My mobile phone has been a trial The other could not hear me I could have run a million miles Carrying tote bags filled with files My mobile phone has been on trial It seemed ok what e’re I dialled I bought a plastic case,you see It covered up the microphone And turned all humans into stone Hardware problems it cannot be My mobile phone has been a trial No foe or friend could hear me
Oh who can see into our hearts And make them safe in grief Catch all our tears in rivers dark Oh you who see into our hearts Let love be shared in vital sparks In golden flames that burn no leaf Oh you who see into our hearts Oh make them wise with grief
After a trauma it often makes the person relive and be retraumised One week after my husband died I shed a tear and was advised to have counselling but is it bad to cry? And you can do a six week course and get a certificate to become a bereavement counsellor so beware.Always ask your friends and contacts for their views I spoke to a psychoanalyst who advised me not to see a counsellor.Crying helps us.Surely we can comfort each other?
To the depths The trees’ roots wind beneath the grass So green and perfect,neatly mown .The roots entangled,serpents mass, the fruit trees which now groan. Another,richer world beneath, Where the roots stark homes do give To tiny creatures which yet seethe, And all our darkest shadows live. From here a serpent malice took From our neglect of what we hate. We see the surface , do not look At what lies deeper ,till too late. And so we live, so often blind To the depths of our own minds
Adam,Eve, the apple and the snake We know the story well,we are quite smart Their children filled the earth with crude mistakes Adam,Eve, the apple and the snake God is not in charge of what we take With the nuclear bomb, the earth will break Particles light nightmares,man awake Where are our little souls and human hearts Adam,Eve, the apple and the snake We know the story well,we are so smart
The family tapestry is full of holes I want to mend them, will I be believed? Maybe a few pleats and then a fold The family tapestry has got huge holes And places where we scorched it with hot coal The cat has got her claws in, an own goal Oh,Lord, I think the ghosts are here like thieves The family tapestry has got huge holes I want to mend them now before I leave
Now my birthday comes again Send me paper and a pen I think a villanelle is good When the trees burst into bud Though its form is never fluid Love alone will never do it But grief is what will damp my eyes Tears and ink produce new lines. I love to feel the pen in hand My old friends will understand The ink once made from powder dry Mixed with water for supply We had a monitor it’s true But like a prefect tasks to do The old brass jug stands full and proud Now then children, two’s a crowd