” Intuition enlightens and so links up with pure thought. They together become an intelligence which is not simply of the brain, which does not calculate, but feels and thinks” –
Words and painting by Pieter Cornelius (Piet) Mondrian. From World Goodwill forthcoming conference entitled A Beam of Light Shining upon our Way : Reflections on the Intuition” www.worldgoodwill.org
Are you left or right- handed? Whichever, prepare for action!
Read out the following:- ” you can scarcely see ANY House Sparrows in St. James or Hyde Park London”. Clap your hand over your mouth saying “AAAH!”
Read out the following:- ” if such a tragedy can befall this street-wise little bird, is ANY species safe?”. Clap your hand over your mouth saying”AAAH!”
For further info – RSPB State of Nature report – https://www.theguardian.com/environment/gallery/2016/sep/14/2016-state-of-nature-report-wildlife-winners-and-losers-in-pictures?CMP=share_btn_link
We may think we know what to expect at significant times in our lives. Then wow! It’s here. It’s happening. Brain shoved aside by gut, fuelled by an incoming tide from the unconscious.
Recently our younger daughter collected HER younger daughter from school, for the last time. “I felt SAD; nineteen years of taking to & and from schools.” As grandparents, seeing grandchildren off to a first paid job and to Uni, we can only recall that mixture of relief from responsibility, pride, emptiness… years ago,now. And what of those whose children have scant hope of grabbing this first rung of adulthood? Twiggy nest crammed full.
My husband’s call got on my wick, when our children were young. In fact it’s a great cry for the injunction: focus.. prep… ACT.
Raised in the weekly Sacred Time of the Footie results …Vernons maybe…my Dad and me were acolytes before the radio results’ intonation…Bolton Wanderers 4, West Bromwich Albion 2… Ooh I MISSED that with you two talking!! As if we Dared! Ever the hope to win, Lil stayed faithful to the Game. That hope alongside her Co-op Divi. being her sole, her-own money. And onwards, playing football, watching football. Chuffing one another in the family about My Team’s results. And just recently … Well now !! ..SHAME! Alongside trillions of players, fans and no doubt sufferers…I am pained in my guts.
Oh! to live on the Berkshire Surrey borders,
Now that the tulip bulb adverts call.
And the lawns still call for a cut, and outside paintwork looks flakey, and downstairs loo’s sprung a leak, and into the house the GPO plops good cause festive cards, daily.
And do I hear a distant snare-drum swishing out ‘Aleppo’ ?
James Bibey is a local Photographer who takes his pictures in the dark of night.
Paul Matthews, poet and teacher of creative writing, in his book ‘Words in Place’ suggests using the discipline of Haiku: focused observation displayed succinctly.
So….
‘Small nose-level fly,
Became far distance Swallow,
When eye gazed high’
(HAIKU format – 3 lines comprising 5, 7, 5 syllables each)
This house holds lots of books. Many are my father’s. He sustained his life by reading after a car accident which took mobility and a job from him. One moment’s distraction; a mother dashing to collect a child from school. Surrounded by books as we are.. I thought a Kindle superfluous. THEN I found PAGES of free poetry collections = a legit. Spend !! And of course, succumbed to book buys. ” The Somme” Hugh Sebag Montefiore.
Me, once more IGNITED.
Here’s today’s table for Grandpa’s tea party. Memories of long ago parties…jellies in waxed paper dishes…red and green. Lots of balloons, crackers, paper hats sliding down over small heads. And my mother-in-law Belle’s glorious table, set with starched embroidered clothes and napkins and those three tiered cake plates, piled high with home made cakes. And my mum..always had “a nice bit of cake, to cut into”. She’d sit at the dropped-down front of the small kitchen cabinet, four-sided metal flour-sieve above her head. Lilian’s weekly Friday bake was either walnut, cherry or seedy cakes; puffing away at her cut-in-half Woodie ( Woodbines), pin stuck into its base. Smoked to its utmost. We had seedy, or walnut, or cherry…all with that touch of ciggie ash. For these mothers, a “proper” tea was loving us. They had lived through a sugarless war.
