The words evoked what no-one could conceive

With the Mass in Latin,I believed.
The words evoked what no-one could conceive
The women in their hats looked like proud queens
What was, what is, and what once might have been

The men came late,hung over, full of dreams
They took no Wafer, drunk from living streams
I did not mind confessing made up sins.
Nor did I mind beans found in small tins.

Religion gives fresh themes to those obsessed
Guilt and sin,but scruples are the best
I went to church and told God I was through
He said, hang on,I’ll send my Light to you.

Thus it was that I was saved from death
I had worshipped Satan in duress.
After that I took a job for health
I am rich in love, though not in wealth

To me there is a White House of the Soul
We shall meet again there when we’re whole
A place of beauty, space and coloured light
God won’t boast, and neither will the mice


Enigmatic like a midday dream

The fallen sun makes black the trees that lean
Its liquid centre thrown up wild and bright
Enigmatic  like a midday dream

The  pinky edges shift in  sun’s bent beams
Do they convey the aura of the light?
The fallen sun makes black the trees that lean

I wonder where my haunted eyes have been
In the forests deeper than the night
Enigmatic  like a midday dream

Schizoid, lacking affect,  a  slit scream
Destroying what is left of love and sight
The fallen sun makes black the trees that lean

Here we saw wild primrose by the stream
The castle of the Tudors soft in  blight
Enigmatic  like a midday dream

Bewildered people  kill their own insight
Toss their fears , into the weak to bite
The failing sun as pure as  boiling screams
Enigmatic  are our midnight dreams

The personality of trees

Trees lean over, watchful as we meet
The tall ones do not shiver in the breeze
Trees can hear the torment in our speech

We have flowering cherry in our street
But mine died like my lover with great ease
Trees lean over listening as we meet

The tree won’t bend too close, it will not reach
As panic,worry, horror,nightmares squeeze
Trees discern the music in our squeaks

Alas, no tree has mastered human speech
But when they can, they coax the honey bees
Trees lean over sweetly as we meet

The leaves will rustle,wrestle and may tease
Smile for selfies,what’s the word, it’s cheese
Trees lean over, wonder, and conceive
Yet trees hate noone, nor do they believe

Trees can’t walk

Trees are deeply rooted,trees can’t walk
They don’t sleep nor do they stay awake
Trees can’t sin because they cannot talk
Trees are deeply rooted,trees can’t walk
Can’t exclaim when they espy a hawk
Trees will bend and so they do not break
Trees are deeply rooted,trees can’t walk
They don’t sleep nor do they stay awake

In this city

Photo by Peter Laskowski on Pexels.com

Searching in this city I may find you
Then you will desire to come back home
In my savaged heart I feel this true
Somewhere in this city I may find you
I’m searching all the places that we knew
From Greenwich up to Amersham I roam
There is nowhere in this city I can find you
I grieve,my love, you’ll never come back home

My curly headed baby

I sang this to my husband when he was dying.I did not consciously know he was dying
My mouth opened by itself and I began singing ,unwittingly giving a performance to all the other
people in A & E
When I was little my dad sang it to me when he put me to bed.
I seem to have inherited his habit of humming or singing a great deal….

Isolation makes me feel alone

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

This isolation is not good for me
Unless there is a God,how could it be?

The viruses are not like friends who talk
Yet they can come with you on a walk

Invisible to naked human eyes
Viruses are now akin to spies

Who is watching me as I write this?
I’ve now forgotten who Paul Dirac was

Should I block the camera with white tape?
It might bring me some pleasure,ah, too late

Is it wrong for women to read books
New ideas might make us into freaks

Yesterday was warm but now it snows
I’ve got itchy spots and feel morose

Should I buy merino knickers now?
Should I breed some sheep or just a cow?

Why algebra exists is really queer
If you spot it then you are a seer.

Rings and groups and donuts are germane
Topology has driven me insane

What is small yet makes the gradient clear?
Calculus is like an atmosphere

Did you say Eureka in the bath?
It means you’ve met yourself without the glass

The microphone is faulty I proclaim
Perhaps I’m going deaf, we’re all insane

The phone is complex, perfect and effete
I cannot hear the voices when they speak

I got up in the night and wet my pants
That’s my husband’s ghost, the miscreant!

I had to wash pyjamas every day
4 pairs are enough if you are gay

Free electric shock treatment in Berlin Airport

Photo by Phyo Hein Kyaw on Pexels.com

Baggage handlers at Berlin’s new airport have reported receiving electric shocks from scanners in yet another problem to befall the troubled project, which is widely seen as an engineering catastrophe.
From the Guardian Newspaper

If you’re feeling real depressed again
Get free treatment down here in Berlin
Put your arm into the scanner, not your bag
The shock will cure you with a short time lag
If it’s not enough, you must sneak back
Stick your other arm in for a shock
It’s a bit like vaccination, some need two
Yet only one is needed for the flu
In Germany the home of engineers
This scanning error reduced grown men to tears
If you can’t afford to hack Berlin
Put your finger in a socket to begin
The shock is scary, it will make you run
Exercise like this sure beats a gym
If you are unlucky you may die
Then you’ll see the stars up in the sky
If it’s not your time come back to us
I fear you’ll need a cab, there is no bus

The anguish in the bones

People often think feelings come from the heart but sometimes i feels as if they come from my bones
especially the bones in my armAfter the camera software electronically stitches the image together, the resulting panorama offers a much wider view than a standard photo.s

I miss the full shared silence with you here
I miss you as I watch a film alone
Now I am just me ,God must me steer
I miss the full, calm silence with you here
The peace of love, the loneliness of fear
The anguish that arises from my bones
I miss the full, deep silence with you here
I miss you as I lie in bed alone

I miss the car rides into Essex towns
I miss the burning stubble in the fields
Yet I must rise again,I will not drown
I miss the coloured houses in the towns
I miss your glances as Love settled down
Where the harvest, where the ripened yield?
I miss the car. the journeys, hamlets, towns
I miss the burning stubble in the fields

I miss the joy of learning who you were
I miss the warmth of being loved and held
I cannot now complain you are not here
I miss the joy of finding what you were
Of learning what you knew of Art and fear
Now the golden ring has been unwound
I miss the joy of feeling who you were
I miss the peace of being loved and held

I miss the eyes that used to smile at me

Katherine  September 6, 2016

I miss the hand that used to hold  my hand
I miss the eyes that  used  to  comfort me
The needs of love don’t  feel like a demand
I miss the hand that  caressed  my  held hand
I miss your love  and miss you as a  friend.
When you gazed , your eyes lit what you’d see.
I miss the hand that used to warm  my hand
I miss the eyes that  used  to smile at me.

I miss your arms around me in the dark
I miss the early morning,  thoughts unspoke
On Purbeck Hills; the  Easter singing lark
I miss your arms around me in the park
Poole Harbour’s beauty is a living spark
Sharing silent glances as we walked
I miss your arms around me in the dark
I miss the mornings, though we   rarely spoke

Silent sharing ;  company in  love.
With strangers,  we must  manufacture talk.
To be silent ;the domed sky above
To be silent ;  spaciousness of    love.
With strangers, how their talk can jolt and shove
I held your hand and stroked it when we walked
Silent caring;  symphony of  love.
Not strangers blindly snatching in the dark.

The world destroyed

Hannah Arendt, an émigré from Nazi Germany.“The result of a consistent and total substitution of lies for factual truth,” Arendt wrote in her classic volume The Origins of Totalitarianism, “is not that the lie will now be accepted as truth and truth be defamed as a lie, but that the sense by which we take our bearings in the real world—and the category of truth versus falsehood is among the mental means to this end—is being destroyed.”

Photo by Kendall Hoopes on Pexels.com

The footstep on the stairs

I remember you so well for those eight years
The nights you sang love’s lullabies to me
I was fearful of the footstep on the stairs

You held me as we paddled in the sea
Maybe Blackpool,maybe Morecambe too
You told me stories as I sat upon your knee

I have some good memories, too few
Where are all those days we played outdoors?
Who knows if these memories are true?

In East Lancs and in West Lancs rain will pour
Once you wrapped me in your coat, but then
Mam was angry when we reached the door

She told you, you were foolish for a man
Why should men be wise, should anyone?
That was when your illnesses began

You let me lie beside you in your bed
I’d had my tonsils out and felt unwell
I talked but don’t remember what you said

I didn’t know the meaning of pure hell
I guess I learned that when death you befell
Come back,Daddy,missing you too well
I’m still your little girl, your smiling belle

Arrest those who incite crowds

What woud happen here if Boris Johnston’s followers rioted,burst into Westminster ,some armed
and five people died?
I think he’d be in a police cell waiting for his trial
Surely inciting people known to be unstable/crazy to do what these Americans
did is also guilty of a crime- depriving someone of their life.
What will happen in the next week?

city road landscape man
Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com

Resolutions




To develop bad taste or at least to tolerate it
To stop telling children Micky Mouse is twee.
To comb my hair more than twice a week
To stop thinking men are like women before disaster comes down
To decide where to keep the Radio Times
To stop drinking Twinings Breaakfast Tea in the afternoon
To make the bed before 11.30 pm
To decide what things one does not need beginning with smart watches,matching cutlery and
washing one’s clothes very frequently [ what is that?]
To laugh at pain

From 2013

Katherins  December 2, 2013 

  • Bands of rhyme will be crossing the UK tomorrow.. streams of poetry will bring rain in the eyes.
    Season’s Tweetings to Sinners if all repent
    Shadow of silence are folding over like an envelope.
    The spice of wife..pepper.
    Hop around the roses
    It’s best to saunter nowadays.
    When inside out, a cat can still scratch.. with its reversible catclaws.Try one tonight.Just unzip the cat and it will spring into the heir…to the throne or is it the air all round
    Until the end of all rhymes I’ll be loving you
    Time feels all wounds…and fills holes
    Maps of the iceberg have melted..
    Two hearts that beat as none ever did.
    I wait for the lime to be ripe then it will be a lemon.
    If you have a man,wash him weekly in a tin bath…don’t blame me if you get drawn in…..mate in the bath … saves washing the sheets.

Lead us not into devastation

Our Unknown,dwelling in Heaven,

Helloed and helloed be Thy Name.

In Kingdom come, may Your Will be done

As it was not at 9/11

Give us this day,no more Dread.

Forgive us our Christmases,

As we forgive those who Christmas with us.

And lead us not into Devastation

But deliver us great acceptance and kindness

For Thine is the Wisdom,the Love and the Spirit,

As ever was, and shall be.Amen

You were doing the foxtrot and he began to waltz

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Language has different rules.A language can be looked at as a game with rules.But the rules vary,That’s why perfect translation is impossible.Many different perceptions are linked into the vocabulary of each language.And the rules for combination are unique to each.
Like dancing…each society used to have its own form of dance though here it’s died out.Irish and Scottish dancing still exist and are very similar.People entertained themselves by singing their unique songs and dancing together… and playing their own instruments.. violin,tin whistle,piano…
Sometimes you make a friend from another culture.Sometimes you hurt them because your singing and dancing may have seemed similar and then one of you took a step which was not part of any dance the other one knew…. so feelings are hurt or the mind is puzzled.Unless you have very deep trust
You may think they are wanting to hurt you.But it maybe you were doing the foxtrot and they began to waltz, feeling it would be lovely to waltz with you.
Then they tread on your toes,you slap their face and it’s the end of a good friendship.But thinking of it as a confusion of dances may give the event a different meaning which ascribes no blame,just confusion natural in such a case

Now the melancholy’s gone

Now I’m feeling kind of numb on this January day
The darkness came down sudden and I feel it’s here to stay
Shall I make some tea and pretend that you are here
I’m naked like the wood underneath that swish veneer.

I’m feeling kinda nothin’ now the melancholy’s gone
Should I be doing something that will give me, like, some fun?
The silence is not threatening, but neither is it good
Did you ever wish that you weren’t made of flesh and blood?

I’m feeling so damned stupid for falling on my back
My shoulder was in agony and there’s whiplash in my neck
The doctor, he injected me, but he said it’s down to luck
He may have missed the mark, he says,I wish I’d said,oh feck

Apparently the elderly are not in much demand
I heard a sorta whisper as my head went in the sand
We must keep the silence or we’ll frighten off the young
They don’t seem to notice but the cat will lick my hand

I didn’t know how old I was till the clock flew off the wall
Isn’t it uncanny what you see before the Fall?

We do not want to hear their their poignant calls

Everything is whirling round my mind,
The lack of government ,  the words unkind
That the poor are  short of food and  clothes
We deny it, everybody knows

Sudden gusts of wind  mock  these old trees
Does the  lure of nature  disappear
When  the butterflies have gone away
Yet the stinging wasps are here to stay?

Once tortured  now abandoned refugees
Can’t make phone calls,  have no mental ease
We make our own defences into walls
We  do not want to hear their their poignant calls

Oh,Lord God take the beam from out my eye
I want to know the  truth before I die

Photo by Gerhard Lipold on Pexels.com

Find the very worst in some poor man


Unexpressed emotions never die.
We hurt the ones we “love “without a sigh
We fall downstairs and break a bone or ten
We find the worst in all the hopeful men

So now the awful feelings have increased
Someone else is joyful at the feast
We sulk and mope or crack the china mugs
Break our ankles stumbling on the rugs

Now we blame the others for our pain
Why did noone notice yet again?
We are not the centres of their world
Too proud to say we’re sad in a few words

Decent friends will give us words that heal
If we show emotion, show we feel

Love will need no trick

In my despair I felt that I was stuck
Paralysed by  grief and guilt I failed
By the end I had tried every trick

From prayer unthought to deeps of logic black
My  life, my engine ,juddered off the  rails
I hated God and of “his” Church was  sick

Starving  and alone I was in shock
The death of one I loved   had made me frail
By the end I had tried every trick


I felt  love’s arms around me,  death to block
I knew   this goodness,  why else would I wail?
I   thought I hated God  but Love had struck

Warm and golden light  that  did me hold
Where are you now when refugees  die cold?
Kind despair  that  made me long time sit
By the end I knew  Love needs no trick

The Nightmare Complex

 

To write a poem I dreamed an undreamed dream
The woods in France deformed by dead young men
A nightmare complex in its perplexed themes

In our dream the narrative has means
To make those killed communicate again
To write a poem I dream an undreamed dream

Later, in another war, trains steam
To take the “insect” Jew, no longer “man.”
A nightmare simple in its evil themes

The little pearls we half see, as we scheme
The evasions we ignored but which remained.
We read a poem, we dream an undreamed dream

Who we are and who we might have been
At 4 am in isolated pain
The Nightmare Complex, come to share your screams

Can any see the world as poets aimed
To recreate the moment where we change?
To write a poem embodies sufferers’ dreams
Nightmares dark and piercing,mobs that maim

Any postmodern poems accepted here in comments

107,279 Jesus Cross Photos - Free & Royalty-Free Stock Photos from Dreamstime
107,279 Jesus Cross Photos - Free & Royalty-Free Stock Photos from Dreamstime
107,279 Jesus Cross Photos - Free & Royalty-Free Stock Photos from Dreamstime

Who am i
The one who writes?
The confluence of streams
Of DNA and lies
Breed evil in many hearts
People
Bust into the Capitol
Shots were fired
Let’s keep streaming
Out to sea.
I may not exist
But I have a view
I don’t like these actions
Nor mobs who would kill
The world in turmoil watches
Democracy is clear
Hitler didn’t have TV cameras
It must matter.
But see Jesus
No exemptions
The weak
Get it