Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft Rain and shadowed clouds would suit our mood When we are the warp without the weft
As if we are the pen and no ink’s left As if we hunger yet there is no food Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Our mind slows down and all we do is drift Evil thoughts into the soul intrude Like we are the warp without the weft
Let the eye and all its muscles rest With wider focus we may cease to brood Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Do not try with will power nor it test Relaxation brings back knowledge of the good We take it in like babies at the breast
We must not test the will but let it go Trust the ocean and eternal flow Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft Sometimes sunshine brings its golden gifts
Although I have recently done probably two or three hundred Sudoku puzzles I have never liked them. Why would I do something that I don’t like?
Sometimes you don’t have a lot of choice. If you are ill but tired of reading and not sleepy enough to sleep… It may be something that appeals to you.
Suddenly thought while I was doing one I know why I don’t like them it’s because they could be done by a robot.
In a way they are a bit like jigsaw puzzles. But Jigsaw puzzles also appeal to the senses as they usually are an image with colour and shape and you have to find out what that is by putting it together.
Then again it reminds me of studying a skeleton but what is most interesting about us is not in our skeletons. Not many people may know what is most interesting about us but we know it’s got to do with being alive and aware of conscious of others and having warmth.
Of course the man who invented the proof that there is no complete set of axioms which determine a set in mathematics in which all questions can be answered within the system.
It’s very very complicated and the poor man Gödel was not very happy to start with and after working in this field for some years he became paranoid and probably mentally ill afraid of being poisoned and died young.
It doesn’t attract one to study that kind of mathematics for more than one hour a day.
Not everybody who’s good at mathematics is autistic but it’s not unusual and good luck to people of different find a career that suits them and does not make too many demands of the wrong type
I heard someone on the radio being interviewed and he said he was a mathematician in a an American university and it only discovered he was autistic when he was 54. The interviewer said but did your colleagues not notice anything different about you?
No he said because they were all very similar to me.
Anyway I have decided if something can be done by a robot then let a robot do it but it’s not my idea of creativity or fun or joy
It could just be a habit but welter Pater so that habits where a kind of living death
Where would we be without our habits of drinking tea at certain times of the day, going to church on Sunday
Habits come provide a skeleton for a life but we don’t like to go to bed with the skeleton and we don’t like to be too habitually addicted to various ways of passing the time which in a way is a form of death
How much life can we bear to feel? Our emotions unless they’re very conformist maybe labeled as ADHD or borderline personality disorder etc when maybe having strong emotions and feelings anxiety, rage anger love kindness tenderness are all forms of life.
Mind you I would say that rage is very dangerous if it is not held in check sometimes but lots of feelings are just unpleasant for us to bear so we would rather be numbed by drugs or drink or by doing Sudoku puzzles..
We need to understand the skeleton but it’s not life itself is it?
It’s the flesh that is alive. The flesh the nerves the muscles and the mind. The brain itself is flesh.
Now I have become habituated to doing these puzzles.
When I was very ill it took me 3 hours to do a simple one which I can now do in 9 minutes so it’s a way of seeing how I’m feeling but apart from that I don’t think it’s something that I want to concentrate on for the rest of my life, however short that might be
Good morning,Ms Brown Gosh,you are s politically correct ,doctor In my view,it matters only for us to be medically correct,dear.And grammatically,of course. How true, noble sire. Now, what’s the problem today,madame? It’s my nerves,doctor.I hate them so much I feel almost derisory..which is totally crackers nowadays with so many street drugs to take one’s mind out of this world. What’s wrong with your nerves to make you feel like this all of a sudden? I think they are too big,mein herr.Can I have plastic surgery on them to replace then with plastic ones .I mean artificial like dentures are for teeth that drop out?The dentist told me my nerves are double the average size. for humans, But what is the standard deviation? Averages are no use alone.I wish people learned this in school How dare you say that! I have never deviated in any way.And I’ve never been average… and surely double the average size must mean something gross is going on? What a pity this is.You are a very charming and glamorous lady…I say that only to comfort you,not to seduce you which is illegal anyway,even if I wanted to do.Which I deny absolutely; Well,my nerves feel like long wild grasses waving in a cold westerly breeze in a great big meadow in Hartland,North Devon where many lips have cracked.And sailors drowned off shore too…why some even drowned on the shore and their ghosts still wander below the sheer and terrifying cliffs of alabaster and silver. Have you ever though of writing narrative or lyrical poetry or even romantic novels? What,write poetry with nerves like this?Do you think I’m a masochist or what? Well, you could try using a pen or a keyboard,you know. Now,God has given some of us larger nerves than others.It’s an evolutionary advantage to have some sensitive people about,like the canaries in the coal mines.They feel trouble coming before the rest of humankind That’s hardly any use to me as I am childless and can’t pass it on. God didn’t know that when he created you.Or if he did,he knew with nerves like this motherhood would be perilous and at least you can be a human canary Well,is there any surgery to help me or any other amelioration to my symptoms? Apart from removing your head there’s not much I can suggest right now, if you want a verdict,perhaps you can plant some wild flowers amid these long waving grasses and enjoy the beauty that you will perceive in summertime if you can be patient You’re an odd doctor compared to the usual one. Actually I’m really the computer repair man.The system has crashed and so has the doctor…temporarily I knew you looked different but I put it down to my giant nerves disturbing my vision… So will you come back to see the doctor later?He is just in the pub drinking blackcurrant liqueur for his nerves! What’s it got to do with you if I come back again or not? I love your mind,I love your body .I love your tentacles,receptecles and all your past and future particles.I love every bit of you especially your nerves.I always liked a woman with very big nerves. Really? Well,that’s cheered me up a great deal.I like the beast in man.How about my wild grasses? I love those too.Why,I’d like to lie down amongst them if you catch my drift. Can you read between the lines or write between them? Have you ever thought of taking up psychotherapy? I prefer to help computers.Hearing sad stories from disturbed folk all day must be draining as you can’t run out when you get overwhelmed like you can at parties Yes,but it would be horribly fascinating to hear all these stories.And now I am off to the garden centre to buy some flower seeds. I’d give you some seeds myself but it would be wrong to sow your field here in this office and the doctor might come in any time now which would be a trifle unseemly. Well,he could sow his wild oats as well! What a wicked woman you are;I love your mind.You seem quite out of the orddinary… please keep your big nerves. I am only offering this with the aim of calming those huge nerves .I am not thinking of enjoying lust or of how romantic you seem and how artistically brilliantl you are dressed and your golden curls and blue clothes.And your cleverness. I quite understand.I shall keep it all under my hat. if you see what I mean It’s an amazing red hat.Are you a Cardinal? No,I stole it off one I’d love to hear the whole story….who,when and where? Well,I hope to publish it on Swindle soon. We can’t wait.
“Some think that sloth, one of the capital sins, means ordinary laziness,” I began. “Sticking in the mud. Sleeping at the switch. But sloth has to cover a great deal of despair. Sloth is really a busy condition, hyperactive. This activity drives off the wonderful rest or balance without which there can be no poetry or art or thought — none of the highest human functions. These slothful sinners are not able to acquiesce in their own being, as some philosophers say. They labor because rest terrifies them. The old philosophy distinguished between knowledge achieved by effort (ratio) and knowledge received (intellectus) by the listening soul that can hear the essence of things and comes to understand the marvelous. But this calls for unusual strength of soul. The more so since society claims more and more of your inner self and infects you with its restlessness. It trains you in distraction, colonizes consciousness as fast as consciousness advances.The true poise of contemplation or imagination, sits right on the border of sleep and dreaming. ……….and hoping for redemption by art, I fell into a deep snooze that lasted for year.
At first it seemed like summer once again
When cats curled up on cushions drowse and dream
Yet second seeing finds the sun estranged
Makes autumn bring out ancient colouring schemes
The world, intense, is full of new born dawns
At first it seems like summer still remains
We love the greeny grass of ancient lawns
Yet second seeing learns the sun’s disdain
While cats curled up on cushions drowse and dream
While little children play with whip and ball
Then autumn brings out ancient coloured schemes
As we begin to view the full filled Fall
So older people’s minds weave new and lost
And cats curled up on cushions drowse and dream
We notice how the sun has burned the grass
While autumn paints its ancient coloured themes
Round the wheel turns at a steady pace
Yet it seemed like summer had remained
Nature does not enter any race
Yet second seeing finds the sun estranged
In my end is origin and growth
For the racing hare and weary sloth
Do you want some new shoes for the autumn, Annie cried excitedly to her neighbour Mary, who was sweeping the front path which had been covered by red leaves from the local trees?
Well it won’t be autumn for much longer and moreover my feet are painful
Well do you want some new shoes for the winter?.
I would like some Brogues. I used to have some from Potters of Wiganbl and Stalybridge.
What happened to them, Annamie said brightly?
I put all my comfortable shoes into a bag to take them upstairs and someone must have thought it was rubbish and put them into the dustbin because I can’t find them anywhere.
Well it wasn’t me mioawed Emile Mary’s delightful cat.
And it wasn’t I cried Dave the adorable paramedic as he ran through the front door and into the kitchen wearing the green and red striped dress which he adored.
Well I have looked up and down and high and low and in and out and roundabout ai I have completely given up.
Let’s let’s all have a nice cup of boiling hot decaffeinated tea preferably earl grey! (The author did the same and scalded herself)
I would love one said Dave seriously.
When Annie carried in the tray of tea she heard Mary explaining to Dave that her feet were very deformed and she could no longer wear new shoes because they were too stiff.
Well you could buy some second hand ones from eBay or vintage ones or who knows!?
They’ve not made any for several years but maybe somebody’s been wearing them and they’ve got nice and battered and she’s decided to get new ones.
So she’s going to sell them for five pounds to someone either very poor or with terrible feet
I used to like beautiful shoesvsaid Mary but now I am in this terrible pain from arthritis I wouldn’t mind as long as I can get them on and they don’t hurt otherwise I can’t go outside especially in the winter because sandals might be comfortable in the summer but even then when your feet are deformed sandals don’t give enough protection
Well we’ll have to go on to Google and put in some old brogues wanted
Or Anny thought to herself would we prefer some old rogues?
Perhapa she would but she’s not saying anything to the others sometimes Annie can feel a bit hurt by the way that her friends treat her as if she’s not as good as them because she hasn’t read summs theologica or Hitler’s diaries on the other hand they might be interested in the recent discovery of Hitler’s DNA
Again the dear lady remains silent.
Perhaps she is undergoing a metamorphosis meanwhile Mary has found some grey brogues for sale and they look very well worn
But we can’t look in the Guardian for what to wear with a pair of worn-old brogues when all the Guardian shows is what to wear with your new knee-high boots or what to wear with your sheepskin mittens. The entire outfit will cost about 935 pounds which tells you something about the salaries of journalists!
Is there any newspaper or magazine that would advise you what to wear with a pair of second-hand battered old brogues you know they are made by a very good shoe company? Would the Queen wear them instead of trainers?
You never know. look at least Mary we will be able to go outside when she gets these old shoes otherwise you’d have to cut the toes out of her present shoes and that’s not very nice in the winter is it?
Well many people like Michael Rosen the wealthy poet are criticized for using their free bus pass even when they are age 79 and have nearly died of covid. And who defines wealthy nowadays question mark is Mary wealthy because she has a house?
Why someone like Michael Rosen gets attacked on Twitter or X is a great puzzle with it only goes to show that noone is safe;after all:look what happened to Jesus Christ and they didn’t even have mobile phones in those days let alone social media thought for the day
The better kinder more thoughtful you are the more likely you are to be attacked especially on social media.
So if you lose your London bus pass for pensioners do not put it on x I’m X keep quiet about it and just ask your friends what to do You don’t need to ask entire world for advice
short-eared durham owl
meditating over the dale’s edge,
shadows the fields and folds
in elegant diurnal flight.
on wind-side,careful sight,
may swoop to prey
and away.
your yellow broad-eyed look,
at once both sharp and distant,
holds me.
oh,silence,
oh,wind on green,
oh,earth,
sky.
immense your held vision,
sphere without center,
pied geometer of flight,
oh, swift descent and ascent.
trees bunched by dry stone wall
call heart home
The art of doing nothing’s hard to learn To sit and daydream till we get new thoughts It’s immoral, say the Puritans reformed
Harder to accept the need to mourn So many ancient losses strip our hearts. The art of doing nothing’s hard to learn
The feelings that seemed hardest to be borne We could have looked for maps or sought out charts It’s immoral to seek help so we’ve been told
Here we weep when our skinned hearts are torn We fear we may have forfeited love’s balm The art of doing nothing’s hard to learn
We only know our self when love is born In another’s eyes we find our calm Reject the harshness of old Luther’s forms
Fear not death, for there are strong wide arms God is not a monster who wills harm The art of doing nothing will prepare For when we meet one day his welcome stare
They knew what we moderns learned this year When deprived of company and touch We need to feel, we need the hands that care
As cats will sleep in heaps beside the fire I would warm,caress you, humans must Cats knew what we humans learned this year
I remember when you brushed my hair When you held me close your skin was musk We need to feel, we need the hands that care
Even touching gently your skin bare Gave me solace, made my world seem just Cats knew what we humans learned this year
Crying babies,nursing them’s a prayer But refugees lie restless in the dust We need to feel, we need the hearts that care
They knew what we moderns learned this year When deprived of company and touch We need to feel, we need the hands that care
Poor in money, yet in loving rich Glue my broken heart up lest it cracks Ancients knew what moderns learned this year We need to feel, we need strong hands that care
When red sun drops and cooling night rolls in Darkness masks both danger and our vision Ancient minds fear day won’t come again Courage for the delicate seems thin. We wrestle with our indecision When low sun drops and a new night rolls in But now , fresh stricken by the dread of sin Who protects us from derision? Our ancient mind fears day won’t come again As we sleep we’re entertained within Bold dreams squander all illusion When sunset comes the darkest night rolls in In dreams we see new life arising Then fancy turns to full communion The ancient mind dreads day won’t come again Despite such angst, our sacred life began When sperm leaped up in proud confusion. When deep sun dropped and a new night rolled in All human hearts cried,Day shall come again”
How softly sweetly,gently flowers pose Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose. For their intricate petals form a shield Yet bees with striped force shall make them yield. Appearances,both natural and contrived, Mixed with the wiles of human nature thrive. As knowing not, we pluck the apple rare And bite its flesh,with teeth we have to bare. We too deceive the innocent who pass Not seeing watchers hid behind the glass. The windows break,the deep earth quakes; Seized is the maiden ,he her virtue takes. Beneath the surface,force and fierceness thrive. What fearsome, burning God enjoys our lives
Old man,bending over, arched like a fallen moon in a dark lilac November sky. joy and pain wrestle my heart across the emptiness and toss it up like a damp rocket to fall in a hidden corner where mice live. Would that not be a good ending,to be dust to these little creatures nesting in my chewed green twine and my tartan basket? They have eyes and shiver in my hand when I rescue them from the cat… as any heart might. Now night falls on the newspaper basket where the damp Times and the Guardian mix into glue and tomorrow the sun will rise and it will just be the garbage with no poetic undertones nor deathly hushes.. Heather and a silver light you stand on a hill top like a god looking over his domain. Strong and now weak it’s the humane condition Everlasting life is too dangerous for humans. Silent,motionless,home of beetles bit by bit we fall away into the mother soil with cracked jugs and dropped coins for a future academic to dig into. Transparent hand touches me. Whose might it be
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How my heart sings 