Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

Why Some People Can Get So Defensive | Psychology Today United Kingdom

https://www.psychologytoday.com/gb/blog/insight-is-2020/202109/why-some-people-can-get-so-defensive

Getting defensive can take many different forms, including verbal attacks, denial (denying what has been said), fabrication (outright lying), avoidance (not allowing any discussion on the matter), gaslighting (e.g., calling the other person “crazy” or suggesting something is wrong with the other person) and others.

At their root, all defensive behaviors have this in common: sending a message to the other person that what the person is saying is wrong or a problem. What’s more, the message is that the person is “out of line” (authoritarian punishment language) for addressing them or attempting to hold them accountable for something in the first place. The takeaway message is that such confrontation — as fair or appropriate as it may be — is unacceptable and will not be allowed.

A brief personality profile of the individual who gets easily defensive

Defensive individuals often have control and power issues, and perceive anyone confronting them or holding them accountable

Stan and his ass

 

????????????

 

Stan was outside polishing both his balding his head and the brass doorstep.”My,these microfiber cloths are wonderful” he thought joyfully.Mary was out taking a large bag of unneeded clothes to the Oxfam Charity Shop.Thank God!,thought Stan…that wardrobe is going to burst one day and spray her clothes all over the room like …what? Not cannon balls,maybe like the ghosts of dead giant sized bats!

Suddenly he heard a loud cry and then he felt a pair of hands fondling the top of his bald head.

“Eeh,no rest for the wicked,even at 81,” he screamed.He staggered to his feet and rubbed his knees.

“Just give me a hand” ,he said,”I’ll have to stretch my hamstrings.They tighten up so.”

“I’ll stretch them for you!” Annie whispered roguishly.Stan leant forward to touch his toes and she could not resist the temptation to give his bottom a tender slap.

“For Pete‘s sake,Annie” he shouted turbulently.

“Someone might see that.”

“Don’t worry,there’s no-one around at this time of the day” she tittered.

“I can’t help it anyway.I just love your ass.That’s what women like.”

“Do you normally slap the things you love?” Stan enquired politely yet firmly….what next?

“And furthermore “ass” is an American expression.

“Well,I’ve always been fond of Americans,”she whispered naughtily.

Stan recalled that her son had borne a strong resemblance to Bill Clinton but refrained from mentioning this.Anway Annie had never been to Oxford,as far as he knew and Clinton was only there for a year…though a man could father many children in a year as the terms at Oxford were only eight weeks long… leaving 28 weeks vacation.

“What do you think of my ass?” she murmered humorously.

“I’d rather have a donkey.” he said childishly.

“I could ride on it into the town.”

“You are so horrible,Stan.You never pass any  jocular yet charming remarks about my body.”

“I never knew you lacked confidence in that department,” he said peevishly.

“Besides,you know I prefer to show my feelings non verbally!

With that he pretended to kick Annie on the butt with his Hotter laced up shoes.

“Now then,what’s going on here.You seem like a couple of teenagers!”

It was Dave,the paramedic.

He had been lying behind the wheelie bins,all three bins standing plaintively in the tiny front garden, where once fragrant red roses had bloomed in summer and scratched people with their thorns all the rest of the year.

“I’m an MI5 spy,and I’ve been reading your blog,Mr Brown.”

“I’m not called Brown”,said Stan proudly.

“Refuses to accept reality,”Dave wrote in his little notepad with some blood he had taken from himself earlier,

“Jesus Christ!”,said Stan.

“Now,now” said Dave,”that’s not your name,

“No my name is Tan,not Brown,you’ve been reading the wrong blog!”

“Stan Tan!”

Dave appeared crestfallen,

“Any chairs need mending today?”

“My what beautiful ears you have,sweetheart,”he said to Annie,

“They look like sea shells,”

“Your eyes are like shallow pools in Lake Windermere during a thunderstorm.”Annie replied womanfully.

“Are you still a transvestite?” she followed on incoherently.

“And how about my ass?”

“I never knew you had an ass.Is it in the back garden?

I had a mystical experience and now I’m a Zen Bhuddist”

“How did that happen?” demanded Stan querulously.

“Well,I was knitting myself a Shetland lace sweater in pale blue mohair,and I suddenly had the feeling that everything was interwoven.

Going forward or backwards,sideways or straight ahead,it is all part of the warp and weft of life.”

“Mistakes don’t matter” he continued wildly his eyes gleaming like the preacher’s at Hyde Park Corner

“Oh,yes,they do,”Annie said pouting her full lips,cherry pink by courtesy of L’Oreal of Paris and New York

“As I was saying..,”

“Dingle,dongle,dingle,dongle”…

Emile the cat ran out expectantly,knowing the sound of a human imitating a bicycle bell.He was already salivating expectantly.

Dave dived back behind the wheelie bins.

Stan polished the brass step and Annie disappeared in a puff of smoke.

It was Mary’s famous imitation of a bicycle bell that had alerted them all to her imminent return from the Oxfam shop,fortunately.

In fact Mary knew everything but didn’t want them to know she knew,for if she knew and they knew she knew,she knew it would make life too complex.she just knew it,for sure.I know she knew,though she doesn’t know that I knew.

 

“Don’t they make bike bells any more?” Dave boringly wondered as he carried on reading the new life of the poet Emily Dickinson named

“A loaded gun.”

He had thought it was an army training manual,but,hey,mistakes don’t matter!

Or do they?

Read the next instalment yesterday at your local newsagent,free at the point of service just like the NHS and watch your ass as you never know who else is watching it.Though as you will never know,this fact will never impinge on you.Though you may feel a kind of tingling sometimes…

You know it makes sense!Sometimes,at least.

 

I have had to imitate a bicycle bell all my life till now….I have real bell on my bike..how cool is that?

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Like children’s   golden tears in a black sun

 Like children’s   gleaming tears in a  bright sun
That can be dried respectful of the source
The points of light on holly leaves  each shone

The  pink horse chesnuts’ flowering  has begun
May flows on to June  as rivers  course
As children’s   gleaming tears drop in  the sun

Nothing human should be broken,shunned
Yet evil screams till its sharp voice is hoarse
The points of light on holly leaves  still shine

When we learn of genocide , it stuns
I was  unborn, did not know of  such force
As children’s   greying tears dropped  under sun

Each  child is God,  yet such vile acts are done
Anne Frank ‘s  haunting memories now cursed
The points of light on holly leaves  will wane

Where did   our evil start,what makes it worse?
Unheld and hungry   baby needing breast?
Like children’s   golden tears in a   black sun
The points of shame, the prickling leaves may win

The impertinent restaurant

Main course

Codswallop in batter with nude potatoes and peas
Roast teeth and Yorkshire pudding with speaking broccoli
Rascal’s Lamb with Hint Sauce
Lasagne with chips,tea bread and butter thrown in.
Corned beef smash and cabbage
Beef stewed in Wales with French Bread and roast tomatoes

Pudding

Roly poly jam with steamed air.
Lemons on mice.
Oranges sliced and baked in a stone dish with marmite [You keep the dish]
Full flat yoghurt with fruit of the day
Christmas Cake pudding and bustards
Minced lies and branded nutter

I feel very cold

I’m on death row I don’t know the date

Please kill me now I don’t want to wait

Those with dementia forget where they are

It’s hard for sane people to travel this far

If they can’t walk they have to lie in their bed

I wanted to see one,she wished she wished she were dead

They have to wear nappies because there aren’t enough staff.

They have to take showers they might drown in the bath

They’ve committed no crimes, they have worked hard and long

In consumer society they just seem so wrong.

They won’t read the adverts they won’t buy new phones

They don’t use computers and they don’t write these poems

Where is the value the meaning of life?

Is Jesus no saviour from the death throes of wives?

I think we’d be better in the Bin when we’re old

My heart is not beating and my body grows cold

That village Street

Standon church, the village and the ford

How the eye will wander as it stares

Lazy cows stand idly by the gate

How deep silence holds and melts our cares.

The heavy load of work, the children’s gaze.

The weight of coppers spoils the father’s clothes

The cake stand gleams, sadistically exposed

The cat sleeps on,while BarclaysBank is closed

We left the car beside the butcher’s shop

Climbed up to the church his mother moaned

She  enjoyed the view  down this long Street.

Despite the aching of her twisted toes.

Now they’re gone and I stand here alone

I see your face, your eyes,your smiling bones

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.

And are you missing me now
Despite angelic hosts?
They may care for you .my love

But I think I care the most.

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 love you
And hurt invade my heart.
I didn’t know tm you’d love me.
But we would have to part.

From mother and her bosom
From father and his strength
We lose and gain throughout our life
Whatever is its length.

I didn’t know I’d miss you
With all my suffering heart.
But . as we’re made of fragile flesh.
Humans sadly part.

If you had been a sadist
If you had been unkind.
I would not now be grieving
And losing half my mind.

So 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.

In the wet and stony
Pathways we must go
We must keep on walking;
Be patient when we’re slow.

The inner force is working
To make new maps for me.
Wherever they shall guide my steps,
With you I’ll long to be.

Abandon rumination now

Constant rumination kills the soul
Restrain your thinking and so become more whole
I write the sentence down, just like I speak
I find my native tongue lets symbols leak

My mind is like a small holed metal sieve
I hope I shall be kind and will forgive
What remains is worthy of a place
As for my mistakes, I beg your grace

Some minds are deep,clear streams their thoughts like fish
Other minds are tortured ,spin and crash
Keep on swimming like the drowning frog
He turned the milk to butter as he trod

Do not linger long on cruel thoughts
Scruples come from Satan, he’s worth naught

The grit and then the pearls

When G-d came down , the rivers overflowed
Great trees were floating ,angled and exposed
The houses broke up like a loaf to crumbs
The hearts of humans trembled till they hummed

The winds deceived, the gusts unmeasured stung
The churchbells shuddered then untimely rang
The power was cut and all our screens were dark
Where were the rulers, where the saving Ark?

The women giving birth were paralysed
The babies in the womb took ill and died
Their cradles rocked the world, they swung so fast
And in a moment all of life had passed

In the void, G-d started his new world
Rich and strange, the grit and then the pearls

Honesty

The seed heads of the Honesty still shine

Protected by the sturdy wall behind

How many seasons shall I see again

Will death appeal with this unceasing pain?

The dark red leaves of shrubs display the sun

Leaves will fall the endless night wil come.

Creamy silver lucent sed heads split.

The seeds of this dear Honestly sail off.

The wind deports them on its outward breath

The seeds won’t fall near mother plants I know.

The wayward wind will take them where it goes.

Glow forsythia

I have not seen forsythia glow so bright
The flowers exult in yellow on the shed
Even in the dark eve of the light

For many days my mind had been upset
I did not know where I had lost my head
I have not seen forsythia glow so bright

My eyes were focussed where our terrors bite
Without love’s consolations in my bed
Even in the darkening of the light

Barbaric words of humans sin incite
As the Prophets sadly have long said
I have not seen the sun glow quite so bright

The dirty look, the eye so sly, the night
The terror in our dreams, the bloody heads
Here they come, in darkness, in our flight

Come my dearest, take me as I’m read
By words expressed, the dangers have now fled
I have not seen forsythia glow so bright
Now the darkness dances with the light

The whisper

11 And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:

12 And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.

13 And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said, What doest thou here, Elijah?

King James Version (KJV)

How many more children must die before we fix England’s social services?

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2022/apr/26/england-social-services-children-uk-austerity-pandemic?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

I don’t know if there are more incidents children being killed by their parents or step parents and I will look up the stitches but I feel that it’s happening more often in the last three years while we’ve had the pandemic possibly because children weren’t at school and it was easy to stop them being seen by teachers or social services.

The social services in particular need more money and more training today with the decline safety of children in their own homes

Nearest at the bus stop

Mary stood at the bus stop in her chocolate wool winter coat which Stan had always loved very much.
It hangs so well, he had told her.
The optional imitation fur collar had been removed as she preferred natural garments made from wool with no ostentation.As a matter of fact, she has one of Stan’s woollen vests on under her gold silk top.Her hair fell in light blonde curls around her pensive face and her eyes looked as if she were seeing a mysterious vision of the Matterhorn in midwinter while on heroin.
Suddenly she realised the bus was there and she put her card up to the machine before looking for a seat.The bus was rather full so she sat down next to a youth with an i phone hanging from his hand.Suddenly it rang.His chosen theme was,
Please release me, sung by Tom Jones.
Mary smiled as, if she were near Tom Jones she would need no invitation to free him.The youth began to speak rather louder than normal.
Mary tried not listen but it was impossible.She was too hot as well.Wearing Stan’s vest was a mistake as the bus was overheated.She turned pink like a sunrise over ICI in Billingham for, perceive it or not, the pollution had a beautifying effect.
I’m sorry I wore your vest, she told Stan.
I should have given them away but I was trying to save money on heating.Still, I will be home soon.Oh,for some fresh tea.
Where’s your microphone, the youth demanded in a light voice?It must be one of those new tiny ones, I guess
A microphone? Mary said curiously.
Yeah, he cried.I assume your phone is in your pocket.
Actually, it’s in a pocket in my knickers, she informed him in a manner resembling that of a mildly dotty scientist.We used to wear these knickers in the gym at school.
Did you not wear a top? he enquired, his eyes running over her hourglass figure like pure rainwater water falling off High Force in Teesdale. in a summer storm.
Well.I didn’t have a bra until I got my grant to attend university,she told him sensitively.
Well, that’s news to me,he said.
So you had to wear a bra at University? That was before feminism,of course.Did you burn it later?
Certainly not, said Mary.I’d been longing for one but my mother didn’t seem to notice my development which was her way of coping with adolescent girls.Of course others may have noticed but they were too nervous to tell Mother I needed any support.We were all so shy and afraid.Anyway be quiet now, I want to speak to my husband.
Have you had your phone on all this time? he asked anxiously, worried about her bill.
No, I don’t need it to talk to him, she responded.
Why, where is he? the youth enquired sardonically.
He’s on my knee, Mary informed him.In this bag.She pointed to her hessian shopping bag.
I have just been to the Coop for him.I ought to have got a cab as he is quite heavy.
Jesus Christ, cried the youth, hastily pressing the bell before leaping off the bus into a small pond that had been created b Hurricane Desmond.He swam away into the cold night.
Well. that shut him up, Mary said to Stan.
Mary, don’t become less gentle and kind, Stan said in her ear.
I can’t be gentle now, she said.It’s a nasty tough world without you to help me and tell me what you think of Jeremy Corbyn.And do I need to have a roast dinner at Xmas or just some toad in the hole?
I am sorry, sweetheart he murmured.Maybe you need assertiveness training.
I’ll just get more aggressive, she replied.Micro-aggressive perhaps.
You’ll need more than micro in this era, he continued.Mary forgot to get off the bus and found herself in the Leisure Centre by the River Tranter
What about the river, Stan, she asked.
Would you like me to throw you in
.A policeman standing nearby ran over.
Madam is it suicide or murder, he asked her awkwardly.
No, it’s a life sentence, she said humorously as she put her hand up her skirt to get her phone.
That’s a silly place to keep your phone he said.
Anyway don’t call a cab, I can run you home in my car.Have you got any China tea?
I could kill for a hot drink.
I have some lapsang souchong, she told him.Do you fancy that?
I do ,called Stan from the bag.The policeman passed out.
I told you not to get a boyfriend yet, Stan continued to Mary.
I’ll do whatever I feel like, she said rudely.I could use a comforting arm around me.
Stan sobbed as only a holy soul can.
She said, quickly
Don’t worry.I’ll get Emile to sit on my knee.Goodbye, for now, darling.
Goodbye whispered Stan faintly.
Good bye…. goodbye….good bye…….

The enmity of night

The darkness and the enmity of night

Invite the wild projections of the mind

The lack of trust the need for saving light

The nightmares of the deep our terrors bring

The promise of the dawn the sun alight

Bring vomfort to my heart when I’m alone

And yet with hidden mystery we fight

We try to read emotion from a stone

The pilgrimage we need to make our life

From avenues to footpath to the fall.

Rewarding conflicts undo human spite

All together we shall hear the call

In the suffering dark we see the sparks

We catch the flames of love to heal the breaks

All awry

His beauty moved me like owl at prayer
I’d better share my love of birds on here

He touched me like a marble falls down drains
Thank God we then had lots of heavy rain

He told me he was angered by my face
I drowned on his tweed jacket spiced with mace

I read so fast the teachers were amazed
My secret was adrenalin and haste

I never loved my neighbour as myself
For I was deep in love with someone else

We think we long for love but I say
IIntimacy rots if we can’t play

I wish we were on Sutton Bank again

O

I wish we were on Sutton Bank again
The Cleveland Hills with heather, home of bees
We lay down in the heather in the sun

We hitched a lift, Osmotherley, a van
Another day was Whitby and the sea
I wish we were on Sutton Bank again

I wish that you were near, my loving one
Your suffering face was very sad to see
We lay in purple heather in the sun

What shall I do, what am I to become?
I waken up too early, make my tea
I wish we lay on Sutton Bank again

Our backs ,warm earth , our faces smiled as one
The heather a warm bed, no shady tree
We once lay in the heather in the sun

I miss your face, your eyes, their loving plea
The sun above, the windswept leafless tree
I wish we were on Sutton Bank again
We‘d lay down in the heather but you’ve gone

How we long to speak,why are we dumb?

How we long to speak and yet we’re dumb
Fearing we shall sound like ignorant fools
Waiting for our first communion

When will we feel safe, not quiet nor numb?
Alexithmyic,affectless,how cruel
How we long to speak, why are we dumb?

How we odd ones value every crumb
How we want to learn , to use our tools
Waiting for our first communion

By the weight of politics undone
This was never taught in any school
How we long to speak, why are we dumb?

Economic miracle,. God’s come!
No log like this was ever made for Yule
Nor for our own first communion

Stay away from Logic and George Boole
Poetic life needs metaphors not rules
How we long to speak, why are we dumb
Struggling for the lost communion?

Sitting in a plant pot

I was sitting on a plant pot in my grandads old backyard

He used to be a  miner, so he had a love of birds

Grandad loved canaries I liked little wrens

We had few up in Manchester, we had big mills and rain,

Grandad had no deck chairs that’s why we sat on pots

When we went to Blackpool we had deck chairs by the lot

We went to Southport on the train, the sand was like sick dust

The sea was just a mirage, go there if you must.

The people were all friendly they called each other cock

If you go there in the morning I wish you you much good luck

I was sitting in the plant pot hiding from the dog

Grandad called her lassie, she died at 6 oclock

I played within/ upon my mother’s face

Still within her Arm I stood to gaze

Enraptured by the light upon her face.

With my little hands therein I played

As she held me with her fond embrace.

I put my baby fingers in her mouth.

I pulled her lips from side to side north south.

I felt her smile with joy I had not known.

In many hours and days I felt alone.

I squeezed her nose and pulled it side to side.

I did all this for on her knee I rode.

The ground of being and a true life line.

I was hers and she was always mine.

Transfiguration comes, love feels divine.

The artist brush must open up the mind.

And lets us see a world with our wide eyes.

Eternal love may cone in this disguise

In my dream, I gave birth to a child

In my dream, I gave birth to a child
The doctor said that   he would die quite soon
My feelings overwhelming made me wild

The Nazi doctor threw him on a pile
I lay  there unmoving as I keened
In my dream,I gave birth to a child

A week passed  by,I knew that death beguiled
Frozen  lips    made no sound, song or tune
My feelings overwhelming made me wild

I had to rise and say my  black goodbye.
My baby  with the others;horror loomed
In my dream I gave birth to a child

I picked him up , when suddenly he smiled
I held him to my breast, my songs I crooned
My feelings overwhelming  drove me wild

I had to   carry him, the landscape  gloom
A desert  grey aand rocky like  some moon
In my dream I gave birth to a child
In terror I  had walked  yet  love consoled

Can you give anything to other people of your time or anything else that you have to give?

f you have some free time and if it is safe please volunteer to be friends someone in your area which I think you can do vua Age UK

But there I think there are different organizations which around these things and it’s very well worth it because it’s very rewarding to bring comfort to an old person who is probably feeling very lonely after the pandemic and spends a lot of their time alone. The time from 6:00 a.m. awakening to 9am breakfast is a long long time and if you don’t sleep well it’s much worse the nighttime can be frightening to but I think if people have had a visit in the daytime then the nights will be much better.