I fear you calling me back home
I hear you brawling now at home
I hear you calling from the foam
I feel blue crawling drunk at home
I hear you polished all the chrome
Oh,dear,he’s been struck by googled stones.
King Lear might fall for our new home.
I hear you call Macbeth in’t gloam.
My gear’s not suited to their home.
I leered at all the men in Rome
I sneered at all his orphaned gnomes
A spear would feel unlike my phone
Actors are the poets of the real.
They mould the air with bodily appeal
The body is the soul through which we feel
Imprisoned bodies kill the soul ideal.
Dancers fuse with music stretching air.
They push and pull the freedoms that live there
They play with Newton’s laws as they change gear
The bodies bend and flow with utter zeal.
Singers touch us deeply to the core.
As we listen with our shrunken hearts so sore
We will cry out, oh, more,oh, more , yes, more.
As deep into our inner self ,they gore.
In every aspect of our human lives
Rhythm, meter, movement are our guides
I get out my sewing gear
In the quiet times of life,
When I need to mend the tears,
Torn by stress and strife.
I hold my soul so carefully
And gaze at every part.
I hope that light will come to me
As I wonder how to start,
.I take my needle out
With love thread through its heart,
I scrutinize each inch.
And then I start to stitch.
In the quietness of the night
You heal me all the time
You talk to me in dreams
And I write them down in rhymes.
Another day will come
And more fractures form.
That’s all part of life
Strife ,and mend, and strife.
Keep that cocoon whole,
Till the soul’s completely there.
Then through its love-sewn folds
A butterfly will flare.
When a debate becomes volatile and dysfunctional, it’s often because someone in the conversation feels they are not getting the face they deserve. This helps to explain the pervasiveness of bad temper on social media, which can sometimes feel like a status competition in which the currency is attention. On Twitter, Facebook or Instagram, anyone can get likes, retweets or new followers – in theory. But although there are exceptions, it is actually very hard for people who are not already celebrities to build a following. Gulled by the promise of high status, users then get angry when status is denied. Social media appears to give everyone an equal chance of being heard. In reality, it is geared to reward a tiny minority with massive amounts of attention, while the majority has very little. The system is rigged.
The places in between were much too wide
Yet i struggled on until I found
The touch of love, the hands that touched my sides ll
Across the floors the feet of dancers glide
All the time our feet must touch the ground
The spaces in between where much too wide
The touch of love the hands that held my sides
Was this why Jesus was at last betrayed
And in the distance I could hear sweet sounds
The place is in between were much too wide.
And then my feelings rose like one great tide
The suchness of your love, oh hands oh sides
And so onto the crucifix we’re bound
To live with love and pain and to be found
The places in between we’re not too wide
I felt your arms around me side to side
Is feeling low to be admired
Is deepness good, my heart enquired
Superficial’s criticisd
For in the depth love may arise.
When we rise high then we will fall
Like the wheat when rich and tall.
When trodden down it makes our bread
It feeds the soul the heart the head.
All that’s good must be destroyed
Before it finds it’s true employ
Do not fear your death and end
For in the darkness love descends
We become the food of worms
Of Beatles and the things that squirm
But without these creatures there’s no lifel
0pen your heart and feel the knife
From the seabed to the sky
We must live until we die
Then in death we are the food off
From which all new things are conceived
Like the circle we rotate
Life goes on in every state
How my heart sings 