Poems By Mary

Mindfulness what now is the meaning of the word ?
During World War 11 it was in abundance
The community spirit was on high alert
Neighbour caring for neighbour
The greeting one received from another
Not intrusive, yet inclusive
Not on first names , mutual respect to the fore
Good morning Mitchell, good morning Douglas
The neighbourly respect? No first names used
Those were preserved for containment within
the family circle
The baker, the greengrocer, knew the code of conduct
Not for them the use of the surname
It was good morning Mr Brown. Good afternoon Mrs Jones
This pattern of behaviour was laced with warmth
Cross the line frowned upon
A measure of mindfulness, as with medicine
Served in small doses
The local policeman standing at the ready
On many a street corner
Outside his police box ‘  the local keeper of law and order
Yet ‘ the Bobby was his title , friendly yet not overly so
The odd cart made out of boxes , with wheels of a discarded pram giving it speed
The clothes rope,  for guidance
The heel of the sturdy boot , made the difference,  from braking well or going into a skid
The Bobby mindful of health and safety ,
was respected by the local youngsters
He was there as there as a brake ,
Mindfulness not a word used , yet in the forties and fifties it was there
On the streets and alleys of cities and villages,
with folk bustling by ,minding their own business , yet alert to the need for mindfulness if required
The local Bobby was a brake on behaviour of young and old
highly respected yet was seen as a true friend
Into the sixties we rolled , the seventies and eighties we rocked
music was the link between the masses
where was the point ? when mindfulness lost its way
The push to the front , with little care for each other
pen in one hand , the autograph book in the other
Trampling, scrambling of bodies young to middle aged
the beginning of cult fever ‘ at the sight of their idol
over the decades mutual respect taking wing and flown
now we have the gulls leaving the sea ?
the tasty morsel betwixt ‘  with one fell swoop
the hamburger, bought and paid for
the seating arrangement in every railway station
Pigeons strutting awaiting for the fall of a crumb
as with the seagull ‘ the day will come, when the tasty morsel betwixt finger and thumb
eyed by a pigeon
with one fell swoop the hamburger bought and paid for
In the Forties and Fifties there was mutual respect
Over decades , as with structures built , the structure of good manners have eroded
the local Bobby not on the beat , the police box
A beacon of hope for us all on the streets and alleys of cities
Mindfulness it was not known by , yet it was there unspoken
With the passing of time , we go about our business
There has been a shift ‘ subtle,  amongst passers by in the streets and alleys of cities
I am going about my business , l am in a hurry
yet if there is a break in the circuit ?
All at the ready to be helpful , we clearly have not lost our mindfulness
What we have lost ? is the old fashioned set of good manners
no more is there a neighbourly use of the surname ,  used as an unspoken bridge betwixt neighbours ‘ the demarcation line , unsaid
The local shopkeeper addressing his customer ‘ in the manner becoming
Now “ mindfulness “ has now the ring of interference
going beyond the realms of mutual respect
Mindfulness has become universal , a word , a label, a means of earning a crust ?
A fee charged , part of the curriculum mouthed by politicians
Mindfulness in the modern world , has lost its way
The population in city life to village communities in the Forties and Fifties ,
did not require a contract or a degree in mindfulness
It was unspoken mutual respect , quietly done if there was a need
Giving the individual self respect .
Mindfulness now can be lucrative. A means of at home &  global career choices ‘ my fee per hour is such and such ?
Mary G Douglas

What do you care about, said the fly 

I care about living in peace , said the ant

Peace at any price ? whatever the cost ?

The ant looked up at the fly ‘ indeed only way to travel 

I have to live with myself, said the ant 

The burden we carry , make it light say I

whatever the cost to another ? said fly 

Life is how we shape it , said the ant 

Fly settled on a plank of wood , his

tiny frame disappearing , the wood hard and unyielding 

Ant stopped in his tracks , his burden on his back 

Fly said, why don’t you remove your load, give yourself respite from forever carrying such a load 

Removing the load l am carrying on my back 

gives no respite of what l carry within, the heart and the soul ? troubled for eternity, said the ant 

I flit here ,  I flit there ,  l take wing and fly to wherever the wind takes me , 

Why take on my back , what l cannot change

 said the fly 

Ant replied, when l carry my load on my

back , my thoughts not like wings , they cannot fly 

Fly replied , there is only one road to take , the one that lessens the load 

Let go free , that is, what is holding you to account 
How can l ever be free , one cannot lie to oneself , replied ant 

Conscience , my friend , said the fly , lighten your load 

How can one remove a conscious thought ? said Ant 

Lay it at the door of another , whose conscience is clear ? said the Fly 

Is that fair game ? to shed what is yours ? onto the shoulders of another ? Said Ant 

Why not , said Fly .  The world is not fair , and a heavier load to bear, who cares 

Ant replied , your lack of conscience is deeply troubling , adding to my consternation 

The balance of Power , is not ours to determine said the fly 

Fly taking wing , says to Ant as he passes by 

The path taken is strewn with good and bad conscience of thought 

Ant on his journey through life , his heart filled with the knowledge , the choice is not ours 

A chance remark ‘ with deliberation , thinks Ant 

Fly is on his chosen path , thought ! why take it on board 

Freedom is letting go , conscience can be too much of a burden 

Honesty within oneself , a burden not easy to shed ? thinks Fly 

Ant cannot undo what is now gone down another route ? 

Fly takes off , the transition complete , or so Fly believes , he has found the way ,

The road ahead , Ant now self aware of how easy another can lighten their load 

By shedding a weight to heavy , shifting the load’s position , now on another one’s back ?

The world keeps spinning , l have a bad taste in my mouth ‘ thinks Ant 

Fly will flit to and fro , his conscience not troubled . 

Ant thought , l will continue to carry this burden, truth can be a burden for life ‘ isn’t it the lot of the Ant, thought Ant ? to carry on marching , with one’s burden on one’s back , 

with no respite in sight 

Fly has little imagination , a few chosen words in the ear of Ant , after all thought Fly, that is what nature decreed , 

Ant accepting the role he is designed for ,

To carry on marching through life , with the understanding of knowing , 

He was not designed for shedding his load 

The Fly taking off , after all designed in thought and deed , without conscience , carries no load on its back . 

Mary G Douglas 

Sleep is not for me it seems , in my senior years 

I go to bed with the thought in my head 

I am tired , it won’t take much to send me off 

There is now no pattern to my life ‘ up early to prepare for the day 

Order to my day ‘ l must be at work by 9am  with finishing at four , then escape through the door 

Leaving behind the do and the don’t for tomorrow 

Home beckons with its usual order of life 

A home cooked meal , no fast food for me 

Now l can please myself ‘ no one to care for 

No one to cook for ‘ or cook a meal for me 

Me needs the company of others ‘ too much of me is boring , l yearn at times for the days of work beckoning 

Now l find myself up and down , make a hot chocolate 

It will do the trick , slumber will follow until the morn

The time on the phone signalling not to be 

Here l am texting the words churning through my head 

Five minutes past , l rose from my bed to make a mug of coffee ‘ then popped through to the conservatory 

I love opening the door into the rear garden 

Having a look at silence of the night enveloping the trees and the flowers enshrined 

The night sky is betwixt night and morn 

It brings within a sense of order ‘ as not out in the streets or the alleys without a bed or a table or chair that can claim ownership of 

It fills my soul with a gratitude , life for me and mine have a roof over our heads , a meal to prepare on arising from the slumber of the night 

There is on occasions the slumber of another has to be disturbed 

This morning felt a strong desire 

To wander into the conservatory , open the door and have a peep at silence of the night , 

barefooted made my way out into the conservatory 

I felt a chill on the left foot ‘ it was so specific 

A snail slumbering on the floor of the conservatory 

Thankfully did not stand on the said snail ,

It was a fleeting touch on the side of my left foot 

Ice cold ‘ is this a phenomenon of how a snail is 

when stretched out on a floor in the warmth of a house 

With a sliver of paper , scooped up and carefully laid out on the step outside 

the snail no doubt , slept through this event of being ejected with kindness 

out into the garden ‘ it’s own abode 

If left , could find in the morning light 

it had moved from its slumber and nowhere to be seen late morning when awoken from sleep 

There is merit in waking in the middle of the night 

Sharing my abode with a snail on the move , 

is not what l now will be doing 

Now after my cup of coffee ‘ a snooze until the break of day inviting 

Knowing the snail in question is not on the move 

slithering around ‘ fear and tremble l would step on it ‘ 

A snooze until morning much more relaxed 

Mary G Douglas 

Are we there yet?  said the child
On the train to wherever ‘ not known where ?
Sitting on a bench in railway station , just off Princes Street
Passing the time , plenty of it?
The hurry and scurry of those leaving for destinations ‘ north south east and west ,
a passer by ‘ sat on my left ‘ his train not yet due
A local off to London to meet his daughter and family
He rose to his feet , time drawing near
Platform 7 train to Kings Cross
Enjoy your journey , said l
He turned midway with a final comment
I have yet to board the train , not yet started my journey?
My immediate reply to his pointless observation
Your are on a journey ? It began decades ago
He stopped in his tracks , aged around seventy he gave me a puzzled look, and replied
That is not the same thing ,as my journey now will start when sitting down on the train
He then took off at a rate of noughts
Showed his ticket at the gate
Fifteen minutes passed , a glance to my left
there he stood , on Platform 7
As said , his journey had not yet begun
He was in a queue of hopefuls , attempting to board
The world at large , going from A to B , boarding planes , trains , cruise ships , ferries
All focused on their planned route
minds respectively focused on their destination
Yet no thought of a fact of life , each day when its Dawn , where are we going ? as we wake from slumber
No thought given , the sun has risen , promising warmth, to ask oneself , what shall l do today ?
Embrace the day, laze around ?  Not l
My journey as with us all , starting  when we attempted to crawl , is a journey with many pit stops
the race begun , is not yet over , when won
the beginning of another  ? A miler or a half miler ? or in for the long haul
Decades later , looking back is not to be with regret , bargaining , with thoughts of , if only ?
Dawn now breaking , awakening with the thought of what shall l do today ?
Retirement is a journey , pit stops breaking the circuit
Seize the day , as tomorrow,  it is then yesterday
Dawn now breaking , awakening with the thought
A day to enjoy , a choice made , b’fast over
Sun high in the sky , the day is yours , choose well
There are millions in this world of ours , the sun high in the sky ‘ whose day is not for them to waste
Seize the day , if a luxury to ponder on
Choose well , make it a day to reflect upon
when retiring for bed
A day of building another brick , cemented well
in our hearts and minds ‘ the journey is now beginning , who knows what it will be
Making it a day to reflect upon , when retiring for bed
Sitting on a bench in the railway station
the comings and goings , luggage one suitcase
For others too much baggage ,
Life is similar , at times only carrying a small suitcase
times when carrying too much baggage ?
Now retired , sitting on a bench , where to ? each with their own destination
I know where l am going , off to a local cafe
Coffee ma’am ? indeed
Life is a journey,  a cafe serving coffee
A pit stop much enjoyed , on my journey through life .
Mary G Douglas

A walk in the park , a feather wafting in the wind 

Not a whisper of sound does it make , as it floats before my eyes 

It’s landing less spectacular , as it now lies at my feet 

With awe , l pick it up , now in my minds eye 

Now have the means to write a novel 

all it now requires is ink 

What power now lies within my grasp , to put pen to paper 

A quill of an idea passes through my head 

With its pinhead , crafted by nature , what then 

Rice paper?  another one of nature’s offerings 

the pith of an Asiatic tree 

the cuttlefish ? the berry growing on the branches of trees 

all it now needs is a novel idea ‘ where does this spring from ? 

as thoughts float through my head as l make my way home 

what is home? a mud hut made out of the  crust of the earth 

baked and dried from the heat of the sun, high in the sky 

I sit cross legged , on a mat made out of grass 

woven by hand , crisscrossed to give strength 

All now that is required? is to put my thoughts and ideas 

Down through the decades , fashioned into centuries 

the writings of our ancestors , found by chance 

the natural substances do not rot with time ‘

found in crevices 

protected by the elements , giving succour to the mind 

the rock in caves , covered with drawings made 

telling a story from the past 

to the pioneer , the traveller , the researcher 

sitting in his lab 

the mysteries of the centuries , unfolding their secrets 

yet the modern world , has yet to grasp 

how to live peacefully side by side 

the more we know, the less we understand?

Survival of all that has been gifted to us 

can be destroyed 

What lessons have we gleaned from our daily lives 

all that we have has been drawn from the resources 

found in caves , deep within the crust of the earth 

the coal mined ,  keeping the home fires burning 

The tree growing over centuries chopped down 

with an axe made out of the products provided by nature over the centuries 

clever minds, working out a pattern of ideas 

the sheep roaming the hills , shorn of their wool 

made into garments , from the wool spun into yarn , the wood from the trees , fashioned into looms 

the human who evolved over centuries , whose existence rested on the fruits of nature , from the beaches , the sands of time , tools fashioned from the minerals found underground 

in this modern world , we now have the power to build rockets that can be sent off on a journey through space ?

yet one thought escapes us , how to accept one another 

wars are fought , wars are lost , wars are won?

yet as l carry home the feather , giving me an idea 

using the quill to dip into the ink from the dark liquid of the cuttlefish, the juice from the berry 

and sitting on my favourite chair , made from wood , that started in life , growing in a forest with a seat crafted from grasses , strong and true, growing in the soil 

crisscrossed to give strength , bound by rope made from jute , the fruits of my labour , using the natural gifts nature has provided

what can l write about ?  my story , the story of my life ? 

the innocence of childhood , what will l be when l grow up , on reflection as l sit there with quill and ink ? the decades past of failures and triumphs, the ghosts from the past, our desire to carve out a career that gives us the means to shape our lives and that our offspring 

upwards and onwards we move through the years , building our skills and knowledge to better our lives and provide for ourself and our loved ones 

A future of prosperity to lighten our load 

as we move through the decades , from childhood to adulthood 

The feather at my feet , a gift borne by the winds , the inky dark liquid of the cuttlefish , or from the juice of the berries growing on trees , trees that will provide much ‘ for the comfort of us humans ? yet now with the advancement of Time ,  researchers in labs can lengthen our lives, with technology and experimental fusions of thoughts and ideas, progress marches through the decades , becoming a century ‘ adding to the day the human species learning, leaving a legacy of the struggle on how to survive , 

yet now look for domination of our own needs for survival , by infringement on the rights of others, whose rights are equal , yet are not seen as such , by those who have power to inflict upon society , at home and abroad, their will to bend others , to accept it their way or the highway.

the feather taken home ‘ now resting on a nail on the wall of the kitchen 

symbolic , giving me a sense of the simplicities of what nature over the centuries has given us

all

the means to protect ourselves from the harsh winds that can chill  , the hot sun that gives warmth and light , the food on our table ‘ the clever minds of those who have nurtured us , with pills and potions to lighten our load 

the farmer whose plants provide food for the table , fish from the seas , trawled and prepared , adding another health food for our survival.

the battle for our survival and future generations , mental and physical health and well-being rests on us all , the fruits of our labours mentally and physically, sharing , by giving and receiving , our knowledge and power ,  to enhance our lives 

Nature can be cruel as well as being kind ,

let us all now be mindful , of what little and much  we can do , to minimise the damage owing to ‘ Climate Change ‘

 brought on our own heads owing to being needy for our survival against the elements ‘ gas and electricity, oil and the fruits of the earth ? 

We are our own worst enemy , yet working together at home snd abroad 

rests often with one who wields power over a nation of millions and billions 

the feather , the ink , can document history past and present , for future generations to learn and study 

In the hearts and minds of us all , rests the future of how we are judged , by future generations , studying the documentation , the records of our strengths and failures ,

yet one lesson taught is our failure to change 

Utopia is the dream , impossible to achieve ,

The feather with quill ‘ the dark liquid of the cuttlefish, the juice of the berry , the pith of the rice ‘ paper to document our strengths and failures . 

The barrier to peace within us all , caring for each other , within our hearts and minds , denied because at the crux of the matter ‘

The World has not changed ? Have we ? 

Mary G Douglas 

We all arrive in this world with no understanding of who we are and what we are 

A throw  of the dice ?  Nature is as nature does 

Vulnerable , reliant on being in the right place at the right time 

Out on the plains , with only the night sky for a blanket ?

The confines of a hospital environment? 

Centuries come and centuries go , 

We make an entrance , our destiny mapped out 

From humble beginnings , palatial surroundings , our journey begins , 

As with a game of cards , with the throw of the dice 

Nature provides simple means for our survival 

The cave man survived , by fair means or foul 

Now the modern world , without technology, would we survive at all?

If a mountain climbed or an ocean sailed ? technology is our survival mode , if all else fails 

From birth to middling years onwards to senior 

Life is a journey 

It’s not fair , says the child when thwarted 

Life is not fair , says the adult , when thwarted 

onwards and upwards , we all climb the ladder of life , taking each step , with awe and wonder 

What is at the top ?   

As the years roll by , decades stacked up 

In the days of the Wild West , four wheels and a wagon , with the might of the horse shackled 

There is gold in them thar hills , without given a peep into the future , may find nothing but dust

The luck of the draw ? In the right place at the right time 

Seize the day , seize the hour , mental and physical hours of toil , with respite for leisure 

One is given the notion , the World is my oyster 

On reflection , when one muses on the past , with still an eye on the future 

Many an autobiography, sheds light on the past 

Many a ballad , a song , a poem , a letter gives insight to a fact

We all arrive in this world with no understanding of who we are and what we are 

Nature is as nature does , we are vulnerable, reliant on being in the right place , at the right time.

Counting our blessings , surpassing  any regrets , is the key to contentment

Decades come and decades go , life on Planet Earth is a journey of failures and successes 

Who cares if the lottery is not won , the horse backed , fails to deliver ,  if not amongst the winners 

Self respect , mutual respect of one another 

is what matters,

The senior years unmasks the reality of how we view ourselves , based on our priorities 

The senior years unmasks the reality of how self respect , mutual respect of one another , and the world we live in , is what matters.

Mary G Douglas