Where is Ipswich, what is true
Where is Norwich, deja vu
Cambridge juggles counterpoise
Here’s the train, is it full
Will there be a cord to pull
Is it diesel, is it steam?
It’s atomic in its beams
I can sit and Sudoku
I’ll sing and whistle as you coo
Let’s not read the Gaza strip
Cartoons make old people sick
Is it real, is it true
Jesus sat down next to you
He abhors the Holy Land
He prefers the Southport sands.

Katherine, how are you?. I cannot understand your poems fully, and I suspect you don’t either, but I admire them and enjoy reading them. Very good work you should feel happy with. Best wishes.
Thanks,David,I am feeling unwell…wisdom teeth,throat bugs etc.I was delighted to read somewhere that poems don have to make sense.I found out why my house is untidy by reading a poem which said, when it is tidy then I will feel the sadness and emptiness.But I didn recall writing that.I am glad you like reading them.I was thinking of you yesterday
I like to write “nonsense¨ but people don always realise it is.
I keep losing things since I was bereaved so I had been upset yesterday losing a new camera but I have found it.I also managed to break alot of china which was a wedding present.iI am glad I am not paranoid as some mugs have just disappeared!Hope you are doing ok and now I see your name I can travel back to your blog..I have found it hard to write since my husbandś birthday in April but I Think it is coming back again now.Great to hear from you.Katherine