Menu for mad native of UK

Art by Katherine

Fried frogs on a bed of lice with free desert and Bedouin prisoner
Scottish moles and salad with hot flatbread from Gaza & strip
English Enema with free water and wafers and Syrian Refugee
Welsh Wrabbit grilled on West Bank of Thames plus Binoculars and Gun
Scottish Sausage with alimony tossed in lemon juice and oil
HP Sauce on Macaroni in butter with Russian Cheesefake

Fried Fish with chip on boulder of Galilee with boat
German Green Goose with mesh of potato free to engage
Grumbling Grand Gorse with spikes and dressing and free Baptism
Spanish Hamlet with chunky chips and a pack of cards with Joker
Linear Equations of Spaghetti with photo of salad Macbeth
Matrix of Pasta in green gauze with free wound and needle
Hindu Blessing and free food for all who smile
Cherry Tree blessed by God plus Rice and Nuts and free Tea
Irish plight and potato free
to all

It speaks

seashore under blue sky
Photo by Tom Swinnen on Pexels.com

This poem is written in the sonnet form,
And yet I have my doubts about its shape
Though nearly to that structure it conforms
There may be holes where nightmare faces gape.

It looks and speaks just as a sonnet would
And talks of metaphysical concerns.
Do we conclude, as poets and readers should,
That in our schizoid age we cannot learn?

For humans may be decked in clothes of wolves;
And lambs be dressed in lion’s fearsome furs.
Thus, sense is tricked and problems are unsolved.
Landscapes etched, yet details seem quite blurred.

It looks like one,it feels like one,it speaks;
Yet from these words, does human feeling leak?

The shape and form

Put your painful feelings into form
The sonnet,villanelle, the triolet
The shape controls the anguish of the storm


Our wounds can shape our vision and our thoughts
Remember school, where bullies made you pay?
Put your painful feelings into form

Words like daggers pierce the loving heart
Oh, memory must not cut us off from play
The play controls the violence of the storm

Let all thought of vengeance now depart
Or our spirit blackens, then decays
Put those painful feelings into form

In its time the sun will bring new dawns
Tears will wash our souls from black to grey
The words compress,contain the bloody storm

Do not give the monsters time of day
Conversation does not always pay
Put your painful feelings into form
The shape will heal the anguish like a balm