I declare the world is done and bust

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

Men seranading me.Was it harassment?

About 10 years ago we were on holiday and drove to Southwold.
I was wearing a dress, sunhat and sunglasses so not much of my face was visible.We parked in a street near the sea front.When I got out of the car, three men who were painting a house began to sing  very loudly some opera.It may have been,O sole mio.
Now, should I report this to  the police? I fear they won’t believe me  and my husband  didn’t do anything to protect me  like suggesting I wear a Niqab [Is that right?]
I doubt if it happens nowadays anyway!


What a beautiful thing is a sunny day!
The air is serene after a storm,
The air is so fresh that it already feels like a celebration.
What a beautiful thing is a sunny day!

But another sun, even more beauteous, oh my sweetheart,[10]
My own sun, shines from your face!
This sun, my own sun,
Shines from your face; It shines from your face!

Your window panes shine;
A laundress is singing and boasting about it;
And while she’s wringing the clothes, hanging them up to dry, and singing,
Your window panes shine.

When night comes and the sun has gone down,
I almost start feeling melancholy;
I’d stay below your window
When night comes and the sun has gone down.


The visions of Wm Blake

city landmark building architecture
Photo by Mikes Photos on Pexels.com
abbey ancient arch architecture
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com



“In 1779, Blake began his formal art education at the Royal Academy of Art’s Schools of Design, where he was encouraged to study painters such as Rubens instead of the Renaissance works that his teacher called “stiff and unfinished.” Blake pursued his own artistic goals, and a short time afterward published his first book of poems, Poetical Sketches.

In later works, including Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience, the engravings and verses are inextricably intertwined, part of a singular vision where neither word nor image is privileged over the other. He produced them with the help of his wife, using a method called relief engraving (which he is credited for inventing) and hand-coloring each plate. His poetic and artistic work is characterized by a unique commitment to imagination as opposed to reason, and the visionary, almost terrifying, and sometimes grotesque nature of his subject matter.

Drawing on religious themes, and preferring a loose, expressive style, his book Songs of Innocence has the quality of a children’s book, with darker, adult political themes just beneath the surface. Angels are depicted alongside men, women, and children, and in the poem “London” he imagines the city as a dark, unreal realm, illustrated with an old man bent toward a child in a shadowy doorframe. The poem begins:

I wander thro’ each charter’d street,
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.”



By Katherine using Artweaver on a photograph she took Copyright

The outstretched open hand shows you my heart
And those  of people  near and far apart
The vulnerable, the needy, the war torn
Let’s contemplate   what we can do for these forlorn

When we’re loved we open up and show
The vulnerable  true self and undertow
When abandoned  we may die in fear
Let us look around and find those near

Trust may be for God and his strange ways
We lose it as we traverse arduous days
But then we never feel the love and joy
That enters those who trust  despite  deep flaws


Naked we are born and yet are here
Trust in the Unkown and all that’s dear.

Fortune,luck and fate

The human trauma is our love and hate
Inevitable in long infancy and need
They interact with fortune,luck and fate

If we cannot bear imperfect states
When hatred makes us grab and gulp in greed
The human trauma is our love and hate

We try to hide our knowing till too late
Then we see our enemy can bleed
The curse of fortune,luck and  dreaded fate

The blocked out feelings come to dominate
Through unknowing, we do evil deeds
The human trauma is our love and hate

The more  we block ,the more we speculate
What  others’ wicked hearts have now achieved
Who curses   our own  fortune, brings down fate

Denied but living  like those monstrous weeds
Whose flowers  create  so many corrupt seeds
The human trauma is our love and hate
They interact with fortune,luck and fate.