Tact and subtle actions create life
Assertive force destroys another’s soul
To the High and Holy One, we’re wife.
The way we go seems but a throw of dice
Yet destiny will beckon, though we crawl
Tact and subtle actions make a life
Into every heart, there comes the knife.
Surrender to the otherness of all
To the High and Holy One be wife.
In his shadow, we look down, we cry.
We listen to that voice, so still, so small
Tact and subtle actions shape good lives.
As a mother births her child, she sighs
All lives and coming suffering must appal.
To the High and Holy One, we’re wife.
Here we seem like prisoners on bail
May we live with love in this, our world
Tact and subtle actions create life
Surrender humble to God and his wiles.
My heart was in my mouth [so I had to eat suck it all day which gave my thumb a rest] My heart sank [ to the bottom of the pond in Barrow Bridge] I fell head over heels in love with a cat.[That’s why I had no children as inter-species marriage is not yet allowed but soon it will be here] I could not swallow his excuse as my mouth was full of chocolate buttons I had torn off my uniform..well they looked like chocolate] That is hard to digest.[So may I please spit it out?] I spat him out [but he came back as he was on an elastic rope]
I was wondering if new phrases come into existence now and I don’t recall any.Is it because we are no longer so involved in creating our language or because there are experts in academia who study it.At one time ordinary people made buildings etc and m ust have developed skills in geometry etc from a practical point of view.And it was they who invented writing and numbers etc not people in Universities who do not create but analayse and criticise and study signs and connections. So has the rise of experts made us stupider than people were in the past?Is it poets who invent new idioms?
My eyes nearly leaped out of my head when he passed by… Luckily I had put superglue down the sides of them at breakfast time. My hands grasped the nettle and I almost threw the flowers at his head.Then he said: You are the hoover of my soul. Walls have fears,you know. A rolling brick gathers no floss. I patted him on the wreck and we parted with no acrimony and no real money either.What is acrimony? I’m a pharisee and ‘i’m ok.Jewish by right and a whirling prayer. I can’t live without hue or colour Tint me this day.oh Lord. Does God sell salt on the internet.He has a Lot.Sorry Lot’s wife.Does it clatter?
I apologise for loving you too much We never learned to balance the see-saw In modern times the lovers should go Dutch
Two lonely lovers with a single crutch Each one having many curious flaws I apologise for loving you too much
What ever did I do to merit touch? Then I was too careless with the salt In modern times the lovers should go Dutch
We should measure what we speak at lunch Then we weigh the sentences that spilt I apologise for loving you too much
Maths and stats are useful in the lurch Equality of signs and numbers,bills In modern times the lovers should go Dutch
,
Let the mouth be silent, keep quite still Love is rarely used when writing Wills I apologise for loving you so much In modern times we lovers cannot touch
A is for the axioms we use B for Brownian motion in a glass C is for the circle that found pi D is for the dots that we combine E is the ellipse that I adore F is for the fraction I deplore G is for geometry and art H is for the hidden and unknown I was once for inkwells filled each day J is a close relation here of G K is my own name, I do declare L is for the loops that string can make M is mathematics as an art N is for the numbers that transcend O might be for zero or the mind P is for the problems we all meet Q is for the quality of life R is for the random numbers here S must be statistics, I declare, T is for topology, that’s clear U is understanding what we read V is for the vacuum in the heart~ W is the will power to succeed X is still unknown but we’ll give in Y is Yes we understand the game Z I’ll leave to you to make or maim
All the advice I’ve read so is that you must read a lot and in particular read a lot of poetry.
If you write poetry even if it’s not very good it makes it easier to read other people’s poetry and when reading a novel I am much more aware of how they describe people nature etc the kind of language that they use. P d James seems to have a poetic gift though as far as I know she did not write poetry as such.
My heart is like a rowing boat adrift
Whose occupant has fallen overboard
The empty vessel drifts through deep sea mist.
And in those pearl filled ears the deep sea roars.
Just as the boat drifts mapless,so do I.
My maps were drawn for quite another sea
My captain’s taken leave and now I cry
As if that drowned soul might just be me.
Yet on the sea bed mysteries abound;
Such wonders and such magic there displayed.
I wonder if it is my lot drown
And to a memory then quickly fade.
Maps are no more certainties than hints.
Between the lines hides gold from other mints.
O happy worm that of my flesh might eat When after death I lie in deep in the earth My bosom,hands and eyes become your meat
You have no sun as you enjoy your feast And none is chosen as we were at birth O happy worm that of my flesh might eat
All of us are equal in defeat None are high or low , what are we worth? My brain,my hands,my eyes become worms’ meat
In the soil, we rest in comfort sweet Let us all be blessed,God make no curse You made the happy worms who will us eat
O remember the deep ash from Auschwitz’ heat The little children killed without Kaddish Those hearts ,those hands, those eyes no worm could eat
,
Why should we be satisfied by wish When people burn or starve beside our dish O Godly worm that of my flesh might eat Let my very self become your meat
My old blue fountain pen allows The ink across the page to flow Like wet paint from an artist’s brush; And words come in a rush.
Enchanted by the hand that writes, Bewitched by art, beauty alights. The script is like a music score Through which you pass as through a door. Imagination’s home.
As,mysteriously,to you,to me, The spirits of our hearts are tamed, By rhythms of pen,of brush,of mind, They enter vision quite unplanned, Like moths to flutter softly round Fire joined heart and hand.
The pen slows down,the hand goes still And just as dreams at daybreak will, They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone, I almost caught that one.
Wasting life when we would like to dance Walk in ferny woods. exchange a glance Can we have a decent person at our head? Jesus Christ,no b*gger understood
Why be happy when you could feel mad? Glad that Donald Trump is not your dad Don’t let logic, reason or plain thought Sell you something Mother never bought
Why not let the police take all control? They know how to score a self made goal They can kill a man and wound a child Yet kneel down in Church along the aisle
Holding a black Bible in one hand
Will not take you to the Promised Land Cain and Abel,Jacob and Esau Does he hope to start another War?
As the old man fell towards his death They offered us a handrail for the bath I was so shattered by their wilful lies I could not speak, my saliva had all dried
He was walking albeit slowly when at home When they took him off I heard the groan Lost inside his head, no wife nearby Even Satan would have wept that night
Gabriel and Satan, hand- in -hand Neither one will ever understand We humans waste so much,we’re almost blind Full of envy,hate and so unkind
Reading the letters we receive, I’m always struck by how much, and how quickly, people convert their pain into self-loathing. My first thought when I read your letter, Heartless, was: Oh my god — you’re in pain. Your grieving isn’t over. The public ways in which your fiancé’s mom is grieving have reawakened the more private sense of shock and paralysis you felt when your father died. Your instinctive contempt for her displays of sorrow, and how she’s been able to elicit comfort, raises questions about whether you received what you needed 10 years ago, when you were so young and less equipped to ask for support, or even understand how to grieve.
I’m in deep now,never been this deep before The world’s hollow like a shell and I’m out its door. In so deep, the ocean has its own startled floor. I’m down,down.down.never been so dark , so more
I can’t rightly tell how I got where I am I think I had an accident,fell over, then I swam. Sometimes it’s a loss, be times it’s my man. I guess I only do it cos I know some folk can.
I don’t know if the joy is worth the pain Would I choose to relive if, I was born again? The deep joy is the amazing gain. But the sorrow is damn sad, let’s admit it plain.
I’m in deep and it’s over my head What was I thinking of,when I fell out of that bed? I look up and the sea’s so turquoise like that mist is red When we get good and mad and wish some loon was dead.
At first, it was all just black,black pain But from the bottom of the well, I looked up with awed love again. That’s when I recalled,feelings are deep and sane Joy is much greater when we’re in the deep,deep zone.
I dunno if I’m ever comin’ out. We can’t control it,ain’t that what life’s all about? I’ll never love with innocence again,nor not feel doubt. But I’m no teapot and the devil ain’t got my spout.
I’m swimming and the ocean’s so mysteriously bright Down here we don’t have no day nor no night Fish nudge me with big grins and teeth white Sea flowers fondle me and whisper,turn off that light
The sun is far away and we feel low~
Like ducks that dive into the watery depths
Freezing rain has not the feel of snow
No more do ilving waters seem to flow
And when we kiss there’s frost upon our lips
If sun is far away , what’s our bed for?
Despair can get us in its undertow
And from our happy time we’re may be ripped
Freezing rain has not the charm of snow
Best to feed wild birds and live snail- slow
Sorrow is the parent of joy’s scripts
The sun is far away , oh deep, oh low~
But yet beneath the soil new life will grow
As the parents quarrel souls still wait
Freezing rain has not the charm of snow
Unthought babies wait for signals glow
Swiftly to the womb the souls migrate
The sun is far away and we are low
Like a tide with hidden under rips
The sea of life will take us where love’s trapped
The sun is far away ,but why feel low~?
Freezing rain will cease and life will flow
Mary opened the door as the bell kept ringing.There stood a clergyman in a grey wool suit and baseball cap coordinated with his Nike trainers Hello,madam,he said suavely in a mellifluous voice Hello,Mary answered kindly.What is your mission? To convert the entire world to Christianity. I am sorry,I meant what was your mission with me.But anyway, you can’t convert me.So you are a failure.It’s called a counter example in Maths. Why can’t I convert you, he asked the blue eyed witch of Knittingham standing there in her dark Artigiano jeans, Dash striped top and a red wool stole I like choice, she cried.I do not want a creed. Anyway, the man told her,I just came to say I am buying a flat across the road and I wanted some opinions on the quietness of this area before I finalise my purchase. Mioaw,went Emile in a loud shriek Oh,Lord, what is that, a demon,the poor man asked? It’s only my cat, she told him,why not come in for coffee and I’ll tell you about the nearest neighbours. That is very kind of you, he said.But I might be a burglar Oh,good,Emile purred.I’ve always wanted to meet a burglar. Why, asked the man as he entered the beautiful hall full of spiders and Picasso prints. You can tell me how I can get into other people’s houses, the cat told him boldly. I want to be a cat burglar! Come into the living room, said Mary.The room was full of books like the Encarta English Dictionary, Stanley Middleton and “How to talk so cats can hear” piled in tidy heaps. My name is Jacob, the visitor said.I have just retired but am keen to keep converting people as Christianity is the best religion ever I don’t really want a religion and I am unsure how you prove it’s the best I am keener on the Hindu religion, she lied impertinently just to see if she could carry it off as Aspies can’t tell lies Suddenly the kitchen door opened and in ran Annie, the neighbour and one time Mistress of Stan,Mary’s late and dangerous old husband Hello,Jake, she cried as she kissed his aged cheeks fondly I am buying a flat but I didn’t know you lived here he said politely We met on Tinder, Annie told Mary. What is that, a hill? I know Kinder Scout. It’s a dating website,Annie said gently, her curving lips covered in wine coloured lip glaze which almost matched her burgundy eye shadow and purple hair. Why did you not ask me? Mary said shyly I didn’t think you wanted another man,Annie said pertly with a twinkle in her gorgeous red eyes. And Jacob said he came to convert me but is it true? No, said Jacob.I saw you in the front garden and you look so beautiful I wanted to meet you. Thank God you are not going to shower me with Biblical quotes,Mary said. I suppose we should admire you going straight for what you want.Although when you know me better you may not find me so attractive. Jake’s eyes bulged with emotion. Well, you may not find me so attractive either, he cried wiping his streaming eyes on a kleenex tissue. Mary ran upstairs and collected Stan’s hankies Here, use these, she told Jake soulfully Annie brought in some hot coffee with cream What do we older people want, she murmured quizzically.We have loved and lost but shall we love again? Well, I shall mioawed Emile.I don’t keep thinking,I just do it.If I get a chance Love is more than sex,Emile.We want someone who shares a few interests and likes conversation. What are your interests, she asked Jake? I can’t remember, he admitted.I’ll have to look on FB at my profile. But what do you do all day? I read the Guardian and the Independent then I go out looking for women. Women of the Night? No,I just like to sit in the Mall and admire women as they pass by.I don’t want to cause suffering to women.And I am diabetic so I get erectile dysfunction sometimes so it would be a waste of money in any case Well, if there was a National Wage or better benefits these prostitutes might give up their dangerous work.They all sat looking glum as they pondered over the political scene in Britain If we were Jews we could live in Israel Yes, you’d have seriously think of that to as the number of anti Semitic hate crimes has gone up by about 70% this year.And what that has to do with Brexit is hard to know except all people who are of different ethnicity are also being attacked.Some people seem to think it means black people will have to leave despite the fact nowhere in Europe is there a country mainly made up of black people.And during the Empire all people in it were British citizens. Still,I feel too old to convert.Can we get false documents to prove we are Jewish? That’s not something I know about, said Jacob, though my name is Jewish.It is Disraeli! Hang on a minute,cried Annie.Let’s not be too hasty.It looks like Israel is on the verge of war.Yet Jake. if you married both of us we could get in as your wives as you must be Jewish. But we are not meant to marry Gentiles. Well how about us being servants? Alas, that country was never truly accepted and it has become very,very fierce.I find as well that they love arguing ,which I don’t said Mary. Well many other people love arguing,Jake said.But it’s true it is dangerous there especially with Syria at war so nearby Why don’t we all go out and have a salt beef sandwich and some chips instead?Or how about ringing 999 for advice? They will know about getting false passports. Is that true,said Mary And so ask all of us.
How my heart sings 