Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

Doctor,doctor

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Doctor,doctor,I’m worried about my coughin’.
What about your coffin?
Well,it’s keeping me awake at night.
Why, are you sleeping in it?
I have only got  one place to sleep.
If you were tired you could sleep anywhere!
Is that legal?
of course it is. legal
Well,can I sleep in the Queen’s bed?
In theory,yes… but you might frighten the horses.
Why, do they sleep with her? She must have a big bed.
Don’t be so ridiculous…
Well,she has loads of money.. she, could have a bed made for her.
She has a bed maid,
Do you mean someone makes her bed every day.
Well,don’t you make yours every day?
No,I bought one in a bed store and it’s well built and good and solid too,
But do you change the sheets daily?
NoiI never use paper I write letters on my chromebook.
What letters? 
Any letters at all,except French ones.
But they use our alphabet.
it’s not ours.
Whose is it?
Possibly the Romans.Tantrum ergo!
They are all long gone into their coffins.Uno,duo tres,quattore…,decem,duodecem,duagessin’..
I knew coughin’ was very dangerous
I think your grammar is bed.
What a posh excent you have
It’s all I have left of the old Palace.
Well, never mind you can share my coffin if you like.
But is there a bed in it?
Just a bed bug as yet…
I blame the CIA.. whom do you blame?
I blame God and he blames us so it’s pretty much a stalemate.
We need the Messiah…..
Not again,we’ve not got over the last one yet…
You make him sound like a hurdle…
Well,it’s one way of looking at it all.. a big hurdle.
It’s all this talkin’ keeps me awake at night…
At least it stops you coughin’.

Doctor,doctor,the coughin’s keeping me up all night.

For goodness sake put the lid on it!

Behind glass… a defense

Have you ever felt you were behind a pane of glass? I did once many years ago after a friend committed  suicide.It must be a protective  condition but it is painful and odd.Everyone else seems ok ,you imagine,but you are not a part..In reality many people may be feeling like you do and putting on a performance while out at work or socialising.We are probably wiser as we grow older as we know more people better and see we are not  unique in our suffering and pain; we know that feelings pass,even the worst ones and we may have become better at judging others and knowing if friends die  by suicide it’s probably not our fault

When one feels that way it has to be accepted for the time being, like all feelings,I found reading poetry helped me and also being with others in a group where I could sit and listen without pressure to speak.I like this poem from then.It was a favorite  of Simone Weil,the mystic.

LOVE BADE ME WELCOME  by George Herbert

 

 Love Bade Me Welcome – from Love (III)

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back.
Guiltie of dust and sinne.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack’d anything.

A guest, I answer’d, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkinde, ungrateful? Ah, my deare,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marr’d them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame?
My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.

Those words I’ve never yet understood

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synecdoche/

Synecdoche is a word I never knew.Metaphors and similes we were taught in school but metonym was not and synecdoche is related to that.An example is calling workmen on your farm “hired hands” and so would calling a woman a housewife,perhaps.I doubt if I shall use this word as I once tried to tell a joke at a dinner party involving the word,”solipsist” and it went down like a ton of bricks!

No,for social purposes I need to watch” low level” TV and get used to language which was never used in my youth; nowadays I could say,Oh fucking hell,I’ve lost my ear ring but not,I like a good metaphor that is not hackneyed,Or,what do you think of metonyms?

I also need to watch fat bald chefs cooking daft recipes full of limes,cream and spices before watching the News to find which celebrity is on trial for raping children.Then I have to watch soap operas and adverts for Swedish cars before microwaving a ready made meal I froze 3 months ago.Then I shall be fit to dine with the good and the great in their houses wth magnolia walls , chaise longues and oval beech dining tables.And eat those Nigella Lawson recipes without recalling her ex-husband art collector Charles Saatchi

On second thoughts I’ll stay at home with the dictionary and the cat

an

Reading Lawrence Le Shan

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lawrence_LeShan

For many years I have enjoyed the writings of Le shan.Recently I discovered that he had written a book about Evil.He also treated people with cancer for many years.I admire him

I am reading it slowly.I recommend,Alternate Realities from which some of his terminology comes.His book in Meditation is the best I have ever found.I was reading it as I was on a train going to my father in law’s funeral and a beautiful image cane to my mind

http://artquotes.robertgenn.com/auth_search.php?authid=6217

http://artquotes.robertgenn.com/auth_search.php?authid=6217

Lawrence LeShan -A man will be effective to the degree that he is able to concentrate! Concentration is not basically a mode of doing but above all a mode of Being. (Lawrence LeShan)

A tin of sardines

Ond day the evil, wicked witch caught a great s hoal of sardines in her net.The silvery little fish were taken away to a big factory.They were washed free from saltwater and packed tightly into little tins .I expect you have heard someone say.It was so crowded on the train,I felt like a  sardine.What was worse still  was that the sardines were covered in tomato sauce and that is evil because tomatoes do not grow under the sea or even in ponds and lakes.If you had seen the sardines lying side by side with their eyes gazing blankly at you,you might have had a bad dream…Finally the tins were sealed and a  small key was fastened to the outside to enable people to open the tin and gobble up the sardines on a slice of  lovely thick toast covered in the very best butter available.What a fate for these beautiful fish to be lying in tins on a shelf in the supermarket,never to swim in the sea again.To all  appearances they were dead and were preserved only be special techniques developed by the food industry.?Have you ever wondered why milk never goes sour and bread stays useable for a week or more?Well, later on we may learn more about why this is but now I’d like you to think about all the sardines lying in those little flat tins and ask yourself whether you’d like that to be the end of your life..Unless you are very odd I imagine it’s a fate worse than death to you and so it was to these little sardines   snatched from the sea where they were free to frolic all day long darting in and out of the strange eery plants that grow on the ocean bed far away from wars and politics and dread.

Hard-Core Literature Course

You will enjoy this blog about literature

Clarissa's avatarClarissa's Blog

I can’t wait for students to start registering for the next semester because I have developed this really hardcore literature course and I’m worried that not enough people will want to take it. We have this departmental culture that is based on the idea that students don’t like literature, that literature is too hard for them, and that they don’t want to take anything but language courses. A course in the XVIIIth-century Spanish Drama sounds hard, and it will be hard. I made no effort to make it sound sexy. There are no hobbits, goblins, sci-fi elements, or anything of the kind.

The course will be even harder than it sounds. A ton of reading, a lot of writing, and I want them to produce a real research paper at the end. This is not even a 400-level course but I was writing research papers in my 300-level courses, so…

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The importance of learning to distinguish anger from violence

hopebuilding's avatarHopebuilding

Anger makes me uncomfortable, I must admit. And last month, I finally realized exactly why that is. It is because for me anger has often seemed indistinguishable from violence, whether it is direct or indirect. Anger seems dangerous, uncontrolled, and frightening, and so I have often had difficulty expressing anger or hearing others express anger to me.

I have discovered I am not alone in that. I attended the Anger, Boundaries and Safety workshop at The Haven, on the west coast of Canada. The Haven is a place where I have gone several times over the past 15 years to learn about myself – why I think and behave the way I do, how it affects my relationships with those around me, and how I can change what I don’t like and celebrate what I do like.

This workshop is based on the pioneering work on anger done by the…

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That introverts desire a private place

How like a prison is my cubicle.

Yet I feel safe enclosed in this space.

‘Tis often claimed to be indubitable

That introverts desire a private place.

 

We suffer when with crowds and noise we mix.

We suffer from wild talking and blind eyes.

We suffer from the exrtroverts cruel tricks.

And ponder long on wherefores and on  why’s,

 

Life can be so painful we retreat

We jail ourselves to gain some mental peace

Yet all the world’s  our pleasure  and it’s sweet.

So can a  prisoner gain  their own release?

 

An introvert  is like a wild,trapped cat,

Which blindly scratches those on whom it’s spat.

 

Cubicle

How like a prison is my cublicle

Where I await the medic on his rounds

I bite my nails and chew their cuticles

But take care not to make a single sound

 

Were I to  don this backless gown supplied

And lie uncovered on this small hard bed.

I feel as if  someone will think I’ve died.

And like a book I will remain unread.

 

Alone and naked like a new born child

Or like a suspect in some  secret jail.

I must keep hold of thought and temper wild…

No cries,no screams,no not a single wail..

 

How easily we ‘re plucked from normal rounds

And hurled into a maelstrom with no bounds

I’m a Bohemian girl

I’m a bohemian girl
I wear my hair in curls,
I wear maxi skirts
And denim shirts.
I wear long earrings
And black stockings.
I like folk songs,
And pierced tongues.
I like Wittgenstein,
And Melanie Klein.
I had psychotherapy,
But it was given to me free.
As I am so interesting,
And so infinitely trusting.
My unconscious mind
Is an analyst’s find.
I have such wise dreams,
On intellectual themes.
I see all my lives
From new perspectives.
I was an Egyptian Queen,
Feeling extremely mean.
I loved Mark Anthony
His touch was a symphony
Written by Schubert,odd,
Because Cleopatra was long gone
When Schubert composed his songs
And his symphonies too.
So time has got all curled up,
Like a snake in a drinking cup.
Now I have woken again,
I want that dream all over again.
I want a Roman Emperor
To be a sexual tempter.
I shan’t mind at all,
If I hear him call.
I’ll be excitedly glad
When my hormones go mad.
I’m a Bohemian girl,
I’ll make any man’s hair curl.

Stan’s bike

Although Stan was 82 he still rode his bike in the summertime.He was out in the gardenpumping up the tires prior to going off to the Library.suddenly his neighbourAnnie appeared at the gate.Bedecked as usual in finest Scottish tweed with a long pendant on a solid 22 carat gold chain swingingnonchalantly from her neck,with a matching ring attached mysteriously to her upper lip.”Who’re you,the Lady Mayoress” he joked.Where’sMary?” she pointedly whispered.”She’s up with herwidowed sister Joan inScotland ” Stan admitted nervously.”Joan,that’s not a very Scottish name!” Annie joked.”anyway how about we sit down here on this bench for a moment”.She pulled him vigorously towards her.Stan responded regretfully “I’m afraid I can’t stop.I have all these books overdue and the library shuts in 15 minutes.”Don’t worry,sweet heart”, she cried contemptuously.”I’ll pay all your fines.I’ve just come into loads of money.”
“Oh,how’s that.my angel” Stan murmured. “I just shot Bert.If you help me to get rid of the evidence,I’ll share the loot with you.”
At the funeral,Annie was dressed in a beautiful dark brown suit from Jaeger.She went around the room making sure everyone had enough food and drink..As she leaned over towards Stan her heavygold locket,inside which was hidden the bullet that killed Bert,swung over and hit Stan a glancing blow on the temple.
Stan fell to the ground.”Do you think we should ring 999?” someone asked sarcastically.Within minutes paramedics arrived.
“So,is it that chair again?” they clamoured.”Yes,this foolish old man fell over and the leg came off my new antique chair.I’ve only had it a few days and it’s not insured.””Did anyone ever tell you,your eyesare like deep pools in the Saragossa Sea?” The paramedic whispered into her right ear.
“Have you still not finished that Creative Writing Course?” Annie shouted.””I’m getting tired of you admiring my eyes.What about my nose?””Has anyone ever told you,your nose is the shortest they’ve ever seen?””That’s a bit boring” Annie retorted.”Yeah,maybe i should change to Art,” he ruefully moaned.”I love the way your deep blue and turquoise eye shadow is melting round your eyes andrunning down the sides of your nose.”
“Hurry up and fix my chair,and while you’re about it,you may as well take Stan down to A and E for a head X-ray.”
Glancing furtively at Annie in her Jaeger suit with carefully contrasting deep coral blouse and opaque teal blue 80 denier tights with 6 inch stiletto heels to complete the outfit, not to mention herraspberry coloured bra which clashed violently with the coral blouse which alas was more transparent than she realised, he picked up a hammer and began,excitedly,to mend the broken chair.”This is whatlife is all about,my boy” he though

Avoidance can be a grave error

I went to the doctor today

I was full of pathos and terror

I was ignorant of what he would say….
but avoidance can be a grave error.

He looked in my eyes with an egg box
He took my blood pressure and weight.
He said,have you seen any clocks?
I said,yes,but I ain’t only seen straight.

He tapped on my skull with a teaspoon
And remarked that my head sounded hollow.
I said,well there’s plenty of room
for all the ideas I  will follow.

He heard my pulse buzzing bee-like
And asked if I kept my  heart still.
I said,yes,it has a few flea bites…
but it disobeys the commands of my will.

He said, we must give up our egos
and trust in the great dark unknown..
And attempt to give money to beggar
As by our dried fruits we are known.

As far as my health goes,I’m perfect.
I’m average,ideal . I’m  the norm.
But in everyday life I am perplexed
As all the old rules are long gorn.

Thank you for crossing my hands,dear.
II need all of your silver and gold.
Love in its depths wipes out fear.
But don’t believe all you are told

Now speaks the sacred earth

Now speaks the earth of spring and all its joys.

Now flowers and blossom soothe our  lonley eyes.

So happy are the lovers,girls and boys,

As in the  daisied meadows they may lie.

 

Now speaks the sun and makes us  want to grow

to open like the flowers for his love

To let the life within us start to flow.

With  blessings sent down to us  from above.

 

Now every part of nature is in flood

Fresh leaves point down from trees to holy nests

The birds are active in this little wood,

And dwelling on the tree branch breast to breast.

 

Oh let’s not waste time brooding on our thoughts.

For we may miss the joy which spring has brought

 

 

Love

 

 

All love at first, like generous wine, 
Ferments and frets until ‘tis fine; 
But  when ‘tis settled on the lee, 
And from th’ impurer matter free, 
Become the richer still the older, 
And proves the pleasenter the colder

Samuel ButlerImage

And how I held you for a moment

Image

 

How white and blue together recollect us
to the summer sky and the imagined swallows
darting in exquisite geometry
under the great domed space of the heavens,
like the Basilica in Constantinople
containing and giving space.
And how I held you for a moment that was infinite
and then you were gone like an angel fearing enchantment
into some finite boundaried world

Lunacy, or Mind Freeing Emotions: a lens

aldussault's avatarFree Association on the ego and the self

Having studied at a Freudian Drive institute, Carl Jung came up very little in the classroom conversations about dreams or spirituality.  Freud did not write as prolifically about dreams, and certainly his writings did not gain the wide spread influence that Jung has had on the dream world.  Nonetheless, both forms of analysis emphasize the importance of the unconscious.  For Freud, dreams were the royal road to the unconscious.  For Jung they may have come from the same source, but they were meant as portals to the soul.

In our day and age, I think it is fair to categorize Freud as an ego analysis and to characterize Jung and a spirit analysts.  Again, I caution, you will probably find just as much similarities and differences between these two men, certainly at their earliest writings they had a mutual admiration society going between them.  Sadly it turned into brotherly quarrels that were…

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May the fire not burn you

Standing close together,but not looking

We lean forward touching foreheads lightly against each other

Eyes closed

Tenderly we graze

On the other?s smell,skin,softness.

I feel your heart beating

As it it were mine.

We lean for a few more moments like this.

Wordless.But everything else speaks

Holding the broken places,with love.

Then we turn and walk away

Yet those moments last forever.

Foreheads touching,

Skin on skin..

Our boundaries.

You are another subjectivity

A real person

Wanting nothing but everything

I see your smile.

You were with me

And now we go our ways

On our own journey.

One meeting of souls

Remains a blessing forever

May you be blessed

May the fire not burn you

Nor the water drown you

May the Lord keep you always near him.

Forever blessed.

I release you.

What a surprise

She
Dr Range-Rover asked Mary for all Stan’s details to facilitate his upcoming surgery.By now Mary was feeling worn out as she#d been shopping in the morning for Stan’s birthday present and some groceries.She really preferred morning appointments but with hospitals you get little choice.
Stan emerged with the nurse looking pale and wan.All she had done was to test him for MRSA..Mary picked up her bag.Suddenly and dilently Range-Rover crossed the room.
What’s that on YOUR nose? she barked at Mary.
Oh, yes, my glasses have been rubbing.It’s painful…Range-Rover picked up a dermatoscope which has a very bright light on it and placed it on Mary who was too surprised to move.The consultant thn invited the trainee doctor to come and take a look and they discussed the details of what they saw in front of Stan and Mary like two scientists who have just had a breakthrough.
You’ve got cancer,she informed Mary.Go to your GP soom,well you can wait till after Easter I suppose.You need a referral before I can have a go at you.
Stan turned even paler and looked angry…
Mary stood up and then collapsed by the door of the small room.Dr RangeRover picked her up and pulled a chair forward.
Sit down,she cried.She looked extremely worried.
How will you get home? she asked nervously.
In a cab,Mary told her…
Range-Rover looked even more worried as she was realising that she had crossed into Mary’s Sacred Space and broken her boundaries without asking her,at a time when Mary was possiblt anxious about her husband and feeling weary
..It may be common assault.She meant it for the best,we guess but surely a consultant should have some perception.Was she perhaps unnerved by supervising a trainee dermatologist?Alas,she refuses to comment…
As they walked out Stan said he wanted to go on the bus.Mary was too tired to argue so they sat at the bus stop in the sun waiting for their bus to come.
Or perhaps a ship would come in…and take them far away

Threads of gold

 Doodling


A heart pain woke me from my sleep.
Inside my soul there was a gap.
I tried to make it disappear;
To delete it from the map.

But still the ache persisted;
I tried hard to forget;
Till I sat down in my garden chair,
And stayed with my upset.

The sun may shine,
the birds may sing
But that to me
no pleasure brings
Because of my regret.

As I sat still upon my chair
To me three Angels did appear,
And they are with me yet.

They took my heart into their care,
With golden threads they are sewing there,
Until the work’s complete.

My task is just to sit quite still.
And let God’s angels do His Will,
As I sit  here at Her Feet.