Not the words we read

Do not rush about when under stress
You may fall and bang your tender head
With agitation caused by business

Rather than do more, we must do less
Do it slowly till it’s time for bed
Do not rush about when under stress

Do not ruminate nor second guess
Grace is blocked,imagination led
By agitation caused by business

Slowness leads some space, so slowness bless
In tune with nature, not the words we read
Do not rush about when under stress

If you are a hare,keep from excess
If a tortoise,you’ll end up ahead
No agitation caused by business

The lilies of the field by grace are fed
And so our hearts are when our burden’s shed
Do not rush about when under stress
With agitation causing grief to living flas
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Cliches for all

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https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-squeaky-wheel/201306/the-seven-hidden-dangers-brooding-and-ruminating

It was the best of times, it was  the  worst of times in a very real sense.
Mary  dreamed Stan was in heaven enjoying the company of Wittgenstein,Jesus and Pascal , not to mention Lady Jane Grey Ann of Cleves,Juliet,Cleopatra and an angel.
At  least  at this point in time he can’t sleep with them  ,she thought as she woke up.Though did that matter? Can men be faithful and monogamous?
Look at Leonard Cohen.Was he better off flitting from flower to flower? Was he so stunning that women threw themselves at him and he could not resist?Sometimes people are actually afraid of intimacy or feel life is short and want some new experiences.Was he a wolf? It t akes one to know one
It was indeed  almost the worst of times when Mary remembered she had no food in the house except cat food for Emile.He was all she had now as  her daughter Lyra lived in Australia and Stan was in heaven, she hoped.
Here I am, she thought, pondering unanswerable questions and not looking after myself .It is probably  best to err on the side of buying food and going out rather than lying in the bed wondering  if life has any inherent  meaning. or  if we must create our own.
Even discussing that with someone else would be better.But men folk don’t want to discuss serious topics with their lovers.
It was an even worse time when she recalled a man who once  loved  her leaving her because she asked him if he knew what post-modernism was one night after going to the cinema to see a comedy.She realised then that she would have to play a part,To act like a woman.So far it was but moderately successful owing to her myopic view of life
If only I had kept quiet, she told herself,I could be  lying beside  him now enjoying a few kisses and hugs and asking him how to light  the electric fire.Still ,there’s many a slip twixt cup and lip
Now then, said a  loud voice.Stop   ruminating and get  up. One stitch in time saves nine.
Who are you to say that to me, she called nervously ?
She wondered of stress  had driven her round the bend.She had begun reading a book which said mental illness in not an illness like flu.
It is a reaction to bad events and  other life strains.
It doesn’t matter who I am,just do as I say, came the answer
Mary recognised the voice.It was her dad who had died when she was 9.
Dad, she called, why are you here now?
Because Jesus told us to  love our family, he revealed pleasantly.
Why now after all these years? she persisted.
I have missed you.
I always did have a bad sense of direction,he told her.But do as I say.You won’t recover easily if you never get up.Stan is here but he is busy cleaning the gold cutlery for an angel.
Alright, but I never knew there was cutlery up there, she murmured as she put on her  new clothes.She had bought some purple trousers and two new jumpers.One was pink and one  was teal.The trousers were exceptionally comfortable  being  in a last years’ sale  by a famous label..She  then found some Weetabix in  the cupboard and some long life milk.As she drank her tea she admired the acer’s brilliant red leaves.
Almost too bright, she thought.It’s  due  to the hot September.Plants are affected by their environment and so are we.Especially by bad or hot tempered men and women
Poor people may have  more than in the  past but they tend to live in the ugliest areas of the town with no gardens nor parks.
And seeing the better off walk by wearing expensive clothes it is surprising there are not even more muggings.
She recalled seeing  a man with a Rolex watch and gold earrings on  talking on his new iPhone as he wandered through the Mall.I suppose we think everybody else is like us; we don’t mix with  very poor or very rich people on the whole.Unless we are one of those two types.
Mary went outside and found a neighbour wheeling in her bins.
Thanks ,Tom, she cried.I wondered who it was.I am very grateful.What is post modernism,by the way?Nobody will tell me.
Emile was watching from the window sill.
I knew it was Tom, he mewed.
But you didn’t tell me,Mary replied.
You didn’t ask.
Tom wandered off ,while Mary admired the autumn trees lining the road.Tom turned  back and looked at her but she didn’t notice.
Time for coffee, she muttered and went inside again.She was embroidering a  table mat which said “Rumination is for the birds”.Where it had come from was a puzzle.But it may be a good thought

And so say all of us

Blythburgh thoughts

Blythburgh, Holy Trinity Church - History, Travel, and accommodation  information

Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey
Not much contrast from the soft silk sky
No birds nor any brightness, light won’t play

The ones who act so manic are not gay
If there is no truth, there are no lies
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey

On our backs on Sutton Bank we lay
My acts outcry, my grief I shall defy
No birds nor any life. the light won’t play

Who is born a hunter.who the prey?
The lion has lost the unicorn nearby
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey

I think of brexit, oh the blush,shame
The spirits flatten;rise up,do not die
No birds nor any life, the light won’t play

I wonder what the loss is or the gain
I wish we were in Suffolk by the Bly
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey
No birds, no life ,I’m languid, would you stay?

Oh,mother

Oh,mother dear wherever have you been
To leave a cat all day is very mean
Emile,I need my freedom now and then
I can’t love Dave but I would like a man
I must go out to buy a handsome coat
Cognac is the colour I love most

Emile cried, whatever do you think
I saw some frogs a-courting in the sink
I was on the draining rack up there
They asked me to avert my amber stare


Are frogs faithful, don’t they just leave spawn?
They are cold towards tadpoles unborn
We saw them by Moss Bank in shallow pools
Mary wonders if all frogs are cruel


Stan came in with his angels right behind
They are tired of heaven, they’ve resigned
Here’s a pin upon which they can dance
Mary was delighted and entranced


Do you need a dinner now you’ve died?
I wouldn’t mind a steak, the old man sighed
Some buttered new potatoes and a fool
Rhubarb or vanilla would be cool


I have done no shopping, Mary cried
I have no money for the food you like
Shall I get a pizza, fish and chips
That will put some colour in your lips


I am only joking, Stanley said
I shall merely visit you in bed
Emile wept with joy to see his Dad
What a spirit, is he going mad?


In came Annie in her long green coat
Her eyes were black and scratched was her throat
I fell into the Croal when eating chips
See the bruises on my purple lips


Never walk on water,Mary screeched
Even when you cross all Southport Beach
Stay away from danger,I’ll ring Dave
He will dress your bruises with his gauze

Annie did not tell them all the truth
She had fallen off the sloping roof


The personality of trees

Trees lean over,watchful as we meet
The tall ones do not shiver in the breeze
Trees listen to the torment in our speech


We have rowan and cherry in our street
But mine died like my lover with great ease
Trees lean over listening as we meet

The tree won’t bend too close, it will not reach
As panic,worry, horror,nightmares squeeze
Trees listen to the music in our squeaks

Alas, no tree has mastered human speech
But when they can, they coax the honey bees
Trees lean over sweetly as we meet

The leaves will rustle,wrestle and may tease
Smile for selfies,what’s the word, it’s cheese
Trees lean over, wonder, and conceive
Yet trees hate noone, nor do they believe

As the red sun dies

The glare of yellow street lamps on the snow
The thick green hedge where cats curled up to die
The ice and frost above, the worms below.

The tarmaced road,the sidewalks, seem to glow
No pleasure comes from neon lights so high
Oh, stare of yellow street lamps on the snow

As the red sun dies, our blood won’t flow
Take an aspirin, calm’s a good ally
The ice and frost above, the soul below

Bare my feet and numb are all my toes
My socks are holed.I’m darned if I know why
Oh, glare of yellow street lamps on the snow

My nails are thick like monsters’ fearsome claws
Podiatry is hard to get,I’ve tried
The ice and frost above, the souls sleep slow

The world is puzzled, minds are all awry
There’s nothing in a shop but rot to buy
The glare of yellow street lights on the snow
The ice and frost above, the dead below.


The Iron Fist

I missed the flowering of the maple tree
Where red leaves swell like baby’s growing fists
i fear to struggle there, what shall I see,
Just the doves and sparrows flying free?
Missed the flowering of the maple tree
But watched less subtle human comedy
Saw politicians flounder, saw ships list
Missed the burning of some red leaved tree
I wonder when they’ll break the baby’s wrists
?

Water from our hills

We climbed a stile oh what a reservoir
Water from our hills served other towns
If you’re listening, theres no editor
We climbed a stile, surprised the reservoir
We don’t have our pure water anymore
We may have perfect kitchens but we frown
We loved the stile, we saw the reservoir
Water from our hills stole by yon’ towns

There we kissed, uniting Real and Dream

The sands at Old Hunstanton pale like cream
The sea was lapping gently  on our feet
There we walked and felt our love, a dream

Facing North ,we saw the sun’s June beams
Then it crossed the sky, its death to meet
The sands at Old Hunstanton pale like cream

The yellow gorse   is scented, spikes are green
Brilliant flowers in gardens,ordered,neat
There we walked and felt our love, a dream

In  this place our souls soon feel redeemed
With  herbs, with flowers, with perfume pungent, sweet
The sands at Old Hunstanton pale like cream

If there were a heaven, it would be near
The images, the sea, the sky,oh, sweet
There we walked and felt our love, a dream

We see the surface, not what’s underneath
We feel the breeze, the spirit’s  holy breath
The sands at Old Hunstanton pale like cream
There we kissed, uniting Real and Dream

 

I’m not frightened of you anymore

I’ m not frightened of you anymore
I’ll tell you that I hope I did  my best
God, you made the world that we destroy

You want us to  make meaning, learn the laws
Life  for many is  a fearsome task
Yet I’ m not frightened of you anymore

Why  has Beirut  suffered, what’s death for?
The people wander, by  great wounds   undressed
God, you made the world,who can restore?

Thousands injured ,millions more distraught
Will we give them aid and make it fast?
I’ m not frightened of God anymore

As we age, our hearts and souls must mourn
Living as the present hurries past
God, you made the world,will  tears restore?

In the  startling Universe so  vast
The Play  is here and we must be the Cast
I’ m not frightened of you anymore
God, you made a world so full of tears

 

 

 

 

Fiery air

Autumn time in Essex  where we drove
When farmers burned the stubble of the corn
The earth itself was  fiery  like young love
The smokey air rose like a  cloud  new born

The Kentish  landlocked   cliffs  are  wide and steep
The farmers grow  their grain on land beneath
And there too we  have seen the holy fire
The flames  and smoke arrest me with desire

The earth and soil, the  harvest  we find there
Give me joy  both full of wheat or bare
Why did burning stubble   make me glow?
These images affect the heart’s deep core

Now  fires are banned., they damage our pure air
And I   did not like the murder of the hare

Heart and art

Limestone’s softness lets its cracks appear
Wildflowers,daisies,foxgloves love to grow
While little rivers  to the South Tyne veer

Alston on the hill  to me is dear
The main street in the winter’s under snow
Limestone’s softness lets its cracks appear

Granite hard as marble seems to jeer
Limestone  lets the seeds and grass stay,
While little rivers  to the South Tyne veer

The savage Pennines can cause panic fear
Their shadow in the sun, a fearsome layer
Limestone’s softness lets its cracks appear

Do we shift our vision far and near?
The panorama  of the Lakes is fair
The little rivers  to the South Tyne veer

Limestone,like a  woman, let’s love grow
Thus it is creative ,heart and Art
Limestone’s softness lets  broad cracks appear
Thus  streams, well  filled with seeds, are made home there