Realization. The Mind Cupboard

                                                                Perhaps summer has arrived...

Dear Reader,

Tulips are spring blooming.  The flowers are usually large, showy and brightly coloured, generally red, orange, pink, yellow or white.

The name 'tulip' is thought to be derived from a Persian word for turban, which may have been thought to resemble by those who discovered it.

Flowering in the spring they become dormant in the summer once the flowers and leaves die back, emerging above ground as a shoot from the underground bulb in early spring.

Growing in much of the Near East and Central Asia tulips have probably been cultivated in Persia from the 10th century.  By the 15th century tulips were among the most prized flowers becoming the symbol of the later Ottomans.

The most known meaning of tulips is perfect and deep love.  As tulips are a classic flower that has been loved by many for centuries they have been attached with the meaning of love.  According to superstition if you dream about white tulips it can mean that you are about to embark on a new journey and a fresh start.

                                                                                  *

   

From Dorothy Wordsworth  1800  May 17th in Westmorland   

'Incessant rain from morning till night.......The Skobby (chaffinch)sat quietly in its nest, rocked by the wind, and beaten by the rain.'

 From Gerard Manley Hopkins  1874 May 17th in Surrey

 ......to Combe Wood to see and gather bluebells, which we did, but fell in bluehanded with a gamekeeper, which is a humbling thing to do.   Then we heard a nightingale utter a few strains- strings of very liquid gurgles.'

                                                                                      *

 

Realization

 

 

I am

part of the whole.

 

I am

in the first light,

the bird’s first song,

the sun’s first dart

through the curtain crack,

in the music of summer trees.

 

I am

part of the alpha,

the birth,

the awakening,

the growing and spreading,

the throbbing of life.

 

I am part of all suffering

hands blood-stained.

Part of love

humanity shares and

of all good things.

 

I am

part of the omega,

the closing, the last light,

the call back from the dark

to the bright, eternal night.

                                                                 *

 

 

 

This is the final time I will put this poem on the blog.

The Mind Cupboard

 

My mind cupboard overflows

with unwanted debris.

It needs a spring clean.

 

I will brush away the cobwebs

of cheerless thoughts.

Scrub out the stains of childhood.

 

I will replace the brass hooks

corroded with salt tears,

empty all the screams

hoarded through the years.

 

I will replace the accumulated ashes

from the worn shelf-paper,

with virgin tissue.

 

I will chase and catch the wasps,

relieve them of their stings.

I will refill this cupboard

with love, and learnt, brighter things.

 

                        *

 

 

with very best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                   

My Tenant. The Mind Cupboard.

                                                                                   Wise Women?

 

Dear Reader,

I have always thought that the two characteristics I would most like to have are wisdom and courage.  I suppose that over the years we all grow wiser so I think I am now quite wise.  I have been through many adventures, good and bad, and have grown wise  in the process. But courage, that is another thing.  

I read two or three books a week and they are usually about the wars, the First World War, and the Second. I read of the supreme courage of soldiers, nurses, doctors and all sorts of people who volunteered to help. They were all so brave and selfless.  Amazing women walked home at night in streets that were not lit, after working in a London hospital all day, through the Blitz, and sometimes  joined a boyfriend at a nightclub or restaurant.

Well my friends I know that I am not made of that stuff.  I simply couldn't do it, and I can't imagine what war work I could have done.  Well typing and washing up somewhere would have been possible. But I wonder what it is in us humans that makes us courageous or not. 

You have probably read in the past about my chimp.  The voice in my head that protects me, keeps me from danger.  He would have been working overtime in the war, and probably suggested that I stayed in bed under the covers.  In fact he is useful but can be a bit bossy and overdoes the dangers that might accrue.  He has been quiet lately because of the ghastly weather we have stayed indoors where danger is not so likely although the stairs.....

                                                                            *

 From Richard Hayes  May 6th 1770 in Kent

'By the backwardness of the spring my elm trees in the rookery are uncommon backward in putting out into leaf so that there is little or no appearance of the buds putting forth.  So that to all appearance the nests are as naked as though the depth of winter, notwithstanding we have taken young rooks for a fortnight past.'

 

From Dorothy Wordsworth  May 6th 1820 in Westmorland

'A sweet morning...The small birds are singing, lambs bleating, cuckow calling, the thrush sings by fits, Thomas Ashburner's axe is going quietly (without passion) in the orchard, hens are cackling, flies humming, the women talking together at their doors. plum and pear trees are in blossom - apples trees greenish.' 

                                                                              *

 

 

My Tenant

 

Aunty Anne

lives in my head

sits in a comfortable

velvet armchair

talks to me

 

she is a wise woman

plump with a pretty face

wears a white lacy blouse

a long patchwork skirt

has her hair in a bun

 

she smells of lavender water,

face powder and barley sugars

and she gives me

good advice,

 

away with miserable

thoughts at night,

she says, think

of the sunshine,

the sea, characters you love in books,

 

then she puts

her arms around me

kisses my cheek,

murmurs she loves me

and all will be well

 

and it is,

I sleep.

 

                                                                  *

The Mind Cupboard

 

 

My mind cupboard overflows

with unwanted debris.

It needs a spring clean.

 

I will brush away the cobwebs

of cheerless thoughts.

Scrub out the stains of childhood.

 

I will replace the brass hooks

corroded with salt tears,

empty all the screams

hoarded through the years.

 

I will replace the accumulated ashes

from the worn shelf-paper,

with virgin tissue.

 

I will chase and catch the wasps,

relieve them of their stings.

I will refill this cupboard

with love, and learnt, brighter things.

 

 

                                                                     *

With very best wishes, Patricia