Category: reflections

Deep in the ground the worms  drowse mixed with flowers

A day with my own self, such peaceful hours
The inner seas make music as they roll
And in the ground the worms air roots of flowers

The rain comes down in cold but gentle showers
Desiring  to  give moisture to all souls
A symbol of  the value of quiet hours

In Northern hills we looked for  Durham owls
They hunt by day to keep their bodies whole
While in the ground the worms air roots of flowers

My loved one was a native of those towers
Highcliff Nab and Hasty Bank  called home
My days with him a-wandering there for hours

As he died , deep in my heart I howled
I held his hands, remembered , paid the toll
While in the ground the worms digest  the sour

Lying in the heather  we had roamed 
May God  have mercy on his  homing soul
Now I enjoy   in reverie our hours
Deep in the ground the worms  drowse mixed with flowers

 

 

 

An artist’s canvas stretched, a matricide

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

 

A single rose

The fewer our possessions are, the better.

If you have no bread you need no butter.

Turn away from Envy Use your will.

If there is no illness there’s no pill

Comparisons are painful to the weak

If you and they persist the outlook’s bleak.

Be grateful you can see and feel and taste

The wonders of perception go to waste.

When we lose a sense we realise

Nothing can replace our ears and eyes.

Adding more possessions makes more work.

In the maze of choice do not get stuck

In the empty space perception grows

Lots of weeds or just a single rose

Bill,Bill,my mother’s dad

Bill.Bill.my mother’s dad
Down the coal mine he did dig
When he was but a young lad

He was never very big
He spoke in the old dialect
He had a dog, a pipe, no cig

Silent,smiling, starving wrecked
He sent kids to a soup kitchen
Learned to read, but knew few facts

Went to London,saw Big Ben
Still angry from the General Strike
Aye,he were a silent man

He walked at night, he had no bike
To the coal mine with his cat
The cat sat waiting till first light

Then they walked, he did head maths
His wife had died, the son was born
When he got home, he had a bath

His father worked in fields of corn
Peasants on the Chesire farms
The pay was poor, were up at dawn

He himself were on good terms
With his neighbours, Irish, torn
He went to Mass,so Latin learned

My mum was th’eldest of those born
She had me,my own dad died
She went mad, she was forlorn

Lost her mother, then she tried
To help her Dad with all her heart
Never wept and never cried

Then she made a different start
Met my dad and married late
So I am here with my own charts

Is it destiny or fate
Why am I down here, d’you ken?
I see you grandad, is it late?



Surrender to the otherness of all

Tact and subtle actions create life
Assertive force destroys another’s soul
To the High and Holy One, we’re wife.

The way we go seems but a throw of dice
Yet destiny will beckon, though we crawl
Tact and subtle actions make a life

Into every heart, there comes the knife.
Surrender to the otherness of all
To the High and Holy One be wife.

In his shadow, we look down, we cry.
We listen to that voice, so still, so small
Tact and subtle actions shape good lives.

As a mother births her child, she sighs
All lives and coming suffering must appal.
To the High and Holy One, we’re wife.

Here we seem like prisoners on bail
May we live with love in this, our world
Tact and subtle actions create life
Surrender humbly, love God and his wiles.

The walking frame and the smile

I saw you struggling with your walking frame
Guessed that you must suffer too much pain
I smiled because you caught my sidewards glance
Then  your face too by  smiling was enhanced

So  often older people are ignored
Lost and lonely hidden at the core
Once this man  fought in a  major war
I hope by some fine friend he was  restored

I saw him disappearing  down the  road
His posture more erect,  his back less bowed
And in my heart I felt the smiling too
 Enchanted by the essence , by the cue.

I got on a bus,  ignored my phone,
Smiling   still I  pushed the door key home

I am the earth

It’s frosty and I found my knit wool skirt
It’s purple heather Northern, long and warm
I remember falling down some steps
Stone,they were ,you took me in your arms


With you standing staring on the edge
Oh, Cleveland Hills that make a cliff like fall
We drove the A 19 at deep sunset
The profile of the hills stood out,they called

They ,like Langdale, speak myself to me
My soul awakes with joy to cliffs of sight
Rejoice, oh psalmist, sing your rhapsody
From deep darkness to the morning light

I am the earth, my body will lie here
From Arnside’s Viaduct to Buttermere

The walking frame and the smile

I saw you struggling with your walking frame
Guessed that you must suffer too much pain
I smiled because you caught my sidewards glance
Then  your face too by  smiling was enhanced

So  often older people are ignored
Lost and lonely hidden at the core
Once this man  fought in a  major war
I hope by some fine friend he was  restored

I saw him disappearing  down the  road
His posture more erect,  his back less bowed
And in my heart I felt the smiling too
 Enchanted by the essence , by the cue.

I got on a bus,  ignored my phone,
Smiling   still I  pushed the door key home

Surrender to the otherness of all

Tact and subtle actions  create life
Assertive force destroys  another’s soul
To the High and  Holy One, we’re wife.

The way we go seems but a throw of dice
Yet destiny will beckon, though we crawl
Tact and subtle actions make a  life

Into every heart, there comes the knife.
Surrender to the otherness of all
To the High and  Holy One be wife.

In his shadow, we look down, we cry.
We listen to that voice, so  still, so small
Tact and subtle actions shape good lives.

As a mother births her child, she sighs
All lives and coming suffering must appal.
To the High and  Holy One, we’re wife.

Here we seem like prisoners on bail
May we live with love in this, our world
Tact and subtle actions  create life
Surrender humble to God and his wiles.

 

 

 

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

And on the world shall I bestow my wrath?

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When true love’s gone and doom hangs over head
When life runs like a river to the sea
Then shall I take new lovers to my bed.
And with their carnal touch consoled be?

When my love lies and breaks my little heart
. When life seems grey and rocks bestrew my path
. Then, shall I my life of evil start
And on the world shall I bestow my wrath?

When true loves lie and wreck all loyalty.
When puzzlement makes all the world seem mad.
Then I shall upend causality
And let myself do deeds which make me glad.

For I have love’s own child inside my soul
And I shall tend her till at last she’s whole

Sunlight at Easter

The Easter sun came through the rich stained glass

A little child illuminated  passed.

The shining floor below the roof above

The glowing light a symbol of deep love

At this moment normal time had gone

Absorbed into the mysteries of the sun.

Then the child ran off, a cloud came by

Eternity has passed with just a sigh

Sunlight at Easter

The Easter sun came through the rich stained glass

A little child illuminated  passed.

The shining floor below the roof above

The glowing light a symbol of deep love

At this moment normal time had gone

Absorbed into the mysteries of the sun.

Then the child ran off, a cloud came by

Eternity has passed with just a sigh

From a poem by Francis Thomson

T

Where is the land of Luthany,
Where is the tract of Elenore?
I am bound therefore.

‘Pierce thy heart to find the key

When to the new eyes of thee
All things by immortal power,
Near or far,
Hiddenly
To each other linked are,
That thou canst not stir a flower
Without troubling of a star;
When thy song is shield and mirror
To the fair snake curled pain,
Where thou dar’st affront her terror
That on her thou may’st attain
Persean Conquest; seek no more,
O seek no more!
Pass the gates of Luthany,
Tread the region Elenore!

Francis Thompson

XXXTags: connection, death, flower, hope, knowledge, learning, life, light, loss, quest, sight, star, 

Struggling on life’s craggy slopes

 

Living life in all its fierceness,
Birth and death and joy and pain
We struggle on our unknown journey,
Sometimes lost and found again.

We are indeed like lambs to slaughter
Death will be our final goal.
But while we live,let us live bravely.
Let us not destroy our souls.

Climbing in the hills and moorlands
In the heather, children play.
The sun half blinds me with its light
Yet still I see the given way.

I received a call to climb.
These hills are my essential home.
My vocation is to dwell here
While in the silence,mind may roam.

Noise in cities is destructive.
Though nature's fierce,it's also true.
Struggling on life's craggy slopes
I offer up my words to you.

Trust begets perception

tWeeds or flowersI have become interested in virtue and perception.It began when I read  a littleAristotle about virtue being a habit.That was quite recent.Before that for many years I believed virtuous acts would follow from being able to perceive well.But when we are fraught our minds and eyes tighten up and so we perceive only what may be a danger to us.To perceive others well we need to be in a position to trust others and we need to feel secure.How is this possible?From my studies I read that our ability to trust begins with a trusted caregiver in infancy,[See” atttachment and loss “by John Bowlby reference to come] We may be able to become more secure later by good fortune,friendship and love.If not,I seem to get the idea that if we are insecure and nervous we cannot truly perceive others and they may be in the same position.If we are very afraid then virtuous acts may be hard to accomplish. The reason is obvious… when. we are concerned with  mere survival as a person , in that state what we do to others  may be impossible for us to consider.We cannot truly see them and so we cannot act well towards them except by good luck.Or if we are able to tolerate great anxiety,we may see better…. if not we are incapable…. Those whom we cannot see properly we cannot truly consider with feeling  and act on this feeling.We see them partly or mainly in terms of the fearful fantasies in our minds and cannot see them as  other and interesting.When we make a friend online we may feel safer but in fact we are more likely to misperceive them. When we are from a sad a or difficut background it may help greatly if we have some friends who might point out our errors if we trust enough to tell them.Or we may pretend to be hard and tough.Neither leads to virtue.If we trust God it may help but I believe we see God through the lens of our parents.. which is not good…depending on the parents. When we live in fear,we cannot see what is there before us.We cannot let go.We cannot accept grace and love nor give it.We will try to live by will power.Ironically people who are fearful inside can develop a shell of toughness and pride and so are not seen as vulnerable  and/or lovable.Tbey may seem frightening to others. This account may help to explain why politics is the way it is and also  we see that arguing is not persuasive when the other is not able to open up and see things more broadly.Arguing makes us tighten up and see less well.And it can be frightening too though some cultures find it more acceptable than others.

Here are some relevant blogs and articles

This author had a lot to say about perception…http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/obituary-marion-milner-1163951.html   http://susannanelson.wordpress.com/2014/03/02/happy-go-lucky/

http://glimpsejournal.wordpress.com/2014/05/11/the-real-bees-knees-stunning-micro-view-of-the-workers-behind-your-mothers-day-flowers/

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

 

 

The pillars of the Western Mind have cracked

The end of values, kindness, earned respect
The loss of wisdom,history and truth
The pillars of democracy are cracked.

The centre of the heart,who can protect?
Conspiracy and madness unseat proof
An end of values, kindness, earned respect

Violence is admired though lives are wrecked
The lasting triumph of the folk uncouth
The pillars of the Western Mind have cracked

Their minds unfurnished seem bereft of tact
They tread on others words like horses’ hooves
The end of values, kindness, earned respect

How can such opponents make a pact?
The calculating crucify our youth
The pillars of the Western Mind have cracked


Yet Western Empire builders had no ruth
They tortured those they conquered group by group
On such ground just madmen earn respect
The altars of the Western Mind have cracked

The river in flood

Cold from storming rain and full of mud

The river Lea in winter turns to flood

Across the Abbey Meadows rings the bell

Brings back the ghosts, bring back the holy spell

King Harald lost his crown and all his land

The Norman Vikings, men with bloody hands

Deep in the ground the worms  drowse mixed with flowers

A day with my own self, such peaceful hours
The inner seas make music as they roll
And in the ground the worms air roots of flowers

The rain comes down in cold but gentle showers
Desiring  to  give moisture to all souls
A symbol of  the value of quiet hours

In Northern hills we looked for  Durham owls
They hunt by day to keep their bodies whole
While in the ground the worms air roots of flowers

My loved one was a native of those towers
Highcliff Nab and Hasty Bank  called home
My days with him a-wandering there for hours

As he died , deep in my heart I howled
I held his hands, remembered , paid the toll
While in the ground the worms digest  the sour

Lying in the heather  we had roamed 
May God  have mercy on his  homing soul
Now I enjoy   in reverie our hours
Deep in the ground the worms  drowse mixed with flowers

 

 

 

Choose not death

The crushing grief when someone chooses death
When life had shown much promise and much hope
Turns the ones who loved to find new paths

Some may sin, encouraged by cruel wrath
Against the one who chose the wicked rope
The shock of grief at such too early death

Others freeze and cannot take a breath
Scarcely moving as their mind elopes
Making then impossible their path

The mountains of deep grief I could not pass
Until a warm gold light caressed my heart
The wounds of grief , the sacrifice, the Mass

Do not dwell in darkness and distress
Follow me he murmured while we start
I will help you find a different path

The golden light had brought for me a chart
The sea of life had ripples ,brilliant sparks
The suffering and the grief from such a death
Turned the one who loved onto this path.

Releasing secrets is a kind of rape

Now the high ups fight about some tapes
Princess Di spoke of her rage and grief
Releasing secrets is akin to rape

If we had no Brexit and some hope
The government would not be such a thief
Wasting time to fight about 1some tapes

What if there were tapes made by a Pope
Would it shatter all Christian belief?
Releasing secrets is a kind of rape

Why can’t we do work that brings us hope
Brings some peace and gives our hearts relief?
Instead, the high ups fight about some tapes

As individuals, we can seek for help
Or do creative acts that we believe
Releasing secrets is a kind of rape

The government’s the habitat of thieves
Into the the river Thames let them be heaved!
Now the Lords and Ladies hear Di’s tapes
Releasing secrets, does it seem like rape?

Releasing secrets is a kind of rape

Now the high ups fight  about some tapes
Princess Di spoke of her rage and grief
Releasing secrets is akin to rape

If we had no Brexit and some  hope
The government would not be such a thief
Wasting time to fight  about some tapes

What if there were tapes made by  a Pope
Would it shatter all Christian belief?
Releasing secrets is a kind of rape

Why can’t we do work that brings us hope
Brings some peace and gives our  hearts relief?
Instead, the high ups fight  about some tapes

As individuals, we can seek  for help
Or do creative acts that we believe
Releasing secrets is a kind of rape

The  government’s the habitat of thieves
Into the the river Thames let them be heaved!
Now the Lords and Ladies  hear  Di’s tapes
Releasing secrets, does it seem like rape?

 

 

 

The river in flood

Cold from storming rain and full of mud

The river Lea in winter turns to flood

Across the Abbey Meadows rings the bell

Brings back the ghosts, bring back the holy spell

King Harald lost his crown and all his land

The Norman Vikings, men with bloody hands

My sweet fate

The roses by your gate
Revealed my sweet fate:
That I would love you in summertime,
That my poetry would always rhyme,
That a dream of petals falling from above
Would drench us both with sunshine’s golden love;
That we would fall into deep grassy meadows
Full of daisies,lie on our backs.Swallows
Darting across the sky would see
Our shapes intertwined with bright buttercups.
Who knows when love will erupt
And carry us on its flowing waters
To places unreachable in summer saunters?
Into the eye of love itself

An artist’s canvas stretched, a matricide

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

 

The first step

Attracted by the window and the light
I walked towards it, those were my  first steps
The memory of an act  creates insight

Oh,mother I can leave you,I can fight
Now I move and noone can me stop
Desirous of the window and the light

Implicit in the action is the flight
Growing is not smooth, it is abrupt
The memory of an act  creates insight

Yet somewhere other, there is greater might
That one day caused me angst, that made me trip
Humbled by the window and the light

After every day, there comes a night
Abjection is the cup that each must sip
The repeating of an act  creates insight

Children are  not injured when they slip
When they rise, they quickly can forget
Attracted by the window and the sight
We all must stand and walk but  in curved lines

 

 

The blind man hiding

I saw the blind man hiding in the doorway of a shop

I went over to him quickly to find out what was up

The noisy drills were violent as men dug up the road.

Noise confused the Old man’s mind

He didn’t know where to go

Gently then I took his hand and we began to walk.

The workmen in their ragged clothes turned the drill right off

They stood in silence watching us,

While the sparrows laughed

After we had crossed the road he said he was ok.

I pressed his hand with my own hand. Then we went our ways

I’ve never seen this man again but I shall not forget

The special silence we walked in that holiday we met

Mary climbs a ladder

Mary was on a step ladder in the bathroom, spying on her husband Stan,through a hole in the wall.He had drilled this for spying on women sunbathing semi-nude in their private back gardens.
Here he was climbing over the fence with Emile ,their cat, on his shoulder.
I think it’s so ridiculous, she muttered .Surely Emile can jump over the fence by himself.
But Emile was very limp,she saw belatedly,
He can’t be dead,she whispered to herself fearfully.She jumped down off the  ladder and hit her head on a tap
Oh,my!That hurt…I’d better be careful. she murmured and she flew down stairs to Stan in the kitchen
Emile has got concussion, Stan said mournfully.

Is he  dead , perhaps,?she wondered anxiously.
No, he only fell off Annie’s roof.I am sure he’ll come to.
Good Lord.What made him go up there and more important,how did he do it?
You’d better ring 999,he informed her gently
If you say so ,my dear

Soon Dave,the bisexual transvestite paramedic ran in wearing a sundress and dark glasses with golden sandals from Hooters.
Poor Emile,what have you done?
He fell off Annie’s roof, but we have no theory as to how he got there,said Stan.
Well, there’s no need to think of that… we deal with reality.That’s my modus operandi!
He gave Emile the kiss of life.Emile came to…but was not pleased
Why did you waken me up? I was having a lovely dream of walking down a silver path where I saw a big cat with shining fur and tender eyes looking at me.He just began to miaow when some f**king idiot woke me up… was he God?
I can’t say,Emile,dear.But please do not swear.
I’ll do whatever I f**king well feel like,Emile said. nastily
Good heavens, what has happened.Has he been reading dirty books?
No, he was watching East Enders on TV… they all use the f word constantly.
Well,Emile.God will have to wait… he’ll be glad if you do some kind work here on earth.
Up yours,said Emile.I am sick of living here. I’ve been hoping for years Stan would mate with Annie but he has only managed a kiss.
Perhaps it was the kiss of life,said Mary hopefully
Well, in a sense,you might have hit the snail on the bed said Stan thoughtfully.I know any further mention of philosophy will drive me utterly and eternally mad!
Now,Dave said,shall I make you all some hot tea?
Thank you Stan responded.I am half crazed already.Tea may save my sanity.But for what?
Annie came in wearing her brick red trouser suit and a white sun hat. her face a dark shade of beige and her lips light mauve, with lipstick from Max Fracture’s new range.

Did you know Emile was in a hot air balloon,she said in tones of wonder.How has he got down so fast?
I f**king well fell out, the cat yawned proudly.Then I had a near death experience until this loon here brought me round.
Emile,I ’ve never heard you swear before! she whispered in a strange manner reminiscent of those silent films starring unnamed and forgotten beauties of long ago.
Do you like it,baby? Emile asked.
No I don’t. I’ve never said F*ck in all my life.
Well you have now,the cat informed her with a naughty smile.
I think he’s possessed by demons.We’ll have to have him exorcised.
But I like demons,Emile bawled .I’ve been good all my life and I am bored and depressed.
So you believe swearing will help more than therapy?
Emile got up and lit a cigarette nonchalantly with a certain ,je ne sais lah

Good grief,he’ll be having sex on the sofa next ,said Stan.
What a good idea,said Emile, but I want my own room and an en suite..I mean to impress the next girl friend I have.
Dave drank some tea and watched these old folk ponder.
I am wondering where we went wrong,said Mary.All these years we’ve educate you privately and even had you baptised.
Well.I am going to be a Jew,said Emile.
I don’t think a cat can be a Jew… and you never ever had any interest in the spiritual before,why this?
Well,when I was unconscious I realised that God exists….
But why be a Jew?
Well,they were the first to see God in a Burning Brush.
And the last too, I hope,thought Annie nervously.
Well,said Stan.You want to smoke,swear ,make love and possibly enjoy wine and song.Is that not enough?
Does God smoke and swear?
There was a long silence and Emile answered’
Well,Yes he does.
I’m off said Dave.I have to ring the Pope.
Why? asked Emile. I am not going be a Catholic….
Well,said Dave, he ought to know that God is a cat.

Now I am  old and I have realised

pteroceras-semiteretifolium

Once I  cared for people who were old
Who wet themselves and  felt the winter cold
I gave them baths and washed their backs  and fronts
Helped them to get dressed and  zip their pants

I made them pots of tea and gave them cake
I gave them dinner  on a china plate
I listened to their stories of the past
An unknown world of war and  terrors vast

And if they cried I’d wipe away their tears
Talk to them  till sorrow disappeared
I’d   do the washing up and  clean the knives
The women missed their being someone’s wife

Now I am  old and I  have realised
I really had no feel for what it’s like.

An artist’s canvas stretched, a matricide

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