Words or sin

The paradox  of praise is that we’re judged
Yet how can judgement place us on a dot
The eye is wet, the dropped tear is a smudge
A line in-finite,  dense with its own spots

Whether beauty of the body-mind
Or depth of thought,  now hanged by awe
Where many alien eyes look out unkind
And noone knows what we each saw

How can we be ranked on things long passed
Yet  not forget the lessons  we took in?
We sat  matric in school while Jews were gassed
With children  backward, queers and gypsy kin

We learned to  read the maps we  now live in,
Forget the world is more than words and sin

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Love buried and unseen

The kindness of  our neighbours helps us cope
With life, with death,with many shades between
When we despair and  can’t imagine hope

When the sailor takes us in his boat
When he rows us on a  night-blank sea
The kindness of  our neighbours helps us cope

The world  seems  made to hurt, and then frustrate
The mind confuses   dreams , reality
When we despair and  dare not even hope

 Love is built  as we contain our hate
Sailing well  we  find a new country
The kindness of  our friends helps us  to  cope

Persistence in the virtues   gives us scope
Start again, the angel said to me
When I despaired and  lost my  bits of hope

In our mind love’s buried and unseen
Yet we can raise the dead with energy
The kindness of  our  frriends helps us cope
When we are lost and  can’t discover hope


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Get your head examined

As I was standing  in a special machine for a scan of my head, the words
” you want to  have your head examined”
came floating back to me from childhood.I seem to recall it was an insult….
And it shows people believed insanity was a brain defect whereas a  lot of the things we do when we are agitated might make sense if someone asked us  a bit about our life.

After I had the scans two men were looking at  them wondering if they had got the right place because what I have is  not easy to see
In the end I told them to put gloves on and put a finger into my mouth to feel it
Well, I didn’t  know  it’s  up to me to tell them what to do
Next,I’ll be having surgery and they’ll ask me to hold the knife while they decide what to cut out.Or maybe I’ll have to do it all   while they learn…….
I absolutely will not behead myself in a hospital free
I will ask for £1,999,999  first.

My daft ideas as a child:

Instead of boiling the old kettle on the fire to make tea,I had a brilliant idea when I was eight  years old
Why not put the teapot on the fire directly…..?
Why not,indeed.

I was having to do things from the age of 7 or 8 which would be banned now
I decided as tea is not “dirty” then after stirring the tea I could put the teaspoon back into the drawer
That could have led to an interesting discussion… that milk is organic etc
Except I was only 7.

As someone said:dirt is only matter out of place.Cow’s milk should not be here in my fridge.So it is dirt.It should be feeding a calf.
I wonder why we  use so much milk in our diet.Is it the comfort that reminds us of the benign breast? Though some were more benign than others.

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What does “paradox” mean?

This flower is here,now despite all the troubles we are having



Meaning of paradox in English

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Please release me,Mary cried

Mary stood at the bus stop in her chocolate wool winter coat which Stan had always loved.It hangs so well,he had told her.
The optional imitation fur collar had been removed as she preferred natural garment  made from wool with no ostentation.As a matter of fact she has one of Stan’s woollen vests on under her gold silk top.Her hair fell in light blonde curls around her pensive face and her eyes looked as if she were seeing a dim vision of the Matterhorn in midwinter after drinking a double brandy

Suddenly she realised the bus was there ;she put her card up to the machine before looking for a seat.The bus was rather full so she sat down next to a youth with an i phone hanging from his hand.
Suddenly it rang.His chosen theme was, Please release me, sung by Tom Jones.
Mary smiled as, if she were near Tom Jones she would need no invitation to free him.
The youth began to speak rather louder than normal.

Mary tried not listen but it was impossible.She was too hot as well..Wearing Stan’s vest was a mistake as the bus was overheated.She turned pink like sunrise over ICI in Billingham as the pollution had a beautifying effect.

I’m sorry I wore your vest,she told Stan.
I should have given them away but I was trying to save money on heating.Still I will be home soon.

Where is your microphone, the youth demanded.It must be one of those new tiny ones.
A microphone? Mary said curiously.
Yeah, he cried.I assume your phone is in your pocket.

Actually it’s in a pocket in my knickers,she informed h m in a manner resembling that of a mildly dotty scientist.We used to wear these knickers in the gym at school.

Did you not wear a top? he enquired,his eyes running over her hourglass figure like water falling off High Force in Teesdale. in summer storms.

Well.I didn’t have a bra until I got my grant to attend university,she told him sensitively.

Well,that’s news to me,he said.So you had to wear a bra at University? That was before feminism,of course.Did you burn it later?

Certainly not,said Mary.I’d been longing for one but my mother didn’t seem to notice my development which was her way of coping with adolescent girls.
Of course my brothers may have noticed but they were too nervous to tell Mother I needed anysupport.We were all so shy and afraid.Anyway be quiet now,I want to speak to my husband.
Have you had your phone on all this time? he asked anxiously.
No,I don’t need it to talk to him,she responded
Why,where is he? the youth enquired sardonically.
He’s on my knee,Mary informed him.In this bag.She pointed to her hessian shopping bag.
I have just been to the Coop for him.I ought to have got a cab as he is quite heavy.
Jesus Christ,cried the youth,hastily pressing the bell before leaping off the bus into a small pond that had been created b Hurricane Desmond.He swam away into the cold night.
Well. that shut him up,Mary said to Stan.
Mary,don’t become less gentle and kind,Stan said in her ear.
I can’t be gentle now,she said.It’s a nasty tough world without you to help me and tell me what you think of Jeremy Corbyn.And do I need to have a roast dinner at Xmas or just some toad in the hole?
I am sorry,sweetheart he murmured.Maybe you need assertiveness training.
I’ll just get more aggressive,she replied.Micro-aggressive perhaps
ou’ll need more than micro in this era,he continued.Mary forgot to get off the bus and found herself in the Leisure Centre by the River Lee
What about the river,Stan, she asked.
Would you like me to throw you in.A policeman standing near by ran over.
Madam, is it suicide or murder, he asked her.
No,it’s a life sentence,she said humorously as she put her hand up her skirt to get her phone.
That’s a silly place to keep your phone he said.Anyway don’t call a cab,I can run you home in my car.Have you got any China tea?I could kill for a hot drink.
I have some lapsang souchong,she told him.Do you fancy that?
I do, called Stan from the bag.
The policeman passed out.
I told you not to get a boyfriend yet,he continued to Mary.
I’ll do whatever I feel like,she said rudely.I could use a comforting arm around me.
Stan sobbed quietly
She said,quickly
Don’t worry.I’ll get Emile to sit on my knee.Goodbye for now.
Goodbye whispered Stan faintly.
Good bye…. goodbye

And so say all of us

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Wallflowers,wild as eyes are when sincere

I remember Charmouth and the cliffs
A piece of land had broken  off and tipped
On this island rabbits sang and danced
We stood high above.amused , entranced.

We walked  the Devon side and came to Beer
Saw wallflowers wild as eyes are when sincere
On the cliff mixed in with weeds perfumed
Above  the sky hung  silent like  the moon

The Baker’s shop. the little stream the path
The innocence of love,unknown the wrath
The hope of being healthier and strong
The  hope that my own heart  had not been wrong

O beauty, where are you when I am old
My husband  in his his grave, why am  I cold?

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Ecstasy can’t last,can’t be pursued

Maybe Meghan  knew we’d have a storm
A hurricane of doubt,  the leaders scorned
She’s back in Canada, I wish I were
Seeing Leonard Cohen every where

A thousand kisses deep may be too much
Especially  for those who’re unrehearsed
The tower of song is just a maisonette
Joan of Arc burns as she pirouettes

Suzanne  bore his children then she left
She fell out of  love, he was bereft
Poets need their time alone to muse
Ecstasy can’t last,can’t be  pursued

We still lose  the space to enjoy dreams
While up above our leader stands and screams

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Our Father

Our Father,Stars in Heaven,
Spell out thy Great Name.
Thy wisdom comes
And Angels’ sums
Add up our human pain.
Thy love is felt,
Though we live in doubt
About the human game.
Give us delay
On bankers pay,
And forgive us our lackluster efforts
As we forgive those who lack  humanity with us,
And guide us into a Demonstration
To make plain to the Nation
The evil done to the Poor,
The Disabled,the Mentally Ill,
And their Carers.
For Thine is the Trial
At the Hour of the Bible Story
We hope but are nervous.Amen
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Terror and rage


A force far deeper than our anger
Elemental as a storm
Annihilating all before it
Terror makes our rage perform.

This force saying self is threatened
Runs to rise and to protect,
Most murderous when we’re most alarmed
Rage the enemy detects
Over-riding other feelings
Deprives us of the power to think
Like a nuclear tsunami
Disconnecting human links.

Reddened vision,focused,narrow;
Eyes locked onto enemy’s
All the wider context losing,
Wipes out our good memories

Like a mother tiger fighting,
And the cornered eagle’s force;
We will destroy what we think other
Without bitter,pained remorse.


Nature made such to protect us;
Yet our perception can be wrong
. Once the flood of feeling takes us
All reflections seems too long

Later, if we see our victims,
Will we know that we have erred?
For hate deceives ourselves and others
When our inmost terror’s bared.

How can we step back and ponder,
See life from a wider view?
How can we become less blinded,
So we see our world anew?

Succumb not to final despond
Succumb not black despair
Always there are those who see.
Always there are those that care.

Tempered by reflective wisdom
Rage can change when understood.
When we find another being
Who  helps hold our frightful flood

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The best of Leonard Cohen

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Where are you?

What state do you currently live in?



DEAD [Half]

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Beauty and joy


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I’d rather swim through it


Scilla-greilhuberi-2020Would you like to  be my friend?
No,I don’t   value him highly

Would you like to fall in love?
I’d rather swim through it

Would you like a new car?
I’ve not got an old one

What is your name?
No, it’s not, it’s Nat

What shall we eat tonight?
I can chew my nails after putting mango chutney on them

I don’t like to eat snails but neccessity is the mother of invention
Will you saute them in olive oil?
No, I’ll stuff them into a tomato
You need a big one
I’ll crush them
How cruel cookery can be
But not as bad as Goering,Stalin,Hitler or Nero.
Snails won’t know that
But we know

Where are the children?
I didn’t know we had any

Why are we in bed?
Because we are married
Since when?
Gosh, you’ve got dementia already
Well, we do live in a Care Home
Wow, only 29 and in a Care Home
We run it

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Fragility is measured by the glass

As fragile as the sacred crystal glass
Which  broken was smashed up like any cup
Till its particles invaded us at Mass

Uncontained,  how will this  moment pass?
Suffering  breaks us down, what helps us up?
Hearts as fragile as  a crystal glass

Do not climb the cliff  in love’s mad  rush
Height  endangers, vertigo, a drop
Whose particles invade us at the Mass?

Feeling like the flower tramped underfoot
Never to be raised,  true life has stopped
When fragility is measured by the glass

Did Jesus know that physics  would  forecast
That he could be alive mixed in, not mocked
His particles  shall dance with ours at Mass

When we die, the shop is out of stock
There is no other I in any book
As fragile as the ancient crystal glass
Whose particles  fly solo in the Mass

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A cruel hill

We measure walls and windows and the rain
But not the patterns painted on  the  pane
We measure flour and butter and  the tin
But not the love with which we mix them in

There is  no  linear scale in human  minds
Where you are up above and I’m behind
Complexity and wisdom  intertwine
No measure seems quite apt  for those who’re blind

There’s something  Nazi in  the way we rank
The industry of measurement now stinks
Every human  is a  unique  world
Yet into the abyss , they might hurled

We do  not   get perfection as we kill
The Christs who stumble up   their cruel hill

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Sweet voice

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No way out of this one except glass eyes.

I feel mathematics is bad for society
Do you have the statistics?

I  wish people would not pick their noses
I always thought your was  rather large for your face

Why learn algebra and be unable to boil an egg?
Well, you can fry eggs,

Do we really need fashion in  frames for glasses?
Maybe they have a “see by ”  date
That would be just the lenses
But you can’t use them without a frame.
No way out of this one except glass eyes.

Why are people so kind to me during this crisis?
They have read your stories and feel sorry for you
That you are not  a writer  who makes a profit
I  even make a loss
What on?
Buying laptops,printers and  having acupuncture
I don’t see the connection
I feel it

Is this a coup d’etat?
No, it’s just a trial run



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Make my heart into a cottage pie.

Make my heart into a cottage pie.
Already it is minced and lies estranged
My   enemies insult me with their lies
And my last will and testament is made.

An onion and a carrot chopped up fine,
Saute  with these my heart till  all are gold
With herbs and spices I will taste divine
A mashed potato will a rooftop mould.

Do not forget my blood to use as sauce
Though now it’s cold, with garlic  make it boil.
For what is gravy but the blood of lamb
With  sliced  onion  fried in olive oil?

O foes and devils eat me and you’ll be
Transformed into  myself, your enemy

Continue reading

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The ancient virtues,patience and restraint

You stabbed my heart when I was left alone
Telling me my writing was like porn
Now you give me nightmares,  be my pest
We all need one or two,and  you confessed

My writing is so  bad, you  envy not
Did I hit you  on a painful spot?
If others have a gift, that is their call
You have yours , get out a net and trawl

Ambivalent  in love which turns to hate
We wound ourselves in making this our fate
Talking  overmuch lets such thoughts out
As tea will  pour down from a  tilted spout

The ancient virtues,patience and restraint
Shall be our wise protectors when distraught

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Conceited,filled with pride, you  give me pain

Suddenly I know you as a fool
Believing you can love and yet be cruel
You’re blinded by excessive self esteem
When you’re a  cockroach as in Kafka’s  dream

Your eyes are hidden, yet you pounce, you snake
Your fire is going out and you don’t smoke
Why bother me when I have other friends
Since you came I see no decent end

I hope you fall off London Bridge at night
Hidden in the darkness of the  lights
Or maybe you will go when in your sleep
Stop harassing me, you are a creep

Conceited,filled with pride, you  give me pain
Why not flow with water down a drain?


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