A solitary  golden stone marks the spot

Where an ancient civilisation once had life.

It’s not a weapon of mass destruction

Except to our lies and prevarication.

We are a  “humane nation”

announces the Honourable D.Cameron M.P…….

What happened in the thirties to the Jews?

And as  a humane nation  we are, we will toss a few pence to the drowning.

We at least cannot say we didn’t know.

In such a time,even a tabloid newspaper cannot hide the truth

That we are not foreign to each other

As we struggle in our different ways

To live and work and love.

We  can’t say “but for the grace of God” we might be a refugee.

As if it has anything at all to do with God.

We are feasting while the  Middle East burns.

Oh,Nero,Oh Rome.

How we despised you.

How we judged ourselves superior…

We have not yet been put to the test.

“And after the wind, a still small voice.”

“Why art thou here,Jeremiah?”

I am feeling worn out and exhausted

The summer has passed me right by

Both t he dead and the living

Are sometimes forgiving.

I note with a very loud sigh.

The radio sprung into action

A loud voice told me where to get off!

I had not touched the switch

Is my neighbour a witch?

But I did hear my late husband cough.

Later I sat in great silence

When suddenly the TV came on.

Is there some message here?

Is there an angel near?

My late husband was a   warm yet strange man.

I have lived for twelve weeks in dark mourning

But  now it is time for some  song.

Write me new sentences

Show me new entrances.

For with the living I  rightly belong.

I have been down to the Styx and seen blackness

But my life has not yet reached the  end

Make me laugh merrily

Tell me  jokes terribly

Let’s all be bad and be banned!

The queue waits patiently in a  straggling line

For payment is demanded for our goods

We  no longer keep chickens ,ducks nor swine.

Nor hunt for rabbits in the green deep woods.

As flocks are ruled by farmers,so we live

We queue for buses, fill out forms when told

If  we offence or trouble ever give

We’ll soon be in the dock for being bold.

Yet is it wise  for rich folk to display

Their wealth and fortune to the passing crowd?

This is not  that loving Christian way

That asks consideration from the proud.

Modesty ,kindness, caring  are  now sins!

So beware or find that you have  been condemned

After the loss comes the separation of the roads we travel

I make sudden decisions to replace a chair,

get a new bright kitchen bin

But  I see that it will no longer be the kitchen you knew.

And your bed is covered in objects or clothes

awaiting a new destination.

I can’t sit in there looking at this green view

In case someone comes to the door…

I am slow on the stairs,you see.

And it’s no longer your room,, where you wrote your books

with our old cat lying across your shoulders.

Parts of it look oddly tidy

Then there are bags to divide up your possessions…books to keep?

Books to toss?

Clothes to kept  in memory?

i thought I could hear a voice speaking to me

I had kicked your red radio!

that was not your voice

This is  not a poem.

I am not myself.

Yet who else am I?

Maybe those we call mad

are  simply better at picking up signals

which the sane can ignore

but who can say which ones matter?

You are still here in your urn…

Whatever shall I do with you

Or without you.

This is not a poem

i am not dead

I am not a person.

the radio addresses me.

Am I alive?

Everything little thing  I do

makes me more separate from you.

t

I liked my previous theme but I found sometimes the text was not showing up in Chrome even after clearing the cache etc.It was showing in Microsoft Edge.I changed my them and now the text is showing for me and I hope it is for my readers