Day: January 6, 2019

To you who write my dreams ,I give my thanks

To you who write my dreams ,I give my thanks
Please, not at my old school with wet pants
I do not want to get  a prize again
Nor wonder  how I differ from Big Ben

I do not wish to enter  maths exams
With questions on  straight lines that run like trams
Nor draw a graph of lost ellipse on ice
Nor study any science needing knives

I do not wish to sit on a hard chair
I’m 97  though I say my prayers
I’d rather dream of Langdale Pikes in snow
How to send a message? I don’t know

How befriend a writer  we can’t see
Or  more important,  who  will befriend me?

The thunderstorm means God has stubbed his toe

Anger,rage and fear camp in our minds
The thunderstorm means God has stubbed his toe
A misread prayer, a human  grace denied

Mother left the bacon with its rind
Father thinks the cat must learn to sew
Anger,rage and fear, in our small minds

The children bite the dog,is that unkind?
The old man passing thinks it must be so
A misplaced prayer, a human  grace defied

Many  choose strange  words  to torture  time
Paranoia’s useful,  as science shows
Anger,rage and fear, unpick our minds

I wonder if we’re less tense as we rhyme
Or must all difference lead to exchanged blows?
An unknown prayer, all  goodness  man derides

I see I  have a very refined nose
I’ll kill you if you say it’s just a pose
Anger,rage and fear burn up our minds
Say a prayer,  breathe out and then be kind