Month: May 2020

Grace may come as small as  grains of sand

Material wealth can come in many ways
Inheritance, good luck, good work and pay
But with  the spirit, will power cannot win
Only those who’re humble,admit sin

Pain and grief , companions  of our life
Married to the losses as a wife
Grace may come as small as  grains of sand
Or like the wren that hovers near our hands

In imagination  breathe  as then
Slow, protective, patient and human
See in your mind’s eye the perfect wood
The trees  sing out as sun  warms sap, their blood

We can  research the wealth in figures, charts
Envy  not  the rich who have no heart

 

 

The affections of the heart

Listen with your ears and with your skin
Feel the other gently in your mind
Felt sensations show where to begin

The senses are  connected, interlinked
In subtle ways we do not understand
Listen with your ears and with your skin

In conversation  neither one can win
We keep a balance as on deck inclined
Felt sensations show where to begin

The evidence  is subtle  even  thin
On the sea of life we leave dry land
The boat is  tossed about like mortal sin

Neglect not now the affections of the heart
Love can be ignored or never taught
Listen with your ears and with your skin
Sensations, feelings ,hearing, vision

 

 

The art of dying  hair  is hard to master

I confess to writing this disgusting villanelle for LockdownOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Photo by Mike Flemming,Copyright 2020

 

The art of dying’s very hard to master
You only get one go, you  have bad taste
Kick the cat and  she will  only scratch you

Go  out of lockdown with a tasty ass,where?
You may get an STD, go haste
The art of dying…. who taught Sylvia Plath there?

If you married ask  your love to crush you
Get a ton of bricks dropped on your waist
Kick the cat and  she will  only scratch you

Go to Beachy Head,  hire  folk to push you
Take some matches go out in a blaze
The art of dying  hair  is hard to master

Wear a label ,ask the sick to touch you
Anger all of Sussex with your haze
Kiss the cat and  she will  rarely scratch you

You’re  near the end, but still  have many days
Don’t leave here until you cause disgrace
The art of dying well,  does God now thank you?
Kiss  my hand and  I will  come  to love you

 

Cultivate our Gardens

After all the fighting, the enemies bad words
Brexit is forgotten; people.  friends to keep
They   get prescriptions,  offer all they have
This  the time that Love  lit up our street

They pay for others’ parcels, they’re discreet
They fill an old man’s freezer with new meals
They encourage our own  nurses working on
They  acknowledge this world is  both   good and real

I can’t  go out, my hair is   like sea fronds
My trousers are too big, will they fall down?
My eyes are brimming,full of happy tears
My teeth are broken but I cannot frown

Will this love and kindness last for  long?
We’ll cultivate  our  Gardens, work as one

 

No more mobile groans

Wren_Farmoor-2011
A wren

The doctor has a website, we cannot use the phone
I broke two teeth and now I have
No more mobile groans

The doctor   has a website, it asks me to call back
I rang the surgery, they told me
The  doctor’s  mood is black

The doctor has a website, it’s mostly coloured blue
It looks  just  oh so charming
But it can’t speak to you

The doctor bought the software ,she bought the hardware too
How they are connected
I can’t describe to you

The doctor’s very learned, she went to school for years
She got a big diploma
She’s also full of care

The doctor is so gentle, but people are  real rude
She may be a Muslim
Or she may be a Jew

The doctor  gave me tablets but I can’t   get the BBC
I want to get the iPlayer
Will penicillin do?

The doctor  took my sample, she sent it to  a Lab
I’ve got kidney trouble
I sometimes feel quite bad

Now  my jaw is swollen, I broke my two back teeth
I pay the denists thousands
Do I need  to buy a wreath?

I guess I’m not desirable to the Holy Ghost
I used to seee him everywhe
But I don’t want to boast

I saw a big black shadow but not on my Xray
I think it might be Satan
I don’t want to say

And bless

From Ausschwitz rose not only leaking gas
But also  ash from Jews and recent dead
But  rose the holy souls  of those who  had just passed

In the  great Cathedrals  priests said Mass
Turned the host  to Jesus , ate  the Bread
From Auschwitz rose not only leaking gas 

What use is worship, prayer,  can the good last?
What can Christian minds do when we’re mad ?
Oh,see  the holy souls   weep as they pass

Bodies piled in heaps  no human trust
Jesus needs  salvation ,God is dead
In Auschwitz   human beings  gassed ,now dust

Eat your dinner,Daddy,   keep abreast
You worked hard , a Nazi,  gas,  fire, blood
The holy souls fly on, they find no rest

We think that we are better  than a God
For he permitted sin, Job understood
From Auschwitz rose not only  smoke and gas
But holy  souls oh,  find their bones and bless

 

 

Trust the Unknown,trust the inner flow

The sky at dusk, my camisole , love’s grace
Blending blue and mauve in  skilled embrace
God the painter ,God the X unknown
Send  us light to see where our  our love goes

Drop by drop the spirit ebbs away
Now the sky is dark in stark blue-grey
In the mind the dreams  rehearse and scheme
Take away the terror and the screams

Hold us in your Hand as we let go
Trust the Unknown,trust the inner flow
Who but you can show us  what we need
As we crawl to bed  in   fraught unease?

Now the air is black I see a star
I feel the void  yet love dwells even there

Why are you here?

Hello,I’m the therapist ,what is wrong?
Hang on, let’s not jump the gun
Ah, a cliche!Well, carry on.What actually is wrong with you?
I don’t know if wrong is the right word
I reckoned you must be desperate to see a new client during Lockdown.I am doing you a favour.
Why did  you phone?
Stamps are too expensive for me
Look, are you pulling my leg?
I didn’t know  it was yours
Is being too literal  a good thing?
Well the ” too” implies it is not
My, you seem very intelligent for an ordinary person
But obviously  that is not enough
What for?
Finding myself a new partner
Is that why you are here?
No,I’m  not that desperate.
That is insulting
But offering yourself  is immoral,And you  must imagine you are very good looking
You misunderstood me.I meant did you want to talk about it?
Well we are talking about it
Give me more facts.How many partners have you had so far?
Thirty seven I do believe
Well, why do you need help? You could help me
I don’t want to have had a  prime number of  partners.Forty  is a  number I like better
Well, why?
It is 2 cubed times 5
But  the numbers don’t matter,  it’s the people
I wish I’d stopped at 8.It was that five that made life so hard
People want love not to be part  of some   weird number theory
Can you prove that?
What counts as proof? Some people need more  evidence than others
Now you  have caught it……” counts”
Surely madness is not infectious
Has anyone  got data on that ?
Only someone as daft as you would ask
Why call me daft?I think it’s rude
It’s kinder than crackers
I love crackers
But  you can’t marry them
But  you can  marry someone who is crackers
Or has crackers?
Well where is this  leading?
There’s only one  place we can’t go to
Where’s that?
The Mental Hospital.It’s been closed to the public  in order to deal with  the government
Good luck. Give them  all largactil and teach them to crochet
I wonder why crochet  is good for  mad people?
It’s for the nurses actually.They need something to do with their hands
I’ve never  been told that beforeWhat about the doctors?
They knit sweaters for sailors
On the NHS?
No, on circular knitting needles
Well, I really enjoyed meeting you.I love your eyes
Oh,I am going red!
It suits you.
Will you come again?
I’ll have to ask the Vicar
Don’t make it Oedipal
Yerwhat?
Speak English or die

I forgave him everything last year

My brother kindly set my hair on fire
He stole my food  from off the plate   or floor
So for a man I  had repessed desire

He took me fishing in a pond close by
I loved him very much,indeed adored
My brother madly set my hair on fire

We went in  disused brick kilns, we were spies.
Of his company  I never  tired
Yet for  new men I feel not much desire

Now his time has come and soon he’ll die
I forgave him everything last year
His voice is weak, he thanked me  and I cried

I did not plan forgiveness  nor to lie
“God ” filled  me with love ,  our lives restored
Yet for new brothers I   feel  some  desire

Who left Daddy’s matchsticks near my boy?
He could  not know he would destroy my hair
My brother hurt me, set my hair on fire
We choose to love until we  both expire

 

 

 

 

The still small voice

14468168_781937401946140_6968166009060098789_oGod’s Revelation to Elijah

11 Then He said, “Go out, and stand on the mountain before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; 12 and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire [a]a still small voice.

13 So it was, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood in the entrance of the cave. Suddenly a voice came to him, and said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

Throw your money into a black hole

The sky is yellow ochre tinged with grey
The sun is gone and we felt stark dismay
We can’t meet friends in person any more
Only shout as we stand by the door

I think the source of Covid  is just cash
Money laundered less, the notes unwashed
The coins are black as coal in devil’s  claws
Don’t leave  the tip that kills , nor money gnaw

I used to suck a shilling while I worked
I  tapped my  fingers  where it would not hurt
But now the sight of pounds makes   me feel sick
Never use old notes nor lovers lick 

Throw your money into a black hole
You may starve but this will save your soul

I’ve got migraine in my heart

I’ve got migraine in my heart
Spasms of grief  constrain the flow
The poor go down and the rich depart

I just looked at my shopping cart
The tower blocks lean, the street lights glow
I’ve got migraine in my heart

I’ve got eggs and milk and tarts
The poor can’t sleep  and their children snore
The poor go down and the rich depart

The teachers wish their work  could start
The benefits  system  overflows
I  felt pandemonium in my heart

In the sky  are  UFO’s
Where they go to I  may know
I’ve got migraine in my heart
The poor downtrodden, oh, damn  you Marx

 

The eyes were open still, I saw.

He was on his bike and they ran him down
He had dared to go outside
The  law is  the law and  the law is a clown
The punishment  can  beat down the crime

They thought they’d go out, they were getting bored
The police felt the same  so they  claimed
Maybe a fine wth some warning words
Ths is the day that they died

One was a singer and one was a fraud
 Which one was which I don’t know
The police came down like the wolf on the fold
The eyes were  open, still I saw.

Women must  bear the young   men beget
But what does  our society  affirm?
The policemen   have guns and   they owe us a debt
But  will they ever,ever learn?

Boris Johnson raised  up from the dead

The Tower of Babel fell down in the night
The people spoke but noone could reply
We  cried out but noone listened then
Nor did we salvage much  from wrecked Big Ben

Boris Johnson raised  up from the dead
His pleasures once , pre- flu,  lay in the bed
He spread his seed about  so it’s no boast
To  bear his child nor feed him Sunday roast

He will lead the country out of sin
His  brilliant way:  to  stop  us logging in
No more one click books  or   toys for sex
No more screws and curtain rails to fix.

Ah now enjoy the peace  of empty space
Yet we  grieve for lack of an embrace

Whatever will the public believe?

Cercidophyllum-japonicum-pendulum_20-3

 

Bow down with  utter humility about our ignorance and willingness to accept rubbish from the media

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/may/03/this-is-a-key-moment-in-the-publics-view-of-mainstream-news

In  the UK during WW2 extract

The government was late to wake up to the fact that so much of the population was receiving news about the crisis from wildly unreliable sources. There were immediate calls for a clamp-down. Not social media, but astrology. Not Covid-19, but the early days of the Second World War, as it became alarmingly apparent how much the British people relied on newspaper soothsayers such as Edward Lyndoe of the People and RH Naylor of the Sunday Express for their “news”.

Naylor’s advice for his readers as they anticipated the Blitz depended on their star sign: he counselled people born in January and November, for example, to take their chances in the open rather than underground shelters. The Home Office (Intelligence Branch) began an investigation and found that 40% of the population had some belief or interest in astrology and that a huge number of people were influenced enough to change their behaviour during air raids. The financial secretary to the Treasury called for “strong action to put a stop to this form of journalism”.

 

Are children wicked?

Before my father died I was naughty with no fear.I stole sweets on my way to Church to confess my no doubt dreadful sins
I didn’t do it just for the taste.I was carrying out an experiment.The shop was in the front toom of a terraced house.The lady who ran it was usually in the kitchen so there were a couple of minutes when one was alone  next to the sweets

Yes, it was possible to put some sweets into a pocket before she got into the shop
I only did this once

After my father died,I  began to worry and of course decided it was my fault.So I spent many years feeling anxious.It got so bad I lost the ability to speak but as I was very quiet no-one noticed.That bothered me
Doing my A levels was very hard.The exams were  3 hours long but I could not stay in the room more than 1.5 hours.I hated the nuns, the school, the church,my mother etc
But I believed if I got angry my mother would die.If the nuns died I didn’ t mind
Luckily I passed the exams and got away.I was happy at University where people were polite to me.I  met non-Catholics for the first time.I had a grant.There were fine bookshops and  beautiful buildings and a choice of food [I had found eating difficult]

I think I only just managed to get away in time as my mind  was nearly   broken up.

If you feel worried that you are a sinner and going to Hell remember that it is  not God who sends cruel thoughts into your mind,After all God is  very busy looking after the Universe.He  doesn’t  have any concern about children/adults being naughty

It’s those  children who are never naughty that we need to help.

Or men of power who are not just naughty but are  unconcerned with others’  well being
or even unconcerned about killing millions in Iraq and then wondering why there are refugees drowning  as they try to ge away from the horrors in  the Middle East.

January 27th 1945

The Shocking Liberation of Auschwitz - HISTORY

After Auschwitz.
How can we keep complaining  because we have to stay at home?
Of course for the poor in tower blocks it’s hard.But not as hard as what both adulys
and children suffered
Why did the Allies not bomb the train lines to Auschwitz
How  many Jewish people then had to live  in Displaced People’s Camps?
Still noone would take them
What is Christianity when Jesus was a practising Jew?

Ode to a nun

Photo by Migs Reyes on Pexels.com

So what brings you here apart from a cab
I take everything too laterally
How can you tell?
I just open my mouth and  my voice speaks
Any other problems?
My husband is unhappy in bed
Does he tell you this ?
He’s dead
Have you  told the doctor?
No point as he can do nothing
How long is it since he died
The doctor is not dead
You seem to misunderand my inventions
You sound confused
It’s because you projected yours into me
Do you mean I am confused?
Maybe.It takes time to get any   rapport
Don’t worry ,I brought a flask
How interesting.What’s in it?
Brandy
You can’t drink brandy here
I didn’t know that
You have to bare the pain’
I don’t want to rush.Must I endure  it?
I’ll be here.
But I won’t be
W ell,I can’t have patients living in.
I  could cook for you
No bribery,please
I  can change your sheets
Oh, I just repapered the Printer
I merely paint mine
Who is more crazy

Daniel writes a litter

nature animal wilderness head
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Dear Malcom

I ‘m surrey it iz zoo long  since we had a feel to gather.I whoop that hence the -pan-de- mer-gimmick is  covert ,we can go to the Zoo  and flee the wild  terminals in fractions that is  a rational  protection
I am still preaching  topology and Harry’s bottle for  Beginners with a  hint of  Jeremiah
I don’t   know why I    lather.Even Newton did not under scan infinitesmals and  how  revealing they might be  in  baiter years.
My sister had a  chip replacement lately.I don’t  relieve the  terrain was unwearable
She is merry stoical, I have churned a lot from hair
I  have to phone  pandemonium and  they take  me to B and Q  or some  preliminary stage where I am triaged by a hearse before a doctor examines me
The adrenalin  aches and I crunch my vertabrae.I do Su Doku to concede the  drain I am in but  improving my gestures would be  bitter
I tried the Times Crossword but I flout even Dirac would have diminished it in a day
So now I  am heating my crutch as I am angry
Hope to key you on Zoom soon
With last wishes
Daniel and  his lion  Ariel

Reason was  no aid in that dead wood

I walked,I stumbled where I’d never been
No friend nor ally  guided me  nor could
In the  mesmerising  agony of grief

Wandering like an outcast ,  never queen
Reason was  no aid in that dead wood
I wandered  through the shadows of my  dreams

I felt the ground beneath me swirl and seethe
As if to kill me too or spill my blood
In the desolate place  of  darkness deep 

Rosemary,remembrance, flowering wreaths
Inside the  human heart  will mercy   flood?
I wandered  where to love would be obscene

But in the arctic wastes , surprised by  good
In late winter trees will start bud
I wandered  on until my heart revived
From that place of peril came new life

I don’t think I’m sinful all the time

I want a Cornish pasty for my tea
I said  a prayer  so Jesus answered me
He  told me I am greedy and unkind
I should  be more humble and  unwind

Well,I don’t think I’m sinful all the time
And legally sin may not be a crime
I  stole a rhyming dictionary once
It knew less than I, oh rhyming dunce

I try to be polite  twice every day
I only sleep with men  if they are fey
I  apologise  for years  if I do wrong
I help the world by humming Cohen’s songs

Can we change  by acting  like we’re good
God   might lose his head and send  a Flood

They could not wear bikinis on hot sands

In the Jewish ghettos and Death Camps
Did Jews complain they  had no holidays?
They could not wear bikinis on  hot sands
Nor did they ask for somewhere they could pray

We can’t go to Spain  nor Singapore
We must stay  near home,oh  such dismay
I ache so for the poor in tower  blocks
Where violence and harsh words  erupt each day

We can get our food if we have friends
We can read  or write or even pray
Why  complain, the poor  bear heavier loads
Will we be sympathetic on such dreadful days

Our sadly narrow views  don’t serve us well
When other people  in  confinement dwell