The energy once used to see with eyes
Moved into both my hands with stuff to find
I feel for batteriies lurking is the drawer
My eyes look up to heaven as in a prayer
I thought my will would be in charge of change
While I am still not perfectly deranged
I am evolving without thought or choice
Shall I expect a louder, stronger voice
To swear at cyclists who have me annoyed
Or men in scooters going much too fast
Knocking down the fragile with their blast
No place is safe when dogs burst through my fence
While I find my purse and count the pence
Will those who see me notice this small change?
I’ll hit them with my metal stick ,outraged
I did not know I might lose all my sense
Now Satan’s living here I feel less tense

Autumn time in Essex  where we drove
When farmers burned the stubble of the corn
The earth itself was  fiery  like young love
The smokey air rose like a  cloud  new born

The Kentish  landlocked   cliffs  are  wide and steep
The farmers grow  their grain on land beneath
And there too we  have seen the holy fire
The flames  and smoke arrest me with desire

The earth and soil, the  harvest  we find there
Give me joy  both full of wheat or bare
Why did burning stubble   make me glow?
These images affect the heart’s deep core

Now  fires are banned., they damage our pure air
And I   did not like the murder of the hare

I know Hayley is not able to put the emotion into her voice that highly trained sigers do
but I like her

When there is already a high level of moisture in the air, it is difficult for the air to absorb the moisture from our skin. This can eventually lead to a loss of body fluid and dehydration. Joint cartilage and the discs in our spine have high water content, and dehydration can decrease the concentration of fluid, agitating any arthritis that may be present. Dehydration in the heat can also cause more serious conditions like heat exhaustion and heatstroke.”

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 were children used to play

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

Stockton hospital welcomes pregnant nude statue’s return

Published2 hours ago

It sounds as if the statue has moved by itself!
To think it’s not been allowed to give birth yet

50 years ago it was deemed inappropriate

So you are gone  who once declared your love
For that phantasm conjured in your mind
For onto me you brought down from above
A torment bitter and  strabgn words unkind.

Used to  friendship from within your books
You did not understand that I was real
Irritation grew as you did look;
You threw your poisoned  arrows  at my heel.

What once you loved then you began to hate
If not perfect intolerable I must be
And then you cursed me with this  sorry fate
Our child was born and him you’ll never see.

Illegitimate and born in desert grey.
I carried him alone from death’s dark way

Katherinepoetry, reflections, sonnet June 27, 2017 

My polyester trench coat  looks real swell
But inside it, I feel as hot as hell.
And when the storm hit, I found out
It is no raincoat, I have no more doubts.

Which of us desires to dress for war
This is what the trench coat was made for.
British soldiers  on the battlefields
Died in mud locked trenches for what yield?

Do we want to know the Middle East
Was divided by the conquerors at their feast
France and Britain split the old Empire
We see from that the rise of Herr Hitler.

The war to end all wars is on stage yet.
Go hang these trench coats  round the scapegoat’s neck

I don’t want your polyester dress
I don’t want your high rise skinny jeans
I don’t want to sweat and turn to mud

Fleas would love to live upon my chest
Polyester, nylon, nightmare scenes
I don’t want your polyester dress

I don’t want the corset, you suggest
Viscose,pleated, monsterous Red Queen
I don’t want to sweat and feel like mud

I like cotton jersey, cotton’s best
Wool is cosy, I can wash ir clean
I don’t want your polyester dress

Whatever next, I wonder what it means
Paying hundreds for a dress that screams
I don’t want your polyester dress
I don’t want to sweat, it might be blood

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

I do not want claim that death’s 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 we’re undone.
I have sifted earth and what’s beneath

.I too felt my dark emotions seethe
While I have been mocked by brilliant 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 will make us dumb
Into our hearts we drag the ice that numbs
I have walked the silent paths of grief
I have lain on beds of cold dark leaves

I cannot read Greek,Russian,Aramaic or Hebrew
Nor can most of my followers

I do not need to buy antibiotics online.I get them free from the NHS
I need no stimulants either

So don’t waste your time here

Thank you

I saw  the sun rise over the North Sea
Accentuating coloured fishing boats.
The beauty of the dawn gave hope to me
A restful pleasure made my  soft eyes  dote.

The peace of this small town has caught my heart.
Scenes from ancient times  come close again
The gulls swoop down and  sketch their flying charts
Remote as ever from the realm of man

The shingle beach,the  Church  where Britten lies
The in and out of tides  of salty sea;
An exact match of houses,hill and skies
The   amber shop, the bookshop,the oak tree,

In my mind I walk in love again;
Though of the two, a single one remains

Katherine poetry  October 20, 2015 

We think we own our bodies and our minds

Not knowing  when we have the gift of health

We use them without thought ,.with vision blind

Yet nature creeps up with her sylvan stealth.

When to work  or when to take our ease,

The signals sent may never reach our brains.

But later, they will turn to constant pleas

For help to stop  imposing  far more strain.

Days we work and never take a rest

Except to slump  by  TV, tablet,screen.

It takes much time to learn what is the best

If not, what is will soon be ” what has been”

Let us learn our body’s  signals clear

For then on earth our life will long en

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2021/may/01/mend-your-own-clothes-and-do-yourself-some-good-says-molly-martin

In today’s society, many of us go through our whole lives without ever working with our hands; we live, we work, we eat, we buy, we repeat. Everything is made and delivered at a blistering rate, from fast food to fast fashion and, although this may keep the economy buoyant, it’s not necessarily good for our mental health, or for our planet.

But during the past year of lockdown, we have been forced to stay still. The hamster wheel has stopped, and for some of us – without young children to keep entertained – this has provided a unique moment of quiet contemplation. We have suddenly found ourselves with time to spare; time to tackle those half-finished projects and abandoned hobbies – and an increasing desire to be creative, and make things with our hands.

There has been a wealth of online craft workshops popping up on everything from crochet, collage, charcoal drawing and flower-arranging to spoon-carving. On TV, programmes such as Grayson’s Art Club have encouraged everyone to paint, draw or sculpt their view from a window with whatever materials they have at han

In the safety of our own homes, we have been able to try knitting for the first time, to have a go at oil pastels or attempt a pinch pot – without a teacher but also without the judgment of a teacher. The possibility of experimentation in the solitary environment of our own homes has spawned a new confidence in “having a go”, the prerequisite for learning. Mastery, after all, starts with dabbling. The freedom to create on our own has offered an effective therapy for uncertain times.

Like many of us during lockdown, my work was forced to go virtual. I am both an illustrator and textile repairer, specialising in delicate fabrics and traditional hand-sewing techniques. For the past few years, I have worked in collaboration with Toast, teaching customers how to care for and mend their garments, so that they might keep for longer. Normally, I would travel to their various stores around the country with a bag of cloth, needles and thread, to host workshops: four to five customers around a table practising their stitchwork over tea and conversation. It’s an intimate affair. So, when I began teaching online via Zoom, I was unsure if this new set-up would work, but I was happily surprised to find a surge of interest from all corners of the world – from Italy, Iceland, Portugal, Lithuania, India and the USA.

During the workshops everyone is given the chance to work on a stitch sampler, before tackling a repair. Taking inspiration from traditional techniques, such as Japanese sashiko and Indian kantha, tears are backed from the underside with a patch of cloth; then small rows of stabbing stitches form a rectangle of closely stacked rows of stitchwork, securing the tear and reinforcing the surrounding cloth, creating a pleasing mend that can be either visible or invisible, depending on the colour match.

It’s absolute bliss
When you give me kiss
Let’s do it some more
I’d like twenty four

He fears being to close
He finds it gross
Why did he wed?
He liked a big bed

I like your new eyes
Your wisdom defies
What on earth do you mean?
Have you not seen?

oh,tender affection
It grows, but don’t mention
Zion was a dream
That ends with a scream

It was a new metaphor
What did they need it for?
An image may hypnotise
The main notion dies

Jerusalem the colony
Accept my apology
The zone of a war
Do we need any more?

Cain was a brother
The son of his mother
Abel was better
Killed, what a bugger

What a lovely enragement ring you have on your finger
It looks like a knucle buster

When were you married?
During the ceremony

Do you have joint account?
Only arthritis

Does he give you house creeping money?
He says I can do it in bare feet

Who buys the food?
What makes you think we buy it?
You have cooked your goose now!
But one tyres off it

I see your mind is addled
Like eggs are coddled?
They break when cuddled
Let’s be more hard boiled.
I can’t face boiling water
How do you make tea?
Behind me
How dangerous!
I might need medication that’s not been invented yet
With this Government so will we all

You can see Calais from Deal
Are you trying to change the topic?
No, just the light bulb
The Dutch had to eat bulbs in 1944/45
Surely not light bulbs?
Swallowed whole, they take away that gnawing hunger
Then you die.
Well, yes,I guess you are right
Audrey Hepburn was Dutch
She ate tulip bulbs,I think
At least she survived
She was always slender
Shall we go ona bender?
Take the transcender
That’s a mistake
Did you think it should be gender?
Sex and gender confuse the agenda
Who are the Agenda?
The police,you pretender
A special brigade
Maybe it’s trade

Oh, copper pan with silver lined
Now  your status exceeds mine
You are the best, the supreme pan
And I am a  mere, an also-ran.

I am made of stainless steel
So I don’t know  how to feel
But copper  has a warmth sublime
I wonder if you will be mine?

I’ll stand beside you on the shelf
And spin around, beside myself.
My heart is full, my mind is too
Won’t you tell me what to do?

Would you like a wedding dress
And a Rabbi there to bless?
Or an Imam or the Pope
He seems a really pleasant bloke

I am Jewish but do not need
To marry pans of  the same creed
I do  like some variety
Copper pan, please look at me!

Don’t reject me far too swift
I am easily dismissed
But stainless steel is very strong
Don’t  make me wait and think too long.

I may descend to paranoia!
I’m being watched by the chip fryer.
Let me feel  your copper form
That will  make me safe and warm

To be fried in boiling oil
The notion makes my soul recoil
Please forgive my  etiquette
I am polite till I forget

Do you sell a morning before pill?
No, you’ll have to wait till tomorrow
But I shan’t see him till the weekend
Seeing some one won’t make you pregnant but if it goes further buy
a thermometer
He’s not that hot!
It’s for the safe period
That’s a full stop
Till you get married
What has punctuation got to do with sex?
Do you put a full stop after Ms?
I’ll think about it
Fantasy is safer than reality
But I might go crazy
That’s the drawback
Oh, for God’s sake give me some barrier cream
Why,do you wash up a lot?
How do you make a living when you won’t sell me anything?
That’s a good point

Freudian endings

Of course I don’t want to marry you
Nest wishes
Olga.

I am a devil with women
Holy yours
Tom

I was not at all hurt by your departure
Yours wincerely

Annette

I did once commit adultery [ with you]
Yours faithfully
John

Please come to dinner soon
Never yours
Chris

The day after pill failed
Yours newly
Mary

Is it my fault I had twins?
I didn’t realise it was your brother the second time
Yours demotedly
Sue

I suppose we’ll have to get married now you are expecting triplets
Your best fiend
Micky

Why did you not tell me you were not dead?
Your gravedigger
Moses

I do love you but I don’t know it is eros,caritas or agape
Your Latin Lover
Nero [Emperor]

Why play with women when you had me in the kitchen
Your curious wife
Satan’s trainee[ Julie Blogge]

“The proposed legislation intends to make it a criminal offence to knowingly arrive in the UK without permission, with the maximum sentence for those entering the country unlawfully rising from six months’ imprisonment to four years.”

The Independent

That wll cost as much as 4 years at Eton and may mean conditions in prison willl get worse.
Seems mad to me

On summer days the cliff at Weybourne sang
Of finest grass entwined with tiny flowers
The butterflies were floating on the wind

We walked along contented, hand in hand
In Sheringham we saw no faces dour
On summer days, the cliffs at Weybourne sang

We met no wasps nor any life that stings
The footpath was kept clear, no weeds to sour
The butterflies were sleeping on the wind

I look at bluebells,insects hear their ring
So we passed with pleasure our free hours
On summer days, the cliffs at Weybourne sang

For this perfection Adam rightly sinned
No human joy is with us very long
The butterflies were resting on the wind

In winter Norfolk winds will make beasts cower
No need for ventilation,faces glower
On summer days the air at Weybourne sang
The butterflies float through my mind, bright, winged.

Winter,summer,spring and fall
Corduroy will do for all
Needlecord in yellow fine
Makes me feel my life’s sublime
Jacket navy, large and tough
Big pockets where we keep our stuff
Woollen tights will help in frost
Naked legs in summer lost
All we need are T shirts soft
Slogans dancing on the breast
Shoes or boots and sandals bright
Winter,summer,love the light
Get a bag from TK Maxx
Leather, suede, a tote, a sack.
Keep your old school woollen vest
It will soothe your back and chest
When the moths destroy your clothes
Go out dancing in the snow
Keep in mind we don’t need much
As our talents keep us rich

A man climbed up the gantry on the track
Electric wires for signals and for  power
The trains can’t run unless they get him back

I hope his mind has not begun to crack
Britain is in tension at this hour
This bloke climbed up the gantry on the track

We have sensed since Brexit our great lack
Alienation and its black, doomed flowers
The trains can’t run unless this loon comes back

Communal feelings are  ignored or are attacked
Divided, by the lies of media showered
This chap is up the gantry on the track

The government is sheltered from the flak
Comes what man and comes what bloody hour?
The trains can’t run unless this bloke comes back

At the edge of  order,  people cower.
Ignored and fearful, out they seem to glower.
Seems one  is up the gantry on the track
The trains won’t run unless we get him back

I see the train is standing in wait
You are here ; I can’t find you
I peer through windows
Is there a corridor?
I still can’t see you
Now it begins to move
So I run,fast, as fast as the train
I must catch it
I’m nearly there
But there’s a wall at the end of the platform
I can’t get through
It’s twelve feet high
I’m blocked
The train runs on
I see the last compartment as
It disappears up the track
You’ve gone

You’ve gone

You’ve gone

http://ndpr.nd.edu/news/24561-conversations-with-emmanuel-levinas-1983-1994/

Michaël de Saint Cheron’s Conversations with Emmanuel Levinas, 1983-1994 (hereafter Conversations), is a somewhat misleadingly titled new publication from Duquesne University Press. The book’s title makes it sound as though it is a collection of interviews between Levinas and Saint Cheron, a scholar who has published works on Augustin Malroux and Elie Wiesel and who participated in Levinas’s lessons at the École normal israélite orientale from 1983 onward. However, Saint Cheron’s interviews compose only a small part of the book, which also contains four essays on Levinas and an extended essay on Yom Kippur, atonement, and forgiveness. The fact that these interviews constitute a small part of the book will be a disappointment for some. However, Conversations has several qualities to recommend it, both as a study of Levinas’s philosophy as well as a work of Jewish philosophy in its own right.

Let me get my main criticism of this book out of the way. My main concern has less to do with its content — with any of Saint Cheron’s arguments or interpretive theses about Levinas’s philosophy — and more with how its content is presented. The book’s title makes it sound as though it is a collection of interviews, one akin to Jennifer Robbins’s Is It Righteous to Be?, with a special focus on interviews conducted in the last decade of Levinas’s life. In fact, Saint Cheron’s interviews make up only a small part of the book, roughly its first twenty-five pages, starting on page thirteen and ending on page thirty-eight.This will disappoint some readers. It has become a cliché to call attention to the obscurity of Levinas’s prose, but the fact remains that his writings are extremely challenging. He was often more direct in interviews, and they have become an invaluable tool for disambiguating claims he makes in works such as Totality and Infinity and Otherwise than Being.

The life boat crew are safely home
They’ve brought the shipwrecked sailors too.
The storm has passed,the wind has dropped
The sea is swaying softly now.

Wrapped in night clothes,their offspring
Are all in worlds of dream still lost.
Their fathers safely home this time.
They save wrecked ships despite the cost.

Will any lifeboat crew be there
To help less blessed ones from despair,
And lives, too many ,spent in care
No fathers and no mothers near?

The sea we certainly must fear,
But more we fear the acts of those
Who try to buy our minds and wills,
for votes in the election booths.

Oh hush my baby,go to sleep,
It is your mammy’s job to weep.
I wish I knew just what to do
To empower the lives of wains like you

.Sleep well ,sleep well,my little child
.The sun will rise,the air is mild.
We’ll trust that when we all set sail
Our love and courage will not fail.

Oh,hush my sweet one,I am near.
The world’s too big for bairns to bear.
We’ll do much better this time round
.We’ll not let this boat run aground.

*NB Wain and bairn mean infant /child /baby used in certain parts of the British Isles