Category: Thinkings and poems

When you’re feeling down at heel

When you’re feeling down at heel
When your soul feels like a sewer
When your thoughts make your head reel
When  new thoughts are getting rare.

Recall that judgment lies with God
Rumination solves no vice
Make friends with the dark and  fog
Do not ask a fool’s advice.

Then look up and see the sky
Breathe again and take in air
See the geese as home they fly
Hide with foxes in their lair

Nature heals  yet also kills
Mysterious God,mysterious will.

 

Writing for healing

 

 

redsquirrelformby2016-2http://phyllisklein.com/writing-for-healing/the-therapeutic-benefit-of-poetry/

“Rather than diminish the excellence of the poet’s art, the poetry therapist enhances it. Poet Gregory Orr, in his book Poetry and Survival says “…the elaborative and intense patterns of poetry can…make people feel safe…the enormous disordering power of trauma needs or demands an equally powerful ordering to contain it, and poetry offers such order” (Orr, 92). Poetry structures chaos.”

Despite the scent of spring we sense in air

The scent of  growth , of spring, is in the air
It urges us to wait for life is near
Despite the flowerbeds empty  with despair

Yet winter  left the trees and shrubs so bare.
With that emptiness  we have a common fear
The scent of  growth , of spring, is in the air

To emptiness and lowness we bring care.
Despite the vision bringing us to tears
Despite the flowerbeds empty  with despair

We too have seasons  miserable or fair.
In our darkness monsters may appear
Despite the  scent  of spring  we sense in air

Like faces children see when they long stare.
From the patterned wall paper they leer
We need the  faith that growth comes from despair

Now we shed a  handful of salt tears
For memories that slide down all our years
The scent of  growth , of spring, is in the air
To tempt the flowerbeds empty  with despair.

Are there rules in writing free verse?

 

photo0066

http://writersrelief.com/blog/2009/06/free-verse-the-hidden-rules-of-free-verse-poetry/

 

Free verse is a challenging form that utilizes the natural cadences of common speech to create rhythm in lieu of the strict usage of meter found in classic forms. Free verse is the breaking of some old rules and the utilization of new tools, not the elimination of any and all rules.

 

Sat here at the table where I write

 

 

wisley_commonmorpho

Photo by Mike Flemming 

{I  blame Mike for the moth holes in my clothes}

I must be poor I’m wearing a thick coat
Sat here at the table where I write
I  know my grammar  and I made a note
Sat  here is allowed but it ain’t right

My coat is dirty green and a bit black
So I can sit on stairs when  in a  shop
They don’t have chairs  not even a stuffed sack
When I can’t walk, they tell me I must hop.

If science was taught they’d  know well that  a hop
Puts twice the weight onto a single foot
Maybe I should give my legs the chop
And get some steel ones when there is a glut

My coat is better now for I feel hot
My hanky’s red for I have spilled my blood
My nose was bleeding from a vein I cut
I never took a drug but I pretend I could

LSD is too wild for  my mind
And even at my age I am with child
I fear the risk of growing  yet more kind
The child’s my nephew and he ‘s very mild

 

 

 

To learn from grief

When we’re chilled by illness or bereaved
The  spring tides of  the seas of memory  lust
The mind’s door swings,  the  torture scene’s retrieved

Children   have no power and  cannot leave
Adults  fearful,wild, and, more, callous
Caught too soon  by fools and madmen’s weaves

In Europe where our vicious wars  conceived
Children  dwelled the   depths of   frozen malice
And dreadful  memories steal their minds like thieves

Are  souls mature  enough to learn  from such deep grief
When we feel  like  rubbish, thrown adrift, alas?
When we’re struck by hardships  , we still seethe.

Adults have  the power to look, perceive,conceive
Each child is Jesus,tortured,tried, and tossed.
This is the birth  and death of memory

My heart is   pierced  by children on the News.
Echoes shake  this heart till black and blue.
Whether  felled by error,war ,disease
With patience , can we tolerate unease?

Children saw ,too soon, cold human malice

When we’re chilled by illness or bereaved
Memories, shatter,seem to drown us
The mind’s door swings  the evil scenes retrieved

Children   have no power
Adults  fearful,wild,seem callous
Whether they were ill or sad, bereaved.

By Europe’s  many vicious wars  deranged
Children   felt the  cold and heartless  malice
Now dreaded early memories are retrieved

The eye and soul mature  are less constrained
Yet  we fear like children do
When we’re felled by illness or bereaved

Adults have  the power to look, conceive
Our minds are  broader  we know values
Despite the  dreaded  early memory

It’s hard to watch new suffering on the News
Echoes shake  our hearts till black and blue.
When we’re felled by illness or bereaved
With patience   may we tolerate unease

Mother Courage-Dorothy Rowe

wisley_commonmorpho

Photo by Mike Flemming .Copyright
http://home.btconnect.com/mike.flemming/

http://fashion.telegraph.co.uk/columns/justine-picardie/TMG3453815/Mother-Courage-Dorothy-Rowe.html

wisley_whitemorpho

http://home.btconnect.com/mike.flemming/

“She acknowledges that modern women have the advantage of not living in a society ruled by sexual taboos and secrecy – ‘my mother never even told me the facts of life’ – but also observes that an insistence on the overriding importance of sex can be equally oppressive. ‘Once you’ve satisfied your curiosity, and had some children, if you want them, then there are more interesting things to do. I remember a survey that showed that the majority of women preferred gardening to sex.When I say that to women in their fifties they usually laugh and agree. All this emphasis on having to enjoy sex as you grow older – why?’ Rowe has an equally no-nonsense view about women’s struggle to stay as slender as the celebrity blueprint – ‘We don’t have to believe that simply because a woman is very thin she sets a standard that has to be emulated’ – nor is she convinced by the punishing diet and exercise regimes adhered to by a female icon such as Madonna. ‘Your experience gets written on your face. Her face is very hard, and there aren’t too many laughter lines. It’s a tough, unsmiling face, and that’s a bit sad, for a woman who has achieved so much.’ As you might expect, she is no more impressed by the 21st-century vogue for cosmetic surgery. ‘General anaesthetics are serious – they carry a risk of death – but to have one in order to get a bit of your body changed is the utmost foolishness.’ Her dismissal of human folly is, however, tempered with sympathy; so that when we talk about the sheer physical horror of a face-lift – your nose being broken and your face destroyed before it is rebuilt – she says, ‘How little you must think of yourself, to choose to do that to yourself. That’s so very sad.'”

Rosa Benchez almost gives a lecture

wisley_feb28-1

 

 

Professor Rosa Benchez was in the staff-room at Mid-Rise-Jeans University collecting her mail and having coffee at 9.30  am on Monday morning after running 10 miles on her rowing machine.It rowed and she ran
How are you,Rosa? enquired Danny her  friend and colleague in the  School of Learning.
I’m feeling  extremely insignificant  today? she replied.I am giving a lecture on Semiotics and it’s those French people who use such idiotically complicated language.We all know that an object like a bird has to have a name before we can talk about it.
Well.,said Danny, I thought you’d just say,”In the pink” as  usual to my greeting,  so you must feel bad.Does each bird have to have its own name,he continued wonderingly?
Well,it depends on the context, she informed him  coolly and enigmatically.
First,if we are looking at birds as a class or set, they just need a name like “bird”.It could have been anything bit somehow it was” bird” that occurred like x  is used in algebra.We may just study one bird then we give it a number to identify it.That is its name
Danny gazed at her  beautiful bosom under her semi-transparent  pink blouse.Did  she dress like that on purpose  to provoke men or did she feel so insignificant that she didn’t realise anyone could see her purple  lace bra  and her green silk and wool thermal  vest with matching briefs, though fortunately they were invisible
Danny,I’m talking to you, she called sympathetically.Why are you quiet?
I dunno, the world  famous biologist replied.Maybe I am not quite here today.
You too,she murmured quietly ,like the stream in Little Walsingham by the ruined  Abbey.
Are you anxious about your lectures,she enquired softly and caringly?
No, not really ,he said tearing his eyes away from her  revealing clothing.
Is there a biological reason  why a scholar like Rosa would wear this unusually exciting outfit.
The truth was more mundane.Rosa bought her clothes in Sales and was indifferent to  the way men might feel seeing her like this.After all,did she notice if they wore  deep purple underpants that showed above their low rise jeans  or gold coins on a chain with matching earrings?
She only  looked at their faces while they naturally were drawn  to see what amazing  and colourful outfit she was wearing that day. and  what her lingeries looked like.
What did her partner feel?Had he left her for a woman who dressed in  thick beige  blouses and stockings with grey skirts?
To dress well takes time and Rosa did not give it enough although so far she had not lectured in a  string bikini nor an evening dress she had  found in  a jumble sale
These French people have made a fortune by re-labelling well know things  like birds as “signified”  and the word “bird” as a sign!
It reminded her of a sociologist who  got a large grant to see if women were more scared walking under a railway bridge at night if there were no streetlight there
The conclusion seems obvious.And that was what they proved “scientifically”
Statistics,numbers, that’s what journals want.
She went to her lecture room and turned on the lights.Eighty students gazed at her happily.She was the kindest and cleverest lecturer in the place.Take that how you will.
Now, she informed them,I  put 30 handouts in Dr Bevan-Finnish’s drawer  for the seminar but someone has stolen them, she said menacingly.I write these handouts and if they do not appear by noon ,nobody will get another one for the entire semester
With that, she turned to the blackboard and defined ” the signifier”
Well,it’s better than taking the insides out of chickens  on a conveyor belt she thought silently as she moaned on while the students took notes.
After lunch Rosa was in the staff room talking to some women  colleagues when Dr Bevan -Finnish came over,blushing dark  red as he approached.He said the handouts were back
Why  is he so shy, Rosa asked herself,not realising it was her outfit that provoked his blushes.And that is a very important thing to remember… whoever we are with  affects us so a bold man like Bevan-Finnish seemed shy when with Rosa whereas with another more sensibly dressed  woman he was quite at ease.
There may be a few men who are not affected this way but not many otherwise the human race would die out and then where would we be?Nowhere!
What a pity nobody tells a lady like Rosa the facts of life so   she goes about causing sinful longings in her colleagues quite oblivious.Even some of the women were getting affected but nobody dared to tell her.At least it drew  students  to her lectures and who knows, they might have learned some Linguistics as well.And it kept them off the streets.Which streets nobody knows.Yet!

Unhinged

redsquirrelformby2016-2
The handyman said that in his culture they believe if someone dies they will want to persuade their loved ones to join them so you must tell them off  if you see  them and  order them to go away.And generally be off hand and rufe
I said, Wow,what religion  do you follow?
I am a Catholic he replied proudly
I never knew they taught that
No, it’s because I am from Trinidad he informed me  graciously
But  you are not black,are you?
Yes,I am.I am  an Indian
Well, my neighbour is  half Ethiopian  but when the older neighbours ask where he is from I say Neasden because his mum lives there.She is white.His dad is black I guess.Why are people so curious I wonder?
We stood there as I ransacked my  large blue purse to find the  notes.
I  have never seen my husband since he died,I told him..But I would not chase him away with my broomstick.I could not
Are you a witch with owning that broomstick , he asked with  0.6% interest
I might  be but I don’t tell strangers, I told him
I am not a stranger.I am your husband.
I picked  up my broomstick and  whacked him one.Then I threw the £70  after him.That will show him,I thought
He thinks I am a lone woman but I have plenty of weapons in my hall.The main one is my brain.
After he had gone I realised I don’t need a door on the bedroom now.I could just have an opening and  then the bathroom would be en-suite, almost.It’s like fuzzy logic.There are not just two answers…….
They call maths hard but it’s easier than real life…….

Ahaha

12111936_673073632832518_4609462776516989357_n

Lead us not into devastation

  • Our Other,dwelling in Heaven,
    Helloed and helloed be Thy Name.
    In Kingdom come, may Thy Will be done
    As it is not in Syria and by the USA.
    Give us this day,no more dark Dread.
    Forgive us our Christmases,
    As we forgive those who Christmas with us.
    And lead us not into Devastation
    But teach us acceptance and kindness
    For Thine is the Wisdom,the Love and the Hatred
    As ever was, and shall be.Amen

Rosa muses

 

12799247_673073696165845_6684362272588328293_nRosa Benchez realised as she walked by the River Wrench that she did not  really like her ex-fiance Prof Charlie Blogge,mainly because he  bought her engagement ring on Amazon for  £27.
I bet he buys them by the dozen and tantalises women who are ready to settle down and have a child.After he has had his fun he breaks up and tells them they can keep the ring
It’s enough to make one into a hermit, she told herself,or a lesbian.How much easier to be schizoid and not want to be close to anyone for more than a few minutes.
She said this to her colleague Dr Norman Arches, who told her off.
You should not desire to be like that,he said.I treated a man who was rather that way and he was very unhappy and felt sad at being unable to be like us.
What do you mean,like us? Rosa asked
People who enjoy the company of others and can tolerate a few mishaps albeit with pain.
Yes,I never knew about all these types of people till I was at Uni.
Why do you refer to Cambridge as Uni.he asked her pensively.
I suppose I don’t want my supposedly brilliant  intelligence to be a barrier between me and other people.I asked  a man once if he thought I was too intelligent and he said he didn’t think I was above the average.
That could mean he is a genius or that he is so stupid he can’t  recognise intelligence when he meets it.
Or he doesn’t want to do so,she whispered.
If you are only average you did well to pass your degree exams so well! Norman muttered.By the way are you free to eat with me tonight?
I’d like that, said Rosa.Will you cook?
Yes I have already got Beef in Beer simmering in my slow cooker
I am glad you like cooking because restaurants are so noisy.
What about a pudding, she said hungrily
I have made a Russian  cheesecake from  the Penguin Russian cookery book.
I did that one once Rosa cried.It’s lovely.Do you have a pet?
After my wife died I bought 2 cats called Tiny and Daisy but it’s not the same.They love each other and not me.
Do they not sleep on your bed,Rosa enquired gently/
Only if I  give them smoked salmon and pay them not to make love on my duvet.
Well, does it bother you? Or so they scratch the cover?
It makes me feel jealous, he said.
Well, they don’t do it on purpose.They are not malicious,s he cried.
I could get an extra one but who  knows what will happen?
You must make Tiny and Daisy  get married first.
That doesn’t stop human beings so why should cats be better?
I would have though the  garden was the place they would prefer.
Well,I’ll see you later.
Rosa picked   up ” Teach Yourself Linguistics” and   began to write a lecture.
Why don’t you all educate yourselves this way?It’s cheaper than Uni and my niece only got 3 hours teaching a week in her Final Year.
And so say all of  us graduates.

 

Emile types his book

.


Stan was feeling  puzzled.He stood in his front room staring at the rowan tree outside.
Do ants fall in love,he asked himself.
Are swans the most beautiful birds?
Shall I send Annie a card tomorrow?
Should I send Mary one as well?
He went outside and watched the ants running up and down the tree trunk.They seem to work so hard but they never get bored.
But is that true? We have no way of knowing.At last Stan has found a question with no answer.I
s boredom a unique quality of humans?
If that were so we ought to have a Patron Saint of Boredom though not of Bores.
Why are some people so boring?
Luckily Annie had seen Stan and rushed out in a teal coloured all wool made more  striking by having butterfly motifs scattered on it at random.
“Why have you got those butterflies on your clothes ?” he asked her.
“It’s to cover up the moth holes.”She pertly replied.
“You must have a lot of moths.Do moths fall in love?do they get bored?”
“You seem in a funny mood today,”Annie murmured.
“Why don’t we go out for coffee?”
“I’ve just made a pot full.Please join me.”
“Thank you,” she cried wildly.
They sat down in the kitchen where Emile was sitting by the window.
“Good morning,Emile.”Annie shouted.
“No need to shout,” Emile miaowed politely.”I’m not deaf”.
“I am sorry, Emile.” she responded furtively,”I am over-excited.”
“Why is that? Stan demanded like an untrained philosopher.
“Well,I’ve already had ten Valentines.
“Already.You must have done it fast!” he teased her gently.
“No,you idiot.I mean cards.
“You must be popular”
“Some look like women’s writing.”
“Let me see,”he asked swiftly.
To his surprise, one was in the handwriting of his wife Mary.
“Are you bisexual?” he asked her wonderingly.
“No,I’m just annissexual,” she repliied saucily.
“What does that mean?”
“Well,it’s just one letter away from “Anti-sexual.”
“That’s a relief.You are not anti yet,then.”
“Not yet”,she whispered coyly.
“Would you make love to a woman?”
“Only if she made love to me.”
Mmmmmmmmmmmm
.Apparently seeing lesbian movies turns men on.do you watch them?”
“Not bloody likely,I want to get turned off.”
“That could be boring,”she said sweetly as she combed his eyebrows with an old toothbrush.
“Well,I could do the polishing better and get the house sorted out.Fill the freezer with casseroles and defrost the oven.
Yes,though would that be so rewarding as loving another human?
“I guess not” he answered slavishly.
“Shall we go to your place and have a cuddle.
OK
Emile was very put out as he liked to see people kissing but he had grown very philosophical over the years and at least he could get on with his book,
“Wittgenstein’s cat.”He switched on the netbook and began to type:
“Not everyone knows how important cats were in philosophy.But now we can reveal all.The saying,
“Of that which we cannot speak we must miaow”
was inspired by Daisy,Wittgenstein\s favourite cat.
And,”Of that which we cannot purr we must yowl.” was inspired by Ludo, a fine male cat that lived with wittgenstein in Ireland.
So as Emile types,we must tiptoe away for he has not much time

I have wandered further,longer than.

I have walked without a  map or plan
I have whispered  names of people dead.
I have wandered further,longer than.

I have stumbled ,when the able ran.
I have longed for you but  never said
I have walked without a  map or plan

I have been through places men would ban
I have sung to birds and shared my bread
I have wandered further,longer than.

I  have searched for you in nook or cran
I have felt my  brain has turned to lead
I have walked without a  map or plan

I have  sauntered,wandered,I have run
I should have lain down in dry leaves instead
I have wandered further,longer than.

I remember when you shared my bed
I remember all the words  we said
I have fallen  without map or plan
I am drowning deeper,darker than.

Letting go at last, becoming still.

Gently  giving in to nature’s will
Your struggle’s finished ,you  now want to leave
Letting go of all, becoming  still.

Like a stone which tumbles by the rill
With wit and gravity ,with grace received
At last accepting God  or nature’s will

We live exultant then we pay in full
The dying and their lovers, we  are grieved
Letting go of all, becoming  still

The soul  prepares just as the body chills
Ripe with vision,willing, undeceived
Humble,  daring, this is God’s anvil.

Flying like the lark from  heathered hills
Near the lakes whose  plangent waters breathe
Letting go at last, becoming still.

Companions to your end, we’re now bereaved
Yet by  the beauty of that end  we’re pleased
Gently  drifting off  by nature’s will
Letting go of  life, becoming  still.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas.

 

The most famous villanelle of all time, I believe.He wrote it when his father was very ill

songthrush_otmoor2014

 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightening they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The verdict:dead

Three days before the end,he lay quite still
Could barely speak nor breathe not eat nor smile
I sat alone and swollen was my heart
I knew by  inward feelings, soon  we ‘d part

At home were waiting  frozen ready meals
Quite suitable to my own freezing feel
He  gazed at me and tried to speak some words
“How will you manage,sweet”, I barely heard.

The grief I felt ignored by day time nurse
And from the Sister, came demonic curse.
Exercised in Re Hab  until dead
And even after that, cruel words they said

Resuscitated,  left in peace in bed.
He lasted 19 hours .The verdict: “Dead.”

Strange angels

There was a holy place made by the screens
Where lay the old man,  trembling into dream.
His face was pale,his nose felt like white ice
An offering on the block for sacrifice.

The sacred place was marked by song and prayer
Made  quietly . so  that no-one else would hear.
He held my hand and whispered ,please don’t go.
I held him in my heart, as his went slow.

A cocoon made in noisy A and E
A strange place for the Lady God to be.
Deep silence underneath the usual noise,
Pierced only by  my child-like singing voice.

I saw his soul ,  my tears made long curtains
Hidden so, I felt the weight of  pain
I felt my heart  crack in this loss and grief
For Death had been there like a silent thief.

His  pale face  on the pillow  seemed to smile
The kindness of strange angels did beguile

The lifeboat

The life boat crew are safely home
They’ve brought the shipwrecked sailors too.
The storm has passed, the wind has dropped
The sea is swaying softly now.

Wrapped in soft night clothes, their offspring
Are all in world of dream still lost.
Their fathers’ safely home this time.
They save wrecked ships despite the cost.

Will any lifeboat crew be there
To help less blessed ones from despair,
And lives, too many , spent in care
No fathers and no mothers near?

The sea we certainly must fear,
But more we fear the acts of those
Who try to buy our minds and wills,
for votes in the election booths.

Oh hush my baby, go to sleep,
It is your mammy’s job to weep.
I wish I knew just what to do
To empower the lives of wains like you.

Sleep well, sleep well, my little child.
The sun will rise, the air is mild.
We’ll trust that when we all set sail
Our love and courage will not fail.

Oh,hush my sweet one, I am near.
The world’s too big for bairns to bear.
We’ll do much better this time round.
We’ll not let this boat run aground.

I really need a new doorbell as this one infrequently rings

They didn’t have any red onions so they sent me a whole ball of string
I sauted it in the frying pan,with a knotted  courgette , and it sang
I am wondering now every Friday, what will the grocery send?

Instead of roast  beef they’ll send i Pads or kindles with fire on the wings
I really do  need a new doorbell as this one infrequently rings
They didn’t have any red onions so they sent me a hen on a string.

I suppose it may not be the doorbell,just a cat advertising his bling.
We all suffer paranoid feelings, but the police watched  me  in case  I might sting
I am wondering now every Friday, where the art  of psychiatry ends

I may be a a little bit backward but string ain’t much good for roasting.
When  I boiled three dozen eggs in the toaster, they exploded with a big brassy bang
They didn’t have any red onions so they sent me a  pig on  a string.

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

 

Auguries of Innocence
BY WILLIAM BLAKE
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour
A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage
A Dove house filld with Doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thr’ all its regions
A dog starvd at his Masters Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State
A Horse misusd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fibre from the Brain does tear
A Skylark wounded in the wing
A Cherubim does cease to sing
The Game Cock clipd & armd for fight
Does the Rising Sun affright
Every Wolfs & Lions howl
Raises from Hell a Human Soul
The wild deer, wandring here & there
Keeps the Human Soul from Care
The Lamb misusd breeds Public Strife
And yet forgives the Butchers knife
The Bat that flits at close of Eve
Has left the Brain that wont Believe
The Owl that calls upon the Night
Speaks the Unbelievers fright
He who shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never be belovd by Men
He who the Ox to wrath has movd
Shall never be by Woman lovd
The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
Shall feel the Spiders enmity
He who torments the Chafers Sprite
Weaves a Bower in endless Night
The Catterpiller on the Leaf
Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief
Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh
He who shall train the Horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar
The Beggars Dog & Widows Cat
Feed them & thou wilt grow fat
The Gnat that sings his Summers Song
Poison gets from Slanders tongue
The poison of the Snake & Newt
Is the sweat of Envys Foot
The poison of the Honey Bee
Is the Artists Jealousy
The Princes Robes & Beggars Rags
Are Toadstools on the Misers Bags
A Truth thats told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent
It is right it should be so
Man was made for Joy & Woe
And when this we rightly know
Thro the World we safely go
Joy & Woe are woven fine
A Clothing for the soul divine
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine
The Babe is more than swadling Bands
Throughout all these Human Lands
Tools were made & Born were hands
Every Farmer Understands
Every Tear from Every Eye
Becomes a Babe in Eternity
This is caught by Females bright
And returnd to its own delight
The Bleat the Bark Bellow & Roar
Are Waves that Beat on Heavens Shore
The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
Writes Revenge in realms of Death
The Beggars Rags fluttering in Air
Does to Rags the Heavens tear
The Soldier armd with Sword & Gun
Palsied strikes the Summers Sun
The poor Mans Farthing is worth more
Than all the Gold on Africs Shore
One Mite wrung from the Labrers hands
Shall buy & sell the Misers Lands
Or if protected from on high
Does that whole Nation sell & buy
He who mocks the Infants Faith
Shall be mockd in Age & Death
He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
The rotting Grave shall neer get out
He who respects the Infants faith
Triumphs over Hell & Death
The Childs Toys & the Old Mans Reasons
Are the Fruits of the Two seasons
The Questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to Reply
He who replies to words of Doubt
Doth put the Light of Knowledge out
The Strongest Poison ever known
Came from Caesars Laurel Crown
Nought can Deform the Human Race
Like to the Armours iron brace
When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow
To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow
A Riddle or the Crickets Cry
Is to Doubt a fit Reply
The Emmets Inch & Eagles Mile
Make Lame Philosophy to smile
He who Doubts from what he sees
Will neer Believe do what you Please
If the Sun & Moon should Doubt
Theyd immediately Go out
To be in a Passion you Good may Do
But no Good if a Passion is in you
The Whore & Gambler by the State
Licencd build that Nations Fate
The Harlots cry from Street to Street
Shall weave Old Englands winding Sheet
The Winners Shout the Losers Curse
Dance before dead Englands Hearse
Every Night & every Morn
Some to Misery are Born
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to Endless Night
We are led to Believe a Lie
When we see not Thro the Eye
Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night
When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light
God Appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in Night
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of day

Want to eat out?

Eat at your own riskdsc00018

First course

Ginger shampoo and boiled onions  on a bed  of  buttered snails
Lemon, barley   and pepper jelly with a dash of bustard.
Cat food on toast [wholemeal] with  yellowish salad

Main course

Dead blackbird pie and gravy with one  fresh spinach leaf per portion
Baked potatos and chilli beans with fresh chicken wings.
Soup frozen over a lake of lamb chops and sprouts

Puddings

Eve’s own  apple pie and Carnation milk right from the tin
Adam’s apple baked in pastry and flustered
Tomato jam tart with caramel rocks and treble cream
Desert delight and sand to toss on to it  from an oasis of  peas
Bethlehem cheese   plus slice of  border Wall  and crackers.
Rocket junket and cheesecake with barbed wire kebabs of needed.

Kindness

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by Sylvia Plath

Kindness glides about my house.
Dame Kindness, she is so nice!
The blue and red jewels of her rings smoke
In the windows, the mirrors
Are filling with smiles.
What is so real as the cry of a child?
A rabbit’s cry may be wilder But it has no soul.
Sugar can cure everything, so Kindness says.
Sugar is a necessary fluid,
Its crystals a little poultice
O kindness, kindness
Sweetly picking up pieces!
My Japanese silks, desperate butterflies,
May be pinned any minute, anesthetized.
And here you come, with a cup of tea
Wreathed in steam.
The blood jet is poetry,
There is no stopping it.
You hand me two children, two roses.

Ariel

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BY SYLVIA PLATH
Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.
God’s lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees!—The furrow
Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,
Nigger-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks—
Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else
Hauls me through air—
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.
White
Godiva, I unpeel—
Dead hands, dead stringencies.
And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child’s cry
Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,
The dew that flies
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red
Eye, the cauldron of morning.

One bird could be the owl of moral perception

In a memoir about  her lusty twins, she exclaims,
that her husband  sought  cruelty  as a   Christian
and  willed masochism  for  people who  disdained to be happy
or  who desired happiness  in love or other  irritations of life .
which made  many men sadistic
His  gross interference  was the undesirable rendition
of the untried prisoners in the Bay windows of the suburbs
It is easy to  forsake  all   presumptions ;
Why a person would not  sell you happy sentences is now history
Why we   misread   when it is  seriously important to get it right
Flight must  be seen as a genuine alternative to happiness;
For must we think that it was seriousness
that made human  brains chilling  ?
Or rolling stones to wither more moss?
One of the replays in which happiness
is  paid to seem like an inclusive misrule
–she says,
In a  word to the bland,
is  our asserting that by  cooperation
the flings that shatter most  of us
must make us more  unhappy,
That is how we show  we got laid
Too many looks……
It’s as though one person   dreams
They are the owl of the moral perception.

The storm clouds

The storm clouds wander random as a glance
Let’s toss the dice and choose a president
The sunset’s mauve and willing clouds a-bounce

The lies and fake news breed and so advance
Conquer minds and hearts of residents.
The storm clouds wander ,random as  a glance

Shall we fight or leave the end to chance?
The danger of the latter’s evident
The sky is mauve and thunder might roll once.

What is life like after the romance?
What seemed a louse may be an elephant.
Yet storm clouds wander random  to my glance

Who made the madmen who now high boot prance
As politicians  building walls   of cant.
The sky is mauve and God needs  a seance.

Are these human add ons ,miscreants
Wearing Nazi slogans as they rant?
The storm clouds shudder. random, elegant
The sunset’s fire has gone ; there is no dance