The face imprinted on my heart is gone.
It faded slowly so I did not know
My heart is blank amd nothing lies thereon
The face imprinted on my Heart is gone
I do not feel the love of anyone.
This common loss affects us like a blow.
A metaphor,a simile,a pun.
My mind is blank its images have gone.
My heart is mine alone the love of none
Like a candle flame my love burnt low.
My mind is faded. Now I know no sun
Underneath the rivers silver flow
The death of God implies he did exist
And of his sayings many were possessed
The still, small voice, the burning bush, its fire
The prophets ,Moses ,Jesus, Jeremiah
On God, a snail without a shell , we trod
On his face of love, we left much blood
The quick of human flesh was dragged and torn,
Oh, tortured people, God lived in your forms
Tear your finger nail side,see it bleed
Imagine pain both dreadful and unseen
Where was God’s own dwelling place, we cry
To the lowly, he was in the sky.
God was buried live in earth which shrieked
My people,where are they, ah can none speak?
A number of Jews who survived the death camps went to their old homes in Eastern Europe.I am not saying which country
They were buried live.The earth heaved for hours
Meanwhile, over at the DWP, Sir Robert Devereaux – the man responsible for raising the retirement age to 67 – will retire at 61 with a £1.8million pension pot, giving him an immediate lump sum of £245,000 with a further £85,000 following every year.
https://restless.co.uk/health/healthy-mind/benefits-of-being-curious/
Curiosity stop your brain from decreasing in its powers as you get older. But be aware of this is still illegal to look through people’s bedroom windows when they are getting undressed. And I don’t have to tell you all the other things that are illegal because there are plenty of things that are legal and interesting and fascinating and you can start a journal and the first line is 3 things I am curious about do not include any of the royal family, the British or any other nationality.I.t’s got to be something worthwhile. Like having fantasies about blowing up the House of Commons and why did Guy Fawkes fail and then how you would do it and this might come in useful but it will be interesting anyway
If I don’t post on my blog tomorrow it will be because I’ve been arrested for sedition.
Whatever sedition is as Prince Charles might have said
Mary was admiring her curtains :;what a wonderful sense of colour this woman had. It was the one thing which her mother had praised her for . She had not been praised for becoming top of the class at the convent school not for getting a degree. No Mary realised that her mother has a sense of colour because it will be useful when Mary got married and had to make her own curtains.
What a nuisance Mary was no good with the sewing machine. In fact she was afraid of it. That’s one sure way of getting out of a task. Be afraid of the sewing machine clumsy with the knitting needles and when asked to make a cake always put the oven at the wrong temperature so this is either burnt or it is not ready when the visitors come.
And if people know you’re good at making cakes you will get more and more visitors and you won’t have time to read the Oxford dictionary of abstract words or the Oxford dictionary of new words. It is be very hard if we had to spend all the time making cakes and not being allowed to read a book.
Mary was no good at making her own clothes. She had to get a science degree so she could earn her own money. She was terrified of being on the dole and did not want to go on the game as ehe was a virgin. That’s her version of it
When Mary got married to Stan she told him that she did not make cakes and she did not make curtains. Fortunately they could afford to choose the fabric and then get someone else to make it into curtains,
It’s very important to learn about colour unless you go to art school it’s not often discussed in school. Colourcan help you to recover from illness…….
Wait for the next episode
An act of war when no war is declared
Makes war a problem of the entire world
Now we see a plane burn in the air
Was this just an accident bizarre?
No land is safe, all meadows killing fields
We all are soldiers, none of us have shields
We must pretend for how else can we live
To make the children safe, what must we give?
Once we had imperatives,now gone
There is no order, ethics are undone
War is undeclared , we now shall share
The fate so many suffer unprepared
Global markets lead to global war
The essence of the incident lies bare
https://www.economist.com/prospero/2012/03/05/what-makes-you-write-poetry
O
HAS been a good year for John Burnside. He scooped up both the Forward prize and the T.S. Eliot prize for his 12th collection of poems, “Black Cat Bone”, having been shortlisted for both twice before. Writing strange, luminous and short poems, he revels in the obscurity of the everyday. His poetry frequently captures that in-between state, “the fit between sleep and waking”.
Alongside writing poetry, he has published a novel and two memoirs (“A Lie About My Father” and “Waking Up In Toytown”). The first describes his gruelling childhood growing up in the early 1960s with a hard-drinking, abusive father in a Catholic household in sectarian Scotland; the second considers his own descent into psychosis through drugs and alcohol, before he started to write.
What makes you write poetry, and when did you start?
I started quite late in writing poetry as a serious pursuit, as opposed to playing a mildly diverting game. It seems a long time though. What makes me write is the rhythm of the world around me—the rhythms of the language, of course, but also of the land, the wind, the sky, other lives. Before the words comes the rhythm—that seems to me to be of the essence.
https://www.happenstancepress.com/index.php/blog/entry/too-old-to-start-writing-poetry
Keats was dead at 25, Shelley at 29, Dylan Thomas at 39, Sylvia Plath at 30. Chatterton didn’t even make it to 18.
But Fergus Allen, who reads at this year’s Aldeburgh Poetry Festival, didn’t start the poetry business seriously until after retirement. His first book-length collection was published when he was 72. There have been three others since, and now, at ninety, he will be conversation with Peter Blegvad about all of this in November.
How my heart sings 