Category: reflections

You never enjoy the world aright, till the sea itself floweth in your veins,

The paragraph below  was written by the mystic Thomas Traherne.You  can see more here and also you can look in Wikipedia if you want some history.He wrote many poems which you can access through site like Poem Hunter

I love the idea of the sea flowing in our veins.Isle of man

You never enjoy the world aright, till the Sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars: and perceive yourself to be the sole heir of the whole world, and more than so, because men are in it who are every one sole heirs as well as you. Till you can sing and rejoice and delight in
God, as misers do in gold, and Kings in sceptres, you never enjoy the world.

Till your spirit filleth the whole world, and the stars are your jewels; till you are as familiar with the ways of God in all Ages as with your walk and table: till you are intimately acquainted with that shady nothing out of which the world was made: till you love men so as to desire their happiness, with a thirst equal to the zeal of your own: till you delight in God for being good to all: you never
enjoy the world.”
― Thomas Traherne

The last time

A dark barn,last roses on the side,stems

made a pattern like golden wire.

Homemade cakes and jam…

Bags of red potatoes,

Shining onions,each large enough to make a tart

Garlic and apples..

A smiling woman..

Pay in cash…

Then through a low door

Into the cafe

Views over the fields to the high Ridgeway

where cars are silhouetted against the sky

like ants on fallen tree trunk.

Now we drink coffee and chat…

So good to get out after a month of colds….

Snatch each chance of light and sun.

In the car, we do a circuit

High then down the long hill

Back to the familiar town

seen in a new light.

Gazing out I see some sparrows

What a little life,but so precious

Accidentally strayed

She accidentally strayed
into his terrortery;
He panicked and felt his heart
beating louder
as if trying to burst its way out.
His face turned whiter;
she backed away
knowing intuitively,
it was for the best;
for terror knows no bounds.
And no boundaries create
Terror.

Daddy

In the deepest depth of soul
When I am left alone,
An image rises up,
A picture carved in stone.
I see the red brick house,
Its windows like two eyes.
The door is left ajar
Nearby a white cat lies.
I see the children play
Their marbles stand in line.
I see their fathers come
But I never see mine.
What evil did I do
To drive him into night?
I am too small to ask,
And do not have the right.
Oh,will he come again,
Like Jesus will they say?
I want to see him now
And never to go away.
I stand always aside,
And watch and look and learn.
I cannot be a part,
Much as my sad heart yearns.
Oh,I long to have him back.
I long to see his face.
No-one else can ever fill
This painful empty spac

Thank you for just being you.

 

Thank you for your  words and letters

Thank you for the joy you give.

Thank you for your laughs and humor.

Thank you the gift of love

Thank you for imagination.

Thank you for your unique view.

Thank you for your craft and labour

Thank you for just being you.

 

Thank you,thank you thank you,thank .

These are words that we all say.

Thank you,thank you,thank you thank.

May love and joy be yours this day

Trust the unknown force that grew you

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 Photo  by Mike Flemming.Copyright

“All shall be well,and all manner of things shall be well”
St Julian of Norwich

 

Trust the unknown force that grew you,
From the joining of two cells.
Act of love, of self giving,
Thus to grow a newer self.

 

Trust the dark,the unseen aspects
Of the life we all do live.
Trust that there is wisdom elsewhere,
To your emptiness to give.

 

Wait in patience for the time
When inspiration comes at last
Trust in darkness,silence,lowness.
Opposition forms the cross.

 

Pain is bearable in lowness,
Like the worm in earth I dwell.
When I look I see the sunrise

And I trust all shall be well.

Is a paradox in flower

Dissenters are crucial at times,

As  changelessness often becalms.

Are we indifferent  today

As  with tablets we play

Mimesis is good for it rhymes.

 

But like ants to their genetics submit,

We often let  the weak take the hit.

A dissident in power

Is a  paradox in flower.

Meanwhile, the thoughtful brows knit.

 

Conformity is silently despised

But we do it so why the surprise?

Change must come slowly

To  both the high and the lowly

Confusion may bring our demise.

 

Dissidents in the Soviet   domains

Were  courageous  as they wrote  from their chains.

The poetry pain pellucid,

None could confuse it.

Indifference is what ever remains.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blind now are my hours

I feel soft ghostly hands around my throat

That want to pull me to the  darkest deep

My husband cannot leave or be remote

He wishes me to join him in his sleep.

 

I shall resist for I desire to live

Though  blind now are my hours without his face.

I have no more I hope to give

Since he withdrew from me his  kind embrace.

 

As lonely as a swan without its mate.

As tired as swallows after they migrate

I must accept my unconsoled fate

I'll  not  accept this be a constant state.

 

From my loss I shall recover when

The birds return and summer comes again

 

Hoover over the lines tomorrow

 

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I was always out of the lurch of normality,if you grasp my scheming.I had a hare brain  and no mind to speak to except  that of my doll with no head.
it fell off,unlike mine,that’s china for you.Potheads are a bad idea in general.
Please read under each line today and then  hover tomorrow.
To take the path of least consistency is hard for mathematicians
but post-Godel it’s just one more hurdle to  lean over
Play as you go where,sweetheart?
His lips paid me such service,no-one since has matched his adroitness,
yet he never knew my real name was Sylvia.
I was just one of a number of girl he loved in rotation;we were almost a constellation
and definitely a consolation to each other,united by our  hatred of the one we loved.It’s what we call  manbivalence.I never saw him naked as he wore his underserpents in bed and even in the daytime too.My therapist said I was stupid and it’s a relief after all these years of being too clever.Anyway they don’t reach one to understand one’s  textuality unless  one is  French.Lacan,Foucault, I dunno… why do they make it sound umpossible?

 

The future is fiction

Exhilarate is derived from the tongue

Of the Romans to whom Latin belonged.

What a sad notion

That most are not taught it

It helps English acquisition along

 

However, the highest value today

Is whether  a subject will pay.

Toddlers learn  coding,

As computers are loading.

And learn not  at all from their play.

 

Yet  play is vital for   satisfaction

To the sensuous world we    interact in

And  tots learn how to talk

Without much  conscious thought.

So we can learn if the  future is fiction.

 

 

 

My immune system’s distracted

I am afflicted by a malady  once more

So, with   King Alfred, I lounge on the floor.

My immune system’s distracted;

My kidneys uncorrected

I never heard such complaining before .

 

Alfred has gone home for his tea

But no-one is here to feed me

My appetite is gone

And empty my pan

How can  such misfortune be?

 

Bereavement is  a  truly great trauma

One might say, it’s a personal tsunami

i  could commit suttee

and burn  my own bootie.

But my religion says it  don’t allow me

 

Yet who wants me  at this stage ,do you think?

I ponder whilst opening the Quink.

Alfred’s my lone lover

Men never bother

.A tear fills my eye and I blink.

 

Shall I  merchandise    myself in   Soulmates?

Will  men flinch when  they come to my gate

As I hobble to the door

Saying,Wittgenstein,more?

Is the  Tractatus , as a  poem ,out of date?

 

i can just see the Guardian blind dates

Pairing me with a man called by fate

To rate me out of ten,

After stealing my pen

And posting my photo on “Late”

 

Or for political correctness a female

Denim dungarees are   on  sale

I’ll look lovely in those

from my hammer to my toes.

I just hope the  Great Judge gives me bail.

 

 

Perhaps I can become a third sex

A phallus grafted onto my vest.

So I will suit either/ or

Who may love and adore

My eyes which appear singularly  blesssed

 

Now I have to confess being re-covered

Would suit me quite well as ‘i have suffered

Pain from my skin

Exceptionally thin

I wonder  if one can also be re-mothered?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

t

 

 

 

 

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We need more than words

photo0228Photo0911 Photo0904

 

Before we learned to talk we communicated with our mothers and later the family by gestures,cries and body movements.In fact inside the womb we swam like fish .Then we begin to babble as if we learn the music of our tongue before we learn the individual words.Eventually we get caught in the web of words and assume without thinking that everything important can be expressed this way.However when we are with people we still rely alot on body language and the tones and musicality of the voice itself.A ugly man with a beautiful voice can become very attractive to women.for example.

But later we may come to realise many aspects of life cannot be expressed easily in words.As humans evolved they developed different kinds of language.Poetry and science describe aspects of the world and of the people speaking these languages.One cannotbe reduced to the other..Music is also  a  form which does not use words though in opera it is combined with them.

One , might almost say that with printing and later mass literacy we moved from an oral,bodily centred ,sensuous language to a more abstract less personal way of communication.

However, there are many forms of writing and much more can be expressed this way than most of us know… but when we come to the edge of the world of language .. we realise that the sacred,the ineffable,the holy may be beyond the powers of even the best poets.Yet they can point us there,Music and art may give a more vivid enchantment which we recognise but of which we find it hard to speak.

Words are a net to catch the world but the smallest fish  may drop straight through.

Despite these problems most of us can convey much more by words than we might think.

 

Chirography

Merriam WPhoto0422ebster
Word of the Day : January 13, 2016

chirography

play

noun kye-RAH-gruh-fee
PrevNext

Definition

1 : handwriting, penmanship

2 : calligraphy

Examples

“This envelope had the air of an official record of some period long past, when clerks engrossed their stiff and formal chirography on more substantial materials than at present.” — Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter, 1850

“The stone bore confusing etchings: Arabic numerals coupled with Roman; the letter ‘H’ in ancient Spanish chirography; a puzzling mass of ovoid figures, circles and rectangles; and the weblike drawing that gave it its name.” — Evan Moore, The Houston Chronicle, 6 May 2001

Photo1423

Did You Know?

Though some might argue that handwriting is a dying art in the age of electronic communication, this fancy word for it persists. The root graph means “writing” and appears in many common English words such as autograph and graphite. The lesser-known root chir, or chiro-, comes from a Greek word meaning “hand” and occurs in words such as chiromancy(“the art of palm reading”) and enchiridion (“a handbook or manual”), as well as chiropractic.Chirography first appeared in English in the 17th century and probably derived fromchirograph, a now rare word referring to any of various legal documents. Chirography should not be confused with choreography, which refers to the composition and arrangement of dances.

The everlasting music of the heart

How beautiful it was when the sun shone
And I walked with you,my dear husband, through the gardens.
How happy I was to sit with you by the lake,
to hear the water from the fountain splash.
It’s our our favourite music now we cannot visit the sea
To hear the tide rush in,then fall sucking on the shingley beach.
But I see it in my minds eye.
Aldeburgh,the fishing boats go out at sunrise.
I awoke early  one  morning ,saw the sun across the sea
and the boats setting out in the soft light.
Dunwich,the heath filled with birds
the cliff and the beach where sometimes one can find marble
from one of the many churches washed away by the encroaching sea.
then Southwold,the marsh so quiet I heard crickets.
We went across the Blyth in the rowing boat
And saw the place from which our picture of Walberswick was painted…
If only life could be captured,slowed, for a few minutes
for us to receive the beauty and hear the sound of the sea
The everlasting music of the heart

Egregious

10205564-ARGENTINA-CIRCA-1959-stamp-printed-by-Argentina-shows-Pope-Pius-XII-circa-1959-Stock-Photo

egregious
[ih-gree-juh s, -jee-uh s]

Examples Word Origin
adjective
1.
extraordinary in some bad way; glaring; flagrant:
an egregious mistake; an egregious liar.
Synonyms: gross, outrageous, notorious, shocking.
Antonyms: tolerable, moderate, minor, unnoticeable.
2.
Archaic. distinguished or eminent.
Origin of egregious Expand
Latin
1525-15351525-35; < Latin ēgregius preeminent, equivalent to ē- e-1+ greg-, stem of grēx flock + -ius adj. suffix; see -ous
Related forms
egregiously, adverb
egregiousness, noun
nonegregious, adjective
nonegregiously, adverb
nonegregiousness, noun

Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2016.
Cite This Source
Examples from the Web for egregious Expand
Contemporary Examples
But the most egregious windfall was the $400 million gain racked up by Third Point Capital.

How Washington Gifts the 1 Percent
David Stockman
April 1, 2013
The bad-boy tennis star, now 60, lets us know that most of the stories of his egregious behavior are true.

Jimmy Connors Memoir Shows He Wasn’t Misunderstood, He Was Just a Jerk
James Zug
May 13, 2013
On Meet the Press, the bank’s CEO admitted his company’s “ egregious ” mistake and expressed his desire to clear up any wrongdoing.

Gay Marriage, JP Morgan Chase, Barney Frank, and More Sunday Talk (VIDEO)
The Daily Beast Video
May 12, 2012
Regardless, she’s phenomenal, and it’s egregious not to give her the Best Actress trophy, let alone not to even nominate her.

The Enraging Emmy Nominations: 20 Snubs and Surprises
Kevin Fallon
July 9, 2014
After von Schirach glossed over his egregious past, Frost asked him if there was anything that he regretted.

‘A Fiery Tribune’
Clive Irving
August 31, 2013
Historical Examples
“You say she once made advances to you,” I said, with a horrid suspicion at my heart that I had been an egregious fool.

Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine – Volume 55, No. 343, May 1844
Various
He felt happier now that he had pricked the egregious fellow’s vanity.

Changing Winds
St. John G. Ervine
Lax as Harry is, one hesitates to saddle him with such an egregious contradiction.

Sir William Wallace
A. F. Murison
But he in his egregious vanity must of cours e misunderstand.

The Historical Nights Entertainment, Second Series
Rafael Sabatini
When Wade wrote of the great dead he was egregious, but in conversation he was familiar and fond.

Tales Of Men And Ghosts
Edith Wharton

British Dictionary definitions for egregious Expand
egregious
/ɪˈɡriːdʒəs; -dʒɪəs/
adjective
1.
outstandingly bad; flagrant: an egregious lie
2.
(archaic) distinguished; eminent
Derived Forms
egregiously, adverb
egregiousness, noun
Word Origin
C16: from Latin ēgregius outstanding (literally: standing out from the herd), from ē- out + grex flock, herd
Collins English Dictionary – Complete & Unabridged 2012 Digital Edition
© William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd. 1979, 1986 © HarperCollins
Publishers 1998, 2000, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2012
Cite This Source
Word Origin and History for egregious Expand
adj.
1530s, “distinguished, eminent, excellent,” from Latin egregius “distinguished, excellent, extraordinary,” from the phrase ex grege “rising above the flock,” from ex “out of” (see ex- ) + grege, ablative of grex “herd, flock” (see gregarious ).

Disapproving sense, now predominant, arose late 16c., originally ironic and is not in the Latin word, which etymologically means simply “exceptional.” Related: Egregiously ; egregiousness.

A winter day describe

Grey, damp, dark, a winter day describe,

Though sunshine comes  with  white and wintry frost.

While on my paper curving shapes inscribe

The alphabet I learned at childhood’s cost

Humankind can’t bear too much of night

Hallucinations,dreams, symbols confused.

We like the sunny sky where birds take flight.

In warmth soft air, our tension are defused.

Accepting night is one of our sad tasks

Light and dark needs balance in this world

In the light of sun. our sorrow’s masked

We feel false ecstasy as colors swirl.

God created light and darkness first

Their divided unity is blessed

Punctuated, unconditional space of privation

“I’m not  surfing

on the tide of  realistic. frustration

exactly,so much as idealising

what one has.

To be able to bear satisfaction,

in order for grieving  to help ,  is unmistakable,

how the culture we can’t  see,

consumer capitalism ,depends

on the idea that toleration

every time we feel a bit hesitant

or scoured or inimitable, is  an omen

we beat, say, or we bop.

It’s only in  the punctuated

unconditional space of privation

that we can begin to  follow thoughts

.to really imagine or conjure with these.

It’s very difficult to allow

what we’re frustrated by  to remain alive

In making the case for  preventative thinking

I want to make it fascinating

so that people converse

or think  in different places

and extend their boundaries

so our thoughts can flock and even migrate.

 

Oh,joyful eye

How beautiful the feeling of the air

Upon my skin as I walk beneath dark trees.

Sunlight   shares their pattern while all’s  bare.

Oh,joyful   eye to see  such shapes as these.

 

Under the old cherry I look  at

The little branches  geometric form

My hand  extends as if I want to pat;

To share  my joyfulness  and feelings  warm.

 

I glance to see the time upon this watch

A gift from one who whom   time has torn away.

A tear drops to my cheek and my   heart knocks;

For I must buy my Xmas  stamps  today.

 

Yet though I miss the bus  again, I’ve had

The wit to pause to see this vision glad.

 

The cost

My velleity is not enough to call desire.

It summons up no demons with its power.

Yet  denying it would make me a true liar.

I have a wish which  fills  my surprised hour.

 

If    tremulous velleity should fall away

My life would be  a sentence to be served.

I cannot judge if I have gone astray.

Did I go straight  and miss  some hidden gentle curve?

 

At any instant, we may make a choice

Which sets us on a track we did not see.

Or daydreaming,  ignore dear psyche’s voice;

And with will power, demand how life should be.

 

Attention must be paid ,or lost

Is our vocation and we pay full cost

 

But you ain’t trickin’ me.

He was always very adamant

He could not change his mind

So I soaked his head in old red wine

Because I am so kind.

 

When he woke up he looked the same

But he spoke so tenderly:

You may  have tricked some other guys.

But you ain’t trickin’ me.

 

I said I knew  no other men;

He was  my heart’s desire.

He threw his water glass at me

And said I was a liar.

 

So then I realised with dread,

My love was utter folly.

I gave him 20 English pounds

To buy himself a lolly.

 

Adamantine’s good for jewels

But not for picking men.

I shall learn my lesson now.

Pray I’ll never sin again.

 

 

The hand upon my tiller

Come back to me,my sweetheart

Don’t leave me all alone.

Come back to me,my darling

I can’t believe  you’ve gone.

I’m  crying  ‘cos I’m feeling blue again.

I’m  crying’cos I’m falling like a stone.

 

Oh, let me tempt you with my beauty

And my voice forever young.

Let me tempt you with my spirit

My laughter and my songs.

I’m crying ‘cos I never did you wrong.

I’m crying ‘cos with you I do belong.

 

I thought maybe I’d follow,

To see where you have gone

But there’s a  hand upon this tiller

That is not mine alone.

I’m crying ‘cos I wrote this old blue song.

I’m crying ‘cos we’ve been apart too long.

 

The hand upon my tiller

The mystery of the dark

The unknown one who lives in me

And sings like a skylark.

I’m singing ‘cos I wrote you a new song.

I’m singing ‘cos  with music we belong.

Mysterious force

My bus queue admirer died.

He was 90 and was lonely inside.

From Cyprus they’d fled

Without even a bed.

Now he’s been swept out on the tide.

 

The sea is a symbol of life.

Though unruly, it does have its tides.

Its regular rhythm

Soothes the  ache in my bosom.

And on its back I long to ride.

 

The unknown has mysterious force

And speaks to us in its own voice.

If we attended

Our ills might be mended.

As it  often indicates our real choice.

 

 

 

 

God in the bush

Menorah is not a girls’ name.

Come here ,Norah, is not quite the same.

Let me light up your candle

And let the cat fondle..

My cheek, as it never feels shame

 

Candelebrah sounds extremely posh.

The vision makes  all  our cheeks flush.

The lights in the darkness

Throw out their sparks at us.

Creation ‘s a  fiery,red bush.

 

Consent,consequence etc

I keep getting mixed up with my words

To be  consequential to my lover  is absurd

He’s  very inconstant

Makes the most of each instant

And treats me to a meal on the 3rd.

 

I don’t feel like eating any more.

My stomach has closed its little door.

Consequently I am thinner

So this  is a winner.

Take penicillin and hog the dance floor.

 

The trouble is,it gives me diarrhea.

So I hope the toilet is near.

Toilet is common,

But never mind that plumbing.

I have developed a terrible fear.

 

I think  the top folk say “loo”

But first they say,How do you do?

Don’t tell them the truth.

Nor offer any proof.

Don’t even give them a clue.

 

My late lover said,In the pink.

When he was asked that,I think.

Even as he died

His eyes opened wide.

He smiled broadly and give me a wink.

 

 

 

You seem he’d forgotten I was his spouse.

As I kept always knitting my brows.

He desired  to   be close

So was unfaithful,almost.

But  he loved me  even before he could browse.

 

 

Pi or Pie.Mary ponders..

Dotty cats 2

Mary was getting dressed on a wet October morning.The cycling  shorts she had never worn alone  made a warm extra layer under her green cotton trousers.On top she wore a red tunic and also  some green plastic earrings.

She saw Annie who had just rung the  door bell

My goodness,Mary,you look different.Where on earth did you get those earrings? she said enviously

I made them, myself out of the  littlrr tops of those plastic milk containers from the supermarket.

I say,you’re not that poor are you?Anne asked her  kindly

It’s not what is real,it’s how you feel,Mary replied poetically as she sometimes enjoyed a bit of fun and teasing  a friend gently.

Cats on the hillNo,said Annie it’s It’s not what you feel,it’s what is real.

And how do we know what is real?Mary asked her with deep curiosity her eyes glowing in a deep shade of teal blue.

Well,I know you had a reasonably  good job so you must have more than just  your state pension.You may be giving more than a tithe to Charity.Is that wise?

No,Mary cried,but I want to…I like to do it.

Oh,dear,Annie said.By the way you will need a coat,it’s much colder.I hope you’ve not given all your coats to Oxfam like Stan once did with his shoes.

Thanks,Mary smiled with her voice.I still have twenty two  coats of all colours,A bit like Joseph in the Bible.

At the bus stop Mary met  Tom who lived round the corner in a semi detached villa with a an extension,conservatory  and downstairs shower room.He had fallen over again and bruised his face but still looked quite  handsome with his dark hair and Irish eyes.

Maybe you need to pick up your feet more,Mary whispered to him .What a strange expression that is,.I wonder who invented it.It’s amazing how wise our ancestors were.They invented writing and cooking and philosophy.We are going backwards.

Thus Mary passed her day,talking to friends and musing on the meaning of words and sentences. and making  herself jewellery from mundane objects she noticed on her walks.Not to mention cleaning the loo and  putting all her old Xmas cards into bags for recycling.

Since from the natural numbers 1,2,3,4,…… we can get to  the strange transcendental  numbers pi and e and the fact that there are different orders of infinity  does that prove God exists,she asked Tom  plaintively.Well,not prove,but suggest.

I don’t know what you are on about,honey,he responded.Nobody ever saw pi in a burning bush although I have seen pies burn in a halogen oven more than twice

That is a totally different order of reality,she  told him sweetly.

Wow,Mary, many men don’t like  extremely clever women you know.

Which men are those ? she asked wonderingly, as her peaches and cream complexion glowed with health.

I suppose  I don’t mind myself,he said,.it’s  possibly  because men need to feel superior otherwise they lose their confidence. and then they are in big troubleBut what about women’s confidence Tom reflected further.

Maybe women don’t need  confidence  so desperately much,Mary sighed.They looked at each other and smiled.The sun came out and the trees were glowing in red and gold as the bus came down the hill  looking like some  chariot from a myth as the sun hit the windows at an obtuse angle.

My coloured cats show

What to wear: unillustrated

By a strange chance  or error I found myself on the Telegraph website fashion page.They were recommending some expensive sandals.I shall tell you how to make them yourself.

1.Take a  pair of old shoes with leather soles and separate the upper and the sole.

2.Glue a piece of string 3 inches long. to the centre back of the heel.

3,You need 2  rolls of elastoplast ,one an inch wide and one 3 inches wide

4.Put your foot on the sole and pull the string up the back of your heel.Fasten it to your leg by using a piece of the wide elastoplast.

5.Fasten the front part of the sole to your foot using narrow elastoplast.

You now have  a sandal almost identical to the one being offered as suitable for this summer for the woman who needs the latest fashion.

My advice is once you have made 2 of these and stuck them to your feet that you can leave them there until the elastoplast wears out.Do not take them off in bed or in the shower.That might mean you can’t wash your feet but it’s nearly autumn now so the rain might keep you clean.On the other hand it might loosen the elastoplast and you’d be left with two soles and no heart.Then what would you do?

And they call us liberated!

What makes a poem a poem?

When I was writing this,I could feel myself as a bird  up in the sky looking down at the earth,the hills and the lakes.And I still feel that now.However in my opinion it is not a real poem unless other people also feel something of that when they read it.I find it’s so easy to think you have written something good because you feel  so good  during or after the writing.But that does not mean it is good,objectively.I might feel good mixing up eggs, flour,sugar and butter but if I don’t know how to bake it will  probably not become a cake however good the making feels.I know it’s not exactly the same but I hope you can grasp the point.I suppose it might be true of love as well…Feelings alone are insufficient.

Here is a useful website

http://www.dailywritingtips.com/telling-a-good-poem-from-a-bad-one/

THE LARK

Freed from her trap
Bird soared into air,and hovered
And floated, resting;
And flew higher, singing as she flew,
And higher again,
Till there was only her song,
Left in the silence,
Trembling.
Up on the wide,stump topped hill,
I felt the lark inside my heart
And heard her singing.
And flying up with her,
I saw gold sun and silver moon,
Moors of heather ,and sheep grazing
Green hills,
And shimmering lakes,
Clouds ,sun and sky in watery mirrors.
And sang ,and dipped,and dropped,
And curled
Up the blue
Bright heaven, and rested
On the wind.
All that day
I was a lark singing.
I shall always have a vision of
A bird
That flew upwards,
Rejoicing and free
Into a deep blue sky, and high
And higher
Beyond high
Into a place, beyond eye even,
But music still sending.
I wish I were back on that heathery moor,
With the nibbling sheep and the bees sweetly humming,
Hearing again
The poignant song
Of the skylark,
A prisoner,freed by a magician,
From her trap,
So happy to be free,
So wonderful to see.
Do it again,
For me,

The Always and Never Life of Sylvia Plath

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http://www.theatlantic.com/sexes/archive/2013/02/the-always-and-never-life-of-sylvia-plath/272707/

http://www.psychological-observations.com/key-concepts/ambivalence

I suppose she loved him for always

until he unpeeled his banana for another woman

Then she never loved him at all.

Perhaps fifty shades of beige might have been better

but then again

Some folk will always

prefer the high wire.

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/

We can control our reactions if we decide to do BEFORE an event.

  • Young_Woman_Sewing_1870
    Thomas Couture painting

    I have discovered I can control my reactions to something irritating or bothersome but only if I decide to do so before I begin.t’s not a tight holding on to tension but a refusal to become tense/ or a way of avoviding becoming tense.
    The easiest illustration is that owing to my vision I can’t thread a needle.But I am unwilling to give up mending my clothes,sewing on buttons etc.I
    I got some so called Easy Threading Needles.They have a little opening at the top through which you pull the thread into the eye of the needle.But it’s harder than it sounds.When I pull on the thread sometimes instead of going into the eye the thread snaps.So I begin again.It usually takes me about 15 minutes but I always stay calm.I find it a tiny bit annoying when I am doing what I did last week.

    I was wearing a skirt which is very full.I like it because it has 2 pockets which is very ,unusual nowadays.I realised the hem was coming down.But not how much!
    When I took it off I found the entire hem has become undone.I began to hem it and as it is so full the circumference was large.I guess it took me 2 hours because I had to keep rethreading the needle…I felt peaceful.
    Now I have some darning to do but it’s a smaller job.I find sewing by hand soothing.I know I have more sewing but I can’t remember what it is now!No doubt I shall go into town and then realise I have something undone…
    When I was walking down the road one day I realised my coat was inside out!!It’s fun like this and my other odd habits like singing  songs in the street unknowingly that keeps me going.Normal,bah!
    I am hoping to extend my refusal to let annoyance or distress get to me to a wider sphere than just threading needles.