Caterpillars,snails with whorls.

Inside my mind I dream of  pearls,
Caterpillars,snails with   whorls.
I dream contented, all enwrapped;
With reverie and dream I’m lapped.
The inner seas will comfort me,
While gods help these,my eyes, to see

Oh,sweeter than confectionery
Is my  Oxford diction’ry.
The words whirl round  then fall to shape
The sentences which my world make.
This furnishing is rich and strange
Yet magically self arranged.

Oh,sweeter than the love of man
Is reading works of poets long gone;
Feeling deeply their dark tides .
Upon which our boat may glide.
The sea infinite we float upon
Is the same sea the ancients swam..

Sweeter still is the spring air
And the blossom spreading fair.
We’ll drown our selves in grassy fields
To the gods of poetry yield.
We’ll rise again and spring up tall
To grow more rich until we fall.

A dark lilac sky

Old man,bending over,
arched like a fallen moon
in a dark lilac  winter sky.
joy and pain wrestle my heart across the emptiness
and toss it up like a damp rocket
to fall in a hidden corner where mice live.
Would that not be a good ending,to be dust
to these little creatures nesting
in my chewed green twine and my tartan basket?
They have eyes and shiver in my hand when I rescue them
from the cat…
as any heart might.
Now night falls on the newspaper basket
where the damp Times and the Guardian mix into glue
and tomorrow the sun will rise;
it will just be the garbage
with no poetic undertones nor deathly hushes..
Heather and a silver light
you stand on a hill top like a god
looking over his domain.
Strong and now weak
it’s the human condition
Everlasting life is too dangerous for us.
Silent,motionless,home of beetles
bit by bit we fall away
into the mother soil
with cracked jugs and dropped coins
for a future academic to dig into.
Transparent hand touches me.
Whose might it be but yours?

Malevolence..not all.

Oliver Sacks.. part of a biography

He says, “At times, the world seems rife with malevolence, chaos. I am almost overwhelmed, but then it suffices for me
to perceive the spectacle of quiet goodness, say the Little Sisters of the Poor, and everything is all right.

A terrifying topic

The ill fated Oscar Pistorius with his bionic legs

This is really intriguing about cyborgs though I admit openly that I know almost nothing about the subject.But I can see the thical implications of augmenting ourselves with extra parts including technology is a terrifying subject to brood about


Doctor I’ve got logghoreah I feel worn out but I’m here.

Doctor I’ve got logghoreah

I feel worn out but I’m  still here.

Can you give me a blue pill,

As those bright green ones made me ill.


Oh,dear lady,I can teach you

If the subject’s not taboo.

If you keep your lips quite still

You ‘ll feel much better,I can tell.


Doctor,how can I  keep quiet?

Do you offer any diet?

Which sentences are too contrived;

Can you keep my brain alive?


Never use an old cliche;

From the ancient,go astray.

Keep you thoughts inside your head.

If  you can’t,then go to bed.


Doctor I am not Herr Freud

Yet I see  my well trod road.

I  seem to always want a man.

And in my bed I can fit one.


Yes I see you often mention

How your body needs attention.

You need love and so do I

But it’s evil if we try.


Talking ‘s a defence   of sorts

Used by folk  to control thoughts.

Intellectual word  excess

Is your device for happiness.


Yet it does not help your body

To keep on giving testimony.

So throw away your head,my dear

Love a man and lose that fear.


I don’t know that many men;

Maybe  I   count nine or ten.

Yet I fear they may use me

Merely as the maid at tea.


They may want  me to boil their hankies

When what I need is hanky panky.

How can I convert old boys

To make kleenex  tissues their first choice?


We don’t learn that when we’re training;

Nor cure depression when it’s raining.

We will have to run a trial.

Drink the oil from this small vial.


What will this oil do to me??

I really need a cup of tea.

Will it increase my libido

I shall not take it if that’s so.


Why don’t you trust me,my dear lady.

Do you think I’m a bit shady?

Well,you’re right,we men are lonely

And we look for ladies homely.


Surely you’ve got one  somewhere else.

Doctor’s need them for their health.

Yes, but I prefer your form.

How do you like my nice green lawn?


I prefer a sandy desert.

Lawns are so so last resort

Still we’re here so let’s commence.

I have  only got  five pence.


We have love so do not worry

Do not be in such a hurry

Catholics can’t have concubines

Yet God made them by design.


We must have missed some useful clue

Bow down  in worship of my shoe.

When we can afford a pair.

Then I’ll marry not just stare!


I can see by my dreams I am making progress

If you recall dreams it can be helpful.If I dream  of injured cats it means I am in a bad way  whereas happy cats mean I am ok inside.

For 3 months I dreamed I was with my husband in a strange place trying to find the car park to get into the car so we could get home.But every corner we turned only gave us yet another unknown road.He was holding my hand and seemed very anxious.

I have read a few books written by widows and I felt a bit ashamed as I did not  throw myself onto my husband and scream and cry  before or after he died.I felt it was my job to help him to go.The doctor said I was too fragile but I feel it was much better for me to be with him.I held his hand.Then the  nurses got more blankets as he grew colder.I fed him a little  by playing a game…1 2 3  open the door.He  opened his mouth and ate some fish.I thought madly,is he getting better, but he was just being “good” for me and maybe his mother.Some days he thought I was his mother but I never said anything.It got hard when he asked me where I spent my  honeymoon..I said I couldn’t remember.He also seemed very puzzled why I had not married again.He clearly thought I was very attractive… more so than when I was myself,I think!!Still,a bit late for all that.

I felt no fear until after he died.I sat there for 2 hours.I got up and I confess the thought of coming home was truly horrible.Suddenly my sisrer appeared.As she lives 200 miles away I was astounded.She hates motorways but some instinct made her come even though she didn’;t know just how bad he was.He was dead by then but she asked to sit with him alone to pray.It was very brave of her  because after 2.5 hours he was  very white and looked  odd.She advised me not to see his body again.To me he had gone… like a bird flying away.


My nephew and niece came and sitting drinking tea with them was good because I think I had gone almost too far into the valley of the shadow of death and was unsure what to do or how to leave it..They looked so full of vitality it helped me  a lot.

Although I am glad I helped him it still hurts a lot but the dreams give me hope.They are changing now to being about my mother.

BTW I have promised not to remarry just yet.As my mother said,Chance would be a fine thing.


My family and other sorrows

While I was borning,Lizzie was dying.

Dad lost his sister and got me instead.

On that Wednesday when my life was dawning

He was nearly out of his head.


Joseph  at nine had the measles bad.

James got lost at the Somme, poor lad.

They died and  left their Mother sad.

But she clung  more tightly onto their Dad.


Father died of Spanish flu.

Oh,Lord  Yehoshua,what shall we do?

She took to the bottle to help her through.

Whilst she screamed with the cat in a piteous mew.


You still have Gilbert and young Willy

Be off said Mother,don’t be silly.

How about Lizzie and Nellie and Bert?

Oh,cried Mother,how I do hurt.


You still have Albert and Mary Alice.

Prince Albert built a Crystal Palace.

Go away,Mother said,with malice.

Turned away from Church and Chalice.


You’ve still got Agnes and  Nellie the last.

But Mother’s childbearing days were  her  best

And at last in 41 she passed.

WW2 was too great a test.


Lizzie died in 45

Her daughter Annie an artist live

Ran away and no letter arrived.

I was born  and still I thrive

Lizzie’s grandaughter ,called Kathleen

Now an artist  in Harrogate Green.

My daddy  painted  his words in gold

Yehoshua died to  save our souls.


Top young sign writer in Great Britain.

By his curls our Ma was smitten.

By his  songs and what he’s written

She took him in and here I’m sitting


Get praised for signs of tenderness

I have to get my hair dyed  blonde

Put radiant serum on my face;

My nails need varnish like this chair

Right now they are a deep disgrace.

My feet are hidden by my boots.

I washed my neck and cleaned my teeth.

The cat is here and torments me

He wants to go to Hampstead Heath

Like men he doesn’t understand

Being female  makes demands.

Yet also, on the other hand,

I could change gender by command.

Then I could cut  all my hair off

Go to bed , be cleanserless.

Look awful when I’m feeling rough

Get praised for signs of tenderness.

Yet I would have to compete then

And fight off lots of other men.

And being shy is tough as when

A woman ignores you and your pen.

And even if one succumbs to charm

And lies all beauteous in your arms

You must be careful to keep calm

Seem manful when you feel alarm,

If  she’s  had lovers  forty six,

Does she expect you’ll know their tricks?

Or will   you find that you just click

All she wants is a face lick.

For you can cleanse her make up off

Is it poison, is it tough?

Look at her big powder puff.

Don’t inhale,it isn’t  snuff.

The strangeness of this form of verse

While it helps one to converse

It’s hard to end when it gets worse

And hence I must be very terse.