In such a moment all thought dies

A beam of light passed through my eyes
And showed to me a world disguised
So near,yet far,we do not see,
Unless by gift of grace redeemed
That world is full of peace and calm
Its colors mingle,like a balm.
In such a moment all thought dies,
Revealing Love which underlies.
Colors caress my naked eyes.
Sunlight blesses new designs.
I stand enthralled,and do not wish
For one delight,other than this.
My breath slows down, and filled with joy,
I rove my eyes with bliss to toy.
Everything is just itself.
This is now my living wealth.
Beneath the noise of city traffic,|
This mellow joy,love soporific,
This depth and peace, is always near
When we choose Love and turn from fear

The secret self  shrinks and  the falseness blooms

Time when life divides, it has two streams
One is on the surface, one  below
The secret self, the other one assumes.

I  walk on as the gap grows wider,screams
One shakes hands and one hides,  stamping low
The secret self, the other one assumes.

Can I  link the two or must I dream?
Times when life was gentler and more slow
The unknown self,  the outer it consumes

Now one is riding high to crash and bloom
Will death be the outcome,I don’t know
The secret self, the other they assume

The longer I go on,  the  nom de plumes,
The silent axe, the present danger grown
The unknown self,  the outer it consumes

Cannot   someone sew  me ,mend my holes
Help me, Lord,I have no place to go
Time when life divides in its two streams
The secret self  shrinks and  the falseness blooms

 

 

 

 

Aching

My skin is aching,tender, loss  has pierced
My heart needs walls, its boundary has gone
I miss the touch of love from him so dear

A belt of metal pins  brought me tears
Why suffer this till I  am quite undone?
My skin is aching,tender,  by loss pierced

We forget that grief is close to fear
Then alone, we panic, what’s to come?
I ache without the love from him so dear

Psychotic with no unity, who steers
My head  is so remote,I have no plan
My skin is aching,tender, by loss pierced

Cursed be the One who made our sphere
Since Eden went,by  so called  sin undone
I ache without the love from  someone dear

I should   get my cell, like Julian
Hide inside the church wall, will Love come?
My skin is aching,tender, loss  has pierced
Uncaressed by him  whom I held dear

 

 

 

 

 

Wandering   with no haste we see far more

In the pools, reflections , colours, gleam
Like watercolour paintings in a stream
Another world, a mirror to our lives
A way to extricate us from the cave

People have distinctive motions,shapes
When vision’s poor  the curve, the back, display
I recognise you not by face alone
But by the  pictures you make in the rain

Wandering down the avenues and lanes
The eyes are open wider, vision’s gain
The little muscles  slacken round our eyes
We see the broader images come by

Wandering   with no haste we see far more
Our inner eyes have opened like a door

Please help me to cry

Daddy, how we missed you when you died
I had not been told when I was five
Come back,Daddy,miss your smiling eyes

We were told that we must never  cry
When the cancer took your earthly life
Daddy, how  you suffered ,then you died

When you wanted company, I tried
I was too articulate to thrive
Come back,Daddy,miss my  Daddy’s  eyes

By the  flower  beds,  you wanted a guide
You wanted me to talk.I  really tried.
Daddy we  fell down a black hole, why d’y die?

You slept all alone, the pain arrived
We slept with our mammy, on your side
Come back,Daddy, don’t you miss my eyes?

I  always hum like you did though I’m shy
You are singing through me, close  and wise
Daddy, we still  miss you and your pride
Come back,Daddy, teach me how  to cry.

 

 

 

Thinking, love

Love thinking about you.

Love,thinking about you.

Love thinking,about you......

Thinking about you,love.

Thinking love about you.

You, thinking about love.

You thinking about love?

You love thinking about....

You about,thinking love?

About you,love,thinking.

About thinking,love you.

About.com,Love Thinking

Love About.com, Thinking

Thinking,love About.com.

Come love,stop thinking.

How come there's love about?

Think about it

Creating love from endless tiny sparks

Our roots are in another kind of earth
Invisible,  yet felt in guts and heart
Unlike the trees that bow down at our birth

Ignorant of our roots, now torn  and worse
We come to grief and all its  little parts.
Our roots are in another kind of earth

Our conception,  to the sperm, is merry mirth
The egg is eager for her life to start
Unlike the trees that, windy, flounce and curse.

We do not know what our deep roots are worth
Till sad we see our angels each depart
Our roots are in  some other kind of earth

We grow,enlarge, and learn a language first
Then in our home grown  narrative we star
Unlike the trees that bowed down at our birth

Creating love from endless tiny sparks
The form of every universe  must start.
Our roots are in another kind of earth
With fabled  trees entrancing every birth

Limericks on ladies

event fireworks shower of sparks pyrotechnics
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

There was a young lady from Barnet
Who wore no damn clothes, just a hairnet
When she was asked why
She said,I’m a spy
I write on my skin or the carpet

There was a young lady from Ealing
Who had glued her bed onto the ceiling
Her partner fell off
Disturbed by  a cough
Then he felt  drunk, because his head was reeling

There was a young lady in Venice
Who thought men were naught but a menace
Then she met one called Jack
Who filled every lack
Then they had lessons  in tennis

Why are you not narrow minded?

Mike Flemming 2020 copyright

 

 

 

Why are you paranoid
Well, my mother was.

Why are you Paranoid?
I was born there

Why are you not paranoid?
I have a trust fund

Why are  you sceptical?
I was poisoned

Why are you not  Voting?
I was born in Pakistan   though my dad was Voting.

Why are you Anxious?
My mother lived  with  an Anxy for ages

Am I French?
No,I want to leave.

In my  absence, posts will be written by ghosts
Are they writers?
Well, they  learned to  print well  enough
Can anyone print?
If they have a hand
Well, they can’t have mine
How mean
That’s not a sentence
Alright you can  go to jail for a  year.
Where is it?
Next you’ll be asking for sheets
What else can I print on?
Not my Egyptian cotton,for sure.
I prefer paper
How come?
I  can  offer the back of my hand
But we can’t sell that.
You can put me in a  Gallery
It pays
But please feed me.
You’re on  FB.
Take me down
Order,order

Why do they stamp on my feet?
They want to post you on a blog
I prefer letterboxes
Or pillar boxes
If they are not salt

 

Take me in your  hands ,  give me a soul

From  my fragments, what can be retrieved?
Is  my story finished and untold?
Am I real or have I been deceived?

Is there goodness,   will my pain recede?
On the art of life must one be bold
From  my fragments, what can be retrieved?

I am proud, and I shall never plead
Though my heart is saddened and grows cold
Am I real or have I been deceived?

What has any worth, what are my deeds?
Into whose heart might my heart unfold?
From  my fragments, what can be retrieved?

I did not suffer from the sin of greed
I posses no silver and no gold
Am I real or have I been deceived?

Oh God in whose name many goods are sold
Take me in your  hands ,  give me a soul
Of  my fragments, what can you retrieve?
Am I real and here,  are You  deceived?

 

 

 

La belle dame sans merci

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https://poets.org/poem/la-belle-dame-sans-merci

 

 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

John Keats – 1795-1821

 

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
  Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is withered from the lake,
  And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
  So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
  And the harvest’s done.

I see a lilly on thy brow,
  With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
  Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads
  Full beautiful, a faery’s child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
  And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pacing steed,
  And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
  A faery’s song.

I made a garland for her head,
  And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
  And made sweet moan.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
  And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
  I love thee true.

She took me to her elfin grot,
  And there she gazed and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes—
  So kissed to sleep.

And there we slumbered on the moss,
  And there I dreamed, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dreamed
  On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
  Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cried—”La belle Dame sans merci
  Hath thee in thrall!”

I saw their starved lips in the gloam
  With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
  On the cold hill side.

And this is why I sojourn here
  Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
  And no birds sing.

Ye olde limerick

I once like to make apple tarts
I was never much good throwing darts
To add some confusion
I had a delusion
That life can be lived as an Art

I like making quiche  while at home
The smell of the pastry is warm
I saw a small ghost
Steal my hot  toast
Then he left, he went over to Rome

My husband would pray in the night
Until dawn came with its gentle light
He liked  my strange fiction
Without contradiction
I wish he were still in my sight

I miss his dear face and his smile
He knew  that I had little guile
How will you manage
He died feeling  anguish
The Devil was let out on bail

Maximilian Kolbe

 

 

 

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Delicate image by Mike Flemming 2020.Copyright

When reading this please remember most of the prisoners were Jews some of whom  had been raised as Catholics so Fr Kolbe said Mass every day while he and they were being starved to death.They were reduced to whispering the prayers as they slowly died one by one.Just think this, was Enlightment Europe the proud centre of ciivilised Europe

He did not die so the Nazis shot him

Biography

Tracing back, however, to the inhumanity of World War II, where a shattering sense of hopelessness pervaded the death camps as the Nazis took over Poland, this place of infamy became the Calvary of the modern times. Anger and hatred filled the heart of every prisoner until one stepped forward from the prisoners of Block 14, among whom ten had been singled out in retribution for one escapee.  Not initially selected, this obscure man – Father Maximilian Kolbe, a Catholic priest – voluntarily took the place of one of the ten, the father of a family, who, along with the others prisoners, had been sentenced to death by starvation.

 

 

Where is paranoia on my sat nav?

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Why have you not got schizophrenia?
Because it wasn’t on the shopping list

Why  the panic?
No, it’s  a punnet 

I want some nutter
Do you mean butter?’
When I say nutter I mean it

Do stop knattering

What is a declension?
All I know is you can’t eat it

What is the plural of  yoga?
Yogae

You broke the Law
Divide and conquer

Where is Latin?
It’s under “Tongues”
Tongues  of Fire?
Sacrilege is bad for you
I’m a demoness
That is not PC
I’ll take the WC instead.
You can’t take it all with you
I’ll  just take the cistern

Do you  think that is funny?
No, but this is

Eternal Life

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I’ll stick with Thee…fast falls the chill of night
Send me an angel,I need something bright.
I have no fear,with Thee I’ll be alright.
Why not succumb and use electric light?

Large now or small.It matters not what size.

All that now matters…must be our Lord God’s eyes.0114- arnside 2 0006
In their sweet light,I’ll love my neighbour’s wife
As she seems unhappy with almost all her life.

I do not mean to fornicate or lust.
No,I’ll calm her gently and I’ll earn her trust.
I’ll cook their dinner,so she takes a rest…
Then when the evening comes I’ll sit my test.

Do they eat meat?I have a little lamb…
If not I think there is some well cured ham.
I’ll cook nine veggies as we are advised
That will definitely bring us to Eternal Life

The kindness

Every time  I think that I will stop
That poetry is not my kind of game
The kindness of my readers picks me up

I start again and emptied is my cup
I wander through the library of names
 I feel the affect  and the unwilled stop

In the mind we know we suffer gaps
That every heart and soul has got its stains
The kindness of my readers picks me up

Each of  us can share our  homemade map
Can ask for comfort when we are in pain
All feel the affect  and the unwilled stops

Comfort me,  give charm to my black cat
He seems to have no affect, he is lame
The kindness of my readers picks us up

Would we wish the wild world to be tamed?
Were better if we could start  life again
Every time  I think that I will stop
The kindness of my readers draws me up

 

 

LOVE

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Photo by Mike Flemming.Copyright
nativity scene christmas decor
Photo by Bich Tran on Pexels.com

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Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back
                              Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
                             From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
                             If I lacked any thing.
A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:
                             Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
                             I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
                             Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame
                             Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
                             My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
                             So I did sit and eat.
Source: George Herbert and the Seventeenth-Century Religious Poets  (W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1978)