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gothicman's (gothicman on UKA) UKArchive
80 Archived submissions found.
Title
Hopes Not Realised (posted on: 08-07-16)
never dashed!

After the miracle of our births, all who still live continue to wander on with an itinerary interwoven with others, of whom some were predestined, some chosen, some randomly encountered in the criss-crossing myriads of Earth-born life. For we who are old, most will have fallen away, through unlucky fate, or due process of aging. Soon, we will do the same. But, with so many minds still psychically encumbered by their embryonic past, their primitive aetiology, the now fractured world has left most of us fundamentally resigned to accepting all mankind's inevitable extinction, sadly, without question or query; For, in perpetuating ancient ignorance and superstition, this anachronism has bequeathed us two obsolete remedies, of which the first should have long been reassigned to the speculative level of naive myth: charlatan theories exploiting fear of death, symbolic, bravest-bred, royal warriors. Both reflecting Man's failure to adapt, to become civilised, and whose active existence continue to bewilder those not blinded by these irrational afflictions. Not because, but in spite of them, for these few, approaching Nature's masterpiece, the prospect of perceptual loss into sweet oblivion, will offer no real concern, no antagonism, just a sense of guilt for children left to struggle on, still exposed to these pernicious impediments to a lasting peace - and a dying curiosity. :Goth:June:2016

Archived comments for Hopes Not Realised
Mikeverdi on 09-07-2016
Hopes Not Realised
Another thinking man's poem Trevor, some many great lines to mull over. I love the last verse in particular, sadness pervades through it.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike, yes, a theme I haven't touched on much! Hahaha! Of course there's no evidence to suggest that religion holds the healthy mind to hostage, its all been bulldoze away, buried, or hidden in police files! Good weather coming?
Trevor

Bozzz on 09-07-2016
Hopes Not Realised
A profound piece as usual.
Well hope inspires us all, but chance destroys more than its fair share. Nature will not change the impalance.
Good friend, please forgive my brevity, but I am finding this hard work at the moment. My best, David


Author's Reply:
Thanks David. The only good thing about the chance factor in Nature is that it stops the obsessional pursuance after perfection. If the causal world was 100%, the everyone could be accused of not trying enough, but lovely chance, for good or bad, can sabotage even the finest of plans, or explain failure as beyond blame.
One feels humbled to just receive a word or two from you just now knowing the struggle and strain you're under. I do hope things improve, and you can find ways to keep expressing the workings and subtleties of that amazingly creative brain of yours, and from which all our lives have been enriched. Wishing you the best, David.
Trevor

stormwolf on 09-07-2016
Hopes Not Realised
Hello LT
A very thoughtful and deep poem. I do not agree with some of what you have written (not just here but in past posts) but that does not stop me thoroughly loving the depth of thinking that you embrace.

I think we would have some very involved and rich discussions over a glass or three of the cratur. The last verse for me was stunning!
HA
x

(even if I do not think I am going into oblivion lol )

Author's Reply:
Oh Alison, Highland lass extraordinaire!
No, the poor compromised mind will not absorb illogical info, but holds it away from the mechanisms that judge and keep true perceptions apart from those pending approval, those untruths the external world in the face of science, refuses to assign to harmless myth. The psychical tension, the stress on mechanisms devoted to keeping you sane, will waste energy making you listless, or attempt to relieve it through motor discharge, which unfortunately usually means psychosomatic transfer to become muscle tension and cell stress, or aggression!
I do though know the power of inculcation of illogical or untruthful info, beyond the level of belief during the sensitive age of identity-formation with its need to then seek a durable permanence, the base character that keeps us stable away from loose breakup of psychical cohesion. The content of identity though is arbitrary, with some escaping historical contagion of the mind by primitive blight, of relying on magic to survive and feel safe, and others succumbing to it, and mostly not by choice.

You have though Alison the courage and character to allow differences of opinion, ones that would otherwise threaten your psychical existence, and even while not accepting the principle arguments involved that are diametrically opposed to your own, you graciously don't let them stop friendship continuing for other reasons, like in the mutual love of writing. For that, you have my deepest respect and admiration.

I don't partake of the delights of Bacchus so much these days, just a half-lager would get me singing the Barbour of Seville in the bath, that's how bad my self-discipline has been! I am though very partial to single malt, and love the Scottish refrain in your voice, so would willingly lay back on your chez lounge and die a happy man listening to your thoughts on the state of the world seen from a biblical perspective! Hahahaha!

Thanks Alison. See you on the other side soon, not into oblivion, but WABD!
LT (born in the shadow of Goat Fell) xx


Adequate Parenting (posted on: 27-05-16)
with optimal weaning, should leave only the child master of its fate, the inspirer and hero of its own good intentions, not some substitute other!

There is no greater indignity, no surer way to end potential friendship, than to question a person's religious beliefs, or love and need of a protector or hero. Those inculcated with psychical fantasies of an omnipotent saviour, or mentor at an early age, active in all situations, will genuinely feel the urgent need to retain the support, the assured protection, the encouragement, and comfort, attributed to them, whether it be envisaged as a God, a Holy Father, Holy Mother of God, a guardian angel, a Mother-Country, a Fatherland, their self-appointed, or elected, representatives, a royal, or a celebrity. After all, worshiping these icons, these substitute symbols, has kept them alive! The sad cost of retaining this static phase, using these readily-available cop-outs from childhood, is denying children the chance to become heroes themselves, in their own right, through real unselfish acts, prompted by feelings of common human decency, the product of an unpolluted, logically rational, low-tensioned psyche. Throughout life, embryonic damage to sound judgement, will force those afflicted to contend with the silent burden of a compromised mind, whose continual attempt to resolve an illogical conflict will consume a great deal of valuable energy as it, subconsciously, fights off a formidable, curative adversary: Mother Nature, with her empirical brain-child, Science.................... whose Truth, is its provable testament! The problem, and major challenge of our time, is how to convince those afflicted they were indoctrinated with false gods, with unimpressionable parental extensions, whose compulsive maintenance prevents them from becoming civilised adults, and get them to become altruistic martyrs, sparing their sons and daughters from inheriting the same fate. :Goth:May:2016

Archived comments for Adequate Parenting
pdemitchell on 02-06-2016
Adequate Parenting
Sir Goth - a well penned and thought-provoking statement / ode majeur. Mithe

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mitch, glad it said something.
Sir Goth af Lamlash


God Bless The Gun God (posted on: 09-05-16)
beyond the sanctuary of common sense; a bridge game too far!

While civilised atheists with helpless apoplexy looked on religious America having kicked Mecca mules and getting horse-whipped in return even Bush-whacked in their own corral played contract bridge with Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse with no end-game plan in mind Revengefully slinging guns blindly flushing out dab hand and despot alike they detonated that insidious time-bomb the Islamic Spring now vying for world domination totally trashing Middle East peace, and European unity in the process! Adding Episcopalian insult to Talmudic injury with Russian dictators and demagogues double-dummying they might now play their final Trump card the inimitable son-of-a-bitch Ace of all gambling Clubs! Yahoo, Yippee-Ki-Yay! Wheel out Enola Gay! :Goth:May:2016

Archived comments for God Bless The Gun God
pdemitchell on 11-05-2016
God Bless The Gun God
Po-litical to the max with all the relevant references. I like Bush-whacked and Trump card. Clever stuff, sir Goth. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Mitch.
The prevailing atmosphere seems to be that the world has reached total disaster level due to libido-driven conflicting religions replacing compassionate universal humanity. The sick survival of primitive delusional psychical illness has enabled the old aggressive limbic system designed to defend the organism against predators to reverse the control factor allowing it to steer the adaptable cortex instead! Fuelling aggression and negative destruction rather than love and positive reasoning and creating conditions for peace and improvement. Nature could never envisage that the fear of death factor would lead to its own destruction as far as human brain physiology and life on earth is concerned. Why does a stroll in what's left of beautiful Nature feel like it's the only decent and real experience left for us to enjoy now? With religion steadily increasing its control, we're all gradually becoming limbic lemmings!
Thanks again Mitch m'lad!
Trevor


To The Least Worthy (posted on: 06-05-16)
and most presumptuously hopeful!

With eyes closed and an open mind I lay on the bed, thinking: if, at this moment I was to sink away and peacefully die like in Tennyson's Autumnal end the pipe of distant birds slowly fading would I hope to continue on to something more conscious of a further situation awaiting: linking onto the next circle of some quantum spiral born again beyond a parallel membrane in some new form or dimension or orbiting in a fixed infinity returning to a new repetition with no past recollection only leakages for moral and spiritual betterment Indelible residues from learning innately transmitted as preferences and aversions and poignant dj vu? Or, an evidential, total shut down into oblivion? An omnipotent God with a secret agenda planning and assessing the results of some double-blind trial? Human decency compels me to despise the idea even if a worthwhile life would seem to require the juxtaposition of comparable qualities there is a limit Sophisticated Nature may well be both expedient and arbitrary but could never be so subversively laissez-faire predictable so shabbily accommodating! :Goth:May:2016

Archived comments for To The Least Worthy
Mikeverdi on 07-05-2016
To The Least Worthy
Trevor, I must be honest, this is how I prefer to read your splendid writing. The separating enables me to re-read at my own pace. I get the subtle references with ease. I find this "not so shabbily accommodating"
Thanks for posting
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike. yes, I know what you mean, an easier layout, looks less daunting on the page. I think I'll leave my other information-based writings and try to work more with the less-defined and briefly-written, emotional subtleties in life, novel word use and off-centre mystery, more being, less doing.
When out walking, I think of some fine phrasings and emotional representations of meaningful experiences, but, by the time I get home I've forgotten them all! Hahaha! Sit in a chair totally relaxed, and the mind's blank! I have an old dictaphone somewhere..........
Trevor


Two Shades Of Underground Grey (posted on: 06-05-16)
made a commuting nerd's fantasy run riot! But, whose voice is it?

Nadia was a tall, lithe Arab with Cleopatra's eyes and Maria Callas' temperament.. who whispered seductive suggestions in Latin-sounding Hebrew... .. her light olive skin was flawless, and her long black hair, cascading over delicate shoulders, enthused his short nervous snorts with jasmine.. as it led eager eyes down around pointed nipples to where it contrasted with the wiry curls of her pubic hair shaved to a long central tuft to hint at, and teasingly lengthen, what his dad said was waiting beneath if he passed entrance exams to Uni... ...sexual lust had forced her to reveal the carnal delights she could hardly conceal beneath a flimsy cotton frock, now impatiently drawn back up and thrown off overhead... as her wobbling ampleness reluctantly settled.. unconvincingly muffled moans betrayed a high level of erotic self-awareness on realising how offering her raw nakedness had opened his hungry gaze so wide to both anatomical and sexual appreciation... ... as he lay back, she would reciprocate his admiration in her own special way.... Pulling into Shoreditch High Street she bagged the risqu pocket book, and with blond vellus hair clearly erect in goose-pimpled follicles carelessly uncrossed her long legs to generously reward the compliment his furtive attention had paid her... ..and leaving the train, merged from sight into the crowd...., biting his lip, he returned to reading: The End Of Mr Y, and entered the long dark tunnel... The hazardous journey towards an unknown resolution enthusiastically embarked upon under the auspices of the seducer's well-written erotica had finally begun... an elderly supervising professor in creative writing was in for a special treat... at the sleazy hotel room... bookable by the hour... https://vimeo.com/60816893 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q4pN-QXYcHE :Goth:May:2016

Archived comments for Two Shades Of Underground Grey

No comments archives found!
Nature's Acquired Design Fault (posted on: 29-04-16)
The unexpected creation of a supernatural rival!

Nature could never hope to retain statistical perfection knowing evolutionary intelligence would eventually discover how to manipulate the functional conditions of its own design. Man was always destined to inherit Nature's sovereignty over Fate, become the executive controller of intelligence, tools, and resources, trusted to preserve the ecological preconditions for sustaining all living species and populations, critical levels of biological reproduction on a planet with limited resources. But Nature never envisaged its consistent, reliable rules of logic, the empirical exactness that enabled us to win control over even the miracle of birth, would be questioned, betrayed, and disrespected through fear of its masterpiece of death, with its merciful cessation of personal suffering; that it would be the obstinate retention of abstract supernatural gods, the faith in them instead, from a primitive age, the perpetuation of these unproven, absurd beliefs, that would emerge as the enemy to survival slowly causing Man to self-destruct, as the invention of a presumed after-life becomes more important than maintaining the one and only real Life we can ever know and manage! Do not fear the essential sane and sensible coming of an antichrist, a world repossessed by infidels, the unchosen, profane, and secular, it's the spreading, infectious, ignorant, religious canker continuing to insult Nature we should mostly be urgently concerned about and be trying to eradicate at source before it's too late! :Goth:April:2016

Archived comments for Nature's Acquired Design Fault
pdemitchell on 30-04-2016
Natures Acquired Design Fault
I love your staccato style in this raft of eugenics writ large with a smidgeon of theologicification. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Well Mitch, as you prefer,
it's really very much anti-eugenics as saving the world from itself is not about adding anything, the pedagogic inculcation of any particular traits or tendencies to people's minds by genetic manipulation synthetic selection, and absolutely not naively assuming one can recover healthy objectivity in minds already indoctrinated with abstract garbage! No this about just leaving the minds of newborn infants pure and free from unnatural, illogical coordinates and abstract "truths", and a false internalised reality. Not polluting their minds at all with abstract, unprovable lies and suppositions, but instead enabling developing children to accept the terms and conditions of the real natural world, including limited lifespans, premature loss, variations in potential and points of departure,, and to help them instead even-out life's inherited or chance lottery. Theologicification is the primitive, anachronistic, mental pollution of pure infant minds.
This is message-content creativity, the prosetry style is for ease of reading.
Thanks Mitch for your comments.
Trevor

Mikeverdi on 06-05-2016
Natures Acquired Design Fault
Ha! There you go again, being great. Another I had to read several times (I'm a bit slow at the moment) before commenting. As usual I agree with most of your sentiments, difficult not to with the facts stacked in your favour. You are indeed the 'Thinking Man's Poet' Trevor. Keep posting mate.
Mike

Author's Reply:
I don't let up, do I, Mike? Hahahaha! I imagine millions of believers kneeling naked before religious icons thrashing themselves bloody with birch twigs for yielding to twinges of doubt! Hahaha! Now London's got a Muslim Mayor! Not just a human being, a infidel-hating religiously-exclusive example to boot!
Democratic Nature doesn't have favourites, why does stupid democratic, read politically-correct, Britain allow saboteurs of democracy to flourish within its borders? Commuting women cyclists will probably have to wear long skirts and sit side-saddle soon!
Prodigious short-term tourist now, but trying to keep my english fluent and brain active, and contributing something!
Thanks as always Mike for your comments, good to see your name, hoping things go well.
Trevor


Inheritance (posted on: 22-02-16)
layers of guilt and remorse; affects many

.
It is strange how we so easily arrive at what should have been said to someone special when too late (Telling ourselves their seemingly eternal presence postponed the need to communicate such things as if we knew their eulogy however well expressed was guaranteed to aggravate, not alleviate the misdeed) Leaving everyone obsessed with regret that in spite of promising not to let it get us distressed at the end of the day suffering from guilt and remorse would inevitably be the unkindest atonement sought What they rightfully or wrongfully thought we ought to pay and do :Goth:February:2016

Archived comments for Inheritance
Pronto on 22-02-2016
Inheritance
Aye we're all good people once we're gone. Pity no bugger tells us beforehand so maybe remorse is the price we pay for not doing so!
Good write though layout a bit beyond me.

Author's Reply:
Well, not necessarily, the problem is even unworthy relations and friends can leave these negative self feelings afterwards, because of the inevitable reassessment that occurs, where we, strangely only then, allude, even them too, problems of human struggle, they often inherited them as well don't forget, and all different abilities to deal with them satisfactorily. Particularly hard is the old life/own life transfer, getting the right balance. Yes, lot of emotional blackmail involved!
And the layout; I've never claimed poet-elect status, not fragile enough for that, but I've been asked to start an own Blog, the modern daily tonic guru, and am practising site programming, and here HTML codings, to see what effects one can get, as I'm not just a surface enthusiast, but like digging into the works! I once said to Alison that good poetry doesn't need gimmicks to function at its best, and now most of my work is gimmick assisted! Hahahaha! But then, the postulation of worth still applies unfortunately! I lost interest in rhyme at aged two after Little Bo Peep! And been a lost sheep away from the flock ever since! Hahaha! Thanks Pronto!

Bozzz on 22-02-2016
Inheritance
Dear Goth, I am afraid the Government post you seek cannot be offered because you had already been earmarked for a much more important role. We should be delighted if you would accept the position at Upping Street of my senior advisor. It is widely accepted that in the triple position of Spinmaster General, Chief Leg-puller and Crown Arm-Twister you will ensure our future success.

To avoid the possibility of our guilt occurring after you are gone, we are happy to make you aware now of our appreciation of your knowledge and intellectual powers. We are also keen to take advantage of your great skills before you pass away.

Yours, David.

P.S. The prosetry here in your normal excellent and faultless manner is much appreciated too.

P.P.S On my gravestone my wife has insisted that the words "he laid it on thick" be inscribed. But of course she will be referring to my greed with her delicious marmalade pots.







Author's Reply:
Dear David,
Thank you for your accurate assessment of my exceptional abilities. Unfortunately, you're too late! Boris has offered me a job in his Brexit campaign: But, I've turned it down, and will be joining Nigel's Brexit campaign in the pub! (He went to Dulwich College dammit!)

Well, everybody's deserted the site, perhaps it's you insisting on classic rhyme poetry only, and me denying god, calling the pope an idiot! Insisting that love-making's parallel function to procreation is to strengthens central-self, or psychically die! And laughing too much!
I think I may go AWOL for awhile and see if people all come creeping back!

What sort of salary are you offering? I don't come cheap, ask Das Auto where I last worked!
Also, I love marmalade-on-toast, one of pleasure's most guarded secrets. No graves, straight into the eco-mix from Cox's Walk old railway bridge for me, no point in waiting for the rot to settle in.

Sincerely, Trevor



pdemitchell on 22-02-2016
Inheritance
I am reminded of an Ian Dury track: Clevor Trevor. I must admit, I like the stack of spinning tops that turn my hatred of arbit

rary line breaks into an awe

of an expose of how it can be done with

form and effect. Bra

vo.



I am in envy green of David's Lady Marmalade.

Yours

Paul (aka Mitch aka Insert Expletive)





Author's Reply:
Oj! Fame at last, my reputation presented in catchy song lyrics. Trevor from beyond up Norf, moved Souf, then Eest, to hold the fought against the Russian frunt! Here's the video link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eiulgP9kR7c

Yes, mental anguish stacking like like planes arriving to Heathrow, full of migrants from Kosovo, Macedonia, and Turkey, only rich ex-pats with huge fortunes made from crime and corruption, leaving their own countries looted and poor!

Yes, David's just revealed his elixir of youth; used to be Mongolian yoghurt, now it's home-simmered whole-peel marmalade laid on thick
Lucky man! And on toast: yummy, yummy, yummy!

Thanks Insert Expletive, your appreciation of my brilliant balance of form and content, much appreciated!

Trevor

(Name used today for Daft Next-Door Neighbour, Clever Northerners, or Black News Readers, but, in fact is Old Welsh meaning "Fourth In The Queue")

Gothicman on 23-02-2016
Inheritance
For lovers of perfection - got it all centred to the page as it should be now. Behold with ecstatic envy and admiration!
For lovers of classic form, this is a new rhyme sequence: ABACBACDDDCEEE called the Trevonian Pseudo-Sonnet.

Author's Reply:

Mikeverdi on 25-02-2016
Inheritance
Like this one a lot, and the lay out. 😊
Thanks for continuing to post your work Trevor, I always look forwards to the comment box as well as the work itself HaHa!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks. Well it was an experiment, Mike, but put back conventional now .. to make the clever Trevor tag from Tiger Bay obsolete! Hahahaha!
It is interesting that by using sentence breaks to new lines and repeating rhyme, you can slow or speed up the reading tempo, giving it increased emotional urgency or sad lament effect?
Thanks again, Mike, and also for your PMs. Gotta feeling you'll be posting tomorrow! Hope so.
Trevor

Supratik on 26-02-2016
Inheritance
Ha ha ha!!! I am sorry but I owe this to the responses. What's going on? Karma is a bitch we know that. Trevor...I had a mixed feeling... envy and admiration for the beautiful figure of the poem. :-))

Author's Reply:
Thank you, I think, Supratik! Yes, I was fishing for a desired response to this brilliant poem from an even more dazzling brain! But, envy is always the genius's enemy! Always good to have self-irony, don't you think?
All harmless fun, unless guilt-ridden of course!
Trevor

franciman on 26-02-2016
Inheritance
I liked this. It's a bit like a proper French baguette, you know - these small, hard, jagged loaves. Difficult to eat but tasty once swallowed. Not bad for an unelectable poet!
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Jim. I know what you mean, it's just this side of being too stilted to absorb in the message easily with one reading, but, gets away with it, I think! I've always thought the beauty of the english language is its simplicity, but that to achieve truly poetical use of this quality, at its best, without getting bogged down too much with novel syntax, one would have to have the extraordinary fine nuance skills of someone like Leila or Dylan. I suppose I mean interesting informative content is the most I can aim for in creative writing.
Yes, definitely needs a serviette en papier when being consumed, but a pleasant aftertaste, and nothing left on the fingers!
Trevor

Supratik on 26-02-2016
Inheritance
Trevor,

The poem is brilliant; right from the first line, ‘it is strange’ till the last line, ‘and do’. I think it stands on human struggle and ‘conditions humaines’; however, it is mainly on the importance of communication or the lack of it that the reader experiences upon reading the thoughtful lines. Strangely, the poem reminds me of Marcel Proust. The poem is beautifully designed (from the content perspective) in the conventional parts, viz. thesis, antithesis and synthesis. It is both specific and generic, but not judgemental. I say this because the reference points made may not necessarily be specific, and non-judgemental because of the L3 of the last stanza. Whatever be it, the poem is talking about ‘une manque de communication’ between the ‘we’ and the ‘they’.

In response to your first comment, you’d mentioned that good poetry doesn’t need gimmicks and that you got into gimmicks yourself. Are you trying deconstruction here? It is pointless to tell a Trevor not to demarcate poetry in any way because I do think that sometime poetry does need gimmicks, depends on what you refer to as gimmicks then. I failed in my attempt to popularise pedestrian poetry to a set of well-meaning intellectuals (my dear friends though). Strangely they were discarding my form of pedestrian poetry while discussing about the evils of racism in India (the dissension with the untouchables, par excellence)! In my opinion Trevor, I think the content and the form have to merge for a poem to be palatable. We need to allow conventional writing as well as non-conventional writing to dine on the same table.

Best.
Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Supratik, for your very instructive and interesting analysis and critique, much appreciated. I do like keeping poems about human feelings and the human condition common to all as generic as possible, especially by using "we" instead of "I", it allows for a wider identification and understanding by being inclusive rather than personal. Being neutral or non-judgemental helps as you say too. Yes, novel presentation forms shouldn't be used if not adding to the gist or level of the messaging, just distracts otherwise, but can have its uses, like the balloon effect in "A Pathetic Poet's Loss Of Pathos" or the whole oneness in "Body And Soul"? I think too, that like in all the Arts, creative writing shouldn't be too chained to convention, or be encouraged to be so, but, should be open to experiment, with only economic use of words, authenticity and/or postulation/intimation, and conciseness, being the desired aims to keep it within the genre, and in line with how much human intellect can reasonably take in in one session. Thanks again for the fine analytical break-down.
Trevor

stormwolf on 09-03-2016
Inheritance
Oi! Lowland Trev!

I thought you said centred text was too much like a fable? 😈

I happen to like it as you know 😜

I hate the way loss is always tinged with guilt. Even with me and my mum who have said all that needs to be said...several times...there will still be a good dose of agonising to deal with.

We both know that and so we have tried to assuage it all in advance but I know it will not work when push comes to shove.

Ah well, nice to read you once more.



HA xx

Author's Reply:
Hello Highland Ali, Nairn lass extraordinaire! Hahahaha! (laughs like John Cleese!) Well this one included two floating stanzas at first trying to get the effect of layers of thought not spoken, but guilt is heavier than lead and .... Yes fable (what a good memory you have, damn you! Hahaha!) No, it works with my work, but not yours...
Yes, you're right about loss, if not guilt, there's always regret to some degree, something not said, often appreciation, and with age, it becomes more apparent, strangely, even when not perhaps justified. All old rows and hurtful moments feel so mean long afterwards, especially if the departed person had an important developmental role way, way back in the distant past of one's life. Really old people go into an amoebic phrase, turning inwards and away from loved ones, seemingly almost nonchalant to the near past, and emotionally indifferent and any attempts towards saving grace appear to be too late then, the depth of interaction has changed, the old relation is no longer there. Wishing you well with this last phase with your Mum, never easy.
Thanks as always HA xx,
LT xx


Renewable Energy (posted on: 19-02-16)
At the subject-object split shortly after birth, Nature expediently locates substances vital to healthy psychical life in memory's external world's biochemical store. All must venture out with carnal lust, and collect them, repeatedly, until the last perfect orgasmic fusion, of death!

"So he took his birth-sneeze in one hand And his death-chill in the other And let the sparks scour him to ashes." Ted Hughes, Crow Improvises, Crow The birth-sneeze is to reassert the will to live; to seek those who will mutually enjoy the pleasure of energetic reproduction, retrograding its fruitful cargo back through all past lovers to where newborn's sensuous lips were fed by nourishing breast, and deliverance into central-self; from first erotogenous feel of a lover, to farewell kiss from an adored soul-mate held in last embrace. Decreed by Nature, aided by inherent pleasure and egocentric reward, we must all serve its biological cause, no matter orientation, willpower, vows of celibacy, perversion, fetishism, or aversion, or how fulfilment is achieved, for, though parenthood might well be, psychical anaemia is not a permitted option, this side of a death wish! Love and romance, so passionate initially, is a cultural invention promoting, binding, feigning, prolonging, or complicating, the aim! The death-chill is expenditure of living, exhausting sublimated life-substances, until a reawakening birth-sneeze facilitates once again, its relief and reprieve. The spiritual purpose, is reliving, in repeated exaltation, the exquisite beauty of momentary oneness when object and subject merge at that purgatorial chiasma, the primary gate, where both conception and extinction reside in anticipatory coexistence; Life, a prolonged transfusion of energy dutifully imploding totally when obsolete, birth-sneeze and death-chill colliding in final Cern-like impact, sparks scouring lover and loved to ashes, and sweet oblivion. Is a Higgs-Boson particle the Soul?! (Joke) :Goth:February:2016

Archived comments for Renewable Energy
Bozzz on 19-02-2016
Renewable Energy
A delightful statistics-free dance through the basics - once I had pirouetted through the dictionary. Sometimes a bit hard on the lay reader like me though.
I am trying to remember whether I made the right decision – to sneeze or not to sneeze! The situation was complicated because my mother worked in Marie Stopes’ team at her laboratory and I was ill-conceived on her honeymoon on board the Newhaven-Dieppe ferry not twelve hours after she left work. A French boat hence legally on French soil and heading for a French port, but an all-British conception - what is my nationality? Speaks volumes for the technology of birth control at the time. As for my unwanted birth at Brompton Hospital, could foetuses have detected their welcome or otherwise in advance? Need a shrink to get me back that far? Atishoo – pardon me. Yours aye…David


Author's Reply:
Hahahaha! David, very droll...one thing's certain..too late to have you aborted! You, ill-conceived on a ferry without beds, such wanton eagerness, unwanted...you. Well you certainly did well for such a compromised start, but, no doubt, well loved, anyway, from the moment you first sneezed! Well. the patented Dunlop size 12 couldn't contain you, you must have slipped through a worn patch, and we're all grateful now for that! I'm tempted to say you were a victim of the unreliable rhythm method, and it stuck! But, I won't!
Well I've scared off, or disgusted, the religious reader, especially the twenty-tenner plus crowd! Hahaha! Perhaps I'll repeat it with the discerning prudish readers as well!! Hahaha!
Thanks for commenting
Trevor

pdemitchell on 20-02-2016
Renewable Energy
A dense and thoughtful quantised walk through life. I resisted a tattoo of the Sun Moon emblem from the cover of King Crimson's Lark's Tongues in Aspic LP. I though it was a 'mid-life crisis thing' until I realised that it was the unsatisfying, guilt riddled, depressing interval between conception and cremation and got the tattoo. It hurt.

Author's Reply:
Hahaha! Thanks. Yes, a tattoo of that dimension is both advert for ego size and a strong identity-statement through fashion! I thought of having "Unburdened" tattooed on my forehead, but was worried about burdening myself with questions and pleas for help by curious religious sufferers! They might even have proclaimed me the new Messiah! Yes, I bet it hurt, but then large underpants will hide it! Hahaha!


Intelligent Realisation (posted on: 12-02-16)
Creative Nature's last offer of salvation; will we take it?

The last exorcists of evil gave up, casting formulas for salvation to the winds. The World was in limbo, but, as was dreaded with this sick psychic vice, religious inculcation resisted secular redemption. From near and far, primitive canker returned, filling the sterilised vacuum, Profiting, proliferating, fed from same contentious roots! One shining light in this Dark Ages anarchy, Nature's last remedial creation, remained: The hope that, with intelligent realisation, Man's imbecilic reliance on abstract Gods would end; turning this mad betrayal into what's morally logical: leaving children pure, in peaceful coexistence, psychically unburdened by unproven doctrines, together: reducing Life's negative lottery, for all; sustaining their planet. If Mankind has the acumen, with so little time left, to use it! And Nature said "If you ban free opinion, due to religious beliefs, those interminable delusions, will assure you a place, on extinct Life's static compost heap!" Genus 1:1

Archived comments for Intelligent Realisation
Bozzz on 12-02-2016
Intelligent Realisation
A hard-hitting and elegantly worded intelligent person’s guide to the problem, but the persons who should be addressed and take notice may not be in that category! Water diviners never find it under the Board room or the Chief Exec’s office. Yes, good friend, and we agree that there are those foolish enough to believe that their prayers to a god will be answered. Obviously A-level maths in statistics is failing to register with a large percentage of our population. Here is an extract from Supratik’s comment on one of my poems.
“You know what...I got an interesting comment in one of my posts (not here!!)... aren't you tired writing about peace... I replied when I was completely out of irritation saying no, I will never get tired until the world gets tired of wars.”
Please, Trevor, do not leave to problem to us! We need you, the world needs you. Yours aye…David


Author's Reply:
Thank you David! Yes, with the way the world's been developing backwards since the Age of Enlightenment, and as a psychological brain specialist, knowing particularly about identity-formation using available knowledge sources, it would suit so well to say " I rest my case!".
But, it's a mind-infection that's universally epidemic and easily caught as a baby's cough. I've been tinkering with this for some time, trying to get it message-accurate, without becoming too much like a abstract from a scientific monograph! Feels about right now, but with fresh eyes....! Yes, away from the church, the sowing ground is solid, thick concrete!

Don't worry David, I'll still be there along side of you fighting for a sane, safe world in literary fellowship, Hahaha!
Frodo, Trevor


shadow on 12-02-2016
Intelligent Realisation
An unsettling and thought-provoking piece. The only answer that came to my mind was - don't hold your breath.

Author's Reply:
Thank you! Been trying for years to get the UN to include a ban on religious indoctrination of children in a Treaty of Children's Rights, but Boutros Boutros-Ghali, Kofi Annan, and Ban Ki-Moon, all said it would be a career car-crash, religious fanaticism? We're in New York, Godammit! I then asked William and Kate to desist from christening their new arrivals, to set a good example, but haven't heard from them yet. I'm a marked man now, can't hold my breath...gotta keep on the move..! I was wondering, hearing the latest news...is religion the Neanderthal gene polluting the blood of millions of Homo Sapiens?

Pronto on 16-02-2016
Intelligent Realisation
I agree it's grim out there with people bowing down to so-called "God's of infinite mercy" that advocate killing non believers. Sheer bloody lunacy. Maybe the meek will ultimately inherit the earth but not in any biblical sense.
I said long ago that we stopped inhabiting the earth centuries ago. We now infest it. Nature, using the power of evolution, eventually cures infestations.

Author's Reply:
Yes, that's exactly what this about, Pronto. Those ignorant pedlars of psychically-based evil, with five main "Mordors" : Italy's Apostolic Palace in the Vatican, USA's Episcopal Church, Britain's Lambeth Palace, Israel's Temple Mount, and worst of all Saudi Arabia's Mecca, all highly profitable businesses at the tops of pyramids, living off induced despair, fear, and destitution at the bases, holding these conflicting psychical inculcated structures in an iron grip. Like poor ignorant Benny Hill disguising the degradation of women to dumb sexual objects using humour to screen detection, religious leaders and their indoctrinated supporters go round with their ultimately damaging do-gooding bigotry, while their sick doctrines are slowly tearing the world apart, and not the least by maintaining illogical psychical dissonance that externalises in aggressive expression. Stopping their abuse of young children's minds by delusional inculcation is the only wise move to save the modern world from itself. Religion has been proved beyond belief to be the wrong direction for human advancement. The intelligent sagacity of evolutionary powers driving the real world must come to our rescue. We need to move on from antiquated superstitious delusions and give the logic of natural laws a chance to bring us back on course, otherwise Mankind is doomed to extinction! The political psychical nightmare of North Korea has nothing on the religious damage and sick compromise of the human brain that's continued to anachronistically infect the modern world!

Mikeverdi on 17-02-2016
Intelligent Realisation
Bugger...that's great writing. I applaud the sentiment and all it stands for.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike,
be nice if Anglican Church would lead the way, and decide its religious heritage should stop trading and become rich historical culture instead. Love of an imagined almighty god can be replaced by in awe and love of Nature, or romantic love, or achievement admiration, personal rewards and experiences, etc. as far as creational inspirational sources are concerned.
More important just now, it's so good to see your name here again, and here I'm trusting to a positive outcome to treatment, the very least, a promising start. You've been sorely missed I'm sure by all, as you're an inspirational driving force here, and active and constructive critic, and a fine, sensitive poet to boot! Really great to hear from you again.
Trevor


Daisy's Broken Chain (posted on: 01-02-16)
just two circular unlinked loops

Half-dozing, mouth forming words: Daisy was under the table plane drone resonating china clinking floor quaking from explosions blurred by dust and debris Dad pulling Mum away out to the shelter, waiting waiting alone... Smiling, wiping her eyes declining politely: no thank you love, no errands; nothing planned for the week-end, scurrying out of her corner chair, tea won't be long.... Back safe now, nudged on again beyond V-E Day. But, whose kind words, after mine, on friendly visits, will link up that broken chain stopping healing cogs from mercifully turning? Ill-fated, afraid to love and be loved, Daisy, when alone, could only return to the fixation in her timeline, the moment the sun left her life, to continue trying... :Goth:February:2016

Archived comments for Daisy's Broken Chain
Bozzz on 01-02-2016
Daisys Broken Chain
Trevor, another victim of post-traumatic stress from long ago? - a very sad story told with feeling and sympathy and yet tinged with a gentle touch. I was a fire brigade despatch rider in and out of London during those days of hell but was never allowed to stop to count the tears of others. Not the worst of my own wartime memories.... but some poor souls in Syria are experiencing the same things you describe right now.... My best ....David

Author's Reply:
Thank you, David. Yes, not many left now, civilian lives shattered by the trauma to family life from that war, due to the initially unprovoked, destructive bombing of Britain's fine cities. And yes, Syria, and occupied Palestine, and others right now, due to incompetent consequence analysis when retaliating with excessive aggression, indiscriminate revenge bombing and collective punishment where the difference between fighting foe and their passive families are not adequately, or are not able to be adequately, distinguished from each other, or in some cases, not even cared about. Unity-splitting religions, and the sins of Royalty encouraging primitive indoctrinated paranoia, and fear-psychosis to survive with their baptisms, christenings, and ceremonies of religious bigotry!
You David, on a single-knocker 500cc Matchless, connecting fire damage and bomb-hit emergency calls by message and word of mouth when all communication lines were down, enduro hopping and trials riding through the rubble and flames is a proud picture I have in mind now. Tough old times, but constant distraction helped, as you say.
Trevor

pdemitchell on 01-02-2016
Daisys Broken Chain
Wonderful first hand descriptive. I was too young but understood as a child my uncle's bullet wounds and the clink of medals and the brass disc-remnant of my great grandfather who left five kids and lasted two weeks on the Somme. Paul

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Paul. Not many indigenous families in Britain can say no family member of any generation was affected by death and debilitating injuries. All serves as gigantic and frightening exemplification and reminder of so called modern Man's inability to stop master race thinking and the mental cancer of imbecilic, formal, established religion from proliferating, being allowed to get out of control, and initially by the passive, irresponsible masses, who cynically pay the biggest price in the end, putting it right afterwards, temporarily! Strangely enough, I'm beginning to think we should stop celebrating all these wars and the sacrifice and bravery involved, take all reference off the Cenotaph, and other war memorials and just write in big words: "Forgive Us", for what we Mankind's representatives, with our mass failure to become united and civilised, caused to happen to you, for what we are still allowing to happen!
Trevor

stormwolf on 02-02-2016
Daisys Broken Chain
Very insightful and tenderly written. Life is about taking chances and though we may get hurt, we are fully engaged.
Such a sad poem, well done old bean. 😜

HA X

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison of the Highland variety!
This really on my part is to highlight the importance in the psychotherapeutic treatment of historical trauma victims to bring the person being helped to present day thinking before leaving the room. Otherwise, they leave the room with explosions, cries and screams, and vivid images of horror still active in their minds. The time factor diminishes the chance of healing, and in many cases like Daisy's, these healing, moving on, requirements for civilians who suffered too, were not known so well, at that time, all facilities, though hopelessly inadequate, being concerned with home-coming troops with PTSD symptoms.
Revamped the poem, yet again, to 10 standard now? Hahahaha! Wink-wink (non digital smiley!)

Returned to cut out all the horse-shit! Sorry! Get carried away in rare moments of on-site peace! Hahahaha!

Thanks HA,
Trevor, lowland variety, xx


The Limes at Dulwich (posted on: 29-01-16)    
childhood home, demolished 1961

Visualising redolent ambience prevailing I reach down hidden between grout and brick in silver foil the spare mortise key! From this spot merely feet away an1850's house rises up from its grave fleetingly lingering to yet again dutifully guard curving bifurcated road Able now to map out rooms brother's and sister's and obtruded by garages my bedroom where once a small boy lay left too, bereft of a father warmed by shuttered coke stove Jocular old Dr Hiley on night call raindrops on his trilby placing healing hands on feverish brow for tuppence The war just won he said we needed every little soldier to look after the womenfolk Grieving too, his son at Caen Lowood beyond doodlebug damaged, lately consummated with high-rise flats where I swayed aloft even higher on branch-borne floorboards atoning mischief One garden tree remains axe-damaged Mohican oak gash looking now like barn owl A blackbird broadcasts my trespass Replacing the key, I leave home to face closure alone at the gateless exit :Goth:August:2014

Archived comments for The Limes at Dulwich
Savvi on 29-01-2016
The Limes at Dulwich
quite haunting, it sure is a sad passing and you capture the whole sense of it vey well, I would cut the last line and finish on alone, as it carries the all the weight. but its just a suggestion. truly delightful.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Keith, I can see what you mean, on a last nostalgic visit as the last surviving primary family member is of course a poignant and daunting experience, but the last line emphasises the brutal openness to all to wander in where once was our private walled and gated garden, but it is also an idiom for leaving this life, death, where there are no gates needing opening to enter or closing after one has gone! The bulldozers were actually demolishing house number 3 (ours was number 1) and clearing a road at the boundary of our garden a month before we left.

Bozzz on 29-01-2016
The Limes at Dulwich
"A blackbird broadcasts my trespass" takes me back to my evening poaching days as my targets flee heeding the blackbird's warning and my curses out loud add to the commotion as do Andy Murray's on the tennis court. Not helpful - another game pie gone. I enjoyed this golden journey through the treasure chest of the past, ringing many bells for me. Thank you Trevor. Yours aye...David









presence

Author's Reply:
Yes, a blackbird's warning cry is one of Nature's enduring haunting sounds, that alarms us perhaps of the fragility of small competitive life, and one that occurs thankfully at least all over our continent, along with its beautiful mating song. You, David, a poacher turned gamekeeper! Hard to imagine you hunting and cooking rabbit, pheasant, and pigeon, making pie to eek out meagre rations! Though the war presumably enforced it on country folk! But then, at this time in history, you were probably posted to some forward RAF base in the desert, servicing Sopwith Camels and Albatroses, fighting those German Fokkers (not Irish!! Hahaha! Only joking:
Thanks David, for your fine comments.
Trevor

pdemitchell on 29-01-2016
The Limes at Dulwich
Hmm, on balance I prefer the gateless exit as it carries juxtapositon with closure reinforced again with the use of 'gateless'. The piece weeped sepia... a mantlepiece of fading post-war memories and doodlebug-damaged had a cool internal rhythm. Well done, Trevor! Paul

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Paul. Yes, that's the gist of my reply to Keith above who too is always a careful and constructive reader. Not Sepia please, I'm not that old; monochrome period, superseding sepia and in it's turn bromide! Only Bozz and Pommer, and possibly Teifli, have shoe cartons in the wardrobe full of such ancient photographic magic! Thanks again.
Trevor

ifyouplease on 29-01-2016
The Limes at Dulwich
great ending good poem

Author's Reply:
Thank you IYP, an old one I reworded slightly, and subbed again, glad you liked it, and the ending.

Supratik on 30-01-2016
The Limes at Dulwich
Yes great ending Trevor! Well done. The poem reminded me of Yves Bonnefoy! Every word has been so carefully picked! Kudos!

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Supratik, I've not read his poems. You're so lucky being fluent in French as well as several other languages, being doubtlessly an extremely rewarding language to compose poems and discover them in. Nostalgic biographical poems always subjectively seem to bring out the best regarding mix of authenticity and feeling don't you think, and even when outside the time span or culture of other readers, they still mostly work? Glad you liked the strategic retreat at the end!
Trevor

Ionicus on 30-01-2016
The Limes at Dulwich
An excellent nostalgic poem, Trevor. Well done.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Luigi. Finding the old spare door key was a factual incident, now a foot high wall with sweeping lawns towards luxury high-rise flats, then it was a single Victorian house with 8 foot high walls outside of a line of lime trees giving the house its name.
Trevor

Gothicman on 31-01-2016
The Limes at Dulwich
Thanks to the kind person who nominated this poem.
Trevor

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 05-02-2016
The Limes at Dulwich
A fine and touching poem without a flaw. For some reason, I would like to see the numbers out of these lines:

just five feet away
an 1850’s house

mere feet away
a hoary, decrepit house

Author's Reply:
Thank you, for your positive comments and suggestions. I think you're half-right about there being too many numbers included here, so I've made it a less accurate guess regarding judging the distance to the memorised vision of the house, but as regards the house's age, I want to keep it as it is for two reasons: the house was never 'hoary' and 'decrepit' as we lived in it until the day before it was demolished totally, leaving me with a beautiful old house impression left in memory. It went, not because it was dilapidated, a couple of houses were war-damaged, but not ours, but because the the whole area had an ancient ground lease given to the Dulwich Estate Governors, I believe by Henry VIII, and could sell the whole area off for development by offering measly compensation, which they, in my eyes unforgivably, but, non-criminally did!
The other reason is that the road, Dulwich Wood Park, and its beautiful Victorian houses, were built when the Great Empire Exhibition of 1850 in Hyde Park, was moved to Upper Sydenham to become, as it is today the Crystal Palace. (Burned down 1936). With Britain at its richest then, no expense was spared in the house constructions, each also separately architecturally designed. So the year is significant, and means a lot to me regarding house quality and design. There are no original houses left now, on either side of the road (the last, number 6, being demolished for two mock Tudor houses in c:a 1990. All are new mostly ghastly 1950's Town houses, and the high-rise flats. A tragic loss of magic character.
Thanks again.


Garbage Disposal (posted on: 22-01-16)    
kids, do not try this at home!

Connecting his brain to his gaming computer using an beanie electrode skull cap with an oozbee t'other end, to his astonishment, four new HDDs appeared in Disk Management: Stem, Cerebellum, Limbic, Cortex, and a FDD labelled: motivation? Ignoring Total Loss warnings, he formatted Cortex, marking all sneaked-in garbage from parents, teachers, church, CIA, changing FAT 32 to THIN 64, as an extra, see-what-happens, bonus! Confirming ok twice, an enormous load left his mind; clicking Defrag, and Trim, cleansed off eighteen stones more, his underpants and cap dropping loose as his bum and head became frighteningly elongated! In this state of panic, he carelessly snatched out the oozbee before safe pausing 5v power, the floppy disk icon flashed red, and his dick went limp! With cyber-porn no longer an edifying pastime, and intelligence deleted, his only option was to find a job as politician! Oozbee is nerd for USB connector Warning: Use exFAT, not THIN 64! :Goth:January:2016

Archived comments for Garbage Disposal
stormwolf on 22-01-2016
Garbage Disposal
FABULOUS!!!!
Made me laugh out loud (no mean feat);-)
another for the anthology



Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hahahahaha! Thank you ma wee highland lassie, and for the nom and rating. Yeah, there's lots of limp dicks and rickety fannies in British politics! Most will be made lords and baronesses for a cushy, overpaid lifetime bequeathing damage and debts. Glad it made you laugh in the Winter gloom.
Lowland Goth, the Nordic nerd!
Trevor x

pdemitchell on 24-01-2016
Garbage Disposal
Techno-angst and very clever even though I am a politician, I've never misused my dongle, I can tell you! 😛 Paul

Author's Reply:
Hahaha! Yes, some political dongles can stand up to the task, confirmed by the high frequency of sexual harassment in the political arena! Hahaha! No, very unfair to generalise.
Trevor

Bozzz on 24-01-2016
Garbage Disposal
I am a bit out of date with my nerdwordmanship but all this sounds perilously close to rape by masterbation - anything is possible these days. Should the police have been notified and should we then wait a few tens of years before discovering they have hushed up everything? Wickedly clever words my friend. Yours aye....David

Author's Reply:
Hahaha! Yes, I should have written "remained" instead of "went", as even a nerd shouldn't get sexually excited while technically removing superfluous software! Hahaha! Yes, another victim of unregulated social media access and his own ingenious mind, now active in the House of Commons with the usual blank look on his face! The police are still trying to work out how to turn on a computer, a little way to go before they can deal with internet-based abuse! Thanks for your fun comments, David.
Trevor


The Marked Man (posted on: 18-01-16)    
still at large from Isis, Daesh, Mossad, CIA, Salvation Army, et al.!

Later, if they met him, armed, or in sufficient numbers, those predestined with divine paranoia in infancy, unwittingly or by deliberate design, might feel the need to kill him, silence, convert, or rebuke him, for having the good fortune of retaining an unpolluted mind, one capable of challenging belief-system credibility. For, spared from this indelible insult, he's able to reach rational conclusions about natural and supernatural phenomena that differ from their own, and they don't like it, this freedom of choice, this unconditional assessment of evidence from the age of reason. In cyberspace, the worst they can do is ignore him. But, the intellectual dilemma their minds subconsciously struggle with, to support the religious self they've been given, or suppress what's illogical, and psychically die, this inherent weakness of their objectivity, of their intolerance, their inability to reassess, is equally exposed. Unpartitioned by static imbecility, an unadulterated mind still wholly altruistic, they won't find him in musty temples dedicated to delusional primogenitors, paying lip service to their elitist successors, praying for some personal god to corrupt evolutionary laws by divine intervention, but, in respecting democratic Nature, wandering along freely-chosen paths, seeking mutual help on difficult stretches, helping Mankind intelligently adapt, till he himself too, hopefully from natural causes, becomes eco-friendly dust. They call him The Civilised One. Seeing him pass from afar, I would wish him well. :Goth:January:2016

Archived comments for The Marked Man
ifyouplease on 18-01-2016
The Marked Man
excellent!

Author's Reply:
Thank you IYP, honoured by your praise and making it a favourite. Sorry for the delay in replying, I've was snowed out from Göteborg for some time!
Best, Goth.

Pronto on 18-01-2016
The Marked Man
Absolutely brilliant mate and I don't use the word lightly. As well as the religious zealots those who want to tear down statues off former colonialists could learn much from an open minded read of this piece. (But alas they won't)
Glad I read it and wish I'd written it!

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Pronto, it was twice as long at first, cut it down to essentials and pleased with the overall messaging now. Yes, just look at the horrible fate of Rhodesia as one example, where I trained for a month many moons ago. What a total jerk Mugabe is, a rich successful economy reduced to criminal political gangs and primitive chaos. Militant Islamisation out of tame Christianity, out of the frying pan into the fire! And the Africans are mostly such beautiful and fun-loving people.
Goth

Bozzz on 19-01-2016
The Marked Man
Philosophers will say that creating the impossible being is an illusion, others that mothers of unborn children create your untainted one every day. The first few minutes after birth may be devoid of the bias you seek; sadly the rest of life is polluted by experience = bias. Of the poem, it is a revelation to be celebrated for its concept and its brilliant portrayal of the sources of pollution of human minds and the wickedness of purpose that lies behind them. Bravo, I say....David

Author's Reply:
Thank you, David. I know as a model civilsed man, like me lucky enough to be spared that archaic burden, you are well aware of what I'm saying. If anyone wants to see the glaring effects of indoctrination in a young mind, fully occupied with forming a durable, core-identity with which to (obligatorily) interpret and influence all moral belief and even political issues thereafter, look at that prison hell that is North Korea; but unfortunately there are many more States that imprint more than the essential social ethics in their young. The Jewish community are another cursed example of early, primitive identity-damage, which has brought them much suffering and self-searching to those afflicted. Yes, predestined bias, a mental straightjacket for a lifetime. Sparing young children from falseness/damage of religion is the only way to save the world from itself. Thanks again, David.
Trevor

jay12 on 19-01-2016
The Marked Man
This is superb. Loved it.

Author's Reply:
Thank you jay12, glad it said something worth reading; you're an old member with a long pedigree (actress said to the bishop!) Good to see your name again.
Goth

Gothicman on 21-01-2016
The Marked Man
Many thanks to whoever nominated this work, totally chuffed! It may though, not be included in the votable list when voting time comes round as it's doesn't appear under poetry or prose, only under all nominations?
Goth

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 22-01-2016
The Marked Man
Hi LT
A real beauty if I may say so. Well deserving of the accolades given. Ask Andrea about the problem as I am not sure what to suggest. She's away this weekend though.
If I started on about the philosophy etc I may well be here until midday with a blood pressure through the roof so I will stick at well done!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, HA,
well, perhaps it's not a problem. Yes, EU, as a united force, appears to be doomed now, and not necessarily because of the influx of war-displaced peoples, but more the new unbalance of diametrically-opposed cultures and diversity of archaic religions. Feelings of durable identity and historical belonging are so important to countries with a tradition of long-standing, low-spread mono-cultures, so important to feelings of security and psychical well-being. Now eroding fast.
On a more positive note: is Ewan Davies, Daniel Craig without make-up? Uncanny!
Trevor x

pdemitchell on 24-01-2016
The Marked Man
hopefully from natural causes,
becomes eco-friendly dust

I like the imagery and political nous
Paul

Author's Reply:
Yes, in contrast to political nous, the human mind will always, just from curiosity, and to some extent, out of fear of death and dying, and in awe of fabulous, powerful Nature, test novel thinking, particularly abstract spiritualality in order to assert the tolerances of logical gateways, but, hopefully, of course, without risking them being breached, causing the person to slip into suddy cognitive chaos, that's hard to recover from; and especially, on losing executive control. needing the depressive defence to stop totally losing contact with reality and becoming completely freaked out!
Not only cultural intellectuals, of course, think the enrichment to human experience justifies the risks; religious fantasy being the one exception though, as quite properly, evolutionary development won't absorb it, but still regards it as being no different from any other form of psychotic thinking! With all incoming psychical energy, sensoric, all outgoing, motoric, the psychical tension caused by this illogical dissidence is discharged externally as aggression, or internally as psychsomatic tension. Significant levels of religious tension could never be created by internal illogical fantasy alone, but has to be introduced from outside, before an effective reality-testing mechanism has been established.
Thank for your comments, Paul, and distinguishing this work as being primarily the political nous factor!
Best, Trevor


Moonlight Sonata (posted on: 14-12-15)
in E-Minor

Holding hands, strolling homewards from pub to Mein host one moonlit night, she said: "Riders use this lane frequently, see where iron-shod hooves have gilded chevrons on undulations like sand patterns after an ebb tide!" He, chuckling, added: "... and some fifty yards on, see piles of horse-dung illuminated by porch light!" Witching hour pealing in, both silently reflected on romantic and realist. Sleeping facing outwards, she blamed it on lunar forces braking chakras, he, on the beer! :Goth:December:2015

Archived comments for Moonlight Sonata
Gee on 14-12-2015
Moonlight Sonata
I love the change of phrasing in here from, as you put it romantic and realist.
I think we all need both in our lives.
Very well expressed. I enjoyed it.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Gee, I think you're right, complimentary, not necessarily opposites. I'd like to think the couple are still together after 32 years! The lane conversation is from real experience, one I had with my good woman some years ago. And when I wrote the poem to be about just any two people, I forgot to take the "inveterate horsewoman" bit away; totally extraneous to the basic plot! Hahahaha!
Goth

Bozzz on 14-12-2015
Moonlight Sonata
I read this as love on second sight - true nonetheless. You have carefully omitted what happened before sleep - spoiled imaginative fun. As to the psychology of which way round lovers sleep, I submit this is a more a function of age and a competitive society. After copulation, sleep is more important than proximity - there is probably a job to go to in the morning. Neat piece though Trevor - horse shit for Xmas reading!. Still friends --David

Author's Reply:
Thank you, David. Well the "real" and the "romantic usually go together well. I was tempted when writing to include an extra line: "only he had experiences deep love that had failed", because I think men are easily disillusioned my failed love, a feeling that remains, whereas women, remain hopeful and retain their innocence, even in adversity!
But all this horse shit was only an afterthought! Hahahahaha! I'm still, like you, a hopeless romantic sod at heart really! Hahaha!
Gotta train to catch!
Friend Trevor


Of Monasteries, Moths, and Monoliths (posted on: 07-12-15)
At Bombyx Service Home and hospice

Like two grey silkworms, frail and old, wriggling on through foggy webs, dreams spun from paper to gold, spinning yarns with tattered threads, safe in looms, close entombed, hoping thoughts would never be said. Now forcibly placed in strange cocoons, gowned and capped in separate rooms, tightly wrapped in cold starched beds, denied their mothhood, their pupa-hood, their mulberry eggs, as if to each other, they'd suddenly died, hospitalised, inexplicably dead. :Goth:December:2015

Archived comments for Of Monasteries, Moths, and Monoliths
Elfstone on 07-12-2015
Of Monasteries, Moths, and Monoliths
I always admire your work Gothicman, but I'm not sure this time that I fully understand it. It portrays something mesmerising, with fey images.
PS I think "cacoons" should be "cocoons".

Elfstone

Author's Reply:
Good to hear from you, Elf, cyber poetry-friend of some 12 years, I hope all is well with you. I doodled this in the glooming. Delayed from travelling by storms Gorm and Desmond! Well, the "Bombyx" is the most common silk moth, and I saw it used as the name of an old people's home, so I penned this effort while waiting for email answers. As often happens two lifetime soul partners placed in separate rooms on arrival, and left to grieve for each other. Changed it a bit now, might read better; and typo corrected, thanks.
Goth

Supratik on 07-12-2015
Of Monasteries, Moths, and Monoliths
The patient and concerned use of words transforms the poem into a painting, in my opinion. Best. Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thank you Supratik, yes, tried to get it visually descriptive. Old people are like silkworms, small and wriggling along, with silk threads for hair where they've burrowed head-first through their busy lives! They don't like strange cold hospital beds!
Trevor

Supratik on 07-12-2015
Of Monasteries, Moths, and Monoliths
Trevor, Strange as it may sound, but the poem reminded me of 'A Christmas orange'; one I posted here on 12 December 2014.

Author's Reply:
Yes, intriguing read, 'A Christmas Orange' is on the same theme, has a similar ring of hanging on to last feelings of dignity. Must be the time of the year!

Mikeverdi on 08-12-2015
Of Monasteries, Moths, and Monoliths
Must admit, without reading the reply to Elf I would have struggled Trevor. But then that's not unusual for me 😂
Great writing as always.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Yes, perhaps 'service home' should have been 'hospice' or 'old people's home' to make the metaphor clearer. Added original lines back now too, as sometimes original 'impression flow' should be trusted in keeping the initial image awoken, coming from feelings as it does. (Deprived now too from being the hitherto seemingly timeless parents and grandparents to their offspring)
Thanks Mike, (been aware of, and worried about how things are going for you just now)
Trevor

teifii on 09-12-2015
Of Monasteries, Moths, and Monoliths
Excellent poem. Is it really true that elderly people get separated like that. That is dreadful. I thought hospices were there to make the end better not worse.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Daffni, I think ageing and longevity are becoming more gender equal as the conditions of living, stress, independence, and responsibilities have become less gender specific. The male decimation from war years are panning out equal again. These service homes were designed more for individuals than couples, with, at least in Sweden, couples waiting in separate rooms until couple accommodation becomes available, and without each other as symbiotic complements, they tend to deteriorate more rapidly, often until it's too late. Home help services try to keep couples at home as long as possible as long as the carer/cared for problem isn't too great. The post-war baby booms making the availability problem worse now.

Bozzz on 09-12-2015
Of Monasteries, Moths, and Monoliths
Trevor, the similarity to our situation here in Dorset makes it very painful for me to comment. Best wishes for Christmas and the New Year from a half dead worm. Symptoms all too evident - sadly diagnosis appears absent - usual trial and error last resort.. Yours aye good friend.

Author's Reply:
Sorry to hear of your worries and struggles David, I know you are a tough old campaigner and trying to make the best of a fight against time and its inevitable ravages. I wish so much that your situation could at least stabilise allowing you both quieter and smoother daily living and easier planning of resources, and energy and effort. Thanks for the seasonal wishes, which I return with hope that you can get useful medical help to enjoy this fine tradition of spiritual goodwill and peacefulness at this time; some single malt, turkey, and cranberry sauce too! But keep the fats down, less work for the digestive system! Keep in there, David, Merry Xmas & Happy New Year!
Take care, I'll be thinking of you!
Best, Trevor


Beer Can Ring and Viking Valdemar (posted on: 30-11-15)
bloody showoff! (re-submitted as deleted in error - ignore, talk among yourselves!)

Sore crooked finger puffing pulling frantically cursing enter great Dane can vertical swallowing dregs quickly spit, indicating not thirsty not serious attempt but, he's seen deflation commences effortlessly pummelling shaping, squeezing burping till metal Oxo-cube expelled from massive fist uncivilised folk waves of lust and debauchery ransacking monasteries raping nuns ''Fine thanks, yourself?'' :Goth:June:2004

Archived comments for Beer Can Ring and Viking Valdemar
Bozzz on 30-11-2015
Beer Can Ring and Viking Valdemar
Your parting shot before disappearing into the woods to hibernate? Surely not forecasting a repeat invasion of the Nordics? I will hide my wife pronto, but not in the cellar.
Yours....David

Author's Reply:
How uncanny your intuition is David!
Recently unearthed rune stones near Runnymede say that the Viking tribe Olufsen, (with his wife Bang), used to flood the lower Thames basin so that low-lying crofts and bungalows in Wessex filled with water till the womenfolk and wine floated out and were subsequently plucked (the writings a bit hazy here) er... from the river by eager hands, in fact much to the Brit's dismay, the wives insisted on sleeping in the basement! Hahahaha! Off to sunnier climes, but Hogmanay on Arran, my birthplace, is a real proposition! In fact, they're screwing the blue plaque on the wall as I Speak! (And there's me thinking the Government had totally screwed up my life already!) Hahahaha!
Thanks David. As Mark Twain said (he said everything!) "I'll be back!"
Friend, Trevor.


Giga-Slip (posted on: 30-10-15)
super-atomic fallout

.
As nanotechs go shapely Ninghong Dng was stunningly beautiful in her snow-white mini lab coat Using a scanning tunnelling microscope she was uniquely skilful placing two one-nanometre atoms into one two-nanometre molecule-pod Her Nobel precision impressed visiting dignitaries till, while leaning over to focus her tits fell out! Chinese proverb: Taking care of the fens doesn't mean the yuans will take care of themselves! :Goth:October:2015

Archived comments for Giga-Slip
gwirionedd on 31-10-2015
Giga-Slip
Is this a true story, Trevor?

Did a Nobel prize-winning scientist suffer the same fate as Judy Finnegan?

I certainly didn't expect the tits fallout at the end.



Author's Reply:
You're kidding me, Archie, right? I don't know whether inserting two single atoms in a double-atom molecule-pod is a do-able procedure, but a pair of rogue tits breaking free from their moorings is by personal witness feasible! The connection to Judy F leaves me totally perplexed? No this is about being up taken with small detail and forgetting the bigger picture. Only seeing minute negatives while ignoring huge great plusses! This amusing ditty is like another one I wrote in 2004,
though Superted said I was insensitive to the survivors of the shipwreck!

Life's A Bugger!

Slumped in a rubber ring,
floating
50 yards off the Titanic,
wearing only the right shoe,
(other at 200 fathoms),
pitch black, alone, 34° f,
cold, wet, and thirsty,
slowly waving a
lighted match.

Back home in the High St.,
dressed
in track suit and plimsolls,
with big open holdall,
sneakily perusing
the shoe-rack outside Dolcis
for a L, brown-brogue, size 9;
but, no, never any luck!


Bozzz on 31-10-2015
Giga-Slip
I think this horrific fable needs a consequence. Perhaps Wei Wei would oblige? Two children now permissible, but what can any man do with two tits? Mind boggles. Origin of word 'tit' as applied to a woman's breasts? 'Shocked of Dorset' was about to press the abuse button. Yours aye, David

Author's Reply:
Well, David, sorry to have shocked the Bible-belt of Dorset with this extremely sweet and human fable! Ninghong was still awarded the Nobel prize and quite naturally Playmate of the Month award!
Any man with two tits should go on a soup diet and diurnal power burning! Ask Mullard-valve man! Hahahahaha! I don't know about your UKA pages, but Richard has added adverts lower right of Chinese and Russian woman with enormous mammary glands (I saw you hovering near the abuse button) to beat migration control and brighten up all our lives; perhaps I was receiving subliminal messages while in creation mode? I make no excuses, I love scientific experiments and ...er..women!
Yours ayes to the right, or left, Trevor

gwirionedd on 31-10-2015
Giga-Slip
Ah, I see, it's a bit like the legendary story of when Sir Isaac Newton supposedly boiled his watch while holding an egg in his hand.

Judy Finnegan's tits famously fell out at an awards ceremony about 15 years ago. Don't you remember that?

An old acquaintance of mine at the time, a man named Jason Raper, wrote an amusing ditty about the incident:

There was an old woman named Judy Finnegan
She was at the awards so that she might winnegan
Her tit popped out and she popped it innegan
Poor old Judy's been on the ginnegan





Author's Reply:
Okay, no I missed all those shenanigans (2000), here's the video link: https://youtu.be/AfpN8NcHX5U
Great ditty from Jason! Thanks for including it. All clean fun.

Mikeverdi on 01-11-2015
Giga-Slip
I liked the debate on this one as much as the original sub.
As always with you...expect the unexpected HaHa!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Yes, that's the good thing with comments, often extends the creative aspects and brings more insight into original and extended meaning. Well, that's the secret and value of surprise, don't get too predictable, Mike! Hahaha!
Thanks for your comments. I hope you're still working on your fine, creative, straight-thinking renditions, while undergoing treatment,
if concentration-level allows it, I do hope so.
Trevor


A Pathetic Poet's Loss Of Pathos (posted on: 30-10-15)
of necessity, even well-meaning acts of love are breaches of integrity

.
She lived in the twilight world of Gods off leaking incarnate spirituality under the influence of mythical beings Bible and moon steered her mood swings Determined to achieve poetical posterity she jumped from the motorway bridge assuming on deadly tarmac impact her soul would fly to Heaven transported there in Selene's chariot or on the back of Pegasus... Poets wept!
...Cold Autumn dawn mist swirls raptly about railing netting and fading flowers of her shrine some still wrapped in cellophane catkin cotton flapping like broken wings Sadly, passing underneath in a car now there is no evidence it ever happened! Of course, she didn't openly appreciate this last black-humour comment But her next submitted poem was far better Poets felt real!
For, firmly on Earth with her pink balloon burst just an ordinary mortal connected to others her instinct for self-preservation returned and in keeping her safe kept us safe too :Goth:October:2015

Archived comments for A Pathetic Poet's Loss Of Pathos
Supratik on 01-11-2015
A Pathetic Poets Loss Of Pathos
I absolutely loved this poem! Marvellous read. Best. Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thank you Supratik, your comments of appraisal much appreciated. After subbing a shorter version earlier, and reading David's comments (always a useful guide to general comprehension) I realised it needed to be longer to get the meaning intended over. I had to use advanced HTML (CSS really) coding to get the descending balloon effect; two floating columns set to 85%, which being over 50% and with no horizontal lapping possible, the columns automatically overlap by changing their horizontal planes i.e. fall under each other, and by adjusting percentages one determines how far in or out they overlap. Three columns wouldn't fit, turning circles into vertical ovals, so I spaced down the 2nd part of the left column until the right column could squeeze in between the two, with all then separately centred. I tried using coding, both colour names and colour number codings to get the balloons pink, but couldn't get it to work, probably better as it is anyway. Being floating, they look different on a 27" screen to an iPod. The aberration line to the right, I couldn't get rid of. Anyway, I'm glad it all appears to work message-wise, and thanks again.
Trevor

Mikeverdi on 01-11-2015
A Pathetic Poets Loss Of Pathos
Loved the layout, clouds of words. I would know more of this, is it a reality from a newspaper, or just a Trevor dream? 😊 Either way I much enjoyed the read.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Well, Mike, on a recent walk in September, from Old Coulsdon to Box Hill on the North Downs Way, I passed over the M23 near Merstham via a small bridge where an old shrine to somebody who had jumped off was still visible. And consistent with my convictions after 40 years a hands-on health professional, I applied this action by an unstable mind, one that had lost its mentally-safe reality anchor to illogical thinking (often indoctrinated) treating primitive magical beliefs and mumbo-jumbo, in all earnest, as factual and real, and suggesting its resolution back to normal cautious thought by concentrating more on real down-to-earth life events and experiences and their meaning, ones we mostly all share. Less chance then of leading others into thought-emotion misalignment and asynchronous communication, the slippery downhill path to mental illness!
So, the shrine was real, the rest from experience-based conclusions on how mental processes might work and how to work against the risks. I have to emphasize, I love totally illogical mental creative thinking as novel art forms, it's the level of belief in the result that's the problem. Thanks Mike.
Trevor

Nomenklatura on 01-11-2015
A Pathetic Poets Loss Of Pathos
A splendid piece. Are some of the italicised words quotes? Selene's chariot is the moon I suppose and of course Pegasus is the winged horse...

Anyway, I liked this, I'm still thinking about what it means, and I'm sure that what I think it means may not be actually what you intend. Still, there are always at least 2 poems on the 'page': the one you wrote and the one I read and that's no bad thing.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Nomenklatura, glad you liked it. Well with Selene being the moon godess, I suppose her chariot would be the mythical means to take you there. I suppose I'm really emphasising the risks of expressing emotions and feelings using supernatural terminology born from imagination and phantasy in a way that either absorbs you irretrievably until you believe it, or perpetuates flawed logic in the reality mechanisms in the psyche established there early when self-identity criteria were being permanently formed. Either way it puts extra stress on a today fully-occupied psyche, with enormous demands on information processing, trying to maintain a healthy equilibrium in maintaining distinctions between fact and fiction.
Sometimes we need a friendly jolt to retrieve us from wandering too far into the wastelands between real and unreal, fact and fantasy, and remaining there, especially when used as a defensive ploy in dealing with a more hostile world.
I think you're absolutely right about there being two poems, the writer's and the reader's. And this simply because of its interpretation being the result of the words and dialogue used being comprehended by entire uniquely constructed memory systems, even while often with common general references, at least in a given age group and culture. As it should be, it's the lack of exact specifics that gives the written word broader interest and appeal, being flexible enough to make connection one way or another in the enormous variation of human experience.
It would be interesting to know how you interpreted the messaging, but not essential, important is that it said something plausible or feasible.
Thanks again.

Sorry, I've just seen your first enquiry. Yes because it's only a description of her poem, not the actual poem, key words she actually used are in italics, giving good example of her precious style. With "ordinary mortal" it's too emphasise the key transformation due to well-meaning critique.

Pronto on 01-11-2015
A Pathetic Poets Loss Of Pathos
Mythology and psychology aside I just plain loved the poeticism and the unique layout of the piece. Well deserved nib,

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Pronto. needed som extra working over, and layout tricks, but got there in the end, glad it you liked it.

Nomenklatura on 01-11-2015
A Pathetic Poets Loss Of Pathos
Ahhh... I think my reader's version draws closer to your writer's version now.

A great piece, in any event.

Author's Reply:


Beautiful Secret (posted on: 16-10-15)    
an old man meets by chance the daughter, to whose mother he had, shortly after birth, reluctantly promised to relinquish paternity rights - a droubble if you like!

On sunlit London streets, paved not with gold, but warm grey stones edged with glass- and brick-dust, our timeless friend, that innermost thinker and most honest commentator, is helping piece together sparsely-recalled fragments of a long journey through time. At an age when the end could be far sooner than later, I feel contentment, and readiness if grinding slowly towards stillness is what these creaking cogs turned by system health have been told is the right thing to do. Autumn glows with cosy humility. My eyes smile admiringly at a young woman passing, who looks at me as though some timeworn moral latch had not held. But, in her vanity, she's mistaken. She's lying naked on pink silk sheets loved by a much younger man, one I barely remember. She calls out my name and walks back: "You don't know me, but my mum used to idolise you in school. She's at the Sunny Hills old people's home if you want to visit her. She may not be contactable" Memories flood back. Keeping my promise to her mother, I told her she'd inherited her mother's beauty, but, unfortunately, I was in a hurry, I had a train to catch. :Goth:2015
Archived comments for Beautiful Secret
Bozzz on 16-10-2015
Beautiful Secret
Such a polite and charming way to tell a modestly vain old codger his age. Good job he had a train to catch. Your reality poems are so good, Trevor. Yours aye...David

Author's Reply:
An old man on a last nostalgic journey through the haunts of his childhood and youth meeting by chance the daughter he's reluctantly promised not to admit to, to the mother who had, when rejected, made a new life and family with another man. The key words are "pink silk sheets" and "Keeping my promise to her mother.."
Yes, reality, but no smoke or fire! Honest! Hahahaha!
Thanks David.....Trevor

stormwolf on 17-10-2015
Beautiful Secret
Absolutely beautiful and moving Trevor. No wonder you are among my very favourite poets here or elsewhere. It brought tears to my eyes.

This will go down as one of my very fav poems.

How mellow we can become with age and what wisdom can come and take the place of youthful exuberance.

A truly tender emotive piece that moved me deeply. Fact or fiction you have delved deeply into human emotions and life experiences.



I would love to buy a book of your poems.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Alison,
for your fine comments and considering it a fav and the nomination, much appreciated. It is fiction, but who knows? Arranged it as prose first, but it looked a bit too thin and spread out, so changed it to prosetry style. Still working on my fictional psychological life story, about three-quarts rough copy finished, trying to keep a red thread continuance and lyrical style consistency, not easy!
Thanks again, really chuffed.
Trevor x

Mikeverdi on 17-10-2015
Beautiful Secret
You are a star Trevor, when you write like this few can touch you, just wonderful stuff. Congrats on the Nib and the Nomination.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Mike,
your fine words quite undeserving, but very encouraging and much appreciated. Got to catch up on your much needed straight spoken honest work! Thanks again for fine comments, glad it seems to have made the transit, again, really chuffed!
Trevor


By One's Own Hand (posted on: 05-10-15)    
why solitude in Nature is so appealing now

I've met many cut down in time, held back before the tentative fall successfully emptied stemmed from emptying damaged, patched and delivered back to square one I've read their notes, anecdotes letters of goodbye, of resignation scribbled obituaries, epitaphs obsessions, confessions listened to explanations accusations seen tears of regret tears of joy from being a failure failing their anger at parent, lover, partner, friend at physician, admission at being saved at their proof of incompetence at the saviour's insufficient display of dismay I've seen what love, loneliness mobbing, aging, craving, visions of doom incessant pain, hoping in vain does to us all to some, more so For others living the good life was just too blas having had and done everything wondering where not living would lead envious, curious, furious of/at what only the dead might know A retired friend medical expert in forensic explosives had it easier piecing together filtered bits of disintegrated hate DNA without humbled eyes or outstretched hands still clutching broken straw :Goth:2015

Archived comments for By One's Own Hand
gwirionedd on 05-10-2015
By Ones Own Hand
Wow! This is brilliant, mate! The best piece of yours that I've read so far. It's really touching. The wisdom of a man who must have witnessed (although not literally) many suicides.

Have you really encountered so many cases of it?

Yes, life is tough because of all the reasons you mentioned, and all these reasons can lead to suicidal thoughts.

"I've seen what love, loneliness
mobbing, aging, craving, visions of doom
incessant pain, hoping in vain
does to us all
to some, more so"

Amen...

I'm not sure I understand the final verse. But the rest of it definitely gets me. Fave story.




Author's Reply:
Sorry Archie for the delay, I've been in Stockholm. Yes, unfortunately, Archie, about 3-5 a month over 15 years on average with seasonal variations; only survivors.
Thanks for your very praising and encouraging comments, and considering it a fave! Much appreciated.

ifyouplease on 06-10-2015
By Ones Own Hand
very very deep, fave too.

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much, IYP, yes, trying to include much of this complex behaviour, to highlight the sheer diversity of methods involved and chosen, which in themselves are not random, but like most things are steered by deterministic principles to do with emotional states and effect intentions, violent deaths steered by hate and anger to self or other, peaceful passive deaths steered by resignation, feeling of low self-worth etc. All this concordance confirmed by letters and verbal report. But can't make it all too complicated in poetry form!
Thanks for making it a fave, means a lot knowing it's chosen by someone of your literary calibre!

stormwolf on 06-10-2015
By Ones Own Hand
Wonderfully all encompassing and deeply insightful Trevor. You have excelled yourself once more.

Alison x

Here's a nom to go with it. 😉

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Alison, for your encouraging praise and the nom. Tried to keep it as encompassing as possible, but tight and concise at the same time. We're a diverse lot we poor mortals, so many challenges, vital choices, pitfalls, minefields etc
to contend with, makes you wonder why so many survive the full course! Thanks again.
Trevor x

Bozzz on 07-10-2015
By Ones Own Hand
A truly brilliant piece, Trevor, Takes me back a bit to WW2 in the RAF. I had to get used to seeing the bloody pieces of my friends scattered across the Burmese jungle. Had to be first on the scene at crashes near the airfield and as our wooden mosquito planes were not built to withstand the heat and humidity they overheated and literally fell apart during take-off, there were plenty. The police have to do similar things regularly, but as you suggest, when the victims are your personal friends, it is significantly different. My best, David

Author's Reply:
Thank you, David. Yes that's the distinction I was trying to allude to in the last stanza, it's vastly more harrowing to see known acquaintances and friends meeting explosive violent deaths while trying to make the world a better place than feeling aroused being confronted by evil violent indiscriminate terrorists one has never met or had any common sympathy or allegiance with. But, I suppose seeing dead dismembered bodies of comrades, now beyond help, brings feelings more of immensely-sad loss and meaningless waste, whereas seeing demoralised, totally emotional vulnerable and humbled friends or any fellow human beings awakens feelings of sympathy and compassion, with strong inclination to help them survive, resolve their problems and recover, especially if physically injured as well? Yes the living are still very much interacting with us, faced with the dead we'r only interacting within our selves, with our own reactions. Police, firemen, ambulance crews, all meet harrowing scenes regularly, now thankfully more and more are getting therapeutic debriefing directly afterwards to prevent delayed or suppressed after-effects.
Thanks David,
Trevor

gwirionedd on 11-10-2015
By Ones Own Hand
Ah, now I understand, the last verse refers to people who blow themselves up, namely suicide bombers...

Perhaps you could make it a bit clearer, something like:

"still clutching the broken straw
of the trigger mechanism"

or something?



Author's Reply:
It just happens that the retired friend had the extreme job of working with not recognisable dead bodies, just small bits and pieces of people whose actions one normally find despicable so not likely to awaken much compassion, especially if taking innocent bystanders, women and children with them. He has avoided people referred to in the last lines, suicidal survivors, who are still real, fully interacting fellow human beings, who on first contact usually show a feeling of being humbled by their intended actions after all hope and help appeared to be nothing more than "clutching at straws" as this idiom is interpreted. This emotionally-loaded contact with for all purposes fully-functioning fellow human beings makes it far harder for the person trying to help to do his/her job, one is of necessity personally affected and to succeed how you approach giving help demands strict professionalism.
There are always going to be readers who cannot grasp the less than directly explained rendition of something one has written, even when not seriously cryptic.

gwirionedd on 11-10-2015
By Ones Own Hand
Well, I'm pretty sure that I'm not the only one who didn't get the suicide-bomber reference.

People often pretend to understand what they read. But I don't.



Author's Reply:
Forensic explosives is the give away + piecing together filtered bits
of disintegrated hate. I found a human hair in my sandwich the other day, didn't say much to me as a personal relationship, but finding a complete living person in your soup would require personal interaction to resolve why!


Sublimely Spoken (posted on: 10-07-15)
message heard, the challenge enjoyed, occasionally comprehended

Closed-ward psychiatry offered boundless opportunities for the young therapist and would-be poet to liaise with unregulated minds. Some incarcerated souls had the dramatic presence of Roman and Greek orators presenting solemnly all they had sacrificed for humanity. Some were iceberg emotional, their seething inner turmoil surfacing as repetitions of a few key words. Some were always on long inner hikes, smiling glowingly at recurring visions, describing them only with superlatives. Some were rhythmic, reciting dancing lyrics, racing along in spirited dirges, or slowly whispering in largo, matching the throb of even the most bereaved hearts. Communicating too, a tattooed man tracing veins on his forearm with a smuggled-in razor-sharp knife, interpreted as: this was his love bequeathed, the way back to his Mother heart. Was this a visual form of poetic expression as well as a warning not to go there, not to reveal his central social self for, if found to be empty, it would lead to your or his demise? And, when the creepy sex offender, grinned lasciviously while sucking his thumb, saying: "...that Hollywood bimbo, Mary Magdalene, helped raise Jesus from the dead too.." did that powerful instinctual messaging make the student female therapist, lose all inclination to continue? For, some types of communication can be extremely repelling! During his lunch break, visibly clasping keys granting him immunity from off-duty conversation, he sat on the inner-sanctuary lawn, reading his newly purchased book of modern poetry. The published cryptic poems were so similar to words expressed by those inmates he tried so diligently to understand. He wondered if cryptic poets had the ability to conjure up new fine verbal nuances right on the limits of logic without feeling their mental balance as being dangerously near to madness! Or whether they too, like most of the inmates, had no choice, through lacking sensory regulation via motor discharge, striatal pathways, predominately facial muscles, normally seen as grimace, frowns, and smiles, but also gesticulations; Nature wasting nothing in assisting communication! Did these poets like them, suffer unregulated memory spread instead, caused by any unmodulated sounds, i.e. noise that carries no message or coding, like traffic, and wind, and low-level aircraft drumming, being allowed to pass unhindered beyond the sensory-energy distribution centre* in the psyche? Does the shock of a behind-the-head "clap!" not trigger the universal pass-through startle reflex, automatically producing protective crouching, with muscle tensioning preventing energy pulses surging along pathways carefully monitoring rhythms of heartbeat and breathing? Is none, or very little, superfluous incoming sensory energy diverted out through designated motor escape routes to prevent excessive psychical tension disturbing finely-controlled regulatory processes, and in particular, prevent memory searches travelling way too far along association pathways in the defenceless brain? What distinguishes this extreme memory spread towards irrelevance in the wayward mind of the mad from the frontier nuances of cryptic poets? The need to externalize cognitive dissonance in aggressive defence caused by false religious profundity in futile pursuance of its support and truth, and novel jokes and humour in laughter, the latter tension-relief being common to most, he understood. But, if these inmates had the singular exploring ability, from invasive father and/or phallic-mother, to force their way freely and far throughout memory, where was the cohesive social mother and/or breast-father, helping to collect, gather, and hold associations awoken keeping them connected and logical? And if not present, where was the guardian of manifest relevance, the depressive defence, the synapse-level suppressor, stopping thought from wandering too far from being understood by we, the kindred spirits who sensibly follow common rules of language and logic? His book was an anthology of thirty poems from nine poets, some from good voice, or some from psychosis, what does it matter? Perhaps the value lies there, the evidence of two kinds of destiny distinguished only by degree of cohesion, the one accepted as consensually brilliant, the other rejected as singularly mad. Even cryptic poets can lose contact entering realms of the esoteric, or even go too far, and suffer the excesses of temporary incoherence? He remembered a poem he once wrote, where he even then alluded the cryptic poet's special ability to some exquisite use of vocabulary stretching intellect to risky limits, and that not everyone, while able to appreciate it, had this creative gift at primary process level: "If, standing before you, removing all that shields the mind, all that protects cautious thought, he revealed: a harmonious, balanced trichotomy, the ideal, the man he is, his emotive wishes, all striving within systemic synthesis; an adhesive wholesomeness, tenaciously resisting regressive dissolution back to where ganglia, pulsing in phonemic confusion, prompted by some inherent inspiration, capture urges in speech's exclusive images; images that exquisitely transform primitive emotive compulsions into symbolic creations, allowing like minds to dance in unison, or compel a unique mind to walk alone in private madness; but, also, when challenging Nature's supremacy at creation's precarious precipice, an absence too, of that black encumbrance that, in helping to keep people mortal and sane, dampens lust, life, and hope, to a pilot flame just flickering, suspending overstretched intellect in slothful dejection till stable integration, till contact with kindred spirits, is achieved again. If standing before you, the naked mind revealed a well-adapted, contented, and happy man, functioning at surface level, creating at already manifest, would you say of him, he may be spared depression and madness, but, he could never be a poet?" Placing the book aside, he discovered a love-note under the paper napkin in his lunchbox: "Roses are red, violets are blue, forget-me-nots are perfect, for they remind me of you!" After a day filled with purposeful intellectual activity, this simple expression of love, if only for a moment, allowed him to be existentially aware, in contact with the human emotion, that, unknowingly, had in fact been there all the time, throughout the morning. He felt moved, mutually connected. Perhaps that's the real answer? Wrestling with mad thoughts keeps us intellectually challenged and defensive, continually on our guard, unable to stop and be, and feel any emotional connection other than fear or pity. The cryptic poet, on the other hand, tells us something we already know, kernel-truths, non-specific, allowing for personal variations, but which, though permitting us to feel their essential emotional effects, had never let us find sufficient courage to test the limiting boundary, where only there, dangerously close to madness, they could be adequately expressed in words. * Thought to be the Thalamus :Goth:2015

Archived comments for Sublimely Spoken

No comments archives found!
Equipped (posted on: 10-07-15)
basic provisions

Father said: be bold, and venture far, always do what's right! Mother said: love all as good as you are, embrace those nearest! Bearing this in mind, she was potentially a genius :Goth:2015

Archived comments for Equipped
Bozzz on 10-07-2015
Equipped
Hi Trevor friend- very basic indeed, I am afraid. I suspect genius is harder to find even in the best of social media 'abnorms'. That said, I would have welcomed your offer with delight. Cheers... David

Author's Reply:
Hi David, you must be an expert on control systems, things that flow, gather, judge, and pass or reject, both logically and morally? It's strange that both acceptance and rejection, satisfaction contra dissatisfaction/frustration must be present in early developmental life for a well-functioning memory system; problem is, who ever gets the optimal? I think a fine, intelligent man like yourself must have been pretty near as dammit! Me? I was saved by the phallic-mother! Hahaha!
Greetings my friend,
Trevor

chant_z on 11-07-2015
Equipped
Thank you for a good laugh. If it's basic I suspect some basic wit.... 🙂 coupled with seriousness. Very fine.

Author's Reply:
Thank you chant_z, yes, we have to be bare-bones analytic and boldly diagrammatic with word use, using component attributes and energy flows to describe the basic workings and requirements for such complicated electro-chemical systems; strange how we are born with no more than enormous potential and that ongoing interaction with the outside world keeps us technically smack up to date, in spite of our evolution occurring over many thousands of years.

deadpoet on 12-07-2015
Equipped
Thanks for passing on the genius words Goth.
Pia xx

Author's Reply:
Hahaha! Nice of you to say so, Pia, but no, not enough of the first named influence to make me immortal I'm afraid! I did have the later requirement, the essential ingredient of being romantically loved and supported in reciprocation by a beautiful woman! If you can get SVTV, even iPlay from Denmark, there's a great long film going now of how Gustav Mahler needed Freud's help when his younger ravishing wife, Alma, had a passionate affair with a young architect, whom she later married after hubby's death. Much of Mahler's music both beautiful (5th Symphony) and tragic (8th, 9th, unfinished 10th) was the result of the passion she instilled in him, even while not being fully reciprocated! Great and interesting film using his music for atmosphere.
Trevor xx


Applied Mutual Pride (posted on: 29-06-15)
attempting to help people in the mental sphere is seldom rewarded, for 'thank you' usually means 'unfinished'

.
He worked long and hard convincing others to resist victory by death while living was still a worthwhile defeat, that only the latter biological option would allow further dtente between the technically curious and culturally discontented. Shortcutting through the culvert from rain, he greeted two resident soulmates discovered hanging out there. Religiously bonded in a career of misery, their obtuse divergent reasoning, more eclectic than any diagnostic criteria, was aimed at outwitting a formidable foe, cynically insisting: I am only what you say I am not! Ignoring him, one said to the other: "I am not the red capsules, you are not the blue" Exchanged, feeling they'd won, they shook toxic dose-loaders like football rattles after him, the other shouting perversely: "God said, heed the warnings of Hitler and Stalin, there's nought more dangerous than madness masquerading as NORMALITY!" Later, mentally resuscitating from saving an exclusive group of 11th hour punters, he thought: all creatures try to avoid predators, but, perhaps the most dangerous predator of all arrived with abstract thinking, with the creation of God and after-life,, conveniently attributed with being 'beyond knowing', preventing disproval of that false assumption, of 'meaning' rather than 'interest' being a necessary premise for choosing life over death. "You can cure the patient from his depression, while still not knowing what it is that makes him want to go on living" Winnicott 1965 :Goth:2015

Archived comments for Applied Mutual Pride
gwirionedd on 29-06-2015
Applied Mutual Pride
Heed the warnings of Hitler, Stalin, George Bush, David Cameron, Harold Shipman, Sweeney Todd, and about half the people I've known in my life, I reckon. It's scary how much madness there is out there, disguised as normality. That's basically why I think "normality" (or whatever that is) is just another kind of mental illness...




Author's Reply:
Well, they do say Life is a sexually transferred condition whose inevitable prognosis is Death! So, by that definition, at least physically, we're all stricken with terminal decay with aging helping the process along quite nicely! We invented a supernatural Life Assurance Broker who could overrule Mother Nature and grant extensions and post-Death habeas corpus requests, thus introducing 'meaning' to Life, i.e. to try and live or at least exist longer, whereas before his invention there was only 'interest' in Life, in Nature and living in the short life-span you were granted. Born with sound logic excluded some from this Lazarus, or clap-happy, gang, and a few people of course got mad and tried to murder Mother Nature and her family, some succeeding quite well with their efforts, all those you mentioned are good examples. The maddest of all though were the so called normal folk, who looked on and let all this madness happen! In summary: everybody's mad, it's just that some are better at keeping it a secret, longer!

Slovitt on 29-06-2015
Applied Mutual Pride
Trevor: a typically thoughtful, clearly reasoned poem.

yes, God and after-life are a hell of a burden.

perhaps madness is a tag when another's mental state is threatening. not many grinning, daft folks earning such a serious designation.

roethke said "what is madness but nobility of soul." don't know how that fits in here but i don't get to quote him very often.

good poem. Swep

Author's Reply:
Thanks Swep. Yes, the worst crime anyone involved with psychical interventions can commit is to assume one has the only recipe for contented and worthwhile living. people must be left proud of something in their efforts to manage the life they've been given, from their own unique points of departures, and primarily to be able to reciprocate logically, be understood by fellow human beings. All must be allowed to keep advocacy over thinking processes and find not meaning but rather interest in living, at its highest level curiosity, and lowest maintaining effective habits. Even the furthest spread memory associations of the schizophrenic can be coupled to initial inquiry if one analyse it step-by-step long enough. Problem is, we like short semantic relevance, especially in todays world, not round-about long episodic journeys in getting useful, even sought after, results to our attempts to communicate. (This comment is a typical example! Hahaha!)
Trevor

chant_z on 30-06-2015
Applied Mutual Pride
Troddles o very well. Makes me think of pragmatism. Surely Hitler was a pragmatic. What an illness... 🙂

Author's Reply:
Yes, he certainly was extremely active in practical execution of his mad visions! Although when Jewish film moguls said Mel Gibson would never work again for saying: on researching religious history for evidence and background to his masterly film " The Passion Of The Christ" that in most wars, the Jews had a finger in the pie one way or another, they suddenly made Hitler sane again in his fears about democratic manipulation, even if his methods to deal with it were insanely brutal, just like the Israelis insanely brutal resolution of the Palestine two state problem! Two driving forces of madness: power and religion!
Goth

stormwolf on 30-06-2015
Applied Mutual Pride
Hi Trevor, great poem full to the brim of deep thought and very original in its presentation.
Especially loved the 4 th stanza which moved me greatly.
I have struggled with depression in my time along with so many others of a creative bent....even to the point of taking my chances with eternal damnation. It takes courage to choose life over death for many people and the old saying "God never gives more than we can handle" is quite obviously wrong in many cases.
I find living can be painful due to the level of suffering I see all around both in humans and animals.
I detest cruelty and can feel it as a physical pain in my body. No wonder I have fibromyalgia lol
Great writing .
Alison x


Author's Reply:
Hi Alison, always brighten my day seeing you submitting and reading them again. I try to be careful with the wording like line 3, because tragically continuing to live is not a worthwhile, logical or merciful option for some with painful, terminal low life quality illnesses. We have to define depression and sadness as two different things, of course, conveniently referred to as endopsychic (unknown cause) and reactive depression (known cause), even if both can occur together. Yes, you are one of those who see and understand all aspects of Life, but who rightly think the amount of good set against the amount of evil and heart-rendering misery doesn't and shouldn't balance out, that hope for a better world does not relieve ongoing suffering. All normal people see these two sides, and most keep going reasonably happy by defensive techniques of denial, avoidance, filtering, and distraction, and even by alluding it all to the inevitable conditions of Life. This may be so with some illnesses and with accidents, but a majority of evil is Man made and Man maintained. We can live our own lives well, but not being able to make much impression on the world stage, we suffer by way of a collective conscious and guilt. I'm convinced that established religions, not spirituality, is the culprit, and as you know, indoctrinated such. And not just as mad and discriminating ideologies, but in how this supernatural junk tensions and stresses the basic psyche. Creating Israel out of former Palestine has escalated to World War III. Do you think our little movement to stop religious indoctrination of children at the Sunflower Café will eventually grow to have a similar butterfly wing effect? Religion and royalty, in today's world, utter, utter madness!

Your psychosomatic defence is not good for you! Get all the unusable action hormones out woman! Buy boxing gloves and a punch bag, and paint someone's face on it, preferably not mine! But, if it's religious, beware, the'll come gunning for you!
Thanks as always, Alison
Trevor x

Mikeverdi on 02-07-2015
Applied Mutual Pride
One more of your poems I need to read... and read again. I stumble over some of your thoughts as I would a brick in the road, lack of knowledge holding me back I suppose. Always interesting, sometimes compelling, never boring.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hahaha! Not being a poet as such, Mike, I thought some unusual content material might be interesting to some, a sort of more technically-based creative writing. Problem is that the subject matter is so complex and encompassing that keeping it tightly confined to just one aspect without losing validity and message comprehension is difficult. I'm using Ancient cavewoman Lucy again for my sub tomorrow, bit long, but can be a fun read, as a lot of truth has been spoken in jest! She is going to dissect fallen boyfriend, Homo Erectus, to see how we work! Hahaha! Thanks anyway, Mike.
Trevor

Bozzz on 02-07-2015
Applied Mutual Pride
Hi Trevor, fascinating piece and yes the aide memoire at the end says it all - perhaps the only real cure is death. Do we want to live at any price - what determines the borderline? Yours aye, David


Author's Reply:
Hi David, well the heat's upon us now, I do hope you've a nice little cool shaded spot in the garden. Well eleven reasons for suicide have been listed, from illogical Russian Roulette to fully-logical pre-empting unavoidable suffering or a suspended vegetative state. We have to though assume that in all cases apart from that last mentioned living out your allocated life-span is to be preferred. Why some people, who have nothing going for them, always retain a curiosity, and even optimism, as reasons for keeping going, and others with everything do not, is a mystery, unless one sees it as some form of emptying of self-investment energy, as in endogenous depression, or sexual restriction at appropriate ages. Some arrive as comets, contributing all in a few years before burning out, others just plod along in cruel adversity unperturbed by it all. I suppose loneliness is the saddest reason for not wanting to take part anymore, especially if outcast or mobbed by others. Life interests, though often common to most, can be so varied as to only be really understood subjectively, this must be respected by anyone offering help interventions. But as you say the point of decision to end it all, the borderline, where the line is drawn, has always professionally fascinated me, strange that once the die has been cast, perhaps not strange that a short period of happiness through decision relief often follows; it is diagnostically useful for early detection, but advocacy is difficult to determine at that point, whether even when unbalanced in mind if it's a personal right to choose death over life. Hope against finality and oblivion, two choices better than Paradise any day within our ability to reason? Thanks David, I hope you'll be subbing tomorrow!
Best, Trevor


Lucy, You Are Awful! (posted on: 05-06-15)
I'm speechless!

Ancient Lucy could say more urgent variations of "Og" for food, danger, clean your shelf, or shag? but she couldn't say "Yesterday, I saw a family of pigs flying over the moon!" Until she learnt to extend her labiodental nasal click to at first, while staring at them, say: "Look, I see a family of pigs?" And later, amazingly, after her boyfriend Homo Erectus had yet again secretly ogged her sister Licentious: "Yesterday!" "Flying over the moon!" For she had suddenly realised she could also fool the senses using different permutations of only a few "speech motor neurones" as she called them, behaving as "external signals" functioning as "proxy representations" of things, real or unreal, "in their absence!" "Oggy!" "Oggy!" "Oggy!" And led her on to create: a new race type: "Homo Castratus", soon extinct, the "Handy pouch-size Ox dildo" and add "God!" to "Og!" Goth:2015

Archived comments for Lucy, You Are Awful!
gwirionedd on 05-06-2015
Lucy, You Are Awful!
If you ask me, mate, Homo Castratus is not extinct (but hopefully soon will be). He is modern "liberal" self-blaming eunuch Feminist man, the vapid arsehole who agrees with every word that Feminazis throw at mankind.



Author's Reply:
Hahahahaha! Very subtly put. You are right though about one thing, myths are ancient tales and parables describing physical actions and happenings that today have become psychological processes. My next sub will be about this.
Ying-Yang Goth

ifyouplease on 06-06-2015
Lucy, You Are Awful!
not many Feminazis or Homo Castratuses (? that's the plural right? or is it Castrati?) in Greece - any Amazon here still has vivid memories of Hercules, and every man here... well every man here period.



Author's Reply:
Well, I've often tried to emulate Heracles's ninth labour of getting Hyppolita's (she was enormous!) girdle off! But, on seeing me, like with him, was so impressed, she, they, mostly just threw it off and accepted delightful fate! Now, that is a myth (or is it! Hahahaha!) I think it would be Homo Castrati. Hercules's thirteenth labour was to slaughter the Feminazis, but, being superstitious, chose early retirement (on a Greek pension!) instead! Hahahaha! (Reminds me woman's football WM starts soon!)


Professor Plum's War Cry (posted on: 01-06-15)
Religion, is based on the only collection of fairy tales almost all Mankind, mostly unknowingly, is forced to regard as real.

Chuckling to himself, he had sneaked in early and hammered a tiny nail, invisible from afar, into a corner of the blackboard. Later, walking in to applause, he took off his jacket, chalked up a large hook by the nail, and hung his jacket on it. ''I always do that to break the ice and as a lead in for what I'm about to lecture you on." Needing to externalise this illusionary dissonance, caused by an apparent act of magic, his audience roared with laughter and warmed to him as he began: ''Using rules of language, logical assumptions of all thought are automatically tested for validity by comparing them with Nature's sound principles of cause and effect that are rapidly being internalised, confirmed, and updated with new and repeated registrations of external perceptions throughout life.'' On the way to the auditorium, the professor had kissed his wife goodbye by her garden gnomes, passed Santa's Grotto in the High Street, and the Sally Army playing 'Onwards Christian Soldiers' in the Town Square. ''Memory facilitations of real things and experiences have a better quality, deeper grooves if you like than those memory traces based solely on phantasy. This has to be the case, or we wouldn't know if something actually existed or had happened or not. The reason is that real memories consist of both internal and external energies, whereas phantasy uses only internal when being facilitated. Both types can form strings of events, but the distinction of which parts belong to which remains unequivocal.'' He paused for a gulp of water "To protect us, cognitive dissonance creates psychical tension, and occurs, when fact and fiction cannot be clearly defined or comprehended, forcing us to change our illogical formulations to conform with internalised reality. Memory traces that are both fictitious and illogical, i.e. which have no evidential support in real life to both subject and predicate, but nevertheless are denied as being such in the external world, are the most damaging in tensioning the psyche with free-floating energy in this way.'' His thoughts wandered. One garden gnome, driven by wind, was forced to continually crank a small windmill round, crazily fast sometimes, and last year's Santa had been jailed for yo ho hoing inappropriately to small children sat on his knee. ''Heightened tension in the psyche usually only occurs naturally in preparation for sexual activity, or for fuelling quick defensive fight, flight, and play dead responses provoked by perceiving a love object, or external threat. Psychical tension caused by internal logical dissonance, and not resolvable, is dealt with by regarding it too as a response to external threats, its cause is externalised to make it plausible.'' Some younger students giggled, others looked perplexed. ''Apart from suggesting to you, in view of what I've said, that all war and mass aggression is the result of global religious psychical dissonance caused by indoctrinating infant minds with illogical perpetuated phantasies, I'll will stop here, as there's already quite a lot to grasp. Thank you all for your attention.'' To jeers and laughter, and hoots and whistles of derision, he unhooked his jacket and left the lecture room making his escape from the building through a back door to a waiting car dressed as the bin man. Outside prostitutes and pimps hung on street corners, as girls in burkas holding D-rings connected to chunky waists, and desperate men on revving Lambrettas, were vying to be the first to enter Paradise. And those not affected by war, yet, didn't give a toss. TR:2015

Archived comments for Professor Plum's War Cry
deadpoet on 02-06-2015
Professor Plums War Cry
When I was a child I found comfort in all the stories about Jesus Christ- like George Michael sings "Jesus to a child"-
but it didn't last further than childhood. I woke up eventually to atheism which my Mother had a big influence on.

I like this piece of yours Goth and I savoured every single word and took them in. Thank you. Starts off well with the hook and nail trick.
Any special influence?

Pia xx

Author's Reply:
Yes, Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, Little Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty, even George Michael, and hundreds more that bring comfort by helping developing minds to confront fears and dilemmas, help to formulate them into logical progressions and find solutions as they learn about natural processes and principles of living. The difference here, unlike religion, is that the phantasy aspects are recognised and regarded as just that, even if the basic messaging is sound and good. Some traditional Fairy Tale messaging is so basic that it need never change, but new ones appear to reflect a developing world. Religion treats both its characters and messaging, some of which is illogical, even harmful madness, as true and current phenomena, not only by primitive folk, but also by apparently intelligent, educated, people. Of course, being big business, giving power, status, and promoting group self-interest against just rules of democracy play a major part in its continuing existence. This official endorsement of illogical madness is what kindles the damage caused by indoctrinating religion into early identity-formation, giving this dyed in the marrow canker no chance of healthy re-adjustment through reality-testing. It makes people fear death and falsely promises resolutions it cannot possibly guarantee to deliver. We all like maintaining traditions that help us socialise, reduce stress, and enjoy reliving things that form a red thread of permanence throughout all stages of our lives. But religion, and royalty (patriotism) for that matter, are two of the most mentally harmful influences due to their obsolete relevance, (and cop-outs from breaking free from parents) surviving in modern times. By the means suggested in this work, the tension caused by religious dissonance is now, and will while it exists, with its need to maintain indoctrinated religious identities, be the energy source, the driving force, causing and powering all war.
I added the last line, as having already included sex, flight, and fight, only "play dead" was missing!
The influence? Years of trying to help people who only wanted to self-destruct because life, truth, and real meaning were constantly found to be unobtainable or incompatible in the potential beauty of their finely tuned minds.
Thanks Pia, for your fine comments and response.
Goth xx

This comment may not stay long!

deadpoet on 02-06-2015
Professor Plums War Cry
I agree with you whole heartedly. I couldn't have said it better myself.

Author's Reply:
I thought a little more about your "influences" question, and I suppose some inspiration in presenting this theme comes from the Swedish artist, Lars Vilks, and his courageous stand for free speech and opinion, and subsequent treatment, especially in Denmark, who awarded him a special prize acknowledging his refusal to cower away from truth and human dignity.

Goth

Mikeverdi on 04-06-2015
Professor Plums War Cry
So strong Trevor, I guess There's none so blind as cannot see...except maybe those who don't want too. As I've come to expect with your recent work, you delve into murky waters where others fear to tread. I always look forwards to your posting, I learn something every time...even if I have to google it HaHa!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Yes, Mike, the silent majority overwhelmed into numbness and ostrich-like denial! Always willing to try something new, a sort of middle ground between long prose and short poetry, that isn't really prosetry, but, neither the one nor the other either! Hahaha! I try to make it all factual, serious, educating, and entertaining to make it worthwhile to read, impossible not to, in fact, once started! Hahaha!
My next subs are on lighter themes, well two of them! Lol!
Goth

deadpoet on 04-06-2015
Professor Plums War Cry
Sadly at this particular award ceremony in Dk , Goth, a man was shot dead and 3 policemen injured by shots from a man they claim made a terrorist attack. The assailant was later shot dead by the police after also having shot dead a security guard at the Jewish Synagogue in Copenhagen- the evening before the morning when police had hunted him down and killed him. He was young-20 I think but the crime did have roots to terroist groups.

Author's Reply:
Yes, a meaningless tragedy allround as usual. Just shows the power of early indoctrination in the young mind, and the indiscriminate suffering and waste of life that follows. If it was just tit-for-tat it would be different, equilibrium could be reached, but there is as always a a bigger Masterplan of one-sided self-interest involved. Why is modern Man so inherently stupid? Religion and royalty, utter, utter madness!


Every Mourning Has A New Dawn (posted on: 29-05-15)
The beauty of natural healing - an analogy

.
When someone loved dies, as if by instinct, all talk is elegiac, lamenting a unique life, recalling finer times, familiar moments; knowing somehow, by so grieving, feelings of longing, emptiness, abandonment, even anger, eventually coalesce into wider accolades, where only privilege and respect remain; intense pain in one trace finds relief dispersing along ever lengthening pathways felt now to be strewn only with gold. It's like when, a persistent twinge on tender skin, as with heavy memory, becomes impossible to bear, and whose connecting network too, is then similarly stimulated, not here, by purposeful remembering, but by intentional agitation, gently scuffing with fingertips, bringing a wider spread of intensity, reducing a stabbing pain to an almost indiscernible glow. In dispersing pain, memories awoken must be relevant to 'lost person loved'. Scratching the head won't relieve an itching toe! Gothicman:2015

Archived comments for Every Mourning Has A New Dawn
Weefatfella on 29-05-2015
Every Mourning Has A New Dawn
I never know what to say. I always feel someone has already said all that needs to be said, and they are usually wearing a vestment of some form. Best, I feel is to just be there.
I can feel the frustration and anger here. The phrase 'heavy memory' and all of the last stanza are indicative of this.
A really inciteful piece.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for commenting, Weefatfella, glad it incited you.

Goth

Mikeverdi on 29-05-2015
Every Mourning Has A New Dawn
I feel with a lot of your poetry, it's like reading a 'how to deal with' manual. I find myself thinking "I must remember that" but not as poetry, more as a recipe for dealing with life. Not sure if this is what you intended.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for commenting, Mike.
Goth

deadpoet on 31-05-2015
Every Mourning Has A New Dawn
I'm not sure I agree with you about mourning- At least not for the ones I have "lost"- I don't think there's much of a golden glow about them. Of course you miss them- you got used to having them around didn't you? There's one person in my life I'd die for and no others. No golden glow about anybody else . I am not very kind I know. That's me.
Otherwise this is a brilliant expression of feelings with a great choice of words and images.

Pia xx

Author's Reply:
Thank you Pia.

Goth xx


Phoebe's Phobia (posted on: 25-05-15)
...and lived happily ever after...for awhile..

Dissonance from fairy tales perpetuating around Phoebe left its free-floating magic in heart flutter and feelings of asphyxia hooking up onto anything unfinished meant it could occur without warning! Centrally she had no say or veto but relocated externally... she could control this loose cannon deciding then where, when, and if but with restrictions To work, perceptual recognition of symbolic facilitations used to capture this roaming foe must not occur Unfinished weaning meant enclosures would smother her or when gone too far open spaces would abandon her! Clever measure....avoidance but one without resolution Unless she kills the fairy godmother.... Gothicman:2015

Archived comments for Phoebe's Phobia
Mikeverdi on 27-05-2015
Phoebe’s Phobia
As usual, brilliant writing....but what's its all about? sorry mate I cant fathom it.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hahahaha! You old rascal, Mike! Lucky Phoebe had someone like me who can all this! Hahaha! Have you ever wondered what phobias are about, why they arise, why just this particular type, in just that particular person? In our complicated mental world of maturational processes, psychical disturbances, defence mechanisms, symbols and metaphors etc. etc , it's not so easy gathering evidence to support a working therapeutic model, that when applied, does an adequate job in effecting a cure. Problem is, psychological contentment and well-being isn't an exact science either, it's fluid, and always relies on contrasts and comparisons. Your feedback is useful though, because I'm gathering themes for a book I'm writing, not like this, a bit clinical, but more in romantic novel style. So, I'm learning from your reactions.
Trevor


Closure by slide-show (posted on: 22-05-15)
After attending a lecture where the destruction of Victorian London by experimental architects and ruthless property developers was patently exposed; our old house was included

The Society's retired architect clicks his demolition finger and Victorian houses flash by in sepia Real estate's exhumed remains Behind float-glass reflections prima facia images rise as load-bearing beams, struts, and ties in the innermost mausoleums of childhood minds Ancient brick becomes modern steel desecrating axiomatic graves without permission or objection With all escape doors to lower ground floors irrevocably vandalised and cupola heads emotionally expurgated nostalgia suffers structural collapse and closure in the interest of mental safety TR:Dulwich:2015

Archived comments for Closure by slide-show
Mikeverdi on 22-05-2015
Closure by slide-show
Never know what's coming next with you Trevor HaHa! In the sixties we threw out everything with the bath water. I remember marble fireplaces sat in back lanes, waiting for the tip lorry...and artex, oh my dear lord.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hello Mike,
yes, the destruction to Ye Olde England was catastrophic, so much skill and beauty burnt and trashed. Attending the meeting had the opposite effect than expected. Next? I shall carry on as usual, but with uttermost anonymity! Hahahaha! It appears, only you and Alison seem to respect free opinion and support objectivity. Just shows you how right presented assumptions about indoctrination are. Such deep indignation! North Korea, and soon, the east-of-Europe caliphate, will have nothing on the pragmatic iron grip of royal, religious Britain! During 45 years a fully-fledged mental health professional, I never met an atheist with deep-rooted mental health problems, incapable of positive response, or needing little help to achieve sufficient cure, unless unable to escape from the continuing damage of inappropriate medicine or street drug use. I have used “comments” as a forum, as I am denied access, presumably by that effective scarecrow, the keeper of the broom cupboard key! Hahahahaha! But, no more, might even have to seek protected identity status again! Those two-manned Vespas are buzzing around everywhere now! Hahaha!
Friend Trevor

deadpoet on 24-05-2015
Closure by slide-show
I can only sympathise with your remorse. Modern architecture is so dull- glass and steel. They have no imagination- no skill. It's such a pity these old beautiful buildings are going- in my country too and what they put up instead is monstrous- so boring to look at. They will never have a history like the old buildings. Furthermore some of the old customs were alright- it should be a beautiful blend but No- new is the new black!

Author's Reply:
Thanks, yes it served as the last straw in decisions of continuing place of residence. In the late seventies, we often took the Friday night train from Göteborg to Köpenhamn, with the train boarding the ferry at Helsingborg and driving off again at Helsingör and continuing on to the city centre (7 hours total). There, we listened to the jazz groups on the static river barges in classic riverside settings, drinking finest ales and wines, and staying in cheap hostels until returning on the Sunday. Beautiful city then just south of you, but I haven't been back since c:a fifteen years. No, you can't go back, too much has been ruined in the name of bursting populations and quick profit by non-residents.


School Reunion 2008 (posted on: 18-05-15)
celebrating its half-centenary

.
Pre-tanked to offset shocks with aging, five old toads talk profusely of post-war times, of success and failure in a fabulous era; though, pleading amnesia when appropriate, like now, confronted by three tanned toadesses exhuming old passions, implying complicity! The fun's about to start for this knot of now eleven at first honoured table! "Madame! Have you no shame!" We all snigger. Ice broken, someone recites in gruff voice: "We pioneering pupils when the school was new, managing to gather just a ragged few. And what of absent, lucky rest? Too far afield, fully dead, AWOL....or in hospice slippers and Sunday best!" We all giggle loudly. (Then a peanut thrown to attract attention starts a full-scale war, cherry soda and nibbles flying everywhere, midst whooping, squealing, pulling faces, staggering and tottering on spills; till a young Afro-Asian monitor in smart blue blazer and grey flannel shorts reports 'the Headmaster's not pleased!' We quieten down, and regain our calm.) And look on, as all around the playground wall, the glassed-roofed quadrangle slowly fills with teachers and pupils in expanding groups, progressing on from each table to the next, noticeably darker, younger, more UK global; triennium divisions noisily filling the assembly hall. (Two churlish toads, longstanding rivals for the 'demure duchess', man up..... truce broken, all Hell's let loose again! Hahahaha!) Told to leave quietly, we shuffle past the last two tables where all are clothed in equatorial robes; parents indignant, loudly jabbering in strange tongues, whose precocious small tadpoles reprimand us in perfect posh English: 'No wonder you hang your heads in shame, you've behaved disgracefully - forget the centenary, we've black marked your names!' Having suffered death, warlords, persecution, why should they pity our plundered souls? Those smart young kids are good for New Britain, and rightly ignorant of what we must think; we whose time has long since passed, who now, still chuckling, stroll on familiar streets, not, when as children, ambling homewards, but, returning back to fifty years on..... and loneliness. TR:Gteborg:2015

Archived comments for School Reunion 2008
Mikeverdi on 18-05-2015
School Reunion 2008
I've never been to any reunion, be it school or club. I can only see that it would be dire. Having bumpt into a couple of childhood friends over the years, time moves on and so do we. I have never wanted to find that place again.
Thanks for the early heads up Trevor, although, I think with this one, the picture was clear. As always great writing.
Mike

Author's Reply:
I went to a school reunion in 2008 Mike, and you're right, awakens more sadness in todays Britain, than positive nostalgia. It wasn't this one here, which is mostly fictitious, but some truths in there drawn from that experience. Over the last 20 years, I've spent too much time trying to rediscover a past that's not there anymore, because it's mostly coupled to people now departed. Was it Thomas Mann* who said "you can never go back"; too much lost, too much changed. Ex-pats always over-idealise the home country when away from it, and inevitable suffer a reality shock when back visiting. Some places have a magnetic pull to them, and I would expect a coastal city like Plymouth with strong identity to retain a lifelong attraction for those born and bred there. I visit and travel throughout Britain five/six times a year now to places I've always wanted to visit and look around, so not living there now doesn't really bother me that much as I would always be on the move.
Thanks, I'm glad this little essay gave clear messaging.
Trevor

*No it was Thomas Wolfe:

“You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood, back home to romantic love, back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame, back home to exile, to escape to Europe and some foreign land, back home to lyricism, to singing just for singing's sake, back home to aestheticism, to one's youthful idea of 'the artist' and the all-sufficiency of 'art' and 'beauty' and 'love,' back home to the ivory tower, back home to places in the country, to the cottage in Bermude, away from all the strife and conflict of the world, back home to the father you have lost and have been looking for, back home to someone who can help you, save you, ease the burden for you, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time--back home to the escapes of Time and Memory.”

stormwolf on 18-05-2015
School Reunion 2008
Very originally set out and delivered old bean. It was poignant and heart- warming all at one. Expertly written.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Alison, young beaness, thought I'd venture out into short essay form, hoping this layout would ease reading. Started out as seven paragraphs, but cut it down to essentials, to keep the main factor of painful rapid change making old people, who have given up, resigned themselves to the tragic fact of losing any solid identity they once had, to become a little destructive in their attitudes and behaviour in this emotional, but controlled situation. Glad it appears to have worked as intended this time.
Trevor


When Loving's More Fearful (posted on: 08-05-15)
about anorexia

Protected from inclement elements the pendulum swings from one source of sustenance to another from soma to psyche satisfy one, awaken the other and so repeated from primal split, till lust leaves life What lurks in love's cruel mantle to a priori stop the clock? Angst's most secret mystery self-sacrificial essentially sequential Hunger works but wasting kills when loving's more fearful than dying TR:Gteborg:2015

Archived comments for When Loving's More Fearful
deadpoet on 08-05-2015
When Lovings Feared More
Hi Gothicman first I was going to say the last 2 lines were unrealistic but then I realised that it can be very true especially after losing a loved one and not daring to love again for fear of losing again. Quite esoteric lines in this poem. Angst and love.. very basic and primitive. Well done..
Pia

Author's Reply:
Thank you Pia,
well both angst and love are here simpler, more meter-balanced words for anxiety and sexual energy, something anxiety-laden blocks the sexual energy transfer function (at its height orgasmic) from surfacing in the anorexic mental process. Given protection from the elements, nutrition and procreation (like waking and sleeping) used to alternate in clear cycles and still does in primitive tribes until balanced living and welfare (and discovering unnatural light sources) blurred the changeover point, made it more arbitrary. There is a priority ranking of respiration, temperature, nutrition, and sexuality, and keeping one need unresolved can prevent the next from arising. Here hunger signals hold sexuality at bay, but the damage is the side-effect of wasting, which here is merely, but tragically, incidental to the defence. Just one theory.
Trevor

deadpoet on 08-05-2015
When Lovings Feared More
Sorry, forgot to rate ☺

Author's Reply:
Thanks.

stormwolf on 08-05-2015
When Lovings More Fearful
Hi Trevor,

A hard-hitting poem about a very dreadful condition.

There does seem to be an inner battle going on and there are several reasons put forward for the cause but the damage on everyone is pitiless.
The last 4 lines are incredible.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison,

yes, we must make it quite clear that there is no conscious volition involved in any way. It would appear to be an aberration at process level rather than one of cognition as no deep analysis by conversation has been able to breach the defence and leak and dismantle what it might protect. The most effective help has been by using gradual desensitizing programmes at behavioural level with cognitive encouragement, using small nutritional intake to sustain life but not enough to dampen hunger signals, often combined with heavy calorie burning using energy consuming activities, jogging, power-walking etc. And continuing with this while the clever brain gradually corrects the biochemical imbalance by maturing more in line with the genetic blueprint.
Thanks as always for your fine comments.

Trevor x

Shortened! Forget I've retired sometimes!

Mikeverdi on 10-05-2015
When Lovings More Fearful
Great thoughtful writing Trevor. It's great to have you back mate. The last four lines are a touch of class.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Mike, moving's been very tiring, but good to have the summer free now. Always good to see your name and encouraging comments.
Trevor


Can Frogs Sit On Toadstools? (posted on: 01-05-15)
Only if they do what Mummy says

Thirty-two years later, and two months afterwards: She was "kneeling on a balcony praying when a ball of light descended and a beautiful goddess in flowing robes surrounded by lyre holding nymphs hovering with gold swan-like wings, appeared .'' No, he interrupted, he couldn't accept that... She stared at him with searching hesitation until her eyes suddenly sparkled She was "sitting in the changing room of the local women's netball club while all around players were undressing to go in the shower'' adding in a low whisper: ''That'll get you off!'' Smiling back, he agreed it sounded interesting, and would she tell him more. She had progressed well with her creative thinking, and would soon inwardly understand the curative difference between made-up fantasies that were illogical and made-up fantasies that were possible, but simply fictitious, an imperative distinction maintained throughout their conversations. Before too long, she felt cohesive enough to complete her return from first impervious babble to presenting real experiences, to look at second-chance scars on her wrists, and sob uncontrollably recalling the tragic loss of her infant son, and move on and cope......for awhile. For, extra support was sometimes needed when prolonged stress gave warning of regressive defensive tendencies. With good results, and would have succeeded, if only her cognitive dissonance had lacked all forms of peer corroboration in contemporary life.... TR:Gteborg:2015

Archived comments for Can Frogs Sit On Toadstools?
Mikeverdi on 01-05-2015
Can Frogs Sit On Toadstools?
As usual with your writing, I needed to read this a few times before commenting 🙂 Another interesting write Trevor, I'm beginning to wonder how many times you have sat beside the sofa with your pen poised. 'Second-chance scars' oh my, that's a sad line; but maybe not, as sometimes a second chance is all you need.
Mike

Author's Reply:
No, I don't spend more than an hour or so writing a week just now, Mike, mostly writing direct in the submission box Hahahaha! This was a bit experimental, and probably a failed such, and after I have acknowledged your kind words, which you will receive in your mail, I'm thinking of deleting it.
I hope that which ails you turns out to be a real second chance situation too.
Trevor

Mikeverdi on 01-05-2015
Can Frogs Sit On Toadstools?
Ahh...you missed my point Trevor. I was thinking of you as the doctor, sat taking notes. This is a good piece.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Ooops! You're right, thanks, must put my Lennon specs on before commenting!
Trevor


Wilderness Way - Intro (posted on: 24-04-15)
A real walk too!

Vast overhead sky is becoming brilliantly iridescent and the feeling is joie de vivre! For, as enduring Nature stimulates latent worlds to start new life, the preordained day to brave this analogic journey Vildmarksleden, the Wilderness Way. has loomed up again. At dawn, early Spring, prevenient to mosquitoes helped aloft by floods from late-April rain, the coveted moment has arrived to test fitness for purpose. Straddling a sporadic ridge winding through scrubland, swamp, and forest, this challenging walk has been trodden and shaped over a thousand years by Man's aversion to obstacle and hazard. Good mental, physical, and equipment preparation is the key to success. Stretch-bracing the backpack at the wooden arch start, taking deeper breaths of energising air, I sense the weather gods are endorsing my meaning, smiling on a worn, tough old campaigner expressing an earnest desire to resist extinction. Muscles, sinews, joints have responded gainfully to a night's respite, blood glucose and salt levels are high, the map has been orientated, compass set. The confines and proof of good direction are various indications of light erosion, faint red-ringed snags at irregular intervals, avoidance of injury and mishap, occasional encounters with consummate beauty, base plate arrow pointing principally forwards, (it will repay wise trust at dusk!) Triumph over hostile terrain, requires surviving two types of pain. Able to openly reminisce, to humbly recollect, to simply enjoy the feeling of living, no one would readily desecrate any spiritual invocation this unique meditative situation will have helped to create. Relish it while it lasts, for it too will be lost with the dying of the light! TR:Gteborg:2015

Archived comments for Wilderness Way - Intro
Mikeverdi on 24-04-2015
Wilderness Way
That sounds like a thing I'd like to do 🙂 Well written Trevor, I wish you well on your journey.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike, I'm sure you would enjoy it too. Anyway, done it now, totally knackered, but in slow recovery! Hahaha! Promised the family it would be the last (before the dying of the light). This writing has now been revisited and changed, thankfully far more than the actual walk itself! Hahahaha! It's meant to be the intro of a further piece describing thoughts and encounters while actually doing it - see if it can become anything - might pull the whole idea! Hope all is well with you, and thanks again.
Trevor


Second Advent Of Man (posted on: 17-04-15)
From small acorns Propagandist pamphlet by the STRIOC Society

While at an impressionable young age, I was not imbued with the indelible fear of damnation, eternal burning, importance of keeping in the good books of a supreme keeper of some paradise, opening its gates only at after-life, one reserved solely for inducted devotees la faith pluralis, and those who pray, and cannot therefore reassign, or shy away from, my responsibility. I offer and need a real outstretched hand, for, not endowed with magi adoration or messiah adventus, I have no faith in the primitive supernatural, but rather only in the pureness and objectivity of those similarly spared! <> I appeal to people who like me laughed at the antics of clowns in infancy, so too at monty python, popes, archbishops, rabbis, imams, their helpers, disciples, pastors and imposters, their ceremonies and rituals, their hilarious dress, their mumbo-jumbo incommunicado! But, of course, those who sympathised too. Seeing them struggle with mental obsessions, the compulsive need for forgiveness, protection, retribution, proliferation, to please and be favoured by some omnipotent parent substitute, destined to always extol their dyed-in identities, their holiness on others, expounding words of delusional archaic primogenitors! <> I seek then, more of those genuinely compassionate, with adult dependency, gregarious atheists without doomed and damned souls, privileged to be bequeathed the health-preserving state of modern psychical freedom. There are others who are the last surviving bearers of unimpaired thinking; caretakers of the universal spirit. We must start a formidable new-wave movement. For, working together, we could gradually eradicate religious indoctrination of children, and therewith war, sickness, poverty, futile suffering, before it's too late! You can meet us this Wednesday evening at the Sunflower Caf, Union Place, off the High Street. Tea & cheese roll 23p (cost price) Doris and Nigel extend a cordial welcome to all! TR:Gteborg:2015

Archived comments for Second Advent Of Man
bo_duke99 on 18-04-2015
Second Advent Of Man
'found' this pretty cool, and easy to read

Author's Reply:
Thank you bo_duke99. Yes, as Aristotle said: "One should think like a wise man, but express oneself like the rabble." Or similar. The beauty of the English language, compared to most of the rest, is its simplicity allowing profound messaging to still awaken curiosity without requiring exertion....

Mikeverdi on 19-04-2015
Second Advent Of Man
You're back then 🙂

Author's Reply:
Yes 🙂

Pronto on 19-04-2015
Second Advent Of Man
When I read stuff like this I thank God I'm an atheist. 😉

Seriously, I found this well on my wave length well written mate!

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Pronto, the Sunflower Cafe will be quite full at this rate! Glad it struck a common chord.

deadpoet on 21-04-2015
Second Advent Of Man
Oh I'm waiting in the queue outside to get a table- 🙂

Author's Reply:
No need, Doris has reserved you one by the window and er du meget velkommen!


Fallen Hero (posted on: 26-01-15)
but a brave, well-meaning inspirer

To a fatherless boy, cousin Barry served a special role, when on Shelley's land in Hampshire, with head-on swish of hand, he adeptly caught flies basking on Monet bridge rails, and casting them to snapping brook trout, poached a brace or three for tea. A Korean hero, who fell at Vietnam, he withdrew to, till late in working life, sell wire-cut Cheddar, bought 4 o'clock daily at Smithfield's, from an old Bedford van; no longer awe-inspiring, he taught me how romantic revolution differs from conscripted war. TR:London:2006

Archived comments for Fallen Hero
Mikeverdi on 26-01-2015
Fallen Hero
That you would compose this Homage' to him speaks volumes Trevor.
Mike

Author's Reply:
He was very extraordinary, Mike. A specialist in jungle warfare, he served with the USA special forces in both wars, Taught me a lot for my own two main skills later, night navigation and combat survival (surviving in any environment using just Nature and your wits!). I chose this memory as the romantic poet, Shelly, was known for being an advocate of passive protest and revolution when seeking change, and a favourite of Gandhi. (Avington, in the Itchen Valley, was in fact Shelly's brother's home, but who's telling!).
Barry died in 2010 aged 77.
Thanks Mike, for your comment.
Trevor

Bozzz on 28-01-2015
Fallen Hero
Those who died in Vietnam are today seldom remembered. Does 'fell' mean died or merely wounded and lived on to sell cheese? To lose a true friend is always a pain - I am a touch confused.
But well done the flies too, their French accents were irresistible to Hampshire trout - noble deaths. No disrespect intended. Yours, David

Author's Reply:
Yes, although fought with UN approval and blessing, it turned out a nasty business and waste of effort and human life. Barry told me he felt good about Korea as, in spite of some atrocities, it was fought fairly honourably, if war can ever be described as such. (ironically, now less successful long-term result than Vietnam!) But at Vietnam, he had lost all inclination to fight a just war, or war for freedom and democracy, so afterwards he left the forces with exemplary merits, and a good pension, found selling cheese the only solo occupation that suited him (and which made him a lot of money, I should add), until his retirement in 2003. He never suffered any post-soldiering trauma or adaptation problems, but had own-boss, own decision-making in his blood right to the end in 2010. Died of lung-cancer though having given up smoking 40 years before! People ate cheese cut by an unsung hero of his time, my particular hero (he was a masterly angler!)
Thanks for commenting, David.
Trevor

Nemo on 29-01-2015
Fallen Hero
I never knew anybody like this. Your poem brings this man to life. Neatly done. Surprised David hasn't called it prose. He does mine.
Gerald

Author's Reply:
Yes, the old potato, Gerald, border-drawing.
I've deleted the developed thoughts as written while quite sleepy and on re-reading didn't understand them myself!
David likes me because compared to mine, his work shines brilliantly, he hates you because you are equally brilliant making you both look bog-standard ordinary! hahaha! Flash buggers!
Thanks for your comments.
Trevor



Ionicus on 29-01-2015
Fallen Hero
An interesting tale of an intriguing character whose friendship you obviously cherished. Well written.
Luigi

Author's Reply:
Yes, he was an enigma, Luigi, a gentle, quiet man, fearful of death, but resourceful and brave through trust in his own judgement, knowledge, and experience. The two things that turned him away from being a professional soldier while in Vietnam was the use of agent orange (de-foliageing) and napalm, and seeing its consequences. Not his type of warfare. He only thrived as a solo specialist, but fathered six children from two women! What an enigma!
Thanks Luigi,
Trevor

dylan on 30-01-2015
Fallen Hero
Very accomplished poem and a fitting tribute.
Orrabest,

D.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Dylan.
I've been feeling a bit despondent about writing more poetry lately, and your words of praise, from such an accomplished pen, have given me renewed impetus, especially now, for the first time in my life, having the time to make a serious effort!
Much appreciated.
Trevor


Modern Freedom (posted on: 23-01-15)
or getting real!

Bequeath your children an integral self, influenced only by current social ethics, but free from primitive psychical burdens; for, denied this basic right, they will be blighted with the cankerous, indelible residues of static primordial thinking, and suffer the greenstick delusion of objectivity and independence. Now orphaned from hand-on-heart singing and religious imbecility, now relieved of their vanquisher, valiant romance, I maunder retroactively onwards, from nomadic expurgation, to nostalgic rumination; now grateful to the numbness of aging, and triumph of spawning fresh new trickles from liberated streams. For more info see comments to "Mass Indoctrination" TR:London:2012

Archived comments for Modern Freedom
Bozzz on 24-01-2015
Modern Freedom
Yes, to despise or decry or punish or kill your neighbour because his's fantasies are not the same as yours, is surely the height of imbecility. By definition then half the world's adults are mad and sufficiently so to not realise it. Is the realisation through age you speak of a true release from the burden or a mere scratch of agnosticism?
For me this treat of a poem puts the true situation in the nicest possible way. I was was fortunate to start my life in the desert, free of the imaginings of others and live in hope that my own imbecilities are less harmful to mankind. Is that atheism - is that real? For me, yes - and for me this is an excellent piece from a conjuring mind. Bravo Gerald....David

Author's Reply:
Thank you, David. Not many would have the courage to take this discussion on! Yes, different fantasies instilled in the knowledge-seeking psyche at a developmental age when reasoning abilities are inadequately developed to do any meaningful reality testing. And all the big religions, all big businesses, know this and actively and knowingly exploit this vulnerability with rituals and ceremonies timed to give maximum indoctrinating effect. Being at an sensitive age fully reliant on and trusting to the wisdom, greater knowledge, and protection of parents and other adults, i.e. a facilitating environment, children hope they, and it, will be helpful for them with dealing with the on-going and essential process of forming a self-identity; one that is based on constancy and sound logic, thus equipping them with necessary skills and inner strength to meet demands and challenges that increase and get more complex as they get older. This major self-identity formation process works intimately and parallel with the other major developmental process of breaking away from infantile dependency towards adult dependency; both relying and depending on each other to succeed to an optimal level. Once instilled early in the developing psyche the content is "dyed in the fabric of personality" and is extremely durable and resistant to change. But not only that, any attempt to eradicate or transform any part of these self-structures is experienced as "loss, or threat of loss, to the self" i.e. psychical death, and so is met with strongest opposition and resistance, even self-defensive violence if necessary. Here we have the major challenge to the world, how to eradicate the diverse primitive fantasies of established religion, Man's greatest modern failing, without threatening people afflicted with psychical death? We can only appeal to people's willingness to try giving free, objective thinking a chance in young children and youth, as religion today, though having had its uses early in man's primitive history, is now destroying the world and the chance of peace between peoples. The answer lies in not letting religion be a part of the essential socialisation of children, keep their minds free from the indoctrination of unnatural primitive fantasy, and then see how they view and deal with difficult existential phenomena like tragedy, loss, and failure, and joy and beauty, and special achievement etc. The established religions need have nothing to do with how we human beings can and should deal with natural phenomena, why and how we form our politics, morals, laws and ethics. Just think if a ban on early religious indoctrination of children could written into the Charter of Children's Rights at the UN? And all educational authorities would implement it!
Sorry for the rant, David. hahaha!
Trevor (not "G"!)

Bozzz on 24-01-2015
Modern Freedom
Hi Trevor
My apologies for Geraldification
David - enjoyed your fine reply.



Author's Reply:
No problem David, I was honoured; shame his poetry talent didn't wrongly transplant at the same time! Hahaha!
Trevor

Mikeverdi on 25-01-2015
Modern Freedom
Bugger....you two do go on HaHa! Enough to say that I agree with much (if not all) of what you say; and anyway I couldn't say it better. 🙂
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike.
Trevor (Hahaha!)


Opposites Attract (posted on: 12-01-15)
home from the overnight sleeper

Zigzagging across the 66th parallel cosy and recumbent in a glass-roofed sarcophagus Thor's chiffon silk nightshirt forced to dance by some mad puppeteer had mesmerised star-struck eyes created moving magnets See now the garden frost-shrivelled to the ground! Still, no sound or movement from dead-hung leaves All around, mist, frozen amber and so fearfully near two gaunt, faint holograms But as night falls soft lamps define outlines tinting them with life's vital bloom heralding spring, and summer; dare to hope, predicted so soon? Snowflakes lighten the landscape as reflections, smiling pull closer TR:Gteborg:2015

Archived comments for Opposites Attract
Mikeverdi on 12-01-2015
Opposites Attract
Good to see you back Trevor...happy new year!
Nice starter for ten HaHa!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Mike, and happy new year to you too! Changed that second line a bit otherwise Keith would have blown a fuse! Hahaha! Wishing you all the best for 2015. And it's a goodbye from Trevor...Goodbye, and it's a goodbye from me...goodbye! Hahaha.
Trevor

Bozzz on 13-01-2015
Opposites Attract
Not fair. You do it without having to try. But I would have preferred Freyr's satin night dress - with normal content.
My dreams too. For New Year, a great piece old friend. ....David

Author's Reply:
David, you didn't tell me on retiring time speeds up 3 x and demands on leisure time tenfold! Hahaha! Yes, Freja in her lace undies doing a (north) pole dance would have been more fun! Got thrashed in the face by Thor's underpants on my walk this morning in a blizzard! Yes, let's hope for a good long summer without getting too hot! Thanks, and wishing you the best for this year in your countryside idyll.
Trevor

Nemo on 14-01-2015
Opposites Attract
You nearly had me in Lapland for Christmas Trevor! I enjoyed the train journey, and thought there's scope for more. I've got spring bulbs popping up already. Too early, let's have a proper miserable, bleak, damp, murky, frosty, freezing, slippery winter first.

Cheers, Gerald

Author's Reply:
Yes, Gerald, reindeers and ice hotels and 2 hours daylight, not for sun worshippers! Yes, I agree, each season shall have its months, four strong and clearly defined contrasts! Because of where the Mexican Gulf stream and the Portuguese Azures collide, Sweden only really has a Winter and Summer, everything dying quickly at the first deep frost and bursting into bloom at the first warming sun. The Welsh border, c:a Monmouthshire, is the place to experience beautiful springs and autumns! Glad you enjoyed swishing through the forests!
Trevor

red-dragon on 15-01-2015
Opposites Attract
Well crafted imagery, as always from you, Trevor. Long time no see.

Author's Reply:
Ann, how good to see you back! Yes, a long time. I hope all is well in the shadow of Snowden! Some pretty rough weather lately! We need more of your exquisite poems, I hope you're still creating those gems, or about to do so and submit them again. Thanks for your kind comment, and I wish you a prosperous and happy new year.
Trevor x


Inspiration (posted on: 22-12-14)
Feeling the need for a short intermission

Nature Displays romantic blooms Seductively opening fragrant stamens To swarming bees, who softly dabbing Pollinate afresh, embryonic seeds Awaiting germination Inspired Minds blossom and fade Fleeting moments of passion or sorrow Bestowing nectar, then withering away For at summer's end, they too Fall as sapless leaves <> Soon, When surface ice has thawed asunder Fine snow sculptures will remain To delicately overhang the ditch Where jet black water, mirror bright Reflects the dull day sky Colourless world, white and silent No sound yet of awakening life No creature calls from like to like No mournful cry of survival strife Just cadence of defrosting drops Stirs winter's calm intermezzo; and In melting holes soon to flow Warmed by glorious distant glow Muses wait, confused, in limbo 'twixt plus, minus zero Merry Xmas & Farewell for awhile Watching the Northern Lights and winter sports TR:Gteborg:2014

Archived comments for Inspiration
ValDohren on 22-12-2014
Inspiration
Superb write, very inspired. Enjoy the Northern Liights. Merry Xmas to you also, all all good wishes for the New Year.
Val x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Val, Yes, it will be real winter snow and I particularly like watching the Biathlon (skiing and shooting) and the Downhill events. All the season's best to you, hope Xmas feels cosy warm, and that the new year brings you all you wish for. See you cyberwise in 2015!
Trevor x

sweetwater on 23-12-2014
Inspiration
I liked this very much, it has some beautiful images, I could feel the desolate cold. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Sue, you're very kind, and thanks for listing it a favourite. Well it's only cold when its damp snow, when it's crispy newly-fallen under sunny blue skies it's very fresh and exhilarating. Cheapest option for my Xmas celebration just now as well! Hahaha! Wishing you, Sue, a Merry Xmas and a better new year than you expect considering the environmental changes affecting you; it may be your lucky year even so! Hope so.
Trevor x

Bozzz on 25-12-2014
Inspiration
Dear Trevor. I picture you running and skiing - nay driving though the frozen forests - collecting scenes and adjectives for your next batch of poems. As ever this one is a beauty. Nature always gives us the best in the end. My very special good wishes - enjoy what holiday you will allow yourself ...David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David. No, lying high up on a glass-roofed overnight sleeper train for most of the time;, warm and cosy, wonderful experience as it snakes its long way with just a hardly discernible low swishing noise along miles and miles of wild, desolate country, under black, star-filled sky. Back home now I'm relieved of all formal discipline and responsibility, going to really enjoy it! Thank you for your good wishes and I wish you all the best back, hope 2015 is a good year for you, bringing you all you wish yourself and your nearest. Gotta lot to catch up on!...Trevor


Simian Sympathy (posted on: 08-12-14)
Esoteric

Addicted to peeling skin, Maurice conditionally criss-crossed over blank canvas randomly splattered with Waterman oils on customized Trek Domane bicycle. Duped into believing its provenance 'attic find by Woody on Fr', an eminent New York Art critic proclaimed it: a macroscopic map of Man's most primitive truths, from first bold mitosis to..... lab-engineered meiosis: "the struggle and suffering scream out at us all!" The chimp agreed. TR:London:2014

Archived comments for Simian Sympathy
Mikeverdi on 08-12-2014
Simian Sympathy
Difficult for me to comment on this as I am blinkered when it comes to art. If it doesn't look like the thing it's supposed to represent, for me its crap. I'm just a philistine.A chimp and Picaso are all the same to me.
Mike

Author's Reply:
I think this piece is very profoundly philosophical Mike, but it may not come over as so. If the monkey had by chance tyre marked the oil paint into some sort of obscure effigy of Jesus, and was promoted as such, then it may well have given more weight to the Art critic's sad indictment of Man's most persevering undignified and downgrading area of 'struggle and suffering' i.e. in that case archaic religion. Here, it just highlights the pretentious and essentially esoteric, world of synthetic intellectual superiority. The monkey understands and sympathizes with us humans having to put up with this sham world of intellectual pretentiousness, his only worry is whether he'll get one or two bananas for his contribution to the arts! Lucky fellow! Hahahaha!
Friend Trevor.
(Two bananas = 1 red nib!)

Ionicus on 08-12-2014
Simian Sympathy
At least it was an original work and the painter wasn't aping other artists.
A good bit of satire aimed at the 'cognoscenti', Trevor.
Luigi

Author's Reply:
Yes, you've hit it on the head here, Luigi. Think if the monkey handed over his skid-marked effort to the art critic, and the art critic hade then said he had good cycling skills and called the painting 'Cycle lane, Oxford Street/ Regent Street Interchange', (the way those London monkeys ride their bikes!) I might well have bought it at auction (if Boris hadn't beaten me to it first! Hahahahaha!
Yes, the 'cognoscenti' don't we just love them!
Just confirmed by the BBC, Maurice was paid two bananas, and the painting fetched $5,00000 at auction. Reminds me somehow of Indian child workers making IKEA carpets!
Thanks Luigi.
Trevor

Nemo on 08-12-2014
Simian Sympathy
Was the chimp's effort better than some of the 'art' we see on display? I am as wary of modern art as I am of some online poetry. I'm with Mike. I don't get it. Enjoyed this, though.
Gerald

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed this, Gerald; the esoteric part supplying good example referred to Woody Allen's admiration for the film director Ingmar Bergman whose home was on Fårö (Sheep Island) off Stockholm; known for his surrealistic and highly symbolic work; he died in 2007. Yes, some cryptic esoteric poetry makes you think, but that's all, the resulting effect on the reader being unresolved puzzlement, especially if the couplings are too far-fetched for most.
Trevor

sweetwater on 09-12-2014
Simian Sympathy
Ah-ha got it now, needed help from the other comments to "see" it, but now I have I think it's very good, took me a while to realise the peeling skin was a banana ( yes I'm that thick! ) this " art blindness" happens too often, Tracy Emmens(?) Unmade bed is a good example. Give me true art that takes real talent and produces something recognisable. I wish I had your talent with words and could write as interesting and thought provoking a piece as this. Sue x

Author's Reply:
Hahahaha, thanks Sue, I thought the banana part was the least esoteric bit! Hahaha! This was inspired by real deceptions by, not of course the monkeys, but those with access to their natural curiosity and love of bananas! The most famous one was actually contrived here in Gothenburg, but there have been many more

http://www.todayifoundout.com/index.php/2013/03/the-monkey-artist-hoax/

http://hoaxes.org/weblog/comments/monkey_art_fools_expert

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2095416/Can-guess-painting-ELEPHANT-work-modern-artist.html

http://www.timeshighereducation.co.uk/features/dissent-of-man-on-ape-art/100635.article

The elephant needed to sell well, to pay for his enormous ateljéHahahaha!
Trevor x

Bozzz on 10-12-2014
Simian Sympathy
Reminded me of 1 million monkeys on 1 million typewriters and William's entire works - didn't believe that as likely. World banana crop destroyed in the attempt. Another thicko struggled with the economy of words and clues - I tend to agree with with Sue about art stuff. But as usual, your poetry stands up without needing complete understanding of the depth. Good on yer.....David

Author's Reply:
Sorry for the delay, I'm desperately trying to go smoothly into full retirement at journey's end! Well, there are lots of people claiming to be experts in fuzzy areas of interpretation and as such are very vulnerable to hoaxing as they mystify, glorify, fabulate, at the drop of a hat! Quasi-intellectualism, whatever that means! Not to be confused with good poetry like this! Hahahaha! Get the single malt in David, before the Xmas rush! Thanks as always..
Trevor


Wuthering At Top Withens (posted on: 01-12-14)
On Pennine Way

Rest denied by such steadfast roots, our sapless limbs justly shake aggrieved fingers at yielding brick; so cruelly thrashed to jagged forms, buttressed walls have lost all grip, to insidious time. Now roofless, once dwellings racked by forces, vibrant and all obtrusive. And from inside, soaring air slices into sighs, lovers lamenting in succession, name to name, seeking solace from ruthless aging, seeking respite to catch one's breath! Look back on our wasteland ruins, deprived of outer drama, long since forsaken; benevolent rest denied! www.youtube.com/watch?v=FwB0a6UOnSk TR:London:2014

Archived comments for Wuthering At Top Withens
Mikeverdi on 01-12-2014
Wuthering At Top Withens
Another terrific read Trevor, fine use of metaphor; the comparisons drawn shout out at me. You have always said you are a wanderer...from one of your journeys?
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike, yes, a shorter stretch of this long walk recently undertaken. Both a visual description and induced metaphor while dithering, reflecting, and wuthering at this lonely spot, supposedly the inspirational source for Brontë's classic book, where even now the wind alternates with "Catherine - Heathcliff" in all eternity! Both a simile and a metaphor really as the descriptions are of both the place as well as of me! (Changed the end to make this clearer).
Trevor

deadpoet on 01-12-2014
Wuthering At Top Withens
I don't get many chances these days to visit old rundown houses but I did once and always imagined the life that went on in them in olden days. It's nice to see you also do this. Comes across really well here. Like people- young and old.

Author's Reply:
Thank you deadpoet, this lonely rain- and windswept spot has an eery feel of bygone history. Difficult to imagine how life was like for the people living there, up to as recently as 1920. Wonderful desolate places for inner contemplation and philosophical rumination.
Gothicman

stormwolf on 02-12-2014
Wuthering At Top Withens
Trevor! You shock me!
I thought you did not like centered poems 😉
Those old houses do have such a feeling about them. I see old abandoned crofts all over the Highlands and I wonder...who lived there...what happened? Was there once the sound of happy children playing round the walls?
You captured the starkness well.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
As if I could shock you, Alison! Hahahaha! Well, as well as those that are geometrically inviting so will even I use this format, especially if, like here it makes two geometrically balanced shapes to promote the double nature of the content messaging. It is well-known that when idle thoughts are only steered by ongoing external perceptions (the primary source of memory search), the process of cognition will always be a true reflection of your psychical self, your own personality impregnates what you are perceiving and vice-versa; dynamic psychotherapy relies on this phenomenon when in non-steered conversation all the patient/client reports says something about the therapist as well e.g. "I was disappointed with my sister yesterday..." means "I am disappointed with my progression in therapy..i.e. with you". In this poem, one old deserted ruin is recognising and feeling a strong affinity with another. All these descriptions of the old ruin apply equally well to myself (exception, I still have my "roof" even if thinner at the crown!) Your love of life, family and children help you get a special feeling for these old abandoned crofts, so you yourself are very much a part of the emotional thoughts they induce in you. All the old crofts have been modernised and fitted with gold-tapped jacuzzis using pensions built on NS Oil these days n'est-ce pas?! Hahaha! Thanks Alison.
Trevor x

Bozzz on 03-12-2014
Wuthering At Top Withens
Not the Berlin wall, but maybe the 400-year old crumbling mudded cob that edges our garden and is leaned against by a an aged fruitless cherry - the house is but 100 years younger and the occupants 300 - all are dying. Thanks for reminding us Trevor, in your usual imaginative way ! .....Yours aye, David

Author's Reply:
Is that an old-people's home? Well, if you're intent on and are stubborn enough about living to a ripe old age, residing in and finding affinity with an ancient english village is of course the thing to do! I expect you are part of the old knotted woodwork now, with your own claimed place in the local snug? Reminds me, David, of the Times cartoon seen recently, of a man holding a newspaper with the heading "Siberian man yesterday reached 140 years, attributing his old age to only eating yogurt, to never having had a woman, and to never touching alcohol". The man he's showing the newspaper to, says "It probably just feels like 140 years!" Hahaha! You and me are both old ruins, but we've had a good full life; the only difference is, I like in this poem look back on all the loves in my life, and you on all the superheterodyne receivers you've built! Hahahaha!
Thanks David, all good fun.
Trevor


The Bird Table (posted on: 28-11-14)
A titillating view from a back garden window!!

. pair of greenfinches one robin, flock of common house sparrows cracked greenhouse pane a migrant starling the resident blackbird, and an interloper; a white-throated warbler? neighbour's au pair sunbathing again two great tits one blue tit pair of coal tits lesser spotted woodpecker TR:London:2004

Archived comments for The Bird Table
Mikeverdi on 28-11-2014
The Bird Table
HaHa! My morning chuckle taken care of Trevor.
Mike

Author's Reply:
His au pair was 57, from Bulgaria, and looked like Tommy Cooper! Fooled a lot of readers with this one! Hahahaha!
Trevor

sweetwater on 29-11-2014
The Bird Table
Loved this, I began thinking how nice to see so many birds, then up came your neighbour and the various tits and I had to laugh. Good fun 🙂 Sue .

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sue, bit of fun to break the November gloom.
Trevor x

Ionicus on 30-11-2014
The Bird Table
Apparently the avifauna of Sweden has 501 species of birds. The great tits one must have escaped the nest.
Gave me a chuckle.
Luigi

Author's Reply:
Yes, Luigi, all these tits are very versatile, can hang at all sorts of angles, especially from coconut shells, where they peek out and charm all who watch. Glad it amused you!
Trevor


Meredith's Sweet-Aired Eden (posted on: 24-11-14)
An October day 2004 after purchasing George Meredith's Selected Poems 1898, fishing by the house where he lived, perhaps at the spot where he wrote them!

As the Mole at Box Hill gurgles leisurely past stepping stones, and drowsy chub and perch rise on a day bathed in sunshine, is there better relaxation than to lie in receding reeds, squinting attentively at dappling glitter, tracking a red dot rhythmically bobbing? A bite. perhaps; for small mistrals, dipping and twitching tapered rod, will tease strained eyes, as nylon, looping with downstream drag, hauls spiked maggot past minnow and gudgeon, on over silted mire. Opening poetry in musty leather, ..smelling of homes visited after death, senses, soothed by tinkling bubbles and wind rustling in quivering reeds, soon merge into one awareness. Sweet as Eden is the air And Eden-sweet the ray. No Paradise is lost for them Who.......... Instinct alerts unfocused eyes to spotless flow; striking with clumsy haste, water rat dives with resounding ''plop'', showing open contempt for careless miss; active, no longer one with Nature, flustered robin too, signals regret, for risky trust, but wriggling maggots round seething tin, tempt him to stay awhile. Lulled back in restful repose, body sneaks off anew. ....Who foot by branching root and stem And lightly with the woodland share The change of night and day.... Slowly awakening, to cream moon dappled silver in jet black swells in rapidly darkening dusk. How late the hour.noisy nocturnal forms on chalky upland slopes want someone up and gone! Swirling night-black water, pulling with evil intent, seemingly to enclose this violator of some timeless curfew, now hurrying nervously on, lead shot rattling, wellies snapping, comforted only by orange glow of distant car park lamp..... feeling compelled to look back momentarily... at boxwood stump......or, grey-bearded man recumbent in flattened reeds, impishly grinning.......? .....granite squares race sideways underfoot stepping across to alight far bank where river starts to flow again through Meredith's sweet-aired Eden. TR:London:2004

Archived comments for Meredith's Sweet-Aired Eden
Mikeverdi on 24-11-2014
Meredith’s Sweet-Aired Eden
Wonderful, just wonderful.... there's nothing more to say.
Mike

Author's Reply:
You are wonderful, that's a fact too Mike! Just back from daughter's graduation ceremony at St Alban's Cathedral; she looked like an tall angel in her hired mortar board and robes, and in 7" stilettos! So proud! And also the plaster cast is off (stopped using the elbow crutch after two days!) so sleeping again now without that eternal itching! And walking normally in new Clarkes air cushion shoes! Hahahaha! This was a true account of a days fishing and the only thing I caught that day was the eye of two girl ramblers passing by, thinking of them made me quite sleepy......!
Thanks again.
Trevor

Bozzz on 24-11-2014
Meredith’s Sweet-Aired Eden
Trevor, as a less than expert shore fisherman, I enjoyed this snoozy romp among the reed-ridden waters. Distraction from cares at rock bottom cost is a joy we'd share - but your lullaby is more alive that the dull throb of the waves on the sand. I think this piece is magnificent, David.
P.S I suspect I may have omitted to thank you for calling one of my poems a 'hot' number or some such. Apologies and thanks, belated...David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David,
George Meredith was a lovely many-sided man, but never really achieved wider fame as a poet unfortunately. This poem he wrote is his favourite, and mine:

Dirge in Woods

A wind sways the pines,
And below
Not a breath of wild air;
Still as the mosses that glow
On flooring and over the lines
Of the roots here and there.
The pine tree drops its dead;
They are quiet, as under the sea.
Overhead, overhead
Rushes life in a race,
As the clouds the clouds chase;
And we go,
And we drop like the fruits of the tree,
Even we,
Even so.

He loved his Box Hill and the surrounding woods at Dorking. You love sea fishing from the beach, and I, freshwater lake and river, less dangerous sleeping there! Hahahaha!
Trevor


Ionicus on 25-11-2014
Meredith’s Sweet-Aired Eden
Excellent musings among the reeds waiting for a catch.
Luigi

Author's Reply:
Thank you Luigi! Yes, a beautiful spot for relaxing by the river. Nearby, at the foot of Box Hill, further along the river, is the Burford Bridge Hotel, where Nelson spent his last night with Lady Hamilton before sailing to Trafalgar, so a romantic setting and popular walking area.
Trevor

Nemo on 26-11-2014
Meredith’s Sweet-Aired Eden
Trevor! This is best of yours I've read to date. Impressive phrasing and a wealth of impressive vocabulary. I may have to come back and re-savour it. I can remember fishing as a lad but it was never as good as this.

Gerald

Author's Reply:
Thank you Gerald for your very kind and encouraging comments. I wrote this soon after this sunny and warm October day in 2004, so I suppose it has an authentic ring with regard to impression and residual feeling. A break from working, having just arrived at Newcastle and driven down, via Wales (to buy the book), to South London the day before, it was too easy and inevitable that I was to quickly doze off at this tranquil and relaxing setting! You should take up angling again; never met an angler who was a bad person!
Thanks, Gerald,
Trevor

sweetwater on 28-11-2014
Meredith’s Sweet-Aired Eden
Apologies for last minute comment, child minding duties this week so mind somewhat distracted!! Absolute perfection, I have read and re-read this poem it's so captivating, true poetry. Sue xx

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Sue, for your positive comments, glad you liked the read.
Trevor x


Lost Chances (posted on: 14-11-14)
remain as discernible traces

It's the small clues we miss; the hesitant glance, lingering stillness, manoeuvred nearness, strange moments of distraction. Unseen, fate holds sway, leaving nodes of fine design, mushroom buttons of lost chance, languishing in darkness; unloved, with no spores to follow, they sink and vanish; till, falling light finds them, on memory's muddy floor; white corralled pebbles, shining, in slowly ebbing pools of the mind. Thanks to Woodbine for advising deletion of a word, and Leila for confirming it, when originally submitted TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Lost Chances
Mikeverdi on 14-11-2014
Lost Chances
Beautiful, I love the use of metaphor in this one; great lines...'memory's muddy floor' brilliant!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Mike. One of my most read (3,600 hits) and most commented (18) on when first submitted in 2005, so most of Uk have already read it now! Hahaha! Where is everybody? Have poetry sites lost their appeal with the success of other social media including own blog and websites? UKAway seems to keep participants well away after personal contact! Hahaha! Have we reached the point where everything there is to know has been said and done and no one's interested anymore, the world and living having lost all their value and meaning? Strange lull and lack of interest, perhaps too much information or not enough conviction in own opinions and beliefs to want to say or fight for anything anymore. Thanks as always for your encouraging comments, Mike.
Trevor

Nemo on 15-11-2014
Lost Chances
Hi again, Trevor, of the many jealous-making hits! Two lines in particular I find effective despite their unremarkableness are 'the hesitant glance' and 'lingering stillness' for their suggestion of a personal input which I find in the rest of the poem is not there, unfortunately. The outrageous idea that lost chances leave traces in the memory leads to admirable imagery and you make it plausible. The last line comes from an earlier epoch in poetry-making and nowadays is superfluous. Your use of one word lines 'in', 'on', 'they', 'unseen','unloved', 'hill' would have sent Laforgue into free verse apoplexy. 'It's' is pure genius!

Gerald


Author's Reply:
Hi Gerald!
Thanks for your honest comments, "Superfluous" to "an earlier epoch" Hahaha! I do find my mind "ebbing" at an alarming rate these days, often stuck between two language vocabularies and with rapidly failing memory, and lots of missed chances floating up! My most successful poem to date if hits and comments are the criteria (3,600 and 18 respectively) when first submitted in 2005, before I took it off! I suppose normally you get more hits if you are controversial and risk writing away from established and safe norms, or at least try to say things that other people easily identify with (hence the above poem being "we" rather than "I"), or often themselves mull over or even just make them think and question or re-establish own ideas and opinions. Anyway an excellent and informative critique and much appreciated.
Trevor

Bozzz on 16-11-2014
Lost Chances
Feels like unrequited physical desire at first sight across a crowded room to me. But then to the sensuous mortal, fleeting touch is required. Classic brevity wins again - enjoyed...David

Author's Reply:
Thank you, David, yes, mostly missed invite signals, looking back one wonders "if only.." and "how it might have been...", but, misread.... a few slapped faces as well! Hahahaha!....Trevor


Good Charitable Intentions (posted on: 14-11-14)
in the long run, very seldom succeed

To Rose, educating war orphans at Virgo Fidelis meant levelling bumps, rounding edges, knocking flair into conformity, painfully removing all grin and smirk; in short, transforming vital spontaneity into compliant dullness. Late bed-wetting and insomnia aggravated by gas masks and blitz bombing, were treated with buzzers preceding moisture-activated stun blankets; epileptic fits with lobotomy. When words 'ok to touch' appeared in post-Freudian books, Rose joked: Braille was struck from the curriculum, and dormitories were left dark at night. But, on painting branch stumps on trees in Art class, hue and cry mobs searched bomb-site and copse for 'naughty' men; catching seventeen, all pleading shell-shock. Rose once said cynically: the old school motto, Fac Omnia Ad Dei Glorium, had been applied pedagogically as: quos Deus vult perdere, dementat prius,* effectively thwarting all potential expression of her gifted abilities. No one knew then what she meant. Sadly too, her soprano boyfriend's testicles failed to drop, and injections of pituitary extracts from anthropoids caused him to grow two meters, blocking entry to the military, ruining their one chance of a life together. Rose wishes she dare write swear words without asterisks across pension claim forms sent to the Institution a second time in error; instead she wrote: 'Those whom God wishes to destroy, He first makes mad'.* TR:London:2004

Archived comments for Good Charitable Intentions
Mikeverdi on 14-11-2014
Good Charitable Intentions
As usual it was great writing...but bloody bleak. A world I have lived blissfully unaware of.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Yes, a real Dickensonian sad tale before Christmas! The idea came from talking to someone who had been left to and brought up in a nun-run children's home for orphans in West Norwood, London. She had a very lively humour and a glorious sense of self-irony about her backward-looking impressions of the place and what it meant for her own development. Written in John Irving style!
Thanks Mike, as always.
Trevor

Slovitt on 16-11-2014
Good Charitable Intentions
Trevor: you've got a tale to share, and you do it well. you've "created" rose, no small feat. good poem. Swep

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Swep for your encouraging comments, much appreciated. Trevor

Ionicus on 16-11-2014
Good Charitable Intentions
Definitely your best poem, Trevor. Without a doubt. Well deserving of the nib.

Luigi

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Luigi, I have to admit, the nibbling criteria baffles me, but c'est la vie! I found this woman's story sad, as the intentions of this establishment were always good, it was just the methods used based on primitive doctrines that were flawed, especially for psychical progress.
Trevor


The Midnight Rain (posted on: 07-11-14)
The healing properties of dreams

Tapping at the window, a real shadow of a man, cap in hand, down at heel, with forced gruff voice, offered to do an odd job, for the price of a meal, a bed for the night. .he'd been sick, but survived, only his comrades had died; Mum said 'Welcome home'; his face was obscured, but someone had come back, and a child joyfully cried in his pillow... ...early morning, shoulders, broad as a horse, bore him high, past his friends to the stream, where they fished and swam, kicked a ball on the garden lawn till the sun-drenched dawn, scoring the winning goal past a grinning Tom Finney. Awoken by warming light, he retrieved his teddy, and on some foreign field the scattered remains of a small boy's dream gave up their vapours, he slept peacefully again, and the man who tapped like the midnight rain disturbed him no more. TR:London:2003

Archived comments for The Midnight Rain
Mikeverdi on 07-11-2014
The Midnight Rain
For me this is one of your best, thanks.

Mike

I've come back for another read of this one....you have no Nib? An injustice I think; have a Nom instead.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike. Not sure about the status of this one, I think this is the poetical equivalent of the Hallmark crying orphan boy picture! Hahahaha! After the war a lot of soldiers returned to poverty and with no regular jobs to go to, so offered to do odd jobs, going from door to door, in this way. The mother probably said to the man "welcome to our home", but the boy heard what he wanted to hear before sleeping, thus supplying the "remains of the day" thoughts that often trigger off and are woven into dreams. Dreams as wishes often are fulfilled by these unconscious dramas and then cease to seek expression thereafter. Thanks for your support, nibs are not my thing, but thanks for the nom, which I fear is what it will remain! Hahaha!
Trevor


Flock Instincts (posted on: 31-10-14)
Common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys. Lamartine

Well-adapted to the real world, planning actively ahead, learning from experience, I found myself standing secure, but lonely, in the middle of a vast, flat desert, worrying about the fate of others. So, I dug a hole, to above head height, and rediscovered friendship and contentment: in ignorance, in the common suffering of uncertainty, in reliance on divine surprise TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Flock Instincts
Bozzz on 31-10-2014
Flock Instincts
What no ladder? Your metaphor did not clarify the latitude of the desert or the diameter of the hole, so I cannot easily assess your survival chances in days. Now I realise - you had a periscope - perhaps nothing changed?. No Trevor, it was not a good idea - you have too much to give so you will have to take more.....David

Author's Reply:
Hahaha! No, you're right David, I'm not a fatalist, believing strongly in the idea that you can grapple with your birth star and be the architect of your own destiny and fate, at least to a degree that is more than the positive and negative lottery of random chance and coincidence. Having said that there is both a comfort in, and a tendency towards, us wanting to just merge in the herd or flock and assume, become resigned to the fact that, we are nevertheless just playthings of the gods, and all efforts are ultimately doomed to fail, that all paths anyway lead to the grave, and while we can assume no less, perhaps the chance of more, beyond that point? Thanks for waving from far away in the Kalahari.....Trevor

Mikeverdi on 02-11-2014
Flock Instincts
That's so different than I pictured you Trevor, I had you on this cloud with a benevolent hand stretching down to help the struggling masses...I could be wrong HaHaHa!
Great stuff mate, always pleased to read you; and to have made your acquaintance...even if only on the screen.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hahaha Mike! I've just fluttered down from heaven like a dead butterfly! i suppose the moral message of the above lines is that even the best plans and consorted efforts to shape and live a good life can be suddenly sabotaged by cruel fate, so why bother; just therefore live each day as if it was your last, forget personal consequences, and let others take their chances in their strivings and goals and purposes, it's their privilege; the ravages and restrictions of old age and death are what threaten us all anyway. Don't challenge fate, get back in the flock and keep your head down, then the cruel gods using us as playthings may not see you! A benevolent god and heaven awaits us all anyway! So eat, drink, buy sweets and be merry.......Thanks, and the feeling is mutual.. a genuine salt of the earth..very rare!...Trevor


For Whom The Heart Tolls? (posted on: 27-10-14)
The finite rhythm of the heart

We were at your sister's grave today, weeding grass off the large-pebble circle, so Ivy, crowning the flat-laid headstone, would spread on both sides and thrive like a loving heart-shaped necklace. Nearby church bells started pealing, and small shuttered doors either side of the belfry swung open to relay sound over surrounding countryside, snapping shut as the last toll subsided. After dousing plants and dust off inscriptions, we briefly paid homage in mindful silence, and on cycling away, for a few moments, had opened our portiered hearts to the world, and closed them again with their beating still tolling. TR:London:2014

Archived comments for For Whom The Heart Tolls?
Bozzz on 28-10-2014
For Whom The Heart Tolls?
Moment musicale for moment memoriale, good picture Trevor. God opening campanile doors as if to welcome your thoughts enroute ? Yours, David

Author's Reply:
Thank you, David. Sorry for the delay in replying, trying to train someone to take over so I can fully retire, but alas I fear not suitable; problem with "contact"i.e. who you know, going before "merit", the proven, another lowering of quality and blow to democracy! No one on my side have graves, being all cremated and scattered, but my sister-in-law died at just 55 of breast cancer after refusing treatment for reasons not divulged by her. A modern church and graveyard so I suppose the automatic doors are to keep rooks, magpies, and pigeons out while allowing full acoustics? The bell toll seemed to beat with my heart rate, hence the idea of awaiting one's turn as it were.....Trevor

stormwolf on 28-10-2014
For Whom The Heart Tolls?
You capture a graveside visit very well here. There is something quite unique about them though paradoxically different if that makes sense?
Every loss is unique but there is a certain feeling that tends to descend around graves and how, why or even IF we attend them. Well done here.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hello Alison, good to see you active again. Yes, not something I'm used to or normally want to be part of. On AllSaints Day, the cemeteries are glowing with grave candles in jars, must cost a small fortune, and such after care is often a sign of lack of care when the person lived unfortunately. Feeling my own heartbeat in sync with the tolling, I thought hearts are also tolling the years down to our own demise! Think if we had little doors on our chests that opened to toll out our last few beats, at least you'd have time to pull the car over to the side of the road! But, what a fright, especially if making love at the time (even in the car)! Thanks Alison...Trevor x

Nemo on 29-10-2014
For Whom The Heart Tolls?
Hi Trevor. The last stanza reverberates quite thumpingly long after I've finished reading this. I note each stanza is, interestingly, a complete sentence. A very different take on grave-side poems.
Gerald

Author's Reply:
Hi Gerald, thanks for commenting. Yes it's an anecdotal poem in simple english using a story line to relay a basic message about the finite beating of the heart tolling us to our end when the situation reminds us of how impermanent life actually is. Just a different simple descriptive poem with a simple, but profound, message....Trevor


Sacrifice And Aftermath (posted on: 27-10-14)
Two remembered

Together with his Nation, whose cheap iron still rattles in rib-cage and skull of many allied fallen, the proud name Raoul Wallenberg is carved in gold. Against white pillars in London sky, this black marble obelisk, honouring a man denied burial and grave, gleams brightly, like molten tar; praised with regal speeches, it was justly donated by his chosen own for boldly saving their chosen few. Bustling people and busy traffic, prevent my paying due homage. <> In a quiet rural graveyard overgrown with brambles and briars, the horizontal spar of a wooden cross hanging skew-whiff on one loyal nail has these words, now barely legible, on its mossy face: F/l Ken eth Robe tson RAF K/A 1940 A ed 19 ye rs on y son of Mr an M s G. R be tson One of t e glor ous few His courage and sacrifice indebted to by all the free world. Yes, I added that line. Felt appropriate. Hammering that sacred plank back with my shoe, double echoes in the church porch felt as if a regretful child was rushing back to reclaim his life. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Sacrifice And Aftermath
Mikeverdi on 28-10-2014
Sacrifice And Aftermath
Many of us have felt the loss of war dead. On Plymouth Hoe there now stands a memorial to Bomber Command and 'The Few'. I pause every time I pass to pay respects to a brother I never met. His grave at Limington air base,I have visited only once; so far away. His picture is part of my story; a brother I never knew existed.
Wonderful writing as always Trevor.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Mike. I must get to Plymouth Hoe and see all the memorials that are part of the city's fascinating history. And the brother unknown to you for so long, and who paid the ultimate price too, serving from RAF Lymington in Hampshire, many of these old B of B airfields have closed or are closing, like Biggin Hill and Kenley, Surrey and Kent, all quite near to me. We'll be reading more of him in later instalments I presume? Both those named in the poem were real and existed, the young airman's grave by Beddington Church, Surrey, in Beddington Park, where I used to walk through on my way home at that time, after alighting from the London train at Hackbridge Station. A beautiful church and I think both church and graveyard have thankfully been renovated in recent years. Thanks again...Trevor

stormwolf on 28-10-2014
Sacrifice And Aftermath
Hi Trevor
Quite behind with my reading as seems like I have either been in transit or in the doldrums.
This has your stamp all over it. The biting reality that loss is loss to those who knew and loved that person.
All the fancy obelisks mean little .....the contrast is very stark but so is the message. All those young men on both sides, fighting for an ideal that was thrust upon them.
Was it worth it now?
I am glad my dad's not alive to see the catastrophe of the last few years where our enemies are all around and the blood suckers in the EU are putting their finishing touches to a nation betrayed.
At least those people had honour....as rare as hen's teeth now if you ask me. ( and even if you don't! ) lol 😸
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hope the visit to the doldrums was a rare occurrence as you were sorely missed, Alison. Yes, Sweden might well have stood beside Germany at Nuremberg for supplying the Nazis with iron ore right from 1923 to nearly the war's end. Bofors even worked with Krupp in arming Hitler's revenge army from that date in contravention of the Versaille agreement. But, the axis powers were afraid of giving Stalin reason to take both Finland (Winter War) and Sweden on his revenge march south, so they were "forgiven" and quickly put under the Marshal Plan umbrella along with Norway. Wallenberg's achievement though bold and admirable, have been exaggerated by the Jews over the years one suspects for PR purposes to "justify" Israel's atrocities committed on the Palestinians. This Swedish ambassador at Budapest also might well have escaped had he not tried to take with him all the gold deposited by jews earlier and by those fleeing the incoming Russian army, making him a prime target for crime when stopped. All rumours but who knows. He certainly did a brave thing in trying to help at least some hundreds of his chosen own flee to safety using diplomatic means. Wallenberg has been glorified, with statues and obelisks raised all over the place, and even received the Congress Medal of Honour I think it was, recently. The courageous airman's grave was in a poor state when I staggered home after a "boy's night out" after-work binge when working at RB of Kensington & Chelsea in the 60s, so I climbed over the wall and banged the cross plank in with my shoe, presumably being an only son, no one left to keep the grave well tended. Yes, what has happened since is an insult to him, and all those others, for what they thought they were fighting and dying for. I think the EU as it has developed since joining is a complete sell out and loss of sovereign democracy. Hitler's war was a revenge war, I wonder what Merkel talks about in private with her near relations from former DDR? Sorry to rant on, and thanks for your fine comments Alison...Trevor x

Kipper on 30-10-2014
Sacrifice And Aftermath
Hello again Trevor
So pleased to have read your tribute. Quite different to mine and yet sharing some essential truths I feel. I am pleased too for being able to judge from your comments to other that we are 'of an age' and with similar memories, though I freely admit that your awareness of the behind the scenes activities is greater than mine.
I hope that somehow your personal tribute to Kenneth Robertson will not go unrewarded.
Best regards, Michael

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Michael, I think they've tidied up the the graves and church area now, so a more fitting tribute than smokey London traffic where no one can get a moments peace and gather thoughts and remember, pay homage, in silence. Thanks for your fine comments...Regards..Trevor

Supratik on 30-10-2014
Sacrifice And Aftermath
Trevor! This is one of my favourite reads...for a number of reasons. I read somewhere that there never was a good war, or a bad peace. It took me a good long while to understand the meaning. What are we doing with the lessons learned! This is a very fine tribute whose incomplete life's objective was to put the wars into history. Thank you for sharing this poem! Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thank you Supratik. Yes, it's that time in November when we both pay homage as well as yet again be reminded of how tragic war is for so many more than those who died. We thought the Crimea War with cavalry charging cannon, and WWI with infantry charging rapidly firing machine guns was horrific; primitive war tactics against modern technology; but now we have the drones with operators sitting in the Nevada desert killing people like it was a computer game, so same old story different enemy, technology, and tactics.Thanks again for your fine comments....Trevor


Unemployed (posted on: 24-10-14)
It's all gone terribly wrong in the work-market!

Today, following her newly acquired routine of attentively pacing a well-trodden stream-side path with eleven asphalt repairs, she counted sixty-four Mallard ducks. Yesterday, there was seventy-six; the day before, eighty-seven. Three broods of eight ducklings hatched this Spring. The numerical dominance of brown females each time she thought strange. Nature leaving some ducks as surplus outsiders; was it really all about fitness selection? Seven stretches of water meander off on hidden detours, which, to her relief, would explain variations in sight counts. She now avoids meeting up with a pensioner, whose four times a week supply of fresh bread, keeps the duck population larger than available grass would normally support. His jolly attitude of secure smugness includes the irritating habit of rambling on about feeding all ducks equally and fairly. TR:London:2004

Archived comments for Unemployed
Ionicus on 25-10-2014
Unemployed
A very clever and pertinent poem with a meaningful metaphor, Trevor. Well done on the 'nib'.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Luigi. Yes, I thought this could work at a couple of levels, her meaningless, self-demeaning life with its routines to maintain some sort of structure and purpose, and the ducks as workers, in fluctuating numbers, mostly surplus, and more arriving all the time, numbers kept up by non-market related handouts, and occasional charity! Thanks again...Trevor

Nemo on 26-10-2014
Unemployed
I think I'd be the pennsioner but without the secure smugness. I don't think I have any of that. An entertaining and thought-provoking read. I can't help pointing out line 5 - I'd prefer to see 'there were.'

Regards, Gerald

Author's Reply:
Yes, lots of pensioners got a good deal established including house purchase, before shortage of housing, EU, globalisation of cheap labour seeking only top-end profit, influx of non-skilled workers coupled to reduction of non-skilled jobs available, and mismanagement of statistics, equations and numbers. Jobs were easier to get before, especially stop-gap jobs, and if prepared to move, now there's nothing except specialist technical jobs, with training programmes seldom affordable. I think you're right about "were" and who am I to argue with a retired English teacher! Thanks Gerald....Trevor

Mikeverdi on 26-10-2014
Unemployed
Indeed! It took my dullard brain a couple of reads 🙂
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike. Yes, it's a metaphorical promenade along the towpath of Life, one that goes against Man's propensity to be self-supporting and self-developing and with survival's few necessities fairly secure and living without the constant threat of poverty or with the inability to establish own family life to replace the old, in this modern day and age; it's all about expectations and feelings of self-worth. The times have really changed for job-seekers, we have to admit it. I'm waiting for the bursting bubble of non-sustainablility and resulting youth revolution. So many "sirs", "dames", "lords", "baronesses" etc. a parasitic ruling class maintaining the weak structure of the royal pyramid club! Royalists, religionists, racists, the three new target "Rs" for eradication on the new school curriculum in preparation for becoming revolutionists, and getting some form of sanity into human life again!....Trevor

Nemo on 26-10-2014
Unemployed
Trevor, What ails thee? Art thou hard done by? Are the ills of our society really hitting you? I am not one of those pensioners you refer to, by the way.
Gerald


Author's Reply:
Hi Gerald, Erm nothing ails me, and no, and no, and you mean you're not retired, or rather a pensioner, but not well-off due to missing the boat when MacMillan said 'you've never had it so good' and scrimping now on a poorly paid teacher's pension? I suspect you're quite rich and content with life....Trevor

sweetwater on 26-10-2014
Unemployed
If its ok with you, I'll just stick with the ducks and towpath, I understood the deeper meaning behind of course, but the ducks are nicer, was worried how the population would cope if the pensioner stopped the feeding though, as you say their rightful food supply wouldn't be sufficient.
Also if I got into the meaning behind it,I could rant on for ages about this fast becoming 'worthless ' world. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Sue, just championing other people's causes as usual Hahaha! Yes, the world's not functioning too well at the moment. I penned this poem when I used to wander home from work alongside a stream, and just thought I'd count the ducks. On arriving home, the atmosphere was a bit tense so I said there were eighty-two ducks in the stream on the way home, and everybody just laughed! Being an alpha male, I ignored them, and then thought, there was girl, often on the path, who looked a bit sad standing on the bridge tonight, and I knew she was seeking work, hence this poem. I resist counting the ducks now, honest!....Trevor

ValDohren on 26-10-2014
Unemployed
If only all was equal and fair - not a chance in this world !! As for ducks, like my little songbird, just love 'em.
Val x


Author's Reply:
You're right of course, Val. But, catharsis for causes is like horses for courses; what the hell am I on about Hahaaha! Saw an all white blue tit yesterday, an albino, all fluffy like a little ball of cotton wool, not a song bird, just chirping, and flittering on the tree outside the kitchen window. I do hope he survives the winter - good camouflage though, the hawks won't see him - trouble is neither will we! ...Trevor


And God Smiled Back (posted on: 20-10-14)
A tramp not given job as grave-digger for not being religious

That simple man does feel, you know, with sympathy, and understanding. Acknowledging only one intelligence, adaptation, he emerged from poverty to face a predictable reality; with devout humility, assuming others wiser, accepting failure and hardship his prescribed fate, he became invincible; but, not knowing how to help those struggling to find happiness in wealth, in prayer, achieved nothing. And the pain you ask, where did the pain go? The pain, is in his smile. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for And God Smiled Back
Mikeverdi on 20-10-2014
And God Smiled Back
Read this several times before the import arrived, think I have it now. I like it, reminds me of a story about a black guy in the USA south, never went to church; when asked his religion... he said he believed a man should be beholding to his neighbour. They hung him, said he didn't have a real religion.
Great writing as always Trevor
Mike

Author's Reply:
This is a true story, says a lot about own philosophy and how much happiness and contentment is an enduring or fleeting experience, for some purely in living, for others, only from challenges and achievements. This man's kindly smile while having so little is disturbing to most. Religion and patriotism is strong in the USA because of difficulties with developing individual secure identities because of the strong indoctrination of these two cop-outs in formal years, preventing them from being free and objective later in life. I think "black guy" is all you need to explain your story! Thanks Mike, as always...Trevor


Zap, and the Art of Peace Maintenance (posted on: 20-10-14)
Don't you just love them!

Concerning flashing coloured movement on screen, framed in a posy of twitching heads; anything equestrian, or towards syndicate-backed, boy crooners: two sweet princesses, in the face of denial, become ugly, putting granny's long patriarchal subservience to granddad to shame; horror, tough sports, and all things extra-terrestrial: two little princes, uncompromisingly defy being gobbled up by the ogre who shares Mummy's bed; further back, three powerful weapons, ably promote Melvyn Bragg, lisping chefs, and fashion queens: wife alluring, wife angry, wife headache; and finally, observing stranger squeezed in corner: ''shut up Dad, we're trying to listen!'' also known as, Alpha male! TR:London:2004

Archived comments for Zap, and the Art of Peace Maintenance
Mikeverdi on 20-10-2014
Zap, and the Art of Peace Maintenance
Oh Yes!! I know this well Trevor, the Alpha Mail indeed; those were the days HaHa!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Yes, written when a 28" at low level was the flagship of tellies; now a 60"placed high up will foil kids, dogs, cats, and slow grannies (who always seem to manage to creep in front when a goal is scored!) from demanding attention! Nowadays, of course, all TV on computers so everyone to his/her own - only oldies need the big screen! Thanks Alpha Mike...Alpha Trevor!

Supratik on 22-10-2014
Zap, and the Art of Peace Maintenance
Oh the Alpha male!!! Enjoyed the read through and through!!! Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alpha Supratik, glad this study in terror, enforcement, and entente cordial, was enjoyed! Alpha Trevor

sweetwater on 22-10-2014
Zap, and the Art of Peace Maintenance
Haha this makes me so glad I live alone, and thanks to the kindly lent tablet, my two year old grandson can do his dinosaur studying quietly, with only the occasional "look nanny the tricerotops has been eaten by the tyranosaurous rex"
(how a two year old can even say those names is beyond me!) but at least the TV stays off. Great insight into today's
family life. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Yes, not sure which is worse, Alpha Granny Sue! Being alone or holder of the Zap! Or TV or tablet! The tablet is particularly good for kids to learn and discover the world, with as it is for us all, being portable, keeps them local too. But, in the good old days, reading evening paper, and knitting, and filling in colouring books on the mat in front of the fire.....Thanks Sue, glad it made you glad...Trevor


The Lane Between Two Roads (posted on: 17-10-14)
Occasional masochistic habit of a tall-walking man Country folk might find content disturbing, or those with a nervous disposition!

Morning chill choked back nostalgic tears in October mist turning into mugging tunnel of Cox's Walk, well-known to local rock 'n rollers, route 66 lovers, lately of Zimmerman fame, where mud denies access by Zimmer frame! Mullard-valve man, a half-dement Sikh, saunters on in front; I shun his company now, since proclaiming he'd "lost his tits to a soup diet and diurnal power burning'' Not a healthy philosophy for a nonagenarian! Once, in the 50s, my brother's room was filled with his ''milk-bottles," condensors, resistors, transistors, potentiometers. An inveterate trader! His latest shop, in a travel shop, in a bulk-selling grocers, in the Saturday market, sells slimming cures, fat tellies, Morse signalling lamps, and foolscap filing cabinets. Unlike him, shortcutting only, a man not enamoured of Nature and history, I loiter to admire giant copper beeches, allowing him to shuffle further ahead in bright trainers from Millets. Aeroplane drone and police sirens orchestrate wind changes reeking of mouldered leaves and railway creosote, as he flagrantly ignores too, flagellating oaks leaning inwards, old Colonial headmasters twitching their canes; sadly now weak geriatrics, ivy-hung, in broken ranks. In my childhood they were robust, straight and proud, smiling on war-born schoolchildren. Looking today more like Somme veterans, gnarled, mossy, with withered limbs, doomed forever to guard this old wooden railway bridge spanning nothing but undergrowth. Between those central spars, Pissarro once sat and painted, festooned now with black initials carved in pink ballooned hearts; scribed by romantic visionaries long since widely dispersed, not the humbly tragic "accept their lot and live with it" static proletariat local Brits of yesteryear; persistent, uneducated owners of "Dunrovin" council houses with fixed window shutters in Spanish blue, backyards stacked with beer crates, full ashtrays, streetwise, fat, and diabetic, wearing maroon, medicine-tinted lipstick, with loose bridges, shamelessly laughing between bronchial wheezing; the women too, matching blue balding heads, like pierced old spoofs with blue, tired, kind eyes; all genetically overwhelmed by decimating aftermath of two world wars, they were bound to be outnumbered and gradually ousted, these dregs and stationary relics of an Empire, my beloved people. Sun sinters into explosion of shattered leaves, as Mullard-valve man buffets past the new kissing gate. The old "private" locked door remains, desecrated, isolated, jammed shut in its frame; now awash with milky graffiti patina, and genitals paired at point of penetration! Decent young lovers once climbed fences here to avenge horrors of war, lying entwined in coal steam, beyond the woods in grass hollows. Spinning momentarily in, suddenly tensely confronted by indignant jogging Bollywood star with bike-riding bodyguard dramatically braking; eyes saying not to be mixed with; imminent rape adjourned by work-seeking woman unravelling seven choking dogs from leads platted in a knot; and resident institution cast-out on his haunches, looking pitifully young. Each day, repeatedly sectioning his brain with boning knife, crying with eyes screwed tightly shut, undecided, rocking angrily, dazed by pharmaceuticals, trapping himself again in apple-half consumption dilemma. Once a world-travelling rep. for Olivetti typewriters, until struck down by ECT; his two homes, here and the mission hut. Escaping back to snaking tunnel of love, striding briskly past grey squirrels and green parakeets, I arrive at the exit gate, where, in a flurry of Autumn leaves, Mullard-valve man metamorphoses into robust desert Somali in full burka, sailing in on green passage breeze; bouncing nearer, ever larger, skull and crossbones on her black spinnaker. As the lane handshakes with lower road, Albanians look foreboding in their clapped out Transit creeping hesitantly to red lights; lying low, weighted down by copper signal wire and second charitable helpings from St Botolph's roof; tailed by navy blue HM Customs van, clandestine operation only, need backup, and viewer's help, to arrest. Needing rest, I turn into Albion Cricket Club, where once a 15 year-old straight-armed opening bat, first learned to defy onslaught of competitive life; with eyes closed, I breathe deeply absorbing aroma of newly-mown grass; desperately needing olfactory stimulation to resuscitate an alien son suffering once again from chronic premature eviction! TR:London:2014

Archived comments for The Lane Between Two Roads
Mikeverdi on 17-10-2014
The Lane Between Two Roads
Trevor, I loved reading that, and I will read it again. Thanks.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike. Sarcastic, black humour based on real sightings, known people, compounded experiences, news items, and a location I've known and been part of all my life. The problem for me as presented in the last sentence, is not change in itself, that's inevitable for suburbia and even keeps it vibrant and interesting, but, rather, the negative effects of too rapid a change, so that major aspects of that which a person's background identity is based on is eradicated. People living in sleepy village life complain about the extra modern bungalow added on the end of the quaint main street cannot really appreciate how negative these radical changes can have on this important and enduring aspect of mental health. Suburbia is dynamic and continually evolving, but sometimes the change is too violently radical. It's about loss of identity, which no one really enjoys, especially immigrants themselves from vastly different cultures who have little respect for National and local traditions and practices, and try to import their own, many of which keep them in social isolation and which are not compatible with indigenous life with regard to maintaining a healthy and enduring identity. Opportunists will have a field day with this one! Hahahaha! It's a problem of rapid change and its effects on the soul!
Trevor

Bozzz on 18-10-2014
The Lane Between Two Roads
Capacitors, resistors, pots, transistors, diodes, varistors - you drive me back 75 years, for I made and used all of these - and can spell them correctly. The poem excites me, but in my thickness I cannot collect all your innuendos....David

Author's Reply:
You dare to venture out from sleepy Dorsetshire into suburbia? - Easier, safer, more popular and acceptable, protesting and warning about environmental issues negatively affecting the natural habitat of the countryside, where much green and old is protected. I think your thickness lies in only having personal experience of that rural scene, which is forgivable. Oversights corrected......Trevor

Savvi on 20-10-2014
The Lane Between Two Roads
Very much enjoyed the imagery and word play within this one Trevor at first I thought this is too long, but not at all I keep coming back and seeing a little more each time, very well done.Best Keith

Author's Reply:
Thank you Keith. I think prosetry can be longer, as long as it remains concisely written and with a red thread, here Mullard-valve man, to keep it all cohesive. Someone has made a short video of this pathway here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFwMntDwscY

Thanks again,...Trevor

I should add that this long pathway through an largely untouched natural green oasis is extraordinary beautiful, has rare bats and stag beetles and some ancient and beautiful trees, so mostly still a pleasure to visit, and on my doorstep!


Only Moving Time Heals (posted on: 10-10-14)
Scene-setting despair

She's gone. His first thought on waking, feeling melancholic, wretched, jaw, misaligned on palm of hand, ......face, half-encased in warm, damp pillow, gradually sensing his own heaviness. Focusing one hazy eye sideways, on vertical axis, beyond the wide bed, rose thorns scratch crosses on rain-stained windows, where sun, beaming through particles, projects glass petals that dapple and fade at the wall. Curtains, flapping in unison, touch a dying bluebottle, setting it buzzing; a cacophony in incessantly hissing wind and traffic, and shrill chirping sparrows. Scrambled sounds of vital life compound his depression. "Time, creating distance, fading memories.......... only way forwards" friends said. But, strands, severed from hope, still pulsing love, refuse to atrophy, emotions bleed freely, profusely. Though four years have elapsed, each Sunday morning, has the feel of yesterday. TR:London:2004

Archived comments for Only Moving Time Heals
Mikeverdi on 10-10-2014
Only Moving Time Heals
Some things that are taken from you, are simply irreplaceable; however they leave. Another fine piece of writing Trevor
Mike


Author's Reply:
Thank you, Mike. yes. loss, part of everyone's normal life, sooner or later. Some are more unlucky, even to hidden or unexpected consequences than others. Time usually heals all wounds though, more or less. Trevor


Vision of Brilliance (posted on: 10-10-14)
For everybody - Free

To just imagine; once tossed broadside by cannonades off Cape St. Vincent and Cadiz, this chimera, The Fighting Temeraire, set afloat by a few brush strokes by an inspired genius. How awesome this hulk of salt-washed oak with gunnels reeking of saltpetre smoke, from musket fire and cannon blasts picture billowing sails pulling lofty masts, with a crew drilled in seamanship and war so gracefully this mighty ship of death cleaved water with just Nature's breath and attained eternal glory. But the tide had turned; when hammer on rivet rang in the ear auger and plane from shipyards had gone. so sadly, with time, the artist moved on to, with bold dabs from a brush held flat, paint funnels like Brunel's top hat and record the pride of an engineer's dream these small paddlewheels pushed by steam, the strength of a hundred Suffolk shires, could, against the ebb and off-shore breeze, tow noble Temeraire, magnificent yet in the magic aura of a Turner sunset to her final berth, and a place in history, at the National Gallery. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Vision of Brilliance
Mikeverdi on 10-10-2014
Vision of Brilliance
Just perfection for me Trevor, I Love it! You use your words like Turners brush...and the painting is before my eyes.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Mike, a recent repost, much appreciated, Trevor

Bozzz on 10-10-2014
Vision of Brilliance
Is it that art thrives on technology, or vice versa? This is a poem fit to sit beside Turner's picture at the Gallery..Bravo Trevor.....Yours David

Author's Reply:
Technology and science certainly contain some very good subjects for artistic and cultural reworking and novel presentation, David, thank you for your fine comments....Trevor

Savvi on 11-10-2014
Vision of Brilliance
Well done with this one Trevor it really is a work of art 🙂 Some lovely internal rhymes that make the piece sing well deserved Nom. Best Keith

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Keith, a rare rhyming attempt that's been reposted; love the momentous and poignant development and change to seafaring exhibited in this fabulous work of Turner. Thank too, if it was you who nominated, much appreciated...Trevor

sweetwater on 11-10-2014
Vision of Brilliance
Your painting was written in ink while I was reading, lovely words. Sue 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Sue, a reposted rarity for me working with rhyme, glad you liked the relevant descriptions so contrasted by Turner in this fine painting....Trevor


Nose For Poetry (posted on: 06-10-14)
About Cyranos well-known protrusion!

''O Cyrano!'' The words he recites in such beautiful poetry capture and enthrall my heart, sound as music to the ear, oh, he knows he knows, he knows I refuse to accept his nos! Though I love him, why does he not appear? Moving further under the balcony he thought yes, she wants me to say ''yes''. I know, she knows I love her in spite of my nos. But, if I said yes, would she offer compassion if my love I would confess? God knows I'll need it, when she knows my nose prompts my nos! I will appear and say ''yes!'' ''Cor blimey!'' TR:London:2004

Archived comments for Nose For Poetry
Mikeverdi on 06-10-2014
Nose For Poetry
Something different from you in this one Trevor...but still clever HaHa! I nos you know 🙂
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Mike, I thought I'd use this play on the three words, with them being audibly indistinguishable from each other, and also the very word this poor man was sensitive to; probably the cruelest poem I've written! Haha! Today, he would, after a long NHS wait, be offered corrective cosmetic surgery, but then, would his superb compensatory behavior, his poetry, be compromised? ...Trevor

stormwolf on 07-10-2014
Nose For Poetry
Witty, quirky and fun 😺

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much, Alison, thought the Shakespearean start and shocked Essex girl ending worked well! Hahaha!
Trevor x


Boys From An Ancient Wood (posted on: 03-10-14)
Annual visit to a grave

Circling red-dotted holly, a tortoise shell of perfect symmetry, jade belly uppermost, admits light through orifices, revealing two porcelain eggs shining like sightless eyes in empty skull. Under creeping moss, worms still wriggle in a blackbird's eye of purple sheen devouring its brain; here lies a brother, born when wind-blown leaves expose Summer's vicious toll; when air overhead nudges and flaps imminent departure. Those rooks and starlings knew somehow he would not live long. Memories here belong to another England, that had died with a season so apt for sorrow. How impermanent this feeling, of being alive. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Boys From An Ancient Wood
Mikeverdi on 03-10-2014
Boys From An Ancient Wood
Like this one a lot Trevor, one to come back to.
Mike

Author's Reply:
A vivid memory I have of my six-year-older brother, who died aged 46, was when we were children playing in local woods, when we discovered this tortiose shell with petrified eggs inside like sightless eyes in a skull, very fearfully symbolic of a person in a grave, don't you think? And the dead blackbird being eaten by a worm found by the grave, role reversals that shouldn't happen, the worm eating the bird, i.e. the child dying before the parent. He was in fact born in August, but I usually visit the grave in October as I like the melancholic feel of Autumn. So long ago now, so a dispersed family member now cherished rather than missed. I can understand that loss of a life-partner, a soul-mate, after a whole life together, would not so easily go further than the missed, emptiness, longing to meet again, stage. Thanks as always, Mike, for your positive comments....Trevor

stormwolf on 04-10-2014
Boys From An Ancient Wood
Lovely Trevor, love your work.





Alison x

Happy to nominate btw.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison, for your kind words, and for the nomination. I'm probably the only one here who thinks that the red nibs shouldn't be on a creative writing site decided by just one person's subjective preferences and judgement, not so much with regard to the work nibbled but more because it inevitably negatively downgrades the person's other work, and although judgement of work using comments and ratings, especially constructive critique is both desirable and useful, only the author knows which of his/her work best expresses all the effort and/or emotional investment, and authentic precision put into the work. I asked Andrea if a yes/no to nibs tick box could be included at submission like with critique, but probably too much clutter, and anyway, it is a fun gimmick that most enjoy having, so I'm not that bothered. Hahaha! Sorry for the delay, been camping out on a newly renovated ancient walk. Thanks again, Trevor x

stormwolf on 05-10-2014
Boys From An Ancient Wood
Hi Again Trevor. 🙂
Not sure if I am picking you up correctly but I don't think that the nibs are put out by one person, as I think there must be several people who award them or it would not be fair. Maybe you mean that whoever decides to award one is only going by their own opinion, which may be true enough but I think they must be selected on their ability to read poems well.
I also don't think you can really say something should or should not deserve a nib, as only the authors knows how much work has gone into a piece.
For instance, someone can spend hours trying to perfect a piece of work that remains mediocre...does that mean they should get a nib for their efforts? Surely not.
I think most people really like the nibbing system as it gives them something to aim for but I think we all see works get nibbed we may disagree with...and we often see pieces that do not get nibbed we may feel should have.

My personal favourite poems of my own for instance, have no relationship to whether they were nibbed or not, not even to how much work went into them either. Simply if I feel that the poem said what I wanted to say in the way I hoped. (In other words if I liked it ;-))
I am sure anyone could put in the 'about poem bit “pass me by on nibs please” or words to that effect but I don't think many would.
Also, as far as not being awarded a nib on a set piece downgrades it I tend to go by my reads. I have seen some not nibbed that get read many times so its obvious to me that even if not considered 'nib-worthy' by the powers that be....others have enjoyed it enough to come back again and again to read it.

This is a thorny subject as all avenues of rating. lauding or critiquing work is!!!

I don't know what the answer is apart from not taking things too seriously. I see several get nominated that I do not consider of a suitable standard but then it's horses for courses 😉
I do think we need to have encouragement one for the other though, so when people get a nib and they are encouraged to keep trying, then it's good for everyone.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi, Alison, thanks for your reply. No, I mean one should be able to request that nibs are not to be given for one's own work as on a creative writing site, those who like the idea are welcome to keep it and have their work qualified or judged in some way. But, freedom to try new ideas and different subjects and angles so on should in my mind be totally neutral in this respect. Personal comments and the ratings, and perhaps hits, can be used for feedback. The nibs are totally meaningless by bringing decisions of quality without motivation and so inevitable place an unqualified judgement good contra not so good on a list of work. It would be nice to have the choice of not having this imposition on a list of work that only in its totality ir representative of the author and his/her understanding and experience of life. Nibs don't mean anything except that one person liked something about a piece of work, so what?

Trevor x


Fatality (posted on: 03-10-14)
Is often balanced on a knife-edge

Poised alongside the electrostatic crackle of an imminent express, determined to lunge forwards, clinging to not yet enacted, a sullen face suddenly confronted her, a still death mask in a green glass blur that screeched and rattled past for what seemed an eternity. Steadying herself against imploding forces, in the silent, grey aftermath, she reflected on her life, wondered if it was all predetermined. Beyond the empty platform, damp mist dispersed quickly leaving glistening beads on bright red roses. If the local train's on time, tea might greet homecoming children. We can never know, she thought. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Fatality
Mikeverdi on 03-10-2014
Fatality
Written with your usual elegance Trevor; another look at a life on the edge.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Mike. Statistically, a high percent of mothers with children who commit suicide were the victims of incestuous abuse in childhood, and the suicide often occurs shortly after the perpetrator's death, which shows how far reaching and damaging such abuse can be, and how important a well-functioning psychosexual identity is for psychical well-being. The method of suicide chosen in this situation is often violent, which reflects both the degree of hate that builds up, but also how much of the woman's basic identity is inevitably formed from the perpetrator as an upbringing parent, who has a primary function in that "mirroring of the self" identity-formation role. Violent hate of him, is violent hate of the self. Strange that it can unbalance the mother's normal child-protection instinct. One of the saddest poems I've written. I shall take away the semicolon before the last sentence, as it's her passive voice answering her own passive question at the end of stanza two i.e. we can never know whether life is predetermined, not the narrator's description of events. Trevor

Bozzz on 03-10-2014
Fatality
There is always the aftermath, not always only for the family, but for the train driver and his/her kin. Many who would commit suicide seem to seek a method that brings minimum physical disturbance, but neglect the consequences for the family - strange. Do we know the last thoughts? Is there an OMG - but it's too late? Your construct is, as ever, elegant but painful - despair in this case - so good Trevor.

Author's Reply:
yes, you're right, David, most often an illogical, unbalanced action, whether chronic as long-going self-harm, or impulsive split-second decisions. Of the eleven established reasons for suicide, only one, perhaps two, are regarded as "logical"; pre-empting a painful, incurable, deterioration illness, and offering/sacrificing one's life to save others, both of which are subjectively explained as being altruistic, but even the logic of these are often fuzzy and doubtful. Last thoughts are often revealed in suicide notes, or, less reliably, from the reports of failed attempt survivors. And like with this mother of children group, by how much of explanations from background material is reported to a statistically significant level of over-representation. But, it has to be said that incest for example is often concealed by "family secrets" or the strong defense of delusional denial. Not easy when families try to remain supportive and cohesive "for the greater good" when an internal crime like this occurs, but the victims is left even more vulnerable by this, the unresolved effect then being often a personal crisis under the surface waiting to erupt, even many years later by some triggering event, like in these cases. Thanks as ever for your input and positive comments on the work....Trevor

ValDohren on 03-10-2014
Fatality
Suicide is devastating for those left behind, and I speak from personal experience. Beautifully and sensitively written -and yes, very sad.
Val

Author's Reply:
I'm sorry to hear of your personal experience of this tragic phenomenon, Val. Yes, as you say, those left behind left in a helpless situation, and often with vital questions unanswered that plague the mind. The mourning process is also compromised and delayed by the anger awoken, including sometimes feelings of self-reproach, from not being confided in, being left in a situation of not being able to help, of the person apparently not caring about the consequences for those left affected and having to deal with it, even if there is total illogical unbalance involved. Thanks for your positive comments on the literary side...Trevor

Bozzz on 03-10-2014
Fatality
Trevor, I should have mentioned your arriere pensee - of the local train - a very touching reminder that life for the rest goes on normally afterwards - Brill....David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David, for this afterthought. yes, the everyday normality around the person and their life, where even the close family may be totally unaware of the private hell going on in someone interacted with daily. This is the knife-edge of fatality, if another chunnel-express hurtles through before the local train, what then? Has she negatively psyched herself into a more determined action in the meantime, or has she frightened herself into calming down....Trevor

stormwolf on 04-10-2014
Fatality
Hi Trevor,
Very dark and bleak as suicide is. Expertly written and showing deep sensitivity.
Allow me to nominate it.
BTW I wrote a poem about a friend's suicide. I dont think she was abused but one never knows....I have worked with several who have been abused and know there is a certain murder of the soul takes place.
This leads to such self loathing. In the case of my beautiful friend...she chose a very violent end, plus in the nude, as though she could not punish herself enough.

Alison x

http://www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=26775

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Alison, for your comments and nomination. I read that earlier, very beautiful and moving submission of yours you linked to, a true tragic account of a suicide that affected you so deeply. (Your friend who took her life in a manner showing such low self-esteem and low self-respect had no children? It was your third mutual friend who was 8-months pregnant, whose husband she had an affair with?) To have such negative self feelings and to choose such a violent end, it usually involves early damage to identity-formation, and is seldom the result of guilt feelings for having done something sinful (exceptions are of course, crimes so ghastly that the person is plagued by, not self-reproach, but rather, bearing within the self the knowledge that no future person would be a friend or a partner if the truth were known, that sort of guilt is a long-term killer - except psychopaths who either relish in that thought or are totally nonchalant to it). But statistics are only general indications and weighted pointers, and explanations can be quite various and atypical too. Mothers of children who have been victims of incest, allude even normal problems with life-partners and with their parent function (who ever thinks their parenting is totally adequate when breaking free is an inherent factor especially under teenage years) to negative psychosexual identities, and when the perpetrator dies, there is the feeling of unfair escape from responsibility, no retribution or resolution now possible, with the two triggering a intense emotional response. Apart from this group, many, many beautiful and well-meaning people are lost to suicide, especially as a result of loneliness and being surrounded by a non-caring modern fraternity, with their fast-moving stressful life-styles, or because they were too sensitive, good, and vulnerable to cope with this world, and of course mobbing and romantic failures. Thanks again, Alison...Trevor x

Supratik on 05-10-2014
Fatality
An inevitable naked end! For someone who has seen close relatives and friends hurting themselves knows what little time can do to heal the pain. The poem makes you cry. Let this be the last torture, the last suicide on this planet.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Supratik, for your comments. Yes, this tragic phenomenon is difficult to deal with, leaves no room for resolution or help of any sort, and so many types of relationships it can drastically and permanently affect. Parents of children who suicide must be the hardest of personal crisis to work through and go on from. And children left without Mums and Dads in any situation, even war, is so tragic, leaves an emptiness that seldom can be adequately filled or compensated for. I too, wish we could stop this behavior, even if there are people who think this a personal right and should be respected, though seldom done with clear, cold logic, and few leave no one to grieve. For those who have no one, perhaps it is even more tragic. Gothicman


Last Will And Testament (posted on: 29-09-14)
Bones I

When shrinking bones rest the infant home is repossessed locks retract to where codes float in basement sunlight Scribing rites of passage till only carbon ticks bones know when to release the ghost TR:London:2006

Archived comments for Last Will And Testament
Mikeverdi on 30-09-2014
Last Will And Testament
This is another 'thinker' I will move on to part two and comment from there. 🙂
Mike


Author's Reply:
Hahahaha! Mike, you're so funny! This turned out to be an advert for crematoriums, for the basic question was: is your DNA an intrinsic part of the soul or only a part of your worldly goods, left behind with the carcass? And how long is the DNA extractable? See:
http://www.exploratorium.edu/evidence/lowbandwidth/INT_ancient_dna.html
Neanderthal DNA, over 38,000-years-old!
No risk of Jurassic cloning, it's going to be cremation for me!
Actually, this poem is meant to be at the point of death, with bone marrow the last vestiges of the self to lose vitality and function. Bones I and Bones II are stand alone poems, just both on the same morbid theme, Hahaha! Trevor (On to Bones II)


To The Innermost Edge (posted on: 29-09-14)
Bones II

Living below the edge, I enjoy free movement in compliant air, pushing upwards to swallow bubbles. Dying below the edge, I am an object filling space on resistant base, pushing downwards involuntarily. Soon, I'll push outwards in countless edges; hungry maggots will tear me cell from cell, convey me far afield on cellulose wings. Only my bones will remain, hard edges, still and clean; eye sockets twinkling with water, long gumless teeth in fallen jaw, laughing, as only skulls can do, revealing even now, to the innermost edge, this man enjoyed being human. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for To The Innermost Edge
Mikeverdi on 30-09-2014
To The Innermost Edge
Okay....this is good stuff, even better I think I understand it! HaHa. Your writing always entertains me in one way or another. Interesting that you split the poem into two parts, in others you have only separated on the page. Always fascinating, never boring; usually brilliant.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Most of these poems I'm submitting now are old rubbish being put back in the drinks cabinet Hahaha (It's great we can replicate laughing!) So little response these days compared to when first submitted, just because you think 45 % of Scots treacherously greedy, all followers of established religion indoctrinated with evil, and actively support poetry themes of love and humour, doesn't mean you have to be unpopular, does it? Hahahaha! Thanks Mike for positive and complimentary comments, much appreciated. Trevor (some people even hate laughing Hahaaha!)

Bozzz on 30-09-2014
To The Innermost Edge
Oh dear Trevor, we will need a separate graveyard to absorb all your mischief. Your cellulose-winged flies will spread your fame to others in the universe as your cells will be eaten by those that eat them - reincarnation is a reality. The phosphate dust from my incinerated body will fall on nearby vegetable patches and my dead rhymes eaten by mankind - a more direct route to a new life than the one you choose. What's not to understand? An almost casually tight piece, my friend - enjoyed the resonance....David

Author's Reply:
Hahaha David, we're all eventually, by quick ash rain or slow coffin desecration, going to be put in the pick-n-mix bowl sustaining all living organisms, and you presumably munched a good mouthful of Willy Shakespeare's phosphate dust, and I, Willy McGonagall's!
Thanks for your fine comments David, much appreciated....Trevor

Pilgermann on 02-10-2014
To The Innermost Edge
And this human enjoyed reading this poem. We live astride the grave, but should live well, remembering how quickly the edges can crumble, give way.

Good poem.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Pilgermann, glad this bones poem amused you, much appreciated. Gothicman.


Four Lines Are Born (posted on: 29-09-14)
Thirty-fourth Draft

Over rancid skin, co grey in hexagonal string, a poet's brain, fermenting intellect, is trawling. Exquisite truths, symbols in syllables, bubbling forth, are lallated into salient groups by moistened tongue; then pinned, like large-winged moths, to sample blocks for beneficial or pernicious pruning. As chilling dawn slips in from dusk, deepest emotions, catharsing through corrupted seams, harden to temporary perfection; exalted, he lays back. Dare he now let daylight in, confront his ingenuity? TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Four Lines Are Born
Mikeverdi on 30-09-2014
Four Lines Are Born
Your diving too deep for me with this one Trevor, coming up with words that I have to go and find; too rich for my taste. A first time for everything I guess, just a little to worthy maybe 🙂 In the end it's only me and what do I know HaHa!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Well this is from the time when the wonderfully humorous Munky man graced us with his presence on this site. I imagined him in some computer corner at home, never going out, siting there, unwashed, in his string vest composing his super rhyming poetry, but probably typical attributes for us all in this genre! I don't think there is a verb of the noun "lallation", which means "repetition of meaningless sounds (by babies)" so poetical license there describing how poets conjure up new unconventional words to better suit the lyrical approach. The large-winged moths metaphor describes how easy it is to lose newly thought up poetical phrases if not immediately written down, and then the secondary revision which for me alas is usually pernicious! The "dawn" to "dusk" refers to how time consuming creative writing is, the hours can just fly by. And for a poet, perfection is always temporary (self-doubt being the flip-side of creativity!). The last part is about submitting it for public scrutiny and testing its viability with contemporaries. Four lines of good poetry can take several days to achieve, unless you're like Leila who scribbles down a few quick lines on a paper hanky in the summer garden before clearing the tea cups away, and which untouched are then good enough to be published to wide appraisal and acclaim! I haven't managed one good line yet in 12 years hahahahaha! Thanks again for commenting Mike....Trevor

Pilgermann on 02-10-2014
Four Lines Are Born
Dare the poet let the light in? Yes they must - Gothic, this is a brilliantly sharp take on the poetical process. We are not all "rancid"skinned, maybe thin skinned. Will have to look up Munky man.

Author's Reply:
Yes, it's a terrible, inevitable moment, the moment of judgment and truth, wondering, hoping, feeling vulnerable Hahaha! No, you're right, some of us get out more, absorb more vitamin D in the sunshine, some of us even wash, now and again. Poets are second only to Nerds when it comes to computer use! I'm more a Nerd than a poet, but I prefer woolen Grandfather nightshirts to string vests, much warmer... The Munky man goes under the name of "sunken" and likes to keep it vertical. I'm sure he's sorely missed by everyone with his own very special brand of humour and excellent poetry. Anyway, thanks as always, Pilgermann, for your positive comments. I've been taking a long look at your last submission, quite a lot to take in and inwardly digest, but I'll venture back now. Hahaha...Gothicman.


Florence Revisited (posted on: 22-09-14)
One hot Summer night!

Glancing over the mound towards shapely curves rising, what beauty unfolds, from foreground to infinity! Nose buried in delicately scented cress bed, I scour the sunken wadi now undulating in breathless exaltation; past exquisite rotund forms, never settling, topped with tender aureole, that gently rolled 'twixt finger and thumb arouse distended empathy, help trigger the tinder box to total satisfaction; and those crescent-moon eyes, obtusely gazing, dazzled by soft touch of second kiss. I had visited Florence before, but, this was getting to know her. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Florence Revisited
Mikeverdi on 25-09-2014
Florence Revisited
Errr.....cold shower time I think! the words seemed to roll off the tongue 🙂
Great stuff
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Mike. Knew you would appreciate this one, being a lover of Italy! Caused quite a response when first submitted as living abroad for so long, with my poetry then, I was, as you say, only keeping my mother tongue active and fluent! Yes, kissing my wife on the Ponte Vecchio was a special moment to capture in this poem. ...Trevor

Pilgermann on 25-09-2014
Florence Revisited
Sensuous! Sailing close to love here.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Pilgermann. Well, as you know, established love itself is personal and boring to others, but, erotic attraction and feigned imaginative encounters, also failed or unrequited love, and even panic sex with Armageddon looming up, are all good poetry material. Apart from that, visiting Florence offers a good bed for the night and a good stock of local wines, and wonderful views from the Piazzale Michelangelo, but don't forget to take a chain and padlock to signify eternal love! Gothicman


Parking Mile Ahead (posted on: 22-09-14)
He turns off

The noon sun projected safety logos in green tint onto his forehead, as the juggernaut in front merged with its dark shadow. For seven years he'd humped a suitcase of carbonated water from door to door, and lunched in trash-littered crescents munching greasy drum sticks and lettuce as traffic, five lanes wide, whooshed past his right eye. Wife gone, son on methadone, daughter chewing khat in a lilac house, with the engine quietly idling, he found peace in a toxic bubble. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Parking Mile Ahead
ifyouplease on 22-09-2014
Parking ½ Mile Ahead
this is good, i had to google khat/qat, and i wonder of course what do you mean munching drum sticks is it Moringa? anyway, a poem that stretches my imagination is a good one.

Author's Reply:
Thank You IYP. Well, the net says that Moringa are narcotic plants that resemble/means drum sticks in N.E. Africa, but here simple chicken legs, probably from Sunday lunch for the whole family, none of whom turned up, as this poor ordinary father's attempt to keep the family together and functioning after his wife ran off with the neighbor failed miserably. True story of the sad fate of a friend's neighbor that happened many years ago. Gothicman.

Bozzz on 22-09-2014
Parking ½ Mile Ahead
In short, imminent 'Death of a salesman', but I prefer your version. Feel so sorry for these lost men - kennel to miles away kennel - yes a dog's life, but why fizzy water? - just to illustrate the vacuity of such a life? Your usual - packed with meanings - sharp, truly spiked ! Nice one Trevor.

Author's Reply:
Yes, a sad fate where not too seldom the mother in the family deserts them for a potentially better life that equally seldom succeeds as such. In this true account he was a salesman, but I made it carbonated water for the reason you mention, but also to keep everything green and tie in with the sad big toxic bubble end in this long going resignation process. Thanks David, sorry for delay, been on long invigorating walkabout. ....Trevor

Mikeverdi on 25-09-2014
Parking ½ Mile Ahead
A thinking poem. Was it his end, the poison of the exhaust? One never knows with you Trevor. Or was the bubble just the shape of his existence, shielding him from reality? If it was... then I think the first idea is the right one.
Another great piece of writing Trevor.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Yes, right first time, Mike. This the true sad fate of a neighbor of a friend of mine many years ago when his wife left with no further contact. Feedback pipe from the exhaust to fresh air intake. Died many hours later from oxygen starvation to the brain when life support was turned off. With everything falling apart, he presumably at that moment just saw the motorway parking sign loom up and decided to give up on a losing battle. Thanks for your positive comments, Mike, sorry for delay, been hiking around beautiful England....Trevor


Epitaph Written in Childhood (posted on: 19-09-14)
Hideous crime with far reaching effects!

Among jumble in a drawer, secrets, softly written, silent screams, locked in butterflies and bathing nymphs. 'Betrayed; violently deflated, a punctured wheel thrust on rusty spindles, her lowly life spun on; till, losing traction in slum quarters, negotiating aging's final bend, death mercifully overtook her.' As a young girl, she had a way with words; scratching her epitaph early on his headstone, long before his passing. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Epitaph Written in Childhood
Pilgermann on 19-09-2014
Epitaph Written in Childhood
A fine multi-layered poem. The second stanza is one of the best I have read.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Pilgermann, for your kind words and encouraging comments. Three serious poems this week! Gothicman


Reluctant Motherhood (posted on: 15-09-14)
I know - but just another observation from democratic life!

During more thrills than spills, at some moment between hymen stretch and menopausal flush, she dropped an ungrateful child by a sadistic painful affliction, martyrised birth; the outcome of alcoholic distraction and depressive, sixteenth-week indecision. And later, during leisurable time-outs from chocolate cures enduring cruel lunar cycles on swooning couches, and the masochistic cuts and thrust of induced secondary gain attributed to paternal failings, she wrote love poems to Tom Jones on flimsy lace panties, which, due to a retiring daughter, fell short of the stage. TR:London:2004

Archived comments for Reluctant Motherhood
Bozzz on 16-09-2014
Reluctant Motherhood
Oh dear Trevor, yet another definition of democracy? - 'the poor that gets the blame' - but only if blame means punishment for ignorance - hip notism? You tell this tragedy with medical precision and poetic skill that asks questions of our society.
A fine poem because of the pain it gives in a perhaps deliberately symbolic and detached, bland way. Not quite sure of the real connection between lace panties falling short and a retiring daughter?...David

Author's Reply:
Well, David, to manage some difficult jobs with detached proficiency, the only way to is to view all the different situations that can befell all human kind with a tragic-comic attitude, which is a form of compassion, because we humans are destined to have to deal with all sorts of situations as best we can. The use of humour is also a form of defiance against unlucky fate, where even the rich can suffer badly because the expectancy to succeed and be content is higher. Black humor only works in this respect if you remain group neutral and just present a situation with some of its both tragic and comical aspects included. Well a child born in such circumstances would have more difficulty in developing strong self feelings, would more likely be low on self-assertion, thus, being still very dependent and withdrawn not likely to throw the panties at her mother's request at her mother's hero, with any gusto or enthusiasm! Thanks as ever for your fine comments David......Trevor

Jolen on 16-09-2014
Reluctant Motherhood
Trevor,

I sent you an email, I hope you got it. I just am now able to access site and so your message and work. Your descriptions of childbirth hit me smack dab in the space that used to house my uterus. I think your work is as deep as ever (no pun intended) and I think my panties would have fallen well short of the stage too.

love and light,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Jolen, how good to see your name back here. I hope you will be staying and contributing now you're computer functional and back on site again. How we need your "full-blooded celtic poetry" here again. (Read your collection often!) While absent you surely have written some poetry for submission? Yes, circumstances for good normal parenting and family life often are denied to some who try their hardest by cruel fate, while for others parenting is the result of an unplanned drunken incident that leaves them managing as best they can but often under protest and feeling a lot of grievance and regret. Procreation certainly isn't a blessing for all, as with most things in Nature, steered only by ideal biological conditions with no regard to social or even moral circumstances in the longer perspective. I think your panties would have sailed round Tom three times before finally hanging from one of his ears!
I'll answer you mail later today. Really good to see you back Jolen and thanks for your comments. Secular Blessings Trevor x

sweetwater on 18-09-2014
Reluctant Motherhood
I have not looked for the deeper meaning, I just enjoyed the full bloodied, realism of this poem, so down to earth with no holds barred. Brilliant. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Sue. I really didn't mean any deeper meaning when putting these descriptions together, just one woman's way of dealing with something that happened through a chain of unfortunate circumstances, doing the best she can, but probably totally unsuitable for the role; in all the humorous side, there is though the sad fate of the daughter, but not necessarily always negative for there are the so called Dandelion kids who grow strong and proud in the most hostile of landscapes lacking all nutrient, pushing up through concrete and asphalt. ...Trevor

Nemo on 18-09-2014
Reluctant Motherhood
Is your democracy so brutal? You are not making me feel compassion for this unfortunate woman and her dropped offsping. I am only gettingthe brutal reality.
Gerald


Author's Reply:
Well, Gerald, the democracy refers to keeping such observations as general as possible, not just humorous descriptions of only wayward men on sex adventures that end badly like that poor man MD, or young people trying to get a dignified meaningful job for example. Black humor must include all, presented as descriptions while not being judgmental. Society rules and regulations often run counter to, or are not conducive with Natural laws. Tragic and comical, like Greek theatre are two sides of Man's nature, we can either laugh or cry. The compassion lies in, in spite of life's dodgy lottery or even moments of irresponsibility, people who get a tough deal, or unwished result, try to make the best of things and live a life as best as they can. ....Trevor


Unemployed in Cheshire (posted on: 15-09-14)
weltergeist = middle-age cunning

''Onyx green becomes you'' fatal words directed to a oversize diva with lavender talc in her cleavage pinning him to the chaise longue by her weltergeist; whose late husband made a small fortune breeding horses to make hot water-soluble furniture glue. I'm not sticking around here he thought, as, dressed as a children's party clown, he bundled his long-eared rabbit and collapsible magician's stand into an Indian mutiny suitcase, and beat a hasty retreat back to the Job Centre to see what else was on offer. TR:London:2004

Archived comments for Unemployed in Cheshire
Mikeverdi on 15-09-2014
Unemployed in Cheshire
Where on earth did this one spring from? 'Hot water-soluble furniture glue' 'Long eared rabbits' What are you smoking in your pipe these days!
The writing of course is brilliant as usual 🙂

Author's Reply:
Hahahaha! This was after a BBC programme about rich widows in Cheshire, whose husbands had died relatively young from the stresses of obsessive entrepreneurship promoting and selling often weird and wonderful inventions, and now after Toyboys to make their lyx lives complete! With high unemployment a lot of small flies got caught in the web! Well, it was a living until they could afford to leave home! Hahaha! Thanks, Mike........Trevor

Bozzz on 16-09-2014
Unemployed in Cheshire
Well - push comes to shove, I firmly believe we are all in the nearly dead parrot entertainment business. A great future awaits you as the second Lewis Carroll? More More !!
Your friend, David

Author's Reply:
Yes, I think you're right David. The older one gets the more one realizes that love and humor are all we wretched humans can rely on in order to feel that we've lived! My third girlfriend's father was a Cambridge professor in mathematics and in the RAF he was Barnes Wallis's theory half, translating all his practical experiments into working formulas. (Later taught at LSE). His humor was fantastic, joking all the time about everything under the sun. From a poor background, I remember him for two typical things, making toast thickly covered in raspberry jam late at night when we talked, and watching and laughing at cartoons! The message that he left me with was "the more mentally alert you become and need to be, the more modest are the pleasures in life you enjoy in your leisure time!" Hence my modest poetry! Hahahaha! Thanks David. Friend Trevor

Ionicus on 18-09-2014
Unemployed in Cheshire
I like this, Trevor. The last stanza reminded me of the character played by Stephen Tompkinson in the film 'Brassed Off'.

Author's Reply:
I remember seeing that film, Luigi, I liked the actress Tara Fitzgerald (?) and wasn't it an early film of Ewan McGregor. There was someone dressed as a clown, I think entertaining hospital kids. After seeing the BBC program on rich Cheshire widows, it may have unconsciously registered as a typical unskilled job that might be offered to the young. Mrs Brown's Boys has just been shown in Sweden, and his/her son was dressed as squirrel, dog, lion etc Dressed as animals has always been used to typify funny and somewhat degrading jobs, although the bear mascot at the EU athletics was a real entertainer with a lot of talent! Thanks Luigi. ...Trevor

ifyouplease on 19-09-2014
Unemployed in Cheshire
i liked it! the last stanza is adorably smart!

Author's Reply:
Thank you IYP, and for listing it a favorite, much appreciated Gothicman


Rejuvenation (posted on: 15-09-14)
From afar of course this blithe spirit thought me younger or perhaps a missing puzzle-bit completing the image of her favoured age.. nevertheless.

On each lunchtime seafront walk, a young woman on a regency balcony feigned wanting me as her lover. As Monty Sunshine syncopated with raging waves, Hardy's Eustacia, dressed 20's style, kept eye contact, swaying provocatively, long black ringlets undulating with the jazzed up tempo. Complying with this calculated risk, distance was respected, but, how body clocks are deceived by hormonal kicks, for as hints became less subtle, each rejuvenating moment, left my inner persona feeling ageless, wanting more; imagining reliving some lascivious moment, opening this gift clothed in gold satin, holding her nakedness to my lips with gentle hands, drawing deep breaths to pervade all awareness with her fresh sweet fragrance. But, each time, a gentleman, I turned away into the leeward breeze; worthwhile love has a temporality. Lack of experience, and bottle-bottom fashion glasses, saved her from knowing how disillusioning Bill Bailey's homecoming would be! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qg0wdYFr-nU TR:London:2014

Archived comments for Rejuvenation
Mikeverdi on 15-09-2014
Rejuvenation
You have a way with words Trevor, not sure who was the voyeur in this, maybe a joint effort; a brief flirtation before Bill Bailey comes home. I would have been up the drain pipe and in like a rat 🙂
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hahahaha! No, I really am a gentleman, Mike, .... besides, on close inspection the drainpipe was quite rusty from the ozone air, and also she threw the flat key down wrapped in the entry door code....ooops! Had to scribble this quickly and include it or David would have been disappointed! Hahahaha!....Trevor (aka Clym Yeobright of Herne Bay)


MD's Fall From Grace (posted on: 12-09-14)
Ultimate denigration!

Posthumous to successful pincer movement by persistent office belle laide, daylight sobriety slapped his panic-stricken face like a frozen cod; mimicking crippled kangaroo, second foot not sliding conjugally into Armani micro-briefs, he Glasgow-handshaked the brass bedstead, and, with same short intensity, suffered second knockout bang of the day. Worse, was giggling nurse, circling in concussion recovery, waiting for 50 milligram of lapsed e-post resistance leave the bloodstream and collapse of his linen wigwam. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for MD's Fall From Grace
Mikeverdi on 12-09-2014
MDs Fall From Grace
Another gem from the pen HaHa! Not sure about the 'handshake' a bit of poetic licence in use; I think it's a 'Glasgow Kiss' but it works as well.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike, well I think one can use both expressions, there's even a Gorbals kiss and one using a local street name! But, probably Glaswegians no more violence-prone than any other spirit drinkers with pickled brains! Probably don't keep saying "Guert yer tits oot!" to young ladies either! Which reminds me, got my home page all ship shape and Bristol fashion now! Well almost. .... Trevor

Bozzz on 12-09-2014
MDs Fall From Grace
After all this, the collapse of his linen wigwam was clearly the ultimate disgrace. How are the minor gods fallen too.
Penissimo is the Italian phrase. Fun in rhetoric - enjoyed the ride...David


Author's Reply:
Well, MD insisted it was a ten-man tepee, but he had his knee up with his plimsolls placed under the sheet to complete the fraud! Anyway Grace confirmed the suspected truth for us - he was a man of small means! Is it Managing Director, Medical Doctor, or Michael D*********e? Her secret is safe with us! Thanks, David...Trevor

Bozzz on 12-09-2014
MDs Fall From Grace
But what happened to the Dorset adventure set to waylay me ?
I left it to the last and its gone, alas. Perhaps some cad has been chastening you over submitting more than two postings per publishing day - our loss if he has. David

Author's Reply:
They're here, David, if it works! No I post more than normal because I'm placing some fine old wine back in the showcase (mostly vinegar actually!) Oh, should have been ZummerZet, but now part of Bristol Channel (someone mention Bristols?). Should be "sheep's ears", (and sheep are like birds, in flocks, as "the hunted", if "hunters" they would be packs!,) Imagine being hunted by a pack of sheep!...Trevor

Dorset! Two Elegies



Rural Drives!


cow's ears on either hedge
road narrows to a wedge
tunnel vision for ½ a mile
creeping tractor, single file

½¨ t' spare on both sides
overtake, how jaguar glides
30 sign, damn, didn't see
blue lights, P,"'ow be 'ee?"



Milkmaid


onwards a trident
60° sweep
trouble with wobble
though straps cut in deep

double recoil on stop
lovingly hand built
can't squeeze sideways
with cerebellum on tilt

big M looking downwards
face fresh and sweet
looking for friendship
but eyes seldom meet

Nemo on 14-09-2014
MDs Fall From Grace
An amusing read as I wake to sobriety on a Sunday morning.
Rgards, Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Gerald. Grace gets around and she's difficult to resist! A beer at the local on the way home is like "I'll just check my e-mails before preparing tea", five hours later,.... time only for bed! ...Trevor


Depressingly Irrelevant (posted on: 08-09-14)
The words 'relevance and 'relieve have the same Latin etymological root, 'relevare: 'to make light again

Another distant war in a stressed world caused petrol shortages, and someone to siphon his tank; felt like a personal affront, making him more depressed than usual. His doctor said, "Setbacks make us all sad, but, your disorder's not about irrelevant free-floating logic in a half-cocked brain; too prevalent, more an evasive insidious disease permeating us like Winter flue'' ''Stylised synthetic medicines help bring relief to us all, also lots of air travel miles to me!'' Along from the chemist, a nicotine-fingered cellist ridge-straddling his way through 'Variations Diabelli' incited someone to mumble "If Beethoven were alive today, he'd turn in his grave!" He called in the Leyland garage for a locking petrol cap. ''You're the hundredth person asking this week, but, we don't stock them; there's no demand!'' TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Depressingly Irrelevant
Mikeverdi on 08-09-2014
Depressingly Irrelevant
Ahhhh.... gone deep again, I will need to dive in and swim around a bit; come back when I have an answer. All these 'more than four letter words' they just confuse me...I can't keep up 🙂
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hahaha, Mike, don't go blowing any fuses! Well, the first duty of internal (or archaic) ångest (external ångest uses the only bodily need that cannot be compromised, a functioning oxygen intake system, to compel you to quickly take evasive action; all others needs, nutrient, sleep, sex etc. can be delayed) is to maintain a feeling of dissonance, or psychical tension, as what's being mentally processed is illogical set against in-learnt scientific, moral, or linguistic values. When the person is relaxed these illogical tensions, which can also include problems at thesis level, can find resolving paths without conscious thought, so called "Eureka effect" when Archimedes relaxing in a bath suddenly came up with the solution to an irritating problem i.e. "I have it!" (Many times I've gone to bed and woken up with a solution! Hahaha old schoolboy joke!). This poem just highlights a couple of dissonances of speech of the kind that bombard us everyday. No wonder our psychical selves are so stressed! Conscious dissonance is experienced as stress, unconscious dissonance is experienced as clinical depression if unable to be resolved. You and I, Mike, will now take a couple of aspirins Hahaha Trevor.

stormwolf on 09-09-2014
Depressingly Irrelevant
He he I would have broken the poem up to highlight further the doctor's remarks.and perhaps later on in the poem as well to aid interpretation
There is a lot being said in this poem, much more than taken in on one reading.
The last four lines are funny and leave a vague disquiet in the reader which I feel is maybe intentional.

Alison x


Author's Reply:
Hahaha! Not so complicated Alison really (?)! People say things all the time that are illogical, and not only malapropisms, but even in normal conversation, I mean if Beethoven was alive today he couldn't possibly be in his grave, to turn, and a hundred customers is a high demand. It is this wrong logic that remains as dissonant information causing tensions in the brain and is stressful if not resolved (usually ends up half-discharged as pre-motor tensions giving stress to the body instead and can lead to psychosomatic disorders if occurring too often or too long, but luckily most people's logic is pretty sound or at least corrected directly any anomalies occur. Relevance is good logical thinking and leads to resolution and tension relief (as released). So relevance and relief are the same thing. Jokes often use intentional tension-making strange logic until resolution in the last explaining line, the tension relief makes us laugh which is the release itself, when we get it, when relevance occurs. I need some more aspirins! Hahaha Trevor x (P.S. The "vague disquiet" is because the last four lines, like those on Beethoven, are illogical)


Another Year Older (posted on: 08-09-14)
His birthday present

Ten minutes she stood opposite him between lime trees in teeming rain, wet and spring fresh as the green leaves that framed her. From her long auburn hair to her slim dark ankles, raindrops, glistened like diamonds and pearls, slowly soaked in, causing translucent, clinging black silk to gradually reveal every shapely contour. More revealing, her rolled up umbrella, the shy exchange of blushing glances as she declined the teasing offer of his. ''At your age!'' she was heard to say with a wry smile, before they wandered off, two, warm and wet, in tight embrace. TR:London:2004

Archived comments for Another Year Older
Mikeverdi on 08-09-2014
Another Year Older
Ah... there you go again, titivating my morning coffee moments. I much prefer your simpler style here; easy for me to get to the bottom of 🙂
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike, I knew you would appreciate this titivated titillation of a birthday treat! Trevor

Ionicus on 08-09-2014
Another Year Older
An intriguing romantic tale. What could his teasing offer have been? And what did “At your age!” imply? Is the rolled umbrella a Freudian reference?
Plenty to wonder for the reader in this polished poem.
Personally, I would lose the word 'two' in the penultimate line.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Luigi. Both Barenib and Freja had their own interpretations on this piece when first submitted which were not as the message intended. His birthday present was simply a daring spontaneous "wet t-shirt" type treat which was his suggestion, but her being a sport complying. "More revealing" than this was "her rolled up umbrella" in spite of the rain, and him teasing her by offering her his own umbrella, showing a little hesitance with his request because of it probably being a bit uncomfortable, and it being in public, though while not being watched. "At your age" with wry smile was her jokingly reprimanding him, saying now a year older should you really still be so youthfully excited by such things. I'll think a little longer with your suggested omitting the "two" as I want this to very much have a "double-act" feeling to it. Glad you liked it..Trevor

sweetwater on 09-09-2014
Another Year Older
I loved the descriptiveness of this, their meeting made me wonder what was going on, but I did not realise how complex it really was. Thoroughly enjoyed reading it. Sue 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Sue, it's funny I didn't think this poem that cryptic or complex when writing it, but it must be because nobody, or at least those who commented on it, could see it as intended when written; this "free fall" I think Freja referred to it where in the USA one does something daring in public. Anyway when they arrived home, hopped into a steaming Victorian bath and listened to Albioni's Adagio, I think it was...oooops! Thanks again....Trevor
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XMbvcp480Y4

stormwolf on 09-09-2014
Another Year Older
Oh just wonderfully suggestive and beautifully descriptive. Playfully semi erotic...
The ending was perfect.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Alison, it feels like we need to be reminded more of these fun romantic and human moments in today's hi-tech world!
Here's a better version of the Albioni. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuh3WyfVL2M.

These two pieces are relaxing in a hot bath too!
These short elegies, The last Spring By the Norwegion Grieg and Heartwounds are my favorite pieces of his. Trevor x https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zGRQsYZE7U andhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fC80N5Vn7uU


On A Retrograde Plane (posted on: 05-09-14)
A tribute to Freud's amazing work "Beyond The Pleasure Principle"

Further to the rapturous rudeness of nakedness and besetting sin of lust beyond Freud's latent insight we discovered erotic sluices where pumped waters pooled Held with tumescent breath Spring tides retreated resurrecting necrogenic stubs of cold carnal ghosts desecrating embryonic tombs of spendthrift death till insurgent liberation prizing participation coalesced alluvial quintessence in the hearts of two sublime minds Did we love each other? One a sneak thief? In the scheme of things it doesn't really matter TR:London:2005

Archived comments for On A Retrograde Plane

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Crossover - First Antiphonal Crescendo (posted on: 05-09-14)
or song for alternating voices

At sixteen and a few more years, when her sweet scent eased imposing glow, and entwined fingers pulled in acquiescence, there occurred that watershed moment when absorbing wick, destined to saturate, laid claim to Life's precious nectar, and the taut brain, unable to exit, fused it onwards and inwards, banishing forever the slow atrophy of archaic innocence. As natural as the years were mature, in a green hollow in an ancient wood, two crossed that signposted Rubicon, from callow and insular to profoundly empathic leaving all kindred embrace in their wake, and, though fated to go separate ways, from that noble moment on, found beauty, joy, sadness, and pain in the passion and perfection of a bird song. TR:London:2014
Inspirational sources: Stanza 1 - Freud's 'Beyond The Pleasure Principle' where essential vital Life psychical substances become expediently (for procreation purposes) located in object memory at subject/object split (within first year of life) impelling us to repeatedly "collect" it using the sexual orgasmic function. (Celibate priests and trappist monks take note!). The expenditure of this acquired life energy now sublimated into new so called 'ideal structures' in object memory is Freud's Death instinct requiring replenishment at intervals. As new 'ideal' structures are formed, the sexual need is reduced. Any satisfying sexual situation works in this process, though, the more erotic the external love object, the greater the life energy transfer. (See also poem "On a retrograde plane") Stanza 2: A famous conductor/composer once said 'to appreciate culture and the arts fully, one must have experienced intensive, requited and consummated, passionate erotic love, and presumably more so if ending in painful failure. This is all presented as interesting hypotheses, subject to personal opinion, and yet to be proven ****
Archived comments for Crossover - First Antiphonal Crescendo
Mikeverdi on 05-09-2014
Crossover - First Antiphonal Crescendo
Until I read your explanation I thought it was all about 'shagging'...ah well back to the drawing board 🙂

It's beautiful Trevor, I was enthralled.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hahahaha! Shagging is the first stanza, or rather romantic love doesn't need to be present for it to work, but hopefully will be, but, the second making love, not shagging, as this description would devalue our greatest personal asset, second only to altruism! Gosh, I've come home late, gotta get some sleep. I'll send you a message tomorrow on some current issue. Thanks for the positive comments Mike. Trevor

Ionicus on 06-09-2014
Crossover - First Antiphonal Crescendo
Truly interesting hypotheses to which I heartily concur, Trevor. A good, polished execution of a poem on physical and psychal love.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Luigi, I'm glad and knew somehow that you'd understand and appreciate these two very special and beautiful assumptions steering the emotional life of all human kind. The compelling nature of these processes helps one better understand too and show more compassion for, those biologically disadvantaged by sexual orientations that are quite rightly rejected by society as evil crimes when affecting innocent and not similarly predisposed others, and who are often plagued by being in that predicament.. Thanks again for your positive and encouraging comments. ....Trevor


Fait Accompli (posted on: 05-09-14)
Or the captivating nature of romantic love!

Alone, defying the wind, sitting coyly on a park bench some distance opposite, she looked magnificent. Mouldering leaves, fine as fishbone lace, chased about her, not daring to touch, while overhead, long-fingered birch twigs pulled to reach, as if pointing out her worth. But, her personal ambience, with a sophistication only natural beauty can exude, had already crossed the gap. A bewitching force; inviting gentle hands to brush aside lank fallen hair, to slowly unclothe her, help sensual lips explore limpid skin; and all awhile unflinching eyes, staring approvingly, would relish this chance entrapment, achieved by her divine design. An eager participant lost in feigned hope's harmless game, I was quite taken aback, therefore, stopped naked in my tracks, in fact, by her sudden nearness, softly whispering, ''You seem troubled by your thoughts; would it help to share them?'' TR:London:2004

Archived comments for Fait Accompli
Bozzz on 06-09-2014
Fait Accompli
As in watching a stage performance, when distance stirs the loins of man what is the formula that connects it with attraction - perhaps a square law which diminishes desire with proximity until touch or speech lights it again. It is the overnight stand in reverse. That the end negates this theory is its attraction. Trevor, for me a highly sensuous piece to take to bed. Great stuff - if a touch unusual from your ethereal pen - loved it...David

Author's Reply:
That sums it all up beautifully, David, for we poor mortals, this bewildering charade giving us so much joy. I still remember the good feeling when discovering little scribbled love notes in my school desk and the heightened self-esteem this, the finest compliment one person can bestow on another, brings with it. So sad it all too often ends up being rejected, even if appreciated. Thanks too for your positive, encouraging comments. ...Trevor

stormwolf on 07-09-2014
Fait Accompli
Beautifully sensuous and demonstrating again the finer feelings so many men experience that can be hidden. I have learned so much about the finer feelings of men from reading their poetry.
I have done my share of field research too of course 😜 but when a man with the ability to express the nuances of attraction and sexuality puts pen to paper it brings on another dimension often hidden by the macho male.

Some lovely descriptions and imagery here. How I love when I see those leaves you can come across sometimes "fine as fish bone lace"
Alison x


Author's Reply:
Thank you, Alison. A woman dressed in a tight black silk dress with fishbone lace edgings getting drenched in the rain will be one of three submitted poems tomorrow, wink, wink (old form of smiley!) The other two are more my belligerent manly self on the rampage for rough and tumble, no questions asked, sex Hahaha! No, just joking! Glad you liked it, ....Trevor x

Mikeverdi on 08-09-2014
Fait Accompli
Ah Trevor, you have a way with words that can light up the page...or an old man's thoughts. A bit behind with my reading, sorry to be late.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Mike. Yes, it's sad when there's snow on the roof and even the boiler's run out of coal! I've got storage radiators so lightly-clad females can still snuggle up and get warm (I wish!) Hahahasobsobsob!


Mass Indoctrination (posted on: 01-09-14)
Prevents objective appraisal. Funeral of a respected, humane, empathic man Polish Pope John Paul II, and later, his successor, the German Ratzinger.

Nature, Death, I will welcome, but, I live in fear. Your honesty and beauty though awesome, are not enough; consistent face values do not soothe. Your highest Life form does not accept limited participation, then rank oblivion, it wants more. For many, loss feels too painful to leave; dying too final; humbled minds seek reassurance, in spiritual meaning. Tell me, that meaning is not eternal life, re-unification, achieving joyful states in some amiable place called Paradise; I cannot comprehend the value of that. Today, in Rome, I saw a million eyes fixed in passionate veneration, in gratitude and hope. Tell me it was for trying to improve this world, for all people, not for confirming belief in a God; the two do not always coincide. For, I've seen that look in a million eyes before, at Nrnberg. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Mass Indoctrination
Andrea on 03-09-2014
Mass Indoctrination
Hah! Excellent - never a truer word from Marx.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Andrea. Yes it was he who said "religion was the opium of the people" bringing comfort, but this mass indoctrination of a phantasy saviour and better chances of redemption in the next life, also preventing assertive action to better one's situation in this, your real life, in the real world! Nürnberg refers here of course to Ratzinger's earlier membership of Hitler Youth. Both he and his butler hastily and prematurely retired; should we be suspicious? Everybody, rattle your religious chains! Thanks again.

Mikeverdi on 04-09-2014
Mass Indoctrination
Now this is simply brilliant. I saw Pope John, both alive and dead on visits to Rome; also his next in line. I will never understand religion of any kind; but the look on some of the faces said I was in the minority.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike. It wasn't you, one of two scruffy men who telted on the steps of St Peter's, come the morning while paddy was having a pee, looking back he saw the Pope blessing his mate Mick, you perhaps? You lucky devil he said on returning, no said you or Mick, he told me to take my tent down and piss off! hahaha! Yes, mass early indoctrination a major challenge for pedagogues and that yet to be discovered breed, intelligent politicians! If only we could trust in the consensual goodness of each other, the medical profession, and the police! Intelligent parents are helping to increase the minority producing individuals with beautiful spiritual personalities and balanced values. Thanks again...Trevor

P.S. Hahaha! My most primitive defense mechanism, which also controls depressives, original anxiety, kept dissonant logic active on my walk! "Increasing the minority" means less people demographically, so I mean the minority group is growing in numbers! Aaahhh! Thanks anxiety, you're a reliable friend!

ifyouplease on 04-09-2014
Mass Indoctrination
gases for the mind. a deep poem.

Author's Reply:
Hahaha! Not sure I want to know what you mean here! Thanks for reading. G:)

ifyouplease on 04-09-2014
Mass Indoctrination
don't worry, you're safe lol

Author's Reply:
That's a relief! Hahaha! Reading your "The Town" now, and loving the read!

Pilgermann on 05-09-2014
Mass Indoctrination
Gothic, people need to believe in something greater than themselves, because they themselves feel so small. We latch onto others so that we need not take any action; its "the brick in a wall" syndrome. Have you counted the number of cameras on the UK streets. We are all mice. I' just wondering whether its cheese or biscuits at the end of the line.

Author's Reply:
But, it doesn't have to be so, Pilgermann. Born reasonably healthy, and with a decent start during the first few years there are two major interdependent developmental processes we humans must succeed with if we are to become sufficiently psychically equipped to take on the normal trials and tribulations of life: breaking free from parents from infantile dependency to adult dependency (not autonomy, we should still need close relationships, and preferably erotic relationships), and identity-formation (including psychosexual identity); it's the first that's compromised by religion, and for that matter, exaggerated patriotism, for both are cop-outs from gaining full adult independence from parental figures, as you say something greater than themselves that will protect and guard them. In religion, breaking away is done by transference from the parent/s who protects me to God, the father, who will protect me, and in the case of exaggerated patriotism, my fatherland or motherland will protect me; both cop outs, and historical residues from when primitive man believed in evil spirits and the wrath of the Gods, in thunder, and violent natural disasters, and so on. Knowing that we should break free when adult, a 45 year-old man, for example, cannot say I need my father when fearful of something, but he can say I pray to God the father to help and guide me, which is even dafter when you think about it!. The problem with early indoctrination of religion is that it becomes part of enduring basic personality, where any attempt at removal, or even criticism, is experienced as loss of self, and so feels life-threatening, and so, of course, people thus stricken won't like what's been written here! Another problem is that those already indoctrinated, for them it feels essential and quite natural to indoctrinate their own children in turn, and so it gets perpetuated as a basic cop-out from becoming independent from parents towards adult dependency with a chosen life partner and any children until these children too attempt to break away, but as stated, they are doomed to failure by the actions of their own copped-out parents. We must try to break this indoctrination chain. A social-democratic government and ordered society should ensure self-support, survival, security, and protection, (the social part means pooling of resources to fulfil these life-support requirements for those born physically and mentally disadvantaged) and not some imaginary illusion of a higher power or compensating after-life! Different types of failure of these two basic processes account for I would guess 90 % of psychically-based problems presented at primary, secondary, and even a large part of tertiary levels of mental care. I have worked 50 years up to the highest level studying and dealing with it. Gothicman


Black Dogs Guard The Gods (posted on: 01-09-14)
Defending you,though it doesn't feel like it; about endogenous depression

There are somnolent servants of God, deciding which side of narrow tracks transgressing minds will lie. Asleep for some, for reasons to the Almighty known, their dreams echoing sufferers on solo rides through private landscapes. Awake for most, they serve their Master well, pouncing like falling Winter fog, to prevent divine revelation. For, without their blunt encumbrance, the most depression-prone would venture off like geniuses, separate without trace from the first stride. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Black Dogs Guard The Gods
Pilgermann on 02-09-2014
Black Dogs Guard The Gods
This is a fine construction. These lines are absolutely spot on.

"For, without their blunt encumbrance,
the depression-prone would
wander off too freely;"

Well done.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Pilgermann for your comments.
I've been trying to get the content to say what I wanted it to say in countless revisits and still changing it again! The original poem mentioned Armageddon, but that would primarily be a morally-based not logically-based battle between good and bad, or good and evil, so it's been left out. Gothicman. P.S. I think I'll take a break to Cornwall for a few days ...and then come back to the damn thing Hahahahaha!

Supratik on 03-09-2014
Black Dogs Guard The Gods
Every line in the poem is so true that there is no room for a debate or disagreement.

Please keep writing.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Supratik, for your comments. The time it takes for us to get the content right at least from our point of view, but also while trying to keep the meter and syllable count from sticking out too awkwardly, even with using free verse! I'm resubmitting now a few of the earlier poems with some "fresh-eyes" adjustment. One good thing about having poems on a showcase site is that you can prove precedence when someone else publishes them on other and own sites as their own, which happened just once to me, and which was thus resolved very quickly! ...Gothicman.

Bozzz on 03-09-2014
Black Dogs Guard The Gods
Reminds me of a short story about septic tanks in flooded houses, where the dreaded Portapotti" lurks like a tramp looking over the shoulder. Either way things are messy

Succinct and apt, your piece - Bravo!....David... P.S. Cameron back in London - safe to go to Cormwall.

Author's Reply:
Hahaha, I like it! I've rummaged around in the cellar now, thrown out the old urinal lurking like a bishop in the corner of the eye, and I think this will be it!
Cornwall's off the menu then, and the noise from rebuilding Hadrian's Wall rules out anywhere north of Watford, so I've booked in for three nights at the Frensham Ponds Hotel, Hampshire/Surrey borders, where I used to fish as a young lad, a good room with a view @ £90/night.That's the good news, the bad news is that it's middle of September!
Thanks David, I know you appreciate the mental agony of trying to get these changed endings right! ...Trevor

Mikeverdi on 04-09-2014
Black Dogs Guard The Gods
As always, your words demand the attention of several reads before I comment. When reading this I was reminded of some earlier comments on a piece. Its excellent writing as always.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike, yeah I didn't want to give any sort of negative ring to the situation of the depressive and it's gelled now I think, both in meaning and poetically. I've kept also the original genius reference as it is relevant. Ordinary mortals like you and me are blessed with average associational spread in memory and average cohesion i.e an energy factor holding all features activated in memory compact and in close association, keeping our expressed thinking logical and relevant. Depressives have various levels of associational spread, but unfortunately lower levels of the cohesion factor, so without depression (or suppression as it was originally called) defending against expression, their thoughts too, like psychotics, would be too widely isolated and be incomprehensible. Genius is then, of course, exceptionally high associational memory spread coupled to exceptionally high levels of cohesion. Yes, you're right, recurring themes for me, as in my coming book (whenever!) I intend each chapter to start with a relevant poem, none of which will be submitted here, Hahahaha! Thanks again...Trevor

P.S. I should add that "God" here is only figurative and refers to whatever controls such process, which to me, of course, is Nature.

P.P.S. Psychical base tension determining degree of associational memory spread is thought to be controlled by the thalamus via striatal pathways to motor cortex couplings to facial muscles. So, look in the mirror, lots of wrinkles and you're average and safe! (Only those with baby faces are psychotic or geniuses!)


Requiem For Two (posted on: 29-08-14)
Spinster Ethel's last night, aged 104, fianc, Wilfred killed 1915, aged 17, loved by his comrades for his flute recitals in the aftermath of massive life-depleting attacks. Grief-stricken, she never saw a new sunrise. Experiment with interior and mirrored rhyme.

Soon, after being born, With solo piccolo, he played A mournful soleil couchant tune, A slow requiem for the dead That she might instead live in peace To a late dusk, from a second dawn. Now her serene life will soon cease, She lies, gold bassoon in bed Sadly, playing au clair de la lune; Old, worn, she too will fade Soon, before the morn. TR:London:2003

Archived comments for Requiem For Two
stormwolf on 29-08-2014
Requiem For Two
Outstanding work. Just the best of poetry.
I have to say made all the more poignant by the accompanying intro.
I wonder would I have been able to decipher it fully without that? ..maybe not
However, the pure quality of the words and the brevity of the poem distilling the essence so much more powerfully makes this imho a work of pure class.
One for the next anthology , my favs and leaves a lasting impression.

So beautifully sad and containing SO much love, the young soldier for his love, the young soldier for his comrades. The old lady, for whom real joy stopped that day... who never forgot and was destined to live her whole life mourning her loss. This poem holds tragedy and the greatest of human striving and spirit.
We live in a throwaway society now where people and things are instantly replaced but some of us hold more depth.

One of the most beautiful poems I have ever read.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Alison. Yes. it's has an intro almost longer than the poem itself! I had thought of titling it "Soon, Two Lives That Ended 1915" or even "Soon, 1915" as the year would be clue enough to the times and destinies, and leave it more one to ponder over. But, at the time, I was moved by this true story reported in a newspaper article, so it felt only right to include Ethel and Wilfred by name, and a little of their story. What do you think?
Thanks for voting it a fave too. Trevor x

stormwolf on 29-08-2014
Requiem For Two
No, I think the title is perfect.
I also do not see any harm in little 'about's accompanying a poem.
Some say of course it should never need one but I disagree.

If I published a book of mine I may well have a wee 'about' section if I felt it helped the reader enjoy a poem. After-all surely its about enjoying reading and that usually in my book, means being able to understand what's been written.
There are a couple of folk on here who tell me when they don't get a poem of mine or they are not scared to make a stab in the dark lol
I really like when they do that for it's all a learning curve for me.

I am essentially just someone who wants their poems to be read and understood.
For instance, one off my web site has really affected several who wrote to tell me. One woman got the courage to leave an abusive relationship and then got a Phoenix tattooed on her leg in respect of the poem (sent me pic)and the other said she read it nightly for years to give her strength to endure.
Now very many of my early poems are sadly lacking in style or finesse but as long as they do their job I am very rewarded.
I suppose we all have different hopes for our work and I am totally havering away now. 😉

However, I do enjoy discussions like this and I think we all learn something too 😉
x

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 29-08-2014
Requiem For Two
An excellent poem, Trevor, written in a style that I greatly favour. I notice that it was written in 2003 but it is just as fresh today as it was then. Good poetry is never outdated.



Author's Reply:
Thank you, Luigi. Yes, today, nobody exists born in the 19th Century, Ethel being one of the last then, also now, nobody living who was a soldier in WWI. All those wonderful post-colonial spinsters who became our teachers at school, all gone. I agree with your sentiments and they apply to the whole spectrum, even if one has personal preferences...Trevor

Nemo on 29-08-2014
Requiem For Two
Impressive compression. To intro or not to intro .... Certainly the whole ensemble works here. Pdrhaps the intro could be poeticised and incorporated into the body of tbe poem?

Regards, Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Hi Gerald, yes it is compressed, but not I hope stilted or compromised by using rhyme. I had thought of doing it more in anecdote form to encompass the whole story, including, at the hospice, the only possessions she owned at the end was some framed photos, and his tin whistle in the bedside cabinet, but decided to limit it to the main aspect of: him sacrificing himself by keeping moral up towards subsequent victory, in order to give her a new chance of a decent life, but without him, she emotionally never wanted to experience a new awakening, a new dawn or sunrise, she just lived a good long life in his honour. Regards, Trevor

Mikeverdi on 30-08-2014
Requiem For Two
You clearly don't get fed up with praise or you'd write something shit now and again HaHa! Another brilliant post Trevor.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Well, it's always good to receive praise, but, don't forget I'm resubmitting chosen poetry that has already been tested in daylight before! So a lot of experimenting compressed into only those poems and prosetry that had been well received, but now by a whole new readership?! Thanks as always for your positive comments, Mike, much appreciated. Trevor

Supratik on 30-08-2014
Requiem For Two
The poem stands out even without its historicity. A wonderful read.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Supratik, I like to have a go at the whole variation of poetry presentation as far as ability goes, but always while trying to remain connected with the reader with regard to them being easily understood common or assumed experiences; after all that is what relevance and comprehension is all about when communicating to others? Thanks again...Gothicman.

Nemo on 31-08-2014
Requiem For Two
Trevor, whohat you have just told me about Ethel makes me think there's an even stronger poem waiting to be written, conveying the sadness of the lives those who were bereaved by the war. The tin whistle does it for me. I'm a great believer in sadness.
Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Gerald, knowing more of the story now, and with your talents, I'm sure you could write a excellent poem in that superb understated style of yours; when I first came here, there was a skilled poet, and critic, who called himself Skeeter, I think it was, and he gave his take on a poem I submitted using his own skills and it was really good, so feel free to do the same if the mood takes you. Trevor

Gothicman on 04-09-2014
Requiem For Two
Thank you Pilgermann, for choosing it as a fave, humbly honoured, Gothicman.

Author's Reply:


You There! Standing In The Glow! (posted on: 29-08-14)
Armageddon is soon upon us; let's get rid of this religious burden, once and for all!

You can join our coach if you like, there's room for one more; we're escaping dust at high altitude retrograding from nuclear levitation; . . . . and Khilafah Muslims, in millions, ecstatically awaiting imminent annihilation; no longer nuking Zionist effigies, not now, since chemical-Ayatollah supplied the know-how; . . . . and Israeli Jews, the surviving few, once safely triggering summary executions, now thumping doom buttons of eye-tooth retribution, now triggering, yes, the final Exodus! Sit back, breathe deeply and relax; close your eyes and ponder, not over God's existence, but your own; Oh, by the way, there is no driver. I think there are two major developments approaching on the horizon in the western world that will affect us all: one is an Armageddon war of ideology, with the deciding battle against militant Islamism fought, not in Israel, which will have ceased to exist, but in Turkey, USA will lose interest once Israel falls; and the other is the subsequent Youth Revolution, which will follow in its wake, as the young will bear the brunt of resolving this and will then banish the old Illuminists, or Elitists, or whatever the present so called New Order call themselves, to history. They will also eradicate the formal religious indoctrination of children, allowing only the essential common sense, mutual respect values, of socialization. Religion will revert to being individual, objectively appraised, ideas about spiritual matters, which will be debated and discussed, but by not being indoctrinated early in people's basic identities will not develop into mass followings or cult groups, but rather remain schools of thought with interesting hypotheses and opinions, which will be accepted by all as that which thankfully cannot be empirically proven. TR:London:2005(Revised)

Archived comments for You There! Standing In The Glow!
stormwolf on 29-08-2014
You There! Standing In The Glow!
Another beaut Trevor. There is a dark gallows humour just underneath the surface here. The poem is terrifying in its portent and the feeling of being swept along by circumstances we are powerless to change.

I see it was written some years ago, so way have shared this intense feeling of what seems to be coming our way. It reminds me of this one of mine
http://www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=29108
Here I use a train metaphor but the feeling is the same.
Mine is more story telling style whereas yours is concentrated horror on epic scale.
Just love your work.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison. The only change from the original was substituting "Iranian" for "Khilafah" as the threat to humanity is enormous now, making Tolkien's triology like a street brawl in comparison! And I added "Oh," in the final line to balance the structure better. Iran's WMD programme was presumably only a possibility then, now it's reality with Parkistan a major player, soon to join the Khilafah visionists. I read your poem you linked to, and it definitely feels historic Auswitz with the death trains, but prophetic nevertheless. My coach was originally a metaphor for no one being in the driving seat with regard to steering this scenario away from the brink, especially USA steered unfortunately by American Jews, with no regard for compromise knowing and supporting Israel's expansion ambitions. Now, with this one posted again, I was sorely tempted to add a extra single last line: "and never has been!" referring to to some speculative God that is supposed to be the driving force behind all this indoctrinated religion, Mankind itself's biggest and daftest failure. To make it clear I'm not against personal objectively-appraised spiritual beliefs as such, I think I'll add those remarks I made on your last piece at the bottom (without you and me on our Baden Badens Lol) to make this clear.
With the UN outlawing direct criticism of a specific person's religious beliefs as persecution of the individual is always wrong under any circumstances with the exception of those directly inciting others to be violent or incite riot or treasonable activity re. a country's security, you have to be careful with the words you use, like in my intro here.
Thanks again, Alison, much appreciated. Trevor x

Mikeverdi on 30-08-2014
You There! Standing In The Glow!
You make brave assumptions Trevor, surly your version is only applicable depending who wins the coming war you write of. In your version it would appear that war is inevitable. Clearly you have lost faith in Government's and so called diplomatic solutions. I don't 'not' believe you...but I also live in hope of another way; better to live in hope etc..... I will confess you make the case well, and as always.... your writing is 'the best'
Mike
ps.I had a feeling Alison would be one of your 'standard bearers' 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike. You're right, of course, it just feels too late now to "nip it in the bud", and the more moderate Muslims will quickly fall in line if the Caliphate appears to be spreading to a much larger extent than was thought possible and winning ground and strategic resources. Cameron said religion brings comfort and help to millions, it should be, of course, Mankind, properly brought up, brings comfort, security, and basic needs for survival to millions, and absolutely without the need for indoctrinated religion, Even given Man's aggressive ability in the service of survival, it would have had a better chance of occurring as a natural propensity within civilized Mankind and ensuring an enduring, fully democratic, and successfully managed planet. All those otherwise intelligent adults, dressing up in those daft costumes and uttering mumbo jumbo in this advanced day and age? And look at the result! people already indoctrinated are, of course, going to defend the position they find themselves in. But stop polluting children's cognitive development, and then see what happens! Alison is of a very special calibre, who applies her good heart in real practical terms, but so are you, and so many others in different ways, often without knowing it! .... Trevor


On The Soft Landscape Of Childhood (posted on: 25-08-14)
Young children always regard deprivation as being caused by their own inadequacies

Forced momentarily to peer deeply, deeply inwards into misty bromide images, the mind's eye hesitates as it struggles to track through fifty years of stored strife, for it also becomes painfully aware of its own humble beginnings. A small boy is crouching in solitary play on knees scuffed by awkwardness, eagerly chuckling to himself, engrossed in fantasies, with forced, irregular breaths, cursing Kaiser and Hun, he sucks in inaudible words. On the soft landscape of childhood, the long, red patterned hall carpet, Monty's ''Desert Rats!'' Glorious and victorious, are in action to save the day again. Large glass Challenger tanks are launched to clink and scatter Rommel's advancing array of broken toys. The cogged German cotton reels jerked forwards by twanging elastic midst mutterings of explosions, screams, and ricochets, and aimed with impartial deceit, founder into upturned wrecks on tufted curled edges of the desert. Risking court martial, and execution by firing squad, his older brother's Meccano size 5 has been appropriated for the war effort. Green metal plates, yellow flanges, brass pinions, pullies, and wheels are rapidly sorted and plucked out as, drawing in excited breaths to repeatedly halt a running nose, his fumbling fingers rush to bolt together invincible contraptions of war. He knew he could last three shouts from when Mother first called ''Come and eat your tea!'' Tired, the war is rapidly won. All the British survive, and he retires honourably from the untidy battlefield. He had fought bravely, tried to be a boy to be proud of, but, his father, never came home from the war. TR:London:2002

Archived comments for On The Soft Landscape Of Childhood
Pilgermann on 25-08-2014
On The Soft Landscape Of Childhood
Gothicman, like this a lot. Am intrigued on the trigger which jogged these memories.

Author's Reply:
Hi Pilgermann, this was the first poem I submitted here in Jan. 2003. I came here with other poets looking for a new writing site after the wonderful site BBC Poet's Corner was closed as the result of budget cuts, Shackleton, Elfstone, Kat, Bradene, Emerald, Red Dragon, and many, many more, came here at that time as well. On that site there was an excellent and highly respected proffs poet called Susan Holt, and she encouraged us, both with direct help and by superb example, to leave traditional poetry forms and venture into more modern types. I think authenticity to real situations and people types and behavior, without being stilted or embellished, using the beautiful simplicity of the English language, was the message I got from her and her work. This was my first attempt and it feels so right and true to my memories of that time of my life. The trigger was the remnants of those very special memories which remain part of one's life right to the end. So, I suppose the answer is being encouraged to delve deeply and present the results as real and authentically as possible. These memories are always there. Thanks Pilgermann, Gothicman.

Supratik on 25-08-2014
On The Soft Landscape Of Childhood
Heart-wrenching recount of fighting bravely and leaving an untidy battlefield. The content is more important in the poem than the form. It was a very nice read.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Supratik, there are examples of this more open and flowing, in some ways more honest style of writing to be seen everywhere today and thankfully increasing. You're right, it's the occasion both historically and the precise personal stage in developmental life that is being recorded and reflected here in content. I will admit I still get emotionally moved when reading it through, which to me is a sure indication of authenticity, of being a true and accurate account of a situation that at that time needed to be therapeutically worked through if self feelings were not to be compromised too much in proceeding further. The use of play in childhood is very important and useful for this purpose. I remain humanly warmed remembering my bold attempts at defiance when a small child. Gothicman

Mikeverdi on 25-08-2014
On The Soft Landscape Of Childhood
I had forgotten the cotton reels, it hit me like a warm flannel to wipe the mud off my knees; thrown by my mother 🙂
Trevor, I nearly cried...that's how good you are.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Haha Mike, we were writing comments to each other's submission at the same time! Yes, the cotton reel, candle, and Swan Vesta match, tanks, with treads notched around the edges, and scuffed knees, elbows, and boots always muddy; our bathroom had no heating, so the hot bath, a few inches deep was all the back-boiler behind the fire could effectively heat, was ruined by cold condensed water dripping off the ceiling on your head, shoulders and back! What a tough breed we were! No wonder we could march to York and beat the shite out of the Vikings, and march back to Hastings and get the shite beaten out of us! At least in our imaginations! Thanks for your kind words. Trevor

Nemo on 25-08-2014
On The Soft Landscape Of Childhood
Enjoyed this. Sounds like my childhood. I still have my Meccano. Got up to set 9. Rusting in the loft. Hard-hitting ending. Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Gerald. A Size 9, must have been a huge box, you spoilt little brat! But, then we did get the extra high crane add-ons with worm screw cogs and clockwork motor. And anyway we've always beaten the French with this Hornby invention from 1898 with its factory at Calais; except when faced with that mad woman, Joan, who put the shites up us and made us run back to Liverpool. Now owned by the Erector brand USA, but still going strong. Thanks again, Trevor

Nemo on 27-08-2014
On The Soft Landscape Of Childhood
It took years to work up to set 9. My parents keep buying the A sets after I started with set 3 when I was 5. The clockwork motor had to be bought separately. Never got the electric motor. Interesting historical note you provided which I was unaware of. I mentioned. Meccano in my Billy Liddell poem posted in March. I may have got my history wrong. Gerald

Big cause of sorrow that my parents could'nt manage the huge add-on box to get me up to set 10.









Author's Reply:
I've read that poem you mentioned, excellent read, written in authentic style, you are human after all! The Meccano days left me able to fix most mechanical things, but don't tell the wife, I've been fobbing off most of her demands to mend everything with the five-bananas-on-each-hand trick. Hahahaha!

stormwolf on 27-08-2014
On The Soft Landscape Of Childhood
awww Really moved me. I really enjoyed it.
'The soft landscape of childhood' is truly beautifully descriptive and the last 4 lines heart-rending. Congrats on a very worthy nib awarded.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you, Alison. your comments as always, much appreciated. Trevor x


Closing Act (posted on: 22-08-14)
made the marriage and the ceilingl!

.
A pillow feather, soaring high on gentle breath, assuaged in the after-draught before slowly descending onto becalmed stillness. In that nuptial bed, soft and warm as goose-down, he had been pre-emptively conceived. Inspired to expire with purposeful aspiration, Life ended as it began, appropriating legitimate opportunity. :Goth:December:2003

Archived comments for Closing Act
Supratik on 26-10-2015
Relentless Ageing
This is uncanny indeed! Supratik

Author's Reply:
Yes, my friend, Supratik, the uncanniness is beyond belief!
The pen is indeed mightier than the sword! Hahahaha!
Thanks for a bit of fun,
Trevor


Body and Soul (posted on: 22-08-14)
Thoughts on dying

In Autumn,a new awareness when the cold, low sunis in emanation, deserts all immature strife,eclipsing our thinking, the air, vibrating with exertion,awoken beyond bleak thought; sends leaves pattering to the groundnarratives of happenings mostly to slowly evanesce into gossamer strands,lonely, elusive as dreams, and yet through viridescent hues to purple and brown.not dreams. Strange experiences Covering and nourishing for rebirth and growth,impeding recollection, remains of Nature protects. But Man also dies with fresh hope.some deep vagary while dream- In a tranquil moment so beautiful and strange,work was sleeping, feeling seemingly all dearest memories from a far distant time,irrelevant to lives knowingly lived. Is transcend and fade into a fleeting sadness;it previous life transpiring, prophetic as the soul merges in the ancestral trace,life intruding, some divine Godhead emotions drift inertly up and dissipateassigning ancestral angels ever to through some tear-blurred awareness,protect bloodline prodigies? till toxins salting the sanguine skinWe have two selves, one slowly clog and so mercifully joinon either side of Life's closing circle,the membrane. Some changed and added words to perfect the shape TR:London:2014

Archived comments for Body and Soul
stormwolf on 24-08-2014
Body and Soul
Skilfully and impressively done. Well deserving of the nib.
The wording exquisite,the title perfect and the layout speaks of the content.

Alison x


Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, as you know from the earlier attempt, I thought this might be an occasion where this two aspects of the same thing might become enhanced using this presentation. The new word "emanation" is particularly suitable for its purpose as apart from its general meaning of "thing proceeding or issuing from a source, esp virtues, qualities, moral powers etc"., it also has its root in theology where all there is or ever has been comes from the Holy Spirit. Trevor x

stormwolf on 24-08-2014
Body and Soul
Fascinating and I for one am a huge believer in the Holy Spirit. X

Author's Reply:


Inconsequence (posted on: 18-08-14)
Commonest braking mechanism in the psyche

Bequeathed fear and sadness, the lifelong child, wretchedly miserable, clutches Heaven's railings; denying them peace outweighs the cure. TR:London:2005

Archived comments for Inconsequence
ifyouplease on 18-08-2014
Inconsequence
precisely!

Author's Reply:
Thank you, and for selecting it as a hot story, chuffed and appreciated. And for the 10 rating!


Dilemma (posted on: 18-08-14)
The danger of educating women!

Fariba disobeyed, so Khosrow, in a split-second of Sunni anger, with surgical precision, cleaved her head in two with an axe. He insisted again. One half said "Wow!" the other said "I've a headache!" and refused. So, he banged both together. One said "Ouch! I love you!" the other "Stop doing my head in!" In the end, he died from insomnia, kept awake by Omar Khayyam vs. Zoroaster! TR:London:2014

Archived comments for Dilemma
ifyouplease on 18-08-2014
Dilemma
splitting heads-talking heads, maybe you will like my "In return". sorry for referring to one of my abstract surreal prose poems here, but if you read it you will see why..

http://ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=29368

very interesting poem Gothicman

Author's Reply:
It really is so amazing to me that what is experienced as just a iota of inspiration from reading another person's work can by some strange intuition be recognized and revealed by that person herself as having associations to it, for the truth is I did get the idea of writing this poem by reading just that work of yours you've linked me to here. I really am amazed!
There are some differences though. You, I think, put simply, kept the one half with the emotional will to get another man without the speech facility, only thinking ability, and therefore intending to cut the tongue out of the other half in order to prevent her saying no to it? Here, I needed to keep access to speech in both halves for this ridicule of fundamental sharia law, with its totally primitive and daft view of the status of women in society (viewed as inferior and not allowed to attend school and get an education etc.) to work. I have though kept one half enjoying tactile emotion, in opposition to the other half with its logical, analytical attributes intact so that one side was in competition with the other. Both your and my version of events though are flawed with regard to brain physiology and function location for in thinking, the speech motor neurones are still in use, but with less energy so as not to actually operate the muscles, tongue, breathing etc. of speaking out loud, so even the right half needs the left half in order to be able to think. Anyway, as you can see, I was intrigued by, and enjoyed your very surreal prosetry, very much. Thanks for your comments.

Mikeverdi on 18-08-2014
Dilemma
Sometimes you dive so deep I think I may drown in the efforts to understand, this may take more than one read 🙂
Mike

Author's Reply:
Well it's not that deep, Mike, if you just see I'm using the different specialized functions of the two brain halves in competition with each other i.e (right half) the emotional/ a poet versus the (left half) logical/ a philosopher. The continual discussion and debate between the two keeping this poor, indoctrinated sod awake all the time, night and day! As explained above to Nicoletta, the idea was to ridicule strict translations of sharia law, which makes the woman inferior to man, needs to obey him, and doesn't allow females to go to school. This woman must have been to school in order to have such comprehensive knowledge of the poet and the philosopher named.

ifyouplease on 18-08-2014
Dilemma
not exactly, she gladly let go of verbal speech and the writer dervish had shown her another way of communicating with the original Conscience which is a far more interesting interaction than any "other half". it could have been the other way around. but we are currently living in a patriarchal world. and what this world has imposed on the female sex is an apraxia of verbal speech (splitting head). it's not that women are difficult to understand. they cannot express themselves because of extreme dualism and males have prevailed because of it perhaps temporarily. in any case the drama can be over for all. the axis of I's imagination. the only interaction to cure the many sicknesses of dualism.

Author's Reply:
Well, that is taking an alternative response to resolve a very disadvantaged situation for women a step further than just the emotional/intuitional vs, logical/analytical divide. It's interesting today, at least in Sweden, they are now recognizing gender differences in the approach to for example Board of Director discussions in the process of making important decisions, it has been proved to be better to have both types of gender thinking in this decision making. They say, for example, that men have the tendency to place their sights straight on the goal to be achieved, and work out the quickest route to get there, while women are more concerned with what happens (not the least in humane terms) on the way to the goal they've agreed on. By using both gender attributes, the process of change throughout the company, at all levels, is achieved more smoothly, and with less resistance and confrontation. I think there are gender differences in poetry construction even if the messaging can be the same.

ifyouplease on 18-08-2014
Dilemma
men have the tendency you describe, it's very much in correlation with male perception of reality lag, the fastest route (router) according to the cosmic data downloaded or the Board's goals. 🙂 no wonder men are usually obsessed with physics more than women, they inherently recognize the best field of their actions against any lag. one could say that there are women also interested in such sciences, sure there are, and many, but again they are not attracted to the science because of fear of lag, but what happens because of any consistent lag. they almost accept lag and can compromise with it. men hate what they perceive as lag and want to eliminate it. a woman therefore can analyse better than a man the nature of lag and estimate most of its consequences, men can be the force that brings it back to "normal". does it make sense to you? watch this video (if you haven't already):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fNp37zFn9Q

Author's Reply:
Yes, I do see what you mean. For compromise to work, which is often the only way to get things going, it requires good adaptational qualities (which many think is the only true intelligence), so that with woman with natural tendensies to gather and consolidate "that which is now possible" this is readily accepted and facilitated, but men will always see compromise as a failure to resolve the problem fully and therefore show a lack of interest, even despise the use of compromise, while continuing with their efforts to eliminate it being necessary, and in the meantime the women are actually getting something done. It is healthy to have both though as the man's persistence in trying to achieve perfection of efficiency may give quicker, trouble-free results in the end. I've seen this phenomena many times when couples have become parents of a seriously handicapped child. The woman gets quickly over the initial disappointment and grief and just make the best of the situation, the men say to me " I'm having great difficulty in accepting this; if you were to say to me, if I was to work 16 hours a day in hard labour for 10 years a cure would be achieved, then I'd willingly do it, but I never want to feel this is now the status quo and nothing can be done." These men often then read and research into the subject, go on charity walks to raise money to help research find solutions or means for prevention etc. never really accepting it, while the women are just getting on with it. Of course there are variations and exceptions, but this is generally the two different gender responses in problem situations. I think rather than trying to get both genders to homogenize, it serves society to recognize and appreciate both types of reactions and responses as having equal worth and of being equally useful. One should mix genders at all levels in society more, so as to minimize the chance of one gender having to resolve a problem or to plan things. So lets get things more equal!