The patient on  the couch   did squirm and writhe
Free association   caused her strain~
Therapy makes bodies lither
Erotic Oedipal  phantasies   take the  blame

He asked her  would she wear a looser dress
Yet this broke all the rules  of free congress
She bought a sack in green  which tried him  less
Hence she could carry on analysis.

His request   told her her body was too much
That eroticism is  more  powerful  than trust
She thought all Freud’s books were Double Dutch
Ar least she learned that wriggling provokes lust

So learn ,whate’er  your  social mores
Imitating worms is gormless

A misanthrope is not so hard to find
They live invisibly till they’re  set off.
Then their cold sarcasm  affects our  minds
What we say incurrs their bitter wrath

If we hate all  the humans that we know
Have poor opinions  of the world  without
Then  it’s likely we have suffered bitter blows
And so in childhood we began to doubt

When we  feel afraid and weak we’re pressed
We see the world    through narrow focused lens
Others seem to  have life without tests
So why should they need  us to make amends?

Unnoticed and well hidden attitudes
Are located in the mind and in our moods

The eye is not a  camera taking shots
Our mind affects  the aspect we  perceive
And what it feels important it allots
Gives grace or  hatred ,causes us to grieve.

When we  live in fear,we see the worst
We see disgrace or ruin as our fate
As if our self  for horror has great thirst
So all the little details we collate

Yet when we  love, we see before us joy
The flowers sing, the birds dance in  the air
We see no evil  nor with  hatred toy
All aspects of  our world appear more fair.

We see not what is there,we see our self
To learn ,we must employ our own mind’s wealth

Though once I  enjoyed company and talk,
I ‘ve become a hermit  as I age.
I value stillness,silence as I walk.
And news of politicians makes  me rage.

Familiar friends are welcome at my door
Cats  may sit upon my  generous  lap
Spiders may make webs from drapes to door.
Letters from the distant fill the gap.

I  hate to argue when  we have no facts
But shouts and yells are there  to  force my will
I even fear that some will  grab an axe
And with their violence render me quite still.

For force is now the medium of the day
Conversation dies  when  friendships fray.

Practise now the presence of the good.
For always good is there, though life is dark.
Acknowledging we live  here where we should
Our attitude enlivened by love’s spark

Behind bright pageants and the   idols  gold
Quiet and modest is eternal grace
And with patience let this good enfold
Ourselves and those  who dwell in this earth’s space.

Unnoticed by the rich and envious court
Like  a stream  love  flows  in channels sweet;
Known to artist and to waiting poets
Like music,goodness flows  to its own beat.

Let us not  deceive ourselves with light
Darkness contains gifts unknown to sight.

No sight is like the rising of sun
When promises of dreams seem  clear and still
My heart,though sore,can fancy  love has come
Without hard times and exercise of will.

No morning is without new dawn of hope
When all our conflicts shall be put aside.
Imagination is  far flung in scope,
Never  noting dreams may fraughtly lie.

No love is like my long lost love for you
Once known,once felt,it settles in the heart.
Yet I do believe love can be found anew
But only when the lost  love  can depart.

So bother me no more with reveried bliss.
Go leave me with my  life,though all’s amiss.

Make my heart into a cottage pie.
Already it is minced and lies estranged
My   enemies insult me with their lies
And my last will and testament is made.

An onion and a carrot chopped up fine,
Saute  with these my heart till  all are gold
With herbs and spices I will taste divine
A mashed potato will a rooftop mould.

Do not forget my blood to use as sauce
Though now it’s cold, with garlic  make it boil.
For what is gravy but the blood of  choice
With  sliced  onion  fried in olive oil?

O foes and devils eat me and you’ll be
Transformed into  myself, your enemy.

No woman ever can be what he dreams

Nor can such give comfort on the road.

Yet every night he plots and thinks and schemes.

And rarely does he ever go abroad.

No food he eats will satisfy his tongue.

The best wine is as naught to mother’s milk.

He grumbles and will not admit to wrong.

I ‘ve known more men than him of this same ilk.

No bed can be the right one for his sleep.

No sheets and pillows suit his wary skin.

He often has made gentle maidens weep

Crying out they’are fat or boney thin.’

Beware the man who never can adapt

For in own lone wishes he is trapped

No words of mine can potently display
the anguish and the joy that touch our lives;
yet all our ghostly forebears went this way
where words may pierce our hearts like sharpened knives.

No sentient being willingly at first
Accepts the pain that true perception brings.
Yet we must not take hearts to be a curse;
we need not flee from knowledge,though it stings.

Each day demands our thoughtfulness and love
from which all better action justly comes
each day the grace we have is just enough
as through the meta narratives we roam

For life' s but a true story we invent,
with passion and with purified intent

How like a prison is my once loved home

Since now I linger here in fevered chills.

No more may I be free to walk and roam

Nor climb the mountains and the hills.

The television irks me  and annoys

I cannot bear the sound of human voice.

My  lost intelligence is not deployed

I err in thinking I  have little choice.

And so it is myself whom I destroy.

What path to take when feeling lost and ill,

When lying in  my bed I cannot rest.

What act would give me strength and  better will?

What  purpose has this illness and its test?

The road to hell is paved with too much thought

So smaller joys and pleasures are not sought

How like a monster is my fear of pain
Expanding to fill all my heart and mind
Swelling like a  giant sponge   in the rain,
This fear begets  new  feelings more unkind.

For humans being chased by lions fierce,
Fear gives us the strength to  dash away.
But when by inner turmoil we are pierced
We cannot run  yet need  not be its prey.

Most strange ,we need to do   what we most fear;
Walk towards the pain with curious calm.
As else we may be maddened like King Lear
With no Cordelia to bring us balm.

To  feel in proper ratio to our   pain.
We need perception,grace and all their gains.

Despite the season, we have gales and  rain,
When May  blossom and buttercups each bloom
I feel regret for Spring is on the wane
The summer’s short and autumn comes too soon.

Expectations block our  outer view.
We miss  brief moments when the sun breaks through
And makes the whole world glorious anew.
With laughter, leaves and flowers our souls imbue.

Let’s look again, with  eye blind to desire.
A shady day has still a pleasant feel
The air is scented and senses   still are fired.
Thus, from the darkness ,let’s a pleasure steal

The grass is green and flowers assert  allure
Even in the gale ,we find our cure

To be both fair and wise is not a  match
For men will want my beauty and my touch
But if at this they unthinking  snatch
They may find out my mind is rather much.

And if I read a book whilst they caress
It seems a cruel action for a bride.
More, if I inside out did wear my dress
It may wound  sore and injure husband’s pride.

I tease ,for I would never read in bed
If someone shared my cosy little nest
No,I’d go into the lavatory instead.
And practise for my next Su Doku  test

For all problems are solvable with time.
Fight,fight against the dying of the rhyme.

I wrote this exactly one year ago.

As on this foreign shore I stand and stare
Across the green and foaming tidal sea.
I do not wonder whether life is fair
Nor whether what’s to come is what should be.