Category: Thinkings and poems

Weaving

The world is woven in such different ways
Struts the vertical, the flat below
Oh God who weaves me shall by me be praised

Oh, shall the mystic reach be what she craves
When all the strings release and she falls low
The world is woven in its different ways

Timed by ritual Lady Lazarus rose
And all the eyes that gazed were burning slow
Yes, God who weaves me shall by me be praised

There is a hollow only Ariel knows
As horse and rider as one being flow
The world is sensed in wholly different ways

The body ,home of mind, will run astray
Oh, what seams of evidence forego
Fallen God who unacknowledged knows

Beneath the sea of green the undertow,
Spirits sidle deep like melting snow
The world is woven in such different ways
That God who weaves me shall by me be praised

Let deep green swallow me.

Oh,sweet my heart,let nature dissolve me.
In her greens I am allowed to be.
While in the city politicians cry
And from my lips I hear a solemn sigh.
Oh,foolish world that foolish men are free.

What torment that we need society
And cannot dwell like birds in winter trees.
Or like the spider weaving webs defy.
Release my heart,let nature dissolve me.

The rich are common in momentous fee.
Unlike the insects and the fuzzy bee.
For all of us, our end is ever nigh
Enchanted as the dove that homewards flies.
Be comfortless in notoriety
Oh,cease my heart,let deep green swallow me.

Nonsense or truth?

Twas British and the tug of war

Perspired to jungle like heat waves

So whimsical the fallen girls

Till the home rafts did save.

Keep putting one love in front of the other

Never say why.

When you are going in the right direction don’t turn right.

When you’re going in the wrong direction just stop completely until you can find a guide.

Did you think the past had gone away?

Do you think the past has gone away?
A War to end all wars; what paradox!
Hell, we’re seeing more of it today

They’ll soon be selling gas masks on E bay.
They’ll make them  glow to go with summer frocks
Did you think the past had gone away?

Hell is here,  see Gaza  on display
Israel debased, unorthodox
Weighs “Arabs”   down with  years of martial law

Who divided Palestine, I say?
The British with their thinking in the box.
Hell, we’re seeing more of it today.

Can Jews themselves grieve  millions murdered, flayed
Can tortured people mourn when they’ve  been mocked?
Did you think the past had gone away?

The war might end, the Nazis us outfoxed
Their actions travel down the years so cracked.
Did you think the past had gone away?
Hell is here on earth  this very day

A jagged silence taunts us overhead

Like a broken shell, our world  has cracked
Whose the foot  that  heavily did tread?
Now we wander  in  this City sacked

Once worlds break  how can we bring them back?
Must we  mourn  until our hearts are fed?
Like a pretty shell, our world  has cracked

Where once stood towers  the buildings lie down  flat
A jagged silence taunts from overhead
 As we wander  in  this City sacked

What New Messiah can  find  and love the gap?
Who will give the wine and whose the bread?
Like a cockleshell, our world  has cracked

The death of  God in Auschwitz  on the Rack
The torture of  the Arabs, children  bleed
We cry out , the slouching beast is back

Did we ever think of those in need?
The children of the genocide still plead
Like a broken shell, the world   has cracked
Now we stumble,blind to what we lack

There’s no time like the present

I should forget my husband I shoulf forget my dad

I should forget my mother I should not feel so sad

Forget my little sister forget my brother Paul

I should not feel about them I should not feel at all.

We all sat at the table and we should number seven

Now there are just three of us, the rest may be in heaven

Love and hate are very close perhaps they’ve gone to hell

So I should be a sinner so I’ll go there as well.

Oh daddy how we loved you and and we loved mammy too

Where was sibling rivalry in our Human zoo

We scratched and bit we pinched their toys, what kinds of sister do ?

I used to squeeze the oranges when they all had flu

Now we are growing older and and I shall be alone

So may my heart be with warm with blood and never a cold stone

My body turns to water I’m going to dissolve

I’ll go to earth and then to sky with all my problems solved

How to Fight Right — in a Pandemic or After

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/09/30/style/how-to-fight-right.html

For these sorts of blowups, the key, once again, is to “respond rather than react,” Dr. Cook said. “When we get activated, the limbic system, or emotional center, of our brain can take over and our logical reasoning can get lost in the mix,” she said. “That’s why it’s so helpful to slow yourself down, listen to your partner, and say to yourself how you want to respond before you speak it out loud.”

Dr. Cook also recommends analogizing your fight to a “fur ball,” or the thing that keeps coming back up once in a while, rather than something that will break you. “As aggravating as this can be,” she said, “see it as something that requires some maintenance. It doesn’t mean it won’t get better.”

Fair fighting is an ongoing effort, even when a pandemic is fanning the flames.

“Even the healthiest of couples encounter challenges and stumbling blocks

Your face is etched upon my heart

Your face is etched upon my heart.

I knew you in the morning light

Love is wise but never smart.

We have no need of others charts

In the mornings and the night

Your face is etched upon my heart.

As we waken sleep departs

To see your face is my delight

Love is wise and sometimes smart

Intuition, craft is art

Love is silent, hatred fights

Your face is etched upon my heart

Human Love can see in part

Face to face we’ll see aright

Love is wise love is not smart

Your face is etched upon my heart.

Love is wise but never smart

Is love blind? Who etched the lines?

Sacred, human, love is kind

Lewis howled

Twas Stalag and the prisoners den

Aspired to gamble in the Maze

Yet quinsy were their swollen throat

Thus star mount! dispersed

Mary had a dear old man. His feet were frozen yellow

And everywhere that Mary rents, this man is sure to follow.

Canker wailer hold that Guy

What do people say?

She gave me a mouthfull of cheek

Insulted me with her tongue

Her eyes burned holes in me.

He looks absolutely flabbergasted.

Her eyes were like 2 sharp knives flashing

You could have knocked me down with a feather. There was no need to use a battering ram.

The teacher was wearing knuckle dusters if on her salary she can’t afford a bracelet.

The doctor gave me a right tongue lashing.

Can you tell me the way to the nursing home?Why do you want it? I want to be reversed. You might need a doctor for that.

Timeless, beautiful the living mind

There is no time in our unconscious minds

Like god it’s always present, undefined

The wisdom that’s inside us lives down there

As we move through life, it helps us steer.

Larger than the sun,as small as tears.

The mystery of the universe dwells here

Every day our souls are being refined

We cannot love the world if we are blind

Older Adults Admit High Anxiety and Fear About New Technology: Candoo Tech Surveys Shows 53% of Seniors Say Learning a New Device is More Stressful Than Going to the Dentist

https://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/older-adults-admit-high-anxiety-and-fear-about-new-technology-candoo-tech-surveys-shows-53-of-seniors-say-learning-a-new-device-is-more-stressful-than-going-to-the-dentist-301196011.html

We lost the light

The gods we used to worship are extinct.

They cannot live inside our darkened hearts

We lost the light and now we cannot think

The inner eye sees nothing is distinct.

We can no longer see those hidden charts

The gods we used to worship are extinct

The sun no longer shines it is defunct

Wandering in the wilderness we’re scared

In the darkness we can find no link.

Where are the scribes who write it down in ink?

We cannot dictate love nor how it starts

The Gods we used to worship are extinct

I know now God may speak to us in hints.

The glass is darkened, we can  know in part

We’ve lost the light and now we cannot think

In this uncertain era, who is heard?

What else can we do but be prepared?

The gods we used to worship are extinct

Where can we find light, how can we think?

Mary gets a temperature

Mary woke up and found that she had slept all night on the sofa in the living room. This was the first time that she had ever done that and she was very puzzled.

Then she realised she had a temperature she then understood that she had suddenly felt too unwell to go to bed. Mary thought she would have her nap on the sofa but she was asleep for 9 hours. She called for her little cat Emile.

Emil6 ran into the room,oh mother he fried I thought you were dead.

Why did you not go next door and ask Annie to come?

I thought it was too late so I went into my basket and fell asleep and then I ate the cold sausages you left out.

The sausages were not for you. There were for the church bazaar lunch.

Well you won’t be able to go to the church bazaar this now will you? You may have got COVID.

I never had my booster vaccineshe cried thoughtfully. Didn’t have the flu jab either.

Emile said I’ve got something else to tell you. I ate all the stuffed eggs that you made last night and they were absolutely delicious so will you make some more ?

You’ll have to wait. I have used all the eggs that there are in the fridge so unless you can go out and find a hen and see where it lays its eggs you’ll have to wait till I’m well again

Why, are you going to go and find a hen?

No I will order them with the groceries from the Co-op. They do organic ones

It’s a pity that you can’t lay eggs, the cat said.

Human eggs are very small because after the sperm gets into the ovum and it becomes fertile it remains inside the mother being fed through the umbilical cord but chickens don’t stay inside the hen for 9 months the egg is put into the nest and the hen have to keep it warm and eventually it will hatch and out will come the chicken.

So when we eat the egg we are eating the chicken that’s inside it?

Yes although sometimes the egg doesn’t have an embryo in it.

They lay sleepily on the sofa wondering why human beings ate the eggs of hens

And so do all of us

Mary is hit by a can and Annie prays

As Mary stood by the fridge at bedtime, a can of fly killer brought by dear Annie fell off the top and struck her red,orange and brown framed spectacles on the top.The heavy can hurt her nose
I hope nobody thinks a man has done this. she said to Emile
Well,I didn’t do it ,he mioawed cheerfully
It must be an Act of God, she mused.I hope there is no bruise
Ah,well.Are you sleeping on my bed,she asked Emile
No,I think I might go out roaming
Looking for frogs,she teased him
I may return, depending on the weather
Suddenly Annie knocked on the door
Are you all right, she asked anxiously?
Why, what is wrong,dear?
Your nose is blue
It’s that fly stuff, it fell onto me!
I’m terribly sorry.We must put it somewhere else.
Choose between me and the flies,Mary joked.
You are my best friend.I will not bring this stuff again
I am off to bed,Mary cried.Let me lock the door behind you
Annie ran out, and stole The Duty of Genius by Ray Monk.She wanted to discover why Mary liked Wittgenstein.And it covers a dangerous and terrible era in human history from the end of several Empires to the Second World War and beyond
I wonder what the children of Dr Mengele and the other dreadful criminals who committed torture and atrocties would feel like when they learned the truth abou their fathers
So Annie is embarking on some serious study while Mary is reading Woman and Home magazine.What is causing this strange change?
In bed ,Mary gazed at an article on ” How to dress well when you are over 80″
Alas all the clothes were expensive.Very
Does it matter what I wear, she pondered?
I suppose people do judge by appearances, she concluded.But which people?
Maybe I shall dress in one colour from now on.But not black.
Blue is a good colour.From now on if I buy new clothese, they must be blue
Maybe just a blue silk scarf is enough to make a vivid impression
Mean while Annie is crying over “The Duty of Genius” because at least two of Wittgenstein’s brothers took their own live and his sisters were almost captured by the Nazis who had to be bought off by the family wealth unlike Freud’s sisters
So what are we complaining about in the UK, she asked herself before saying some almost forgotten prayers.
And wished her husband were there to hold her in his arms.At least one of her husbands would have been most welcome

And so feel all of us


Listen to the voice that is distinct

Instead of sweating blood I’m bleeding ink

In my dreams I’m writing my best book

I hope the still small voice speaks while I think

Why do spirits rise, why do they sink?

I wrote a poem but was it just a fluke?

Instead of losing blood I’m bleeding ink

Elijah hid and then his courage shrank

God was angry yet he was astute

We hear the still small voice,who says it’ counts?

Light come through a crack or through a chink

Whoever is inspired is rarely thanked

Whose voice was the little voice extinct?

Instead of blood my veins are filled with ink

We’re told that god is dead but he still speaks

I hear the still small voice and then I think

I write it down I want to be correct

I always treat my voice with great respect

Instead of using blood we write with ink

We recognise the voice it is distinct

Sunny joy

My sister came when I was two years old
Born into an icy winter cold
Her little face was full of sunny joy
As we played with dolls and small stuffed toys.

We lined up all our dolls in rows by size
The large ones at the back had blinking eyes
We played with an old dog on little wheels
It had no fur but still held great appeal

Dad lifted her and held her to the sky
My allanah, love you till I die
All too soon the family turned sad.
Mother was not Mother without Dad

We survive and love and live our best
If there is a heaven,we’ ll be blessed.

Thoughts annihilate

Postmodern poetry has no formal shape
No sonnet,villanelle or rondeau there
Nor is it true or false that we are apes

A sentence made from curses aggravates
Makes even slight hurts something we can’t bear
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape

This very poem’s ironic , it emotes
Glares with total rage at you who care
If it’s true or false that we are apes

This poem,alas, will offer no escape
If it has no rhymes then I have flair
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape

The forms are hung until we get to break
We shatter and we crack the poet’s lair
I think it’s true and false that we are apes

For a metre I will hang in here
Waiting with no patience for a jeer
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape
Nor is it true that thoughts annihilate