Ah,brother I don’t want you to lie still
No blood to circulate,no thoughts,no will
No help,no humour.jokes no
sharp true eye
From our old shared pram,to live, to die.
I used to do your homework
late at night
Abstract thought to you was no delight.
You wondered over X and y and z
Preferred the shapes of Nature in your head.
I shall retain the memories of the good
You who taught me speech and hate and love
I’d love to write a sonnet but I daren’t
For in this steamy heat it’s much too hard
So please don’t send me messages that taunt
Nor with disdain compare me to our bard.
.For not all people have poetic skill
And what I have will sometimes fall to dust
Like virtue writing’s not made by the will
Await the grace ,as saints and mystics must
In the mind an empty bowl of space
We keep to catch the offerings of the gods.
It’s more like contemplation than a race;
For freely, quietly we receive the good.
The lady’s not for turning words to gold
But with a chosen few she loves to mould
From time and place and season I am lost,
Disorientated ,missing tracks well worn
Do not suppose I’m unaware of cost
Nor label me with epithets of scorn
For usual paths lead to the usual place
The safest way to live and perhaps to die
But wandering through the woods I find new space
and in wild grasses with the fox I lie.
Through distant trees, i see a way to go
as narrow as a slit in pallid stone
This is my destined way, I seem to know
And courage rises even as I moan.
Remember when we’re lost ,we may then find
Another way,a place,another mind
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
Posted on February 19 2017
This music does caress my inner ear
Takes me to my childhood joy and love
How much beauty can a human bear?
The vision of the lighted candles here
A symbol of the starlight far above.
Beloved music will caress my inner ear
And God does dwell in those who sense him near
But overlooked , he’s but a clear grey dove
How much beauty can a human bear?
And see, God laughs to be revered
As she enjoys the flutter of my glove,
While music does caress my inner ear!
The God who’s true does not depend on fear
But holds the soul as it allows their love
How much beauty can a human bear?
God is here and not at one remove.
And in his grace we each can gently bathe
This music shall caress my inner ear
How much beauty can a human bear?
When the fruit has rotted on the stalk
Bruised and broken like the lost in need
When leaders meet but rarely truly talk
When children caught in gun fire lie and bleed
Don’t we see God’s Kingdom is a joke?
One hundred million deaths in two world wars
Not quick death but tortured bodies broke
They lost their lives and love died in their gore
Utopia, evolution, grandiose plans
Sacrifice yourself for those to come
We saw the little children hand in hand
Ground mines blew them up, they could not run
One thing’s clear, God’s here or not at all
The future’s fiction, theatre forms the soul
Freed from her trap
Bird soared into air,and hovered
And floated, resting;
And flew higher, singing as she flew,
And higher again,
Till there was only her song,
Left in the silence,
Trembling.
Up on the wide,stump topped hill,
I felt the lark inside my heart
And heard her singing.
And flying up with her,
I saw gold sun and silver moon,
Moors of heather ,and sheep grazing
Green hills,
And shimmering lakes,
Clouds ,sun and sky in watery mirrors.
And sang ,and dipped,and dropped,
And curled
Up the blue
Bright heaven, and rested
On the wind.
All that day
I was a lark singing.
I shall always have a vision of
A bird
That flew upwards,
Rejoicing and free
Into a deep blue sky, and high
And higher
Beyond high
Into a place, beyond eye even,
But music still sending.
I wish I were back on that heathery moor,
With the nibbling sheep and the bees sweetly humming,
Hearing again
The poignant song
Of the skylark,
A prisoner,freed by a magician,
From her trap,
So happy to be free,
So wonderful to see.
Do it again,
For me.
In my dream, I gave birth to a child
The doctor said that he would die quite soon
My feelings overwhelming made me wild
The Nazi doctor threw him on a pile
I lay nearby unmoving as I keened
In my dream,I gave birth to a child
A week passed by,I knew that death beguiled
Frozen lips made no sound, song or tune
My feelings overwhelming made me wild
I had to rise and say my black goodbye.
My baby with the others;horror loomed
In my dream I gave birth to a child
I picked him up , when suddenly he smiled
I held him to my breast, my songs I crooned
My feelings overwhelming drove me wild
I had to carry him, the landscape gloom
A desert grey aand rocky like some moon
In my dream I gave birth to a child
In terror I had walked yet love consoled
The sun enfolds me in its wealth of light
Caressing eyes and making love seem right
Forgot,the lonely darkness in a trance
When spring begins its equinoxal dance
Forgotten too is how the frost can bite
And how warm lethargy turns day to night
As we lie indoors like parasites
Into lighted windows, I will glance
A minor crime when brightness draws my sight
Here’s a drying rack with clothes mutant
Here’s a sill entirely filled with plants
Imagine you’re a spy and see our plight
The mirror crackles, full of long-held spite
In between the darkness and the bright,
Graded shades of grey and lilac lie.
These variegated colours give delight.
And from my soul, I hear a gentle sigh.
As we live, we dwell in mysteries;
Must take decisions based on various views.
And unknown memories from our history
Emphasis the old , see not the new.
For true perception, we must humble be.
Not for moral reasons but for sight.
The emptiness lets flood creative seas.
Allows bright rays of loving, guiding light.
We need to know we do not know at all.
And, trembling, hold the doors of vision wide.
So gentle should be judgements when we fail.
Then errors we’ll appreciate, not hide.
We must deal with life unknown, unclear;
Perception is a better guide than fear.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/articles/74587/speech-speech
On our expedition through the magazine, we wondered whether all poems—whether or not they cross linguistic boundaries—are inherently efforts at translation. In a prose snippet rendered into English by Ilya Kaminsky and Jean Valentine, the Russian poet Marina Tsvetaeva writes:
My difficulty (in writing poems—and perhaps other people’s difficulty in understanding them) is in the
impossibility of my goal, for example, to use words to express a moan: nnh-nnh-nnh. To express a sound using words, using meanings. So that the only thing left in the ears would be nnh-nnh-nnh.
Tsvetaeva, several of whose poems……..
Can we change the world we see
Does it matter what we do?
Oh what we are innstructs the eye
As on this world we humans spy
We create the world anew
With every contemplative view.
But if we hurry to our goals
So creation duly fails.
We see the world in coloured light
When we see the world aright
This is just so sad and so terrible….
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/he-wishes-cloths-heaven/
Thanks for all those calls and letters
Thanks for caring that I’m here.
In my darkest, lonesome moments
These replies will keep you near.
Thanks for answering all my emails
Thank you for the hours you give.
Thanks for sharing heartfelt thoughts
And being so generous with your love.
Thank you for your wit and grace,
Thank for your funny face.
Thank you for your deep blue gaze and
Thank you for your warm embrace.
Thank you,thank you,thank you,thank.
Love you,love you,love you,Love.
Thank you,thank you,thanks to you,
Because,because,because,Because
You stabbed my heart when I was left alone
Telling me my writing was like porn
Now you give me nightmares, be my pest
We all need one or two,and you confessed
My writing is so bad, you envy not
Did I hit you on a painful spot?
If others have a gift, that is their call
You have yours , get out a net and trawl
Ambivalent in love which turns to hate
We wound ourselves in making this our fate
Talking overmuch lets such thoughts out
As tea will pour down from a tilted spout
The ancient virtues,patience and restraint
Shall be our wise protectors when distraught
https://columbiametro.com/article/the-skill-of-patience/
Search
Learning to accept daily frustrations
By Thomas Barbian, Ph.D.
Patience is a virtue! Or, at least that is how the saying goes. But is it really? Patience is defined as “the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble or suffering without getting angry or upset,” a definition with several important components. Patience is also a skill. We can work on increasing our ability to be patient and engage in practices to become a more patient person.
Before looking at how to develop more patience, it is best to define what we are actually talking about. Patience (or the lack thereof — impatience) occurs in response to some sort of difficulty or delay in life that is not going according to expectation. A day can hardly be lived without encountering something that interferes with our plans, and so we might say that the “interferences” or “disruptions” are a normal part of life; to expect otherwise will make it difficult to be patient.
The Difference Between Worry, Stress and Anxiety https://www.nytimes.com/2020/02/26/smarter-living/the-difference-between-worry-stress-and-anxiety.html?smid=nytcore-android-share
What happens when I’m typing a new word
Do computers think that it’s well absurd?
If they have never seen the word before
Do they wonder why I’ve written more?
Do they mind a swear word or a curse
Do they have a conscience, which is worse?
I’d like to think that . I could say eff off
In that case what computer gives a cough?
If I tell a lie and injure you
What On Earth can my computer do?
Getting down to brass tacks we will say
She’s getting idiomatic by the day
An idiom is a phrase that’s like a word.
There are some Psalms that are not 23rd.
The voice of God will whisper in the dark
Before he turns into a tree of sparks.
The sparks Will fly away so we must ask
Can human beings catch them as they pass?
If we can’t then God will disappear
Then we won’t have love without the fear.
. Why do we keep sitting on the fence?
We must learn to live without pretence
No one is superior to you,
it’s just a game the rich will play and view
Yet acting is important for we know
There has to be a story , life’s a show.
Computers don’t have feelings but we’d like
To give them their own character and bite.
AI is very stupid in my view
Distictation proves my point, it’s nothing new
This time he followed his feet up Peter’s Hill into St Paul’s Cathedral. It was not his body. He was watching it go up the wide west steps of St Paul’s and paying his entrance fee and refusing the offer of the audio headphone guide and letting someone else do the walking down the nave and looking up at the Whispering Gallery, and all this without giving in to his internal policeman who was getting into his ear with his oh come on, Patrick,
My eyes were on the ceiling staring down at me
They never told me this is so,oh chemotherapy.
I stared at them, they stared at me,whatever could I do?
I could not say a single word,. I had not got a clue.
So I WhatsApped my sister,she was not surprised.
When it all comes down to it, we’re glad that you’re alive
With one eye on the ceiling and one eye on the floor
How am I expected to walk right through the door?
They tell me once they tell me twice they tell me 50 times
When you write some poetry please don’t use no rhymes.
Then we had a spelling test and I failed all the words
But I was good as algebra and calculating surds
The whole thing is confusing when the eyes come out the head
You better put them straight back in, remember what Dad said
And if you need some spectacles then you must have a face
I wrote on the ceiling, you’d better watch this space
I told a lie I told some more then I told 25
You must believe me when I say I’m the smartest poet alive.
I know my 10 times tables I know the spelling best
I hope that when I pass by you, that I will pass the test
https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/when-i-have-fears-by-john-keats
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/when-i-have-fears-by-john-keats
I spurned the other cheek.
Adjourned but never leaked
I spurned the other’s sheep
I turned the others weak
I learned the maths last week
I burned like fire to meet
I earned his ire while bleak
I turned the gyre ,oh beak
The falcon cannot speak
My thinking is oblique
I’m spanking fit and neat
My husband’s hands were sweet
I churned, my backside creaked.
Yeats wrote twice a week
Keats’ letters weep.
Was Mozart ‘s mother Greek?
Hebrew is our meat
Did angels look so chic?
God must be unique.
How my heart speaks 