The river wide

Praise me with your song and I will smile

Praise me with your sentences unveiled

Comfort me with honey and your kiss

Did God create the world to create this?

Praise me through the thoughtfulness of words 

Aid me with the singing of sweet birds

Bring forth  the wild blossom on the trees.

Every creature, every plant takes

 ease

In your arms, enfold me when it’s dark

In your arms I waken to the lark

Pray for me with singing these your songs

In your tender arms I once belonged

Pray for me when I have gone to rest

The worms will not be hungry when I’m blessed

On the River share my boat and guide

The Water’s deep and dangerous on the tide

A war doctor turned poet

11850525_607677849372097_8850931122170517998_ohttps://www.vice.com/en_uk/article/8gdygp/healing-soldiers-with-literature-427

Extract

“Gunners in Sevastopol, Ukraine, had unhinged the gates of hell on a battalion of British troops. On October 25, 1854, cannonballs flattened dozens of men a pop, and warhorses sank to their hocks in the splatter. When the smoke cleared 110 were dead, making the Battle of Balaclava one of the most notorious suicide missions of the Crimean War.

Six weeks after the massacre Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Britain’s poet laureate, hailed the soldiers’ valor in 55 lines of verse and enshrined them in legend. A tragic ballad with a biting sense of futility (“Theirs not to reason why, / Theirs but to do and die”), “The Charge of the Light Brigade” became the ambivalent banner cry of this and so many subsequent wars of questionable cause. But Rudyard Kipling’s postscript to the poem, “The Last of the Light Brigade,” written years later, went nearly unnoticed. His largely forgotten effort considered the battle’s forgotten survivors, who, “limping and lean and forlorn,” had inherited from their country nothing but shell shock, pained deformity, and crippling unemployment. Though Kipling wrote the essential poem about Crimea, Tennyson wrote the crowd favorite, as the public wants the battle but not the aftermath, like a child loath to clean up its mess.

If the war poet Frederick Foote has a mission, it would be to unite Tennyson’s gift for elegy with Kipling’s sense of debt. His debut collection, Medic Against Bomb, has enjoyed considerable acclaim since its quiet release last fall, receiving the Grayson Books Poetry Prize, earning applause from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Library of Congress, and being named by the Progressive as a best book of the year. An account of Foote’s time as a US Navy doctor in Iraq and Afghanistan, the book is a tonic for the genre. A relic of the sickbay rather than the battlefield, it prefers the guts of war to the glory, lamenting the wounded on both sides with Hippocratic impartiality.

Like Kipling, Foote knows he is here not to eulogize but to heal. And his interest in the intersection of art and war doesn’t end with his poetry collection. After studying humanities at the University of Chicago, Foote trained in neurology at Georgetown and Yale. When he returned from Iraq and Afghanistan he dedicated himself to finding new ways of treating veterans beset with brain injury and post-traumatic stress disorder. His approach has been auspiciously atypical. With military funding, Foote founded the Epidaurus Project, which researches and advocates the use of holistic medicine throughout the armed forces, and his writing group, the Warrior Poets Project, puts verse at the center of this practice. In other words, his writerly endeavors are inseparable from his pastoral care, devoted as it is to the therapeutic power of art. If his work as a poet focuses on the literature of medicine, his work as a doctor focuses on the medicine of literature.”

The broken lamp?

He fellhr broke our lamp, a sphere of stone
Made by potters on the Suffolk Coast
The lamp was silent, it was he who groaned

I was not angry, though I may have moaned
I loved our lamps but I loved him the most
He fell so broke our lamp, a sphere of stone

For human time on earth is just a loan
And of it’s wasting, who am I to boast?
The lamp was quiet, the man it was who groaned

Like a candle when the flame is blown
His life force waned, I saw as I was close
He fell so broke our lamp, a sphere of stone

By the following week, his soul had flown
I heard the music of a distant Host
The room was quiet, my love no longer groaned

Of the love of God, I long to boast
Despite that, devils my heart froze
Why go down and break that lamp forlorn
The lamp is silent, now I am alone

Your breakfast menu

Fried Weetabix and assembled eggs with ruses..

Roast buttered bread and milk from gnats

Corncakes and grass seeds with cheese sorcery if desired.

Freaking eggs blended on tortoise.

Grilled bacon burnt to beds.

Your choice of juice please remember that grape juice takes a very long time to make so be sure you restrict consumption

We have orange marmalade : this is not made from Russian oranges. They were sold as red grapefruit. Just think that I could commit it a war crime without even trying. The psychiatrist is coming. It may be an hallucination but sometimes they are better than the real things

Please feel flea to ask for toast and Marmaduke

You do not need to give the waitress tips because she knows everything already.

Please do not admire the women’s figures as mathematics is now viewed as sexual harassment. The geometry of the spheres is secret.

We know that you can get grapefruit marmalade. But we just don’t get it.

English is not my worst language.

If you start please finish before hand.

You can have porridge when you have picked the oats from the shelf at Jiggles. Good night

The agony of Ukraine

Is it mental illness to feel down

When we see a hospital destroyed

Little children plunged into the void

Mr Putin smiles more than he frowns

God himself was cruel in the past

Destroyed Gomorrah full of wicked men

He used to be be more active way back then

Is it Satan gloating in the blast?

We can’t believe a war is close at hand

We don’t want to lose our own dear men

Babies with. no fathers cry in vain

Ukraine’s agony to the world expands

The mystery of the world

Whatever evil humankind may do

The sun will rise and shine on one and all.

Mercy ,grace and love are spread anew

As apples ripen and the sweet birds call.

What is the mystery of the world we know;

That God looks with dispassion on us all?

And what his wondrous virtues are to show

When wolves attack and murder us appalls

Will heaven compensate the refugees

Who starve in camps when money is withheld.

From those who gave us prophets and great seers

We see confusion,fear then ethics felled.

So often we are blind to wider views

And get mere entertainment from the News

How one person affects history:Martin Luther

Martin Luther’s Anti-Semitic Legacy—500 Years Later

 

Martin Luther’s Anti-Semitic Legacy—500 Years Later

BY MARILYN COOPERApril 28, 2017 in Featured,

By Marilyn Cooper

Five hundred years ago, legend has it that a renegade Catholic monk named Martin Luther (1483-1546) angrily strode up the steps of the Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany and defiantly nailed Ninety-Five Theses harshly critiquing the Roman Catholic Church to the chapel door. It was the proverbial shot heard round the world. Due to a game changing new piece of technology—the printing press—copies of the Ninety-Five Theses spread through Germany within two weeks and throughout Europe in the next two months. The document catalyzed the Protestant Reformation, a revolutionary movement that resulted in a permanent schism in the Christian Church and radically altered the entire course of history in Western Europe.

The 500th anniversary, which numerous conferences, museum exhibits and special events and publications are commemorating throughout 2017, has a much darker significance for Jews. While Martin Luther initially had a relatively positive relationship with German Jews, he eventually adopted vociferously anti-Jewish rhetoric and promoted violence against Jews. His views helped shape centuries of anti-Semitic attitudes in Western Europe, and the Nazis later used his writing to stir up anti-Jewish sentiment.

During the first decade or so of his career, Martin Luther personally identified with the plight of Jews in Europe and declared that both he and the Jews had suffered at the hands of the Catholic Church. Luther broke with the then-prevalent view that the Jews had killed Christ and in his 1523 essay “That Jesus Was Born a Jew” condemned the harsh treatment of the Jews. “If I had been a Jew and had seen such dolts and blockheads govern and teach the Christian faith, I would sooner have become a hog than a Christian,” he wrote. “They have dealt with the Jews as if they were dogs rather than human beings; they have done little else than deride them and seize their property.” Luther’s motivations were not entirely altruistic, he hoped to persuade German Jews to join his anti-Catholic crusade and convert to Christianity.

Failing at that and following an epic case of food poisoning in 1528 brought on by eating a kosher meal—Luther was convinced that the Jewish community had tried to poison him—in a dramatic about face, Luther denounced the Jewish religion and called for severe persecution of Jews. This culminated in his infamous 1543 pamphlet, “Concerning the Jews and Their Lies” in which he urged Christians to “set fire to their synagogues or schools” and ordered that Jewish “houses also be razed and destroyed” and additionally declared that, “their rabbis [should] be forbidden to teach on pain of loss of life and limb.” Even on his deathbed, Luther raged that the Christians had failed to slay the Jews.

Luther’s writings incited violence against Jews for the next half-millennium; this culminated in the 1930s and 1940s. In 1933, pro-Nazis in the Lutheran Church formed the German Christian’s Faith Movement. This virulently anti-Semitic movement adhered to the Nazi doctrine of a German super race and the inferiority of all other races, especially the Jews. This “Reich Church” banned the use of the Hebrew Bible because of its Jewish origins, barred Christians with “Jewish blood” and eventually replaced the cross with the swastika. On December 17, 1941, seven Lutheran regional confederations issued a statement supporting the laws that forced Jews to wear a yellow star writing that “Luther had strongly suggested [such] preventive measures against the Jews.” Deeply devoted to Martin Luther’s anti-Judaism, this church dominated German Protestantism and Lutheranism throughout World War II.

The ideas and writings of Martin Luther impacted Hitler’s regime well beyond the “Reich Church.” According to historian Robert Michael, almost every anti-Jewish book published in the Third Reich referred to, and quoted from, Martin Luther. Similarly, British historian Diarmaid MacCulloch argues that Luther’s 1543 pamphlet was the “blueprint” for Kristallnacht, noting that Lutheran Bishop Martin Sasse in his published compendium of Luther’s writings rejoiced in the coincidence that Kristallnacht took place on Luther’s birthday. The Nazi Party forcefully asserted that Adolf Hitler was continuing the work of Luther. Bernhard Rust, the Nazi Minister of Education, echoed this when he wrote, “I think the time is past when one may not say the names of Hitler and Luther in the same breath. They belong together—they are of the same old stamp.”

After the end of World War II and the revelations of the horrors of the death camps, a slow process of reconciliation began. The Roman Catholic Church renounced its theological anti-Semitism at the Second Vatican Council of 1965, but took another 50 years to withdraw its official support of missionary work aimed at converting Jews. In 1994, the 5-million-member Evangelical Lutheran Church in American recognized and renounced Luther’s “anti-Judaic diatribes” and rejected “the violent recommendations of his later writings against the Jews.” The European branches of the Lutheran church have gradually followed suit. After Josef Schuster, head of the Central Council of Jews in Germany, called upon the Protestant church to disavow Luther’s anti-Jewish writings, in November of 2016 the Lutheran Church in Germany issued a statement condemning Luther’s anti-Semitism and acknowledging, “the part played by the Reformation tradition in the painful history between Christians and Jews.” The state Lutheran churches of Norway and the Netherlands have since made similar declarations.

Today, two images displayed on the outside wall of Castle Church in Wittenberg, German aptly reflect the complex legacy of the protestant Reformation. The first is a Judensau or “Jew-Pig,” a sculpture from the late 14th century that disparagingly depicts a rabbi pulling up the tail of a female pig and looking into its backside while other Jews kneel down to suckle on the animal’s teats—Martin Luther praised the sculpture in one of his pamphlets. Directly below the Judensau is a Holocaust memorial plaque. The Castle Church installed it on the 50th anniversary of Kristallnacht to counteract the anti-Semitic sculpture. There have been demonstrations and repeated calls for the removal of the Judensau and 30 other similar “Jewish pig” sculptures on churches around Germany, but local Jewish leaders in Wittenberg want the Judensau to remain as a testimony to the anti-Semitism of Germany’s past. When viewed together, they contend, the two images ensure that today’s Germans will recognize and grapple with the totality of their troubling past.

The Diameter Of The Bomb by Yehuda Amichai

The diameter of the bomb was thirty centimeters
and the diameter of its effective range about seven meters,
with four dead and eleven wounded.
And around these, in a larger circle
of pain and time, two hospitals are scattered
and one graveyard. But the young woman
who was buried in the city she came from,
at a distance of more than a hundred kilometers,
enlarges the circle considerably,
and the solitary man mourning her death
at the distant shores of a country far across the sea
includes the entire world in the circle.
And I won’t even mention the crying of orphans
that reaches up to the throne of God and
beyond, making a circle with no end and no God.

Between the lines, the eyes

The sexual smile the birth and death of kings,

The Plathian axe, the tree, and how it rings

The horse unsaddled throws  its mistress off

The ending of a life, the voice that scoffs.

Even the saddest man can tell good lies

How a woman’s beauty hurt men’s eyes.

The hint of promise paralysed his smile

The sexual smile the enemy,the child

Is there sacredness in this world now?

IMG_0276

IMG_0269

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 will hurt your feelings every day

I’m flattered that you want to marry me

Yet you are very thin and I am large

When we went to bed I’d squash you flat

You are just a Kayak Im a Barge

I always tell the truth however cruel

So I’ll hurt your feelings every day

For truth is beauty to a mind like mine

So leave me now or never go away.

You like to climb up mountains I believe

A woman is a mountain to a man

Hold my hand and give me kisses three.

I think we met before the world began.

Let’s love each other all the ways we know.

I will not marry now,but never go

A blogger post 2011..

I used to have a blog on Google blogger probably finishing about 2012. And this is not visible now because I don’t write something anymore but obviously I am a source of danger to the innocent.

But now they have decided I am not. Since nobody is going to see it I don’t know why they bother.

We have re-evaluated the post titled ‘Fifty more  green sexpots please’ is
against community guidelines https://blogger.com/go/contentpolicy. Upon 
review, the post has been reinstated.

I can breathe easy now I don’t think that they’re aware of irony or sarcasm or huour or world play.

I assumed that these are people in the USA but would it really harm someone to see the words

50 green sexpots

If this is removed I will know that WordPress has the same kind of regulations and I don’t want to offend anybody or make them lose their faith or corrupt them.

Pleas either do or don’t read this this gets a warning on Blogger (after 12 yes)

I have discovered how to make a blog which few read

Please don’t read this

I have discovered it but why should I tell you.

Email me with your complete questions and thoughts at

onceoponarhyme@poetsareus.org

or at

shethoughtshewasclever@littledeadriding hood.net

or even at

womenandmen@freehermaphrodites.com22:33

Poetics (Aristotle) – Wikipedia

Katherinr

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poetics_(Aristotle)

ReferencesEdit

  1. ^ Aristotelis Opera by August Immanuel Bekker (1837).
  2. ^ Dukore (1974, 31).
  3. ^ Janko (1987, ix).
  4. ^ Aristotle Poetics 1447a13 (1987, 1).
  5. ^ Battin, M. Pabst (1974). “Aristotle’s Definition of Tragedy in the Poetics”. The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism. 33 (2): 155–170. doi:10.2307/429084. ISSN 0021-8529. JSTOR 429084.
  6. ^ Carlson (1993, 16).
  7. ^ John Moles, ‘Notes on Aristotle, Poetics 13 and 14,’ The Classical Quarterly 1979 Vol. 29, No. 1 1979, pp. 77–94
  8. ^ Sheila Murnaghan, “Sucking the Juice without Biting the Rind: Aristotle and Tragic Mimēsis“, New Literary History Autumn 1995 Vol. 26, No. 4, pp. 755–773.
  9. ^ Garver, Eugene (1994). Aristotle’s Rhetoric: An Art of Character. p. 3. ISBN 0226284247.
  10. ^ Haskins, Ekaterina V. (2004). Logos and Power in Isocrates and Aristotle. pp. 31ff. ISBN 1570035261.
  11. ^ Habib, M.A.R. (2005). A History of Literary Criticism and Theory: From Plato to the Present. Wiley-Blackwell. p. 60. ISBN 0-631-23200-1.
  12. ^ Jump up to:a b c Kennedy, George Alexander; Norton, Glyn P. (1999). The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism. Vol. 3. Cambridge University Press. p. 54. ISBN 0521300088.
  13. ^ Jump up to:a b Janko (1987, xx).
  14. ^ Watson, Walter (2015-03-23). The Lost Second Book of Aristotle’s “Poetics”. University of Chicago Press. ISBN 978-0-226-27411-9.
  15. ^ Janko (1987, xxi).
  16. ^ The Basic Works of Aristotle. Ed. Richard McKeon Modern Library (2001) – Poetics. Trans. Ingrid Bywater, pp. 1453–87
  17. ^ Silvia Carli, Poetry is more philosophical than history: Aristotle on mimesis and form, The Review of Metaphysics, December 2010, Vol. 64, No. 2 pp. 303–336, esp. pp. 303–304, 312–313.
  18. ^ Scott (2018)
  19. ^ Halliwell, Stephen (1986). Aristotle’s Poetics. p. 270. ISBN 0226313948.
  20. ^ Gregory Michael Sifakis (2001) Aristotle on the function of tragic poetry p. 50
  21. ^ Aristotle, Poetics 1448a, English, original Greek
  22. ^ Northrop Frye (1957). Anatomy of Criticism.
  23. ^ (1449b25-30) Janko (1987, 7). In Butcher’s translation, this passage reads: “Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in separate parts of the play, in the form of action, not of narrative; through pity and fear effecting the proper catharsis of these emotions.”
  24. ^ Scott 2019
  25. ^ (1449a10-13) Janko (1987, 6). This text is available online in an older translation, in which the same passage reads: “At any rate it originated in improvisation—both tragedy itself and comedy. The one tragedy came from the prelude to the dithyramb and the other comedy from the prelude to the phallic songs which still survive as institutions in many cities.”
  26. ^ Hardison, 81.
  27. ^ Ezzaher, Lahcen E. (2013). “Arabic Rhetoric”. In Enos, Theresa (ed.). Encyclopedia of Rhetoric and Composition. pp. 15–16. ISBN 978-1135816063.
  28. ^ Ezzaher 2013, p. 15.
  29. ^ Minor, Vernon Hyde (2016). Baroque Visual Rhetoric. University of Toronto Press. p. 13. ISBN 978-1442648791.
  30. ^ Eco, Umberto (2004). On literature. Harcourt. p. 236. ISBN 9780151008124.
  31. ^ Destrée (2016); Scott (2018).

Sources

Emile goes to the corner shop

Mary had ordered all of her groceries but she forgot to put tea on the list So she sent Emile to the corner shop with a note tied to his collar
Please give the bearer your best tea.
Emile went off and managed to get into the shop after some children who were getting sweets with their pocket money or debit cards
He went up to the counter and mewed, Mother has sent you a note.
One of the children laughed
Is your mother a girlfriend of Mr. Kumar?
No, she is not, Emile growled with a loud throbbing voice
Mr. Kumar led Emile behind the counter into his living room and spoke to his wife
She asked Emile to sit down as she went into the kitchen and poured him some tea from her China teapot
.Do you want it on a saucer, she enquired thoughtfully?
Yes, please, said Emile. This is very kind.
He leaped onto the rug and began sipping the Ceylon tea. This makes a change, he murmured.
I didn’t know you could just walk in and get free tea!
After a few minutes, the shop door crashed open and he heard Mary’s voice
Oh, Mr. Kumar, I am so stupid. I sent Emile out to buy some Twinings tea and he has not come home! What shall we do? She started crying and dabbing her eyes with Stan’s hanky.
Come through, he whispered politely. Do not weep, dear. All is well
Mary came in and saw Emile drinking his tea and winking at Mrs. Kumar.
Emile, you stupid cat. I was going crazy worrying.I’ll strangle you!
Is it my fault, he replied. I only gave them that note you sent.
But is it not obvious what I intended? she said plaintively
These days you never know, the cat muttered. I try to be obedient as far as I can.
Mrs. Kumar came out and gave Mary a cup of tea.
Sit down, dear. Worry is so bad for you. Why did you not phone us?
Since it was just a packet of tea I thought Emile could carry it. He is very intelligent normally.
Yes, I am, thought Emile as he looked at Maisie, the Kumar’s lovely cat who was asleep on a chair.
I wonder if I can wake her up, he asked himself.
Does she drink tea?
Would she like to start a family? It’s not too late for me to become a parent.
Maisie opened her eyes
What’s that cat doing here?
I only came for the tea, Emile told her. But you look very beautiful. Shall we meet tonight
I’m washing my fur, she told him with a smile
How about tomorrow?
Have you got a phone?
No, he said, I’ll just caterwaul at dusk and if you are free I’ll be under the red maple tree waiting for you
Good grief thought Mary.
This cat is very cunning. Just one chance and he is making the most of it.
Mr. Kumar gave her some tea and she wandered home in a daze after asking them for a drink on Sunday.
My social life is looking up but there’s no-one who will hug me. If only Emile were bigger!
His legs are too short!I should get a donkey instead

No hostility allowed here

Made from one of my photographs using digital art techniques

For the honeymoon we enjoyed the marriage bed too much to get off

The menu was homemade bones with gem for afternoon tea. And for dinner it was lamb drops on a bed of tomatoes and scullions.

When we came back to breakfast the next morning they were staring drilled bacon with eggs of the tide. As you can imagine we were very hungry but we could not co- ruminate well.

Co-rumination is quintessential in any marital situation. Please phone me for more information or email me at the following addresses one only per lesson

cellocat@strungup.org

primenumber8@cuboid.rum

marrymother@electricbill.com

If you are still a virgin after a week in this hotel please inform the manager immediately and he will try to recharge. Guests must be married but not necessarily to each other.

Funerals on request

I miss you though

I miss you though I’ve never met you yet.

I miss you though we’ve had no tete a tete

I dream of you at night when I’m in bed

I wonder what it is we haven’t said.

imagine I could love you should we meet

I invented you and think you look quite neat.

You must have feelings for what is the good.

Aristotle Plato said we should.

Ethics and the principles of love

Guide us like the stars do from above.

Those who cannot read stars fall to sin.

Sometimes Satan and his forces win.

If I got to see you I would know

The eternal Life is now for those who’re low.

From above I saw the TV set

Our life is just a moment on the net

This won’t see me out

When you hear yourself say of your coat

This will see me out

You’ve got the wrong attitude to life

Even with one year to live

Get a beautiful coat in many cllourx

Act as if you’ll live forever

Act as if you have a future.

New season new oufit

Sell your clothes on eBay

Then get something completely different

Change interests others.

Enjoy some admiration in your Indian Paisley coat

Dress in white denim

Be a star

Would you like something to eat?

Main course

Lamb in flurried soap with vegetables
Beef zrumplings in fear of red onions
Eggs died grey with tame rice in cheese sauce.
Eggs au Fevered Bible
Pasta with green grass and layman.
Pork crustaceans in onion gravy.
Pork pie and Screaming Salad.
Stake and Fiddly Pies plus pease pudding.
Snake quiche with springing onions and roaming radishes.
Plain lasagne with no vegetarian.Black pepper and mustard free.

How to find a chamber pot

O Chamber pots we needed you

when we had an outside loo

We kept them underneath the bed

Never used mine,but I could.

The toilet was in the back yard

For seven of us it was quite hard

My brother used to stand outside

Before his long tough cycle ride

Hurry up I’m late for school

Drink less tea you are a fool.

I don’t want to drink that tea

It’s just that mother forces me

A boy could do it in the grid

It might offend almighty God

Girls it’s it’s hard when you must bleed

Going outside in the freezing cold.

The Lot of women has been marred

I see the napkins looking charred

Mother had a bigger pot

I guess she had to wee a lot.

In the morning they were washed

That’s the end the topics wuashed

Where were you, daddy?

Daddy where were you when I was sad
I bought you Woodbines in Mather’s corner shop
I carried your boiled egg with salt on plate
You lay in bed adorned with wreaths of smoke

Uncle Herbert died when I was five
Not many of Dad’s brothers left alive
But Bert was old and all his children grown
He lay inert, the coffin dark, the stone

I saw yours and Grandad’s too, the oak
The Cemetery filled with men and broken hearts
Baffled grieving we would love seek
And for Mum’s mother’s grave, we tried to look

We too will lie gently in the earth
In communion with our parents ,love and birth

The sacred spaces

The spaces once held sacred are destroyed

Like Salisbury plain where sheep could safely graze

Now for soldiers use and practice Wars.

The Bedouin who inhabit deserts cry

The Negev is no longer a free space

The places for creation are destroyed

Before the birth of Christ, they wandered by Their little tents and camels no disgrace

Deserts are for practising new Wars

To shepherds and their flocks we say,Good bye.

The land is used for shooting, so debased

The places for creation are destroyed

The Lamb of God is fined and unemployed

Search for peace, be treated with distaste

Deserts are for practising new Wars

Of the Spirit, is there any trace

As the Lord God turns away his Face?

The spaces once held sacred are destroye

Now for soldiers use and Final War.

Copyright@Kathrerine

Voice to text

Flattering kidneys. Bladder and kidneys

Over active diagrams ⁷. Overactive thyroid gland

Repression is good for your soul,…confession

Bird had flown…… Acute coronary syndrome.

Can’t attack….panic attack

Too much of men…. Too much adrenalin

Brought his own… cortisone

My brown skits……..migraine hurts

Singing soon

The cello has a tender singing voice
Allows the feelings which we cannot say.
Among composers, Bach would be my choice
The cello sings rich lyrics with her voice.
Rostropovich , Prague ; he wept of course.
Soviet armies marched, the Czechs were flayed.
The cello has a sorrowing truthful voice;
Speaks our feelings when we cannot pray.

The footsteps on the stair

The face l loved to see I see no more

The face that I called dear I now deny

Nor do I hear your footsteps at the door.

, but like the Cheshire cat you left your smile

My riven heart expands to feel like this

Many others loved you and your eyes

How fortunate was I to feel this bliss?

I miss your conversation warm and wise.

After such deep love there is a hole.

I do not know what I should do today

The mind unconscious works by night and prayer

I thank you for your loving mind and ways

We should be grateful for the love we made

Gamble with the lambs as they gambol


I’d love to gamble with the lambs if only they had gold feet
He rambled on for so long he got to Carlisle before he noticed we were on a railway line.Dent and Dent again
Dry your tears faster with the new tumble-in dryer.
Save your tears to water the lawn.
Stumbling home took rages to achieve.
I did let my seat melt on once.
My car goes too fast for Lent
Ash Wednesday… we had ash every day in the fireplace!
I saw faces in the flames ………He burned all my selfies.Expensive to get a new laptop but he is my husband after them all and I mean that’s all
We saw faces in the wallpaper.My father leaned on it often after being down the pit all day.He made a big impression on me.
I think confessing sins is a good idea, starting at the top with Mrs T May and Boris….don’t forgive them,Oh Lord am I evil?
Not really.
The cows don’t want us sucking their others all day

Why Some People Can Get So Defensive | Psychology Today United Kingdom

https://www.psychologytoday.com/gb/blog/insight-is-2020/202109/why-some-people-can-get-so-defensive

Getting defensive can take many different forms, including verbal attacks, denial (denying what has been said), fabrication (outright lying), avoidance (not allowing any discussion on the matter), gaslighting (e.g., calling the other person “crazy” or suggesting something is wrong with the other person) and others.

At their root, all defensive behaviors have this in common: sending a message to the other person that what the person is saying is wrong or a problem. What’s more, the message is that the person is “out of line” (authoritarian punishment language) for addressing them or attempting to hold them accountable for something in the first place. The takeaway message is that such confrontation — as fair or appropriate as it may be — is unacceptable and will not be allowed.

A brief personality profile of the individual who gets easily defensive

Defensive individuals often have control and power issues, and perceive anyone confronting them or holding them accountable

Stan and his ass

 

????????????

 

Stan was outside polishing both his balding his head and the brass doorstep.”My,these microfiber cloths are wonderful” he thought joyfully.Mary was out taking a large bag of unneeded clothes to the Oxfam Charity Shop.Thank God!,thought Stan…that wardrobe is going to burst one day and spray her clothes all over the room like …what? Not cannon balls,maybe like the ghosts of dead giant sized bats!

Suddenly he heard a loud cry and then he felt a pair of hands fondling the top of his bald head.

“Eeh,no rest for the wicked,even at 81,” he screamed.He staggered to his feet and rubbed his knees.

“Just give me a hand” ,he said,”I’ll have to stretch my hamstrings.They tighten up so.”

“I’ll stretch them for you!” Annie whispered roguishly.Stan leant forward to touch his toes and she could not resist the temptation to give his bottom a tender slap.

“For Pete‘s sake,Annie” he shouted turbulently.

“Someone might see that.”

“Don’t worry,there’s no-one around at this time of the day” she tittered.

“I can’t help it anyway.I just love your ass.That’s what women like.”

“Do you normally slap the things you love?” Stan enquired politely yet firmly….what next?

“And furthermore “ass” is an American expression.

“Well,I’ve always been fond of Americans,”she whispered naughtily.

Stan recalled that her son had borne a strong resemblance to Bill Clinton but refrained from mentioning this.Anway Annie had never been to Oxford,as far as he knew and Clinton was only there for a year…though a man could father many children in a year as the terms at Oxford were only eight weeks long… leaving 28 weeks vacation.

“What do you think of my ass?” she murmered humorously.

“I’d rather have a donkey.” he said childishly.

“I could ride on it into the town.”

“You are so horrible,Stan.You never pass any  jocular yet charming remarks about my body.”

“I never knew you lacked confidence in that department,” he said peevishly.

“Besides,you know I prefer to show my feelings non verbally!

With that he pretended to kick Annie on the butt with his Hotter laced up shoes.

“Now then,what’s going on here.You seem like a couple of teenagers!”

It was Dave,the paramedic.

He had been lying behind the wheelie bins,all three bins standing plaintively in the tiny front garden, where once fragrant red roses had bloomed in summer and scratched people with their thorns all the rest of the year.

“I’m an MI5 spy,and I’ve been reading your blog,Mr Brown.”

“I’m not called Brown”,said Stan proudly.

“Refuses to accept reality,”Dave wrote in his little notepad with some blood he had taken from himself earlier,

“Jesus Christ!”,said Stan.

“Now,now” said Dave,”that’s not your name,

“No my name is Tan,not Brown,you’ve been reading the wrong blog!”

“Stan Tan!”

Dave appeared crestfallen,

“Any chairs need mending today?”

“My what beautiful ears you have,sweetheart,”he said to Annie,

“They look like sea shells,”

“Your eyes are like shallow pools in Lake Windermere during a thunderstorm.”Annie replied womanfully.

“Are you still a transvestite?” she followed on incoherently.

“And how about my ass?”

“I never knew you had an ass.Is it in the back garden?

I had a mystical experience and now I’m a Zen Bhuddist”

“How did that happen?” demanded Stan querulously.

“Well,I was knitting myself a Shetland lace sweater in pale blue mohair,and I suddenly had the feeling that everything was interwoven.

Going forward or backwards,sideways or straight ahead,it is all part of the warp and weft of life.”

“Mistakes don’t matter” he continued wildly his eyes gleaming like the preacher’s at Hyde Park Corner

“Oh,yes,they do,”Annie said pouting her full lips,cherry pink by courtesy of L’Oreal of Paris and New York

“As I was saying..,”

“Dingle,dongle,dingle,dongle”…

Emile the cat ran out expectantly,knowing the sound of a human imitating a bicycle bell.He was already salivating expectantly.

Dave dived back behind the wheelie bins.

Stan polished the brass step and Annie disappeared in a puff of smoke.

It was Mary’s famous imitation of a bicycle bell that had alerted them all to her imminent return from the Oxfam shop,fortunately.

In fact Mary knew everything but didn’t want them to know she knew,for if she knew and they knew she knew,she knew it would make life too complex.she just knew it,for sure.I know she knew,though she doesn’t know that I knew.

 

“Don’t they make bike bells any more?” Dave boringly wondered as he carried on reading the new life of the poet Emily Dickinson named

“A loaded gun.”

He had thought it was an army training manual,but,hey,mistakes don’t matter!

Or do they?

Read the next instalment yesterday at your local newsagent,free at the point of service just like the NHS and watch your ass as you never know who else is watching it.Though as you will never know,this fact will never impinge on you.Though you may feel a kind of tingling sometimes…

You know it makes sense!Sometimes,at least.

 

I have had to imitate a bicycle bell all my life till now….I have real bell on my bike..how cool is that?

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