A collection of sonnets

As close to me as in a marriage bed

As on this foreign shore I stand and stare
Across the green and foaming tidal sea.
I do not wonder whether life is fair
Nor whether what’s to come is what should be
The hinterland is not a wishful dream
Whatever I meet there is all itself
So useless are past thoughts and present schemes
My courage,heart and spirit are my wealth.
Although alone,I sense some being close
Whom I accept as guide and friend to me.
To walk with otherness is not my boast.

It’s he who guides and shows me how to see.

Thus with this spirit,I my spirit wed
As close to me as in a marriage bed.

Against that we should rage

Ancient I may be, but I’m not old
I learn new skills and  see in different ways
My heart is kind and never is  it cold
My mind still functions and I’ve much to say
But company is difficult to find
Especially for those handicapped by pain
We all need others outside our own minds
Though loss has struck we look for friends again
I’d like to roam across  the woods and   hills
A gypsy free of home and bills and rules
But in the climate of the British isles
I’d soon be sick and labelled as a fool.
Let’s not accept too many laws of age
As Dylan said, against that we should rage
Shall I give home

Shall I give home to grievance and to woe
And cultivate my hatred with my tears?
Shall I remember carefully each blow,
And add this sorrow to my anxious fear? ~
I thought by hating you I would have peace
And surely I had reason without doubt.
Yet rumination gave me no release..
For wisdom and compassion it did flout
I remembered then past love and shared sweet words
I gave them freedom in my anguished heart.
I did it for your sake, yet then occurred
A sweetness, joy and gladness in all parts.
To forgive,repent and let go of such grief
Helps us more than hatred’s legal briefs

A stormy sea

Between the wish for  changlessness and thrill
We seldom will be satisfied for long
Neither is controlled by human will
As into  stormy life, we all are flung
Self-deception  shields us from our doubts
We choose to pre-select what we will see.
Pretend to know what our life’s  all about
As in little boats ,we ride a stormy sea.
Then  later we choose danger for its spice
And with daring climb the mountain with no ropes
We resist the offer of    advice
Till ,with broken bones, we sadly mope.
Reality’s too little or too much
So ,on our path, our hearts will often lurch

Desiring all

 Our life is like a shell upon the shore,

tossed up by squally,salty,shivering sea
.To shrink inside is safe,yet we want more,
To make,to love,to see,at last to be.
A shell, though tough, is made to open out;
To give the living core its chance to grow
.Towards the new we each must shed our doubt.
Every myth and story say it’s so..
Impregnable,that home had seemed to be
To the tiny creature growing in its heart#.
Yet thrown by winds across the rolling sea
The slender cage must open and let part.
Protection can be prison to the soul.
So we  crack our    out grown shells, desiring all

A single one remains

I saw  the sun rise over the North Sea
Accentuating coloured fishing boats.
The beauty of the dawn gave hope to me
A restful pleasure made my  soft eyes  dote.
The peace of this small town has caught my heart.
Scenes from ancient times  come close again
The gulls swoop down and  sketch their flying charts
Remote as ever from the realm of man.
The shingle beach,the  Church  where Britten lies
The in and out of tides  of salty sea;
An exact match of houses,hill and skies;
The   amber shop, the chip shop,the oak tree.
In my mind I walk in love again;
Though of the two, a single one remains

A lover of the vapid is my friend

A lover of the vapid is my friend
So rapidly to boredom we  can wend.
Yet should  love like this  be brought to sudden end
Or clung to as we struggle through the bends?
Is the choosing  of insipid  acts
Genetic, to be treated with mere tact?
Or if it’s learned, then how should I react
To give him aid to  learn  that which he lacks?
And who am I to judge that he  should change?
For vapidity’s subjective  in its range.
And criticism if ept may then derange,
To lunacy his mind  be rearranged.
Personal  judgements   should not issue   fast,
As  the pains we cause may for an era last

Astonishing that we should live at all.

To fulminate against the hands of fate
To vent our anger on  beloved friends
Will not repair our ills and our mistakes
But may bring friendships to  a bitter end.
For who are we to know what is the best?
Who are we to choose when loved ones die?
And  do not think this is a needed test.
As if on us God wastes his time to spy.
Once  we were a joining of two cells
The lively sperm, a salmon riding high.
The egg awaiting without  need for bells
Is fertilised and grows that which  shall die.
Astonishing that we should live at all.
Unsurprising, that a loved one falls.

Beware the man

No woman ever can be what he dreams
Nor can she give him comfort on the road.
Yet every night he plots and thinks and schemes.~  =
And rarely does he ever go abroad.
No food he eats will satisfy his tongue.
The best wine is as naught to mother’s milk.
He grumbles and will not admit to wrong.
I‘ve known more men than him of this same ilk.
No bed can be the right one for his sleep.
No sheets and pillows suit his wary skin.
He often has made gentle maidens weep
Crying out they’re fat or boney thin.
’ Beware the man who never can adapt
For in own lone wishes he is trapped

A mere mirage

My  new-found hope may be a mere mirage;
Illusion of no help in my despair.
Yet imagination   stirs up needed courage
And helps the mind and heart in their repair.
I’ll dwell not in the mind’s relentless thoughts;
I’ll use my eyes and ears and skin
Then i that trap, I  never shall  be caught.
I’ll see  and hear to moderate this din.
In wider focus all will take their place
I’ll focus less on  this  wound I bear late
And see  both good and bad in every space.
So not dismiss the world and all its states.
Changing  vision show   us  truer measures.
Perception valued brings to us much treasure.

Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.

How softly sweetly,gently flowers pose
Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.
Their intricate petals form a shield
Yet bees with striped force shall make them yield.
Appearances,both natural and contrived,
Mixed with the wiles of human nature thrive.
As, knowing not, we pluck the apple rare
And bite its flesh,with teeth we have to bare.
We too deceive the innocent who pass
Not seeing watchers hid behind the glass.
The windows break,the deep earth quakes;
Seized is the maiden ,he  her virtue takes.
Beneath the surface,force and fierceness thrive.
What fearsome, burning God enjoys our lives?

A living spark

When those we loved are gone into the dark,
From where we come and so will also end;
Then mournful we await a living spark
To light  the fire within and sorrow mend.
Reality is not absorbed  whole;
Though we have seen, we cannot yet believe.
And pain torments our  jagged heart and soul
Until in time the grace  comes to receive.
We must believe that we can bear  this load,
Even when we fall and lie forlorn.
Help may come  or pain may be a goad.
Love may come from those we used to scorn.
To willingly accept  may seem too hard,too grim.
Yet when we do ,the spirit grows within

Another place,another mind

From time and place and season I am lost,
Disorientated ,missing tracks well worn.
Do not suppose I’m unaware of cost,
Nor label me with epithets of scorn.
For usual paths lead to the usual place.
The safest way to live and perhaps to die,
But wandering through the woods I find new space
and in wild grasses with the fox I lie.
Through distant trees, I see a way to go
As narrow as a slit in  pale limestone.
I pass in silence as if in deep,deep snow.
My courage rises even as I groan.
Remember when we’re lost ,we may then find
Another way,a place,another mind.

Dialect and grief

Between my child self and my adult  lies
A chasm composed of dialect and grief.
Banned from   speaking of my father’s death
Then later of  my natural tongue bereaved.
Fished from my poor street,  beloved ones;
Encouraged to become a bureaucrat
Broad accent  mocked   and scorned by  holy nuns.
Confusion in my heart, made sadly  furious   brat.
When I returned  to streets of happy play
No longer did I fit my former place.
And I had not got  feel of what to say;
No cliche, proverb or even  a bare phrase.
By speaking in the tongue of the elite
My head had separated  from my feet

And people looked like watercolour flies

The morning  sun still low in winter  sky
Made brilliant light with darker shadows thrown.
And  people looked like watercolour flies
As ,  nonchalant ,through the  shopping mall they roamed.
So here we see in colours black and white
We do not see the usual shades and  hues.
And so inside our mind, a too great light
May prejudice our judgement  and our views.
We learn to understand by metaphors.
As did our unthought ancestors before.
Jesus was our  Shepherd   and neighbour
We were sheep not wolves with slavering jaws
What we see depends upon the light.
And , where we stand and when , invites the sight

But then we learn

Trapped in  cultivated  ways ,we may  forget
That usefulness can also be a trap.
Am I the one who never makes a bet?
Am I  the one who always has the map?
We are no automata, we are flesh.
And even older brains can be rewired
Maybe we need to clear  our  boring cache
And light  a few more glowing mental fires.
Reluctance seems  to  cage us with our fear.
Though ,despite our wishes, we all age and die.
Time goes and  the end will soon be here
But  it is never too late just  to try.
It is myself to whom I speak in sonnet form
Anxiety is  fierce  until we learn.

A winter day describe

Grey, damp, dark, a winter day describe,
Though sunshine comes  with  white and wintry frost.
While on my paper curving shapes inscribe
The alphabet I learned at childhood’s cost
Humankind can’t bear too much of night
Hallucinations,dreams, symbols confused.
We like the sunny sky where birds take flight.
In warmth soft air, our tension are defused.
Accepting night is one of our sad tasks
Light and dark needs balance in this world
In the light of sun. our sorrow’s masked
We feel false ecstasy as colors swirl.
God created light and darkness first
Their divided unity is blessed

A Gordian knot describes my new made life

A Gordian knot describes my  new made life
For I’m confused and feel misunderstood
My lovers all are tangled in their strife.
Yet,narcissistic, I desire my good.
Alas, I am as beautiful as dawn
This gives a false  description to these men
For as I struggle feeling quite forlorn
Each  man wants to take me to his den.
I’d rather read then be adored and served.
No longer youthful ,I have had enough.
I gave my lovers more than they deserved
Now I’m sick of them and all their stuff
Be off you men  and find yourself elsewhere
I warn you  now I  shall soon curse and swear

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