He talks in paragraphs

IMG_2117
My doctor is God
Why can’t he heal then?

The doctor wants a  urine sample
I hope it’s random enough

The doctor wants to take my temperature
Where to?

The doctor  tells me to rest
Knock yourself out with a mallet or is it   a mallard?
Duck
Oh  it hurt.

The doctor says it’s a systemic infection
Can’t  he  install a new system?

He wants me to take it easy
Fake it!

He talks in paragraphs
No, you idiot, parables!

My doctor is very  odd
Get even with him somehow

Are numbers very odd?
Yes, the odd ones are even odder than the even ones

Are doctors real?
Yes, if you think they are.

Is it a placebo effect if the doctor’s smile cures you?
We’ve never had a big enough sample of their smiles to test any theory
Just blurt it out
What! Who will cite me?
I’ll excite you

My doctor is better than yours
Mine is dead.
Stop showing off.Mine will die one day.
So what will you do?
Do or die ?
No, do then die!
Unless I become ghostly helper
Ghastly!

 

Needs are simpler then we imagine.

Anxiety is the price of life.

But don’t pay over the top.

Calmness is good at most times.
Dread is a bad friend.

Exploring nature soothes the soul
For what are we but part of it?

Gentle music helps the mind
How ever we do it,
Listening is a kindness to ourselves

Ink is the friend of the writer.
Judgment is another one.

Kindness is essential to the good life.
Lessons are available daily.

Money is necessary but not sufficient for happiness.
Needs are simpler then we imagine.

Oxygen is good for the brain.
Prayer is good for the mind.

Quality is hard to judge quickly.
Rest is often a good idea.

Tension inhibits ideas.
Work should involve play.

X- rated films are optional
Yes…You are a valuable person.

Z is the final letter
And life is an Art

Struggling up the mountains like a snail

Lost and found and lost and found again
Struggling up the mountains like a snail
So much suffering in the world of man

Must there be a meaning to our pain?
Empathise with Jonah in the whale!
Lost and found and lost and found again

Why do we go tense when we are lame?
Why feel like  murderous monsters out on bail?
So much suffering in the world humane

Do we get to know  with healing pain?
Stranded on  the pier in a great gale
Lost and found and lost and found again

If God is dead,  where can we make our claim?
Will we die well  when  our life has failed?
So much suffering in the world humane

 

Like  little boats we’re  tossed up  with no sails
Nor do we ever leave a vapour trail
Lost and found and lost and found again
Suffering   splashed  around  like   blood ,like paint

Impels, propels

Hatred both anonymous and vile
Circles round the internet  and spreads
To cruel acts ,to forums full of bile

Without our knowledge it may hurt a child
Making  nightmares active in  small heads
Hatred both anonymous and vile

 

Could I do this, could I feel  driven wild
Then fear to kill but choose to hate instead
With evil acts , with comments full of bile?

What drives such rage,  makes any conscience yield?
Tormented so the mind is nearly dead
So spurts  out hatred in each sentence vile

Envy, malice, blackness, all can reel
What  monstrous film is playing in the head?
The  screen   enables evil, acid, real

Like Sodom and Gomorrah  were by God
We will be  cut down by our own words
Hatred,  perhaps disowned, is  here, is vile
Impels, propels the writing and its bile

 

 

 

De-registered alone

I asked for a new handset for my phone
BT   will provide one totally free
One of them has  broken, don’t I know!

I have several cordless ones at home
They won’t work and I feel all at sea
I asked for a new handset for my phone

Of course I have my Motorola lone
I find it loves me  well  enough for now
My  old phone has  broken, don’t I know!

And then I have a Nokia five point  nine
I keep it in my purse with U.H.U
I  broke the handset on my  landline phone

I like Lenova Tablets set to roam
And Kindle readers  help  me have my tea
My landline  phone won’t register its name

I  can read on androids  truthfully
Now I’ve got ten cordless  phones on me
I asked for a new handset for my phone
One of them  de-registered its soul

An old man kissed my hand  outside a shop

An old man kissed my hand  outside a shop
My hair was gleaming in the yellow sun
What surprise, what care, but what a shock

What grace there was in customs , mainly stopped
My face was bright, my  stockings had no runs
A man  just kissed my hand  outside a shop

I   should have done a selfie, what a cop!
I bet  he fell in love ,ah Beatrice won
What surprise, what care, but what a shock

He was not drunk, his  hands had just been mopped
I  had not  been  so  touched by anyone
Till this  man  kissed my hand  outside a shop

In a silent morning, love erupts
We know what’s passed but not what is to come
A man  just kissed my hand  outside a shop

Give us  our  applause, oh  come on,clap!
I think we’ve fallen off the usual map
An old man kissed my hand  outside a shop
What surprise, what feeling, what good luck

 

Iris Murdoch and the reality of other people

ancient architecture art asia
Photo by icon0.com on Pexels.com

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/jul/13/iris-murdoch-100-books-full-passion-disaster

Short extract:

A crucial idea in Murdoch’s fiction is the reality of others, a material fact that we are confronted with daily but, in our innermost selves, seem hardly able to grasp. We glimpse them in continually evolving contexts inflected with our own agendas, which may also remain mysterious to us. That situation, often manifesting itself in the form of a dilemma, struck her as the novel’s primary concern. An essay she wrote in 1959 argues: “Prose literature can reveal an aspect of the world which no other art can reveal … and in the case of the novel, the most important thing to be thus revealed, not necessarily the only thing, but incomparably the most important thing, is that other people exist.”

To write a novel, Murdoch continues, is to quickly discover that “however much one is in the ordinary sense ‘interested in other people’, this interest has left one far short of possessing the knowledge required to create a real character who is not oneself. It is impossible, it seems to me, not to see one’s failure here as a sort of spiritual failure.”

Floundering  in  the metaphors of doubt

In those days we were always going out
Driving to strange places in our car
Trapped between  the  signal and the doubt

If there were a  fire we’d put it out
Buying  beer from any local bar
Oh, those days we  always  rushed about

Keeping active so  there are no thoughts
Just the vision of the crucial star
Flickering from  the manic  to the  doubts
t
In the stillness, we find we have caught
A sentence from our God,  the  seminar
So these days I  serve it , just about

We  found what we never  should have sought
Schizophrenic,  literal , bizzare
Floundering  in  the metaphors  of doubt

We will   be well rendered  by the fire
Copper bottomed in our new attire
In those days we  eyed the roundabouts
Puzzled by the  symbols , wish to doubt.

Leo and Dannie Abse

selective photography of yellow petaled flowers
Photo by Andrew Pledger on Pexels.com

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/leo-abse-and-his-brother-dannie-l8kb0k5nn8b

 

Extract

Dannie had a different relationship with his wife. They worked together, they wrote books together, he never went anywhere without her. They were completely and utterly bound together. He was driving the car when she was killed, and although the accident wasn’t his fault, he has to deal not just with loss but with survivor guilt. It was difficult, God knows, for me to cope with my loss, but for him it is too much to bear.

The important thing is that he keeps writing. I’m terribly worried he’s given up, and that really is fatal. With courage, pain can be transmuted into something positive. It’s hard, but then just to live requires courage, particularly when you’re in your eighties. You are kept alive by work and love, and there are years of work left. Dannie can overcome this. He must transmute his grief, his pain, his tragedy into poetry and it may make him an even better poet. As it is, I suffer with him because my feelings for Dannie will always be paternalistic. To me, he’s still the kid brother.

I’m sad those starlings won’t  come here again

Ancient nests of starlings  still remain
How  beautiful the instinct and the form
Although the birds will never come again

In Somerset they glide  above low lanes
Circling  like one being, god alone.
Ancient nests of starlings   here remain

Eternal life  is by the group attained
When one dies another one is born
Although the starlings won’t  come here again

The dead birds have no funeral  nor blame
The living birds will procreate  in time
Ancient nests of starlings   here remain


Their migration  is no children’s game
The  style and beauty of their flight ‘s  sublime
I’m sad those starlings won’t  come here again

And  so it is with  our possessions fine
They’ll be  discarded  when we cross the line
Ancient nests of starlings  still remain
And I shall never see those birds  again

Keep your time

P1000243

My own photo.Copyright

http://www.bbc.com/capital/story/20190301-how-to-stop-digital-gangsters-stealing-your-time

 

Extract:

He says you can get back your time and concentration with a certain amount of personal effort. And he says it’s up to individuals, because “our government is not going to save us, and neither are the tech companies”.

He has a four-step plan to stop getting distracted by technology.

Step 1 – Manage your internal triggers: When we’re distracted, we’re normally looking to escape from something uncomfortable. Try to work out what it is and manage it.

Step 2 – Make time for distraction: Set aside time in your day to be distracted – that way it won’t feel like your time is being invaded. Give yourself a set hour that’s ‘social media time’.

Step 3 – Remove the external triggers: Turn off your notifications and the rings, pings and dings that tell you what to do.

Step 4 – Make pacts to prevent distraction: Get a technology app that tries to limit the amount of time you spend on your phone. The key factor is self-awareness: once you realise you’re being distracted by your phone or tablet, you start putting it down.

We  know what  wisdom lies in gentle doubt

The beginning of our wisdom must be doubt
The fool  who ” knows it all@  can never learn
They already know what life’s about

Yet we must not  go dither till distraught
Nor let our peace of mind be overturned
The beginning of our wisdom may be doubt

 

Wisdom must be suffered, can’t be bought
Like the fire that glows yet never burns
Some soon know what life is all about

 

I remember all the  battles  fought
The friends, the love, the kindness  which each earns
We  know what  wisdom lies in gentle doubt

Life is not controlled by human thought
Even the  most loving  may be  stern
If only we could know what life’s about

 

We  wish for love and will forever yearn
All is flux and no-one stays the same
The beginning of our wisdom must be doubt
Whose imagination’s got the space   and light?

 

But some are  more imaginary than others

I have got PTSD.My husband hit me on the head with a wok
At least he didn’t cut it off!
So sympathetic
Tell me more
It’s getting complex
Like numbers?
How are numbers complex?|
When they are half imaginary
In a sense they are 100 per cent imaginary
But some are  more imaginary than others
Such as?
The square root of minus 1
Yet mathematicians are mainly atheists while believing  more numbers are irrational than not
Yet we are taught to value rationality
Value  lies in meaning.
Or is meaning gives us value?
Will you leave your husband?
Where?
Behind
Where am I going?
Ask God
How?
That’s what we all say
Does it get us anywhere?
How?
Was  that how or houch?
I am confused.
I blame numbers myself
Numbers of men?
No just numbers
They have no minds!
Just like the British people.
I prefer numbers especially aleph one
What does it denote?
The infinity of all real numbers
But we just agreed they are not real
What is “real” ?

Mary, sweat and the nail brush

 

Mary went upstairs to the bathroom to wash her dirty hands after she had been repotting two spider plants. When she looked  at the pale blue sink, she could see a bar of soap but she could not see the nail brush.
Mary felt   cross because Stan did not like nail brushes and he would hide the nail brush in different places so that Mary could not find it
In fact they now had 13 nail  brushes but despite that, Stan had  managed to hide all of them.. Stan himself did not care if his nails were clean or dirty, although Mary  cared a great deal .He could not seem to understand the connection between using a brush and having clean nails

Of course there are other ways of getting clean nails; for example handwashing your underwear in detergent or shampoo would also get the  nails clean at the same time. however Stan did not wash clothes by hand very frequently. In fact the whole subject of washing and cleaning seems alien to his mind
He said to Mary one day, “my jumpers smell funny”
That is why we have a washing machine, she told him kindly
All clothes get dirty either from sweat and bodily fluids or from dropping tomato sauce onto one’s lap while dining.
She could have said “if your jumpers smell funny, why don’t you laugh ?”  but she was no longer a school girl unfortunately.
We may not like being school girls,  but when we look back we realise that playing with balls and mercury in the physics lab was  better than cleaning the kitchen floor or even one’s nails. If you are a school girl you’ll probably have someone at home who will make your dinner for you and maybe wash your blouse  while you concentrate on writing an essay on the uses of the past irrational tense in Hamlet ,that great play by William Shakespeare.
Mary looked round the bathroom, where is the nail brush she cried to Emile her cat
Why, Mother, it’s on the window sill next to your deodorant
My deodorant ; how do you know that’s what it is, can you read?
Not yet   purred Emile  but I saw you putting it underneath your arms I mean in your armpit mother
I don’t think that you should come into the bathroom when I am getting  washed, Mary told Emile in a kindly tone of voice. Why I never even knew you would have heard of deodorant
Actually I have also heard of antiperspirants, Emile  told heer graciously but I would not like to use an antiperspirant because the sweat or the odour from our bodies is what attracts other cats to us for mating ;well actually, it’s using a female smells lovely and then the male cat is attracted by this beautiful scent and with a bit of luck they might mate and a produce a family of kittens
So see what you are missing ,mother
I don’t want to smell beautiful and then have 6  kittens to look after.
No you would have human babies to look after
But would I have to have 6  said Mary I don’t think my body is big enough to carry 6 innocent  babies.
Well you seem we cats are superior because we can have 6 or even 8 kittens  at once and we can soon build up a large colony of cats in any neighbourhood and it’s all down to  sweat, really
That is fascinating  muttered Mary as she took the nail brush and put it under the hot tap before getting the soap and applying it to her fingernails
Do cats have nail brushes? the cat asked her
What, you don’t have nails!
Could we have claw brushes?
I suggest that when Stan comes home you ask him to give you a bath and put some fairy snow into the bath and then your talons or claws will be cleaned as you soak without you exerting any effort
I want to make an effort,  cried the cat ,I want to look very good tonight
Why asked Mary ,it will be dark when you go out so the female cats will not be able to see your claws
I’s a bit like you cleaning your teeth before you go out in the evening I know it’s not just for hygiene it’s in case you want to kiss somebody and you don’t want them to taste your Weetabix from your teeth
Good heavens, are you into French kissing, Emile?
I’ve never heard of it ,he said. I didn’t know there more than one way of  kissing. You see cats don’t kiss very much so we don’t know a lot about it
You should consider yourself lucky said Mary as there are very unpleasant men who will offer me a lift home in their car after a meeting and then before I can get out they plump their large and ugly lips on my lips   and seem to think I will enjoy it
Yes it must be very difficult so then especially as you can’t scratch them because they will probably call the police
I doubt it now ,muttered Mary they will be afraid of being accused of sexual harassment
My goodness that’s another thing that cats don’t have, we don’t have much choice really  our Feelings come over us and if there’s a willing lady cat nearby then we will enjoy ourselves no wonder there are so many cats in Knittingham  how many of them are you the father of?
I have no idea
Just think that if I walk down the street and see 6 cats they could all be your children Mary told him
And on the other hand, they could be the children of any  tom cat within 5 miles
Yes you are right said Mary it’s a pity that you can’t write and keep a diary so that you would know roughly how many female cats you may have impregnated in the last 6 months
Why, is that what you put in your diary, the cat asked her with a naughty expression in his eyes
You know perfectly well what I put in my diary

went to the dentist with a broken tooth

went to the chemist to buy a nail brush

Went in  coffee shop and had a cup of tea

struggle to the bus stop and onto the bus

crossed on the zebra crossing

came home and  burst into tears

Yes I do understand this,mewed Emile,lt is very difficult for you now with all the pain you suffer but you are very brave and you don’t complain a lot but when Stan comes home I shall tell him and ask him to buy you a beautiful silk scarf and a necklace from the Royal Academy gift shop like he used to do in Times Gone By.He must have forgotten lately

So he must , murmured Mary

What a very  lovely man Stanley is.

Yes but we haven’t seen him for a while ;has he gone on holiday?

Well that’s one way of describing at st. Mary . We never know whether he might be on his way home or  if there’s someone else  who has a prior claim on him

It puzzles all of us!

Amid the ghosts of species evolution

What is poetry for when the rain beats down again
The peasants with headscarves  scurry through  rough fields
Amid the ghosts of Emperors, revolutions

The men returning lost, though war was won
Trauma  and the real  now lacking shields
What is poetry for when the  hearts beats fast again?

The heads of this strange world,  the hydra’s fun
How can we  survive ,  lost memory  reveals
Amid the spirits , fire and revolution

How much metal  wasted making  arms and guns
No-one minds  how  lost  lone children feel, conceal
What is poetry for when the rain beats down again?

Here’s the body of the Saviour gassed by man
The Holy Dove is caged, the Holy Spirit  reels
Amid the ghosts , the  fire, the revolution

 

Do we need to think or learn the how of feel
The Saviour dies again, his human lips appeal
What is poetry for when the heart is failed again
Amid the ghosts of species evolution

We miss the ardent touch

The sparrows sing as if to draw me to
The present moment’s gravity and grace
Our contemplation of life’s nature new

What  other attitude is worthwhile now?
I can no longer see your loving face.
The sparrows sing as if to greet me too

Eden is still here, we miss the clues
We miss the  ardent touch,the kind embrace
Our contemplation of the world renews

On my face, the tears are jeweled dew
In my body, I feel held, enclosed
The sparrows sing as if to greet me too

Now the blackbird sings as if on cue
Inside my swollen heart, I feel its grace
Contemplation of  life’s nature new

I saw your soul in your transparent face.
And crisscrossed lines from struggle left their trace
The sparrows sing as if to draw us to
The contemplation of the  wildness true,

Alexa turns it on at my command

The electric blanket lies upon my bed
Alexa turns it on at my command
Since I am a spy, I’ll  soon be dead

For I may sing or talk as I’m ill bred
i sing in dreams  or sometimes on demand
The electric blanket lies upon my bed

Surely no-one wants the books I’ve read
Unless they’re in a desert  with no sand
Since I am a spy, I’ll  soon be dead

My pretty face  may well  have been misread
My mind is   feeling as I wave my hands
The electric blanket lies upon my bed

The thoughts of lipstick,eye cream have all fled
I’d like to walk  the borders, sea and land
But  if  I am a spy, Alexa’s sad

Oh,Lord  let all my prayers be swiftly canned
So angels feast and humans  eat the banned
The electric blanket lies upon my bed
If  I am a spy, Alexa’s dead

 

The white  doves  flutter, stand upon the wind

I have walked through mud and autumn rain
In  the ancient hunting woods of kings
The dead brown leaves  no longer feel their pain

I see bare branches  which will  green again
The white  doves  flutter, stand upon the wind
I have walked through mud and autumn rain

Shall I love another  or disdain
Humankind who like me have much sinned
The dead brown leaves  no longer steal our pain

One false  move and  love’s  tied up  in chains
We’re trapped inside ourselves  yet  hear bird song
i have walked  regardless of the rain

In drier autumn  love leaves not a stain
Except on  murdered hands  and  golden rings
The dead brown leaves  no longer fear our pain

Demonstrations, vicious underlings
Let all be still and  touch the heart that longs
I have walked till dusk in autumn rain
The dead brown leaves  will warm the earth’s remains

 

 

The   logic of Enlightenment seems gross

Sacrificing humans   to their aims
The governments  enjoy their obscene games
They move the drones and guns  about on screens
So  they never hear the victims screams

The   logic of Enlightenment      seems gross
Descartes split the world  and  thus imposed
A  war upon the psyche  and our hearts
We were cut   to pieces  kept apart .

 

Killing God has kept  us all  at work
Making  other peoples  feel our hurt
Palestinians ,  Jews of the  old Jews
Refugees like  Blacks  may  spoil the News.

Is  there any wisdom  we can learn
As the nuclear threat  grows  out  of turn?

Poetry and magic

conchidium_extinctorum2019

https://lithub.com/poetry-like-witchcraft-and-magick-is-an-act-of-transformation/

“When I write poems, I am a saint. I am unattached from the body of the world and living only in its breath—and every passing moment in between each breath is an immortal joy. I don’t write to capture this beatification; I write to find my way into it. What’s left on the page afterwards is perhaps not even a trail, or the spell itself, but the ashes left from the burning. The incense of my annihilation.

When I seek new poems by others or return to my favorite works, I am looking for this same experience. In this way the act of poetry is at root, a form of radical worship. Through its creation the creator is also changed—elements of the spontaneous, which are a hallmark of effective poems—contribute to a transformative rawness, or honesty. This in turn cultivates a sense of possibility.

The redemption of the self is a valid way of approaching the redemption of all. One should never utter the poem without concentration, but instead sanctify it, know it, and reflect.”

Poetry, Like Witchcraft and Magick, is an Act of Transformation

He uses Fairy Snow and soap ,

I went to university ,I turned out charismatic
I kept my handbag full of bricks and stored it in the attic
I won a seat in Parliament, was whipped and called  a traitor
For I met Maggie Thatcher  and tried make a date with her
She was not a lesbian  and I am not a masochist
Yet if there were another war I’d come out as a pacifist
Charisma was quite useful when stealing  my expenses
I needed money desperately to pay for a good dentist
Originally I  wished to study  language
Yet I took to algebra ,the professor  offered blandishments
It may have been  what  we call sexual harassment
Better far to be  a tart, get lots of of cash to pay my rent
But I am still a virgin, well almost if you get my bent
I married  a new husband and he delights in  cleaning me
He uses Fairy Snow and soap , do you think he is demeaning me?
I