The hand upon my tiller

Come back to me, my sweetheart
Don’t leave me all alone.
Come back to me, my darling
I can’t believe you’ ve gone.
I’m crying ‘cos I’m feeling blue again.
I’m crying’cos I’m falling like a stone.

Oh, let me tempt you with my beauty
And my voice forever young.
Let me tempt you with my spirit
My laughter and my songs.
I’m crying ‘cos I never did you wrong.
I’m crying ‘cos with you I  still belong.

I thought maybe I’d follow,
To see where you have gone
But there’s a hand upon this tiller
That is not mine alone.
I’m crying ‘cos I wrote this old blue song.
I’m crying ‘cos we’ve been separate for too long.

The hand upon my tiller
The mystery of the dark
The unknown one who lives in me
And sings like a skylark.
I’m singing ‘cos I wrote you a new song.
I’m singing ‘cos the cat ain’t got my tongue

We’ve hidden truth, reality, hence fate.

Controlled by law on what’s permissible  to say
Subjected to a fine for our mistakes
We need to understand the reason why

 

If we perceive  the Other is  but I
And  I am   Other to  their   life  today
Will we need controls on what we say?

Appearances deceptive are portrayed
Giving falseness  its own name and sake
Better understand the reasons why.

The surface may look   better formally
But we can’t see the rage, don’t hesitate
Is it wise to control what folk say?

Perhaps by now such thinking is too late
We’ve hidden truth, reality, hence fate.
Controlled by law on what’s permissible  to say
We needed to  be told the reasons why

A paradox

I ponder on the laws to stop hate speech
Racism, sexism, antisemitism
Do they make worse the hatred underneath

Like  self-righteous folk  hold evil out of reach
Between what is and  what is good  lies schism
I ponder on the laws to stop hate speech

What lesson does our native history teach?
We gaze into the past   through our own prism
Do we make worse the hatred underneath

What wonder do our dreams leave on the beach?
Are some deceived by their scholasticism?
I ponder on the laws to stop hate speech

By gagging those who feel  their tensions seethe
And controlling by the  law their  words and  rhythms
Do we make worse the hatred underneath?

And yet if we permit crude criticism
Are  their words endowed with some charism?
I ponder on the laws to stop hate speech
Do they almost cause the hatred underneath?

I cannot cross

 

 

Today the radio has come on twice by itself.The first time it was playing,
The lark ascending which I had at my husband’s funeral, and the second  was,
The water’s wide  and I cannot cross.
So seems like the other side is coming over to me

 

Harris or Paris

Mary was at the dentist’s wearing her sea blue lightly padded coat and a pair of red boots.She looked down at herself and wondered why she had stopped wearing dull, dark clothing.She sat languidly in the waiting room sipping water from a machine nearby.
Suddenly the TV on the wall showed a picture of the Prime Minister holding Donald Trump’s hand
Are they getting married, Mary wondered?
Theresa May stepped forward and said, My husband and I …. oh, sorry.I am calling a Genital Erection in June.
A man rushed forward and took Mrs May away before the News Reader informed the world that A General Election was to be held in June but the PM would not be debating about anything live on TV.
Thank God, for that Mary thought.Although she might say a few rude and thrilling words befoe being carried out;it would be less boring.After the Referendum most Britons were fed up with politics and all the arguments.
Mary said to the nurse: It would be my husband’s birthday tomorrow but he died two years ago.
The door had been opened and the doctor’s head receptionist was rushing in
It is not two years, she shouted at Mary.My husband died before yours.
I didn’t realise you wanted me to say it is one year 10 months and two weeks plus a few hours and minutes since he died, Mary informed her gently..She opened her green leather briefcase and took out a tape recorder
.Would you like to say it again, she continued.And maybe explain why it matters to you.After all it is not a competition.We might have shared our feelings and our sorrow instead of arguing.
Emile Mary’s cat came into the room followed by Annie her late husband’s mistress.
Why are you here?
Emile had a  premonition that someone might be rude to you and  he has sharpened his claws.As I have.
Indeed Annie’s nails were painted red and filed into  sharp points almost like a cat’s.
Well, this lady has been shouting at me but I don’t understand why she is angry that I had not calculated the number of minutes it is since Stan died.The receptionist looked very sad and rushed away.
Maybe she has nobody to talk to, Emile miaowed.She needs a cat but I am not moving to her house.I love where I am
Thank you , Emile, Annie said.Tears had come to her eyes thinking of the two widows confronting each other instead of comforting.Her green eyeshadow and eye cream ran at an acute angle down her cheeks as her head was on one side.
It was so beautiful, Mary took a photo of Annie with her Windows phone.
Where is that pink and green  mascara from, she asked
It is by Leibnitz and Newton of  Bury St Edmunds and Harris.
What, live nits ? Emile purred,
It’s German, Annie said.Is it “love not”?
Do they really make it in Harris? I don’t mean love I mean make up
Yes, it’s that green stuff that grows on rocks on the seashore.
Yes, the rocks can’t  roll so they do gather moss.
Can’t you get moss at home?
Maybe, but I like the chemist.He looks like Leonard Cohen.I loved him, you know
I am so sad he has died but he would not like the USA nowadays.He might get pushed off an aeroplane and have his nose broken.It’s a risk going over there now.Seems the cats are out of all the bags nowadays.
And so say all of us

The face of human dignity distrust

The volcano of unconscious rage erupts
No longer are we sure  who to scapegoat
The face of human dignity combusts

We look around for Others to distrust
And utter imprecations with coarse threats
The volcano of unconscious rage erupts

 

The fear and hate  don’t vanish into dust
When told we must  be careful how we speak
The face of human dignity distrusts.

Unable to release our enraged lust
It’s being withheld  does not make us feel meek
The volcano of unconscious rage erupts

 

The low paid workers honored with disgust,
Found now their  painful hearts can coldly  speak~
The face of human dignity  is bust

 

The workers felt  that they were ruled by cliques
The rich, the educated, the elite
The volcano of unconscious rage once trapped
Is now released but must our hate combust?