The evening sky

Through the window the sky was looting at me gently

tomorrow it will weep again

Why are children killed in the land that Jesus lived in?

The sky is wise- it has to cover everything.

Sometimes the sun shine seems inappropriate.

I hold my book in one hand and I feel my breath slow down

Does the world inside us match the one without?

Now the clouds have rearranged themselves in the wind

Children are cruel too

I wish you were here but there are things I cannot tell you

I can’t tell you that we can get too near to God

But mostly we tread on him as he bleeds

The sun has almost gone and yet it’s very light as if the lights coming from the ground shining upwards

Soon night will fall and this light will be extinguished once again

Gently, gently, the night will come

I won’t forget

Stan tries to dust the house

adorable animal animal photography animal portrait
Photo by Kat Jayne on Pexels.com

Stan was annoyed that since the days were getting brighter and longer, the dust on the furniture was becoming more evident..Not that his wife Mary was a tyrant but she was out at work whereas he was free from his purgatory working with gamblers and homeless drug users but had to keep the home clean instead
Of course he had been pleased to be working to improve society ,but enough was enough.He already was helping two people on a voluntary basis at his church, Still Mary was labouring in the lecture hall. explaining how linear algebra might help folk to lead better and more virtuous lives ,especially if they were going into Parliament or the higher reaches of the Civil Service which aided government ministers dealing with strange confusions in the Economy ,and indeed in the entire world.
He picked up his microfibre dusting rag cut from an old towel and started to dust the TV set.After that he sprayed Dettox onto the keyboards of all their laptops,ipads,phones and remote controls.Then he dried them with an old tea towel made of cotton and linen.
Suddenly he heard the back door opening.In ran his beauteous mistress Annie wearing a green and red tracksuit and purple trainers with pink spots on.
Shall I make some lovely coffee,she asked positively.
I have not done much housework yet,Stan cried in alarm.
Let me see,she responded with the ripe interest of the retired and bored.
My, this remote control is very,very clean.
She put it in front of her eyes and glared myopically at it.
All her mind power was concentrated on this one object, which was at this moment in time her whole world;usually myopia is a bad move as it impedes a wider balanced view of life.
You have done brilliantly with this but you do need a break from this tedious and arduous work,she enthused laconically.
Oh, OK then,Stan answered gently.
She poured coffee into two Portmeirion pottery mugs and took them into the conservatory where she admired his potted plants and his herbs.
What’s this here, she called.It wasn’t here last week,
It’s cannabis,he informed her unwilfully.
Are you a user now she enquired tactlessly.
No,I am keeping it for a friend.Stan lied truthfully
That’s what they all say,she riposted jocosely.
Well,I don’t know how to use it.I believe you smoke it so does it have to be drie he asked scientifically?
I guess so,she said like a cowboy from a desert in Alabama on a diet of coke and french fries.
Well,I am not going test it,he said pensively.I don’t even smoke a pipe any more.I suck my thumb instead.It’s free,he continued and needs no licence
Would you like to suck my toes,she asked him lovingly.
After all,the Duchess of York had hers sucked and I am her equal in some ways .
Sucking toes has so far not been part of my repertoire and neither
has whipping women and smacking them either.I prefer to suck their lips and caress their cheeks.
Which cheeks? she asked suspiciously, as if she was an examiner in an oral examination for a law degree.
Sorry,dear..I am happy to caress any part of your warm voluptuous flesh but I need to get on with the housework.
Just ignore it,she ordered him. rudely.I’ll help you after we have been to bed
I didn’t know we were going to bed, he said in a very puzzled tone of voice
Well,you do now,she giggled un-furtively
And so does Emile who is already on the landing from where he can see the mirror opposite the bed.What a naughty boy he is,but what would you do in his position?
I thought so.Ask a missionary at once.You have to believe me… or turn pale with horror at this evil couple.

http://youtu.be/Mb3iPP-tHdA

This frosted grass has beauty debonair

Seems like a dream, I’m riding in a car
He’s kind; he’s bright ; he likes to drive and chat.
We’re intellectuals; ha ha ha ha ha!

I wonder if the house is very far.
I’m happy not to map read; I sit back
In my self, I’m cosy in this car

The motorway is salted, frost to clear.
In the fields, looks like they’ve emptied sacks.
The cars spin round; so merry, like a fair.

I like the softened meadows’ silver stare
M25, I thought I’d not be going back
In my dream, I’m moving but to where?

This frosted grass has beauty debonair
Once stubble used to burn and make skies black
Crossing Essex, flames would fill the air.

The dear child sits behind me, tra la la!
I like his magic; how his marbles clack.
He likes to hear me humming, fah la la

Oh, this man drives well in the fierce sun glare.
He never swears nor shouts; he brings good luck
The sun lies boldly on long branches bare.

I feel relaxed, enjoy the spacious car.
A little voice asks, Daddy is it far?

Oh,my dear sister what can you see ?

She’d never seem rainwater deeper than eyes
Mystery undisguised.
Round the big puddle she ran and ran;
Too much for her dolly’s pan.
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised.
Curiousity’s often so wise
Oh,my dear sister what see you there?
I hope it’s a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sisters dear,let us float.
We’ll never see daddy again, ‘cos he’s here
And down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel with his sharp sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with long  golden hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two;
Eyes of one green, the other’s blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my dear sisters into the light.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I loved my  sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t hope for what cannot be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool,
Held in God’s hand like a jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings must ride.
For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
All we can live by is trust

It’s like sweet silent music to my ear

bowed string instrument cello cello bow close up
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The silence seems more friendly than before
It’s like a melody felt in my ear
This love has taken from me, my own fear
When silence was an omen with dark door
The flowers and all of nature, I adore
Gone are paranoia and its seers.
The silence seems more friendly than before
It’s like sweet silent music to my ear
I am drawn to love you more and more.
Hypnotic like the sun on Windermere
A misty air arising as we peer
The silence is more friendly than before

 

Are you beside yourself yet?

I’ve been beside myself ever since I was in the hospital. When will I get inside myself I wonder? I understand why people believe in spirits because you can really feel as if you are not inhabiting your own body that your spirit is on the ceiling looking down and watching your body moving about.

This used to happen to my husband quite a lot and also sleepwalking very very strange. I had a noise in the middle of the night and he wasn’t here so I went downstairs and he was in the kitchen with his striped dressing gown on putting water into the kettle. I asked him what are you doing and he said I’m making the tea.

I realised he was actually faster sleep and somehow I’m honestly getting upstairs into bed

Some people have killed while they were asleep like that fortunately he never tried to strangle me

And where are you when people look at your face and they can see that you are not present but you’re not consciously fantasizing but you are not there in some sense,

So I wonder about these old expressions like she was besides herself when she lost her engagement ring,

I’m interested in having a lot of old sayings the body is involved whereas I don’t think it is in modern phrases

My heart was in my mouth

Some of these things are wonderful I like them very much

The orchestra that plays as we go in

The chattering cacophony of cars
Underneath  the silence  of the stars
The echo of lost voices,faces, smiles
To which our little  heart is always loyal

The horns that shriek, the trains  that wreck the track
The vision of the lost who can’t come back
The loaded wagons  and the violin
The orchestra that plays as we go in

The crackling of the ice the skaters skim
The refugees whose clothing is too thin
The  scream of Munch, the horror he foresaw.
The end of Europe in the first World War

The  decorated War Memorials  grim
Reminding us that no-one ever wins

She drowned in mobile phones which could not speak

Drowned by words whose owner could not speak
Disordered  and untimely they came down
Her   mind had lost its  senses, its critiques

She did not wish to see a world so bleak
She  lay  there  like a fox  on bloody ground
Crowded by the  slobbering hounds  she shrieked

I asked  if Su Doku would bring  her peace
She  beat me with a heavy pan  all round
Her   mind had lost its  pity in her grief

I begged her use a hammer,kill or tease
She  cried  out, oh, my wi fi has gone down
She drowned in mobile phones which could not speak

She begged me  to cook dumplings with the  beef
Atora still make suet, it’s renowned,
Her   mind had lost its  legacies, its reach

I  bought a bunch of roses from a clown
The thorns  a  sharp reminder of  her nouns
Spared the  words  this woman could not speak
Our silence  gave me comfort,  yet I weep

Please send God some gelatin

My husband is naughty a very naughty man
He throws down the newspaper on top of his beer can
He buys himself a sandwich in a nasty cardboard box
And puts trash in the laundry basket with his woollen socks.

He takes off his pyjamas and chucks them on the floor
He uses hankies frequently, so I have to buy lots more.
He wants to have thick sauces on top of all his food.
And when he has a hypo his speech is very rude.

I gave him such a shock when I learned to curse and swear
But we really need to, as “eff off “is everywhere.
Why even in the Bible there are some wicked words
I’ve not read it all yet, except Psalm’s I have heard

I mean to finish reading it and then when I must die,
I’ll come onto a cloud and shout, Oh pi is in the sky.
For transcendental numbers give a hint divine.
Although you can get it better with a glass of dry, white wine.

My husband drinks draught Guinness and then he falls asleep
He hollers and curses when the oven timer beeps.
He eats a piece of kipper and cried out,Oh, dear God!
Nobody caught this b*gger with a U.K. fishing rod

He wants to move to Whitby and walk upon the sands
Sit in the audience and hear the big brass bands.
He wants to see the sun rise and to see it set…
So please send God some gelatine in case the air’s too wet!

The I of the needle

Each of us  likes  our  own quiddity;

As it makes us unique,don’t you know?

And if we are felled by liquidity

We must be sure not to  get drink   up the snow.

 

Our fingerprints, our eyes and our shadows

Are not shared with anyone else.

So as we lie in the butter-cupped meadow

We must ensure we will never be  false.

 

Quiddity’s a word that the toffs use

Anglo-Saxon  is   thought  non de trop.

O Temper O Celtic  O Flores.

Norman said he told me so.

 

Per ardua ad astra  perggun tree

Eton men all speak in Greek.

So tell them to eff  of if  flumshee

The English sure know how to speak.

 

 

At dinner with  folk from the Gunnament

Be sure to say ,eclectic’s inchoate.

But when you’re at home with your fundament..

Do keep your self esteem well afloat.

 

Why  is the tongue of the Bible

Not something the rich like to speak?

Maybe the eye of   that needle

Has made them more fluent in Greek.

 

Even the poor can have chutzpa

As they fry up a bagel in  lard.

Oy vey, the Messiah is out there.

So give away on your  new debit card.

 

 

Good Lord,God must speak Aramaic

Or Hebrew  and/or HTML

For the commandments may be  somewhat archaic;

But their translation  has given us  all hell.

 

Sodom all

’ll go to Sodom Gomarrahm

I’ll get some prayers; rite after death.. whose I go to Confession; it’s smashin’m

I wish we could still buy “Indulgences”

Oh, God, be fair to aged present! Give me oil for my lamp, keep me burning. Is desire a sin, and for ” whom”?

We should meet others without memory or desire especially in a “brothel”

He asked for a whore more in bed.

Can’t get up, tired.

Speaks bad Englis I am now a ” sinner” having committed more than 1,000 sins right here on my pages.

They are called posts officially! But we all know about mass deception and wholly disunion.

The darkness weeps

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Dear God,
Decide with me;You see the evil minds
The darkness weeps; bairns in me confide
When mother’s helpers fail and contort glee,
Smoke all the kippers and make a cup of tea.

Drafts blew off my clothes and cinders burned all day;
Earth’s toys grew thin; its stories passive,grey.
Change and replay is all around for free
O Thou who changest notes, save some notes for me
Come not with terriers, nor as king with wings
But underwrite the good, with healing and new strings,
Tears for wholesome souls, new heart for every bee
Come to lines of sinners, and be derided by a flea

Thou on my shed in early youth laid tiles
And, though it seems ridiculous We’ve reversed them all meanwhile,
Thou hast not written me, as oft as I‘ve written Thee,
Yours sincerely, Lord

Keeping your blog

Is keeping a blog a necessity?
Is reaping the whirlwind atrocity?
Please  make a full answer with brevity
Or my wits may explode with sheer levity.

Is marriage a mistake far too hasty?
Is washing the bed sheer depravity?
Please  prove  your email’s veracity.
Or my Company will be very nasty

Why do we sin with  tenacity?
And have sex when we have no elasticity?
Do write down your thoughts without acidity.
And reflect your emotion in tranquility.

A game is such fun when in amity
And is fair except when played in emnity.
Please kiss your own arse with great dignity.
I speak here in jest without bigotry

Mary stops ruminating for a while

Spot the cliches!

bbf78-6395086_ec46b81f11_m

https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-squeaky-wheel/201306/the-seven-hidden-dangers-brooding-and-ruminating

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times in a very real sense.Mary dreamed Stan was in heaven enjoying the company of Wittgenstein,Jesus and Pascal , not to mention Lady Jane Grey Ann of Cleves,Juliet,Cleopatra and an angel.At least at this point in time he can’t sleep with them ,she thought as she woke up.Though did that matter? Can men be faithful and monogamous? Look at Leonard Cohen.Was he better off flitting from flower to flower? Was he so stunning that women threw themselves at him and he could not resist?Sometimes people are actuallyafraid of intimacy or feel life is short and want some new experiences.Was he a wolf? It t akes one to know one
It was indeed almost the worst of times when Mary remembered she had no food in the house except cat food for Emile.He was all she had now as her daughter Lyra lived in Australia and Stan was in heaven, she hoped.
Here I am, she thought, pondering unanswerable questions and not looking after myself .It is probably best to err on the side of buying food and going out rather than lying in the bed wondering if life has any inherent meaning. or if we must create our own.
Even discussing that with someone else would be better.But men folk don’t want to discuss serious topics with their lovers.
It was an even worse time when she recalled a man who once loved her leaving her because she asked him if he knew what post-modernism was one night after going to the cinema to see a comedy.She realised then that she would have to play a part,To act like a woman.So far it was but moderately successful owing to her myopic view of life
If only I had kept quiet, she told herself,I could be lying beside him now enjoying a few kisses and hugs and asking him how to light the electric fire.Still ,there’s many a slip twixt cup and lip
Now then, said a loud voice.

Stop ruminating and get up. One stitch in time saves nine

Who are you to say that to me, she called nervously ?She wondered of stress had driven her round the bend.She had begun reading a book which said mental illness in not an illness like flu.It is a reaction to bad events and other life strains.
It doesn’t matter who I am,just do as I say, came the answer
Mary recognised the voice.It was her dad who had died when she was 9.
Dad, she called, why are you here now?
Because Jesus told us to love our family, he revealed pleasantly.
Why now after all these years? she persisted.I have missed you.
I always did have a bad sense of direction,he told her.But do as I say.You won’t recover easily if you never get up.Stan is here but he is busy cleaning the gold cutlery for an angel.
Alright, but I never knew there was cutlery up there, she murmured as she put on her new clothes.She had bought some purple trousers and two new jumpers.One was pink and one was teal.The trousers were exceptionally comfortable being in a last years sale by a famous label..She then found some Weetabix in the cupboard and some long life milk.As she drank her tea she admired the acer’s brilliant red leaves.
Almost too bright, she thought.It’s due to the hot September.Plants are affected by their environment and so are we.Especially by bad or hot tempered men and women
Poor people may have more than in the past but they tend to live in the ugliest areas of the town with no gardens nor parks.
And seeing the better off walk by wearing expensive clothes it is surprising there are not even more muggings.
She recalled seeing a man with a Rolex watch and gold earrings on talking on his new iPhone as he wandered through the Mall.I suppose we think everybody else is like us; we don’t mix with very poor or very rich people on the whole.Unless we are one of those two types.
Mary went outside and found a neighbour wheeling in her bins.
Thanks ,Tom, she cried.I wondered who it was.I am very grateful.What is post modernism,by the way?Nobody will tell me.
Emile was watching from the window sill.
I knew it was Tom, he mewed.
But you didn’t tell me,Mary replied.
You didn’t ask.
Tom wandered off ,while Mary admired the autumn trees lining the road.Tom turned back and looked at her but she didn’t notice.
Time for coffee, she muttered and went inside again.She was embroidering a table mat which said “Rumination is for the birds”.Where it had come from was a puzzle.

Oh, brilliant leaves

Oh, brilliant leaves are now turned duller red.
The first day of  our Brexit winter time.
From the sun  bright  colour had been  bled.

What seemed innate was stolen then instead
As life  is taken when we pass our prime
The  shimmering leaves are now turned brownish red

Oh,sadly  know the leaves  face  sudden  death
Torn from branches where  boys used to climb
All  the   foliage flies  in  one last breath

Mystics hear the still small voice   of God
When all is lost and meaning ‘s but a  line
Those   high leaves  for tramps shall make a bed

 
When we had it,what was it we had?
We hear the Word when we have paid the fine
Once  lovely leaves are now turned dull and dead
For  only sun   expressed  what had been  fed.

Continue reading “Oh, brilliant leaves” →

Nature

The sun  took down the grey cloaks  from the  sky.
Those clouds deprived  us of her brilliant light
This light will please my spirit and my eye

The  branches of the  trees gleam from on high
And on the shrubs the leaves shine  in my sight
The sun dismissed the grey cloaks of the  sky.

Nature, though deceptive, cannot lie.
She ,like us, swings from  the dark to bright
Her light has pleased my spirit and my eye.

An artist paints, her picture poetry.
Through her work, the hidden world delights
For sun dismissed the grey clouds from the  sky.

A sculptor plays with  marble  till it  cries
The truth we need to feel and then to write
Creation   raises spirits and   our eyes.

Yet even in the darkness,poets write
Maybe  like the past, by candle light
The sun   has dried the  grey clouds in the  sky.
New light  caresses  spirits prone to sigh.

I think I hear you humming

I look up our small street,

To see if you are coming.

I don’t know what time it is, .

But I think I hear you humming.

You sang sweet songs for us .

And you could whistle well.

You wore an old tweed jacket

You loved us, we could tell. .

I look out there each day,

But I can’t see your tall, thin shape.

I saved your Woodbine packet, It made me feel some hope.

What does death’s door mean? Where has Daddy gone?

When will be the welcome day, When we hear his songs again?

I’ll sing like him all day,

I’ll dream of him all night.

I hope he won’t be angry,

If his cigarettes won’t light!

He can’t write his own songs now. He went too far away, too soon. I’ll write down what I think he sang,

And I’ll invent the tune.

I hear him singing now,

.He dwells inside my heart.

And though I still can’t see his face, I recognise his Art.

Emile goes to the shop

Mary had ordered all of her groceries but she forgot to put tea on the list So she sent Emile to the corner shop with a note tied to his collar Please give the bearer your best tea. Emile went off and managed to get into the shop after some children who were getting sweets with their pocket money or debit cards He went up to the counter and mewed, Mother has sent you a note. One of the children laughed Is your mother a girlfriend of Mr. Kumar? No, she is not, Emile growled with a loud throbbing voice Mr. Kumar led Emile behind the counter into his living room and spoke to his wife She asked Emile to sit down as she went into the kitchen and poured him some tea from her China teapot .Do you want it on a saucer, she enquired thoughtfully? Yes, please, said Emile. This is very kind. He leaped onto the rug and began sipping the Ceylon tea. This makes a change, he murmured. I didn’t know you could just walk in and get free tea! After a few minutes, the shop door crashed open and he heard Mary’s voice Oh, Mr. Kumar, I am so stupid. I sent Emile out to buy some Twinings tea and he has not come home! What shall we do? She started crying and dabbing her eyes with Stan’s hanky. Come through, he whispered politely. Do not weep, dear. All is well Mary came in and saw Emile drinking his tea and winking at Mrs. Kumar. Emile, you stupid cat. I was going crazy worrying.I’ll strangle you! Is it my fault, he replied. I only gave them that note you sent. But is it not obvious what I intended? she said plaintively These days you never know, the cat muttered. I try to be obedient as far as I can. Mrs. Kumar came out and gave Mary a cup of tea. Sit down, dear. Worry is so bad for you. Why did you not phone us? Since it was just a packet of tea I thought Emile could carry it. He is very intelligent normally. Yes, I am, thought Emile as he looked at Maisie, the Kumar’s lovely cat who was asleep on a chair. I wonder if I can wake her up, he asked himself. Does she drink tea? Would she like to start a family? It’s not too late for me to become a parent. Maisie opened her eyes What’s that cat doing here? I only came for the tea, Emile told her. But you look very beautiful. Shall we meet tonight I’m washing my fur, she told him with a smile How about tomorrow? Have you got a phone? No, he said, I’ll just caterwaul at dusk and if you are free I’ll be under the red maple tree waiting for you Good grief thought Mary. This cat is very cunning. Just one chance and he is making the most of it. Mr. Kumar gave her some tea and she wandered home in a daze after asking them for a drink on Sunday. My social life is looking up but there’s no-one who will hug me. If only Emile were bigger! His legs are too short!I should get a donkey instead

The unknown dose

I studied grief as it were a place

I found the hidden  pathways of the lost

I learnt its secret corners and its space

For every kind of grief there is a cost

How shall I pay the price for what I’ve learned?

For I am old and I have spent not saved.

Do we ever get what we have earned?

Who will teach me most before the grave?

The cow will moan and cry for her lost calf

The mother who miscarries knows the pain

Then those we love most dearly must depart.

We will never know the like again.

Woe and joy are knitted very close.

We must take them both in unknown dose.

Mary Dave and friends . Don’t keep ringing 999

By Katherine

Mary was making a beef and beer casserole. But her casserole dish lid was too high for the small oven on her gas stove
What shall I do, she asked Emile.her cat?
I don’t know, mother, he told her.I never cook


I’ve told you before,I am not your mother.
Well, you feed me and wash me and keep my bed clean
I did that for Stan.I hope he didn’t think I was his mother
He was older than you, the cat informed her boldly
Yes.indeed he was 50 years older than me!
I know what to do, Emile mewed. He stood by the phone and pressed 999
Soon the bell rang. In ran Dave, the transvestite paramedic dressed all in white as if for tennis
What’s wrong now, he enquired?
I can’t get this casserole dish into the oven, said Mary
I know what to do. Have you got either a pyrex plate or a cake tin with a loose bottom?
Mary looked into her cupboard and found a 6 ” plate
Dave put it on top of the dish having removed the high domed lid.
There we are, he cried. What number shall I put the oven on?
3 please, said Mary. You are so creative, Dave. Brilliant
Would you like to come back in 3 hours for a meal?
I’d love to, Dave cried. Unless I get called out by someone who needs me to find a knife and fork so they can eat their dinner
Would people really do that, Emile whispered?
You would not believe what people demand when they ring 999.

And so say all of us

Without  love’s consolations in my bed

I have not seen forsythia  glow so bright
The  flowers exult  in yellow on  the shed
Even in the  darkening of the light

 



For many days my mind has  been upset
 I  did not know where  I had lost my head
I have not seen  forsythia glow so bright

 

My eyes were focussed where our terrors bite
Without  love’s consolations in my bed
Even in the  darkening of the light

 

Barbaric words of humans hate incite
As the Prophets sadly  have long said
I have not seen  the sun glow quite so bright

 

The dirty look, the eye so sly, the night
The terror in   our dreams, the bloody heads
Here they come, in  darkness, in our flight

 

Come my dearest,take me as I’m read
By words expressed, the dangers have now fled
I have not seen forsythia  glow so bright
Now  the darkness  dances with the light

I hated once but that is not an end

Photo by Quang Nguyen Vinh on Pexels.com

I meant to write a poem of revenge
To hurt the one who shot out glacial words
I knew how to begin but how to end?

Through the Oxford. my sharp eyes had lunged
My vile emotions then were further stirred
I meant to write a poem of revenge

First he wooed me , showed his cultured friends
Sweet the words and soft the voice I heard
I knew how to begin but how to end?

Would retaliation my heart rend?
Down the vultures rushed ,carnivorous birds
As he wooed me with the words he wrung

My arm was disengaged by unseen hand
I could not write, impossible cruel words
I meant to write a poem of revenge

Lady of Macbeth, who’d wash in blood
When evil can be overcome by good?
I meant to write a poem of revenge
I hated once but Good controlled my hand

Waiting for the surgeon

By Katherine

I do not like this stone within my heart

Its jagged edges  tear the living flesh.

Devoid of feelings yet it causes pain 

Who will cut it out, with blood to wash?

Why do people turn to stone inside?

Something is preserved, we are not dead.

And yet it’s useless even full of harm

I lie here weeping on my unmade bed.

On its stony surface evil dwells

Alien forms of life take up this home.

And, all unknowing, we  live our sweet life.

Until we’re brought to earth, no more to roam.

Oh do not let me die, I want more life

Where is my surgeon with his sharpest knife?

Daddy where were you?

Daddy where were you when I was sad
I bought you Woodbines in Mather’s corner shop
I carried your boiled egg with salt on plate
You lay in bed adorned with wreaths of smoke

Uncle Herbert died when I was five
Not many of Dad’s brothers left alive
But Bert was old and all his children grown
He lay inert, the coffin dark, the stone

I saw yours and Grandad’s too, the oak
The Cemetery filled with men and broken hearts
Baffled grieving we would love seek
And for Mum’s mother’s grave, we tried to look

We too will lie down in the earth
In communion with our parents ,love and birth

Short

His beauty moved me like owl at prayer

I’d better share my love of birds on here

He touched me like a marble falls down drains Thank God we then had lots of heavy rain

He told me he was angered by my face

I drowned on his tweed jacket spiced with mace.

I read so fast the teachers were amazed

My secret was adrenalin and haste

I never loved my neighbour as myself

For I was deep in love with someone else

We think we long for love but I might say

Intimacy rots if we can’t play.

I ate my words

I ate my words but could not them digest

The cruel hint, the sentence over -stressed

As if I tried to pierce another’s skin

Which was already dry, and too,too thin.

Better edit what we say with care.

Even those we love we must not scare

Take for granted nothing we adore

But walk in that pale sand, by sea, by shore .

Do not sink into the mud and dross

Despite we each must carry our own cross

For aid is near but cannot reach the deaf

The silence speaks, it does not cause distress

On the sands, we watch small children play

Bringing blood back to our faces grey.