Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

See life in proportion or from another perspective

7225947_f260When we  hurt,sometimes it’s hard to judge how bad the pain is.Maybe a small example will illustrate this point.A few days ago I was wearing some sandals which began to rub on my big toe.I ignored it for a while and carried on as usual.After a few hours I removed my sandals.When I looked at my toe it looked really horrible,red and painful.As I focussed more and more on the painful part the pain rose so that I could hardly bear it.

However when I stepped back mentally and put my attention on my whole body the pain seemed to diminish.And I could see it was not dangerous.

The lesson is,the more intensely we focus on anything,the more prominent in our minds and feelings it becomes.When we relax and see a wider picture then we get a better sense of proportion.Or if you are an artist you migt prefer,seeing things in perspective.The place from which you see something and the narrow or wide focus you use affects what you perceive.

This issue is one which is related to people having arguments because we forget when we are emotional that others are not standing where we are.And so they don’t see what we see.And furthermore,there is no correct way to see.Maybe there are inappropriate ways… better ways,worse ways?

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Photo by Mike Flemming,Copyright.

Meeting

dangerous-wooden-bridge-if-broken-foot-31740048

Stepping onto that fragile bridge

Which swayed in the breeze,
Stepping onto that fragile bridge
Was a difficult moment
Though I could see you far away.
As we traveled,sometimes we walked,
Sometimes we walked too fast,
Or without paying due attention
To the winds that blew across the water.
Sometimes I felt afraid I would fall
As the bridge swayed too much over
The dark sea.Or you might fall or turn back.
Sometimes we stopped walking and stood waiting
As if some portent would appear
To tell us what to do.
Still, we continued, with trust growing
After each difficulty…
All at once, you were near me,
And I recognised your face..
That light in your eyes
And your hands holding the ropes..
So we stood there,over the churning waters,
And all I wanted to do was to smile.
I wanted to smile.

Red maple tree

I lie back in the weather-proofed green chair
To gaze up at the flowering maple tree.
Now, touched by sun,lungs full of scented air
I embrace with joy the beauty I now see.

Old celandine show brightly by my feet
Neglected currant bushes straggle round the path
There is no birdsong yet a silence sweet
Soothes my heart and quietens my wrath.

For my heart’s sore and anguished is my mind
Yet in this little wood I feel deep calm.
My eyes are shadowed and my face is lined.
May this green spring bring me a gentle balm.

For even in depression and deep grief,
The mind makes healing medicine of a leaf

Time of richness

Tomatoes ripen on the stem;
Apples hang down low.
Summer riches now and then.
From seeds that once I sowed.

Plant your seeds with care and grace.
Nurture them with love.
Put them in where you have space,
As rain falls from above.

Slowly, and in their own right time,
They will manifest
The form with which they were endowed.
Richness comes at last.

Time for sowing,time for birth
Time for love of life.
Time to scatter seeds abroad.
Time to end our strife.

Prime Minister.dear

Dear David Cameron
I am a very intelligent ,brilliant and creative woman. Yet I often wonder why your face has no expression on it;I must confess since the vote on Syria you have looked a bit bothered now and then,But blankness seems your favourite look.Watch out or an artist may paint a sign on you

Danger:Please stalk on the grass

Danger:Trespassers will be parsed and executed.

I am writing to complain.There are many magpies,wood pigeons and other such creatures all living for free in the garden here.And think of the ones in the woods.None of them are taxed,yet they get free board and lodging,And moreover we have hundreds of worms here which could surely be made to work.I know it’s hard to tell them apart but all those civil servants who read Modern Greats at Toxicford must have a few ideas.
I think if worms don’t work we should mince them and make meat pies out of them… and wood pigeons… that makes me salivate.
Those who won’t work shall be turned into food.The Chinese eat dogs… you catch my drift.Hard solutions for hard times, to warm an old cliche.
I do feel that all living creatures should pay rent.Birds who live in a garden with more than one tree must be made to see how unfair this is and let beggars into their nests.I am unsure what language they speak… maybe Hebrew as they were in Eden once.Oh,those lazy days,eating fruit and sunbathing.And sinning without guilt.did you know Adam and Eve were unmarried,by the way!
Well,it’s bad for us to be happy so I’m counting on you to pulverize nature in all manifestations.
Why,surely,worms are a total waste of time.Get rid of them.Send them back where they came from.Even as I write worms may be tunnelling under the British Channel from France.We can’t let them dwell in our soil.And in the Spring you must stop birds migrating here.Why some come from the Congo.Surely that’s not morally justifiable,is it?
Hoping my ideas will be balm to your ears.And try to get more of an expression on your face.You are like an empty canvas without Jackson Pollock and his tins of Dulux
Yours truly
Dumbella Dodd [ M.A.Oxen]

P.S.What about cats? They sleep 20 hours

She shuts her eyes

She wrings her hands
Bites her tongue
Grinds her teeth
Chews her nails
Sucks her thumb
Tenses her muscles
Narrows her eyes
Snorts with derision
Laughs like a drain
Crosses her legs
She nods her head
Shakes her fist
Cries like a baby
Screams like a hyena
Shuts her eyes
Lashes with her tongue
Eyes one like a Gorgon
Cracks her knuckles
Rolls her eyes.
Holds in her bladder.
Changes her mind
Torments her soul
Breaks her heart

Then she wonders why she is weary

Does this mutter much

My older brother likes this one.He likes Wagner too.Paint your own confusions

My feet

I love you,oh,my little fox
You are my thump bang
Blang
I love you,oh,my daisy
You are my pome
granate
Glung.
Wang,Sang like the harp
Bong.
You are my own kestrel.
Screeching high
Sky fall down
Earthed again
Thud,stone crows down
You are me,ning nang bang
Bung!
Oh,tra la la,
It’s post modern time
for tea lovers
Whooooooooooooooo hoooooooooooooo
There’s no absolute truth nowadays
Believe me!
It’s no syllogism
Wheeeeeeeeee heeeeeeeeeee
Is there truth from one’s relatives?
Meeee heee weee bang blikkker booooom
Boom boob booo boo hoo
The moon shines relatively slowly
Oh,be my babe
I love u so.
But my spilling is not that good
Does it mutter?
Grrr grrr grr
Growling!
Ma ma ma ma oh where are you?
I’m lost in a thicket with no rail ticket
UUUhhhh uhhhhhhhh
I’m hiding in a wood
See me!
Thud.
Oh,my God.Can I swear here?
I flickered up again.
I love you my dear one,my own heart strings plucked
Shhhhhhhhhhh silence
Ting a ling
Thump bang
Shriek!
Pluck
Bang

The gaps we are afraid of

7849282_298d1b1784_m

http://www.janandcoragordon.co.uk/

I recall now that I first came across ideas about gaps when studying art and what stops us from making it. Jan and Cora Gordon’s writing and Marion Milner’s books mention this.Even the best artists must have the experience of working on and even completing a work and finding that it is not what they had hoped for.
Certainly for beginners it can be very depressing and may be the reason why many people who did poorly at art in school never try again… as they felt this gap very painfully.But as with many of the painful aspects of life,it is better to accept and honour the gap.Strangely when we look back at some of our work we may find it has much more in it than we saw at the time.But wanting some pre-conceived notion of perfection we fail to notice the value of what we did in reality.
That may be true on other realms of life such as personal relationships.So don’t get divorced yet!

.
Turner’s late work was thought by some to be a sign of madness.This doesn’t mean our daubs are the next great advance in Art or Writing…. but we may need to be more tolerant of ourselves and our productions whilst also being genuinely critical or open to other’s helpful criticism.

Note on Marion Milner

“She was also a talented painter, and in On Not Being Able to Paint (1950) she wrote an important book on creativity and on some of the forces that prevent it. As with so much of her writing, she was not afraid to reveal herself. Her authorial voice was itself an instance of her view that “the internal gesture needed is to stand aside”. The Hands of the Living God (1969), an account of a 20-year analysis, also focused on drawings and doodles, this time her patients’.” From her obituary

My mistress,aye!

My mistress’ eye is like a currant bun

Though she has problems,she is utterly divine

Her bosom is quite bold out in the sun.

I hope that she will lend me hers as if it ‘s mine?

My mistress eye looks fine as it is glass

She lost her marbles playing with a fox

She’s good at letting errors whistle past

And mending fuses in that little box.

My mistress ,I am fixed upon her breast.

I see her skin is warm and she does sweat.

I too have lusted and I have confessed

But still she gambles and she places bets.

In truth I am as fickle as a weed

but each must act according to his need.

Destruction

Wakening up,remembering.
The rain falls onto the windows like a weeping angel’s tears
Thinking all the time,it was a bargain they wanted
.. not this…….not this… no,no
Is there a name for this destruction
which destroys also those who commit such acts?

A haunted Europe;Britain
the interfering empire,grasping at the world’s wealth
have made a patchwork out of Eden
Here where man began to be civilised
where we learned to make an aleph bet
and to write on scrolls
where God spoke from the fire
Why is it here that the hate is so strong?
What did we steal from these Arabs
when we bought their oil and made them wealthy
Materially,only; they had the wealth of knowledge and learning; they who invented the abstractions of mathematics?How have they become who they are?

And from those learned Jews when we plundered their religion
their Book and their G-d.
And their mystical traditions and learning..
and scattered them like dust across the diaspora
Our rulers and others thieved like starving beggars
and sat watching as they struggled?
How can religion be used with such cruelty?
The hate they should feel to the West
is transferred to their neighbours.

The wet eyed and heart weary,the strained and tearless too,
those whose hearts are heavy with
the pain of unsheddable tears
They turn again to the mountain
the steep climb continues
Tears water the path and the cold earth
As we look into the heart of darkness
Hoping for a sign
Or at least to be ready for a sign…
Those who have eyes to see,let them see

But he said, “I will not ask; I will not put the LORD to the test.”

How like a bird’s nest is my unmade bed

  • WisleyFeeding

    Photo courtesy of Mike Flemming,Copyright 2015

    How like a bird’s nest is my unmade bed
    As twigs and feathers from my feet did fall.
    I ought to take my shoes off, but instead
    I leave them on or hurl them at the wall.

    As for a lady’s nightgown I do lack,
    And wear old vests my dear husband once loved.
    For ladies’ garments often have no back.
    And fit too tightly, like a rubber glove.

    For pain and torment some will undergo,
    To gain attention from a handsome man .
    Yet love is like a fearsome heavy blow
    Survive it like an act of God unplanned.

    So take life lightly though you are enchained
    As it is short and everything remains

My little sister

She’d never seem rainwater deeper than eyes
Mystery undisguised.
Round the rain puddle she ran and ran;
Too much for her dolly’s pan.
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised.
Curiousity’s often wise
Oh,my dear sister what do you see there?
I hope it’s a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sisters dear,let us float.
We’ll never see father again, for he’s here
and down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel with his sharp sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with long golden hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two;
Eyes of one green, the other’s blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my sweet sisters into the daylight.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I loved my two sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t hope for what cannot be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool,
Held in God’s hand like a charming jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings must ride.
For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
Nothing and everything’s passed

Did he like his dinner?

I asked my husband if he liked his dinner and he went
Call that a dinner?
So I said,What do you mean?
He said,where’s the bloody mustard?
I said I don’t know but the Colman’s is on the table.You’ll have to wait till next week if you want the bloody type.
Unless I cut my finger and let some drip onto your meat.
He said,you know I like it rare.
So I said,I don’t know if mine’s rare but it’s all my own.
Then a loud voice said,No it’s not!
O.M.G I cried.
So he said, what?
I said,send me some salt and vinegar crisps.Then thousands fell from the sky and I’ve never prayed since.I’ve been too busy eating them all to replace the salt I loose in sweating heavily in night clubs and dens of iniquity.I know I shouldn.t go but Satan is so tempting I can’t say No in case he attacks me with his fork or is that Neptune?
It’s a queer world

Why did Jesus have no shoes

P1000194 4

Why did Jesus have no shoes?
He had sent his soles to be heeled.

Why did Jesus not wear trousers?
Jewish tailoring had not got that far 2,000 years ago.

Did Jesus drive a car?
Drive a car what?

Did Jesus write letters?
They had no Royal Mail then and soon we shan’t either.

Why did Jesus go to a comprehensive school?
He wanted to widen his appeal.

Did Jesus iron his clothes?
It was before the Iron Age.

Am I sure I’ll go to heaven?
Stop going to sex shops and wearing red bras and you should be ok
How about this atom bomb here in my pocket?
Please, let it drop,I beg you

What to wear? Funerals etc

  • Photo0688

    http://youtu.be/m5TwT69i1lU

    Just before Stan’s funeral a heatwave began.Mary realised her outfit which her sister had chosen was too heavy.
    So she called into a small department store full of delightful garments.Unfortunately most were more suitable for a nightclub than a chapel.A black dress caught her eye.It had a somewhat low neckline which was decorated with a deep gold band.
    Mary decided it was more suitable for Queen Cleopatra than a British woman.After a few minutes she found a lovely thin black jacket and a long drapey skirt.She rewarded herself with a large cup of coffee and observed the scene.
    Many of the women were wearing the dresses Mary had thought were for dancing and nightclubs while the rest wore jeans with T shirts saying:No size Fashion or Free women now!

    Most   of these women were rather plump so their busts stuck out with the words going up and down some invisible contour lines across the small mountain range their bosoms resembled.No wonder when the counter in the cafe was stacked with almond croissants.Definitely an occassion of sin and for sin.

    Photo1404
    The next morning Mary showed her new outfit to Annie.
    You can’t wear that,Annie screeched.The skirt is blue!
    Well if it is it is dark blue,Mary cried.It looked black in the shop.
    You will have to go back and change it.And you must buy some makeup too..
    What,for a funeral?
    Yes,said Annie who was wearing pink and purple eyeshadow from Pax Wacter combined with sun protective foundation by
    Minxette in deep beige.Her lashes were dyed purple and her brows had been groomed in a way which gave the impression she was constantly in a state of severe surprise or shock.Her thick juicy lips were painted a lurid orange from Revlon of Timbuctoo and Shanghai which meant that any man who kissed her would never be able to concealt heir sin from their wives or partners.How hard life can be at times.Or even all the time.

    You must dress entirely in black and it will make you look pale but don’t worry you can have some of my makeup Annie said louudly

    Will the colour suit me,asked Mary plaintively.

    I think you can wear any colour now your hair has gone that horrible shade of pale.
    You are a bit rude,Mary said but I take the hint.

    http://youtu.be/Mb3iPP-tHdA
    After Annie left Mary phoned an old friend of hers and asked him what he thought of her clothes problem.
    Black and blue will look very good,he told her.As long as it’s dignified and dark the colour is i mmaterial.
    That’s nice,Mary thought,as she hated shopping and was unsure how much income she would have as a widow.

    7826449_54f3d093ab_m
    Being practical a dark blue skirt is something a woman can wear any time whereas black is not so good in the daytime.
    Mind you,after you visit any town centre in Britain you will see sights of women in strange and tight clothing that will both amuse and appall you though most of us are used to it now.
    My goodness, Mary said to herself,what hard work it is losing a husband.I should have hired a boat and thrown him into the sea or even buried him in the back garden.That would have been better than all this kerfuffle.Sp she decided to turn her mind to higher things.

    http://youtu.be/CZipvBo3_Z4

    http://youtu.be/ihx5LCF1yJY

Depression tells us we can’t always have what we want

King James Bible
And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.

Man sitting on a bench under a tree

Do you think it is bad not to have what you want? Then consider that whether we call it to unconscious,god,nature, there is a part of ourselves which is in touch with something wiser and that may be something we don’t pay attention to maybe because of business.But sometimes we really need to do so and we are forced into idleness and torment so that we stop our activities and listen.

What we want may not be what is best for u

When days are long like melodies of youth,

  • When soft winds blow and air warms our bare skin.
    When days are long like melodies of youth,
    when light wakes up the soul from out her sin
    Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth?

    When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown;
    When water’s short and all is arid and forlorn’
    Then do not meet disaster with a frown,
    For out of heartfelt sorrow life is born.

    When winter’s here and all is quiet and still
    And nothing seems to move or grow or speak
    Then we shall learn the limits of our will
    for through the soil the first green shoots will break.

    For seasons change and actors come and go.
    Yet through such changes, life is what we know

The Cold Heaven BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting heaven
That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,
And thereupon imagination and heart were driven
So wild that every casual thought of that and this
Vanished, and left but memories, that should be out of season
With the hot blood of youth, of love crossed long ago;
And I took all the blame out of all sense and reason,
Until I cried and trembled and rocked to and fro,
Riddled with light. Ah! when the ghost begins to quicken,
Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent
Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken
By the injustice of the skies for punishment?
See below for some analysis and biography.
http://nimbustype40.wordpress.com/2013/09/30/a-chilly-paradise-an-analysis-of-the-cold-heaven-by-w-b-yeats/

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/willia

A Chilly Paradise (An analysis of ‘The Cold Heaven’ by W.B. Yeats)

Read the poem too

Jack's avatarNimbus Type40

The whole of ‘The Cold Heaven’ is a dramatic metaphor for Yeats’ emotion, having realised that Maud Gonne (the love of his life) will probably never accept him. The poem is a 1st person narrative, with one stanza of free verse. Enjambment makes the poem sound like a rush of thoughts, as does the irregularity of the line lengths, yet this also gives Yeats space to explain his emotions. The fact that the poem itself is short reflects the fact that Yeats now believes life is short, his life has ended now that Gonne has gone. It is made up of one sentence of Yeats looking up at the sky and pondering about unrequited love and then another reflecting on the idea of the afterlife. The poem is in a Romantic style, heavily influenced and inspired by the works of other poets, such as William Blake.

The title itself is…

View original post 384 more words

The golden rule;oh what the heck

P1000194 1

My doctor thinks I am too fat
and advocates eating the cat
food from a tin
Or even the bin
what do all you old folk think of that?

Personally I do not mind
As cooking real food is a bind.
But visitors might
So keep the tins out of sight.
For cruelty’s very unkind/

Indeed sin is an offence to our race.
surely all humans can face
That harming and killing
Those who are unwilling
to recognise us has no case.

It’s a long time since God’s word had effect
The golden rule.oh,what the heck.
Selfishness pays
And nobody prays.
Nor do we pay our respects.

In the end we shall all be in hell
And God will send us the bill.
As the electricity’s dear
And so are our tears.
Yet we still fire our weapons and kill

Appearances, both natural and contrived

How gently,sweetly softly flowers pose,

Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.
For their intricate petals form a shield
Yet bees with striped force shall make them yield.
Appearances,both natural and contrived,
Mixed with the wiles of human nature thrive.
As knowing not, we pluck the apple rare
And bite its flesh,with teeth we have to bare.
We too deceive the innocent who pass
Not seeing watchers hid behind the glass.
The windows break,the deep earth quakes;
Seized is the maiden ,he  her virtue takes.
Beneath the surface,force and fierceness thrive.
What fearsome, burning God enjoys our lives?

My comfort lies

When death and loss and grief fill up my heart

And behind an icy wall I am entrapped

Where should my work of holy healing start

Where is the  hidden place where loss is mapped?

As on the earth I walk amongst the trees

And on the grass I lay my sleeping head

I make my friends from  stinging wasps and bees

Who comfort me on this my own deathbed.

Yet  do not sun  and moon still  shine  as  bright?

Do not men and women  tender lie.

Does not this small glowworm give me light?

Do not courting tom cats saunter by?

With wider vision spreading from my eyes

I see more clearly where my  comfort  lies

Doom

photo00493 2

He whom once I loved I now do hate
His words and actions shared a harsh disdain
Refusing to allow this bitter fate
My boundaries now exclude his bleak terrain.
To win me, he displayed a tender care;
with courtesy and flattery he disarmed.
Then when my heart was opened up and bare.
he suddenly removed his wondrous charm.
His harshness ,rigid mind and steely heart
Showed him a terrorist in my private lands;
For, suddenly, our love he broke apart
And empty was my once outstretched hand.
Beware of charm and love bestowed too soon
Or you may likewise suffer dread and doom

Baptism by love:Stan suffers in the Rehab Unit

6339939_f520

Art by Katherine      

After church on Sunday Mary decided to visit Stan , her elderly ,gentle and  frail  husband in the Rehabilitation Unit where he had been sent recently by a strange physiotherapist…He was unhappy as the diuretics made him pee even mo e often than he used to do and  he got very worried about it because his bad heart made it extremely hard for him to walk.
When she went into the small  four bed ward she saw Stan sitting on his chair without any pyjama trousers on even though it was visiting time from 3 to 8 pm.
Why has he no trousers on? Mary asked a nurse angrily, her blue eyes full of unshed  glistening tears which almost washed off her turquoise mascara and made runnels in her honey beige foundation by Rimmel of London and Paris
He keeps wanting  to  go to the toilet so it’s easier for us   all  if he has no pants on,the nurse told her haughtily.He’s on diuretics,you see as he has water in his lungs and other inner organs and the water has to be removed from his body,Sheila ,the nurse announced ina cold voice
What about the lack of dignity in baring him to the world,Mary enquired softly yet piercingly her eyes dripping tears again.
Dignity,what’s that? the nurse said insolently.He is just a pest. And old men don’t deserve any attention.We are tired of them.They should all die now.Thats’s government policy it appears
Emile who had hidden in Mary’s old,but good olive green Radley leather handbag let out a sound like a banshee in Cork or a demon in a nightmare.
The nurse looked  quite frightened
What’s that? she whispered to Mary behind her hand.
It’s probably Satan coming to say ” hello” to you as you seem very wicked to me.Mary informed her politely yet honestly in her Northern way.
Oh my,what shall I do? the nurse asked in a trembling voice.I am so upset now.
You could try reading the Ten Commandments,Mary riposted jocosely… if it’s not too late.
Or recalling the Golden Rule………
I’ve never heard of the golden rule,said the nurse.Is it a measuring instrument of some unusual type?
Yes,in a sense it is,Mary said.It measures us by our compassion towards others.And you seem to have none for Stan.Can you not imagine what it’s like being a man sitting half naked in a public room with no recourse?
What’s a recourse,Sheila, the nurse, asked her thoughtfully,Is it a garment like a dressing gown?
No,it’s a a source of help in a difficult situation.It’s a remedy or an  option
I have a higher degree in nursing,Sheila boasted stupidly.
I don’t care if you have a doctorate in nursing and philosophy,Mary cried.It’s what you do and say to the patients that counts.And going to an evening class in English would do you no harm.Your vocabulary is limited,to say the least.And words are useful  whatever job you do.Or even if you are unemployed it helps you deal with bureaucrats
Oh,dear,said the nurse,I am sorry for being so thoughtless.I am always thinking about sex,love and clothes instead of the patients.I see now I have fallen into evil ways and hope I can improve a little.
You have been cruel, said Mary.And seeing my aged husband like this is breaking my heart.
She went over to Stan and sat by him.He fell against her bosom hungrily.Alas it was not for erotic reasons.His blood sugar was only 2 and his BP was 60/40.He was dying there with no trousers on and with no-one but Mary to help him… and Emile, their small  intelligent black cat ,of course.Unfortunately Emile’s trousers were too small for Stan

.Mary wrapped a bath towel around Stan and held him in her arms.
Stan tried to speak but Mary could not make out what he was saying.Tears ran down her  beautiful lined and wrinkled face and dripped onto Stan’s head.I suppose one might say it was a kind of baptism by love.Now Stan will be entering a new dimension and will be given a new and better name by One who cannot be named here.But you catch my drift?

Judgement is mine says the Lord.

Once

night-scribbles

I’ve got only one letter
written in your hand
One short letter
Yet I understand,
One is as infinity
compared to having naught.
I’ll keep this letter
In the museum of my heart.
I’ve only got one photograph
and that is very old
but to me this photograph
is more valuable than gold
Time has hurried by.
Is it now too late?
But may there be a second chance?
Let’s not accept love’s fate.
No matter how we falter,
No matter how we fail,
Can we still forgive ourselves,
and rewrite this sad tale.
One more letter,
One more heartfelt smile,
That will be sufficient
To rebirth a love grown frail.
For once this love was stronger
Once this love was true;
So now we are wondering
If we may create our love anew

Whose speech veers from f*ck to cor l*mmy.

She wanted to come up with a mnemonic
For remembering the form of a sonnet
She cried AB twice CD
CD,EF twice ‘fore G.
For GH is the last couplet,innit? .

She wanted to write for the dummies
Whose speech veers from f*ck to cor l*mmy.
Vernacular they call it
to which we cry,no sh*t,twit
My eyes, like my cup, are now runny.

Mirth seems to rise from my studies.
As the breath rises up from our bodies.
Breath mingles each day
In  al our airways.
Our lungs, if not minds, are all buddies

Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions

IMG_0054

As I was growing up I found I was attracted to certain minds..
. nearly all of people no longer living.I could not understand much of what they wrote but I definitely had a strong instinct about who they were.One difficulty was they seem to be mainly men.That’s because it is much harder to find women who had the time and talent to create and become part of  the culture. But how strange is it to feel kinship with someone when you cannot understand much of what they wrote
I liked
 Blaise Pascal
Spinoza.
John Donne
Andrew Marvell
Wm Wordsworth
Wm Blake
Soren Kierkegaard
Rainer Maria Rilke
Ludwig Wittgenstein.
The people who wrote the Psalms.
Montaigne whose diaries are still read.
Paul Klee
Marion Milner.
Leslie Farber.
Stephanie Dowrick.
There are more.
Photo1375
These people seem to have some kind of feelings which resonate with me. were not usually scientists and Pascal attracted me because he was a mystic as well as a mathematician.So it’s something about how to relate to the world….with the heart and soul not the intellect alone
I also read many novels which is/was my favourite activity and I could not discuss that here as I have read thousands and re read thousands.I like the Chekov of suburbia ,Stanley Middleton after whom I named Stan in my stories…… despite his limitations.
I may write many funny pieces but I am a deeply serious person following a trail left by someone unknown…I recognise it when i get the clues.But who leaves them for me?
Here is a passage I like from Rilke
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
P1000268