Original sin

The sin a child is born to is not hers;
For mother’s body’s sacred with its grace.
The sin a child is born to,it is ours

Yet ,at a baptism will the priest declare:
Out ye demons,leave this infant’s space.
The sin a child is born to is not hers

The infant naturally speaks in tongues of fire.
The Spirit moves eternal in its trace
The sin a child is born to,it is ours

The path we learn to walk ‘s already there
The rules and laws were written with no haste
The sin a child is born to is not hers

A child born now is marked by Iraq War
A child born now, in paranoia’s traced.
The sin a child is born to,it is ours

Oh,look upon the infant’s holy face
Beatific vision is there traced
The sin a child is born to is not hers
The sin a child is born to,it is ours

Smokey Road near Hythe

Leaving Elham driving South to Hythe
Driving by the stubble through the smoke
As if the very earth was all aflame
The Saxon cliffs provide a steep old road

By the shore the sea was teal and glowed
The hinterland was barley, sun and light
The crops up in the North were never rich
For us Northern people , such a sight

Now the Channel Tunnel is nearby
Motorways with lorries either way
Yet I remember Dover,Deal, and Hythe
The little woods where children used to play

ÎThe Saxon cliffs are wayback from the sea
The Saxons would be startled, could they see

I have made my bed on winter leaves

I have walked the silent paths of grief
Since I made my choice to care for him
I have slept on beds of cold dead leaves.

I do not want to claim that death’s a thief
Although my heart’s dear light and joy have gone.
I have never felt I was deceived.

I have learned that human life’s too brief.
I have learned by sorrow I’m undone.
I have sifted earth and what’s beneath.

I have felt the dark emotions seethe
While I have been mocked by cruel sun.
I have learned the geography of grief.

I wait on earth for senseless life to cease
Or will a fluttering wing make chaos come,
Change my heart and give me a fresh lease?

Catastrophic grief can make us dumb
Into our hearts we drag the ice that numbs
I have walked the silent paths of grief
I have slept on beds of winter leaves

The shops look all the same to me

The shops look all the same to me.
plastic human models with no heads
are placed in the windows
showing us how we might look
if we bought the latest “fashions”.
“
People walk, by dropping paper and cans
some look at me,most don’t
I’m invisible now ,I’m a ghost.
I haunt my familiar spaces
the library green and the path by the river

The phone shops tempt us with large notices:
Just £39 per month for the best of all,
the latest,the new maps and locations
faster access to email and photos.
Look ,here I am,another selfie.The only beauty is a pigeon in the sun
and a black man with gentle,luminous eyes
smiling at me as he sweeps away the paper
tossed down by the blinded people
who jabber beside the coffee shop.

I’ll love 94

From Finland to the Phillipines

Egypt to Xanadu

From the North Pole to  the Netherlands,

I love only you.

That isn’t very Christian

Nor would it please the  Jew.

So  if I must be good,my dear.

Then I willl love two.

When I get more holy

And know where the virtues be

I’ll  be  even better then

For I will then love three.

When I get dark, old and grey

And soon will be no more

I’ll make Jesus happy,

For I shall love a score.

From Alaska to Andalucia

Berlin to Borneo

If God spares  me  much longer

I’ll love ninety four!

;

Good news about Alzheimer’s disease but don’t be passive. Find things that you like to do when you retire or before and do not just watch the television

I àm glad they have found something that’ might help. There is tremendous amount of anxiety now. This may have a very bad effect on people mostly people who will never get it.What I have found distressing is that most older people do not have any hobbies or personal interests and sit watching the television for Hours Is it at all possible to try to find some kind of intellectual or artistic stimulus that you can practice before you get to be too old. Writing short stories or poems which will help you even if they are not very good quality.Going to art classes again it helps you whether or not you are any good at art and makes you observant when you go out as you can wonder what colours you would use to paint the sky which has such a variety of colors in it at different times of the day.It’s a very good idea to keep going for walks even if they are very short because it helps the blood social ocean and more blood will go to your brain.Even gossiping will help the brain but don’t take them to court for anything.That will not help your brain in the long run.What can we do ourselves rather than relying entirely on the hope for scientific research is a positive step. And whatever happens to you when you’re old you’ll find it very beneficially if you could write about it even keeping a journal or writing matters to your relatives instead of sending emails.It’s rarely too late for something good to happen know that because it’s what I have done myself.Don’t wait do something.

Where’s the Biro?

With a biro scribble down the lines

No Fountain pen,no Rorsach blots, no nibs

Lots of paper needed every time.

Words are are hewed from rock the’re never glib

Laptops message easier to write

Yet they use no muscles,axe nor line

No hands are wrung no paper pierced,no fight.

The brain is severed from the hand unkind.

If there is a written script it sells

It conveys it’s vision through the hands, the heart

It’s not just to the brain but every cell

Heal yourself by feeling not by charts

Walk about with pockets full of pens.

Every word on every line makes sense

Grenfell tower


[2017 recalled]

When ancient peoples sacrificed to God
They offered up the best of what they had.
The king’s own son would be the frequent choice
As insulting a God was seen as vice.

And when a man goes courting for a bride
He offers her a ring that satisfies
He does not give her tin or zinc or lead
But gold or diamonds glorify the bed.

Yet here in modern or post-modern times
We offer up the lowest as our sacrifice.
And so the wealthy shall go straight to hell
As murderers of the sick and poor who fell.

In the past, the rich gave to the poor
But now they burned them up in Grenfell Tower.

The town

T

The shops look all the same to me.
plastic human models with no heads
are placed in the windows
showing us how we might look
if we bought the latest “fashions”.
“
People walk, by dropping paper and cans
some look at me,most don’t
I’m invisible now ,I’m a ghost.
I haunt my familiar spaces
the library green and the path by the river

The phone shops tempt us with large notices:
Just £39 per month for the best of all,
the latest,the new maps and locations
faster access to email and photos.
Look ,here I am,another selfie.

The only beauty is a pigeon in the sun
and a black man with gentle,luminous eyes
smiling at me as he sweeps away the paper
tossed down by the blinded people
who jabber beside the coffee shop.

Emile gets his nerve back

  • Tabby-Cats3

    Wikipedia

    Stan was happy for a few moments when he woke up.Then he realized Emile was not anywhere to be seen.Mary had already gone out as she wanted to catch a very early train to London.She needed to visit the British Library.She urgently wanted to find evidence that Wittgenstein wore a hat in bed.
    Stan went searching around the house but Emile had vanished.Usually at 8 am he would be dashing about pretending to chase flies and giving a balletic performance worthy of Sadler’s Wells.
    I wonder who Sadler was,Stan muttered as he filled the kettle with fresh water and put some Earl Grey tea into the teapot.
    Then, a strange feeling came over him.He looked up and there was Emile
    crouched on top of the highest cupboard in the kitchen.
    Emile,he cried,What are you doing up there?
    I’m training to be a spy,Emile replied nonchalantly.
    But how could this kitchen be of interest to the Intelligence Services?
    Well,the cat murmured,I am practising hiding.
    You gave me a terrible shock,Stan said.I had this feeling I was being watched.I wondered if it was paranoia.Then I saw your gleaming eyes.
    So,I need to get some dark glasses,Emile said.
    No,I would still feel that horrible feeling.And how were you planning to get down from that high ledge?
    I’m not sure,the cat mioawed faintly
    Well,the first lesson for a spy or even a detective is,
    Never go anywhere unless you can make a quick exit,
    As it is,I may have to ring 999.
    Just then the front doorbell rang.There stood a man with a white beard and moustache.
    Hello,he said holding out his hand to shake Stan’s.
    I am called Peter Fried.I have just moved into one of the new flats across the road.I am a psychoanalyst.I have taken on another flat to use as a consulting room and a waiting room
    A psychoanalyst! Do we need one round here? Well,Good morning,I have just brewed some tea.Would you like to join me?
    How kind,said Peter.
    I say,old bean,did you know there’s a cat on top of your cupboard?
    Yes,that is Emile.Today he has surpassed himself in wickedness.How I will get him down I don’t know.
    My training analyst used to say,What goes up must eventually come down.
    That seems a bit weird for an analyst.To what was he referring… something to do with sex I don’t doubt.It’s all sex with you people.
    Yes, some of us are very peculiar…that’s why we enter the profession.
    What I meant was,if Emile got up he can get down.How did you get up,Emile?
    I leaped,answered the tense animal.
    Can you leap down?
    I’ve lost my nerve,replied the poor creature softly.
    Well, as it happens,being a therapist,I always carry few sparwe nerves with me.I’ll climb up this stepladder and pass you a new nerve.
    And without waiting,Peter climbed the ladder.He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a golden thread.
    Here you are,Emile,Catch this in your claw.
    Emile caught the golden thread and wrapped it around his neck.
    Can you leap down now? enquired Stan.
    Emile leaped down and landed in a bowl of hot water in the sink.
    It’s a good thing I wasn’t making chips,laughed Stan.
    Come here,Emile and let me dry you on this old towel.He put Emile
    in front of the fire and he and Peter drank mugs of Earl Grey tea.
    I have got a mistress,Stan told Peter.
    Well,do you want therapy for your conflict?
    Oh,no.I’m far too old for therapy or indeed for a mistress.I was wondering of you would perhaps be interested …she just likes to spend a little time with an intriguing man.. talking, drawing graphs, interpreting data,making tea,calling the ambulance.. you know what I mean.She likes the paramedic,Dave.
    Is she not married?
    No,her husband fell into the wheelie bin during the night and alas he was taken away with the rubbish.
    That is a strange story.Are you certain?
    No,it could be he grew tired of her and ran away.Then she invented this story,
    Well,this may be a quiet suburb but I can see there is plenty of material here for me to write my next book:
    Deceptive appearances and the fascination of apparent dullness.
    Oh,that sounds very unusual.
    Well,I’ve never believed in true dullness.There is always a story.
    See,I’ve just met you a man of 98 yet you have a wife, a mistress and a crazy cat.. and I’ve only been here for one day.Imagine 6156119_f260

    what else I may discover here.
    They heard a siren.
    Oh,no!We’ve not even rung 999 and here is the ambulance….
    Mary will be so angry..You see Dave is bisexual.
    My goodness,are you having an affair with him.
    No way,shouted Stan.My life is tough enough already.He can be bisexual or even trisexual but I’m not interested.
    What does trisexual mean,enquired Emile.
    I have no idea but I thought it sounded good,admitted Stan.
    Peter stood up.
    I think I’d better go home and start to see my patients.
    Now Emile,put your nerve somewhere safe.We don’t want you to lose it again.
    Thank you,darling cried Emile.I think I’ve formed an erotic transference with you already.
    Peter rushed out.
    Is it me or is it them?he wondered.
    I thought it would be quiet here on the edge of Knittingham but I think now wherever you are there will always be something unexpected happening.But I hope Emile will not begin to follow me around.I shall have to buy a lady cat and then Emile might fall in love with her instead.So off Peter went whistling a Bach cello suite and wondering how to cope with life in a suburb.. clearly it was not as dull as he had imagined.

The therapist and the cat.

What on earth

Into the washing machine… therapy’s disasters

Peter Fried,the psychoanalyst newly arrived in Knittingham, had noticed that whilst he was practising “free floating attention”
with his patients an image of a cat peering in the window behind the couch was troubling him.He hoped it was not some hallucination transferred from the Unconscious of one of his patients into his consciousness.
Still,having a black cat looking in the window was by no means the most unpleasant optical illusion he had ever suffered.In a way,it was quite sweet.
He was back in his “home” flat boiling some eggs for his supper when the doorbell rang.He opened it cautiously with a sort of furtive excitement.There stood a strikingly attractive woman wearing a purple coat and a red hat with matching red ballet flats and a bright green designer handbag from TKMaxx.[£29.99 and well worth it]
Hello,I thought I’d introduce myself,I live across the street next door to Stan and Mary..my name is Anne..How are you settling in?
She walked confidently through his flat and into the new teak kitchen with its gleaming work surfaces and marble pastry rolling strip…. though Peter never made pastry himself.
Eggs!Are you a curry lover?By pure chance and serendipity I have a tin of vindaloo sauce here.I could pour it over these eggs.
Should we not remove the shells first?Peter asked with a just hint of humour.
Definitely,leave it to me.I’ve brought some naan bread and some brown rice too
How did you know I was boiling six eggs?
Why Emile told me,of course!
Emile….is he black?
Some people call him black,others say he’s mixed race.
Let’s not argue about semantics,he replied discourteously.
I don’t even know what semantics, are she screeched into his left ear.
Well,that is no barrier to arguing about them,he replied diplomatically.
Well,it’s senseless, she answered kindly.”I am not a person who enjoys an argument.Go and sit down,read the paper and I’ll finish preparing the curry dinner.
Is it common around here to have an unknown woman come in to cook your dinner?Peter asked Anne.
No,it’s the height of sophistication,she said judiciously.
It’s just with you being new I wanted to meet you to see if you need any assistance in your work.I don’t need money,I like to serve the community in some way.Of course I am Stan’s mistress but as he’s in a bad temper today I’ve not seen him.I suspect he is growing tired of me.
Are you married,Peter asked her.
No,but I was once.My husband ran off with his brother’s wife,so we decided to pretend they were both dead.
That’s intriguing,said Peter,I am married but my wife developed an allergy to my skin.She could not bear to touch it so it became awkward… very awkward.
Fancy, and you a therapist too,she murmured softly,So where is she now?
Oh, she lives on the Isle of Man,near Peel.I do go to see her now and then… and there are lovely sunsets over there… you can see the Mountains of Mourne.
Are you lonely, she asked him very emotionally.
No,I see seven patients a day..
But that’s not the same as having a wife or a friend.
Since my wife’s allergy,I am afraid to touch another woman.
How sad,cried Anne…I have very thick skin.Would you like to touch me? she said seductively
Perhaps another time,Peter said in a kindly way,But thanks for being so generous.I am touched by your amiability and femininity and your
kindness in introducing yourself.
.
Let’s eat the curry before we die of hunger.
They sat down at the kitchen table to eat the egg curry when they saw some amber eyes gleaming at the window.
Oh, dear,There’s Emile again.
Will he tell Stan?
Probably,but actually Stan no longer wants me.Yet Emile adores me.He will be jealous… he’s a cat,but he has the feeling of a man.
And indeed Emile’s eyes were gleaming like those of a tiger… he began to speak through the window glass.
Would you mind if I had some curry?Stan never makes it… I love spices
Why not? said Peter.
Emil’s plan was to get near Anne but first he had to eat the vindaloo egg curry.He took a mouthful..my,it was hot.His eyes began to water and his nose ran…. all round the room.He mioawed piteously
I need a hanky.
We shall have to ring 999,muttered Anne.
What! Do they tend to cats?
They usually have some hankies for cats….
So without any further ado,she took out her Samsung mobile phone and rang.
I don’t know how I shall get on living here,thought Peter.
He ran across the room and jumped into the washing machine with the tea towels and kitchen cloths.
Will he escape?
Buy the next chapter…only three shilling and sixpence or free with the Daily Wail tomorrow…order now for next life delivery!

The tears again

can see there is plenty of material here for me to write my next book:

Deceptive appearances and the fascination of apparent dullness.

Oh, that sounds very unusual.

Well, I’ve never believed in true dullness.There is always a story.

6156119_f260

See, I’ve just met you a man of 98 yet you have a wife, a mistress and a crazy cat.. and I’ve only been here for one day.Imagine 

what else I may discover here.

They heard a siren.

Oh, no!We’ve not even rung 999 and here is the ambulance….

Mary will be so angry.You see Dave is bisexual

My goodness, are you having an affair with him.

No way, shouted Stan.My life is tough enough already.He can be bisexual or even trisexual but I’m not interested.

What does trisexual mean, enquired Emile.

I have no idea but I thought it sounded good, admitted Stan.

Peter stood up.

I think I’d better go home and start to see my patients.

Now Emile, put your nerve somewhere safe.We don’t want you to lose it again.

Thank you, darling cried Emile.I think I’ve formed an erotic transference with you already.

Peter rushed out.

Is it me or is it them?he wondered.

I thought it would be quiet here on the edge of Knittingham but I think now wherever you are there will always be something unexpected happening.But I hope Emile will not begin to follow me around.I shall have to buy a lady cat and then Emile might fall in love with her instead.So off Peter went whistling a Bach cello suite and wondering how to cope with life in a suburb.. clearly it was not as dull as he had imagined.

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Try to be sarcastic once a day

Try to be sarcastic once a day.

Honest and truth have never paid.

Never tell your secrets to a fool.

Never tell your children they are fools

Never go along with any crowd

Get fatter so the wind can’t knock you down

Don’t tell other people they’re obese

Never start a war to ensure peace.

Build a wall in secret piece by peace

Singing still the ancient elegies.

Reverberations of the ancient elegies
The coffin carried by the four dark men
Agitate the mind with memory

He has gone and where will I soon be?
Am I to live and utilise my pen
Remembering all the ancient elegies?

I’d like to ask him what beauty he could see
Before he smiled and dropped his head again
Don’t agitate the mind with memory.

Hamlet asked, to be or not to be
But most go quietly when it is their turn
Singing still the ancient elegies.

Can we trust the darkness we perceive
Where god hides his greatest mystery, man
Don’t agitate the mind with memory.

Violently, with passion, the young burn
Then stone temples harden as they learn
Reverberations of the ancient elegies
Wound the human mind with memory

An unearthly glow

My face is pale,my hair is white as snow
In my eyes is an unearthly glow

I ate some salt beef and some bread today
I tried to write a poem very gay

The Government attracted scorn and blows
The wind is in the willows with Jon Snow

Israel is getting on my mind
The deaf can’t see and all rest are blind

Come to Gaza, on the beach we play
Some children just got shot, ought we to pray?

On mountains where the prophets heard the Lord
The vultures now await the battle scarred.

The United Nations cannot speak the Word
Apartheid makes me wonder who is scared.

Jesus was a man so we are told
God sent him here, we killed him feeling bold

Would you like Guernica again?
Say the word, we’ll kill for pay.Amen

In the deserts of the human heart
Are there wells where water can be bought?

From whom come our so called Human Rights?
And by the way, what of the children’s plight?

Would you take a break on the West Bank?
We have some Bedouin Tents,and many tanks

Jerusalem is holy, what a shock!
You can eat ice cream right on the Rock

Women cannot wail on that great Wall
They have no height, they need to grow more tall

Golden is the dome and bright the sun
Catch an “Arab” out and have some fun

If we did not believe there was a God
He’d go away and leave us just his rod

I hate her wooden coat hangers all cracked
Give me wire and let me be abstract

I found some shoes but they have dropped apart
Think of how that hurt my Bakewell tarts

The Sacred Whore, the Holy Demon’s plight
The Holy Ghost is not inclined to fight

I have a table here on which I paint
I look so pale, will I be forced to faint?

In the bitter depths of winter night
Boil the kettle, lose your human rights

If you feel depressed then eat our bread
It will remove the skull from off your head

Are you feeling lonesome in the crowd?
Buy our lipstick then men will be cowed

Did you think ceramic hobs were best?
Come to us and have your IQ blessed

I want a pan for halogen hot plates
I’d ask the cat but it’s out on a date

Does Confession really help the damned?
God have mercy as the Devil can’

Hearing his voice

Katherine 2012

I heard your voice outside the closed front door
I felt no shock or worry or surprise.
But there a man whose image is a blur
Handed me a box with friendly cry.

What part of me still waits for your return?
Why don’t I know you’re gone from this your home
What knowledge must my puzzled heart still learn?
Why do I get an urge to search and roam?

If we are conversations,as I read,
Then our exchange has ended with your death
And so I am not she with whom you laid
Nor she with whom you shared a common breath.

When deprived of hearing your response
I am not the self whom I was once.

Where is my skin?

1

The sun shines in the places that haunt me
Not the cave of darkness and despair
His empty chair ,his love,my memory

What I was and who I soon shall be
How my little time on earth will fare
The sun peers into places that haunt me

The beauty of the dark red maple tree
He wished to have his ashes buried there
Oh, empty chair the kindest memory

Regardless, violent , flowers will love the bee
I watch them start their silent love affair
The sun shines in the places that haunt me

I weep into my android phone, it beeps
Feeling shocked, I gasp ,I need more air
Oh, startling phone , who filled your memory?

Oh, chance and fate,why blast my heart so bare?
Where is my skin, my boundary, the despair
The sun shines in the places that haunt me
His empty chair, the anguish, the repair

The patients’ association

Our purpose. To ensure that everybody can access and benefit from the health and care they need to live well, by ensuring that services are designed and delivered through equal partnership with patients.

https://www.patients-association.org.uk › …

How we see the world | The Patients

Elderly people and the NHS

Patients Association has been receiving calls on our helpline from people wanting to talk about the dreadful, neglectful, demeaning, painful and sometimes downright cruel treatment their elderly relatives had experienced at the hands of NHS nurses,” she said. “These bad, cruel nurses may be – probably are – a tiny proportion of the nursing work force, but even if they are only one or 2% of the whole, they should be identified and struck off