To get you fit for death they took you in The Rehabilitation of the dead ? They got you up and sent you to a gym
You had a bed, the light was very dim So those new books I brought were never read To get you fit for death they forced you in
You fell onto my lap, it was no sin Your face as black as Satan’s in his bed They pulled you up for torture in a gym
They taunted you like Nazi’s, what’s to win? Tell me what the liars wrote down or said To get you fit for death they forced you in
When Christ was killed, they hung him on a hill If God is tortured, where should man be led? Who imagined dead men in a gym?
When the trouble came the nurses fled You died in A and E , there was no bed To prepare you for you death they asked me in You cried,I want to die, but they just grinned
Rainer Maria Rilke “Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any misery, any depression, since after all you don’t know what work these conditions are doing inside you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where all this is coming from and where it is going? Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions and you wished for nothing so much as to change. If there is anything unhealthy in your reactions, just bear in mind that sickness is the means by which an organism frees itself from what is alien; so one must simply help it to be sick, to have its whole sickness and to break out with it, since that is the way it gets better.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
United Kingdom you will soon break down We have our long memories intact Hidden by their grit, the people frown
Some “know” integration turns men brown Where is our famed courtesy, our tact? United Kingdom ,we will all break down
Are our thoughts and tactics like sums sound? Are our minds at one or are we cracked? Hidden under smiles, the people frown
Afraid of living through the storms that drown Hearts will shudder till dread turns them black United Kingdom; motorways locked down
I have twenty friends with dressing gowns We like men but where to learn the knack Hidden under makeup, women frown
Sheep may graze, oh,lord, where is your Flock The end is nigh,I cannot knit a sock United Kingdom you will soon bog down Humpty Dumpty you have wrecked your crown
“I see the disinfectant, where it knocks it out in one minute. And is there a way we can do something like that by injection inside or almost a cleaning?” President Trump, April 23
White clouds bounced like beach balls on the sands Above the ridge of Rivington we saw Here in this green place, noone is damned White clouds bounced like beach balls on the sands Tossed up in the air by unseen hands Free at last away from mills and pans The old stone barn,I felt compelled to draw Through the stile I saw a waterfall White clouds bounced like beach balls on the sands Above the ridge of Rivington and all.
The park sloped to a river behind trees The other side formed a large burial ground Where my father’s body lay, deceased
In the flowered park we sat and grieved We heard the thwack of tennis balls resound The park sloped to a river past the trees
Children can’t imagine mother’s very pleased When her strong support lies underground As my father’s body lay, bereaved
Children torment others , poison bees Sensing sweet fragility inside The grass sloped down to hide behind tall trees
Now my mother lies where I ‘ve dripped tears As if I hope a flowering shrub will shade And father’s body lies with mother’s, pleased
Memories may well alter .don’t deny Our mood affects the colour of the sky The park sloped to a river,grave the trees I once hoped that my dead could be retrieved
My blue mug’s striped like sea and sandy shore I love my memories of expansive sands The mug is round so it can hold much more
The image of the mug opens a door To access spaces where my dreams command My blue mug’s striped like sea and sandy shore
Stretched blueness takes me to my deepest core Where by my inner heart I understand The mug is rounded well and gives me more.
On the beach, the salt stuck to my pores Like Whitby where my spectacles were gummed My blue mug’s striped like sea and sandy shore
The Synod of historic Christian lore Held at Whitby where tall cliffs descend Reminds us how the inter-faith’s still sore.
And how my deepest thoughts are made disband To submit to God and that beloved hand My blue mug’s striped like sea and sandy shore The mug is holding memories that allu
Known to sailors around the world as the doldrums, the Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone, (ITCZ, pronounced and sometimes referred to as the “itch”), is a belt around the Earth extending approximately five degrees north and south of the equator. Here, the prevailing trade winds of the northern hemisphere blow to the southwest and collide with the southern hemisphere’s driving northeast trade winds.
Due to intense solar heating near the equator, the warm, moist air is forced up into the atmosphere like a hot air balloon. As the air rises, it cools, causing persistent bands of showers and storms around the Earth’s midsection. The rising air mass finally subsides in what is known as the horse latitudes, where the air moves downward toward Earth’s surface.
Because the air circulates in an upward direction, there is often little surface wind in the ITCZ. That is why sailors well know that the area can becalm sailing ships for weeks. And that’s why they call it the doldrums.
I began writing ten years ago.Before that I had read many books on the topic which were of little use to me.I think it’s better to start writing.When you have written a few poems or stories, you are more likely to benefit from reading the advice of othere.I spent far too long reading You need to read a lot in all genres but especially poetry.Some people still think they should try to write like Coleridge or Wordsworth and also they should use poetic language On the other hand, do people want to read the following
Ah,he said and swooned onto her breast She’d had cancer and had just one left When he found her empty in one cup He was rude; she killed him with a jug
That is in poor taste and I guess my mind is thinking of someone I saw yesterday I would not wish to write in that style on such a topic.I must be trying to make light of the news I heard. That makes me realise we need to think about what is happening to us and to decide if we really intend to write sick humour.
Moving on, keep notebook and write down anything that happens that has an emotional impact on you.I believe these events, visions,converations mean something to you and if you can find a form for them then other people will also be affected
Poetry relies on metaphors.If you read the Greek Myths,The Bible,any stories from the ancient worl you will realise that many of our common sayings are there.Also in Shakespeare. To be or not to be, that is the question
The Ancient Mariner is a poem which has a lot of images once in common knowlesdge Like I’m in the doldrums.Have a look and see where/what the Doldrums are and what it means….. in a place you are stuck despite all your efforts until a change of the wind/your mood happens.
Apart from these metaphors and stories in history and literature,you will come across events in your own life which will be somewhat similar.You can then make new symbols or they emerge in your writing as you go along
The notebook is the most useful thing.What has emotional meaning for you will most likely be what others will find interesting or moving
Random apples Fall silently On unknown Newtons
One may fall on you, so keep your eyes open
What is your apple? What does it teach you? Are you a potential writer?
In the winter, comes a day of spring Kind wind brings softness to the upturned face And warmth to once cold bodies seems to cling
When will be the day the first bird sings And hawthorn hedges fill with sweet white lace? In the winter,oh, a day of spring
A little heat is welcome ,promising That winter darkness soon will lose first place And warmth to once cold bodies, air will brings
We struggle on like donkeys stumbling With heavy burdens and no hint of grace In the winter, comes a day of spring
We lift our eyes, allow wide opening And in the lines of hills, our love is traced Giving hope to our cold hearts and skins
We take our time and feel no need for haste And so create an opening for grace In the winter, came a day of spring And sun on winter bodies made them sing
The darkness at the heart of any shrub A home for little birds in cold and damp The leaves of olive, gold and green were shed The darkness is the heart of any shrub No longer hid by summers of burnt red Flames in June, the loss in winter’s bed Through the window I see my lit lamp Darkness makes the heart of any shrub Safe for little birds in cold and damp
From a young age, William Blake claimed to have seen visions. The first may have occurred as early as the age of four when, according to one anecdote, the young artist “saw God” when God “put his head to the window”, causing Blake to break into screaming.[119] At the age of eight or ten in Peckham Rye, London, Blake claimed to have seen “a tree filled with angels, bright angelic wings bespangling every bough like stars.”[119] According to Blake’s Victorian biographer Gilchrist, he returned home and reported the vision and only escaped being thrashed by his father for telling a lie through the intervention of his mother. Though all evidence suggests that his parents were largely supportive, his mother seems to have been especially so, and several of Blake’s early drawings and poems decorated the walls of her chamber.[120] On another occasion, Blake watched haymakers at work, and thought he saw angelic figures walking among them.[119]The Ghost of a Flea, 1819–1820. Having informed painter-astrologer John Varley of his visions of apparitions, Blake was subsequently persuaded to paint one of them.[121] Varley’s anecdote of Blake and his vision of the flea’s ghost became well-known.[121]
Blake claimed to experience visions throughout his life. They were often associated with beautiful religious themes and imagery, and may have inspired him further with spiritual works and pursuits. Certainly, religious concepts and imagery figure centrally in Blake’s works. God and Christianity constituted the intellectual centre of his writings, from which he drew inspiration. Blake believed he was personally instructed and encouraged by Archangels to create his artistic works, which he claimed were actively read and enjoyed by the same Archangels. In a letter of condolence to William Hayley, dated 6 May 1800, four days after the death of Hayley’s son,[122] Blake wrote:
I know that our deceased friends are more really with us than when they were apparent to our mortal part. Thirteen years ago I lost a brother, and with his spirit I converse daily and hourly in the spirit, and see him in my remembrance, in the region of my imagination. I hear his advice, and even now write from his dictate.
In a letter to John Flaxman, dated 21 September 1800, Blake wrote:
[The town of] Felpham is a sweet place for Study, because it is more spiritual than London. Heaven opens here on all sides her golden Gates; her windows are not obstructed by vapours; voices of Celestial inhabitants are more distinctly heard, & their forms more distinctly seen; & my Cottage is also a Shadow of their houses. My Wife & Sister are both well, courting Neptune for an embrace… I am more famed in Heaven for my works than I could well conceive. In my Brain are studies & Chambers filled with books & pictures of old, which I wrote & painted in ages of Eternity before my mortal life; & those works are the delight & Study of Archangels. (E710)
For people with social anxiety,mathematicians on the autistic spectrum, agoraphobics etc it is a great relief to move into Tier 4 as the ground is very wet and wet paper is no used for trying to understand how the ancient Hebews built Solomon’s Temple which needed a good approximation to the number we call pi But where is my step ladder?How high is a Tier?
Just when we all stocked up with Xmas puddings for 25 relatives we are told we can’t have visitors To think I’ll have to eat them all myself before the New Year or die in the attempt Send some immodium please.
Boris Johnson is now known as The Pendulum or, for short, Clock-head or Dandelion No doubt we can have all the neighbours and relatives over on Good Friday as the churches will be closed unti we find God or at least a message and a clue
Feeling blue? Why not have brandy with your Weetabix.But don’r ride a bike at the same time
On the autistic spectrum? Buy some sunglasses before you go to a party. And most people have no interest in Wittgenstein, infinity,waves and particles, the meaning of life,Theology, poetry, modern music or art, what is uncountable, angels on pins, Try Strictly Come Dancing,baking, having a new kitchen,new shoes,Nigella Lawson, new jokes, whether to move house, people falling in the street, old people being dead for 2 weeks before the neighbours,gossip,slander, greed, sin in general and particular,lies you have told. your fantasy life, things you stole from the Office, your new phone.
No longer are the British smelling pure Deodorants aren’t selling like before We decided to save our money for the drink Why clean your teeth when your whole body stinks?
Toothbrushes and combs had some allure Men might fancy women,fair,demure. Women don’t like men who sweat and smell Man made fibres don’t absorb so well
But now we sweat and pong in our velour Our teeth are yellow. broken,gnashed with fear Underneath our arms and all below Our odour is now going with the flow
Yet the shops are selling rubber sheaths Morning after pills with mourning wreaths The natural smell of others turns us on Save the soap and water, love is come
The Value Added Tax is going up Women exchange tampons for small cups They see their blood and do not want to pay For products that are taxed in nasty ways
Maybe we should let our blood flow free Climbing outside naked on a tree
I put on my new lipstick to show my husband who said: Congratulations, you have found some lipstick exactly the same colour as your own lips
I said on going out: I forgot to comb my hair,he said It doesn’t make any difference.
He went so fast on the North Circular I finally learned how to fasten my seatbelt But was that kind of him?
I myself could only drive at 90 mph so I gave up before I killed someone
I went into Boots to buy some Foundation.A lady came up to me saying she didn’t like her complxion and what did I have on, because that’s what she wanted for herself! Then at the bus stop someone asked me the name of my lipstick As I wore none,I felt embarrassed.I should have invented a name
However with time passing and Lockdown I no longer get any compliments But it seems in the wider world women are having troubles with males acting badly
I have never wanted to despise Never wished to make you feel ashamed Never by a hard look you maraud I have never wanted to deride I have known what your looks signified I have seen the shadows of your eyes Never made you feel you were to blame I have never wanted to degrade Never wished to make you feel the shame
Homesick for the ones I did not like Feeling out of place,pushed to one side Wanting to escape this painful life Homesick for the ones I did not like Fearful of the anger and the strikes Wishing to give love but not to break Harder still to think and to decide Homesick for the ones I did not like Feeling out of place,unwanted bride
Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, If I lacked any thing.
A guest, I answered, worthy to be here: Love said, You shall be he. I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear, I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve. And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame? My dear, then I will serve. You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat. Source: George Herbert and the Seventeenth-Century Religious Poets (W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1978)
Waiter, there’s a tear in my soup How can you tell? It’s quite clear I can’t see anything That’s the whole point
Waiter,my egg is too hard If it’s boiled I can’t reverse that What, all this modern science and we can’t soften a hard boiled egg I could mix some butter into the yolk I’ve eaten that You are trying to eat the egg cup! Is that what it is? Did you not have any at home? No, we never ate eggs Now we know why!
My wife has had a baby What’s its name? Aubergine Why? It’s purple with crying Well, it will stop eventually I hope so.My wife is worn out So why are you here? She says after this pain she never wants to make love again How do you feel about that? Is it my fault God made the birth canal so narrow? Well after a few more babies it will get wider A few more!Can’t the doctor help? Well, it’s against medical ethics really but he could use a shoe widener His shoes are too narrow, I suppose so. I think it is too big Well,she will forget when the baby sleeps Forget what? What fertilised the egg And what does that? Don’t you know? A spider? It’s sex I can’t tell the sex of s spider No, when you have sex. But we’ve had it 365 times and only had one baby Better luck next time
We are in our boat together Sailing across the bay. Some have an easy voyage, The wind is blowing their way. I wish I could always be sailing Across a wide ocean with you And never reach the other side though it may be in view. I want to see the sunrise Across the dappled sea. The ripples of the water Reveal a new world to me. One day this boat will reach the shore Unless destroyed by storm And I shall have to leave your arms Where I have been so warm. So just before we get there I wanted you to know That I shall always love you No matter where you go
Is your glowing face a map? are your tender ways a map? what is not a map? Is your open smile a map? Is your deepest groan a map? what is not a map? Is my too sharp touch a map? Is my too quick glance a map? what is not a map?
Is this sea green leaf a map, Is this light red flower a map? What sort of map is that? Is the evening sky a map, Is the silver moon a map? Of what is that a map? Is this entire world a map? Is the sun-soaked sky a map? Is this tiny child a map?
think I am a map. Who can learn to read these maps? Without love we can’t perceive; Who can teach us how to see?
Can we look beyond the Map? Can we look into the gap? Whatever Love perceives What Love can we receive?
I’ve tried to mend our stoneware lamp you broke You fall upon the lamp.you want to die? You looked so weak and sad, you never spoke I’ve tried to mend the stoneware lamp you broke From Walberswick we took the ferry boat I liked still lifes, I draw and thus evoke. Three years with grief I struggled and I tried I’ve tried to mend this stoneware lamp you broke You fell upon the lamp, it broke, you died. To cut it short, the honeymoon was smoke The fires of love are holy,red,unclothed As I bent to help, our two hearts broke.
Emile was feeling very hungry but Mary had put away all the dried cat food when she washed up She had put Emile on a diet! She said, you are getting too fat,Emile Emile was very angry.His fur had stood on end like wire and his eyes glowed in amber yellow when Mary said this but Mary just went to bed. She was reading The Letters of Ted Hughes.She had already spent five years with the book.Maybe in another five she would finish it.Then what would she do? Read: The Collected Letters of Sylvia Plath? Emile was determined not to accept someone else deciding what he should eat. Now for a cat, it is not hard to find plenty of things to add to your diet, such as 1) Going into other houses with cat flaps and eating their cat’s food 2} Catching mice,frogs,rats and anything else that is smaller than a cat 3} Going down by MacDonalds to see if schoolchilden have dropped their burgers at the bus stop 4} Seeing if the neighbours have left any food out for birds 5} Biting berries off the holly tree the dying In one case Emile himself had leapt onto the neighbours’ garden table and taken a bite out of s roast chicken they were intending to eat for Sunday lunch So while Mary read, Emile did a tour of the entire area,Unfortunately he did not find anything edible. Mary fell asleep in her fetching nightdress of viscose covered in little blue flowers.She began to dream a tiger was going to attack her.So she screamed! She could still feel its thick fur even after she was half awake .Oh,Lord, please help me, she prayed I will never complain again if you save me now You have said that 600 times already, she heard the Good Lord say Well,I am a sinner, she said humbly and truthfully Can’t you be more original? What, do you want me to be a bandit? Do you want me to assassinate the Leader? I’d like you to be a bit more wicked.Steal some raspberries from a allotment. Claim you gave a shop a £20 note when it was £15 But why,Mary asked?There are no £15 notes here Because you are too good. I didn’t know one could be too good! You are not really good.It’s all in your Unconscious unacknowledged. You are full of anger and rage Well, if I start stealing sweets from shops, how will that help? It will make a crack in your self image.You will have to notice that you do have thoughts and feelings you have denied.And you saw them in other people Will it hurt? Possibly, but it is wiser in the end Mary felt Emile cuddling up to her face.He was sucking her ear. What’s this, she cried? I am starving, he murmured.I got worn out hunting For what?
Food, food, wonderful food Nothing quite like it for lifting the mood
When Mary got out of bed,Emile said Oh, mother!You are too fat. Too fat for whom? Who is this Whom? A new man? Too fat to climb Hellvellyn But that’s 100 miles away A walk is just what you need
The sun was shining in the night I woke at half past three The moon was cut in half again Send the rest a flea The night was dark, the light was off Please do not blame me The cat was hungry so I made Some chips and Earl Grey tea My husband was asleep again So I climbed the Xmas tree I found no coins or chocolates Just a mouldy pack of Brie I hunted high,I hunted low But found no new decree I spun till I got vertigo And fell into the sea Here I float on a small boat Will God still love my me?
The cat would listen as I sang a tune Maybe Leonard Cohen, maybe Bach I washed the pots and dried the silver spoons
He lay down on the carpet as I crooned Now I have a doormat and no heart The cat would listen as I sang a tune
In early married life. I saw no doom Oh,mother, don’t you know we have to part? I washed the pots. gave back the silver spoon
Instead I saw the silver of the moon Where do we draw diagrams or charts? The cat would wriggle gently, dance my tunes
He said the cat was ill,oh, can’t be cured The cat had tumours ,soon we had to part I threw the pots outside and bent the spoons
Our hearts are full of holes, pierced by such darts My lover left me and my friends were sharks The cat should listen as I sing a tune I am mad, I fried the honey moon
Outside our house the tarmac road was changed Cobbles flat as dinner plates were laid All were lying neat and well arranged Outside our house the tarmac road was changed A line was drawn by councillors deranged Neglecting reason, arguments soon strayed Children saw that adult life is strange Outside our house the tarmac road was changed Cobbles flat with gaps for worms engraved
How my heart speaks 
