1. Rice pudding is very nutritious and you can make it yourself or you can buy it in the supermarket.
2. Cheesecake nutritious but it can also be full of sugar and fat.
3. Fruit with egg custard.
4 Milk based desserts.
5mInstead of cream you scream mixed with natural yoghurt
Things that you can make without shopping if you have a store cupboard and vegetable
Eggs in onion sauce with rice
Eggs in curry sauce with rice naan bread etc
Red lentils in cheese sauce… With rice or quick hook macaroni
Potato omelette
Spanish omelette
Cheese tart or onion
Let’s have a leader from a humble home.
Let’s have someone intelligent but also wise.
Someone who’s not full of himself or herself.
Someone is in touch with reality as it’s being experienced by the poor and the needy and children living in poverty
Let someone come who will give hope even if it’s only in a small quantity
If we have no hope then we will die spiritually and emotionally and given the shortage of money in the working classes it’s possible that people are literally dying as food is so expensive and
Hospitals…. What is going on?
We can create some hope votiing for the best people to win the next election or helping others
Let’s hope extremism is not going to develop any further. There’s enough alienation already
The pebbled beach on which we walked at dawn
The sun was dancing singing stone to stone
The sea was pale as silk and gently ran
The tide was coming in, the day began
Why is my memory so deficient here?
I remember little but you near
I remember Portland Bill at dusk
The sea was wilder then with its fierce thrusts
Happiness was like a golden shawl
A world like Eden, man before the Fall
Today they say, illusion, I say, no
What matters is where this insight makes you go
The fruits of meditation are its test
May we be generous,kind, may souls be blessed
S
Now the black sheep’s back inside the fold.
The lost are found,the gate is open wide
We all eat together,timid bold
We weep for joy,our love is not denied
The years of trudging on . through mud and mire
The wounded heart the tears love wiped away
Consolation came, the saints conspired.
The children learnt in stages what to say.
Before we reach the end of earthly life
Before our minds dissolve, before the fire.
Before the husband’s dragged away from wife
Before the eye of God, beyond desire..
The final act of love is reached at last
We know so clearly now that love is just
I saw, while half asleep, her face was gone
She faded, like the mist does at the dawn,
From the gallery of my most loved ones
Ungrounded by the loss, fearful, forlorn,
Skinless like a worm picked off a lawn,
I saw, while half asleep, her face was gone
Do not leave me, do not my love scorn
Lost and gone are my beloved ones
I am human in both ghost and form
Heart constricted, lungs pant out my pain
Haunted and bereft of human warmth
I saw, while half asleep, her face was gone
I shall have no mother but that one
Now I have become a dried out corm
Lost and gone are my beloved ones
Like a little leaf from its plant torn
Gnawed by slugs, fragmented till unborn
I saw, while half asleep, her face was gone
With the gallery of my lost, loved ones
A homeless woman crouched in bitter cold
Her face was clean, her entire body shook
Trembling in the wind, so rough and bold
Though she was young quite soon she would look old
Her heart bereft she gave me a dark look
A homeless woman crouched in bitter cold
Was she the sheep that left the fold
That Jesus would not leave to fate so bleak?
She trembles in the wind, so rough and bold
A coat I’ll bring tomorrow,I’m appalled.
With her childlike hand she touched my cheek
A homeless woman crouched in bitter cold
Then a humble Cross between her fingers showed
A flame glowed in her eye, a golden streak
Trembling in the wind, so rough and bold
For the mystical we do not seek
We are affected by the lost we meet
A homeless woman shone in bitter cold
Trembling in the wind, her love,her gold
Coming back to earth is very hard
When a loved one’s gone, the heart feels charred
You took them to the gate but had to leave
And now you know at last you are bereaved
Why get better, what is there left now?
The Holy One has vanished,gone somehow
Should there not be sentries of the heart
To pull one back before it is too late
Maybe cruelty’s kinder to those left
To punish us when we feel we’re bereft
Is there noone else when God has gone
Taking in his arms your most loved one?
The form may be grammatical and right
Yet what it says is nonsense in daylight
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 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
About the golden light what can I say
Love is near and we don’t need to pray
Enter into darkness without fear
Another hand will guide help us steer
I had lost my faith I was bereft
I could not speak, and sinking was my craft
Then a the soft bright cloud embraced me whole.
I felt a presence and I saw the light
Why should I be helped when many die?
The mystery ,of God the soul destroyed
Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Rain and shadowed clouds would suit our mood
When we are the warp without the weft
As if we are the pen and no ink’s left
As if we hunger yet there is no food
Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Our mind slows down and all we do is drift
Evil thoughts into the soul intrude
Like we are the warp without the weft
Let the eye and all its muscles rest
With wider focus we may cease to brood
Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Do not try with will power nor it test
Relaxation brings back knowledge of the good
We take it in like babies at the breast
We must not test the will but let it go
Trust the ocean and eternal flow
Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Sometimes sunshine brings its golden gifts
Winter sunshine shows the branches bare
Reveals each shape both elegant and spare
The little birds fly in and out at will
The low sun’s bright, the wind is light as well
What kind of world has human language made?
Evolution does not always pay
For language can speak love but also hate
And brings to some misfortune and black fate
Words can hurt much deeper than a knife
We may be traumatised by our own life
The bitch the witch , the charlatan, the Jew
These categories old, are ever new
Language wrote both Dante and Mein Kampf,
From ecstasy to Concentration Camp
J
Against sadness:no-one here can weep
Nor lounge about in111 melancholy deep.
Was Van Gogh senseless to permit his muse.
For his masterpieces ,was the price too steep?
We see the yellow chair but not his views
Nor his mind where technique made such leaps.
Nor was his journey broadcast on the news.
Against sadness.
Happiness or joy is hard to find
When we rest, the News preys on our minds
Yet some are cold towards the slaughtered priest
His nose a beak of bone in old face lined
Now Muslims go to Mass and join Christ’s feast
Against sadness.
What rages in the mind make men kill thus?
In Syrian wars the innocents fare worse.
But these are our near neighbours so we weep
And wonder how to end the frightening curse
The sins we once committed hold us deep
We hold our hands out wanting to be nursed
Against sadness
We sense the sacred in these peaceful walls
Yet men have died in places that appal
Women too and children then unborn
Fell into cold dark earth in lands forlorn
As our weapons grow, our hearts are hard
The people live in Gaza behind bars
The water all polluted as taps drip
Is this war or is it vengeance fit?
In Britain, it’s the poor who lose the war
As it was when Jesus Mary bore
Yet here are clerics blessing marching bands
A military show for all the land
The genocide in Europe of the Jews
The self destructive actions of the proud
The fields of France filled sick with blood and bone
Who are we to cast judgemental stones?
The War’s not over when the fighting stops
The soldiers and the tortured suffer shock
The widows and the parents all bereaved.
The unborn children hover in unease
We let the prisoners out from camps of death
But who would take them in or take their path?
The injuries will travel down the years
As still we fight and still we live in fear
It’s Europe’s grasp and greed which was the cause
Of death in Gaza, Syria, in long wars
Yet we judge we are more civilised
When we self defend with bitter lies
I’m glad that I can put a bra on now. It’s so useful to have somewhere to put my smartphone other than in my knickers.
In the past women wore knickers with long legs with elastic around the bottom and that was where they could keep their handkerchief or if they’d had a phone they could keep their phone there but now most women wear trousers.
So if you’ve got a large bust a bra is a useful storage place. You don’t want to look as if you’ve got a weapon in there so think about it very carefully especially if you own a gun.
Never carry a pair of scissors in your bra. You could carry a rolled up beanie hat or a pocket hanky.
Remember less is better the more. If you carry a ballpoint pen make sure it doesn’t leak.
But don’t keep your smartphone in your bra when you are feefing a baby because you don’t want the baby to start using the phone do you? Wait till the child is at least two years old before you let them have their own phone and wait till they are 15 before you buy them a bra.
It is better for them to leave their phone at home and let them run out to play in the street with any other children who are still allowed to go out of the house.
Because you can use a phone all your life but you can only play in the street until you are adolescent and it was one of the happiest times of my own life. Of course there wasn’t so much traffic then. People didn’t lock their front doors and the kettle was always on the fire for any unexpected visitor.
Once you reach adolescence I’m afraid life is completely different and I don’t think any adolescent wants to keep a phone in their bra to be absolutely truthful. A bird in the hand is worth two in a bra.
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
Between the world and how we represent
The nameless by a name and even place
There is a space or void in our intent.
What mother saw, what father really meant
How love and hate might intertwine in space
In our own world, what can we represent?
In writing, there is lack and letters bent
For ancient writing often scholars traced
There is a space or void in our intent.
Today the sun is golden, gods descend.
With love, for moments, we are all embraced
Of the felt, what can we represent?
Our willingness unblinds the heart so rent
And then we see the face within his face
The space or void is in our interest.
I cross my eyes with fingers interlaced:
The crucifix, the love, the death of Christ
Between the world and what we may attempt
There is a space or void where he was sent
I wish I were in Lancashire again
Pendle Hill the pike of Rivington
The mountains of North Wales , the Cheshire plain
I will never climb, my legs are gone,
Dear home, the cobbled Street my skipping rope.
The end wall of the house my mother’s face.
The tree she planted and her helpless hope
The love ,the feeling sad, the lost embrace..
I wish I were in junior school once
more
The powdered ink,, the brass the desks of oak
Children’s laughter to the sky can soar,
Skipping fast and how our arms would a àche
I wish I were a child and has no cares
I miss the. Freedom, bonfire night the War
The wordless feelings of the soul catch light
Like fire,like diamonds, like the dust of stars
With their fire they penetrate the night
To expression, they the mind incite
To where the words may open and be clear
The wordless feelings of the soul catch light
Expression by its methods brings delight
We see the molten universe desire
With great fires , with wonder, what work’s wrought?
Like a flock of geese in happy flight
The heart of unknown worlds is not a liar
The sense of feeling souls will bring us light
Of the thunder and the lion we note
The natural world with its own might conspires
With its being it permeates the night
So our hearts and souls does love devour
Never cornered never shall love cower
The wordless feelings of the soul catch light
With such brilliance, can we feel the night?
David’s latest post is of his poetry and this is well worth visiting this. He is very accomplished and full of feeling.
A President’s Death
Poor Professor Johnson,
I pitied him–his deep feelings.
A dignified man, a scholar,
Teacher of eighteenth
Century British poetry,
Couldn’t speak but to
Say go home, there would
Be no class today.
On the subway someone
Had a portable radio.
No passenger speaking,
Everyone listening in shock,
The tinny, crackling
Radio voice telling us over
And over as though we
Wouldn’t believe him, that
The President I felt I knew
Though he was rich and I
A student struggling with
Illness and poverty,
Had been shot. Professor
Johnson went home and read
Alexander Pope’s masterful
Couplets through tears.
Gerard Manley Hopkins poetry
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44398/no-worst-there-is-none-pitched-past-pitch-of-grief
But metaphors are not merely things to be seen beyond. In fact, one can see beyond them only by using other metaphors. It is as though the ability to comprehend experience through metaphor were a sense, like seeing or touching or hearing, with metaphors providing the only ways to perceive and experience much of the world. Metaphor is as much a part of our functioning as our sense of touch, and as precious.
.Metaphors we live by
George Lakoff and Mark Johnson
Painting by Katherine.Copyright
Two whole worlds.
One small cut.
One little chink.
Hard to find.
Very,very hard.
One small place
Where a very little cat
Could slip right through
The geometrician ‘s cut.
Cat could slip right through.
Just,slip straight through.
Joining it’s own reflection
On the opposite side.
The mirror’s other side.
And if I caught that tail,
If I caught her little tail,
She could pull me through,
She could pull me through,
So she and I too
We’d be on the other side,
The wrong way round,
On the opposite side.
So when you looked in,
If you looked in,
You would see me there,
Looking out at you,
From the opposite side.
From the opposite side.
And the cat beside
Looking very small,
Very,very small;
But very,very real.
How do you think you’d feel,
If I was looking out,
Staring at you
From the opposite side?
I can’t get back.
I can’t find Riemann’s cat
and without that pussy cat
I can’t find Riemann’s cut.
I think I’m in a trap.
I cannot find that cat.
So she can’t find the cut
To get me back,
She can’t bring me back
To where I was before.
Oh,how queer,
To have two of me in here.
I hope I’ll get on well
With my other self,
Behind the looking glass.
No one looking in,
But two are staring out.
From that other world.
I am looking out,
I’m looking out
To see if you are there.
One of you’s with me
That makes the total three.
Oh,dear me,
I should not have grabbed
Little pussy’s tail.
I didn’t really know
Where she meant to go.
“Where have you been?
Where do you think you’ve been
To get so filthy black,
And where’s your pussy cat?”
She never came back.
Never came back
From the opposite side.
Mammy thought I’d lied.
I don’t tell lies,
But I can see my cat
Staring out at me.
Staring out at me
From the other side.
From the opposite side
Of my looking glass.
My lovely looking glass
Has trapped my tiny cat
On the opposite side.
On the opposite side
On the other side
Homer’s tales were laced with important lessons for his contemporaries on the “proper” ways to think and behave. He taught (or reminded) them how to properly treat a stranger or a relative, face danger and hardship, worship, and so on. Similarly, the fables of Aesop and Da Vinci ranged in subject matter from comments upon the quirks of human nature to considering the meaning of existence.
From … Therapeutic metaphors :
Helping others through the looking glass”‘ by David Gordon
How my heart speaks 