All heart

The slanted beauty of the winter light
On people walking by , their shadows long
The day of beauty and the deep, dark night

The gift of gladness and of our  own sight
Be your weakness, then you  might be strong
The slanted beauty of the winter light

Do not let your mouth with sarcasm bite
Pause before you act or write or fling
On days of beauty and their still, dark nights

Free like colour runs  when wet  yet bright 
Translucence of  love’s  eye can make one sing
Of slanted beauty  in  the winter light

 This  is just one day, and yet  Good might
Be here and now, eternal in our songs
On days of beauty and their too dark nights

The one we love must speak in their own tongue
Truth  will stand and with it we belong
Oh slanted beauty and your winter light
You make the day  all heart, bring long sweet nights

 

 

 

Without  our love  we give  but our own weeds

How do we know what topic will intrigue,
That draws the mind away from mundane tasks
 What will be fertile like a bursting seed?

What kind of  poetry do folk want to read ?
Must it tell or do  they have to ask?
How do we know what subjects will intrigue?

Emotions  run like water,with no heed
Floods of feeling  overwhelm defence;
Destroy  the berries and the bursting seeds

Strength is  torment, Stalingrad besieged
Rare will we find love without  these risks
We  already know what sense intrigues

The walls break down, the colder water  leads
Who foresaw the Flood and   its dark past?
This drives all away  both raw and seed

The  hand of God, the might, the holy fist
Kneel  before the  the humble,give them rest
We must know while   learning might intrigue
Without  our love  we give  but our own weeds

Is the loss a sadness or defect?

The first line that we write  may hold some clues
Whether in the words  or their effect
That form a background to  the writer’s  views

The soft effect of adjectives imbues
The sentences  and words  with their affect
The first line that we write  may hold some clues

Lacking feeling,  what is it we lose? 
Is  the  loss a sadness or defect
That forms a background to  the writer’s  views

Can we show emotion if we choose
Or  have we got no space where we reflect?
The first line that we write  may hold some clues

A loving friend  shares  warmth with their virtues
Silence may be best  to  hold,react
Form and shape give passage to our views

We may fear the bold and their attacks
As their vibrant voices air attack
The first line that we write  may hide the clues
That form an understanding  of our views

 

 

 

 

Sitting in the bathroom,I’ve been stuck in here all night

Sitting in the bathroom,I’ve been stuck in here all night
Something alien’s in my gut, it seems there  is a fight
I wish I were asleep in bed, warm and bathed in dreams
My mind is underfunctioning, a dodo  or a scream

In the bed the sheet  has moved.someone else is here
I’ll share my bed with anyone  but they must not come near
Negotiations all the time, the enemy, the fear
We hate best all those we love, for they stole  mother dear

Up again I feel my way without the bedside light
I don’t want the beetles   running ,fearing human sight
I didn’t know I ate so much, but now I shall be drained
Sitting here, I feel annoyed by all these ugly pains

Would I were a babe again,wrapped in mother’s arms
Smelling her  dear,dear perfume. as her comfort makes me warm

By our own ignoring we’re deranged

Our sado-masochistic people jump for joy
Taken in by ads and lies and rage
Soon enough we’ll find we are mere  toys

Johnson knows the tricks in his employ
While from each other, subjects are estranged
Our sado-masochistic people jump for joy

We think we want  the best but are destroyed
By our own ignoring we’re deranged
Soon enough we’ll find we are just toys

Too late now  for a message to convey
We chose helplessness and angst  to have their reign
Oh, sado-masochistic people jump for joy

We will be numbered  like the European Jews .
Our rulers  kept them out, oh moral stain
Soon enough we’ll find we ‘re numbered toys

Once we had  our heads to hold our brains
Now our minds are trapped like that of Cain
Sado-masochistic people jump for joy
Yet by  ignorant  suffering  we’re destroyed

 

 

Christ came down  as weak as candle light

In a stable with no heat or light
Who will celebrate the birth of God
When we each deny our rage and spite

Psychosis swallows up  the dark of night
The star that shepherds saw  has filled with blood
Above a stable with no heat or light

We live with fear, we  know who has the might
Can our  minds contain both  bad and good
When we each deny our rage and spite?

We fail to know how others suffer fright
That they are persons  too , not understood
 Christ came down  as weak as candle light

We are each a world, there is no fate 
I see the tears  run down the face of God
When we each  engage our rage and  spite

Shall we  lose in darkness  or in  flood?
Asked a  man   bereft of  his  true love
In a stable with no heat or light
Love is born, is  frozen, is denied

 

 

Watched by men who  look  without a face

Boris Johnson  thrown out by his wife
Now he has a different tole in life
He has a  girlfriend will he have more kids?
Lucian Freud was  surely up for this
They say he might have had perhaps  thirty   two
With all that sperm what is a man to do?
He could take Precautions as they say
I  prefer icecream  but let’s go  stray
Lucian Freud  was not a man to  rule
They say he once burned down his own Art School
He married once, he married twice but no
He would not be captured  in Soho
Beautiful and strange he made his mark
Boris Johnson   has a  nuclear heart
Winter will come down upon us all
Europe we are sad, almost appalled
Sadness for the surgeon who cured me
The cancer  grew  like rampant lush ivy
He is Greek and no-one else was skilled
To leave me looking   better  than God willed
Will he  go back   to where  his grandad  came?
Say a little prayer for my dear face
I don’t want  to suffer but  all will
We’ll die sooner,  sadly Boris kills
The NHS is  going slowly  to its grave
Watched by men who  look  without a face

 

We may miss the  very clues we need

Emotional claustrophobia is widespread
We fear   our feelings,fear the sudden dread
We swing between attraction and dismay
Others have been seen to sink to prayer

Yet all alone at Xmas we are sad
Even   our other choice was dread
People who  can madden with crude noise
Feel some  one else might love their voice

Silence is  like music in  its  joy
No intrusion, no strong  words to annoy
But if we flee intrusion   at great speed
We may miss the  very clues we need

Oh, to find a lover  joyful in our space
When we long  for  touch, for wild embrace.

This frail membrane  is our boundary

My room is warm and comforting and light
This feels  like kindness , brings my skin delight
I remember  being held in loving arms
And soothed by songs  as sweet as any balms

Let the lamplight run across  the eyes
Let them soften to a wider gaze
Let the hair  be free from wax and sprays
Let the skin enclose us, be our way

We can’t deny the skin is often pricked
Or beaten by a parent who’s too strict
More fragile than a leaf from any tree
This frail membrane  is our boundary

Floating into sleep in  reverie
I lose myself  while God imagines me

Well as it’s free we do not have to pay

I went to vote, the queue ran down the street
Strange to see the British change their ways
None were holding phones  nor were there bleeps

Eager faces, animation sweet
Well as it’s free we do not have to pay
I went to vote, the queue ran down the street

The staff were  kind, the voters  were no sheep
They did not need a shepherd  for this Play
None were holding phones  nor were there bleeps

The politicians   crippled by conceit
Put fake websites on the net  today
I went to vote, the queue ran up the street

I alas am  old  but I still sweat
The stupidity of   gossip  is  made clear
No-one made a video   of my seat

I  did not queue, a cripple  may   shed tears
All I  have is  sight loss and  burnt ears
I went to vote, the queue  stood   with no light
Smiling, patient people black and white

I shan’t be alone

In my coffin I will have no phone
At last I shall be free  like  new born babe
But how will people hear my mobile groans?

Who shall write  my story on a  stone?
I can’t ring Emergency  for aid
In my coffin I will have no phone

I must have a linen sheet untorn
Be reminded I’ve already paid
How will people hear my mobile groans?

Out we go, as in we, came alone
Will someone sing for me ,   oh humming bird
In my coffin I will need no phone

We will  die as we have lived, atoned
I hope  a human person hears my words
Help  us all,dear God, to forestall groans

Free  from medications  .free of  nerves
 Straight to Heaven  atop our loved ones prayers
In my coffin I   shan’t  be alone
I want to go with all my garden gnomes

 

 

 

When after death I lie deep in the earth

O happy worm that of  my flesh might eat
When after death I lie in deep in the earth
My bosom,hands and eyes  become your meat

You have no sun as you enjoy your feast
And none is  chosen as we were at birth
O happy worm that of  my flesh might eat

All of us are equal in defeat
None are high or low , what are we worth?
My brain,my hands,my eyes  become worms’ meat

In the soil, we rest  in comfort sweet
Let us all be blessed,God  make no curse
You made the happy worms who   will  us  eat

O  remember the deep  ash from Auschwitz’ heat
The little children killed without Kaddish
Those  hearts ,those hands, those eyes   no worm   could eat

,
Why should we  be satisfied by wish

When  people burn or starve  beside our dish
O Godly worm that of  my flesh might eat
Let my very self  become your meat

There’s always cake

white and blue floral table lamp
Photo by fotografierende on Pexels.com

What a great thing Food Banks are.You can meet people like yourself and if there are enough tins of  baked beans you can ask someone round for tea.I expect if there’s no bread there will be cake

 I hope there will be some PG tips tea.I hate foreign food even tea. and   want real tea made in England and well brewed

Gosh even if you are rolling in money you can still trawl Charity Shops  in Hampstead  for cheap designer wear.The poor don’t need designer clothes.I mean, they don’t even know what they are, do they?And they are hardened to the cold.Why in my mother’s era they had no shoes and when you think about it. why does the government not ban shoes for people on benefits?

I  think it’s wonderful of the people in Vietnam to make a hundred T shirts a day for 10 pence
I mean, it is a job  all is said and done.I once worked as waitress and it  is such fun during the vacation from Oxford.We are only there 24  weeks a  year so I need to be occupied but only with my consent.My mother is descended from King Charles 2nd! He had lots of mistresses, such a naughty boy.Bring back the mistress but don’t marry her

We have no  reverie,  we have no time

Belshazzar saw the writing on the wall
The words predicted death  and so it came
The mightiest king is not  preserved from falls

Is there  wisdom  in the deep that calls
True scholarship  is hard , to name unnamed
Belshazzar saw the writing on the wall

 

Even  blatant  evil, none appals
We have no  reverie,  we have no time
The mightiest king ‘s no  safer    with his gold

 

Counted,weighed,divided, aren’t we all?
The words in Aramaic  were  no  rhyme
Belshazzar saw the grave  there on  his wall

Once old ladies smiled  knit  infants shawls
They had joy  though death  came wandering by
The King  of Babylon  deserved his fall

Being alive seems  near to a  great crime
God may die yet love burns its small flame
Belshazzar learned the writing on the wall
The  humbler people are,  the  less the  fall

 

 

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The cyclamen, the lily and the earth

The cyclamen, the lily and the earth
The potted plants ,green leaves , distil the air
The lily is for peace. the rose for worth

Let no human live in pain or cursed
Let the golden light enwrap  them here
The cyclamen, the lily and the earth

The waxy flowers of cyclamen bring mirth
Bring  gratitude in winter when all’s bare
The lily is for peace. the rose for worth

I feel my hands are reaching for a brush
The watercolour paints    bring their allure
The cyclamen, the lily and the earth

Then I see a flower trod on  and crushed
It seems to bleed like Jesus,tears my eye.
The lily is for peace. the rose for worth

Nature has its truth and so do I
Many times I weep, bewail and cry
The cyclamen, the lily and the earth
The lily is for peace. the rose for birth

Love me, love me, someone hold me tight

You were angry ,I was much too bright
You taught me to play chess,  then felt regret
The man must be the one who knows the rites

I didn’t know you minded my insight
When I won the game,  you were upset
You were angry; I was   madly bright

I think you loved my  body in the night
You loved my  golden hair both dry and wet
The man must be the one who knows the rites

At least you did not scratch nor did you bite
I weep for  I  just found   that old chess set
You were  dying but I managed all the rites

Love me, love me, someone hold me tight
I’m crying  for his touch,  my face is wet
The man might be the one   who must depart

I  shall live my future in your debt
You gave me all you had with no regret
You were angry, for an hour,  then  you were calm
As Gd came down and wrapped you  in his arms

 

We’re not supposed to say

You know the widow’s sad and can mourn and grieve all day
But the anger and the hatred,she’s not supposed to say
She can cry  upon the duvet, she can scream under the stairs
But the rage and  irritation are  not to be declared
She can order man size tissues in boxes multiplied
But the venomous ,vindictive  imply that love had died
She can  be  dissociated, she can be without affect
But if  she says how well  she hated him, everybody’s vexed
Who can live so closely for forty and five years
Without needing a  dressmaker to sew up all the tears?
Who can  be accepting when money and time’s scarce
There’s a war inside the heart of us,   everybody knows
Scratched and bitten daily,   struck by falling stars
Who  knows what we’re feeling . what is out too far?

Does it matter what the numbers where?

 For 1600 days I woke alone
Does it matter what the numbers where?
25 x 64  unknown

For 1600 nights I sleeping moaned
Does sorrow  have to make us feel too bare?
For 1600 days I woke alone

1600  dreams , you   cracked my bones
Does  there have to be  a number bar?
25 x 64  unknown

 For 1600 , 2  to power stole
Does   crime like that  show how you broke my heart?
For 1600 days I woke alone

For 1600, 5 is squared and  bold
Does that   throw us off the apple cart?
25 x 64 , a poem

Why  does the mind  too lone become a liar ?
Who will stoke its everlasting pyre?
For 1600 days I woke alone
32 x 50  what’s this game?

200 days times 8……my mind now claims
For forty days  did Jesus learn Love’s  game
400 days times 4,   is that  your claim?
100 days times sixteen, naught remains

You have to laugh or else you’ll cry

 

 

Autumn 2013 008

My image  of my own garden

 

 

Since my husband died I have been afflicted with recurrent UTI’s.
This year  has been the worst I have only one  entire month  when I was well.
Unfortunately   they affect the brain  and hence the mind.I have had scans but it seems my immune system is not strong.I wondered if it was the steroid injections as steroids do affect things like white blood cells etc

Anyway, today I have something humorous to tell you.~
I  have  had antibiotics then they doctor asked me to take a sample to send to  the pathology lab

I took it yesterday.When I gave it  to the receptionist she said in a  rather unkind tone
Why have you brought this?

I wonder why?
I might have said, it’s your morning  coffee replacement
Your plants need watering.
It seemed a good idea at the time
It’s so pale I wonder if I have anaemia.
I was bored and wanted to see you.
Mind your own business
However I just said the doctor told me to
Are they trying to economise even on lab tests?
The government has told doctors to delay the referring for cataract surgery
As my mother used to say:You have to laugh or else you’d cry

To risk perception is a fear we share

The pools of water on the pavement gleam
Reflect  the colours  of the   shops and cars
Giving us a feeling all’s serene

As I walk I wander and daydream
I sit on an  old wall,  the moss like hair
The pools of water on the pavement gleam

I invent a   sentence and a theme
Will I forget before I have gone far
Taking back the feeling all’s serene?

I notice how the old wall seems to lean
To risk perception is a fear  we share
The pools of water on the pavement gleam

I feel the moss ,I love the colour scheme
I love the texture with my  hand  unbared
Giving me a feeling all’s serene

Each lovely brick is different  yet is fair
Evoking in my mind  the sacred  word
The pools of water on the pavement gleam
A light rain falls and  this world feels serene

 

A little death  to let the earth revive

A stillness falls across the garden trees
A little death  to let the earth revive
Stand silent here  and feel the gentle breeze

Yet some icy hands will sting like bees
To test our spirit, show we are alive
As stillness falls across the garden trees

Later in mid winter trees half freeze
Frost will hang like silver chains devised
Stand silent here  and feel the sharper breeze

As the year is ending  don’t retrieve
The bad ideas, the feelings  cruel  archived
As stillness falls across red maple trees

The sun so low  it blinds  us to our needs
We waste our time of peace with pointed jibes
Stand silent here  and feel the colder breeze

Winter rituals enrich starving lives
So cruel the cold,   yet frost with beauty chides
A stillness falls across the garden trees
Stand silent  fall and winter ,feel the breeze

 

 

What we women wear

beach bikini braided hair carefree
Photo by Vaibhav Kashyap on Pexels.com

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

You may like your wife or partner to look like this but do you know what it feels like?[Though once or twice these wires have deflected bullets] never knew what underwires looked like until I accidentally bought a nice looking bra online.When I felt the wires I decided to remove them.I am really shocked to see how tough and strong these wires are.I imagine unless you were very thin [and would not need much of a bra] the wires would really cut into your flesh at the sides where it runs up the cup edge.The wires are so strong I am sure one could make a weapon from them.I showed one to a friend and he was horrified.But looking round Marks and Spencer that great British shop [!] most bras are underwired.
I can’t see how,if you have large breasts that these wires would hold them up.They’d just dig in and then the breast would hang over the edge.
With all the fear of breast cancer,why do we submit to the diktat that we must make our breasts stand up or out?
If we are that bothered then wearing a long waistcoat over a top or blouse would hide our bulging figures.
So either I return to modelling birds from wire [ I have done before] or else it’s the garbage can for these nightmare objects.I wonder who invented them?

When the underwire breaks through the bra fabric, it can cause tremendous discomfort. Celebrity chef, television personality, and businesswoman Clarissa Dickson Wright only wears a bra on special occasions. At her 50th birthday party, she was dancing when she suddenly felt a “terrifying pain in my chest.” She initially thought she was having a heart attack. “The pain got more and more intense. I staggered off and discovered I’d broken my underwired bra.”

The mind’s intentions, its mutating schemes

The entrance  opens to world of dreams
Impossible to   find out by our will
The mind’s intentions and its hidden schemes

Enlightened by  the    feel of  fey sunbeams
Knowing it is  stronger to sit still
The entrance  opens to the  deck of dreams

The eye grows wider. our vision   limpid leans
Until our  reverie has   got its fill 
The mind’s intentions and its wandering schemes

Warnings come in nightmares, how to heed?
The pain grows stronger like a workman’s drill
The pathway   leads to far more fearsome dreams

Are we  puppets strangling on our leads?
Who ‘s the master, who  must pay the bill,
Receive the mind’s intentions and its schemes?

High and low  let interact  and  tell
How we shall find our way  and what   to kill
The entrance  opens to world of dreams
The mind’s intentions, its mutating schemes

Paper knives

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Art by Katherine

If women’s eggs can be frozen,  can’t hens?
If paper can cut  the skin why not have paper knives ?
What about paper tissues?

Why is reading a book better than reading on a phone?
Why are   some pens called fountain?
Why are hedge-hogs unsuitable for a full English breakfast?
Why does France still have wild boars when we only have Royal bores?
Why  can’t I build a  new house in my neighbours large garden and make a drive for my car through their side entrance?
Why do some people  talk like robots?
Why do people feel life has no meaning ?
What could be a meaning for life?
Why do people read in bed?
Who forbade sex  outside Harwich ?
Why can I perceive  but not conceive?
Is it better to be deceived than to deceive?
Why did I forget to put  my hat on a stand?
Why is it called an overcoat?
Do we  really need Carmel’s underwear in winter?
I am pleased  but not guilty  of the Charge of the Light Discard
Do you like Monet’s   collars?
Why did Picasso bowl me over?
Why did Lincoln Cathedral  turn my legs to jelly?
Can God prove we exist?
Does that explain the 20th Century?
Ahomoist or Avirist?
Pick and mix your flaws
Why can MP’s steal  without  being charged?
Is the Government flat? Buy new batteries from Europe and speed Brexit
And it came to pass
And his name was called by e.manual.org
Do not harass a worm just because it can’t bite you
What is a rhyme a cousin?
QED
Please queue  Elsie dear
Quarrels ended dinner
Quebec  entered  directly
I don’t know about a Common Market but we have a common country
Leaving the EU maybe masochistic even when legal
Goodness Brie
Lord love a duck

I’d like to die with flowers in a field 1

I’d like to die while  lying in   sweet fields
Surrender to the sun and poppy seeds
Dissolve  myself and to the hot sun yield

For we are nature and we nature feel
In dandelions,  in daisies, stunned by weeds
I’d like to die while  lying in a field

What is life if mystic love’s not real?
There is much more than action and its deeds
Let us  melt as to the sun  we yield

Take this piece and let our love be sealed
For binding love and honour  is a need
I’d like to die with  flowers in a field

Let us keep in  rhythm and not congeal
Who shall   make  life dance and  who shall lead?
Let us  melt and to the hot sun yield

Is our purpose  done and shall it breed?
Let no-one  cling to love and  die of greed
I’d like to die while  lying in a field
Dissolve  to mist and to the hot sun yield

 

 

We cannot read unless we can descend

Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves
That come and go on beaches , wet the  sand
The sea is always moving  as is love

The unconscious is a language dark engraved
We cannot read unless we can descend
To rhythms as natural  as   the  rippling waves

Rich and strange   so different from above
What we find is  not what we intend
The sea is always moving  as is love

What’s   in authentic nature  that should save
As colours interact, by brush  to  blend?
Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves

Yet ,in a poem, what  part of us  can bathe
The mind , the heart, the soul, the writing hand
The sea is always moving  as is love

The  golden seas, the oceans can command
The ships that sail, the   whale, the hidden ends
Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves
The inner sea is  moving , tender love

 

 

 

The candlelight of winter brings its glow

The candlelight of winter brings its glow
More joyful than the summer sun up high
When days are dense with dark,  dim paths with snow

How good it is to reach the heart of home
To  heat the oven for a lover’s pie
The candlelight of winter brings its glow

In summer time  in heather we lay  down
I did not know which kiss was yours or mine
Our days were deep with  hearts  alight with love

On Winter Hill there was no  sight  nor  sound
Except the bleats, the sheep. the lambs  new cry
The candlelight of winter brings its glow

We had a crib lit  blue with cardboard round
The figures knelt by Jesus, mystic signs
The days were dense with dark., the paths with snow

The happy years of infancy benign
When mother smiled, when father  was alive
The candlelight of winter brings its glow
When days are dense with dark ,a the paths with snow

 

Did you think purple would suit you?

I’m sorry I can’t let you in.My cat is in the washing machine but don’t tell anyone

Gosh,it  must be hard to choose glasses   when your nose is so small.Such a pity  you are myopic and your complexion  is  a sin and a shame

Did you think purple would suit you?

Khaki is hard to wear.You are very brave.Why not wear a very big pink scarf over your face/Try a Muslim shop.Or  the market

Sorry, I can’t pick the phone up.My  feet are aching

Do you wear pests in winter? A nice fox is flattering to a pale face/

We are having a new dish tonight.
Pickled hearts on a bed of mashed kale with pork dumplings.Oh,I forget you are Jewish; you are not that intelligent.
I’d invite you again but my husband is very anti-semitic.
He was born that way so his mother says.Ironically her mother was Jewish.It’s a strange world.
How did you feel in Auschwitz?
I don’t suppose they gave you the full English breakfast of egg,bacon and sausages.
Still, you have lost weight.You look like Kate Moss but older.Maybe I should  try it except they’ve knocked it down.Not to mention  the synagogues.Still we must keep smiling.We’re all 1% Jewish  but we like bacon.Will we ever be forgiven?

Is  that a love bite on your neck or is it permanent?

Is that coat real wool or is it woven by sheep?

Are tbose mittens or have your fingers fused together?

Such a pity about the buttons.They ruin the coat.Mind you mustard is not my favourite colour.Beggars can’t  be choosers,I guess.

Coats for winter
Wool   blend = 10% wool
Wool rich-         40% wool
Real Italian wool= 29% wool
A touch  of wool for comfort =1%
Very warm coat = 0% wool

 

Dying  and we cannot say what for

Doubt and rumination  lose the war
Tangle our emotions like barbed wire
Dying  and we cannot say what for

Too much thinking’ opens the wrong door
Sadism to our self ignites hell fire
Doubt and rumination  lose the war

Do not let your mind become a whore
Nor label   those who’re true as screaming liars
Dying  and we cannot say what for

Tightly wound,  we   frighten and we bore
Stop before the situation’s dire
Doubt and rumination  lose the war

Do not dip your hand into the gore
Hold it only in  eternal fire
Dying  and we cannot say what for

As we struggle  we will find some cheer
Another soul whom we find very dear
Doubt and rumination   make for war
Dying  and we cannot say what for

 

On google earth you look so far away

O
Like the street where I grew up and  fondly played
You are fading into mist and memory
On Google Earth it looks so far away

I’d like to go, but it’s too far for one day
And gone is my extended  family
From the street where I grew up and joyous played

The  Convent School was sold,not on E bay!
I hated   how they used to torment me
On Google Earth it looks so far away

Now a Mosque stands on the hill to point the way
We Christians lost our faith. God’s territory
Bare the street where we knelt down  at night  to pray

My life felt like enacting a mad play
I angered nuns  with violent modesty
On their Earth I felt so far away

The water soft made better tasting tea
The    rivers ran,the moors  grew bilberries
Oh,dear land where I grew up and  fondly played
On Google Earth you look  too far away

 

 

 

Whitman and Democracy

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/articles/151134/filthy-presidentiad-walt-whitman-in-the-aocracyge-of-trump?utm_source=Poetry+Foundation&utm_campaign=9043ea8aed-POFO-NOV-15&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_ff7136981c-9043ea8aed-185545637&mc_cid=9043ea8aed&mc_eid=548544474a

 

EXTRACT

Walt Whitman is two hundred years old in 2019—and the bicentennial of democracy’s bard falls in the shadow of a demagogic presidency.

John Marsh, in his book In Walt We Trust: How a Queer Socialist Poet Can Save America from Itself, has this to say about the poet and democracy:

For Whitman, democracy is a way of being; in particular, it is a way of being with others … it has much more to do with how you approach your fellow men and women. Do you respect them? Do you acknowledge their dignity? Do you identify your interests with theirs? In short, do you love them?

Whitman expressed his vision of democracy as “a way of being with others” in #24 of “Song of Myself”:

Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son,
Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding,
No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from
     them,
No more modest than immodest.
Unscrew the locks from the doors!
Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!
Whoever degrades another degrades me,
And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
In Spanish:
Walt Whitman, un cosmos, el hijo de Manhattan,
Turbulento, carnal, sensual, comedor, bebedor y procreador,
Ni sentimental, ni erguido por encima de los hombres y mujeres,
Ni alejado de ellos, ni modesto ni inmodesto.
¡Arrancad los cerrojos de las puertas!
¡Arrancad las puertas mismas de sus quicios!
Quien degrada a otro me degrada a mí,
Y todo lo que se dice o se hace vuelve al fin a mí.
A través de mi ser la inspiración divina se agita y se agita,
A través de mi ser el corriente y el índice.
Pronuncio la palabra pristina, hago el signo de la democracia.
¡Por Dios! Yo no aceptaré sino aquello cuyo duplicado acepten todo

     en las mismas condiciones.