The doorbell phoned

Mary was trying to find an online shop where she had once bought a red winrer coat~
Instead. she landed on Amazon
Oh, there’s a nice frying pan,she thought.
She enlarged the screen and saw the words,Amazon Echo
That’s a strange name for a pan, she muttered
Then she realised it was a new fangled device which may be collecting messages& images for MI5
I wonder if my email has anything suspicious in it?
I have written to two people weekly then my sister and my six brothers
Are any of them under suspicion?
Soon,Mary realised that the Echo would not collect anythbg unless you had one installed in your home
I suppose it’s a bit like God.We can read about him,
go to church or pray but meeting him would be totally different
But Jesus hinted that if we fed the hungry or washed the feet of a beggar we were meeting God
In Knittingham all the beggars have shoes, she murmured
Maybe I could wash their hair?
God may be right here,but just as the blind can’t see colours we may lack some sense that would enable us to see God or even angels.
Annie knocked on the window.
Shall we have a cup of tea? Oh.I say, are you getting an Echo?
I don’t think I need one, unlike a shadow.I thought it was a frying pan
I recall you have burned two plus 7 milkpans
Don’t keep going on about it,Mary begged
Annie made some tea and Emile wandered in
Would you like tea,Emile?
Only if it’s green, he mioawed
I thought green was mould on food,Annie said
But tea is not food, is it? Emile cried
Only the milk and sugar,Annie mumbled
I’ve never seen green milk,Mary said nervously
There’s always a first time, the cat uttered in a manner resembling the Oracle
at Delphi.
But can you even buy green milk?
They all sat quietly meditating until the door bell rang
Mary picked up the phone
Hello,I am your door bell
She put the phone down and told the others about this new kind of crime where non-human objects would try to persuade you to wash them or put oil into them.
I can’t believe it ,Annie said as she stared round the room wondering which gadget
might phone Mary next.
Her mobile rang,
Would you like to pay for your Funeral?
I’m not even dead yet, she replied.When I am I’ll call you.Do you do 3 for 2?
Do you think Trump might phone?
Yes, he needs money to pay his lawyers
Well.I am not going to give him any?
Yet Jesus mixed with sinners
They were thieves & whores…. just ordinary people, not like Trump
I wish you were a whore,said Emile
How horrible,said Mary, why did you say that?
Well,I long to see Jesus, Emile smiled to her
He will let you know the time,she informed him.Meanwhile just keep living the best life you can

And so say all of us

Take your love and in your arms enfold


Did anyone believe blind rage expressed
Could benefit the agent without harm?
Did anyone read Freud and then digest?

Feelings need the heat of blacksmith’s fires
Held inside until they find their form
An image worthy of our right desire

As well as rage, we should mistrust love too
Be backward in expression till more’s known
Or risk an avalanche of cruelty.

Take care of others, they are not our fools
From sacred meetings all mankind has grown
We misuse folk to test our worth and tools

Holding in the inner fires our wish
The blackness of the heart can turn to gold
No contradiction hides such sacredness

Take your love and in your arms enfold.
The future of the world is growing cold
We liked to have the choice for rage and death
Until we found the charred remains of bliss

The future is fiction

The future unpredictable as gas
Its fictions must be written by our hands
On tablets with the clarity of glass
Which crack  like bones  dried out  on foreign sands

The prophets’ meanings , unnnamed, cannot pass
The sentences bind stories till they blend
The whispers and the excess of his blasts
Till all are crucified  by  loss of sense

The arches of the heavens will surpass
The  golden eye ,the mind its telescope
Then all  at once humanity is trash
The microcosm, a particle   escaped

Will Evil  change our hearts  till blood is  brass
The valves  are closing,   polished  into death

When music ends and silence overwhelms

As music went and silence overwhelmed
As in deep despair, I thought to end
When nothing seemed to help me on on my way
Perhaps I’d lost the track and so must pay

Empty now of thought and of desire
The vision of the darkness without fire
The utter loss of any help at all
From the depths, my heart cried out appalled

Expecting nothing, hoping even less
A fire of gold appeared to hold,caress
And tears rained down my face from eyes amazed
While in my flesh I felt caressed and saved

I bowed my head in assent to this good
The crucified, the lost, have understood

The immigrant we missed

A greater Britain cannot now exist
Boris is the immigrant we missed
Why not invite all his family?
Turkey is not the safest place to be

Europe is our enemy again
We have no Empire,God save our young men
If we wound or harrass France or Greece
Germany will follow where they lead

Britons have few manners and no sense
We are all too angry and too tense
The poor are full of shame, the rich are dense
Tax the rich & lower the Council’s rents

Boris are you here or have you gone?
Your Dad is French, this fiddling is foregone

In the end we step with shuttered eyes

Katherine villanelle  

In the dark street with its glaring lights
Deserted pavements, cars that multiply
I see two of everything in sight

Twenty dogs two owls that fly by night
Two black cats  with amber eyes run by
In the dark street with its glaring lights

As I walk I sing  to cats’ delight
I sing Joan of Arc,I wonder why
I see two of everything in sight

The song takes seven minutes,or it might
If I sang like Leonard ,  if I sighed
In the dark street with its glaring lights

No-one can detect my wandering sight
Yet now and then I wail or emit cries
I see  more than you do with insight

These little deaths mount up as our time flies
In  the end we step with shuttered eyes
In the dark street with its errant lights
I see two of everything in sig


The intersection of disease and age
The spot which is a signpost is seen clear
Some fall down and others are enraged
Where is the writing, where the dreaded page?
The intersection of disease and age
Passed by those who’re otherwise engaged
With friends and with creation to treat fear
Why, these intersections are the rage!
The place which was a signpost is now dear

I can only comment in a verse

I can only comment in a verse
A villanelle for virtue,my defence
I don’t know what you mean for you are terse

Love or hate,I don’t  know what is worse
Is this life  a very spiteful  test?
I can only comment in a verse

In my bag I have a purple purse

Money is so dirty it’s a pest
I don’t know what you mean when you are terse

When we marry, we won’t be the first
We need a godly priest for I confess
I can only comment in a verse

Do not pay my bill which I detest

At our party let us all be blessed
I don’t know what you want when you are terse

I am in a struggle, can you guess?
I am well endowed with happiness
A villanelle for virtue is the best
I don’t know what you mean you are so terse