Tag: life

The shadow of a human

th Cloudy sju wiki

One side of us is good and the other is bad

We are like old gramophone records

Sometimes we are playing the good side

Then late we play the reverse.

The brighter the appearance

The darker the shadow

so Jung decided

Which may explain

why he and Heidegger

did not see the truth about the Nazis.

Jung got a top job

because all the Jewish psychoanalysts had to flee Austria and Germany

And later France

Jung was unable

to use his own insights

I guess we are all  a bit like that.

But we must keep trying…..

We need to accept  the pain

Of knowing we have a shadow.

If not,we will do harm

for if we don’t know it

we cannot control it

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The wrong end of the stick

1.Yes,Father.I killed a man with my bare hands..

My child,have you no gloves?

2.Oh,Father,I heard God is dead!

That Nietzsche! I’ll kill him.But he’s dead too

What do you mean,too?

3.Father,I have no sins to confess.

Have you no consideration for my needs?I look forward to your sins

I’ll try harder next week.I’ll sleep with my boyfriend.

Thanks so much.

4.Father I prayed in a Synagogue

That is not a sin

Thank Gog fort that.

But why did you do it?

My friend was polishing the floor…

Is she Jewish?

Yes, she’s descended from Solomon

I’ll take that with aa pinch of salt

Are you Jewish?They like salt beef.

You need lessons in logic.

Oh,no!I don’t want them.

Here they are.Swallow one syllogism morning and evening

Thank you,doctor

Why ruminating is bad for you.

http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2011/01/20/why-ruminating-is-unhealthy-and-how-to-stop/

When I was young I used to ruminate or brood.Looking back it made me feel terrible.But  thinking is not the same as ruminating.And neither change our reality unless we act.To stop ruminating it may be enough to say it does not usually help when you feel down.Then maybe take a walk,look at the world of nature.Try talking to a kind friend instead if you can.

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Is writing poetry theraputic?

Here is a website which says so:

http://www.poeticmedicine.com/

Some people say it is but poets have a much higher suicide rate than any other  people/

I read:It is diagnostic but not therapeutic [Sylvia Plath]

I also read that writing to a strict form is more likely to help you then writing free verse…seems intriguing.I believe if you have suffered a lot in life,writing may bring it to the surface.Fiona Sampson in  The Expert Guide to Poetry Writing advises one to keep the phone number of the Samaritans to hand!That tells you a lot.I wonder what T.S.Eliot would say or Ted Hughes?What do you think?

If Jesus had had a biro

Cracks in the pavement

If biros had been invented 2,000 years ago,
And paper,
Would we have a copy of the original
Words of Christ?
Would the sobs of angels have been translated
By the bards into images
Of agonizing desolation
At his death?
If St Paul had had a biro
Would he have written more letters?
Possibly with illustrations?
His epistles are many already
If computers had existed would
Apostles have sent emails to their
Missionaries reminding them
Of the true Word?
No.
If computers had existed
Not many would have been outside
Listening to Jesus,
And his parables.
We would be sending messages
And shopping on-line
Or looking up the thoughts of
Ludwig Wittgenstein,
Reading about Prince Charles’ view
On architecture,and wondering
About the Coalition’s treatment of the lower orders.
We would probably not have the space for Jesus’s words.
So if He came now, in form
would He show himself
To obtain some attention?
Would he come as a great cloud of dust and ash?
No.too dramatic.
A storm ,a volcanic eruption?
No,too unavoidable.
Or would he come as a Newsreader on I.T.V?
And from his tragic eyes would we get a message
In between the adverts,
That something basic in us was dying away.
The poetic impulse.
Could He would come back in a fleeting expression
On your face,when you looked at a robin
On your bird feeder.
Or when you smiled
At a stranger in the street.
Maybe He would come back in a special
Silence between you and your lover
When you gaze with grateful delight
At each other,wanting nothing.
Maybe in that happy space inside you
When you are alone,
Loving and not desiring,,
Just happy with that empty space.
Maybe He would come back as a ball point pen
You found in the street,which
Made you write to your sister again.
He could help you to write a better message
That she might understand
Everything that had gone wrong
Between you, so the writing would raise your soul
From the deep well into which it had fallen,
Right next to where Jesus was healing a woman.
That was your soul he was touching.
But you don’t need to know.
The old words don’t work anymore.
The Word has to come again,
But how shall we hear it?
Listening is a dying Art
Here.
But He is here anyway,
Somewhere we may
Rarely have been
So far,
Like the Arctic Circle,
Plenty of empty space and silence there.

I have loved you and I’ve held you.

ImageI have loved you and I’ve held you.

Many years,you have been mine;

If the time has come for parting

Let us embrace for one last time.

You know you have to leave me,

Though you desire a longer stay.

Let me hold you in my arms now

For just tonight and perhaps one day.

Then I’ll watch you travel on,sweet.

We take this last step all alone.

I’ll be here beside you watching.

I shall feel when you are gone.

        May you accept, may you surrender

I’m sure you’ll reach the promised land.

Into this earth my tears will fall, love,

As I recall your tender hands

Why I love mice

Mice,don’t you love them?They live in your garden shed and eat the twine for the beanpoles you were saving for next summer.They finish up the crumbs the birds left behind.They don’t want you to take them for a walk and,hey, they need no grooming.;… they provide free exercise for your cat and emergency rations when you forget to buy catfood.Women are supposed to fear mice as they may run up  our legs and disappear.Still,it’s a kind of compliment,in a strange way.They provide that little touch of excitement we all need now and then.Mice,not in my bed though..The cat. might eat them and disturb my slumbers.Then I’d be over-tired

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When you teased me so

Maybe you didn’t know

When you teased me so.

Maybe you never knew

What your words would do.

I float across that space

Where lovers once embraced.

And thus you  bring torment

To me whom love  you sent.

When we close our eyes

Our daytime face then dies.

We look across dark seas

To sacramental trees.

My dreams are full of loss.

Is night or day the worse?

When I return next here

Will love outstrip your fear?

I gaze upon your face,

Forbidden to embrace.

My arms ache deep inside,

As if in agony tied.

Torn apart by grief.

Love is now a thief.

Where has God’s face gone

As brightly shines the sun?

The pains of life are sharp,

Cutting through the heart.

But still we turn towards love,

With all the strength we have.

Trusting in the dark,

Trusting my own heart.

I step into the void.

Love can’t be denied

Thinking about Her Husband

 Ted Hughes

As I am laid low by a violent cough I’ve been reading The Newstatesman and in particular a lately discovered poem about Sylvia Plath’s last night.He seems to have been naive in thinking an isolated American woman with no family here could be left alone with two tiny children while he was of  with various other women.Oh,was a night of sexual frolics,with someone you

didn’t even love,in a place with no telephone,

Was it worth thirty plus years of harrowing

Grief and guilt.Did you need the excitement?

Writing,too demanding.Real love was certainly

A demand but one you’d think would be

A useful mine for poetry.Sylvia’s love

Too much?And   what you thought would be

A few seemingly trivial acts,could have

such consequences.

But isn’t that always so ?

I don’t think Pontius Pilate knew

His name would go down in history

As the Judge of God himself,

Washing his hands like an obsessive,thinking

A ritual would heal him of his guilt

Another orbit:flying out

 

I know that’s how death will come,
Suddenly flying into another orbit
when you are photographing flowers.
It’s not a gentle transition.
No-one will know where you’ve gone.
One step wrong and you’re.
off the high wire
And plunging into the no safety net.
Flying for a while;
Jumping into hyperspace,spinning electrons
Startle your grey eyes.
Transiting the new black sun
You’re on a double gold helix,
Spider on your web,
Knitting furiously
Into the future heaven on gossamer wings.
Butterfly goodbye,I’m off to see the stars.
And the black holes.No one will come with me.
I’m shaking off,evaporating into mist.
I’m a flying saucer on a circus mission.
I can’t say no to a new invitation.
Make it fast and break with tradition.
Time is passing smoothly till that break
In the music,I’ve been transmuted into a different key
someone else will play me on their violin
I’m a tune,
I’m a thought,
I’m a whisper in your vision.
Goodbye,darling.I’m under orders
Ready to leave for my performance
On the electric carpet.
Death dancing to a tune on a violoncello,
Arpeggionne sonata
I’m playing your words upside down
In a new foreign translation,
Accompanied by solo artists,ice cracking
I’m going in.It’s too sudden.
I’m flying.
Spinning faster to amuse the clowns,
too many ups and no downs.
I’m going right out of orbit
I’ve broken the pull of gravity,
And fly with pure equanimity
Into my future life,
I’m off at some moment,
An instant ,a crack,a loud smack.
That was me passing,

When words are the only

When words are the only way we can connect

communicate,

When words are our only link,

light

When words go wrong

Wring

our hearts

What are we to use to mend

minister?

What are we to write

right

wrong?

When the written is all,

alone,

When we can’t find the words

Wary

What are we to do?

Dictate

Dream

Deny

Depict

When words wound

wander

retaliate

writhe

Where are we now?

numb

null

naught

How can we make it up

Invent

In verse

Intent

lament

loss

love

linger

loiter

lie

link

last

least

locate.

Where is the wound?

Wreck.

Reckoning

Resolve

Resolute.

Redress

Where is our new map?

Meaning

Moaning

Making

Making it up

Inventing love

Re-creation

Return

Remember to forget.

Wrestle

Redeem.

Resolve.

No Retaliation.

No redirection

No harboring ill.

No bad will.

When words have gone awry,

Yet words are all we have.

When words don’t create a form

Yet direction is what we need.

When words no longer live

last

lost

We wait

Rest

Rescue

Retrieve

Remember

Love

lies underneath

lasts

longs

laments

lasts

and lasts.

Love lasts

till words connect

console

correct

catch you

cradle you

caress you

Conjugate you

Put you in a sentence

syntax

spell

magic

magnetic

mine

made new

murmured in your ear

mentioned

in my letters

write

rites

make right.

make us write

goodness.

Let it all be

Light.

Let me take your hand

Pull me up

I need a hand,

a word,

eye contact.

I contact

You

Me

Us.

Autumn love

 

Image

 After summer’s  sultry flowers,

 We get autumn showers.

 Winds that blow.

 Leaves that glow.

 ,Nature’s wealth is ours.

Harvest grain and harvest corn.

 All  our food from earth  is born.

 Warmth of sun-

 Ripeness come-

 Fruits and nuts adorn.

 Trees are turning red and gold

In the glancing sun.

 Leaning down I see your face.

 Autumn love has come

Deserted

The woman walks in a bleak landscape of monotone colors.
With child,she crosses this rough terrain
without a Joseph to protect or a donkey to carry her.
No inn nor stable is here.No cattle nor sheep
nothing alive.
Now she feels her labor pains coming;
Lies down amongst the rocks to wait
Here is an anonymous,faceless figure.
Pronounces himself a doctor.
She labors; he picks up her son.No Messiah nor Oedipus;
Without speaking,he conveys to her,this child  is dead.
Not ever held in the arms of hie mother
Nor father either.
He’s tossed, light as a few feathers,
light almost as a bird
onto a pile of bodies nearby.
Whose unwanted children are these:?
Still lying flat she observes her child
one of many there.
Days pass and strength returns.
Stands now and walks over to say,Farewell.
The child opens his eyes
Mother,they say,mother.
Holds him and presses him into herself for warmth…
Which way to go and when?
No signs, no maps…
Is there a right way?
Is there a guide?
Why was she journeying this way?
She remembers nothing
She has lost almost everything ….
Steps forward..and walks on.
What other choice is there?

Life is not a play with a prewritten script

 

image

Sometimes I have found when talking to friends or neighbours some people feel life is predetermined.. not in a religious way;they feel nothing will change.That they run along a track and cannot turn off.

  Major change can be hard…. so I am doing simple things like not always sitting in the same armchair.Changing my routines and if the weather is good I am going out and making the most of winter sunshine.

 I take a camera and get some intriguing pics as I wander about.the seasons may return each year but they are never quite the same.This year we had snow.Now it’s autumn but we had a good summer…after a prolonged winterImageImage

How I became an amateur writer and artist on the internet:Part one

garden 2

When I was at University I spent 6 years studying mathematics.But I always liked poetry and novels.My school thought I should study English Literature,but to me that was not a creative activity.The way we were taught was to criticize books,plays,poems by many famous writers [mostly men!]

Three in one
Praying

I didn’t want to criticize only.I wanted to write but I never thought I could.I followed my career as a mathematician until my vision deteriorated.I could not read mathematical symbols anymore.Still it had earned me a living

YOU IS SO MUCH FUN,ME IS NOT SO DONE YOU IS SO MUCH FUN,ME IS NOT SO DONE

I began going to an Art Class as I wanted to  see as much as I could. in case my vision got worse,I was so  very  embarrassed because all the others were very good whereas I had no idea what all the terms meant [Even for pencil drawing ].I was afraid but I kept going and did learn to look at the world differently.At that time I .I had not got a computer.Later I could not get to the class but did more here at home

Two cats
Two cats

I bought my laptop and after some time I discovered digital art.I had no books about it so I just played.I found Microsoft Paint inviting and simple.Later I found Artweaver and Paint.net which I used to manipulate my photographs

Lily pond
Lily pond

I only took photos because by error I bought a phone with a camera on it.Next time I’ll tell you how I wrote my first poems

6419415_506e1f1602_m

I like blue

6419534_5a28508448_m

Outside the hospital I saw Anne Frank

Outside the hospital,I saw Anne Frank

Abstract summer
Abstract summer

Source: Kathryn
 
 
Tree of life
T

Source: Kathryn

Walking through unceasing traffic outside the main hospital,
I saw Anne Frank at the bus stop,I thought
There was a young woman with seven children,
Jewish,I saw.Little ones shyly offering us their seats.
I asked if she lived nearby.
No, we live in Stamford Hill,North London
What a shame you have to come so far,
for this terminus is inside the hospital grounds,you see.
Oh,no!We did not come for the hospital.
We came to pick fruit on that lovely farm down the hill!
Yes,we have been there too, it is very beautiful,i say.
It’s easy enough on public transport,she murmured softly like a little girl.
The children gazed, demure and polite,
I could see their smiles were not so far away.
I asked her,Would it be offensive
if I gave my husband a kippah
as he is tired of his hat?
Not at all,she murmured,smiling.
Why,you can get them anywhere now…Stamford Hill,Golder’s Green
She took off the hat from her son’s head
to show me how white his skin was there.
She told me how they just came back from a seaside holiday.
Too soon ,their bus came.She’d be ready for a cup of tea or two.
I saw eight faces smile,just a little smile,you know;
enough it was and all for me.
The oldest girl waved her hand gently as the bus left.
I see this is not just a place with a hospital.
It’s got a pick your own fruit farm;it’s got woods,hills,
fields with horses,tomato filled greenhouses,large white houses.
When they close their eyes they’ll see the green and the sunshine;they’ll see the woods on the hill.
And I shall see them and Anne Frank too ;it was the hidden smile.
Why,I see it is almost the Mona Lisa too.

A smile can be such a mystery.

Emerging from a hospital,tests,blood,anxiety.,machines,..
it’s like dreaming,
it’s like being given a hint;
there’s another time intersecting with this
and history herself brushes against my cheek
with a rare intimacy
that makes me both smile and weep.
It’s always here,but we don’t see…
It’s not a hospital only;
it’s a doorway to other worlds

and what worlds,indeed.,

Sympathy

Sympathy is sometimes

Norfolk UK
By K

Sympathy is sometimes good,

Especially if you are  not made of wood.

Empathy can be superior

If to metal,your brain’s nearer.

Do you want to be fulfilled?

Don’t get ground by coffee mills.

Would you like to be superior?

Do not venture to your interior.

Journeys often end in struggle.

As they make the mind more muddled.

Archaic words can be a joy,

But sometimes archaisms annoy.

Do you like tea from Ceylon?

Alas my own supply’s all gone.

Do you want to study grief?

Take your lessons from a leaf.

After short weeks on a tree

To be cast off is destiny.

Into earth the leaves return

To become food for journeying worms.

So it will be for us all,

Regarding not   your status   tall

ON FALLING DOWN A FULL STOP AT THE END OF A SENTENCE

 ?????

If you can’t acknowledge your hatred if you deny it exists, even to yourself then it may cause havoc in your life.This does not mean letting it rip either.It is very painful to hate someone you love.This is the dilemma of the infant and of all of us in life.Perception and its possibilities and flaws are of the utmost importance to me ideas wide and narrow focus in seeing They came to my notice in the book “A Life of One’s Own” by Joanna Field [Marion Blackett-Milner] and in her later book “On not being able to Paint”

Wonderful books, still available.

This poem is an attempt to describe of the problems of only using the narrow focus in life

Blind sight scattered my wits

Like whitened bones

Across the deserts of my mind.

I descended into blackness.

Love shrank into the tame cat

By the fire,unacknowledged hate

Grew to fill the room.

I stared too much,

A full stop grew gigantic

Crowded out

All the words in the sentence

I saw nothing but this dot

Now a gigantic black hole

Into which I was dragged.

An energy coming from within my own head

Sucked me into the black hole.

That place was the wrong sort of dearkness.

Within that full stop,

Love Fundamental became invisible.

Disappered into the dark.

I dragged my eyes away

And saw the moon appear , so eerie,

It shone,grey silver.

If I had opened my eyees wider

I would not now lament

What I destroyed in the wormhole

Of the black dot that drew my eye

Into a tunnel of darkness

It blinded me to the light

Did not let me read the sentences

Beside the full stop.

An error of focus left hate

Unacknowledged,unmitigated unredeemed,

Kept from love or goodness

Afraid to spoil my love with hate,

The fear of hate became

That which spoiled all else else,

By freezing Love itself.

I’m getting buried in the morning.

I’m getting buried in the morning.

Ding,dong the bells will surely rhyme.
I am in no hurry
So do not make a flurry
And do not let me get there  on time.

I’m get buried in the morning
I’m puzzled as I am not yet truly dead.
There must be an error,
But never mind the terror.
I am thinking of those books I’ve never read
Put them in my coffin
And please stop that sinful laughing…
I’d like to die r  beside you in bed.

I’m getting buried in the morning…
We had to book it ten years in advance.
We are running out of space
For the human race..
But why don’t we make love again,just once?

 
If the exertion kills me
It will surely thrill me
And I’m sorry I am so unfit to  sing and dance.
You may die as well..
There’s no way to foretell.
But  why not take this very last chance?

 

Let your lips meet gently,

Let your lips meet gently,
the top one resting against the lower,
touching with tenderness
 your own skin to skin.

Forefinger propped on chin,
I let the others dangle,
like leaves on a branch;
how softly gravity tugs them downwards.

Let heart beat quietly,slowly
as the blood circulates
carrying its music ,
a river,
following the path of least resistance.

How the blood vessels receive willingly this flow,
touching it kindly as with tiny open fingers,
helping and being helped.

How the hair on the head
floats
on the breeze,
like tentacles of an octopus
waving goodbye.

Top eyelid loves the lower one;
as we blink they touch
like lovers kissing swiftly
behind a tree.

and how the light comes in
we see a world.
[mine may not be yours,]
but the blink of my eyelid
sends waves through the air,
so we’re all touching and being touched,
lips kissing each other,
kiss all living creatures.

skin to skin.
air to air.

And inside us,the rich darkness
of creative night
 transforms,in turn,
these touches
into dreams

 

When my voice trembles

 

 

Source: Kathryn

S

When words no longer work

wonder

wish

want

When words won’t come

compensate

contrive

When my voice breaks

snaps

sunders

strains

When I want to talk

touch

tenderly

towards

But you are not able

about

abandoned

absent

You are no longer

listening

live

longing

When I need to find a meaning

In the shape

form

structure

But I ‘m stranded

Stuck

Sucked under

Swallowed

Then I reach out to you

I want your touch

tenderness

tranquillity

temerity

Sometimes words don’t seem enough

endless

empty

emotive

ejaculatory

Yet words can console

conjure

quilt

charm

captivate

cover.

Stretch out your hand

across the emptiness

and touch me with your fingers

friendship

faithfulness

forgiveness

frailty

fever

touch my heart with words

and I will hope

expect

await

be grateful

grave

garbed in joy

When words don’t feel enough

When all we want is touch

Or to see

sigh

sob

sing

Words can be shaped

changed

contorted

controlled

challenged

Words are all we have

To make us love

To make us live

To make us alive

To make us sing

To make us stand up

To console,words are

quite enough

 

 

 

 

Love skin,love bone

I run my fingers tentatively

down your cheek,

asking you a question

with my eyes.

looking at each other,

you touch me too.

This is my skin

my boundary.

Yours is thicker,

like rubber.

I run my fingers down your chin.

what is this little bone?

I like it.

I like your skin

I like your bones.

I like you.

you please me.

you are tasty.

I like your taste,

your skin,your eyelids.

I like your eye here,

and your other eye too.

Nice one!

I like this hair on your head.

May I touch your hair?

do you like hair?

hair makes me laugh.

I have a fondness for laughing.

I love to laugh.

I enjoy laughter

I love your laughter.

If not, smiling is good also.

Or a gleam in the eyes,

showing the inside smile,

the smiling heart.

I like your inside,

Outside

and possibly

your backside.

your upside and downside.

your side sides.

I snuggle you all around with soft wool.

I knit you into my scarf.

I’ll have to wear you round my neck now!

How unusual

How flexible.

How charming.

How alarming

How creative

How interesting.

What an idea!

what a notion

but you are too big for me to knit

So I’ll just touch your hand

with my fingers.

and you touch my hand

with your fingers.

What good hands we have

with such fingers.

fingers are for touch.

fingers are keen to touch.

I like touch.

what would we do

without fingers?

I like your skin.

skin is good

We love skin

We love.

We.

I want skin to be ours

and yours

is mine

and mine

is yours

where is the edge of the world?

skin has no end

it’s infinity

au naturel.

what order!

what design!

What wonder.

what awe.

where is the world’s skin?

tenderly we touch the world

as the world embraces us.

It’s called love.

Love.

Real knowledge will hurt

Source: Kathryn
 
 

 

I don’t want to see reality

But I don’t want to lose your care

I want to go on being selfish,

Yet having you always there.

 

I don’t want to acknowledge your feelings

I ‘m aware I have been very curt

I want to go on not noticing you

Because such real knowledge will hurt.

 

The longer I go on being blind to you,

The longer I choose not to see,

The more I will hurt you ,my loved one,

The more hard and unfeeling I’ll be.

 

I don’t want to see reality

I’m frightened of what I may find

I hope a friend will be with me,

While I traverse the dark shades of my mind.

 

Take lessons from a leaf

Norfolk UK
Norfolk UK Drawing

Poem

Sympathy is sometimes good,

Especially for those not  made of wood.

Empathy can be superior

If to metal,your brain’s nearer.

Do you want to be fulfilled?

Don’t get ground by coffee mills.

Would you like to be superior?

Do not venture to your interior.

Journeys often end in struggle.

As they make the mind more muddled.

Archaic words can be a joy,

But sometimes such words annoy.

Do you like tea from Ceylon?

Alas my own supply’s all gone.

Do you want to study grief?

Take your lessons from a leaf.

After short weeks on a tree

To be thrown off is destiny.

Into earth the leaves return

To  makee food for journeying worms.

So it will be for large and small

Regardless of status,place and all

Hands

Rosemary in flower

Sometimes my hands curl up,
and other times,they open.
Then I feel the air;
My fingers relax.
I touch your hand;
uncurl it and press it to mine.
Palm on palm,it’s no secret
that palms connect to hearts.
In your face I see a hint of melancholy,
I feel it in my soul..
as if there was a secret connection..
thought how,I don’t know.
Somehow,touching, we create another soul,
Neither you nor I, but we……
Touching,need to be physical..
We know how a story can affect us that way.
What a gift to know we have touched someone…
In the heart.’s. most tender space.The place of love.
Both true and false,my palm is lonely.
Then I feel the caress of summer air..
To touch is to be touched
as one soul opens to another..
Vulnerable,human,loving,
Painful and illusory,like those dreams of childhood.
Now I go,first gripping, then loosening our hands.
Goodbye,we say,Goodbye