https://youtu.be/RXlMxVFYaSo

In Bedzin and in Krakow they breathed in
What they denied in conscious thought or word,
The ashes of the Jews, the shades of skin

Penetrating lungs so deep within
The dead , unburied, mixed with air, endured,
In Bedzin and in Krakow, mortal sin.

The local people were their burial urns.
The human dust by  breathing was allured
The ashes of the lost, the shades of skin.

So  Europe took this human ash within.
A graveyard we became, disowned , impure.
In Bedzin and in Krakow, more of sin.

And who they thought destroyed  lived on in them
Played in their lungs, their hearts,  their minds uncured,
The ashes of the lost,  borne in their skin.

Like a Mass, Communion without words
We ate and breathed the Jews, the gays, unheard.
In Bedzin and in Krakow  we took in
The ashes of the lost,  their outstretched skin

Have you much to say, the axeman asked?
For people who must die will make  grand speech
As you must die there is no added risk.

I  now grieve for I’ve not done my best
My thoughts surpassed my actions in their reach
Have you more to say, the axeman asked?

Just to ask who else can do my tasks?
At these words, the axeman seemed to flinch
As we will die there is no further risk.

I cannot answer, for from speech I fast.
From  that, I  ponder if  you are a witch
Can you not hope for prayers, the axeman asked?

To tell us you are dumb, you speak at last.
The paradox has entered, logic squashed
As all will die, life has no further risks.

Wandering in my mind I meet the lost.
The Jews, Armenians, gypsies, turned to dust
The backward children, gays,  the angels flinch.
The matter of their death puts all at risk.

Anything to declare, they  bluntly asked
Gold or silver, drugs stuffed up your ass?
Just war, the shadow answered, that’s my task.

Do you believe a  just war  can exist?
You’ll find that out when you have let me pass
Anything  else,  they bluntly, coldly asked

No, nothing, you can search me if you must.
My declaration,  reason has surpassed
More wars, the figure ranted, that’s my task.

I declare the world is  done and bust
Though Jesus died and  we’ve just been to Mass
What did that do for Hitler, the guards asked?

What we choose has existential risk
As if we  live enclosed in walls of glass
Bombs, the figures chanted, they’re our task.

Shall we let these strange, black figures pass?
War is coming, guns and poison gas
Anything to declare,  the guards  just asked
Another war and starting it’s unjust

The shadows on our world converge just here.
Violent death has spread from battlegrounds
So all  of us must live unnerved by fear

War is not declared, the  process veered
Off the page and into minds unsound
The shadows on our world converge just here.

More people die from flu than bombs of spears
Why must humans honour death profound?
Most  of us shall live unnerved by fear

The boundaries collapsed like cardboard  tiers
The safety of  the home has quite unwound
So all  of us must live unnerved by fear.

We too inhabit worlds unlike those near.
Civil life now’s buried underground
Folk in  their private bubble , phone to ear

Both inside and without  the echoes sing
To   try to  measure  what is most  profound
The shadows on our world emerge  right here.
Where  our rulers  help us live in instant fear

Broad V.Howle
Parfery Coarse.
Emma Cockney.
Wolf Gange
Aceda Trump
Ibeate U Their..
Crimp Leanne Dress.
Ray Onne U.
Connie Servation
Conne Serva Tived
Sue Pearl A Teeve
Hugh Dare
Pat Mee.
Jane Grey.
Anne Onion.
Peter Wolf
Patta Wolf.
Simon Schnapps
Kate Mates.
Christ I.S. Mee.
Jesus Agen Dada
Jamie Poor-Rile
Inne Virtual Coma
Ina  Total Coma
Conned And- Cuffed
Ina  Town-Centre
Sinne Agog.
Mayne Street.
Waye Off
Pay Mee.
I McAllure.
Dale Wool.
Dark Hoarse
I McRubbish.
Ilova Hugh-Too.
Payne Agen
Black Smith.
Pale Stiff.
Dead Rite.
God Dess Forbidde
Kurt Ian Rails.
Watt Next
I.A- Next.
Rail Yard
Amme Nestie
Sweet Simple.
Accident Emergent.
Rhythm Methods.
Buster Sheath.
Watt Pill.
Torture  Torture Torture Torture Death
Contra Sceptic
I Am Calme
Ann Accident
Hugh A.Genn?
Ear Music

Christians on Good Friday study Christ
The sadomasochistic details emphasised.
They fact that he was Jewish, the surprise.

About the Jews, they’re  killed again by lies.
Their own religion often we deride.
Christians on Good Friday murder twice.

Not to worry, in three days he’ll rise.
The Jews  will suffer as the long years slide
The fact that he was Jewish, the surprise.

What is in their minds, what’s their surmise?
Vengeance is the province of the Lord
The Stations of the Cross opened my eyes.

So I see, two thousand years have flown
I see the  cherubim with their great swords
The fact that our God’s  Jewish, the surprise.

With me, no gentle Joshua does abide.
We’ve all been taken for a  lengthy ride.
Christians on Good Friday wound their Christ
They fact that he’s half  Jewish, oh, surprise!

They say they dropped the biggest ever  bomb
Just what we’d expect from Satan’s tool.
Remember Hiroshima in Japan?

I guess they like to play Afghanistan.
Power not love is usually the rule
They say they dropped  a huge non-nuclear  bomb

If bombs exist they’ll use them where they can.
It’s hard to tell a wise man  from a  fool
Remember Hiroshima in Japan?

I  guess Jack Horner loved his ripe red plum.
They learned no ethics in his Christian school
They say they  put a rocket   with his bomb

What advisers gave the man aplomb?
He  orders while he eats dessert, so cool
Remember Nagasaki in Japan?

It’s not a film, we can’t rewind the spool.
Men watch it  while their lips contort  and drool
They say they dropped the biggest ever  bomb
They forgot  Hiroshimans tortures in Japan

Seen from high above, our world’s a film.
Flung into the sky by speeding car,
I have seen this from another realm

From slow ride on my  bike, to overwhelm
No fear, anxiety, no wound nor scar
Seen from high above, our world’s a film

There I saw the screen and human skills
As the handle turned I saw no charts.
I saw human life is just one realm

Unknowingly, we live  within the schism
This life’s not real, immersion goes too far.
Seen from high above, you’re in a film.

You may do it,  do you have the will?
We live in two dimensions, by and large
I saw human life from other realms

When I landed on my head, I saw great stars
Beware, beware, Americans in cars.
Seen from high above, our world’s a film
I have seen so much of other realms.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/goodlife/living/the-authors-who-prove-its-never-too-late-to-write-a-book/Fiv

http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/its-never-too-late-on-becoming-a-writer-at-50

“The flint was struck, and after a 35-year hiatus in my writing, I was back in, flaring with hope and plans. I began a regular submission practice, shooting high and, to my enduring surprise, sometimes hitting the mark. The year I actually turned 50, one of my notebooks became Dark Card and won the 2007 Robert Philips Poetry Chapbook Prize. The poems written for my mother went into Mom’s Canoe and won the Phillips Prize again the next year. I enrolled in Warren Wilson’s low residency program, graduating in 2010 with an MFA in poetry and a thesis (All That Gorgeous Pitiless Song) that won the Many Mountains Moving Book prize. A collection of environmental poems written in collaboration with my friend and artist Lorna Stevens morphed out of its three-ring binder into God, Seed: Poetry & Art about the Natural World and received a Foreword Book of the Year Award in 2010.

My poems are widely published now, and I am making inroads with book reviews, essays and short fiction. 2014 was a watershed year, beginning in January with a residency at Vermont Studio Center, followed by the summer as the Dartmouth Poet in Residence at the Frost Place, then by an October residency at MacDowell. An essay called “Venn Diagrams” won the 2014 Constance Rooke Award for Creative Nonfiction, and two poems were featured on Poetry Daily. Shortly after coming home from MacDowell (and just before the Giants won the World Series—what a great week) I was notified that my book-length sequence of Sonnets, Paradise Drive, had won the Press 53 Award for Poetry and would be published in April 2015.

Which brings me to one last story. The book I remember best from grad school, assigned to me by Heather McHugh, is The Whole Truth by James Cummins. It’s a brilliant collection of wickedly funny sestinas populated with characters from the Perry Mason series along with a few Iowa workshop types and one hilarious jive-talking, joint-sucking housefly. I admired Cummins’s finesse and apparent ease with a challenging form. But I also marvelled his conjuring of character, dialogue, and plot; the book was alive, making me laugh till my sides hurt and then after the knife was slipped in, making me ache. In his blending of high with low style and comedy with tragedy, Cummins seemed like a modern Shakespeare. I wrote three annotations on The Whole Truth and bought copies for my friends. And it was shortly after reading it that I wrote, in one heady insomniac rush, more than 30 linked sonnets that are the core of Paradise Drive. That was in 2008. Fast forward to the summer of 2011 to a summer workshop with Molly Peacock. The subject of sestinas came up, and I mentioned this wonderful book I’d loved so much. “Jim’s my friend!” Molly said. I had all Mr. Cummins’s books by then and wanted to get them signed, so Molly gave me his contact information.”

Like a mother, God removed our reins
We are old enough to walk alone
We paid him back by abuse of his name.

We said he is not real and can’t remain
We never  wonder who cast the first stone
Like a mother, God removed our reins

He laughs to see we think he is to blame.
Sometimes humour gets too near the bone
We pay him back,  erase his sacred name

Sin turns into worse, to heinous crimes.
The mob’s more evil than  a human lone
Like a  teacher, God removed our reins.

Every age, we say’s the worst of times.
To cope, we turn to marble or to stone
We pay him back, unname his secret name.

We hold our hands out ,bloody and forlorn.
Our eyes look down ;our heart with sorrow’s torn
Like a parent, God removed our reins
Now he’s gone and nothing has a name.

They’re putting on a play about a war
Who’s the villain, who the victim weak?
But no-one knows what their new war is for.

The actors stumble, quicken into role.
The rulers, empty men who have no core.
They change their minds like dancers on hot coals.

There has to be an enemy, no doubt
So many choices, who can keep the score?
The saviour  seems more like a childish lout

When they decide who’s for and who’s against
Then we’ll see the bombs, oh watch, oh joy!
See, their script does make apparent sense.

Yet other States were in the list of choice
The rulers move like  fiddlers, secret whores.
The commoners prefer to have no voice.

With changes swift, the lack of heart, the hour
They gave us moments to get out the door.
They’re putting on a play about a war
It seems so real, it is, the Word’s on fire.

Summer is a-comin’ in but I’s a-goin’ out.
The sun’s a-come, my work’s a-done and now I want my stout
The wind a-blows,t he leaves a’wave, what is it all about?
The kitchen tiles a-droppin’ off,I think wa need some grout.
The rain a-drops the flowers a-bloom, so why does I a-doubt?
If God made me,He made thee too,and th’art a lazy lout.
Thy second most favoured thing to do,is a-doin’ nowt
Summer is a comin’ in but I’s still goin#’out

Mary had made a Christmas cake with marzipan but no white sugar icing.Stan was diabetic so she had opted for a middle way.Like some Zen Buddhists.You don’t either cut it completely nor have a 6-inch layer of icing.No, you find a middle way.Like 5 inches of icing!
Mary like almonds so she went for marzipan with her home ground almonds and some sugar.The raw egg part was worrying but so far nobody had died after eating her cake.Still  if you are dying, enjoy the cake while you can!
Annie arrived for a cup of coffee.
Wow, that cake is large.You will get fat if you eat it
I am not planning to eat it all myself, Mary said merrily.
In fact, if I could find a way of cutting an infinitesimally small piece I could have one every day forever.
Would the cake not shrink  ?asked Annie with a puzzled smile
No, because a real number times an infinitesimal is itself infinitesimal Mary answered.
So it must be zero, Annie decided.
No, said Mary.All of the calculus is based on the idea that they are not zero.Then, at the end, we pretend they are zero and cross them out.It’s like magic or sleight of hand
I thought maths was logic, Annie said in an angry voice, tossing her purple hair over her shoulder.Alas it was a wig so it fell off and Emile  the littl cat, bit it!
Gosh, Annie why are you wearing a wig? Mary asked.
I am involved with a Jewish man so he won’t make love unless I wear a wig.
Surely if he is  Orthodox he should not sleep with you unless you get married.
We can’t get married, Annie said boldly.
Why not?
He is already married….Annie muttered
Well, that seems wrong.
What, being married?
No having an affair.I know Stan is old.Can’t  you find a  single man?
Women can’t go running after men.Men enjoy the chase.They despise women who run after them.
Well, can’t you ask them if they are married?
No, it seems too cheeky, Annie smiled.Anyway, in fuzzy logic you are not either married or single.You are  married to the extent  of some decimal number in between 0  and 1
Some folk are 0.999 married and some are 0.34 married.Others 0.1
But who measures it? God ? It’s not much use.
You have to guess, said Annie.I like Jewish men
How many do you know, Mary asked.
Three, said Annie triumphantly.
You can’t generalise from three, Mary said.
If I test a larger sample I shall never get to find one till I am 99, Annie wept.
Think of the fun, though, Mary said teasingly.And you’d have to travel a  lot as many live in the USA, France and other places including Israel.How do you fancy Bibi Netanyahu?He is married actually!
Annie was silent, then burst out: life is not science nor technology.It’s an art like watercolour painting.Why do you call him Bibi? Do you know him?
Not biblically, Mary said humorously.I’ve never even met him.He’s just   been in the News because of Trumpelstiltschein
Does Bibi know Donald is half German?
No, but the Queen is too.
Where does that take us logically?
Off to Boots to buy some expensive makeup and then to have a manicure and tea in a cafe
If only politicians did this life would be much easier and kinder.
And so say all of us!

http://www2.poemofquotes.com/articles/poetry_technique.php

Extract:

Similes

As for similes, they are an expression that compares one thing to another. A paradigm of this would be ‘The milk tasted like pickles.’ This method is used in all forms of poetry and generally has the words ‘like’ or ‘as.’ It may be used to help your readers better identify with characteristics of objects or circumstances. John Donne’s “For Whom the Bell Tolls”.

Metaphor

A metaphor is a word or phrase used one way to mean another. Metaphors are sometimes hard to spot and take some thinking to figure out, but they give writers more power to express their thoughts about a certain situation. One famous case where a metaphor is used is within ‘The Raven’ by Edgar Allen Poe. In fact, not only is it found within the story, the story itself is a metaphor of memory and the constant reminder of the narrator’s loss.

These techniques are seen throughout history within both famous and amateur poems alike. To have a full grasp of poetry onomatopoeia, alliteration, assonance, rhyming, simile and metaphor should be words you know and use. Nonetheless, these aren’t something which need to be used in your writing. Write what you love and write often.

Other styles and techniques commonly used are: dada, no capitalization, lack of punctuation, misspelling of words, use of slang, as well as many others. The number is endless.

To view a more comprehensive definition list, g

Read more about How to Use Poetry Techniques and Styles by www2.poemofquotes.com

By the still green hedge.

I saw the lake and your reflection

And my reflection.;

and did the sparrows see

as the sun shone slant side

over the steeply falling bank?

Did they see this natural mirror?

And my mind’s mirror

gave me new reflections

in the  reverie

Of the dreaming evening,

As I slid slowly down

Into soft slumber;

Trusting the life within,

Trusting you;

Trusting myself;

and in my reflections

I see you too,

smiling in welcome;

smiling the beautiful smile,

t he true smile of love itself.

The embrace of the dreaming world

comforts

and holds us

as we breathe gently

in the sweet air

of love.

A  U S doctor  booked a seat  on an  Airline
He was  brown, from Vietnam, it seems
He was dragged off as if  to be there was a crime

Last week a lady with her panties  lined
Was  interfered with, hand in glove of green
She’d daftly  bought a seat  on an Airline

The US News is like a pantomime.
I can’t imagine how  theses scenes would seem
Dragged off,  their mere existence deemed crime

So bloody vulvas are a suspect prime
How about a leaky bladder, scream?
Don’t think you’ve  got rights  with any big Airline

If you find  fresh blood on  the seats of planes
It’s ladies who can’t  wear protection, seems
And it’s  the guards  themselves who  commit the   hateful crime

Is life  a lunatic mad   dream
Where  holy Jesu’s invisible unseen
A doctor  bought a seat  on an Airline
He was  dragged as if  his life itself were  crime

Everyone’s a victim nowadays
Children, women, men and cats and dogs
That’s the  message, everybody knows

Too fat, too thin, too brilliant to be praised
Don’t ask me for I have lost a  cog?
Everyone’s a victim nowadays

In bed naked with a man I lie.
I’m using him as pain relief, my drug
That’s the message, everybody preys.

Kick the ass and  give the cat no praise
The RSPCA will get  you quickly tagged
Everything’s a victim nowadays

You steal my money, spit on my new shoes
You invade me ; you’re a victim of my bag!
That’s the  message, everybody knows

Were we braver once when no-one said, oh, but?
Children  raced  through parks in  mud-stained  clogs
Everyone’s a victim  seems today
That’s the message, everybody says.

http://www.latimes.com/local/obituaries/la-122804sontag_archives-story.html

This is an essay by Susan Sontag published after she died.I think it is very good

“Sexual orgasm relieves pain about the same amount as a dose of morphine”How do they measure it?

Sex as good as morphine… but not so good in hospital here in the UK.I doubt if the staff can get into bed with anyone!

I read that in a book about pain relief… but if you are in severe pain do you feel able to have sex?And even if you do, who are you meant to have it with?Is it  a prescription

This entitles the bearer to ten orgasms a week signed The doctor.

The book did not say if morphine is as good as sex, but I once had some mixture called chalk and opium for gut trouble and it certainly changed the world for a while.It’s illegal now of course unlike sex… is there a message?

T

Freed from her trap
Bird soared into air and hovered,
And floated, resting;
And flew higher, singing as she flew,
And higher again,
Till there was only her song,
Left in the silence,
Trembling.

When we’re chilled by illness or bereaved
The  spring tides of  the seas of memory  lust
The mind’s door swings,the  torture scene’s retrieved

Children   have no power and  cannot leave
Adults  fearful,wild, and, more, are callous
Caught too soon  by fools and madmen’s weaves

In Europe with our vicious wars' conceived
Children  dwelled  deep in our frozen malice
Dreadful  memories stole their minds like thieves

Are  souls mature  enough to learn  from such deep grief
When we feel  like  rubbish, thrown adrift, alas?
When we’re struck by hardships,we still seethe.

Adults have  the power to look, perceive,conceive
Each child is Jesus,tortured,tried, and tossed.
This is the birth  and death of memory

My heart is   pierced  by children on the News.
Echoes shake  this heart till black and blue.
Whether  felled by error,war ,disease
With patience , can we tolerate unease?

All the little things I didn’t understand
All the little things I never noticed
You wanted a long shoe horn of a special brand
You couldn’t be bothered to go voting

All the times I called out,won’t you hurry up
All the times I got a bit impatient.
I must have  put a stopper  on our loving cup
Other people called out, hey,man, he’s ancient.

When you asked for braces I never understood
I didn’t see you emaciation
My head must be full of some  stupid type of wood
I wish I could have been a lot more patient.

I waited at the bus stop while  you went back for  a pee
I got home and  felt  so nauseated
I got a premonition that   either you or  me
Was going to be affected, to be taken

You were the one who was too close to the edge
You  sank down and  so patiently you waited
Then the doctor came and threw you off the ledge
You sank down, you were emaciated.

I guess it was  unfortunate that both of us were sick
Normal life would never  come again
But I  never let go of our golden loving cup
Normal life was  here and then was gone

I wish that I had noticed those tiny little things
You couldn’t eat, you said it was your teeth
Can’t the Lord allow  us to sing our special  song
As I  bend over your dark coffin with a  wreath?

I  wonder was it better we pretended all was well?
Was it better that we acted normally?
Was it  good for you that I  dressed you up so  swell
Would you like me to take you to the Sea?

Staithes or Whitby Town, I’ll wear my wedding gown
Reality’s much more than you or me.
And holding your casket, I’ll leap and  we’ll go down
In our beloved salty ,cold , grey Northern Sea.

3 pairs of black nights
10 pairs of locks
14 pairs of stickers.
3 beige paws.
2 knight oppressors.
1 dressing down
2 pairs of shrews
I pair of tippers
I pack Hell has to pass
Oil of kipper mints.
2 Bars and a  Soap Opera
Tooth feast with push button.
2  perennial Tooth bushes.
I  bother.
2 schemes and a nightjar
I flask of  boiling hot sea.