Trapped on my bed
They put my tube of urine
Over my leg .
.
My calf was caught
Nobody came
I managed to get it out
By myself
Lonely here
I am
A lie
Abbey Steps
I’d like to visit Whitby and its shores
See the Abbey ruins on the cliff
I can’t climb those steep steps any more
The whip of salty sea, the shells, the lore
The old town with its alleys and its fish
I’d like to visit Whitby and its shores
We heard the seagulls shrieking, Jesus rose
We were in a cottage but in fact
I won’t climb those abbey steps no more
In my mind I find an unmarked door
A dream comes by, who whipped my tender flesh?
I’d like to visit Whitby and its shores
Fish don’t die like sheep in abbatoirs
But yet it must gruesome so to thrash
I can’t climb those steep steps any more
I don’t like eating fish,I hate their whiff
It makes me conscious of my father’s death
I’d like to visit Whitby and its shores
Who can’t climb those Abbey…
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The Imagined Abbey 2
The knobbled grassy tussocks we walked on
May be the swelling graves of monks, derided, gone.
The vertical calls out in one high wall
A fiery blackbird makes the final call.
The plainchant praising G-d has charged the air
For us who don’t entomb our inner ear
The sacred music floats away like leaves
Bewitched and married by an autumn breeze
We stood in silence, viscerally stunned
The river was as clear as love’s demands
And still, in my mind’s eye, I see that stream
I am held by the imagined Abbey’ in shared dreams
An elegiac moment caught in words
Entranced by symbols like the darting birds
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The cafe
Essex women tea in chins mugs
Fat cream cakes and childr n on hard drugs
A tabby cat curls up by the millstream
On the bridge we sit and weave our dreams
Love the trees of Epping dark and deep
Bodies hid by blackmailers find peace
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Abbey
The Abbey bell the river and the peace
The yard of gràves the grass
The sweet tetreat
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Passed it
Her major wish was to be plastic
Maggie Thatchers glare was toxic
Comb your hair with my elastic
Glue it on,the style drastic.
My body feels but I am passed it
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Green
plot
Time
King Harold 1066
King Harold lies outside the Abbey Walls
A simple grave at Waltham in green lawns
Yet Waltham Cross is ugly and appals
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Loneliness
Our own way
We see great clouds hanging
The sky is full of water
But. the sun shines in its own way
Thst is all we can do
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Dawn
Behind her mask
She smiles secret smiles
Let all be blessed
As the sun rises .
We can’t see but we know
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Lea Valley
From the Chilterns flows a merry stream
Bubbling clear as south and east it beams
Enfield Rifles, Flour Mill Ponders End
Till we all are floating round the bend
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Radar
By the river
The once deep River Lea now looks quite slow
The flour mill stands alone by rich dark flow
Once there was a village down below
On the water,early sun light glows
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Do not try
Your smile was broad and deep like evening sky
Lay me down like flowers when they die
