Day: April 13, 2020

What we don’t want to say

There’s something in the faces of the old
Transparency, the seeing of the  soul
A little light that shines out from within
A candle burning through the flesh so thin

Everything is taken   but their bones
A little flesh is stretched out  to atone
Till after death the skeleton lies bare
A challenge to the young whose eyes close there

Now in Lockdown we  learn that we are lame
We live upon the cliff edge of our pain
Nothing seems secure, we can’t defend
We see the naked truth that all will end

Forced to see what we don’t want to  say
We fall upon the ground , our   knees give way

On an egg

2012-01-22

Necessary evil is a verbal construct

Rapacity under the cover of contention is still greed

My nerves have weals he said.

I am as nervous as a naked nun in a room full of people who  sleep in fur coats

Never pull off tomorrow what you can ease off today.

Keep your stare on!

If you never get dressed,you need never undress.

I took out a new lease on his wife,She is frilled.

.He bought me an apron for Xmas so I fried it for his dinner.That will do the trick… next year he may give me a  sausage 

And  no,I never made a Freudian slip in my wife.

He said he wants to borrow my life! 

What do you say to a cup of tea?
You look hot!

I’m going to work on my bag

Can I buy dog food  during crackdown?

Where do I park the  dog?

I’m going to shirk your strong legs

I wanted a cook book  now I’m an indecent accountant

 

 

New cliches

What I need are cliches, new and vague
The ghost has got it wrong with howling bones
Sniffing the police leaves them enraged

If I hurt you, I am wise not sage
Moss is useful in a mixing bowl
 I need  lots of cliches, new and vague

Let’s get married if we’re not engaged
I don’t have the tools to fetch in coal
Sniffing the police leaves them enraged

Paradox is  vital in our age
Politicians   toss out joints all rolled
 Send me cliches, new and  somewhat vague

When this is over  who will be in role?
The sun has got no hat on ,I it stole
 I need  more cliches, new and  quietly vague
Sniffing the police leaves  men enraged

The lily is for peace. the rose for worth

The cyclamen, the lily and the earth
The potted plants ,green leaves , distil the air
The lily is for peace. the rose for worth

Let no human live in pain or cursed
Let the golden light enwrap  them here
The cyclamen, the lily and the earth

The waxy flowers of cyclamen bring mirth
Bring  gratitude in winter when all’s bare
The lily is for peace. the rose for worth

I feel my hands are reaching for a brush
The watercolour paints    bring their allure
The cyclamen, the lily and the earth

Then I see a flower trod on  and crushed
It seems to bleed like Jesus,tears my eye.
The lily is for peace. the rose for worth

Nature has its truth and so do I
Many times I weep, bewail and cry
The cyclamen, the lily and the earth
The lily is for peace. the rose for birth

Art and heart

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the art of poetry isn’t hard to master
make the syntax good and  entertaining
the  gruesome heart of poetry   brings disaster

 
a meter errant makes  the lines come faster
an oxford  thesaurus   gets the listeners   waning
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master.

 
a genius woke and saw a verse rush past her
it only needed polishing and planing
the  gruesome heart of poetry brings  disaster


she left the oven on, it gassed her
ever since her folk  groan, paining
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master.

 

she saw her selves as coloured shapes in plaster
and round her mind, were ghosts all craning
the  gruesome heart of poetry brings disaster

there’s not a lot of hope if we’re complaining
for criticism  from hidden ghosts is draining
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master
the  gruesome  heart of poetry brings disaster

 

That was best

When  Dad  was isolated, I slept in Mam’s bed
With her sister too  when  he  neared death
My sisters on  a camp bed, in a cot
My sister saw a ghost and felt its breath

My brothers shared a room, the walls were thin
They heard Daddy gasping, short of air
They heard him groan, they heard our Mam’s footstep
They  heard  the silence,  oh, was he not there?

Daddy’s bedroom had a little fire
We went to say goodnight,  but stayed too long
We sat upon his bed,  he talked a while
Then he ended with a  30s song

On Monday  morning he  took his last breath
Mam  ached  so., she wished  that she was dead