-
Your face is map enough for me
Your gaze your smile,your frown,your glee.
And if I want to know the rest
The shape your posture’s made is best
For saying what your life is now.
A look,a gesture,all this show.
Till all you are is then disclosed
And I am in your arms enrobed.
Love vanishes when analysed
And thinking too’ by Love’s despised
Use the means to fit the end
And then I’ll be what you intend.
-
Like watercolour pictures left out in the rain
Our colours have mingled,yet the originals still remain.
Two watercolour paintings without frames,
Became one picture over time,
Yet two of us still there.
Our colours blended naturally,
Now all the hues are shared.
I love your colours intermixed with mine:
Together they have made a new design.
A Watercolour picture painted by the rain,
We may go, but our Watercolour Love will still remain. -
Season of Writs and Yellow Legal Pads
Season of Cat Theatricals and Many Merry Kitten Calls
We wish you a Merry Dish Wash:Use Alcohol to Clean Up.
Season of Wistful Ways and Yellow Fruituality:Lost Your Spirits?
Angels are Dancing on my PIN…..how to go bankrupt quickly and easily.
Abstract Cake Making:applied Solid Geometry for when you lose your Cook Book.
Shades of Right Surround me ever: Clegg Confesses All.
Am i Who I used to Be: No,your i’s are different.
Commuting Groups and Symbols that Keep Flittering like Butterflies.
Non-commutative Operas with Demonstrations of invariance under rotations and regulations from anywhere at all in any direction or deconstruction -
‘Twas illig, and the blithely Stoats ,did fire a Thimble at a Ghrost.
Around the World I’ve Lied with Youare and Blush,The Twin Horror Show.
Alice in Blunderland.
Malice through the Magnifying Glass.
Malice in Gove Land.
All Whimsy were the Government’s Groves:Chequers for Hecklers
All flimsy were the Lying Grounds, yet the War Mongers Outslayed
Where are they,Mioaw?Cameron’s Cats for Rich Rools..
Who stole my Government?
Shall I compare Thee to a Carving Knife? : The N.H.S reduced to Size.
How to write and sell your first Comedy of Errors: Mandel’s Sunset.
Death and Menace: New Big Society for the disabled.
Where have all the People Gone?: Holidays at Home for Dummies.
Philosophy in a new Sea. Lost Ideas and Drowning Brainwaves.
-
Stan had decided to do a some of baking.
The larder was empty
the cupboard was bare
he looked in the cake tin
but nut nothing was there.Sorry about that!
Stan had flour,eggs and sugar and of course milk and butter.Emile was under the table waiting for something to drip out of the bowl!He loved baking days.
Stan had bought a load of blackberries in the market so he was thinkin of blackberry tarts,blackberry crumble..
He picked up the bag which seemed very heavy.Putting his hand in …..he pulled out a Blackberry!He went to the market
to buy me some fruit
and now he’s got Blackberries
he’s going to shoot!Annie his next door neighbour was coming to the back door.”What’s up ,Petal?”“Oh,dear.I seem to have made a category error.”Stan answered philosophically.”Well what category would you put me into?” she asked petulantly.
“Why are you so egocentric ?Not everything is about you!”He said fluently.
“Well if I’m narcissistic it’s because my infant grandiosity was ruptured too suddenly and I was not held and contained in a suitable manner.”
“You’ve been reading that Wilfred Bion again.” Stan said admiringly.”No,not just him.It’s some American chap as well .Would you like to read it?”
“No,thanks,I’m finding Julia Segal is more than enough for me.I find Bion is a bit too mystical.I don’t think I can approach you without memory or desire.To be honest,without memory or desire I wouldn’t want to approach you.”
“Wow ” she said stupidly,her large green eyes staring avidly upon him inviting him to fall into their salty sea like depths.
“Shall I ring 999?I can’t think of anything to say.I’m lost for words.”“Perhaps you have reached that mystical spot beneath language mostly only known to babies,the mad, or meditators?”
“well,I do feel a bit of madness today.”
“Is that why you have purple and orange eyeshadow on clahing with your alarazin crimson lipstick and your light beige, but not too light, foundation by Lancome of Brixton and Blackheath,Paris,Rome,and London?”
“I suppose so.” she replied indifferently.I feel as if I’m behind a glass wall.”
“Oh,don’t worry.That’s the new window!” Stan explained courteously.”You really are behind a glass wall.”
“You’ve been reading schizoid processes again on Yahoo,”
“Yes,” she admitted her face blushing violently.”It’s those new people who’ve moved in across the road.They are both psychoanalysts so I wanted to feel up to their level of knowledge.”
“I didn’t know they were psychoanalysts.How did you find out?”“Well,first of all,there were two large sofas, and then hundreds of knitting needles and a lorryful of wool.And I thought,”Hello,hello,It must be one of Anna Freud‘s followers.”
“So have you met them?” he asked laconically?
“Yes”,she confessed animatedly .I went over and said,
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
“And what did he say?”
“Are you all mad round here?”
“So I thought,”You’re not getting hold of me that easily.””
“So I said “I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m am an admirer of Melanie Klein,”
“Oh,how did they react to that?”Stan quizzzed her jovially.
“He was so rude.He said,”Are you telling me you’re a lesbian as well as a lunatic?”“Oh,dear.No wonder your make up is all running off your face and disappearing down your cleavage.Why don’t you pop upstairs and have a bath?”
“Well it’s either that or ringing 999“
“My self is totally divided.”“Into equal parts?” “I can’t say” she murmured.”Oh,well” said Stan “you sit there with Emile and I shall make a Victoria sponge and a lemon drizzle cake without the lemon…I’ve only got bananas and they don’t drizzle.
“Why not adapt to reality and make a banana loaf?”
“Is that wise?” Stan enquired.”Wise or not,it seems to make sense.” she whispered coyly.”Get a move on or Mary will be back on her Raleigh shopper bicycle and there’ll be no cake for tea.”Thank you,honey.”Stan replied.
“I am filled with memory and desire.””And quite right too,”mioawed Emile from his basket.”I’m like that every night!””And so are all of us,”Annie twittered on one of Stan’s blackberr -
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/09/24/doctor-empathy-a-factor-in-diabetes-care/
I would not be surprised if it were true across a wider spectrum of health problems,that the doctor’s attitude can have a physiological effect.I have already seen evidence that medications work better if you get on well with the doctor… even antibiotics.I have noticed lately our doctor is busy with NHS reforms and so is not so available….
I wish he would read this article.Three of my family are diabetic -
I once met a very smart man
Who lived in a little red van.
He ate his meals out
Though I have no doubt
He would sometimes eat beans from the can.He took his shirts to the laundrette.
That is,to be sure, where we met.
He was fascinated by music,
But just to confuse me,
He never told me he played the cornet.Thus,when we listened to Mozart’s French Horn,
And I was feeling quite puzzled and torn,
He criticised the breathing
Of the player who was meaning
To show the world why he’d been born.If someone had written a piece for the cornet
Which sounded like a half drunken hornet,
He might have married me
And now I would not be
Sitting here writing pornette. [ A new word meaning very soft porn] -
Looking out,
I see the yellowish wood
of the forsythia
where blackbirds live.
Now the sun shines and a leaf or two
wave in the wind;
the points of light
edge of each holly leaf
like moulded silver flowers,
celebrating the falling sun.
Pine cones dangle loosely from the conifer
will we be showered innocently
with these fruits?
cat comes out of the shed
looking determined,
moves off quickly
down the curving path
in search of movement.
Peers into the glass door
but won’t come in.
Hello,cat!
Make hay,while the sun shines.
I hope it shines for you,too. -
Floating like seaweed on the tide,
The final leaves of summer die.
The birds ride on the wind’s broad back,
They know no fear and know no lack.
The air is filled so with great treasures,
My female heart its wonder measures.
The clouds are deep and dark and grey
What rainstorms may they fetch our way?
The sun appears and gives a glow
Of yellow to bare branches low.
Red berries so bright, like summer flowers,
Decorate the holly’s pointing tower.
Sharp thorns protect the smaller birds,
And from inside,their cheeps are heard.
As dusk arrives the blackbird sings,
So much sweetness nature brings.
As I turn my mind from in to out,
I feel salvation for my doubts.
I know that I’m part of the whole,
And with all life I share my soul.
In this peaceful place I rest,
As with love’s eloquence I’m blessed.
There’s singing in my inner heart.
Like bees to flowers,my fears depart -
1.
I was once quite addicted to fruit
I ate anything whether raw or half cooked.
Till waking one night,
Without very much light
I gnawed a hole in my husband’s new boots.2.
There was an old gent in New York
Who hated to eat with a fork
He lived on tinned soup,
And ate poetry books
And got protein from the insects he caught3.
There once was a foolish young girl
Whose hair was not willing to curl.
So she chopped it all off
Whilst in a huff.
And instead she wore a crown made from pearls.4.
I once knew a scientist of note
Who never wore a winter topcoat.
When I asked him why,
He said with a sigh,
There’s no space when you live in a boat. -
Leaves have gone so suddenly
Small birds float on the wind
Like boats astride a choppy sea.
Their swaying stills my mind.Wild geese fly past at dusk again
They head towards the West.
If I were such a wild white goose
I’d know which path was best.But as a human I need words
To find my destination.
So many words which are packed
With genius of generations.I send my words with love to you.
I hope you deftly catch them
Send me true answers from your heart
And I promise I shall match them -
I will love you like a big elastic band would,
Holding you but not constraining.
I will be like a giant paperclip
Keeping all your bits connected.
I will be a sheet of paper
On which you write your thoughts.
I will be a curtain on your window
To hide you from the glare.
I will be a briefcase that you hold in your hand.
But I refuse to be a wastepaper basket
To hold your garbage.
I do have my limits
Though they are elastic.
But even elastic is not infinitely stretchy
And neither am I. -
I walked across the water.
I skied across the sea
I took the television too,
And it’s heavier than me.I fell up a mill chimney
I slid down a sunbeam
I have to go to London
I was told to in a dream.I drove right up a mountain
A horse rode on my back
I felt rather excited
But I forgot to take my mac.I swung across the ceiling
Like a spider in its web,
I say,you are so beautiful.
Do you have a double bed?I am sitting on the roof top
Drinking cider from a can.
I wanted to get married
But she said she wants a man.I climbed right up a tiger’s tail,
I crowned an elephant
But my most abiding passion
Is to learn to mix cement.I spied for several governments
But then they threw me out.
Because I am an alien
Of that there is no doubt.I’m not a human being
I am lacking in some ways
I’m too kind to kill other people,
Even when it’s highly paid.I write with a big crayon
I draw with candlewax
I live on cottage pie and rice,
And I’m addicted to kind sex.I set my curly hair on fire.
I swam In boiling oil.
I went down to the market
To watch the apples toil.I had a lot of people
Who were living in my house.
I could not ever remember
Which one was my spouse.I taught my doctor to love lice
I showed him how to shoot.
And now I’m training Isaac up
So he can be a Newt.I skate across the surface
Of everybody’s eyes
And all I ever ask of you is
Forget how to tell lies.I am coming down to your place
As it’s twice as big as mine.
Have you got a chip sandwich?
To feed our love divine?I want to see the people
who are living in that Palace.
I have to tell them God told me
It belongs to Carroll’s Alice.Roll your eyes like marbles
And interweave your hair with trains.
This is how it happens,
When you don’t heed Labour’s pains.
. -
A few people have told me they would rather know what I was doing than read my poetry.If you are such a person I have just bought a number of new sheets and pillowcases.I have also bought 12 table napkins from France.I ate some pizza at midday.It’s raining and quite cold.I am reading “Dresden Green” by Nicholas Freeling…..or I was.I lost it in the bedroom.No doubt in 6 years I’ll find it in the wardrobe.The logical deduction is…buy an e-reader.Wow,why did I buy new sheets?It’s this urge housewives get as winter approaches…fill the cave with food and other stuff….And new sheets are nice.One looks like tent fabric it’s so tough.They are from a French mail order place.Sartre…. what sort of sheets did he like?The heating is faulty so I have a fan heater on.I have some navy blue track pants on.I found them in the bathroom on the chair.And I have a blue jumper on…. bright like my eyes.My hair looks really good today…
it’s some gunk I put on,really as long as it feels clean and don’t give a toss how it looks…It’s gone lighter and lighter blonde till now I think it’s platinum.. and all without a dye.I feel quite envious of myself.Is that possible?I shall ask a theologian..I know two.I know some people hate themselves… so you could be jealous of yourself.Isn’t life weird?Or is it me? -
Leaves have gone so suddenly
Small birds float on the wind
Like boats astride a choppy sea.
Their swaying stills my mind.Wild geese fly past at dusk again
They head towards the West.
If I were such a wild white goose
I’d know which path was best.But as a human I need words
To find my destination.
So many words which are packed
With genius of generations.I send my words with love to you.
I hope you deftly catch them
Send me answers from your heart-
And I promise I shall match them. -
Seven o’clock- and the sun’s still glowing
Seven o’clock – finishing colour bright day,
Up above – pink tinged clouds are sliding
Down still sky,sweeping sun away.Come back sweet sun,do not leave me.
Come back bright beams,I need sunlight.
Down on earth,it’s witch moon darkness,
When your golden face is out of sight.I see the orange tinged clouds extending.
I feel such sense of sky lit bright.
But gently now,the mist surrounds you
And sweeps away that happy sight.Into velvet blackness sinking,
The dazzling, dreaming darkness falls.
Goodbye to haste,and glare, and sunshine,
Time for reverie,night time calls.On the night-train’s gentle journeys,
On this trackless train we ride
Strange,seductive haunting pictures
I will see in dreams’ designs.In my night trainI’ll be happy
In such rich deep reverie.
We visit darkness in our sleeping,
There we learn its ecstasy.Now we have no God to hold us
In His Hands of Living Love,
What will help us trust deep blackness
If there’s no Saviour from above?Must we enter that great darkness,
Go back to dark from which we came,
Into dark all living creatures,
In that darkness find our home?Trust the dark unknown, to hold us,
Trust the dark ,both night and day.
Must we walk into that darkness
And trust it is our safest way?Nonsense
I lack personal walls.
He was sacked by the draper.
And bagged by the greengrocer.I have hacked what I said from my own files.
It was a snack in my hand that gave me indigestion.
I’ll be a duck in a beck in Cumbria rather than take from the poor.
Are you back on the fiddle or is it the guitar?
I shall back my life up onto my brain….
He was a back seat driver owing to his overly long arms… that’s why he let his cat sit in the driver’s seat,so he said to the police.
The judge sentenced him to community service so he’s now the Vicar.Are you an expert at jabberwocky/
We went back to the dear ones…. they were so creative.
We all went back on the duty to hoard.
A lack of salt mines made it easier to sweat.
He gave her a cackhanded compliment so she struck him with her walking frame and is now in jail for criminal damage to an artefact.
I believe in rum tea.
Is it possible to be flat all over and still be a woman?
I have a little…..
Wave your breath through the hole.Will it separate the particles out?
Pay,why?Are you a bill….?
Weigh your prayers.God cares.
Scarcely a den left on Hampstead Heath…where will thieves meet?
Westminster….you know where!He was bare except for his own shadow… and that was not very cosy.
I am wiping the bottom of the barrel… it’s been digesting our polticians all day.
Season’s Tweetings to all my friends
I reckon it will cost as much as a bed for the bananas.
I have second sinned now…I got my eye in,or should I say on, a handsome man.~Is it mortal?
All men are mortal….
As for sins, we leave that to God.
What,he sins!
No he judges our sins…our motives and our thoughts…
Seems a horrible job…Never wee when you lie.If you are so scared,tell Ruth….I mean the truth.
I pee in the glass till it’s only half empty.We have no loo here, you see.
Why not pee outside in the garden?Are you afraid of the dark?
No,but I am afraid of sky larks.
You mean nightingales?
Well,I’d rather spend the night in a breeze.
You are getting on my wick.
Sorry,candle.
Don’t take that tone with me.
I am so sorry.I am tone deaf.
Tone blind too,if you ask me.
I shan’t ask you.
Wank you.
Wank you very much.I see the light at the end of the funnel…I fell into a big teapot.
Where is the spout?Can you see which way the bacon rinds flow?
Yell,” No doubt” if you hear any politician speak.Or “Unclear.”
My senses have overflowed….I am sorry you had no Mac.
I separate the men from their toys at night so they can play with me in the dark.
Well,I am in the dark totally but it seems fun at the time. -
Suddenly the air was full of roses
smiles floated out from strangers’ faces
children blew bubbles
I stood watching the colours on one
as the sun lit up the edges
as it ascended into heaven
everyone was smiling
music played
world more real seemed here for a moment
perhaps a’re always on the edge of paradise
if we stopped running so fast
the world keeps whispering
“I’m here,see,listen,look”
wants us to interact,relate.
the air I breathe was once in your lungs,
We are all fish in one ocean
green and deep,we swim blindly
like the mad. WE are the mad,
As the mad sometimes tell us.
They saw too much,too soon.
We see too little,too late,
Though it’s never too late to start -
Trees so tall their
wind turned branches stroke the air.
leaves still green,
still stretching sunward
will burn red and gold soon.Wood pigeons cause a flurry
by the birdbath,
as I pass they indicate surprise
with strange cries.Look up at the sky,
it’s blue again
no clouds.
a silver plane flies north,
are people looking down at us?If only love made time last
would like this morning
to be longer,
for our turning earth
to pause for a moment.How dear you are to me.
I stretch my hand
to touch you,
as if you are a leaf
bathed in light.
no shadows on your face,
no shadows in your eyes
but smiling with the beauty
seen by those who love.
come kiss me now ,my dove. -
Watching the car come round the corner,
I put up my arm and ordered it to stop.
Don’t pedestrians have the right of way
over turning cars?You can see I was already
feeling impertinent even before the man
would not give me a chair in the bookshop.
Still I saw a woman laugh and she patted me
On my arm and said she’d remember me.
Standing by the flower stall,counting rose petals
The world seemed simpler and more beautiful.
What’s the answer to the unspoken question,
We all ask.The point is will we recognize this answer?
Will it pass unnoticed as we look the other way?
Which vision will we use to decide?
Where are we looking?
-
Stop for a moment.
There has to be an incantation,I demand it.
Oratory has a place but needs music
To make the world succumb
To get all the atoms vibrating as one
Will you find out how to do it?
Ancient people knew it,but we lost the art
Logic was all we thought we needed
But logic doesn’t make the sperm penetrate
As the ovum waits patiently.
Such waiting,such stillness.
How can we not admire it?
Sing special songs for the acceptance of the female spirit.
This Mozart sonata,the piano’s voice is almost painful
in its beauty.
Just stop for a moment,please.
He’s inverting all the previous melodies
Upturned then and made something new.
It’s in the air,invisible
Like scent of raindrops,
Touching the face and tenderly passing
On their way to earth -
Somehow,I’m thinking,there has to be another way
that doesn’t destroy the tenderness of love.
that leaves the grass green;
and lets the daisies flower on cricket pitches,
In England and the commonwealth.
Where’s the soul’s astute intelligence
playing itself out?
Look at my hands,
They speak of it all
Tapping on keys while I listen
To the silence
all around
with the distant radio
giving yet more news.
An end to nonsense,we are the animals that can learn
from experience.
but we have to want to change. -
It’s autumn weather,geese fly by.
Autumn rust,red, gold so gay
Drystone walls,edging fields
Apples gathered,holly berries
Flash so brightly
Look like flowers
Sun shines sideways,shadows long
Of trees appear,I dwell among
Woods of gentle beeches sing
Flowing with the gliding wind.
Look at roots all intertwined
Feel their geometry in the mind
Looking up into the sky
I see the V formation high,
Geese fly home at end of day
My heart is moved by patterned dance
All in this peace and holy silence.
Is it true it’s only chance
Or is it that gods dwelled here once
I feel my heart open like the sky
And at this moment I could die
So I would stay with this still vision
Of geese set out in Autumn mission
Snails in rain pools slither near
My feet upon the terrace here
And look upon their whorled backs
The complete pattern of life is packed.
And yet so easily it’s destroyed
When blind foot steps into the voidI love those old genes
i am all peers…
All for a bone,and scones for the boys?
All hands are paint flecked on the deck,by order.
All trespassers persecuted in court.
All hands to the rumps.
How hell breaks the teeth!
She calls in almost daily with a smirk.
Balls in due rhyme.
It’s all over except we lost the map.Still we found another War… the War to end all Wars and it’s still ongoing.The War seems to be a great success …. but for whom?
We all paled in contrition.. our sin was imprecision
He’s all hawk yet no action.
All those Twitterers should be in jail.Tweet that now.
I love all that jazz….. and those old blue genes.
I had all the wits he needed…so he believed….yet he was deceived.
I kept them for myself,you see. -
Perspicuity sees more than convention.
I have let all words unreel for me.
As nervous as a maths Prof. with hot proof, he paced the platform looking for imaginary numbers.Cauchy put a stop to it all?
Never put off until Heaven the loving you can do on Earth.
I brought new police in for my wife.I need them to get a grip otherwise it’s Bedlam in here
A newbie: that’s a word I hate.What rhymes with it?What chimes with it.What sort of time can one have with it
Tall guys find lust at last when they get unstilted.Free here.
The girls were so bright and prey.
Well,I’ll flip my duck to you,Sir.And I rarely do that howerdays.
You need to flip pancakes for your lover.Or even do somersaults.
They need to unwind their bobbinsThere is no accounting for taste.It’s unmeasurable and undefinable yet it exists.
He made no grains at all…but he sowed all his wild oats and I sewed up all his coats.
It was a no grow relationship so I uprooted myself and wept.
I believe no colds were barred…they resisted innoculation on location by special bequests.
-
Note:I had a list of cliches.I joined them together with extra words…. and l altered some slightly.
I find it amuses me when I think of more cliches.
Sometimes leaving out part of a cliche or a proverb gives a new idea which may produce a poem.Sometimes just a laugh…
HERE I GO
You are driving me to thoughts which rarely entertained me before… give me my pen
Everything is coming up too ,you know.too intense,too dense.too claustrophobic,too near,too whelming
Don’t cry overmuch.you can pee instead,in bed,when you’re dead,standing on your head
He’s not worth a brushing with butter or a sprinkling with cheese.Eat him neat,what,cheat?
Faint hearts need GNT or a G and T ,What’s your poison?It’s all nectar to me.I live up a tree.. so how do I wee?
How do I love thee,lend me your veers.
Cats to the right of us,cats to the left.Let’s take our clothes off except for our vests.
Where have all the hours gone?
Where have mine gone?
Where have all our coalmines gone?
In England’s green and peasant filled landAVERSE TO VERSE?
I feel my heart’s cracked.
How..over spilled milk?
Do you want to feel me?
It does my heart good,yet
You are driving me crazy
with your endless words.Every blog has its sway..
In point of fact,
everything’s coming up roses.
Wasted hearts
never a true love know.Shall I
fall head over heels or
fall through the cracks
in the pavement.
I love you,please
fan the flames of our fire.
To know you is to love me.How can I end it otherwise?
My desire is to be here now.
And to paint you all over
With olive oil unless you prefer butter.
To be buttered! -
Beautiful face …………….
I have experienced a few times in my life a beauty that was so perfect that in some cases my legs gave
way.One time it was seeing Lincoln Cathedral floodlit through a window and I did fall down then.Another
time it was a drawing by Picasso,and again St Paul’s Cathedral at night.With people I’ve felt it once or
twice.One wishes to die at that moment simply to avoid losing the beauty.It’s as if someone has just played a
chord which harmonizes with one’s soul/psyche.It’s difficult to explain but maybe you have felt that too.
One time was very funny because it was a mere greeting card with a Picasso drawing on that made my legs
give way.So if I don’t post one day you’ll know I’m lying on the ground worshipping some beauteous image or
smile or face or the sky.I’m not drunk except on beauty.
.
Your face is so beautiful
when you smile,
I could die while gazing
upon it.
Your eyes affect me
like silver light gleaming
on a frozen lake in winter
I could remain entranced always
And,though I know
love to be eternal,
the music begins
the dance goes on.
You leave me. -
There once was a doctor called Spooner
Who was affected by all things lunar
When the moon was half sized
He was quite galvanized
By the bum of a lady piano tuner.There once was a scientist named Newton,
Who wanted a room with a futon.
But no-one had heard
Of that Japanese word
So he went off with his apple to Luton.I once “knew” your daddy,Newton.
Before he had got his new suit on.
When you were conceived
He said he’d been deceived.
And it all occurred here on that futon.A scientist went into to the loo
When he had lots of hot thinking to do
But the door lock got jammed,
And poor Newton was crammed
In a bathroom without any view.There was once doctor called Newt
Famed for his bizarre birthday suit.
So one day he went out
Clad in ne’er a clout,
So now he’s been given the boot -
If Jesus wants you for a sunbeam
Tell Him you’re not ready yet.
If Jesus wants you for a sunbeam
Tell him that your mind’s not set.If Jesus asks you something silly
Then it’s highly likely that
It’s not Jesus,it’s your shadow
So you can just say “Godwot.”If you see your Guardian Angel
Flying round your kitchenette.
It’s a sign you’re high on wine.
And you’re not an angel yet.I am most wary of illusions
If they satisfy my dreams.
True imagination only works when
Our ego’s not in the scheme.Let Jesus go and take a step
Into the darkness on your own.
Ask a human being for help,
Then you really will have grown.Goodnight fairies,goodbye witches.
Goodbye elves and fantasy.
Take your self into the future
Where we know not what may be.“Jesus wants you for a sunbeam”
Is a very weird sentence.
If Christ’s religion has a value.
It’s based on truth and not pretense -
Oh,Mr Osborne,what did you do ?
I took away the free bus pass
From silly old fools like you.
Oh,Mr Osborne,may I ask you why?
Yes,indeed, we Conservatives
Want all you old fogeys to die.
So we are getting rid of the heating allowance
And sending you all back to work.
So the stress and the strain ,the worry and chill,
Will get rid of you all,oh fuck,[I know most of you like this word,unlike me.. remember the rows]
I’ve lost the bit of paper
On which I had written my budget
Oh,God,Oh ,Hell on earth,I say,old boy,
I’ll just have to bloody fudge it.
You can say whatever you fudge,
And we old people may die.
But history will soon be your judge,
And your own children may ask you”Why”
You’re making the BBC pay the licence fee
For people over 75,
When it should be the tax from the rich folk
Who expect us to take a deep dive
Oh,Georgy Osborne,I’ll put your wallpaper all over your eyes,
So that you cannot see,but you’ll still hear
The poor people’s loud, raging cries.
And remember the coalition lose votes
If too many old people die. -
Put your thoughts down on the page
Whilst you’re in the writers’ rage,
All you want can be said here,.
Imagination’s clear.Remember those long sunny days
Playing in the park always,
Every hour was filled with mirth
Imagination’s birth.Put your burden down and play,
Today is now the only day.
Sun is up, joys may lurk.
Imagination’s work.Never let your heart go sour,
Live in moments,not in hours.
All of us are here anew,
Imagination’s due.Wrap your arms around the world.
Keep them always warmly curled.
If you hate someone, forgive.
Imagination lives.
Imagination lives
Tag: humor
Early to mid September writing 2012
-
Stan was sweeping the garden path.He had a stiff broom with a small head that was useful for cleaning the edges of the steps.Emile, his beautiful cat was sitting in the old apple tree gazing down on Stan.
“Is it time for coffee yet,”Stan asked himself.He had forgotten to put on his watch.
Suddenly he heard a shriek.He peered through a hole in the fence.His neighbor Annie was lying on her back in some mud.
“Hang on,I’ll come round!” he called.
There was a gate in the old fence which was rarely locked
since Annie loved to drop in on Stan.
“Oh,Annie,how are you feeling?” he asked her anxiously.
“Bloody annoyed.I’ve only just bought these,”Not your daughter’s jeans” and now I’ve torn them,” she replied politely.
“But you don’t have a daughter!” he informed her loudly.
“I know that.It’s just they are better cut for the mature figure.”
“Your figure is not mature.You are quite slender.my dear,” he murmured lovingly.
“Well,I never feel happy with it!” she said mutinously.
“Whereas I am very happy feeling it,” he responded romantically.
Tears came into her green eyes lined with purple eye shadow.Alas,it was not waterproof and purple rivulets ran down her cheeks across the peach blusher with which she had valiantly decorated herself earlier.
“Can you get up?” he asked tenderly.
“Yes, but it would be nice if you picked me up.”
He leaned over her and licked the purple streams of tears off her cheeks.
“I hope it’s not poisonous,” she murmured.
Then with the aid of Emile,he lifted her to her feet and helped her into her large trendy kitchen.
The kettle switched itself on as they entered and a robotic voice asked if they’d like coffee.
“God in heaven,what the hell is that?” he cried confusedly.
“It’s my new computerized hot drink maker.After that fall I think a double espresso would be good.”
Emile ran in and asked for coffee too.
“Emile,you usually have milk,”Stan reminded him softly.
“Well,coffee is a new taste for me but I like a little.”
the cat whispered sweetly.
“I’ll give you some of mine in a saucer,” Stan replied.
Emile began to sob.
“Why Emile,whatever is wrong?”
“I want a cup and saucer just like you” the cat howled.
But you have no hands,Emile,” Stan reminded him.
The poor cat was crying loudly now.So Stan rang 999.
“Can you please send the emergency ambulance round.the cat’s crying and all his hankies are in the wash.”#
Soon Dave,the transvestite paramedic appeared.
“I love your light teal kitchen,” he informed Annie,
“And your eyes look like two deep pools in a coal mine.”
She slapped his cheek naughtily.
“Have a look at Emile” she ordered him sweetly.
He turned to the cat who was sitting on the dark pine table.
“Here,Emile,I got you some Kleenex for Cats in Sainsbury’s.” he said gaily.
“I want a real hanky,”cried Emile.Dave took a clean hanky from his own pocket and dried the cats tears.
“What made you cry.Are you feeling bad.”
“Yes,I want to go to Cafe Nero,” Emile mioawed.
“Who told you about that?”
“Another cat down the road has been and he said it’s lovely for people watching.”
“The town is not safe for cats like you,Emile.”
Dave urbanely replied,
“But when summer come I’ll take you to the out of town
Marks and Spencer’s.They have a cat’s coffee corner upstairs.”
“Wow,isn’t it amazing,”Stan wondered out loud.
So Dave poured out the coffee and they all sat down and
discussed Ray Monk’s Life of Wittgenstein.
Ray has discovered that Wittgenstein liked cats but as he moved around quite a bit,he never owned his own cat
though Elizabeth Anscombe let him play with her three cats now and then.
We may all be different but most of us value the love of a good cat.Even boiling their hankies and ironing them is very nice.We all have this problem though.
Where can a cat carry his own hanky?
Do cats need shoulder bags?
What would Wittgenstein say?T
-
–
The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.Michel de Montaigne
-
The search for happiness is one of the chief sources of unhappiness.
Eric HofferRead more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/sources.html#FcB0I3hGiehKceaU.99
-
Excellence is an art won by training and habituation. We
do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence,
but rather we have those because we have acted rightly.
We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an
act but a habit.Aristotle
-
Love doesn’t just sit there like a stone: it has to be made,
like bread, remade all the time, made new -
Good luck soup… boil a horse shoe in water with an onion and some cloves,then liquidise it
-
On Monday morning Stan had to go to the shops in the centre of town to buy some special easy threading needles for his visually-other wife Mary.Somehow,most puzzlingly,she had lost all of the eight packs he had bought for her in the last year.He had suggested letting his mistress next door do the hemming and stitching.But Mary was determined even though sometimes she took 14 minutes just to thread a needle.But she was very patient.One might almost say she was saintly but he did not want her to get conceited so he kept his thoughts to himself.
Now what will I wear.Stan thought over-anxiously.
He had OCD now and then.
People no longer dress up to go down town instead they dress down to go up to the town,in a very real sense.
The art of living is to choose the most simple solution to any problem and Stan recalled he only had some navy trousers,some white and a few colored shirts and one light teal colored jacket.
He chose a coral colored shirt and looked in the mirror..
I look wonderful, he thought very humbly.
Why has God kept me so youthful?
Surely not so I can seduce more women?
We know God may be merciful to scissors,or is it sinners?
Well,let’s just say God can be merciful but for some reason,we never know till it’s too late whether it’s to us.
More haste,less speed,he conjectured.
Or is it, More paste,guests feed?
He stood in the hall combing his hair with a tortoiseshell comb and brushing it with a large nail brush
He looked again at his image.
His amber eyes glowed like neon lights on the main road to Knittingham in winter.
His dark hair looked very full for his age.
His teal jacket had been well pressed by the dry cleaner,
Jacob Weissmann.
And his coral shirt was new as Mary had been out buying him more clothes lately.She had grown tired of seeing him in one solid color,especially grey or brown.
His navy trousers were a bit old but quite alright for Knittingham.
As he gazed into the mirror he began to feel odd.Then he saw Emile
who was standing on the chest of drawers behind him performing a dance.. solo!
Why are you dancing,Emile? Stan asked politely.
I am amused by seeing you gazing into the mirror for so long,
If you don’t hurry it will be lunchtime before you get to the Needle Shop.
Alright,growled Stan hoarsely.
At least I don’t wear make up!
Now there’s a thought…maybe I’d look better…what shade of foundation would suit me?Would I need lip balm and perfume?
Hurry up,said Emile unkindly.
More taste less greed.
What does that mean?asked Stan.
If you taste the food and eat slowly you will enjoy it more and thus need less.
Very clever,Emile.Shall I buy you some cough sweets in the pet shop.
No,I want some codeine linctus,Emile answered.
I want to go high,high.
I want to reach the sky.
what will I do when my love is away
Will I be happy on my own?
Lend me your ear and I’ll sing you a song
I’ll try not to sing out of tune!My God,Emile.Whatever has happened to you?
I blame the old chalk and opium medicine someone spilled on my breakfast.
Well,go and lie down but drink some milk first.At last Stan got out…it had taken him two hours to get ready
At the bus stop there stood Anne their neighbor.
Hi,Stan,where are you going.
I’m buying sewing needles for Mary.
I can lend her some,she shrieked.
Well,she has to use special ones nowadays.
Oh,so she does.I forget as she looks normal but is in fact suffering constant trouble since her Vitreous-vasectomy.. or was it hysterectomy or vivacity?.
Well,never mind.You know she’s not normal.
Who is normal?
Let’s just assume we will recognize it when we see it,he whispered warningly.
This bus is very late.I wish there was a proper seat here..my knees hurt.
I hate this plastic seat.Why has the wooden one gone?
Apparently the council are afraid of homeless people sleeping on them.
Well,everybody is at risk of homelessness with this economic crisis,
Anne shouted in a fury.
No,beggars can’t be losers,he responded.
Very true,she replied,
As they have nothing so they can’t lose it.The more you have,the more you fear losing it.
This bus is very,very late,I wish I had a horse or is it an horse?
A goat would be o.k.Speed bonny goat like a word someone flung..
Over the page to Fly.Anne burst out laughing so her face was as red as her coat from Artigiano.Her blue tights were a perfect contrast and also matched her lipstick.
At last the bus came.They got on board and the driver called out,
You both look very merry!
Too many looks create more wrath,Stan replied warningly.
Well, why dress up if you want no attention.the driver gloated.
Hello,darling, he said to Anne,Are you free tonight,babe?
Why? she murmured,I have two tickets for the Rolling Stones and no woman to take! he replied boastfully.
Now,if it were the Rolling Bones,I might be interested.
Your wish is my command he muttered,
I have my smart phone here,I’ll see what’s one elsewhere.
He kept trying but the virtual keyboard was playing up again.
Eventually the passengers got annoyed and asked him to start the bus.
As I’m half an hour late,I should be coming back now so I’ll do a U turn and go back to the terminus.
But we want to go into town,every one howled.
There’s many a blue word spoken as a jest,sang the driver.
Stan said,Please open the door,we shall dismount here.
Crikey,you don’t half talk posh,said the ,driver.
He leaned over and gave Anne a French kiss.
Now look here,Stan said,leave her alone.She’s my mistress.
Cor blimey said the driver,who are you,King Henry the Eighth?
I say,Stan,I can see Mary.It must be tea time.
Stan ran into the house and put the kettle on..then he made a pot of tea.Hello! said Mary.
Did you get my needles,Stan?
I’m so sorry,Mary.I’ve had such a busy day,I never got into the town.
And where is my supper.
I’m afraid it’s still in the womb of time!
I see,it’s chick pea dahl and brown rice again or egg on toast.
But I’m not complaining.Keeping house is a big job.I know it only to well.
So they sat with Anne and Emile,who even had his own cup and saucer now.They were weary and soon ,despite the tea, they were all fast asleep.copyright
-
..
Living life in all its fierceness,
Birth and death and joy and pain
We struggle on our unknown journey,
Sometimes lost and found again.We are indeed like lambs to slaughter
Death will be our final goal.
But while we live,let us live bravely.
Let us not destroy our souls.Climbing in the hills and moorlands
In the heather, children play.
The sun half blinds me with its light
Yet still I see the given way.I received a call to climb.
These hills are my essential home.
My vocation is to dwell here
While in the silence,mind may roam.Noise in cities is destructive.
Though nature’s fierce,it’s also true.
Struggling on life’s craggy slopes
I offer up my words to you. -
Private
Crop a line into an infinity of dots…it takes forever and a way.
I dropped the bucket.What lucket!
Supper was benign.
Whopping like flies on amphetamines.Have they got HDHD?
I try drown my sorrows but they can swim too fast.
I was as drunk as a Monk after a day of lasting abstinence.
Fly with a Crone.
.
Good luck soup… boil a horse shoe in water with an onion and some cloves,then liquidise itWuck!
Plumb in a fox… it will wash you with its tail.
It would come in the post if it was delayed.
Numb as am iceberg’s stump.
Dumber than a clump of shagged out spammers.
More numerals than a box of clocks.
Shall we go to the crux
Such a feat.
A witch’s treat.
Twitchy feet.
A bitch in the heat…
and wild in the cold.
Put my clox back now!
-
Insanely flung by chance into a brothel she worked her way out with a book,The Joy of Cookery.It was heavy enough to break the thickest windows.
I wonder why windows don’t have brakes for hot weathe
Sieve your breath for health.
Pray for whom you bill.
Today for your prayers read your Palms.
Scared of the cows in a meadow?Then take the bull by the horns.He’ll show you the ropes.
I am wiping the bottom of the barrel..I can’t sink much lower.
Reason’s freezing
A record busting wind blew as the herd wound slowly over me.where’s the coward?
I see I’m I to me and thou to thee.If we just had one pronoun how .easy life would be…
When a baby can see itself as me as well as I,it’s already moved out of its self centred viewing point and can se
-
The Wild Swans at Coole
Photo courtesy of Mike FlemmingWilliam Butler Yeats (1919)
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away? -
We seldom realize, for example that our most private thoughts and emotions are not actually our own. For we think in terms of languages and images which we did not invent, but which were given to us by our society.”
― Alan Wilson Watts -
The Pilchards.
23,Sweetnames Avenue
Knittingham
Near Nottingham.
England
Dear Jane
Hope you are keeping well in this unusually cold spring weather.
Stan has had flu.It made him so bad tempered and waspish
that I took up the Duraglit polish and got him to polish all the brass,
except the front door knob, as that doesn’t come off.
Mind you,it made the bedroom smell odd… a mistake,perhaps…
so I sprinkled lavender oil around.
He seems to get thinner and I seem to get fatter.
So our average w eight remains constant.
What a relief.I’d like to be weighed as a married woman.
Can you believe this..
I’ve got chilblains! It’s those dratted blood vessels of mine.
Still,I polished some old plum colored leather and wear them in the house.
We seem to be doing polishing frequently here.. boots,furniture,apples.
How is your new book “Nonsense:A.N.Whitehead and Lewis Carroll” coming on?
Hope it’s progressing….to a nonsensical ending.
I’ve got a new book of poetry coming out in April
[from Polar bears publishers]
It’s called,”An unpolished performance.”
My fourth book on Wittgenstein’s cats is almost finished.
And the publishers can’t wait for the photographs…I’ll get a friend to do those for me!!
It gives me a change from all that polishing.
I’ve begun to talk to myself out loud…. in the street.
Just seeing if I can still do my old Lancashire accent.
I suppose it might worry people but no one has said anything as yet.They may be afraid.
“That which is unsaid can,nevertheless,still be heard.
Stan is still involved romantically with Anne, our next door neighbor.
I can’t blame him as chilblains and Wittgenstein not very romantic.
When I think of how we used to be,it makes me smile and feel sadness too.
I wonder if I can find someone new for a romance,myself… someone with Asperger’s syndrome
possibly…as I’ve just been diagnosed.It’s quite common in mathematicians.It may be an
advantage in concentrating a lot
I need a boyfriend with weak eyes as my clothes are all full of moth holes
and I’m damned if I’m going to buy new ones.
I can’t see well enough to darn but I’ve sewn the holes up neatly thus
giving a strange pleated effect to my clothes.
On my merino wool knitted trousers, one hole was right on the ass.
It looks now as if I’ve been shot in the rear…
but I can’t see it.So it does not exist.
Sometimes in the past I would iron on those motifs like
butterflies…but
I think it would look odd having a butterfly just there…. or indeed
anything else like wild rose.
I could make a little sign saying
“Keep clear,from my rear.This is a hole where a moth scored a goal.”
Still,not many people are going to look there now I hope….
I seem to have stopped knitting but am still drawing.
Meantime I’ve just ironed some of my winter clothes as it’s still chilly..
and am planning to iron all my pink and blue knickers now
as I believe it kills any germs left when you wash at 30 deg.I got those colours in case I should
change sex or is it gender?
I wonder if I should iron the sheets?
Could I do it while they are on the bed?
I don’t wash them much as it wears them out and me too.
I am going to take up baking again because Stan is getting so thin.
I fancy a Russian cheesecake as it had a lot of protein in it.
I have a genuine Russian cookbook and also am waiting for a delivery of a
Jewish cookery book as I have lost mine..no it fell down onto my head last week
.God only knows where that came from.
but I believe there were good cheesecakes as Jewish cooking has much in
common with Russian,perhaps because once many Jews lived in Russia.I just
made friends with one here….he is charming and like me he hates golf.
I have got almost all the Penguin cookery books ever printed but mislaid a
few.
In fact it’s quite hard to get into the kitchen
with all these books on the shelves.And a little food.
I was comforted to read that the parent’s of John Burra,the artist,
had books piled every where in their large house….
and he was very untidy too.
So all I need is talent and practice and I’ll be an artist.
After all,anyone can be untidy but not everyone will practice their Art.
I’d like to practice the arts of love.
They say you should love your neighbor as yourself,
but personally I prefer the neighbor or even the milkman to myself.
Meanwhile I’m happy with Emile our cat
and my 500 photos of Wittgenstein.
I shall make Stan a lemon sponge pudding.
That is the love he wants…Food.
“If music be the food of love I’ll cohabit with a pure white dove.
And while he coos and sings for me.
I’ll try not to :fall out of the tree,
Get stung by a bee,
Have psychotherapy
Make more enemies,
Let my thought free,
Hurt my knee.
Let moths frighten me.Well,time for some tea.
Now Jane, please write to me soon.
I love to see your so strangely beautiful handwriting
and to hear about Whitehead and Cambridge and all the weird dons.
I hope it’s not too damp and cold there near that river.
Keep warm and make a note of any intriguing happenings to relate to me.
And anything beautiful you can see or hear.I hope Edward is writing
regularly..where is he doing his research now… did you say Stanford?
Maybe you should install Skype..then again,perhaps not as you would have to
wash your hair too much… and comb it too…perhaps we could wear wigs.
Do write soon,Love always,Mary.
-
-
I wish I were an apple
and you were eating me
I’d like to make you happy
As you sat by this tree.
I wish I were a blackbird
So I could sing for you.
I’d like to make you cheerful
And stop you feeling blue.
I wish I were the sun
So I cold warm your frozen heart.
And then your heart would melt for me
And you would be less tart.
I wish I were the moon
so I could protect you all night long.
But being only me may I
Present you with this song? -
P
-
1.Why is denim now a sign of conformity not rebellion?
2.Where are the best jeans from?
3.Should you wear “double denim”?
4. Why is denim too hot for summer and too cold for winter and yet we wear it anyway?
5.Why don’t most people wear winter coats nowadays?
6.Why are the shops so hot they make one feel sick
7.How shopping makes me feel sick and other ways of saving money.
8.Why did the Russians have the best novelists?
9.Is 8. true?
10.Is life worthwhile?
11.What does 10.mean
12.Who can come up with the best ideas for small talk?
13.Food processors…are they a good thing to own?
14.Did you see the second version of Dr Zhivago?
15.Why is Russian Orthodox liturgy so moving?
16.Have you been to Walsingham?
17.Do you like day trips on a coach?
18.Why is fish and chips our national dish.
19.Why is roast beef our national dish.
20.Do other nations have fish and chips?
21 Is rapeseed oil any use for chip frying?
22.What an odd name rapeseed is.
23.Did Einstein eat chips?
24.Is your skin sensitive?
25.Why do women wear deodorants but men don’t usually bother?
25.Do you need suncream in the winter?
26.How many grains of sand are there on Brighton beach?
27.Why is the sea at Hythe sometimes teal
28.Why are the Saxon cliffs in Kent a mile from the sea?
29.Can the Kent authorities move the cliffs back near the sea again.
30 Isn’t it odd that the railway line runs at the bottom of the cliffs near Folkstone as the tide might come up
as a train goes by?
31,Is this small talk?Topics for small thought
Small talk topics
-1.What newspaper do you read,if any?
0.Do you have a blog?What about?
1.The weather [in UK]
2.Health problems…. or possible ones.
3.The government
4,Your clothes
5 Recipes.
6.Light novels you have read.
7 Stuff from the newspaper
8.TV if you can get to yourself to watch it.
9.Your car or bicycle or your bunions.
10 Your new camera/computer/i pad/u pad/her pad/ur pad/z pad.
11,interior decor.
12.Money..the recession and price of food.
13 Religion
14.Atheism
15 Indifference
16 Is depression an epidemic? Do you worry too much.Or talk to much.
17 Are your boundaries strong enough?
18 your sex life or somebody else’s or the lack of
19,Is pornography responsible for crime?
20 Crime.
21 The police
22 The riots.
23 The strike planned by teachers
24 12/12/12
25 Xmas.
26 Baking.
27 Xmas presents
28.Family problems.
29 People who don’t speak to you or vice versa
30 Pets
31 Breadmakers.
32.Pop stars
33 Schools.
34 Newspaper.
35 Disabled people’s benefits being cut back.
36.Should you buy an Amazon Fire?
37 Are women too like men now?How?
38.Do you think life was better in the past?Which era?
39.Do you use a table cloth.
40.Do you wear a nightie or pyjamas or a night shirt or your underwear in bed and if so why have you picked that one?
41 Should people wear old clothes at home and only dress nicely if going out?
42 Why do so many people wear jeans?
43.Is tencel better than denim for jeans.
44.Should fat people dress to look thinner or dress how they please?
45.Why David Cameron has no expression on his face.
46 A and E closures.
47 Chemotherapy.
48 Best hairdresser.
49 Makeup.
50.Do you wear accessories or think they waste time? -
Private
Do 4 things to cut your risk of diabetes by 93%:
Eat healthy
The lowest rates of Type 2 diabetes in the world occur in populations consuming a whole foods, plant-based diet.
Lose weight
ExerciseOverweight people walking 150 minutes a week can reduce the risk of developing diabetes by nearly 60%
cliches
Again,I am frayed.
In pain I have prayed.
In the main,poems don’t pay.
Don’t be plain in your way.
I’ll explain it some day.Training cats and dogs to pray seems idealistic.
Training frogs the time of the day is an idea but will never become real,
Praise the jar… an early invention rarely mentioned.
Waking up the bunny was cruel.
I am a wholly cat.
Battle with your cage or walk out the door.
I saw the end of the wheel.It turned a full circle.
I reached new knights near a round table floating in the sea.
Ideas breed between the lines.
I bleed between the lines.
I need more than a few lines.
Lead the fine poets to print their own books
I led the riot to attract opposites
-
You bit my big tart
She lies over willed silk
Do you feel me approach?
Food does my art good.
You are making me wavy.
Mindless words damage.
Every dog has his own way.
Painted face art never should shows
I fell dead on the wheel.Now I have wings
Maternal reverie
Gale Dictionary of Psychoanalysis:
Capacity for Maternal Reverie
Top
Home > Library > Health > Psychoanalysis DictionaryWilfred R. Bion developed the concept of the capacity for maternal reverie in his three books written during the 1960s: Learning from Experience (1962), Elements of Psycho-Analysis (1963), and Transformations: Change from Learning to Growth (1965).
Although he was an adult analyst and was primarily interested in group dynamics and the workings of psychosis, the concepts that he proposed (based on study of the analytic relationship in these two areas) in fact also proved to be very dynamic and very productive in connection with study of the foundations of the psychic apparatus—that is, the ontogenesis of the psyche.
In Bion’s view, this ontogenesis of the psyche can be related to a digestive model of the workings of the “thought-thinking apparatus.” At the beginning of its life, the baby does not have access to a thought-thinking apparatus that is mature enough to metabolize—that is, to use and integrate its very first mental or proto-mental materials. Bion thus described the beta (b) elements, which correspond to extremely archaic bodily feelings, to emotional states linked to the infant’s very earliest sensory and relational experiences, which it cannot utilize as such. There is thus a need, for the baby—that is, for its mental growth and maturation—for a detour through the Other.
The infant projects these beta elements into the psyche of its mother (or other adult caregiver); this adult effectively lends the child their own “thought-thinking apparatus” to reshape, detoxify, and transform the beta elements into alpha (a) elements, which can then be assimilated by the infant and integrated into its own mental functioning. This transformation is due to the “alpha function” of the mother’s psyche, or “capacity for maternal reverie,” which thus fulfills what could be described as a “desaturating” function with regard to the beta elements produced and felt by the infant (or by the patient).
From vantage point of the history of ideas, the emergence of this concept is situated at the confluence of Bion’s ideas on the functioning of groups, which also have a containing and transformative function (containers), and his analytic practice with adult psychotics: “If the patient cannot transform his emotional experience into alpha elements, he cannot dream,” he wrote in Elements of Psycho-Analysis.
This model is indissociable from the grid that Bion proposed to categorize the different types of mental materials (horizontal rows) and the various ways these can be used in communication (vertical columns). The beta and alpha elements correspond to the first two horizontal rows (A and
of the grid, the last row of which is the “algebraic calculus” (H).The extrapolation of this model to early psychic development was effected more by later theorists of child analysis than by Bion himself. In France, René Diatkine published L’Enfant dans l’adulte ou l’éternelle capacité de rêverie (1994; The child in the adult; or, the eternal capacity for reverie), in an implicit homage to all that this concept has contributed to the work of child analysts. In Diatkine’s view, the concept of the maternal reverie must be understood along with Jean Laplanche’s work on psychic translation in the context of his theory of generalized seduction.
Bibliography
Bion, Wilfred R. (1962). Learning from Experience. London: Heinemann; New York: Basic Books.
——. (1963). Elements of Psycho-Analysis. London: Heinemann.
——. (1965). Transformations: Change from learning to growth. London: Heinemann.
Diatkine, René. (1994). L’Enfant dans l’adulte ou l’Éternelle Capacité de rêverie. Neuchâtel and Paris: Delachaux & Niestlé.
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http://cjstone.hubpages.com/hub/Schrdingers-Cat
I think this is a good post
Leave your hyperbole at home,
MATHS FOR LOVERS
How many toes can you suck at once?Advice for guys
How do I love thee when I’m an Aspie? Delightful Mathematicians.Their care and feeding and
even…breeding!Will you still love me when I have forgotten what logarithms are?
Bizarre tales of love in the Mathematical
Institute.Forget Maths in twelve easy steps: Dancing for Darlings.
Inch by inch:Crawl up the Wall with Professor Braithwaite.
Baby steps to Love for the Mathematically Gifted.
Dr Braithwaite’s Love Problems:Triangles,Squares,Elliptical Approaches and Heaps of Leaps.Solutions at the back.
Leave your Hyperbola at Home: Dates,their care and feeding for the Geometer.
Are Quadratic forms relevant for Sexual Success:Succinct Replies to Astutely Odd Queries.
A Dummy Date: Trial and terror.
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Mike Flemming has passed on this wonderful website name to me.It really does take the biscuit!
![blue butterfly DSC_20194-01 [800x600]](https://i0.wp.com/data7.blog.de/media/388/6533388_7c636f5963_m.jpeg)
Copyright Mike Flemming,Published with permission. -
How are you?
Who are you?
I’m your brother!
Sorry,dear,my eyes are not what they wear.
Well,why not have new glasses if you must wear them?
What kind of new classes.Socio-economic?
Are you deaf?
I think it’s a dress.
Are you not sure?
No,I’m not insured so it’s no good you killing me for the money!
I’d bill you just for pleasure!
Too much leisure? Why not do voluntary work?
If it’s voluntary,is it work?
Yes, she does smirk?
Who?
Meryl Streep!
What sort of name is “Streep”?
Perhaps it was a spelling error?
Yes,she does fill me with terror!
I thought you liked strong women.
Only as they lust and last longer in bed.
In bed.What a joke.You’re 96 tomorrow!
Yes,it will be my 96th lady tomorrow.I hope to find four more sweet ladies before I die.
I won’t ask why.
I’ll tell you anyway.
Go on,tell me;I’m all here.
Well,with the first ninety I have realised I was doing it wrong.
Can you do it wrong?
Well,yes,if you want to procreate or to please.
Did father not tell you what to do?
Bell me!I’m a man not a cat.
Look,there’s a pretty woman.
I can’t see anything!
She’s across the road.
I need stronger glasses.
I just need stronger spirits.
Do they breed,those ferrets?
I never know what they do.
Can’t you watch them?
Well,they’re so quick!
Yes,I love Diana Quick.The best actress by far I believe.
Better than Judi Dench?
Well,no-one is better than Judi.
I’m no-one.
I’m a moral vacuum.
Can I take my morals from you?
Yes,I love stew.
No,Beryl’s in a stew.
I knew it!
How?
I saw her hair was dropping out.
She’s up the spout.
How vulgar you are.
I’m doing my best.
Yes, do wear a vest.
I passed my driving test!
In what?
A car, of course!
So,passed at the 100th go?
Yes,that’s why I want 100 ladies.
You mean…………………..
So I hear!
What,are you still here?
I’d love a beer..
Yes,I have some fears and I shed a few tears.
I could lend you a hankey.
Will I have to pay interest?
No,just pay me some attention.
Detention!I’m not a schoolchild.
I agree,you are wild.
I’d like some mild beer.
Everyone suffers fears.
For years,oh,dear..
Yes,the strawberries are dear.
They are queer?I’d love a gay strawberry or two.
You are too old to be gay!
I’ll do it my way.
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A clock of fire shone overhead.That’s just the sun,they said.
Up and punning.The life of an old word lover.
Sick of rhyme?Free verse now.
Take off that look.Try a new Face…. without the book.
Knock me off the shelf.I’m divine….ravings of the Cook.
At the top they are dead.At the bottom they dread.What is the meaning?
Are you on Plotter,the new social medium?Sign on secretly when you get a private message.I never spoke.
Don’t sign up to Paranoia.Madness hurts.
Of kilts and men.The Scottish affect:Gloom is us.
Oh,I shan’t bother!Listless and weak…. you need a new kind of speech…talk yourself well in ten days.
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I am thinking today about reverie,daydreams and fantasy.I believe it is crucial to creativity to be able to enter a state of reverie,a state of mind that can happen if we feel secure and safe in our surroundings so we can let our attention float freely.When in danger we must be alert and our eyes are sharply focused.We don’t fall into reverie then.
Reverie is not fantasy.Fantasy to me is when you make up a little scenario that pleases you…maybe dreaming of dramatically rescuing someone from drowning and being presented with a gold medal.Or meeting a perfect person who loves you. forever and sees no faults in you.
Reverie is not self serving.What I think is that fantasy is done by the conscious mind often to gain gratifications unobtainable in real life.Most people do it now and then.
But a fantasy meal does not feed you.On the other hand it may give you hope.
In a state of reverie we are open to intimations and images from parts of our mind not controlled by the ego.In my case it sometimes happens by way of a tune coming into my mind…. a song.Or an idea about how to solve a problem…. or a phrase which leads to a poem.
I believe what is called “Stress” may be a state in which you cannot allow yourself to daydream and fall into a reverie.We feel in danger so must remain focused all the time.The eye muscles tense as do other muscles.So we get very tired.And we fail to see the broader picture.
As for dreams whilst asleep… these seem nearer to reverie to me than to wish fulfillment.But I’m not sure.
One thing concerns me is Lucid Dreaming.I try to taken this I believe people try to take over control of the dream and make it go in a way that they consciously want.If it’s a nightmare that may be a good idea
but in general I believe we should let our dreaming mind go where it wishes because it may be some other part of the mind sending a message.Or it may be God sending a message.The language of symbols is different from a spoken language.Symbols have many meanings.Each person can know better what their own symbols mean than an outsider.I think falling int0 reverie whilst contemplating a dream image may help to understand it in part.
As for Meditation,I’m unsure where that fits in… but it must be somewhere near Reverie…
Don’t mock it
Feel the money flowing over you?
Don’t pencil me in…am I unworthy of ink?
Ask Penny what she thought.
A Jenny pincher..he loves a Wren.
A penny waved is a penny scorned.
Many may be wise yet can thousands be more foolish than thou?
People who live in classy houses shouldn’t moan.
Deception breaks loyalty.
Pick of the wittier…political farces for the bored.
He picked the low hanging suit…… oh, belly in
A dictionary gives birth to a thousand elegies
I thought it was a piece of cake,mother….Never bite Art works.Dentists love them,hate them,pay them,but when?
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I shall peck a tin…..it’s the new diet for quick weight loss.
You eat the tin and throw out the food.He has been seen praying in the maths classes.
Have you got a pane in your neck?why not install double crazing?
Will you paint yourself in the corner?Make up is too sexy in front of the children.
Will Pandora put on her socks ?
I can paper over the cracks but with the holes in the floor that’s tricky and dangerous…especially with the stouter ladies.
I’d like a paper tiger for my bed.The cuddly ones are too lifelike/
Is there a bar for the horses?
He passed his dismay on to the priest and received a blessing and then a brick fell on his head.Oh,Lord…can’t you wait?
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I copied this from the World of Psychology but regret I can’t find the reference.But read it anyway.
Not quite timeless but very oldConnect with the Timeless
There is another source of connectedness that does not involve specific other people and that has some advantages that attachments to people do not. The Gershwin song expresses the romantic wish that through “the Rockies may tumble, Gibraltar may crumble, they’re only made of clay, but–Our love is here to stay.” Well, the Rockies and Gibraltar are still around while countless people who earnestly sang these lyrics to their partner are not. Or their partner is not. Or both, through separation or death, are gone.
I am not proposing that it is better to love rocks than people. But I am implying two other propositions: 1) that it is unrealistic not to recognize the possibility of any relationship being transient and ephemeral, and 2) that the more we can root some of our attachment needs in things more lasting and even timeless, the firmer is the ground on which we stand in life’s changes and discontinuities.
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Private
A leopard doesn’t ache in spots.
I confess to two evils….eating cake and drinking.
Let sleeping dogs lie but not humans.Truth now!
Let the cat out with a flag.
Let’s roll over in the hay.
Let’s split in two so I am you and you are too.
Ticking off one’s wounds never works.
I shall lie down with lions and see how they like me…raw or cooked.
In life its rare to hear a bowl of cherries growl.
Life’s a sandy beach with the tide coming in…. then going out with us floating.
She was as light as the weather forecast on a stormy day.
.Switch the light off at your end of the tunnel
I got blight in my loafers.
Worms sing too
I was planning to make a carrot cake till my mother told me:
Carrots don’t eat cake.
What are carrots anyway? Why are they so picky?
I have to eat all my food or I get punished by hunger pains.
Are there worms inside me eating my food or biting me?
Do worms have teeth?What is it they like about soil.
Charles Darwin wrote a book about worms…
So far I have not read it.
Worms are the opposite of us.
They never get angry or depressed as far as we can tell..
How fortunate as to psychoanalyze a worm would be hard.
Indeed could you tell a worm to lie on the sofa
Or would you have to climb inside a plant pot next to the worm?
As Wittgenstein might have said,
If worms could speak we would not understand what they said.
I don’t know,I think I can guess though…
I have some experience …symbolically that is.
Or is it metaphorically?
Imagine a worm on your couch.
Hmm,how are things going?
Yurp,blurp!
Well,that’s good.
Werp,serp!
Quite right,I am interfering with your transfernce.
Hurpppppppp.
Would you like a little soil?
Mummmm
Oh,dear…I should not have offered you anything.
Daddddddd.
Surely you don’t remember him?
Herrrrrrrr.
So your dad was a lady?
Oh ,ahhh!
Well,it takes all sorts.
Glumb,glomb.
I’m afraid your time is up.
Tinnnnnggggggggg
You want a minicab?
Taaaaaaaaaaaaa.
That’s £500
Do you take plastic?
No,only notes.
Doh,ray,me
I never knew worms could sing…
Well,you do now.
Tools
The art of writing is to guess
which tool will suit your hand the best.
Know which muse will bring out joy
as you new sentences employ.Writing brings up treasures deep,
as do dreams whilst we’re asleep.
Take such gold and use it well,
If you have a heart to tell.Wisdom comes from sharing views;
So point out critics to your Muse.
How my heart sings 