The Holy Land

The Holy Land is not so holy now
Was it so when Christ hung from the Cross
When Romans burned the temple ,killed the Jews?
The Holy Land is not so holy now
The truth depends on where we stand to view
New perspectives offer wisdom too
See the holy face now white with frost
The Holy Land is not so holy now
Even as Christ sags on Roman Cross


from the Cross

The lark

Freed from her trap
Bird soared into air and hovered,
And floated, resting;
And flew higher, singing as she flew,
And higher again,
Till there was only her song,
Left in the silence,

Up on the high, wide, stump topped hill,
I felt the lark inside my heart
And heard her singing.
And flying up with her,
I saw gold sun and silver moon,
Moors of heather and sheep grazing.
Green hills,
And shimmering lakes,
Clouds, sun and sky in watery mirrors.
And sang, and dipped and dropped,
And curled
Up the blue
Bright heaven, and rested
On the wind.
All that day
I was a lark singing.

I shall always have a vision of
A bird
That flew upwards,
Rejoicing and free
Into a deep blue sky, and high
And higher
Beyond high
Into a place, beyond eye even,
But music still sending.

I wish I were back on that heathery moor,
With the nibbling sheep and the bees sweetly humming,
Hearing again
The poignant song
Of the skylark;
A prisoner, freed ,
From her trap,
So happy to be free
So wonderful to see,
Just let it all be

Should we shout at our partners?

At one time ,after I had had an operation on my eye which took a year to recover from
I took up knitting.I’m not quick at it.I was making a shawl which had the increase in stitches in the centre as above.This made the two halves drape differently
At the heggining there are only 3 stitches.Then there are 5,7,9”’……………….111.113…………
Sometimes I found it hard to know where the middle was.I had to count all these stitches on their circular needle.As you can imagine this took concentration.One evening I was doing this and my husband asked me a question when I got to 99
I answered than began again.This went on until I had tried 4 times.
So I politely informed him that he should look at me.If I was knitting he could speak
But if I was counting he should wait
The shawl was lovely and I gave it to a Czech student who visited us

Later I was telling a friend about this & she said I should have shouted at my husband
and said I was very angry with him
Now I don’t know, but as we didn’t go in for shouting he would have been shocked.When he got diabetes he sometimes got angry… it was low blood sugar.
I solved that.

I suppose there is no right answer but if I get angry I get distressed myself.When dealing with older people or people with health problems it’s usually better to keep calm

That was tough when he thought I was his mother before he died owing to a UTI
He seemed so happy I was his mother for 3 days and then I was his wife again
He surely did love his mother!But he loved me too.

Blades of grass and sheep

Photo by Rachel Claire on

A dead sheep, drowned, was washed up on the sands
Not treasure from the deep brought to the land
We came to Morecambe Bay for time and peace
Noone can escape from unfelt grief

The Aarnside Knott had given me new views
As if it were that green hill were Christ mused
I saw the Langdale Pikes, now small and far
Affecting me, their pulling like a star

Sheep can’t safely graze on Salisbury Plain
The Army tests it weapons there these days
Man and Nature do not see the need
For slow creation, not excessive speed

Every blade of grass is trodden down
Not symbols of creation nor its crown–Haven:-A-Nun-Takes-The-Veil

Heaven-Haven: A Nun Takes the Veil

        I have desired to go
            Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail
        And a few lilies blow.

        And I have asked to be
            Where no storms come,
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,
        And out of the swing of the se

The mystery of love and what we sing

The proper conscience does not wound our hearts
But tells us truly when we have done wrong
It does not injure love before love starts

Its voice is still and small, it is not sharp
Sometimes it impresses us by song
The goodly conscience does not wound our hearts

Yet conscience is no angel with an harp
Unheard when minds are crowded, with thought thronged
It does not tear up love before life starts

It does not use great force, no threats shall rape
But talks to each in their own native tongue
The moral conscience does not wound our hearts

But what of evil men,Satanic sharks,
The mysteries of genocide and bombs?
Do they tear up love’s roots from their hearts?

Even good folk suffer like the lambs
We must enter darkness with blind hands
The proper conscience does not wound our hearts
It does not curse our love before life starts

The penniless leader

We once had a leader called Johnson
Who wanted to get hold of his pension
As he had used all our money
To beguile Mistress Sunny
Alas, it gained media attention

Then he wanted to pay for a nanny
A child came from the womb of sweet Sunny
He asked Tories to give
Him money to live
Is there no end, is this funny?

He claims to need £300,000
As a salary, please do not question
He buys handmade shoes
Who can refuse
This blonde beaming bounny’s directions?

Is there some malice aforethought
Some intelligence agents new-bought?
He can speak in Latin
And tell us who’s batting
But he’s rarely been seen here in Scunthorpe

Why not take early retirement
Then be a real full time parent
Little Wilf will adore him
Except when he’s snoring
Or trying to recollect all his gerunds

Will he be described as a tyrant
Or the man who put Nero’s fire out?
Or a witless buffoon
Without any tune
Oh, people do shout at his iPants

Paternity Suite

Photo by nappy on

Now it is alleged that Boris Johnson has asked a Conservative donor to pay the childcare cost of his baby Wilfred.
Along with the redecoration of the flat,it seems there’s no end to his greed.
Or maybe Carrie asked him to share the childcare with her?
He has no record of looking after babies despite having about six with his wife and others
Perhaps he could take a year out on paternity leave.By then he could be old enough to retire
Then we’d have more horror.Who can take over?
Don’t answer

Until the summer came

By Katherine

I wanted you to live until the summer came
The warmth the sun, the flowering of the shrubs
I wanted you here near me in our home
I wanted you to live until the summer came
You loved to be outside in summer rain
May was very dull and wet at home
I loved you then, I love you now, I love
I wanted you to live until the summer came
The warmth, the sun, the flowering of the shrubs

When music ends and silence overwhelms

As music went and silence overwhelmed
As in deep despair, I thought to end
When nothing seemed to help me on on my way
Perhaps I’d lost the track and so must pay

Empty now of thought and of desire
The horror of the darkness without fire
The utter loss of any help at all
From the depths, my heart cried out appalled

Expecting nothing, hoping even less
A fire of gold appeared to hold,caress
And tears rained down my face from eyes amazed
While in my flesh I felt caressed and saved

I bowed my head in assent to this good
The crucified, the lost, have understood

The soft heart

If your heart is soft it cannot crack
Nor will it break nor turn itself quite black
Yes, it bleeds when foolish people sin
As sensitive as what we call our skin

All living forms have boundaries and shapes
Dependent on surroundings in good hope
A thin skinned person may feel shame and grief
Despised by scoundrels, devoured by cunning thieves

A person with thick skin shuts out their flaws
Harming others, ignoring love and law
Unless you are a hermit, you will feel,
Living close to others, what they deal

The soft is wise and flexible and heals
The hard heart shatters underneath the wheel

The final letter

I got your final letter in the post
The postman only comes here once a day
I truly don’t who I love the most

Undecided ,my emotions froze
Someone wants to sell them on Ebay
I got your final letter in the post

Give me back the feeling heart you chose
Though it’s heavy as a lump of clay
I don’t know why I always loved the most.

We must part, but sorrow overflows
Makes a river ,washes hate away
I got your final letter in the post

We never argued, never came to blows
Now you are a tom cat on display
I do not wonder who has loved the most

I bought a book to read from Google play
My unconscious mind is eating it today
I got your final letter in the post
I didn’t know that I still loved the most

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

A real cat

This is mainly terza rima.Please see the link at the end

Photo by Alexas Fotos on


I saw a tabby cat upon my stairs
Gazing at me as I locked the door
Sitting calmly with a noble stare

I never thought I’d see a cat in here
I felt one lean against me in the night
A waking dream that brought delight not fear

I had no evidence such as cat bites
No scratches and no purring, no miaows
I did not wake and put on a night light

I left the cat flap open to allow
A little cat to enter & deter
The mice and rats with sharp teeth too endowed

Now this real cat has gone well polished hair
He had a coat of real and shining fur
His eyes are green and calm like winter seas
He hid away, he’ll come back should it please

No privacy, no silence, it appalls

The poor can’t take this lockdown for too long.
They have no back gardens, no birdsong
Their bed rooms shared, or they have none at all
No privacy, no silence, it appalls
I hear them talked about in cruel ways
“They go into McDonalds every day”
Would you cook your meals in red wine bathed
If you had only got a microwave?
They can’t keep warm in winter in their homes
McDonald’s is a luxury they earn
Clean and neat with heating and hot drinks
They sit and look at me , like I’m the Sphinx
The average reading age in Britain’s nine
They can’t read Boris’ letter, that’s malign