is narcissism galore,
As off to that Confessional we rush,
Scruples make us focus more and more
How can we love our sisters when unsure
Our guts and bladders squelch in horrid mush
We fall into the blackness off the shore.
Oh, sacred Self, oh Sanctity renewed!
God will worship me, delicious!
Scruples made me narrow-eyed and sure.
By my own will, I thought I could be pure.
A mystic soul admired by all the toffs
I fell into the black hole of manure.
The sensitive of mind find life so rough
That penance, torture, whipping’s not enough
Scruples made my focus narrow down.
I fell down the black hole , hey, what a clown!
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Stan has a perplexing day
[Image by my sister]
Stan was standing on a small step ladder washing his windows yet again with a clean blue microfibre and elastane cloth and some windolene he had bought in Tesco’s
I don’t know why I bother,he whispered to Emile, who as usual was watching from the back of the sofa,which he was “milking” gently with his paws.
With all the rain,the outside of the windows was besmirched by leaves and bits of mud.A wiser man might have left it alone but Stan had O.C.D which made him very nervous if he failed to carry out certain tasks… so he made use of it in house chores and baking perfect cakes and buns..and in taking photos of frogs,birds and flowers.Neurosis can be useful sometimes.
All of a sudden he heard clattering footsteps…
Up the garden path walked two women dressed in the latest style of 3/4 length silk cargo trousers with matching blouses, all in a subtle shade of violet.Except for their faces,of course,which were both a light shade of beige and they had Revlon peach blusher on their cheeks with Chanel scarlet lipstick…on their lips.They also wore dark blue nail varnish from Rimmel
“Good morning,Stan!” called one of them.”We are Annie’s ‘s cousins from Pittsburgh.She told us to call on you today.”
“Well,I never knew wearing expensive makeup ran in the genes… can there be any other explanation?”Stan asked stupidly.
“Annie told us we must wear it all the time in the UK.” she responded,”even in bed.”
“You seem a bit fast,” he answered,
“I’m not sure I want to go to bed and as you seem like identical twins,which of you should I bed?”
They burst out laughing….oh,what a strange noise that seemed to this sweet old man
“I was just saying what she told us,not meaning that you need to go to bed with us.In fact, we sleep together at night.”
“As children that would be normal,but don’t you think you should separate now?People might think you are gay!”
“We never worry about stuff like that… and by the way,this is Ruby and I am Rosie.”
“I’ll put on the kettle and make you some coffee,” the dear and anxious man said in a kind tone of voice,before he went into the kitchen and swallowed a handful of red and green striped valium tablets.
“I wish the psychiatrist would give me some therapy.I don’t like taking valium but I seem to be having visions again… and I don’t want to get worse..I never heard Annie mention cousins in the USA. I wonder if CBT would help me?” he said to Emile.
“I see visions all the time,” the cat replied in a matter of fact and calm way.
“Do they not make you feel anxious?”Stan called.
“No,I just watch them drift by,” purred Emile.”I enjoy them.”
“I wish these two women would drift off.”responded the weary yet charming Stan.
Ruby and Rosie came inside and admired the kitchen where colanders in many colours hung from the wall into which someone had knocked a few dozen nails.
“”Why do you have sixteen colanders?”asked Rosie.
“Why do you think everything has a reason?”Stan replied.
“I can see you studied philosophy,” Ruby cried disconsolately as she loved an argument
“No,I have just read Ray Monk’s Life of Wittgenstein eight times,” he quipped merrily.
“Wow,is it not boring?” they murmured softly like two doves in spring time
“No.it’s so good it put me off reading lesser books.And I love to understand things,”
Just then Stan tripped on the rug and fell over. unconscious.
.Emile picked up his mobile with its full Qwerty key pad and texted 999.
“Why are you texting?”asked Ruby.
“Well,it difficult to mioaw down a phone and now I have this Blackberry it’s so easy…. why even a mouse could do it.”
“Do you know many mice,Emile?” enquired Ruby wistfully as she felt very lonely at times
Rosie slowly made some instant coffee, walking around poor Stan ,unconscious on the floor…and she and her twin sat down on some white Swedish chairs at the old oak table and drank it,gazing shyly at the huge weigelia blooming outside in the shed.
The front door opened and in ran Dave,the bisexual paramedic.
“Is it you,Emile.Have you lost your hankie again.Are you sad?” he moaned nervously.
“No,it’s Stan… but at least he’s not broken the chair”
Stan came too and looked up. at Dave.
“Oh, lovely,I feel much better for that nap” he said brightly as he was such a positive person..
“Don’t you have a bed to sleep in?” said Ruby querulously.”I like your mean expression,my dear man.”
“Now,look here said Stan,”I’m too old for any monkey business. Besides,I don’t know if you are real.”
“We just wondered why you slept on the floor.”
“A man has to do what a man has to do,” came the mystifying response.
“Now that Dave is here,he can take one of you and I’ll take the other.”
“Where will you take us”the twins asked delightedly.
“Do you fancy the cinema… they are showing Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday”
“Don’t tell me he’s still on his summer holiday!” riposted Ruby
“Let’s go in the ambulance.I’ll lie on the stretcher” offered Rosie generously..
“I’ll lie by you,”said Dave.” and Emile can drive.Stan and Ruby can lie on the floor.”
Sometimes life seems so simple,it’s rather like a dream controlled..
Controlled by what,asked Emile,clutching his Blackberry.
But answer came there none…
And that was very odd because.. they’d vanished every one…
To read more,why not take out a subscription?At just £100 a day,it’s value for money…as money no longer has any value!
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We beg you not to leave but you must go
Do not leave us for your lonely grave
Do not leave us here when you are gone
Do not leave my heart in blood to bathe
We need your kindness your work is not done
Do not leave a sister all alone
Do not leave a brother empty sad.
You who share my skin and share my bones
Come back come back live not with the Dead
Here’s your daughter with her newborn babe
Here’s your eldest son oh mother mine
Live again live again oh stay
Do not leave us yet without a sign
The tears run down our faces but too late.
The human world’s not ours to navigate
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I pushed my sisters up our quiet street
I remember riding on his back
It was summer; I was only two
He had an old tweed jacket full of smoke
Woodbines, they would probably kill you too
Walking with my sister in her pram
Mam looked as happy as a summer lark
My brothers were pretending to be soldiers
We walked along, right into the deep dark
A few years later Dad was sat there crying
They never told me he was very bad
Eight years old, I pushed the baby
My sister walked while clutching at my side
I was worried Grandad would be angry
Seeing us three coming up the lane
We usually went there only at the weekend
On, on, on, went my brain
Going back home it was the evening
The sun had gone ,time to go to bed
I pushed my little sisters up our street
Auntie told me Daddy was now dead
No more rides on his thin shoulder
No more walking in the flowery park
Only the anguish of our feelings
Only children weeping in the dark
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Normopathy, the Abnormal Push for Normalcy | Psychology Today
General Affection
When quietness turns to threat
A strange and lonely feeling held my heart
Posted on July 29, 2017
A strange and lonely feeling held my heart
Gripping like some pincers made of steel.
From my beloved, I had had to part
The numbness folded round me like a wheel.
Quietness loved, has now turned into threat
Nero-like, I fiddle with my tunes
Pie Jesu’s not made top ten yet!
Larks’ ascents aren’t worth much to a loon.
I phoned a friend, her voice did me no good
It echoed in the chambers of my mind
Where metal walls torment the coursing blood
And escalate these feelings so unkind
Though he l loved has gone for he is dead.
I see his shadow on my artless bed
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I’m lonely just for you
I didn’t know I’d love you
With both my heart and mind
Every love is different
Each is a special kind
I didn’t know I’d miss you
In quite the way I do.
For we can’t feel emotion
Before its time is due.
Yet all human lovers
Must part and go their ways.
Some may die and fall to dust
Some may go astray.
I didn’t know I’d miss you
With all my tender heart.
But .as we’re made of fragile flesh.
We all must sadly part.
I should be grateful
For being found and known.
I wish you were still sitting here.
And I were not alone.
When we feel so lonely
No-one else will do.
It’s not that I’m just lonely.
I’m lonely, just for you.
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Loveliest of trees
https://poets.org/poem/loveliest-trees
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Poems
Find and share the perfect poems.
Loveliest of Trees
1859 –
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
This poem is in the public domain.
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Rosa wants some new clothes
It was September, and Dr Rosa Benchez wanted to buy some new clothes for the Autumn Term.Being ignorant of fashion, she did not know that Autumn clothes come into the shops in July.Up to now, she had bought all her clothes in Jumble Sales or Oxfam but she wanted to look more appropriate as she was going to be promoted.
As she entered the new dress shop, the manageress looked up and saw this tall, plump woman with gleaming green eyes coming towards her.Her hair was standing on
end but even so was a bit sparser than the ideal Such a pity she had no African blood.Maybe a perm would help.
And as her skin and hair were both beige, one could hardly tell where the hair was.
Hello, said Rosa.I am looking for a beige trenchcoat.
Oh, no, cried Martha, the manageress.Not beige!
But it is a classic and goes with everything, Rosa murmured knowingly
Sometimes a contrast is a better idea, said Martha, authoritatively
I have one here in deep teal blue.What size are you?
I have no idea, Rosa cried.
I should say an 18 because it’s better to err on the larger side for tall ladies
Why, is it wrong to wear very tight clothing, Rosa asked her nervously?
I suppose if you want to pick up certain types of men it might be ok.
I never pick up men, Rosa admitted humbly They pick me up
Don’t be so pedantic.You know what I mean.Why are you not married?You are very attractive
I was engaged but he ran away. I burned the ring as the jeweller said it was only cheap rubbish.It looked very nice.It fooled me
Well.you might be luckier next time even if only in a better class of ring
I think I am too intelligent and also love Wittgenstein
Won’t he marry you?
He’s dead!
Well, have you not grieved enough?
I only seem to love dead men.I suppose it’s an evasion of real life.
I love Leonard Cohen,said Martha.Let me get some coffee and we can discuss your entire wardrobe.
And so say all of us.
Jennifer Warnes and Leonard Cohen
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The plants speak, a story
Charlie Blogge had gone away to visit his aged parents for a few days down in Cornwall so Rosa Benchez,his fiancee was alone except for her three cats and four houseplants which she had just brought indoors.Though she could have written a bit more in her new book
Linguistics and Peace on Earth.
Can plants feel emotion? she asked her oldest cat, Lucy who was a pretty tortoiseshell
Definitely ,said Lucy.I have known plants to get depressed when in a dark corner.
Oh,dear,said Rosa,it’s the weekend so the surgery is shut.I hope these plants don’t go into a downward spiral in their mood now that the days are shorter.I suppose I could ring 999 if they were desperate.
They won’t allow plants in the hospital,Lucy mewed.
Why not,asked Rosa angrily.That is sheer discrimination.We pay our contributions.
But the plants don’t pay ,do they.Lucy retorted cheerfully.Cats don’t get free healthcare either.
Socialism made a big mistake there, cried Rosa.Since the English prefer animals to people they would have won the Election if they proposed free pet care on the NHS
Imagine, it would have created more jobs as well, she continues academically.And plant care is needed as plants can feel ill at times.
Yes,we can, cried the Peace Lily.I feel ill knowing there is not much peace in the world.
Humans don’t realise they may win a war but the conflict makes their health suffer even if they are too old to fight.And within families ,it is just as bad.
You are so right,Peace,Rosa said thoughtfully.We always assume it is our inner conflicts that make us neurotic or physically ill,but it may be that at the back of our minds we are aware of all the wars, the refugees, the suffering.Outer conflict makes us all sick to some degree.And quarreling relatives and people who can’t apologise.
Do you have any rain water,Peace demanded.I feel thirsty.
Is that enough,Rosa cried.I can make you some weak tea if you like.
Oh,go on then, the plant told her.Give me a teacup full of tea with no sugar. nor milk How about you, she carried on turning to her sister Pax.
OK.Pax told her.Whither thou goest…
She’s Jewish,said Peace to Rosa.Her real name is Ruth.But nobody uses it as Pax is shorter.She won’t grow on the Sabbath,though.
Will you miss talking to the trees in the garden while you are indoors? Rosa asked, before any more Bible references were offered.
Yes,definitely.Can you buy a few tall,male looking plants like bamboo or even grape ivy?
We like a mixture.All living beings like a mixture of friends.
How about human friends or even cats,Rosa said tactlessly
Yes, as long as they talk in soft musical voices.And we don’t like to watch violent films on TV nor to see cats fighting on the sofa.,Peace informed her.Violence hurts our inner core
And so say all of us
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Lonelier than ever? Loneliness of older people over two decades – ScienceDirect
Space is not countable yet words are
The space between the words where silence lies.
Irrational as real numbers on the line
When the words are spoken silence dies.
Words can be arranged so truth defies
The origins of the love which day combine
The space between the words where silence lies
No words are known to stand for mother’s sighs
Speech is like a song, continuous,fine.
When the words are spoken silence dies
Will the words reveal the Gorgon’s eye?
We need reflections to derive the sign
The space between the words by v were silence lies
The power of words is simple and divine.
A net to catch the real,the winding twine
The space between the words where silence lies.
When we say the word the silence does
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The Vale of Soulmaking…John Keats
https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2014/07/25/the-vale-of-soul-making/
“I will call the world a School instituted for the purpose of teaching little children to read—I will call the human heart the horn Book used in that School—and I will call the Child able to read, the Soul made from that school and its hornbook. Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a soul? A Place where the heart must feel and suffer in a thousand diverse ways!” Keats
How my heart speaks 