Month: December 2018

Well done

Well done, they said because I cleaned my teeth
I bought a brush,I did not use a  leaf
I swear I ironed them  while on Hampstead Heath
Where all around dead  poppies tried to breath

In the pond   the water’s  dark and bleak
Nearby  soldiers tossed in  poppied wreaths
As if dead  men could swim in English lakes
Well done?

The sun on the horizon left a streak
I wandered, looking at blue plaques
And wondering why Great Britain came to crack
But then again, we are well known as freaks
I  hear my joints as they murmur. creak
Well done, they speak
Well done

All done

Against sadness

white concrete building
Photo by Pille Kirsi on Pexels.com
 
Against  sadness:no-one here must weep
Nor lounge  about in melancholy deep
Was Van Gogh senseless to permit  his muse.
For  even masterpieces,was the price too steep?
We see the yellow chair  but not his views
Nor his  mind where technique made strange leaps.
Nor was his journey broadcast on the news.
Against sadness.


Happiness  or joy is hard to find
When we rest, the News preys on our minds
Yet some are  cold  towards the slaughtered priest
His nose a beak of bone  in old  face lined
Now Muslims go to Mass and join Christ’s feast
Against sadness.


What rages in the mind make men  kill thus?
In Syrian wars  the  innocents fare worse.
But these are our near neighbours so we weep
And wonder how to end the  frightening curse
The sins we once committed hold us deep
We   stretch our arms out, wanting to be nursed
Against sadness

Yes, the Trent flows up one side and down the other.

lake

Pray Father give me your blessing
Good grief, a real Catholic at last
Why, are there artificial ones?
No they just have terrible memories
Of trauma?
No, they don’t know what a sacrament is.
But surely how we act is more vital
I don’t know, it’s so long since I was  in the cemetery
Do you mean the cement factory?
Why would I mean that?
Don’t ask me,I’m just a   human being
I mean the seminary, of course.I remember now.
Do you know the seven deadly sins?
Not biblically
They are in the Bible… murder.envy, hatred
Yes, I was joking.I am celibate officially.
But what are you really?
I am asexual.
Do you have no desire?
I love people but I have no need to go to bed with them
No, we do it on the floor at home
Are you married?
Yes,definitely.She is a red head.
I thought you might say Red Indian
We  have very few living in Stoke on Trent.
Where is that?
On the river Trent.
But that goes through Nottingham
So?
I thought Stoke was West of the Pennines
Yes, the Trent flows up one side and down the other.
That is a lie
Thank you.
Since my last Confession I have lied twice
What was the other lie?
I am not a Catholic
So why come here?
I am lonely and it’s bad for me so I thought Saturday night Catholics go to Confession
It’s not exactly fun.Why not go to the pub and pick up a woman?
Are you really a priest?
No,I was feeling lonely too
What  a pity we are not bisexual
Well, we could learn
I thought it was genetic?
Do you mean generic
I don’t know.You mean like,buy paracetomol not panadol.
Genetic is totally different.
Am I a generic human or a  dressed up, artificial  and stunning person?
Why artificial?
I can’t act natural.
Try!
But if I try it’s not natural.
Was that my penance listening to you?
It could have been.Say a little prayer for me as well
So you do  believe?
Why not? It’s better than dying of meaninglessness
You so seem very clever
How kind.
I’ll see you next week.

The Fall

The shadow of the lamp upon my wall
That gentle light, that softness without glare
Long lost joy and   happy love  recall

We  looked into house windows when we strolled
But we were careful., did not wish to stare
Read shadows of  street lamps upon their walls

What am I when my love is not whole ?
A cracked half human being needing care
Stranger joys,lost  love, how  can I call?

The shadows move about as  sunset falls
My face is  showing signs of  lazy tears
The shadows  looks so dark upon the wall

His shadow  dear I  miss  in Spring, in Fall
But then it presaged presence on this chair
Strangers, joy, new  love,  how do we fail?

I have seen  the old gods fiery flares,
Burning wheatfields by the Saxon Shore
The shadow of burned sun upon the wall
The missing loves , the shadows deep,the Fall.

 

 

Undemocratic

5432DSC00144Network Rail is planning  to make changes to the platforms in Stations to prevent people committing suicide.Unfortunately , they can’t  do it  immediately so now is our chance.Don’t stop to think, don’t ask for help…. just do what  you  want to do.
We’ve had one Referendum

Suicide rates are high here.Donate to the Samaritans if you can

info from THE INDEPENDENT

Alternatives exist: The white cliffs of Dover  are crumbling.Why not camp on the Edge and see what  happens especially if there is a gale.You may meet Teresa May..

The trees, unmoving, shield the riots within

 

The inner coil and tangle of the wild,
Where rose run mad and holly are as one
Ensure that nature’s heart is undefiled

To these depths, the winter bird’s beguiled
Until the red dawn’s fetched by lowly sun
Through the coil and tangle of the wild.

On the path’s side, brown-green leaves are piled
A thousand beetles search for food within
A hidden space where nature’s undefiled

The cat is waiting, acting like the mild
Then dancing, hunting, acting like his kin
At ease in coil and tangle of worlds wild.

The sun is setting, and the night clouds pile
As lovers kiss, so smiles the holy one,
Living all his natures undefiled.

Now, at last, the darkness has begun
The trees unmoving shield the riots within
The inner coil and tangle make the wild,.
Is the space for soul still undefiled?

But how do you empty yourself?

SIMG_20181218_200526She’s more interested in emptying the vacuum cleaner than emptying her self
Well,if we all emptied our selves it would fill many vacuum cleaners
But how do you empty yourself?
I am inclined to leave well alone
What is a self?
We know but can’t describe
Is our self a container?
Like a biscuit tine?
Or a duvet cover,perhaps?
To be full of yourself is not good
It leaves no room for anyone else
Or ideas, grace,love
It’s a mystery

God alone is stranger than our prayers

I cannot bite the apple of despair
My teeth reject the hardness and the core
Nor  can I take a path that leads nowhere

We cannot always do what we prefer
Nor find a way to  open all closed doors
I  will not bite the apple of despair

Yet to a human we must not defer
God alone is stranger than our prayers
We cannot take a path that leads nowhere

Our sense of self is qualified,, will dare
To let the dove  fly up from  marble floors
I  will not touch the apple of despair

Human life is cruel, so dark, unfair
And differences  that hurt ,we can’t ignore
We must  not start the path that leads nowhere

Equality, sorority, where flair?
Where the chance of learning how to care
I cannot bite the apple of despair
Nor  can I take a path that leads nowhere

 

 

Here are people  who so love their kin

A lively group, then wildness slipping in
The ancient gods have come to life again
Waving phones  make video calls and sin

What is Xmas but eternal din?
Women making cakes and tickling men
A lively group with wildness slipping in

Where we cross the line and tumble in
Here we are in Bedlam  yet again
Waving phones  make video calls and sin

Here are people  who so love their kin
They make music with their sharpened pens
A lively group with wildness slipping in

Where did  this strange pattern  start, begin
Was it God who ground Spinoza’s lens?
Take the phones, the video calls, the sin

Civilising discourse  haunts again
How long  to reinvent  the fountain pen?
A lively group, the wild gods slipping in
Waving  hammers, call us, tempt to sin

Waxy flowers in the snow

Waxy flowers poking through
Snow so white
Flowers bright.
Made me think of you.

I see once more your dark,dark hair,
Soft as snow,
On pillow.
Now my bed is bleak and bare

,
Face alight,flower to sun,
I loved you.
Love so  true.
Fear by love,overcome.

Cyclamen, in  the snow,
Pink and red,
Now frozen,dead.
Love was,oh,so long ago.

But never gone from in my mind.
Thoughts so deep,
Upwards seep.
Love was gentle,love was kind
And always in my mind

Imagination’s home.

My old blue fountain pen allows 

The ink across the page to flow

Like wet paint from an artist’s brush,

And words come in a rush. 

  Enchanted by the hand that writes, 

Bewitched   by art, beauty alights.

The script is like a music score 

Through which we pass as through a door.

Imagination’s home. 

  As, mysteriously to you, to me,  

The spirits of our hearts are tamed,

  By rhythms of pen, of brush, of mind.  

They enter vision quite unplanned,

  Like moths to flutter softly round  

Fire joined heart and hand.  

The pen slows down, the hand goes still  

And just as dreams at daybreak will,  

They shrink, they disappear, they’re gone.  

Like raindrops  on  hot stone 

 

2/3 rds of the Christians have left Gaza

 

 

153bde94a0a64c8f83911b29e4d6b862_18For yet another year, Gaza’s Christian minority celebrates Christmas under siege, unable to join family in West Bank.

by &

Was Christ a Palestinian refugee?

https://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/remember-christ-palestinian-refugee-181224101728798.html

Extract:

In the Latin American context, in particular, and through the emancipatory work of liberation theologians, the figure of Christ emerges as the revolutionary leader of the wretched of the earth.

The Peruvian philosopher, theologian and Dominican priest Gustavo Gutierrez has revolutionised our contemporary understanding of Christ. In my own work on Islamic liberation theology, I have been deeply influenced by the work of Father Gutierrez, who next to the eminent Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas have brought the prophetic voices of Biblical exegesis to bear on our contemporary lives.

For years at Columbia, I have been teaching a book called Don’t Be Afraid, Gringo: A Honduran Woman Speaks from The Heart: The Story of Elvia Alvarado (1989) in which there is a splendid a chapter called: Jesus was an Organizer.

The Nazareth-born Palestinian filmmaker Elia Suleiman has a short film called, Cyber Palestine (1999), in which he presents the story of a modern-day Mary and Joseph as they attempt to cross from Gaza into Bethlehem. As a parable of the Palestinian predicament in their own homeland, “Cyber Palestine” captures the quintessence of the story of the birth of Christ under military occupation of the Romans then and the Zionists now.

That wall they built

Oh, mother, father take me back
I’ve lived the pain, I ‘ve felt the rack
I wanna see Jesus.
Take me to that  wall they  built
Let me see where blood’s been spilt
I wanna see Jesus.
Oh, take me back to where I was
The enemy may well be us,
Not Jesus.
What did all those sermons do?
Did they say he was a Jew?
Oh, Jesus.
Did he want the First Crusade
It is his blood  the priest creates
Lord Jesus.
I don’t like the way things are
I am getting tired of war
Kill Jesus.
What has human wisdom done
From Wittgenstein to Abraham?
Cripes, Jesus!
Does research improve our lives
As for grants, the scholars strive?
Ask Jesus.
We may have  chemotherapy
Radiation, history.
Where’s Jesus?
You’d think that after all the years
We’d have used  up all our tears
Sweet Jesus.
Love your neighbour as yourself
Give 1% of all your wealth
Aye, Jesus.
Do what’s better, not what’s worse
I see another fragrant hearse.
It’s Jesus.
See the plastic Crucifix
See  him  dying with dry lips
Bend your knees, confess your sins
Otherwise,  the Devil wins
Not Jesus.
We destroy the good we hate
Envy writhes and with pride mates.
The progeny will wreck the earth
Eden’s burning as drones pass.
No, Jesus.No Jesus.
Know Jesus.

 My mistress ‘s air is like a sultry sun

 

Eugène Delacroix's 1825 painting "Louis d...

 

 My mistress ‘s air is like a sultry sun

My mistress eye looks lined as it is glass

She lost her marbles playing with Dettox

She’s good at letting errors stumble past

And mending fuses in that little hock.

My mistress dear I gaze upon that  feast.

I see her skin is read as is the alphabet

I too have dusted and I have confessed

But still she rambles and she pays  no debts

In truth I am as fertile as a cat

but each must act according to  the facts

Oh God so like  the snake in Eden’s flowers

Cain and Abel fight still for first place
One to slaughter whom he might embrace
Oh,foolish God that ranks our offerings
Thus to the  human world you murder  bring

Brothers are more deadly than  a foe
Hatred builds inside , we let  flow
Oh God so like  the snake in Eden’s flowers
Tempting humans by the highest powers

 

Little acts may  cause an avalanche
A woman’s eye may ignite a romance
Her beauty cause destruction to whole States
Oh Helen fair were you  inviolate?

Humans kill and others weep in woe
Thus on our  nuclear path we ,stupid, go

The artist’s brush

What we can’t say in words ,when we turn mute
The feelings blocked  may injure our own selves
When we cannot change the hateful truth

 

That Xmas dinner ignites  old disputes
Rage in our own breast may grow and swell
We can’t  express in  peace ,so we turn mute

The stronger brethren dominate and loot
While on the tower there rings the ancient bell
We see but cannot change that hateful truth

If  trauma were a plant we could uproot
To grow  red cyclamen and  leave this hell
Ah,stopped from speech , we turn  dead,  pale and mute

The long procession of the souls and ghouls
Wanders round the tower of lost Babel
We see but cannot change, who do we fool?

The  mind in pain will never be quite still
Breathing out the fear can make us well
What we can’t say in words ,when we turn mute
The artist’s brush may  best convey the truth

 

 

Like a bent needle laid  against the earth

 

 

The path rises like an escalator on the Northern Line
Too steep especially for going down
Suppose my head was heavy and I leaned forward?
Better to die here in West Bay struggling up the cliff
With the gulls whirling and the waves dashing
And  the broad immensity of  this blue sky
He had a talent for mud and cliffs
Of coming down mountains at the wrong spot
So we had to jump down an eight foot wall
Not to mention paths that led through farmyards
Where vicious geese were waiting
It was cold then but we lay on our backs on the grass over the cliff
Freedom,space, immensity of vision
We slept with coats over the blankets and realised why the windows were small.
When we came back we could hardly bear the newspapers
But we got used to it
Sin seens normal if everyone does it.
That’s why Jesus came and went.
He was abnormal, not one for  the everyday
But he seens to be everywhere like the mist on a summer’s day
I like fog and we could lose ourselves in Jesus anywhere at all
Especially in a sea mist, silent and alone
The path is narrow and high
Like a needle laid  against the earth
With that eye

Tell the truth in suitable amounts

Creeds  have danger, action is what counts
Love your neighbour subtly and with care
Tell the truth in suitable amounts

Good  deeds are done in secret,God’s about
But views of him are  hidden  and are rare
Creeds  are minor, action is what counts

Do not offend nor patronise nor doubt.
The beggars  in the doorway  room nowhere
Tell the truth in suitable amounts

Live a secret life  but sing and shout
Write a letter clear and tinged with flair
Creeds  are minor, action is what counts

Preach no gospel,  do not sulk or pout
Hunt  no beast,admire the mad March hare
Tell the truth in suitable amounts.

If you meet a stranger, do not stare
If you meet an angel be prepared
Creeds  have danger, action is what counts
Tell the truth in suitable amounts

 

Cats delight me,hiding in my bed

Cats delight me,hiding in my bed
Running down the stairs, with backturned head
Jumping up to catch a  butterfly
Tickling me as on my couch I lie.

In my dream I saw them, fifty five
One was in the bath ,I nearly cried
Everywhere I went cats followed me
Pied Piper  of the felines I shall be

Remember Blythburgh church floodlit and  fine
The owners of the cottage drew few lines.
They had seven cats, all  Siamese
How could  even God  compete with these?

The Church, a small Cathedral of the Marsh
Kept cats in their own place which I thought harsh
For cannot cats  join in  to sing the hymns
Christmas Carols even Requiems,?

The cats were leaping on me  in my dream
Wanting  a large ball  and lots of cream
Full of life and humour  they live well
Scratching my new sofa, ringing bells

 

If I dream of happy cats I  wake
The sky is blue and I make no mistakes