Saturday was shopping then a walk Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car Reading book reviews and chewing stalks Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore
Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed
Standon with its fords and wandering cows Little rivers,Essex, flowing down The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound Water for the Thames and mossy ground
The earth feels like my body sacrificed An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide
I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present with your Light
Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.
Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people had their well trained Scribes You were always there,oh gentle Light
You gave me warmth, you changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe? I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.
The agony inside me lost its bite
I wanted to go on, to be alive You do not always show your golden Light
We do not know when we at last arrive
We do not reach this meeting place by strife I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time I never saw such Gold until that night
Posted on May 14, 2017 Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough For widows and their masculine counterparts. Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.
No arms left now, that never will rebuff. No eager lips which whispering love impart Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough
People say, of course, the going’s rough The coming’s gone and nothing shall gestate Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.
Never more to share cartoons and laughs. Never more to be a chosen mate Loneliness, the word’s not wrong enough.
Did we know the heart of what we had? Did we learn the art of love. of fate? Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.
You have gone and closed now is the gate In a mad ball, I dance with love and hate Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough! Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.
Oh,steam iron how I love your heat And how you make my clothes so neat. A flat iron is no use to me No open fire is here,you see And though I liked the flickering coals I feared those faces that looked droll. They were in the flames and peered At anyone who ventured near. I wonder how the people past Kept their trousers neat and pressed Now I’ve bought a hand steamer To keep the germs off my femurs I didn’t like to say,my crotch, In case the devil is on watch. I never ever used to think My body perfume was distinct. And yet it may appeal to men I don’t want to try again. One dear husband is enough Though he did enjoy a cough He had asthma and bad eyes Looking out with wild surmise. He saw my golden hair float by As by his window it did fly All at once he fell for me And we sat by an apple tree. His clothes were wrinkled so I thought I would iron them for a start. He could darn and polish floors Cook lamb chops and apple cores So my steam iron sees much use I wonder if it’s self abuse For as a woman feminist I’m not meant to iron vests I’m not meant to boil men’s socks Nor their pants of interlock I’m not meant to make them tea What a naughty person,me! I must confess these strangling sins Then I’ll polish my old bin. Satan wants me down in hell Don’t say he needs my iron as well As he was an angel proud I’ll save him into One Drive Cloud
Saturday was shopping then a walk Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car Reading book reviews and chewing stalks Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore
Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed
Standon with its fords and wandering cows Little rivers,Essex, flowing down The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound Water for the Thames and mossy ground
The earth feels like my body sacrificed An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide
Instead of going to the pub to meet men,Mary went on FB and changed her name Unfortunatly her name was also changed on the Page where she was insulted and every where she had been. I have learned something useful, she said to Dave who had come because Emile had rung 999 Better if you had not visited their page,he told her sensibly, then Emile would be happy Yes, she said,each side is as bad as the other,You must either totally agree or be called a vicious Monster.There is no space for debate so why even try? Just then the phone rang Hello, it’s Noreen ,she heard Mary, I am so happy you have changed your name Are you,Mary asked in suprise Yes,my grandparents were Scottish and none of the relatives are left, so as you are partly Scottish too it’s lovely you chose to emphasis that Well, stone the crows,Mary thought.How unpredictable life is.And how one unexpected event led to a good talk with Noreen Well, since Stan is not here,I’d better do some housework. she told Dave On the other hand if Annie and you,Dave, accept my untidiness, why should i worry? After all it’s wonderful finding books I had forgotten I had.Not to mention 30 pairs of tights and my reading glasses Emile looked at her turquoise glasses Can I have some reading glasses Mother? Why? demanded Mary angrily Then they will read stories to me as they can already read Mary wondered how to explain to a cat that the lenses of humans’ eyes become less flexible with age like their minds, perhaps Then she thought of Donald Trump who needs King Canute to explain that no human is omnipotent and that viruses are unable to distinguish between him and another old person even Joe Biden Why the family of the first virus might have relatives near Joe. But how do viruses communicate?They have no voices,eyes or hands Might it be they live in another reality? Do they have minds withour having brains? Or brains without minds Dave ran out of the house wondering how to help Mary And so would all of us!
Saturday was shopping then a walk Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car Reading book reviews and chewing stalks Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore
Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed
Standon with its fords and wandering cows Little rivers,Essex, flowing down The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound Water for the Thames and mossy ground
The earth feels like my body sacrificed An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide
I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present with your Light
Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.pp
Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people had their well trained Scribes You were always there,oh gentle Light
You gave me warmth, you changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe? I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.
The agony inside me lost its bitep
I wanted to go on, to be alive You do not always show your golden Light
We do not know when we at last arrive
We do not reach this meeting place by strife I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time I never saw such Gold until that night
Instead of going to the pub to meet men,Mary went on FB and changed her name Unfortunatly her name was also changed on the Page where she was insulted and every where she had been. I have learned something useful, she said to Dave who had come because Emile had rung 999 Better if you had not visited their page,he told her sensibly, then Emile would be happy Yes, she said,each side is as bad as the other,You must either totally agree or be called a vicious Monster.There is no space for debate so why even try? Just then the phone rang Hello, it’s Noreen ,she heard Mary, I am so happy you have changed your name Are you,Mary asked in suprise Yes,my grandparents were Scottish and none of the relatives are left, so as you are partly Scottish too it’s lovely you chose to emphasis that Well, stone the crows,Mary thought.How unpredictable life is.And how one unexpected event led to a good talk with Noreen Well, since Stan is not here,I’d better do some housework. she told Dave On the other hand if Annie and you,Dave, accept my untidiness, why should i worry? After all it’s wonderful finding books I had forgotten I had.Not to mention 30 pairs of tights and my reading glasses Emile looked at her turquoise glasses Can I have some reading glasses Mother? Why? demanded Mary angrily Then they will read stories to me as they can already read Mary wondered how to explain to a cat that the lenses of humans’ eyes become less flexible with age like their minds, perhaps Then she thought of Donald Trump who needs King Canute to explain that no human is omnipotent and that viruses are unable to distinguish between him and another old person even Joe Biden Why the family of the first virus might have relatives near Joe. But how do viruses communicate?They have no voices,eyes or hands Might it be they live in another reality? Do they have minds withour having brains? Or brains without minds Dave ran out of the house wondering how to help Mary And so would all of us!
Turn back, live again, he asked of me
Do not wander in this darkness anymore
One false step might give death victory
We are each connected to that tree
The sunlit top, the roots hid in earth’s floor
Come back, live again, he asked of me
While we live, we’ll live with dignity
Not scrabbling for the gold in blood and gore
One false step will give death victory
The kindness of the golden light was clear
And left an image in my mind’s deep core
Come back, live your life, he then soothed me
Do not wonder now why you are here
We’re here to live and living shall restore
What our suffering self has found so dear
I had never seen the Light before
Only Christ the Tyger with his roar
Come back, live through pain, he asked of me
One right step will give love victory
In my despair I felt that I was stuck Paralysed by grief and guilt I failed By the end I had tried every trick
From prayer unthought to deeps of logic black My life, my engine ,juddered off the rails I hated God and of “his” Church was sick
Starving and alone I was in shock The death of one I loved had made me frail By the end I had tried every trick
I felt Love’s arms around me, death was blocked I knew this goodness, why else would I wail? I thought I hated God but Love had struck
Warm and golden light that did me hold Where are you now when Evil has grown bold? Kind despair that made me long time sit By the end I learned Love needs no trick
I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present with your Light
Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.
Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people had their well trained Scribes You were always there,oh gentle Light
You gave me warmth, you changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe? I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.
The agony inside me lost its bite
I wanted to go on, to be alive You do not always show your golden Light
We do not know when we at last arrive
We do not reach this meeting place by strife I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time I never saw such Gold until that night
Saturday was shopping then a walk Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car Reading book reviews and chewing stalks Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore
Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed
Standon with its fords and wandering cows Little rivers,Essex, flowing down The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound Water for the Thames and mossy ground
The earth feels like my body sacrificed An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide
Four o’clock– and the sun’s still glowing Four o’clock – of a colour bright day, Up above, pink-tinged clouds are sliding Down still sky, sweeping sun away.
Come back sweet sun, do not yet leave us. Come back bright beams,I need sunlight Down on earth,it’s witch moon darkness, When your golden face is out of sight.
I see the orange clouds extending I feel such sense of sky lit bright. But gently now, the mist surrounds you And sweeps away that happy sight.
Into velvet blackness sinking, The dazzling, dreaming darkness falls. Goodbye to haste,and glare, and sunshine, Time for reverie,night time calls.
On the night-trains gentle journeys, On this trackless train we ride Strange new visions, haunting pictures We will see in dreams’ designs.
In my night train,I’ll be happy In such rich deep reverie. We visit darkness in our sleeping, There we learn its ecstasy.
Now we may have no God to hold us, In His Hands of Living Love, What will help us trust deep blackness If there’s no Saviour from above?
Must we enter that great darkness, Go back to dark from which we came, Into dark all living creatures, In that darkness find our home?
Trust the dark unknown, to hold us, Trust the dark,both night and day. Must we walk into that darkness And trust it is our safest way?
Someone other guided me to act Deep inside my voice had been unlocked I sang the psalms and then a lullaby Not aware in thought that you would die.
I fed you with a teaspoon the mashed fish From a plate as good as one might wish Like a little child you tried your best You smiled at me and gazed like one who’s blessed
You sat up with a brighter face at last Then lay back and God knows all the rest
Oh, don’t go yet ,my darling,I am here The floor of heaven came down amidst my tears Made of sumptuous satin, gold,revered For a little moment it hung low Then it rose and took you in its glow I saw your soul like that of a wild bird Taken by the Power who spoke the Word
A sheet of tears fell down from my closed eyes It’s hard ,so hard when those you love must die
I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present with your Light
Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.
Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people had their well trained Scribes You were always there,oh gentle Light
You gave me warmth, you changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe? I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.
The agony inside me lost its bite
I wanted to go on, to be alive You do not always show your golden Light
We do not know when we at last arrive
We do not reach this meeting place by strife I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time I never saw such Gold until that night
Religion has been privatised like gas I know in church we still can hear the Mass Yet no Chaplain comes to dying men I did my best alone without a plan.
Inside the holy sanctuary bare I became the priest and comforter I sang the sacred songs and gathered crowds Outside our little cubicle they bowed
I saw a canopy of golden cloth Hanging down from heaven, as it does It came nearer till it touched his soul I was silent, love can’t take control
For a moment everything was still A little bird sat on the windowsill Then the cloth of gold was lifted high I wept the precious tears for those who die.
That one eternal moment gave us grace I see your deep blue eyes, your smiling face
Mary went to the hospital to see the rheumatologist.The entire hospital had been re-built and half the site wasnow full of so called “Executive Homes” She and Annie took a cab as it was raining hard.Although Mary was wearing her new green raincoat, she did not like to get it wet. Where did you buy your mac,Annie enquired jauntily? Cotton Traders,Mary admitted nervously.It looked lighter than it is and Stan liked me in green You already have two trenchoats and a nylon mac,Annie told her. And Stan is no longer here What’s it to you? you want me to give all my money to the poor? Well, some of it,Annie responded anxiously.You need to pay your utilities.
My utilities!That sounds like something sexual that cannot be openly named,Mary cried You are confusing it with urethra, Annie laughed What is my ethra? whispered Mary No, the urethra is a little tube for the bladder to empty itself through Isn’t the human body amazing? Mary acknowledged using a cliche for better effect Definitely, said Annie and I love wearing beautiful clothes like velvet Where do we draw the line though, between looking good and giving money to the poor, tortured or victimised,Mary pondered
It is hard now because we can see what the rich have and we want it.Annie shouted calmly Or in your case you can see all those philosophy books on Amazon and buy them with one click she continued. Mary could see in her mind’s eye her living room piled high with books but if she were rich like Michael Frayn she could have a huge house full of shelves and desks. Adam Phillips,’ room looked more full than Mary’s and he must want it like that as he is well off.
In the waiting room Mary looked at Wittgenstein’s biography by Ray Monk on her kindle while Annie read The Sun. Soon Mary was called in Hello, said Doctor Morse.How are you? In the pink , she cried shyly. I don’t understand that, he said in his kindly way It’s an old English saying.It means I feel fine, but I don’t really that’s why I am here He looked at her left hand. and said there was no cartilege between the the thumb and wrist. Where has it gone,Mary asked but he remained silent Then he said,I think steroid injections will help.Would you turn your chair round by 180 degrees so you can put your arm on my desk? Mary turned round and felt a bit dizzy It’s hard getting older isn’t it, the doctor said in a tone rather artificially kind like a bad actor on stage and afraid of forgetting his lines or whether he was in King Lear or a Comedy Mary burst out laughing, to her surprise. You are a weird person, the told her thoughtfully with his green eyes shining like the sun over Lake Windermere in October. Well, we can’t all be exactly the same ,she told him logically Then she had to turn her chair round again. despite her poor hands Why don’t you have swivelling chairs ,she asked pointedly They won’t give me enough money, they doctor said, even though I a Consultant and I have published lots of papers Can’t you buy a second hand chair? Mary wondered No, it has to pass Health and Safety,Dr Morse whispered cautiously I see.Well don’t blame it all on the EU. I love the EU, he told her.I hope Brexit evaporates Me too she croaked sweetly They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until his next patient arrived I will see you in September, he told her optimistically his smile making her giggle inside so her body shivered with suppressed laughter or terror.
Miaow, cried Emile from Mary’s designer handbag What in Gd’s name is that, the doctor asked nervously
Don’t worry doctor.I forgot to leave Emile in the Waiting Room Emile stuck out his head and smiled at Dr Morse Good morning, he said graciously.Is Dave the paramedic here? No, they are not here they have their own Ambulance Station down the road Emile began to sob as he liked to get his own way by any means he could Mary apologised as she shook hands with the doctor. Thank you for helping me, she murmured.I feel better already And so say all of
The weather in Knittingham was rather hot.Mary was away giving a lecture on Dirac’s thoughts in Oxford and Stan felt lonely.He rang Annie but she was out.
So he said to Emile
I am going to bed early.Have you had enough to eat?
Definitely,cried Emile,who had just licked all the cream off two meringues in the larder.So Stan went upstairs.He took off all his clothes and admired his thin body in the mirror.
Not bad for 97,he muttered.
Now what shall I put on?
He found his pyjamas too hot so on an impulse he opened Mary’s wardrobe and found a cotton nightdress.It was a bit big for him but definitely cooler than his pyjamas.He cleaned his teeth and washed himself before falling into bed with,The Other Ariel a book about Sylvia Plath’s poetry and how Ted Hughes had altered the order of her poems and even removed some from the book .Ariel,which made her name.The doorbell rang.Each time it played a different tune out of the 90 in its repertoire.
He ran downstairs and opened the door.There stood two policemen.
They stared a the handsome old man with elegant hands
Hello.Sir.I hope we have not interrupted you?
No,I am just reading in bed. on my own
Do you always wear a nightgown?
This is the first time,he told them humorously.
I felt very hot so I decided to wear my wife’s gown.
And just where is your wife?
What’s it got to do with you,he enquired unceremoniously.
Just tell us,the older policeman said brusquely
She’s at a conference in Oxford giving a talk.About Dirac or Riemann or another nitwit.
Can we come in? the policeman said.
May we come in,Stan corrected him;not a good idea on the whole,especially in the USA where the police have guns.Luckily all our police have here are rubber gloves in case people ask them to wash up after having a cup of tea.
What is wrong? said Stan.
We have found a naked woman walking in the High Street.She says a man stole her clothes.For various reasons we think it might be you.
But if she was in the High Street she’d be in proper clothes not a nightdress,surely ,Stan murmured.
But you like women’s clothes….. we can see.
No,I don’t, the old man shouted.
I told you I was too hot.And in my own home I can wear anything I like.
Sometimes I wear a prayer shawl
Are you Jewish? they asked.
Only a little, but I inherited it from a great grandfather who married out.
Out of what? the police asked
He married out of his faith.He was longing for a bacon sandwich.
Surely marrying just to eat a bacon sandwich is a bit over the top.
Well,that was his story.Maybe he was tired of obeying the Ten Commandments so he broke most of them.
Which ones?
He committed adultery once when his wife had a nervous breakdown ; he lost his head and went to bed with his neighbour’s wife.
And where was his neighbour?
At the psychiatric unit visiting my great grandmother.Stan admitted uneasily.
Well,at such times we all do odd things,the older policeman advised him.
Thank you for your frankness,Sir.I can see you are not a criminal.
Thank the Lord,said Stan as he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on to make a cup of tea to save ringing 999
I am lucky not to be in a cell and Mary would have had to come home.She would have been cross, he told Emile.Anyway monks wear habits.
But who had stolen the clothes off the woman in town? A mystery to be studied with Annie when she got home.
At last Stan relaxed and went back to bed with his books
This is the last time I ever wear a nightdress he whispered to Emile who was by his side.
And so hope all of us.
In my despair I felt that I was stuck Paralysed by grief and guilt I failed By the end I had tried every trick
From prayer unthought to deeps of logic black My life, my engine ,juddered off the rails I hated God and of “his” Church was sick
Starving and alone I was in shock The death of one I loved had made me frail By the end I had tried every trick
I felt Love’s arms around me, death to block I knew this goodness, why else would I wail? I thought I hated God but Love had struck
Warm and golden light that did me hold Where are you now when Evil has grown bold? Kind despair that made me long time sit By the end I learned Love needs no trick
How my heart sings 