http://www.yourdailypoem.com/listpoem.jsp?poem_id=2200

he Way Through the Woods by Rudyard Kipling Next

They shut the road through the woods Seventy years ago. Weather and rain have undone it again, And now you would never know There was once a road through the woods Before they planted the trees. It is underneath the coppice and heath, And the thin anemones. Only the keeper sees That, where the ring-dove broods, And the badgers roll at ease, There was once a road through the woods. Yet, if you enter the woods Of a summer evening late, When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools Where the otter whistles his mate. (They fear not men in the woods, Because they see so few) You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet, And the swish of a skirt in the dew, Steadily cantering through The misty solitudes, As though they perfectly knew The old lost road through the woods. . . .  But there is no road through the woods.

Dreams, the Powerful Ways They can Affect Our Realities

“We’ve already identified dreams as an amalgamation of new and past memories. Engaging in an activity right before bed is likely to lead to it becoming part of our dreams as it flashes right before our eyes.

Researchers have found an interconnection between activities we dream about and our improved application in the activities. For students, it is recommended to study about a particular topic right before bed in order to aid in the comprehension.

The same can be said to just about any other activity like playing the piano. The harmonious connection in how our minds process music also helps greatly. Doing such activities right before naptime is bound to create an associated feeling of familiarity. Thus, when musicians get to practice, later on, they find that they can easily strum up chords with greater accuracy and pattern as if they were embedded in their nature.

RESEARCHERS

Antti Revonsuo, a neuroscientist at the University of Skovde in Sweden, proposed the Threat Simulation Theory. He argued that the brain tends to prepare for mechanisms to deal with future situations. By reenacting scenes like these in dreams, we get to come up with methodologies to cope with such situations which can be present in real life as well. By doing so, we can stay sharp and focused once we awake.”

Mary cut her own toe nails
With her scissors she won’t fail
Sharp as Shap in winter snow
The scissors have a deadly glow

Today she never combed her hair
It’s so  short  she looks quite bare
Yet despite  her bald long head
She has had some fun in bed

Maybe it was long ago
Never mind, her lover purred
Yes, she married Emile  sweet
This dear cat makes her complete

But what is Emile’s second name?
Is he French  or perhaps germane?
She is Mrs Nom de Plume
Emile saved her from  her doom

Sometimes they ring 999
Her new doorbell is divine
In runs paramedic Dave
See his long curls as they wave

He is wearing a new skirt
With Emile he tries to flirt
But Emile is full of faith
To his new wife who is no wraith

See them eating creme brulee
So that they won’t fade away
One for Mary and Emile
Two for Dave , he had no meal

Here comes Annie with a bat
Look  at this,’twas in my hat
Shall I tell it   Jesus saves
Oh! what ridicule she raised

Bats can never  go to Mass
They are free to sin en masse
Emile likes the Psalms and prayers
At the  parson he will glare

Where is Stan, that dear old man?
He’s  with a whore  in hell, oh damn

https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2009/oct/04/sel-help-books-boom-”

But what de Botton calls “elite culture” has, he says, “abandoned a project on which it was engaged for most of human history. English literature, philosophy, history, they used to understand their role as basically being about the nourishment of the soul. But they’ve abandoned that field, leaving the area open to what are largely second-rate minds.””

“Finding myself as a lone traveller, I couldn’t help but notice your advert “tours curated for the solo traveller” (5 June) and the small print below where it says that “prices are based on two people sharing”.
Bill 
London”

Sue

Can  share with a man I’ve never met as I am a lesbian.On the other hand some men like lesbians….. I think I’ll go back to normal and get married so won’t need solo holidays.Or I’ll stay in the garden reading and eating fruit all week.

The erasing of distinctions ,0 and 1
Makes for much confusion and unease
Am I male or female, am I none?
Gender shifts  as sinking sands might seize

The subtle ways  of wisdom are now  ghosts
We fear  we may be wrong and what is where.
The souls of men and women wander lost
How to navigate the deeps without despair.

Swapping places does not end the game
We must  judge from higher states  of mind.
We are not and never shall be same
Yet we fear the words of  blind mankind

“No one is an island” may be true
But how shall I relate my love to you?

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2018/sep/03/sad-summers-over-18-ways-to-keep-the-health-humour-and-happiness-of-your-holiday-alive

4 Take a detour on your commute

Emrah Düzel, a professor of cognitive neuroscience at University College London, is studying the health benefits of combining novel experiences with physical activity, particularly in relation to dementia and cognitive decline in old age. Combining physical activity with the exploration of novel environments or novel social interactions – even something as simple as walking around a new city – “stimulates a lot of plasticity in the brain”. Think of this as holiday plasticity, which gets lost when we return to work. But even small changes could help to keep that sensation active and let you capitalise on your “new neurons”. Try walking or cycling to work a different way, or leave home early and break your journey for a walk in a park.

Three poems on peace and war

Poems by Adrian Mitchell

I will get 27 pence if you buy this large book .So  read my blog

Where’s your cursor~
Oh,we all curse here.

Is that a vertical rat?
No it’s a sculpture.
Of what?
A vertical rat

I’ve lost my chromebook
Don’t worry, the library has loads
But are they chromes?
Maybe chromosomes
I can’t  type on a chromosome!
Try a fountain pen then

Why  are you sitting on a laptop?
To show it it is not what it thinks

A laptop is nice for humans as well
But you may need a big one

Through my salt, through my grievous assault
On what?
My dinner
It’s not even human
We’re cannibals here, you know.
I never knew that
You are not our type

Bay, Father.
No, it’s dogs that bay
On the moon!

I went to Whitby and asked for fish and chips with no fish.
Why bother to travel all that way just to to eat chips?
It’s the thought that counts, besides my old man loved fish… that is to eat, not to marry.
Whitby had a smokery where they  made kippers.What they made them from I have no idea but my husband liked them
They also had a wonderful pork pie shop.
When I was a child and we went to Blackpool, we passed cafes with pork pies in the windows and I longed with utter depravity to eat one.But we always took sandwiches.Then when my Dad died, we had little pork pies after the Funeral.But did he really need to die just so I could eat a pork pie?
I don’t see any that look edible these days and I am not going to make one.
Sausages are alright though.

The phone rang and a voice said, is that you?
I said, it’s me.
He said, who are you?
I said,I’ve not figured that out yet.
He said, are you  pulling my leg?
I said, I can’t even see your leg!
He said, do you fancy eating owt tonight?
I said, eeh, you’re from Manchester!
But it was just a spelling mistake.
He was trying it on.
Whatever it is

On “Arrivals” you may   see “Heaven”
Follow not Hell’s flames
Go  sing and hum
When  the manic are dumb
We give will  a wide berth
As it is so self centred
Weave us  new prayers
For our failing hearts
And forgive us our restlessness
As we forgive thus who are restless with us
By rivers and sea shores
On grass and on gravel
On sand and on rocks

Amen
Oh, women
What then?

http://www.oliverburkeman.com/blog/posts/patience-is-more-than-a-virtue-it-s-a-superpower

“And it’s hard to believe this inability to endure discomfort isn’t growing worse, as technology speeds up our lives. It’s more aggravating to wait 30 seconds for a microwave than an hour for an oven – just as it’s worse when a web page takes 10 seconds to load than when the reference librarian tells you it will take three weeks to track down a book. Perhaps it’s because in a world of almost-instant gratification, truly instant gratification starts to seem like our birthright.

Historically speaking, as Roberts points out, patience was a matter of “conforming yourself to the need to wait for things”; it was a way of accepting one’s lack of control over the world. But now we don’t need to wait for most things, patience has become a form of control over the world and, as she puts it, “over the tempo of contemporary life that otherwise controls us”. In this new environment, there’s nothing remotely passive about standing in front of a painting for three hours. On the contrary, it’s a subversive act. On the other side of impatience – if you can learn to wait out that jitteriness – lies power.”

(First published in Guardian Weekend magazine. Photo by Lux & Jourik on Flickr.)

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2017/nov/29/marriage-could-help-reduce-risk-of-dementia-study-suggests

https://notjohnkdp.blogspot.com/2013/04/how-wide-image.html#comment-form

If I make my book  into a paperback printed on demand the price will be £16.99.
£9.97 is for the printing and cover.
Of the rest, I shall get 27 pence

The fields that once held buttercups are gone
Giant furrows pattern that  long land
Made by huge machines   whose time has come

Precise as  old account books , now forlorn,
As  moving as are waves on desert sand
The fields that once held buttercups have gone

Nothing human-sized remains untorn
Nowhere for dear  lovers hand in hand
Killed by huge machines   whose time has come

But young folk do not court, they hurry on
Annihilating what we elders understand
The fields that once held buttercups have gone

All too rapidly our world’s undone
To the deserts of the heart we’re sent
Dragged by by huge machines   whose time has come

Can no passion change the way nor lend
Creative means to pacify  and  mend?
The fields that once wore buttercups have gone
Ground by huge machines,death times have come

I went to bed with Eamonn.But she wasn’t
I lay down with a lion.What a lamb
I went to the Ladies.What a gent!
I went to an all female college but I’m not
I  thought  I was going mad but it’s only paranoia.It’s normal
I sometimes say to myself, are we still here? Then once I heard  a voice saying,No!
I bought a book.It’s  in invisible ink.What a relief!
The hairdresser said, is it you, again? I said , no, it’s me.
I went to the coffee shop but it was full of foreigners.People from Blackburn,Worcester,Bath,Wells and Bristol.Send them back, London is full.
As for the Irish, send us back  free and then I shall kiss the Blarney Stone
What do you mean,I’m a foreigner? I’m half Viking.
I bought a pen but it has no nib.So what do I dip into the inkwell?
My Anglo Saxon roots are showing

Cats, Doris Lessing, and Me

Cats, Doris Lessing, and Me

“Although it remains the lifelong need of these cats not to accommodate me, neither can they bear for me to long forget their existence. They are always with me. Wherever I am, they are. If I am working, one or the other plops herself down on the desk between me and the computer. If I lie down to read, they are both soon sprawled or curled on the bed beside me. Then again, if I’m watching television, there they are: curled on the couch or sprawled on a nearby chair. Of course, they do not remain stationary during the many hours we are together. Sooner or later, one or the other runs into the kitchen for a quick bite of dry food, or circles the room as though on the prowl, or sniffs insistently at her sister’s rear end; whereupon the attention is either accepted or rebuffed and both cats instantly fall to licking and purring or hissing and spitting. I don’t think I’ve ever in my life wondered as much about the mercurial motivation of a living creature’s behavior as I have watching the cats. It runs constantly through my mind: Why do we do what we do when we do it? Why does Cat One lick Cat Two madly for a few seconds, then sink her teeth into her sister’s neck, then raise her head looking wildly suspicious, and flounce away as though she’s been attacked? Why indeed. It’s just like sex, I sometimes think. How many times has a man said to me, ‘Why now, why not an hour ago?’ A question for which I have had as good an answer as the cats would have, should it be asked of them.

I still envy the people I know whose cats drowse in their laps and sleep in their beds, but (to quote the famous alley cat, Mehitabel) what the hell.”

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