Everybody needs to be bad enough

My own photograph

Are you a bad enough parent? We’ve heard of good enough mothers through the work of Dr DW Winnicot, but surely mothers need to be bad as well and fathers do but how bad do they need to be?

Murdering their children will be too bad, but never disagreeing with them will be too good

Be bad enough to others to make sure you are respecting your own boundaries you know it makes sense and you read it here first in a similar manner you need your baby to be bad enough because if the baby is too good she will be ignored and made use of by unkind parents

Everybody needs to be a little bit bad enough to preserve their own self while living in this curious unequal society

You are not bad enough

I had a heart attack but when I got to the hospital the doctor said

It’s not bad enough but you can come back if you die

I went to the dentist but he didn’t do anything because he said my teeth were not bad enough. An abscess has formed on the bottom of one of my teeth but he said it’s not big enough 

I wanted a hip replacement replacement but the surgeon said it’s not bad enough

Come back when you can’t  crawl

I was very depressed so I was sent to see a psychiatrist and he said it’s not bad enough yet wait till you can’t eat sleep speak read or write.

So I decided to go to hell but when I got there Satan said you’re not bad enough. Go away and commit some sins..

So I went to heaven and it’s really lovely but you have to die first

I had a ready meal in the fridge but it looks as if it’s a gone bad that my husband said  it’s not bad enough to throw  away so we ate it and were sick. But we were not sick enough to go to a and e especially at the North Middlesex University Hospital

I will soon empty Britain when I’m the prime minister

I promise you that when I am the prime minister I will deport two million asylum seekers in the first month.

And after that it will go up exponentially so I will deport 4 million in the second month eight million in the third month in 16 million in the fourth month

If I continue in the same way how long will it take to completely empty the country?.

After that I will start with the illegal immigrants such as all those descended from the Normans .

Keep Britain empty especially from deserving asylum receivers.

Don’t waste your vote

The Unconscious Self Has More Answers Than We Think | by Thomas Oppong | Mystic Minds | Medium

The Unconscious Self Has More Answers Than We Think | by Thomas Oppong | Mystic Minds | Medium https://share.google/tiIF4dHRFVbUgXT5v

Cracked shall be the golden bowl

Soul making is a phrase from Keats.{ link to article by Jeffrey C. Johnson in Paris Review]

We saw Wolf Hall on TV recently and it is so wonderful.I am just writing down a few  of my thoughts not  about that but about Anne Boleyn… I meant it to be funny but I could n’t manage that after seeing the play.

ANNE BOLEYN

Anne Boleyn withheld to win
As Henry lusted in his sin.

Once a virgin,sweet Madonna;
Henry turned in rage on her.

She bore him but one living child,
For her quips,she was reviled.

Henry knew not the fault was his
It seems the king had syphilis.

Or Anne was rhesus negative
then just her first born child would live.

We women make our worst mistake
When power for love we wrongly take

Our strength lasts but till we submit.
We need less love and far more wit.

Whatever lusty men may say,
their “love” dies when they get their way.

And they will take their wife by force
As cannons pound on oaken doors.

As for women,we must not
Promise gold we have not got.

Conception is a game of chance;
We come to be by happenstance.

we sin in pride in promising
What only God or Nature bring.

We deceive and trick and charm
At last our hearts bang in alarm

The man who begged upon his knees
Chops off our heads when we displease.

For Emperors and Kings and Lords
Wield fearful power by the sword.

Yet when for judgement they shall stand
How will point the knowing hand?

And just like us they’ll ashen be
When true majesty they see.

Into dust and crumbled ruin
they will go by their own doings.

Each day create with grace your soul.
Cracked shall be the golden bowl.

Keats wrote this extract below [read all by clicking on soul above[ and he died when aged  only 25 years:

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!

Oh, gentle Light

I ‘ll try to get it right for one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present in your Light

Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a strong wild bird
I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.

Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people had their well trained Scribes
You were always there,oh gentle Light

You gave me warmth, you changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe?
I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.

The agony inside me lost its bite
I wanted to go on, to be alive
You do not always show your golden Light

We do not know when we at last arrive
We do not reach this meeting place by strife
I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time
I never saw such Gold until that night

Love is waiting

At the very edge of human sight
Places we don’t go, till in despair
Love is waiting like a golden light

The world in panic, will the virus bite
Noone ever said this world is fair
At the very edge of human sight

Is there really danger of such might,
Where our hidden fears emerged dark ,bare?
Love is fading where’s the sun, the light?

Panic like a virus can ignite
Responses that are worse than germs out there
At the very rim of human sight

Our defences that are usually adroit
Now lie like dead young soldiers unrepaired
Love is fading to a weaker light

The still,small voice is quieter than a bird
The storm is passing by, will it be heard?
At the very edge of human sight
Love is dying,looks like candlelight

THE MEMORY LASTS

midsummer days evoke the trancelike past
where children played in joyous, daisied fields
with buttercups so bright the memory lasts
a freedom that our conscious growth will steal.

those stones and leaves and many coloured flowers
were gathered into images that glow
yet later we forget those treasured hours
when for a while we lived in life’s deep flow

we did not look and see,but felt at one
we lived as did the birds high in the trees
now we write , experiencing has gone
we cannot live like flowers filled with bright bees

to lose ourselves in nature is a joy
which to our adult selves we must restore