Month: February 2017

The verdict:dead

Three days before the end,he lay quite still
Could barely speak nor breathe not eat nor smile
I sat alone and swollen was my heart
I knew by  inward feelings, soon  we ‘d part

At home were waiting  frozen ready meals
Quite suitable to my own freezing feel
He  gazed at me and tried to speak some words
“How will you manage,sweet”, I barely heard.

The grief I felt ignored by day time nurse
And from the Sister, came demonic curse.
Exercised in Re Hab  until dead
And even after that, cruel words they said

Resuscitated,  left in peace in bed.
He lasted 19 hours .The verdict: “Dead.”

Strange angels

There was a holy place made by the screens
Where lay the old man,  trembling into dream.
His face was pale,his nose felt like white ice
An offering on the block for sacrifice.

The sacred place was marked by song and prayer
Made  quietly . so  that no-one else would hear.
He held my hand and whispered ,please don’t go.
I held him in my heart, as his went slow.

A cocoon made in noisy A and E
A strange place for the Lady God to be.
Deep silence underneath the usual noise,
Pierced only by  my child-like singing voice.

I saw his soul ,  my tears made long curtains
Hidden so, I felt the weight of  pain
I felt my heart  crack in this loss and grief
For Death had been there like a silent thief.

His  pale face  on the pillow  seemed to smile
The kindness of strange angels did beguile

The lifeboat

The life boat crew are safely home
They’ve brought the shipwrecked sailors too.
The storm has passed, the wind has dropped
The sea is swaying softly now.

Wrapped in soft night clothes, their offspring
Are all in world of dream still lost.
Their fathers’ safely home this time.
They save wrecked ships despite the cost.

Will any lifeboat crew be there
To help less blessed ones from despair,
And lives, too many , spent in care
No fathers and no mothers near?

The sea we certainly must fear,
But more we fear the acts of those
Who try to buy our minds and wills,
for votes in the election booths.

Oh hush my baby, go to sleep,
It is your mammy’s job to weep.
I wish I knew just what to do
To empower the lives of wains like you.

Sleep well, sleep well, my little child.
The sun will rise, the air is mild.
We’ll trust that when we all set sail
Our love and courage will not fail.

Oh,hush my sweet one, I am near.
The world’s too big for bairns to bear.
We’ll do much better this time round.
We’ll not let this boat run aground.

I really need a new doorbell as this one infrequently rings

They didn’t have any red onions so they sent me a whole ball of string
I sauted it in the frying pan,with a knotted  courgette , and it sang
I am wondering now every Friday, what will the grocery send?

Instead of roast  beef they’ll send i Pads or kindles with fire on the wings
I really do  need a new doorbell as this one infrequently rings
They didn’t have any red onions so they sent me a hen on a string.

I suppose it may not be the doorbell,just a cat advertising his bling.
We all suffer paranoid feelings, but the police watched  me  in case  I might sting
I am wondering now every Friday, where the art  of psychiatry ends

I may be a a little bit backward but string ain’t much good for roasting.
When  I boiled three dozen eggs in the toaster, they exploded with a big brassy bang
They didn’t have any red onions so they sent me a  pig on  a string.

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

 

Auguries of Innocence
BY WILLIAM BLAKE
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour
A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage
A Dove house filld with Doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thr’ all its regions
A dog starvd at his Masters Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State
A Horse misusd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fibre from the Brain does tear
A Skylark wounded in the wing
A Cherubim does cease to sing
The Game Cock clipd & armd for fight
Does the Rising Sun affright
Every Wolfs & Lions howl
Raises from Hell a Human Soul
The wild deer, wandring here & there
Keeps the Human Soul from Care
The Lamb misusd breeds Public Strife
And yet forgives the Butchers knife
The Bat that flits at close of Eve
Has left the Brain that wont Believe
The Owl that calls upon the Night
Speaks the Unbelievers fright
He who shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never be belovd by Men
He who the Ox to wrath has movd
Shall never be by Woman lovd
The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
Shall feel the Spiders enmity
He who torments the Chafers Sprite
Weaves a Bower in endless Night
The Catterpiller on the Leaf
Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief
Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh
He who shall train the Horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar
The Beggars Dog & Widows Cat
Feed them & thou wilt grow fat
The Gnat that sings his Summers Song
Poison gets from Slanders tongue
The poison of the Snake & Newt
Is the sweat of Envys Foot
The poison of the Honey Bee
Is the Artists Jealousy
The Princes Robes & Beggars Rags
Are Toadstools on the Misers Bags
A Truth thats told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent
It is right it should be so
Man was made for Joy & Woe
And when this we rightly know
Thro the World we safely go
Joy & Woe are woven fine
A Clothing for the soul divine
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine
The Babe is more than swadling Bands
Throughout all these Human Lands
Tools were made & Born were hands
Every Farmer Understands
Every Tear from Every Eye
Becomes a Babe in Eternity
This is caught by Females bright
And returnd to its own delight
The Bleat the Bark Bellow & Roar
Are Waves that Beat on Heavens Shore
The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
Writes Revenge in realms of Death
The Beggars Rags fluttering in Air
Does to Rags the Heavens tear
The Soldier armd with Sword & Gun
Palsied strikes the Summers Sun
The poor Mans Farthing is worth more
Than all the Gold on Africs Shore
One Mite wrung from the Labrers hands
Shall buy & sell the Misers Lands
Or if protected from on high
Does that whole Nation sell & buy
He who mocks the Infants Faith
Shall be mockd in Age & Death
He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
The rotting Grave shall neer get out
He who respects the Infants faith
Triumphs over Hell & Death
The Childs Toys & the Old Mans Reasons
Are the Fruits of the Two seasons
The Questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to Reply
He who replies to words of Doubt
Doth put the Light of Knowledge out
The Strongest Poison ever known
Came from Caesars Laurel Crown
Nought can Deform the Human Race
Like to the Armours iron brace
When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow
To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow
A Riddle or the Crickets Cry
Is to Doubt a fit Reply
The Emmets Inch & Eagles Mile
Make Lame Philosophy to smile
He who Doubts from what he sees
Will neer Believe do what you Please
If the Sun & Moon should Doubt
Theyd immediately Go out
To be in a Passion you Good may Do
But no Good if a Passion is in you
The Whore & Gambler by the State
Licencd build that Nations Fate
The Harlots cry from Street to Street
Shall weave Old Englands winding Sheet
The Winners Shout the Losers Curse
Dance before dead Englands Hearse
Every Night & every Morn
Some to Misery are Born
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to Endless Night
We are led to Believe a Lie
When we see not Thro the Eye
Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night
When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light
God Appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in Night
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of day

Want to eat out?

Eat at your own riskdsc00018

First course

Ginger shampoo and boiled onions  on a bed  of  buttered snails
Lemon, barley   and pepper jelly with a dash of bustard.
Cat food on toast [wholemeal] with  yellowish salad

Main course

Dead blackbird pie and gravy with one  fresh spinach leaf per portion
Baked potatos and chilli beans with fresh chicken wings.
Soup frozen over a lake of lamb chops and sprouts

Puddings

Eve’s own  apple pie and Carnation milk right from the tin
Adam’s apple baked in pastry and flustered
Tomato jam tart with caramel rocks and treble cream
Desert delight and sand to toss on to it  from an oasis of  peas
Bethlehem cheese   plus slice of  border Wall  and crackers.
Rocket junket and cheesecake with barbed wire kebabs of needed.

Kindness

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by Sylvia Plath

Kindness glides about my house.
Dame Kindness, she is so nice!
The blue and red jewels of her rings smoke
In the windows, the mirrors
Are filling with smiles.
What is so real as the cry of a child?
A rabbit’s cry may be wilder But it has no soul.
Sugar can cure everything, so Kindness says.
Sugar is a necessary fluid,
Its crystals a little poultice
O kindness, kindness
Sweetly picking up pieces!
My Japanese silks, desperate butterflies,
May be pinned any minute, anesthetized.
And here you come, with a cup of tea
Wreathed in steam.
The blood jet is poetry,
There is no stopping it.
You hand me two children, two roses.

Ariel

800px-sunset_in_the_negev_desert_near_yeruham_israel
BY SYLVIA PLATH
Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.
God’s lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees!—The furrow
Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,
Nigger-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks—
Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else
Hauls me through air—
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.
White
Godiva, I unpeel—
Dead hands, dead stringencies.
And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child’s cry
Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,
The dew that flies
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red
Eye, the cauldron of morning.

One bird could be the owl of moral perception

In a memoir about  her lusty twins, she exclaims,
that her husband  sought  cruelty  as a   Christian
and  willed masochism  for  people who  disdained to be happy
or  who desired happiness  in love or other  irritations of life .
which made  many men sadistic
His  gross interference  was the undesirable rendition
of the untried prisoners in the Bay windows of the suburbs
It is easy to  forsake  all   presumptions ;
Why a person would not  sell you happy sentences is now history
Why we   misread   when it is  seriously important to get it right
Flight must  be seen as a genuine alternative to happiness;
For must we think that it was seriousness
that made human  brains chilling  ?
Or rolling stones to wither more moss?
One of the replays in which happiness
is  paid to seem like an inclusive misrule
–she says,
In a  word to the bland,
is  our asserting that by  cooperation
the flings that shatter most  of us
must make us more  unhappy,
That is how we show  we got laid
Too many looks……
It’s as though one person   dreams
They are the owl of the moral perception.

The storm clouds

The storm clouds wander random as a glance
Let’s toss the dice and choose a president
The sunset’s mauve and willing clouds a-bounce

The lies and fake news breed and so advance
Conquer minds and hearts of residents.
The storm clouds wander ,random as  a glance

Shall we fight or leave the end to chance?
The danger of the latter’s evident
The sky is mauve and thunder might roll once.

What is life like after the romance?
What seemed a louse may be an elephant.
Yet storm clouds wander random  to my glance

Who made the madmen who now high boot prance
As politicians  building walls   of cant.
The sky is mauve and God needs  a seance.

Are these human add ons ,miscreants
Wearing Nazi slogans as they rant?
The storm clouds shudder. random, elegant
The sunset’s fire has gone ; there is no dance

Like a mammoth climbing Scafell.

 

It’s like an old dream,I’m running but slowly
Like that film, Chariots of fire,men running on a beach
Someone slowed the film down so you could watch
Each leg rise slowly then come down
And they panted,but very slowly
Like a mammoth climbing Scafell.
I’m running to meet you,you’ve come back
I stretch out my arms for you and you smile
And smile and smile.
But you have gone

Yes my dear, said Stan

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A few weeks after Annie moved into the house next door to Stan,he met her when he was  seeing his wife off to work.
Why does your wife not have a car she enquired suspiciously?
She is trying to keep slim,Stan told her.
Well,she’s not been very successful,Annie said scientifically.
She might be much fatter than she is now if she drove a car,he stated ponderously
That’s true,muttered Annie meditatively
I am your new next door neighbor.she continued
Yes my dear, said Stan,I have seen you sunbathing in the garden in your bikinis.
How come, she asked scientifically?
There’s a big hole in the fence.
Is it legal to look at women through a hole in the fence?
asked Annie.I know it’s illegal to look into their bedroom windows.
Is it really,asked Stan nervously,I had no idea.
How about women looking at men through a round hole?
Oh,they can’t be bothered to do that,she told him charmingly.
Well,said Stan,clearing his throat,I think I owe it to myself to tell you that I love you.
Wow,you’re quick off the mark,the lady said saucily.
What do you mean,you owe it to yourself?
Nothing,said Stan,I could not think how to word it.I mean I wish to unselfishly love you and admire your ripe body and your cute sense of colour.I love your teal trouser suit.And you sing sos well in the bath.
You didn’t mean you owe it to yourself to take advantage of me?
Not unless you want me to take advantage of you,the gallant old man informed her.
And you can take advantage of me.I make cakes and biscuits,wholemeal bread and I am training my cat Emile to do statistics on an i pad.
How extraordinary,Annie whispered.I didn’t know cats had an “I.” let alone pads.
Well,they have pads on their paws,he informed her intelligently.
True,she said,but where are their I’s?
Where are our I’s ?he responded in a manner to rejoice the heart of Mary Midgley or Susanne Langer two of Stan’s favourite writers on philosophy,logic,symbols and ethics.
Not that he practiced the Ethics but he liked to know what he was doing wrong.It’s more fun that way.If you sin,sin big!
A man who seduces women merrily one after the other may have no idea it might be wrong.Neither might the women.
Why is it wrong?Surely it’s better than killing people or leaving the lid off the jam all night so the wasps get into the jar?
Still,not many men get the chances that Stan got.No-one suspected this kindly,handsome practicing Catholic was a womanizer despite his blue beard,green eyes,white skin and red hair.And his slim yet strong figure clad in navy trousers and white shirts all the year round.Maybe his wife did but she preferred to read Aristotle in bed and dream about mercury… those little silver balls are so cute!
Well,as we know,Stan is about to make Annie his mistress but in such a cold wet summer,where can he take her to do the deed?
The shed?The public library? Cafe Nero?
I owe it to you not to tell you yet.That will give you time to think of a solution for this sweet old man and his naughty but nice neighbour.
Like,how about the confessional in the local Church?
Whatever next?I owe it to myself to keep it secret as you may come along and spoil the fun.
Stan went indoors and washed up in the boiling hot water he kept by him constantly as he owed it to himself to be ready to make a hot drink at any moment he fancied and by gum,he did fancy like no man has ever fancied before.So his daemon tells me.

Next time:Why did God create Stan and why does it matter?

It might confuse the cat in bed.

narcissus2017-2

 

Pray, Father,I give you my blessing
That’s the wrong way round.Never mind,Tell me your original sins.
We don’t have to confess those surely.We are born like that.
I mean I am fed up with boring sins like theft and swearing.
I don’t know if I can think if any sin except I bought my husband some soap called Allure.If it does allure he might be unfaithful and it will be my fault.
Don’t worry about the future.At least he will smell nice in bed.You should get Chanel Number 5
It might confuse the cat in bed.
Why, do  you make  love to the cat?
No, but the cat sits on top when we do it.
So what’s the problem?
If the cat hates Chanel Number 5 he might leave the room and love without the cat is  not what we are used to
But it’s not a sin!
Oh dear.I can’t think of anything else.
You must try harder
Do you mean to remember sins or to commit more?
Whatever,it gets really boring in here.
Would Jesus say that?
He didn’t speak English.
Won’t he have learned in heaven?
I know on earth everyone online must  know English but they have no Internet in heaven.
How  can you prove that?
Heaven was  there before it was invented
So was England!
I see what you mean.But if they had the internet it would make them sad to see us being so cruel to the vulnerable.
But only if they knew English!
Well for your penance write to the Council and ask for unisex lavatories.
I thought they were all the same except some have  differet handles.
I mean that there will be just lots of loos for all races,sexes and genders.You won’t have to prove your are biologically man or woman.
OK,Father and I will keep a diary of my sins online
Will it allow comments
I’ll have to see how I feel.
You feel nice to me.
How do you know?
Because I am your cat.
How did you get in there?
The priest is in love with me!
I DON’T BELIEVE IT!

 

Your accent is not English

When I bought the batteries
They said, where are you from?
I said, I come  from Darlington.
I’m British and I’m glum.

Your accent is not English
Your smile is much to warm
You must be from a Nordic state
You’ve come to do us harm

I asked them why it mattered
What my background  was.
They said we don’t like foreigners
Because,because,because.

 

I asked to use the toilet
They said, you must give proof
That you are a real lady
And not a man in truth.

They did not accept my gender
So I had to wet my pants
And my old man was angry
He hollers and he rants

Must I bare my organs
To prove I am female?
Or will I be arrested
And thrown into the jail?

Soon I shall not go to town
Because I  feel so bad
That toilets are not unisex
And foreigners  have fled.

Going to the bathroom

 

Apparently  a new law is being passed which says we have to prove we are male or female biologically before entering the boys’ or girls’ bathroom
This is a really good idea because it will create thousands of new jobs.Because every   toilet outside of our own home we will have to be inspected to make sure we are in the right toilet.So a new job of willy inspector is to be created
Men and boys will have to show their willies to the guard outside the toilet and if they have none they will be sent to the girl’s toilet.But that is harrassment to  make them show they are trans in public.Surely that is not  kind.
But as revealing your willy  in public is a crime you may get arrested for indecent behaviour.The next minute you will wet yourself.I foresee a big rise in sales of nappies.Then you will be in prison awaiting trial and there are no toilets as the government can’t afford inspectors in prisons
The numbers of judges will rise and even the judges will have to bare their willies if they want to go to the men’s toilets and then they will be arrested too which is whimsical
It could be that 50 % of the population will be employed  inspecting others’ organs
Then the next hard question is: what if the willy inspector wants to go to the toilet? Is this like Russell’s paradox?
Meantime, how will people queuing for the ladies prove they are ladies biologically ?The best way is to make it a crime  for  women to wear clothes.Then we can all see whether they have willies and it could make some of us  more neurotic
We can manage without clothes like the Patagonians
.Of course  some men might be affected by naked women in their offices but there is always a difficulty which can be over come.The main trouble here is for trans females.The answer is  to let women trans or not use separate cubicles  in the toilets so nobody will see their organs of whatever kind.
We’ll see more new crimes like women arrested  for walking round the shops wearing dresses.Then the police will undress them in public.Remember France last summer?
So we will need more police and we will have all the clothes shops going bust.
Why not have just one lot of toilets for everybody.No urinals,jusy lots of  cubicles? I never liked urinals.They are  a form  of abuse to women… harrassment, you’ve seen nothing yet.They are just so men can show off

And suppose some men like exposing themselves?They’d be at the toilet 10 times an hour.When would they work?
The whole thing is a farce.
Let’s all go behind a  Bush.

Where am I?

BY PAUL CELAN
TRANSLATED BY PIERRE JORIS
Where am I
today?
The dangers, all,
with their appliance,
hickishly gamey,
pitchfork-high
the heavensfallow hoisted,
the losses, chalkmouthed—you
upright mouths, you tables!—
in the disangled town,
harnessed to glimmerhackneys,
—goldtrace, counterheaved
goldtrace!—,
the bridges, overjoyed by the stream,
love, up there in the branch,
niggling at the coming-escaping
the Great Light
elevated to a spark,
on the right of the rings
and all gain.

Pig in smoke,louse on fire

  • Pig in smoke,louse on fire
  • A pink jelly set so I trifled
  • Grace for everything and everything in God’s grace
  • I am vague on both your houses
  • A fiddle wrapped up in an enigma cause Customs  to crack my code and make me sing
  • A rolling bone gathers no dental floss
  • Your hose by any other name would smell as sweet,,
  •  I got Trump ‘flu.
  • A safe lair for bands,
  • The sea  cringed in the Tempest
  • I shot across the flow like an arrow in  Ariel
  • A chamber pot is a charm ,
  • Boa shot in  the ark,Noah on trial
  • A  what in the dark?
  • Short but fun bedding,
  • A Site for Sore Eyes,
  • A grudge hammer to knock him flat
  • A worry  blight
  • A  room full of  lovers helps the medicine go down,

The Humour of the Numinous.

 

 

Courage helps the heart and helps perceive

After loss comes shock then  follows grief
We  learn in little steps the loved one’s gone
Unless we  want to lie and make believe

Courage helps the heart and helps perceive
The wounding  blows  that hit us one by one
After loss comes shock and, later, grief

Unless we wish  to spurn and not   receive.
The  grace  which comes with truth can be foregone
When we  like to lie and make believe

Without mourning, no-one  can conceive
Creative living   may  have  been and  gone
After loss comes shock and, later, grief

Forgo  your friendship with  those who  deceive
Find  the  source of love which dwells within
Do we  wish to lie and make believe?

Misperception is the home of sin
Attacked,deceived , wrapped up in   virtual din
But after loss , we must digest  our grief
Unless we  wish to live in make belief

A virtual wall stops grace from being shared.

The still,small voice no longer can be heard.
The  sacred, silent space  unoccupied
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

We centre our   whole self on the absurd
For iPads cannot pass through any eye
The still,small voice no longer can be heard.

God no longer feels inclined to share.
The golden cloud  of angels  cannot fly
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

The altar’s stripped,  the rituals  are nightmares.
The ancient priest says Mass and wonders why
The still,small voice no longer can be heard.

A  virtual wall stops grace from being shared.
Jesus is made flesh and , silent, dies
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

No man is an island,John Donne cried
But now there is no truth to satisfy
The still,small voice no longer can be heard.
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

Poems of anxiety and uncertainty

akg_9-1938-11

 

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/articles/detail/92189

 

“Poets are seekers and questioners. They explore the unknown and help to give it shape. The insights and wisdom in the following poems below are hard-won; more often, it is simply the naming of the fear—personal, spiritual, or political—that offers solace, reminding us that people are connected by our worries and doubts as well as our joys. By resisting closure and easy answers and sounding out the darkness, these poems remind us that poetry has always been able to cope with uncertainties, ambiguities, and shades of gray.”

Three of us on the motorbike

 

  • songthrush_otmoor2014

    There were three of us on this motorbike,
    Father Dan with me,
    And he had Jesus in his bag.
    That makes the total three.

    Transubstantiation, oh my Lord
    I looked  at his bag.
    Is Jesus really inside there, I thought?
    Should it have a tag?

    It’s a secret  never told
    But Father Dan gave it me to hold.
    So I had Jesus in my lap,
    No wonder there’s a hole a gap.

    We zoomed off up an unmade road
    As fast as Dan could go.
    I felt bewildered and bemused,
    I loved my Daddy so.

    Father Dan took back his bag,
    And went inside our house.
    I got my marbles out to roll,
    And I ate a chocolate mouse.

    So Three of had taken a ride
    And after that my Dad had died.
    I saw Father Dan say Mass  today
    With holy Jesus,so I cried.

If only Daddy had not died

Come here,Katie, come here quick,
‘Cos your Daddy’s very sick.
Run as fast as fast, you can,
Get the priest, get Father Dan.
Run,run went my eight year old feet,
Down the lane and up the street
I ran right up to Father’s door,
[Does God live there any more?]
“Come please, Mam said Daddy’s ill”
“Oh”, said Father,”that I will.”
Revving up his motor bike
With The Sacrament beside;
He lifted me up onto the back
And roared off up the church-side track.
It was the best thrill of my life;
If only Daddy had not died.

For the descendants

 

Seems like a  dream, I’m riding in this 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 dream, 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  flying 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 and the way his marbles clack.
He likes to hear me humming,  fah la la

Oh, how  he drives well in the fierce sun glare.
He never swears nor  shouts; he brings good luck
The sun lights boldly trees with branches bare.

I feel relaxed, enjoy the comfy car.
His little boy asks, Daddy is it far?

Daddy

 

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,I 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 hum 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.

Abandon whips

The sun shone at the rubbish tip so I used it as a pen
Prose  at any other time is acceptable but in the late winter we need poetry.
A solitary ghoul hid  invisibly in the wardrobe with my dresses and whispered poems into my ear.
That’s my excuse and I never use it.
A hole  full of  invisible banging ghosts annoyed us all day and the
sea gulls annoyed us all night.
Or perhaps it was the other way round?
A bowl full of tomorrow’s roses will be welcome tonight at dinner.
A rubber sole of discretion for spies is available on demand.Apply carefully
Getting a  fiery heart helps you to keep warm but it can burn out faster.
Abandon whips and shades of grey.We want roses all the way
About traces of flu…wash them away with TCP or hot Tea
Above soared the swallows and one bit my tongue …was that wrong?If it was I am Wang
Do the rich prey on humans ?
Absence makes the heart grow in yonder green valley where a pretty lady lives.
Absolute power disrupts  dissolutely and powerlessness is the same
A face in a hole depicts existential nothingness in graphic
detail.
It’s a cartoon  for tea today
God save our butter beans.Long live the baking queens~
Long may you hear  sunbeams at night
God waived our dreams.
Too many fools are stewing in all our state offices.
Did poinsettias come here from some other place or are they natives?
Immigrants?Send me back to Saxony to the farm my ancestors mowed [My name before marriage was Saxon]
Too many people let out their wrath.On immigrants
Achilles.. no deal
Too many fools embroiled in governing others
The finger on the dial keeps looking for the loo.

image

The lifeboat

We are in this boat together
Sailing across the bay.
Some have an easy voyage,
The wind is blowing their way
I wish I could always be sailing
Across an ocean with you
And never reach the other side
though it may be in view.
I want to see the sunrise
Across the dappled sea.
The ripples of the water
Reveal a new world to me.
One day this boat will reach the shore
Unless destroyed by storm
And I shall have to leave your arms
Where I have been so warm.
So just before we get there
I wanted you to know
That I shall always love you
Wherever you may go.

Herschel Grynspan’s and Shakespeare’s plea for humanity

Herschel Grynspan spoke the words of all who suffer in a strange land because of hate and fear, discrimination and prejudice, race and gender, and envy.  Compare his plea to those of Shylock in Sha…

Source: Herschel Grynspan’s and Shakespeare’s plea for humanity