https://www.nytimes.com/2023/01/10/well/mind/depression-cleaning-clutter.html

Your face is etched upon my heart.

I knew you in the morning light

Love is wise but never smart.

We have no need of others charts

In the mornings and the night

Your face is etched upon my heart.

As we waken sleep departs

To see your face is my delight

Love is wise and sometimes smart

Intuition, craft is art

Love is silent, hatred fights

Your face is etched upon my heart

Human Love can see in part

Face to face we’ll see aright

Love is wise love is not smart

Your face is etched upon my heart.

Love is wise but never smart

Is love blind? Who etched the lines?

Sacred, human, love is kind

Twas Stalag and the prisoners den

Aspired to gamble in the Maze

Yet quinsy were their swollen throat

Thus star mount! dispersed

Mary had a dear old man. His feet were frozen yellow

And everywhere that Mary rents, this man is sure to follow.

Canker wailer hold that Guy

She gave me a mouthfull of cheek

Insulted me with her tongue

Her eyes burned holes in me.

He looks absolutely flabbergasted.

Her eyes were like 2 sharp knives flashing

You could have knocked me down with a feather. There was no need to use a battering ram.

The teacher was wearing knuckle dusters if on her salary she can’t afford a bracelet.

The doctor gave me a right tongue lashing.

Can you tell me the way to the nursing home?Why do you want it? I want to be reversed. You might need a doctor for that.

There is no time in our unconscious minds

Like god it’s always present, undefined

The wisdom that’s inside us lives down there

As we move through life, it helps us steer.

Larger than the sun,as small as tears.

The mystery of the universe dwells here

Every day our souls are being refined

We cannot love the world if we are blind

My love is intense thin and hardly speaks

He drowns inside my eyes to sink or swim

I am most myself when I am with him

He lives inside my heart he is the beat

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2012/02/120203182623.htm

https://christophernoessel.medium.com/poetry-is-a-badass-brain-hack-3b3f6b210ef3

https://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/older-adults-admit-high-anxiety-and-fear-about-new-technology-candoo-tech-surveys-shows-53-of-seniors-say-learning-a-new-device-is-more-stressful-than-going-to-the-dentist-301196011.html

The gods we used to worship are extinct.

They cannot live inside our darkened hearts

We lost the light and now we cannot think

The inner eye sees nothing is distinct.

We can no longer see those hidden charts

The gods we used to worship are extinct

The sun no longer shines it is defunct

Wandering in the wilderness we’re scared

In the darkness we can find no link.

Where are the scribes who write it down in ink?

We cannot dictate love nor how it starts

The Gods we used to worship are extinct

I know now God may speak to us in hints.

The glass is darkened, we can  know in part

We’ve lost the light and now we cannot think

In this uncertain era, who is heard?

What else can we do but be prepared?

The gods we used to worship are extinct

Where can we find light, how can we think?

https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/defunct

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three-age_system#:~:text=The%20three%2Dage%20system%20is,divisions%20of%20historic%20time%20periods.

https://www.collinsdictionary.com/us/dictionary/english/mythos

https://www.etymonline.com/word/distinct

https://www.theguardian.com/money/2021/may/17/british-gas-has-a-new-approach-to-homecare-repairs-do-it-yourself

Mary woke up and found that she had slept all night on the sofa in the living room. This was the first time that she had ever done that and she was very puzzled.

Then she realised she had a temperature she then understood that she had suddenly felt too unwell to go to bed. Mary thought she would have her nap on the sofa but she was asleep for 9 hours. She called for her little cat Emile.

Emil6 ran into the room,oh mother he fried I thought you were dead.

Why did you not go next door and ask Annie to come?

I thought it was too late so I went into my basket and fell asleep and then I ate the cold sausages you left out.

The sausages were not for you. There were for the church bazaar lunch.

Well you won’t be able to go to the church bazaar this now will you? You may have got COVID.

I never had my booster vaccineshe cried thoughtfully. Didn’t have the flu jab either.

Emile said I’ve got something else to tell you. I ate all the stuffed eggs that you made last night and they were absolutely delicious so will you make some more ?

You’ll have to wait. I have used all the eggs that there are in the fridge so unless you can go out and find a hen and see where it lays its eggs you’ll have to wait till I’m well again

Why, are you going to go and find a hen?

No I will order them with the groceries from the Co-op. They do organic ones

It’s a pity that you can’t lay eggs, the cat said.

Human eggs are very small because after the sperm gets into the ovum and it becomes fertile it remains inside the mother being fed through the umbilical cord but chickens don’t stay inside the hen for 9 months the egg is put into the nest and the hen have to keep it warm and eventually it will hatch and out will come the chicken.

So when we eat the egg we are eating the chicken that’s inside it?

Yes although sometimes the egg doesn’t have an embryo in it.

They lay sleepily on the sofa wondering why human beings ate the eggs of hens

And so do all of us

As Mary stood by the fridge at bedtime, a can of fly killer brought by dear Annie fell off the top and struck her red,orange and brown framed spectacles on the top.The heavy can hurt her nose
I hope nobody thinks a man has done this. she said to Emile
Well,I didn’t do it ,he mioawed cheerfully
It must be an Act of God, she mused.I hope there is no bruise
Ah,well.Are you sleeping on my bed,she asked Emile
No,I think I might go out roaming
Looking for frogs,she teased him
I may return, depending on the weather
Suddenly Annie knocked on the door
Are you all right, she asked anxiously?
Why, what is wrong,dear?
Your nose is blue
It’s that fly stuff, it fell onto me!
I’m terribly sorry.We must put it somewhere else.
Choose between me and the flies,Mary joked.
You are my best friend.I will not bring this stuff again
I am off to bed,Mary cried.Let me lock the door behind you
Annie ran out, and stole The Duty of Genius by Ray Monk.She wanted to discover why Mary liked Wittgenstein.And it covers a dangerous and terrible era in human history from the end of several Empires to the Second World War and beyond
I wonder what the children of Dr Mengele and the other dreadful criminals who committed torture and atrocties would feel like when they learned the truth abou their fathers
So Annie is embarking on some serious study while Mary is reading Woman and Home magazine.What is causing this strange change?
In bed ,Mary gazed at an article on ” How to dress well when you are over 80″
Alas all the clothes were expensive.Very
Does it matter what I wear, she pondered?
I suppose people do judge by appearances, she concluded.But which people?
Maybe I shall dress in one colour from now on.But not black.
Blue is a good colour.From now on if I buy new clothese, they must be blue
Maybe just a blue silk scarf is enough to make a vivid impression
Mean while Annie is crying over “The Duty of Genius” because at least two of Wittgenstein’s brothers took their own live and his sisters were almost captured by the Nazis who had to be bought off by the family wealth unlike Freud’s sisters
So what are we complaining about in the UK, she asked herself before saying some almost forgotten prayers.
And wished her husband were there to hold her in his arms.At least one of her husbands would have been most welcome

And so feel all of us

https://www.webexhibits.org/poetry/explore_classic_villanelle_background.html#:~:text=The%20final%20line%20of%20each,three%20to%20five%20measured%20beats.

My sister came when I was two years old
Born into an icy winter cold
Her little face was full of sunny joy
As we played with dolls and small stuffed toys.

We lined up all our dolls in rows by size
The large ones at the back had blinking eyes
We played with an old dog on little wheels
It had no fur but still held great appeal

Dad lifted her and held her to the sky
My allanah, love you till I die
All too soon the family turned sad.
Mother was not Mother without Dad

We survive and love and live our best
If there is a heaven,we’ ll be blessed.

Postmodern poetry has no formal shape
No sonnet,villanelle or rondeau there
Nor is it true or false that we are apes

A sentence made from curses aggravates
Makes even slight hurts something we can’t bear
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape

This very poem’s ironic , it emotes
Glares with total rage at you who care
If it’s true or false that we are apes

This poem,alas, will offer no escape
If it has no rhymes then I have flair
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape

The forms are hung until we get to break
We shatter and we crack the poet’s lair
I think it’s true and false that we are apes

For a metre I will hang in here
Waiting with no patience for a jeer
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape
Nor is it true that thoughts annihilate

I have had an interesting experience 4 times in the last 10 days. Each time I felt very tired in the evening and I went to bed early. I woke up and I thought what a wonderful sleep now what shall I do today?

Then I looked at the clock and it was 11:40 p.m. it was not the morning. I went back to sleep. I often do waken up in the night but I have never before woken up feeling so wonderful.

My heart was trapped by grief I was too frail

My mind was black I saw no way ahead

My mind was numb I felt I should be dead

I sat with my despair, how hard I failed.

I saw the tunnel black inside my head

The track was going downwards yard by yard

I felt so hopeless, why was I not spared?

The avenues of grief I overtrod

Then I saw and felt a golden light

Caress me with its fire its warmth ity grace

Strong and kind its beauty I embraced

And unexpected was this loving sight

I knew that this was real, so I have learned

That bitter pain and terror has an end

If like patient mourners we attend

Then accept the love we have not earned

I was the beggar in the road,

I was dirty, hungry with ragged clothes.

I am the person you kicked on the head

The filthy black pavement was my bed.

I was the woman you raped and you choked

You thought I was dead, I had my eyes closed.

I was the train driver when you jumped down

I couldn’t just stop, I still see your Frown.

I am the Jew whom you thought was rich.

You knocked of my glasses and smashed them to bits

T,he temple was broken the synagogues burned 

In the cathedrals nothing was learned. 

Everything done is recorded by God.

I am the baby on whose mother you trod

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_Jews_in_China

About the golden light what can I say

Love is near and we don’t need to pray

Enter into darkness without fear

Another hand will  guide us help us steer

I had lost my faith I was bereft

I could not speak, and sinking was my raft

Then the soft bright cloud embraced me whole.

I felt a presence and I saw the light

Why should I be helped when many die?

The mysteriou.s hand of God, the soul destroyed

God is not the cold condemning Judge

He is a Golden Light,he loves us much

We meet him in our agonised despair

When doubts have killed us like the lack of air.

He will warm us; we can live again.

Despite the suffering and the intense pain.

He will come to us in tongues of flame.

Mysterious fire,oh love without a name

Now all the tree is gleaming in the sun

Red and golden light shines out again

My heart is happy as I wield my pen

The metaphoric sun will dry the Fen

He isn’t here

The air rippled like sea

Niarbyll bay and butterflies

I caught a glance

In water

Shining

He isn’t here

Waves blind me

With white heads

Sunlight in the morning

Hit the fridge door

He isn’t here

The teapot glinted

An eye,perhaps.

The warmth is unusual for February

I went to the hospital again

He wasn’t there

He wasn’t there

He wasn’t there