My old blue fountain pen allows
The ink across the page to flow
Like wet paint from the artist’s brush,
And words come in a rush.
Enchanting through the hand which writes,
Bewitched by art, beauty alights.
The script is like a music score
Through which we pass as through a door.
Imagination’s home.
As,mysteriously to you, to me,
The spirits of our hearts are tamed,
By rhythms of pen,of brush,of mind.
They enter vision quite unplanned,
Like moths to flutter softly round
Fire joined heart and hand.
The pen slows down,the hand goes still
And just as dreams at daybreak will,
They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone.
I almost caught that one.
He said he never wanted to be me again. He asked me never to bury him again None so blind as those who’re on TV. I see what you scheme I’ll catch the late train and be stoned tomorrow Please deceive me,I won’t know The last chance will be a horror Until wrath us do part. Until the penalty’s stark It’s better to have loved the dustthan never to have loved the balls Men are in jars, women are in beakers
After church on Sunday Mary decided to visit Stan , her elderly ,gentle and frail husband in the Rehabilitation Unit where he had been sent recently by a strange physiotherapist instead of to a hospice. He was unhappy as the diuretics made him pee even mo e often than he used to do and he got very worried about it because his bad heart made it extremely hard for him to walk. When she went into the bed ward she saw Stan sitting on his chair without any pyjama trousers on even though it was visiting time from 3 to 8 pm. Why has he no trousers on? Mary asked a nurse angrily, her blue eyes full of unshed glistening tears which almost washed off her turquoise mascara and made runnels in her honey beige foundation by Rimmel of London and Paris and Munich He keeps wanting to go to the toilet so it’s easier for us all if he has no pants on,the nurse told her haughtily.He’s on diuretics,you see as he has water in his lungs and other inner organs and the water has to be removed from his body,Sheila ,the nurse announced ina cold voice I know that.What about the lack of dignity in baring him to the world,Mary enquired softly yet piercingly her eyes dripping tears again. Dignity,what’s that? the nurse said insolently. He is just a pest. And old men don’t deserve any attention.We are tired of them.They should all die now.Thats’s government policy it appears Emile who had hidden in Mary’s old,but good olive green Radley leather handbag let out a sound like a banshee in Cork or a demon in a nightmare. The nurse looked quite frightened What’s that? she whispered to Mary behind her hand. It’s probably Satan coming to say ” hello” to you as you seem very wicked to me.Mary informed her politely yet honestly in her Northern way. Oh my,what shall I do? the nurse asked in a trembling voice.I am so upset now. You could try reading the Ten Commandments,Mary riposted jocosely… if it’s not too late. Or recalling the Golden Rule……… I’ve never heard of the golden rule,said the nurse.Is it a measuring instrument of some unusual type? Yes,in a sense it is,Mary said.It measures us by our compassion towards others.And you seem to have none for Stan.Can you not imagine what it’s like being a man sitting half naked in a public room with no recourse? What’s a recourse,Sheila, the nurse, asked her thoughtfully,Is it a garment like a dressing gown? No,it’s a a source of help in a difficult situation.It’s a remedy or an option I have a higher degree in nursing,Sheila boasted stupidly. I don’t care if you have ten doctorates in nursing and philosophy,Mary cried.It’s what you do and say to the patients that counts.And going to an evening class in English would do you no harm.Your vocabulary is limited,to say the least.Words are useful whatever job you do.Or even if you are unemployed it helps you deal with bureaucrats Oh,dear,said the nurse,I am sorry for being so thoughtless.I am always thinking about sex,love and clothes instead of the patients.I see now I have fallen into evil ways and hope I can improve a little. You have been cruel, said Mary.And seeing my aged husband like this is breaking my heart. She went over to Stan whose face was almost black, [when he was normally white] and sat by him.He fell against her bosom hungrily.Alas it was not for erotic reasons.His blood sugar was only 2 and his BP was 60/40.He was dying there with no trousers on and with no-one but Mary to help him… and Emile, their small intelligent black cat ,of course.Unfortunately Emile’s trousers were too small for Stan
.Mary wrapped a bath towel around Stan and held him in her arms. Stan tried to speak but Mary could not make out what he was saying.Tears ran down her beautiful lined and wrinkled face and dripped onto Stan’s head.I suppose one might say it was a kind of baptism by love.Now Stan will be entering a new dimension and will be given a new and better name by One who cannot be named here.But you catch my drift?
The music is the waves as they run high Across the pebbly sands onto the road Then groaning of the shingle as waves die
The fish that dwell deep in the dark, dark brine The flow within as outer waters flow The music of the waves as they run high
The moon reflects sun’s light to other eyes Above the seas which rise up to its goad. Then groans the shingle as the steep waves die
The sea holds hidden goods where we can’t pry In the deep the heavy water moulds The music of the waves as they run high
All the day and all of the black night The seas and oceans change from high to low Ah, groans the earth as each wave has to die
Re-hear these sounds, are they a sacred code? As angels wrestled, Jacob feared the Lord His music is the waves as they run high His groaning is the shingle as waves die
And here are Pandora’s locks, Professor Smith, quipped, as the female student in the front row fell asleep whilst sitting upright in a large armchair covered in chintz And I also have Achilles’ cows heel here. Now for your project, I want you all to say Three Hail Mary’s. A large bee stung my ass and I awoke and coughed up my soul onto the bed. Get back inside, I cried. Keep me whole, give me oil, keep me churning. Alright, it muttered calmly. Don’t lose your head. I have it well screwed on, I responded. This is a surprise to see you. Well, since Pandora lost her locks all the souls have been getting loose from their bodies.Women…why do they lose their locks so much? After that, the doctor called. Hi, he screamed. For God’s sake, don’t do that, I murmured I’m not dead you know..even though my blood pressure is zero. He smiled and handed me a blood sugar monitor. Here you are, this will cure your pneumonia. What about my new mania? What is that? I am interested in spirals… Keep it under control. The whole point of mania is to be out of control Try for a sort of controlled uncontrol,then.my dear, he murmured. What a clever idea, I told him. Goodbye I swallowed the test kit and it cured my pneumonia immediatel
I saw York Minster, felt its cloak of grace The memory of God who was a Word The Bible where there is a feeble trace
If we love, we may wish to embrace The spirits and heart both gently stirred I saw York Minster, felt its cloak of grace
Do not befriend another in great haste Love may launch itself like a small bird From the Ark where there is still a trace
These symbols are mostl potent in their space The holy spirit alters as it’s heard In Cathedrals in their cloaks of grace
I am become a cynic, bitter taste. Death is the religion of these years We need an Ark to save the human race
To be alive for many’s bleak and hard Once we see the remnants of the charred Compare the Minster, and its manmade grace With the Bible’s golden and pure space
Stan and Mary were sitting on the patio in the damp heat of August.Emile was draped round Stan’s shoulders looking like a stole.Suddenly the door bell rang.It is aways sudden to the old Mary got up and hoped her voile summer dress was not transparent as she walked the door nervously There on the new Porch stood Stan’s cousin Arthur who had disappeared 30 years earlier I thought you were in the USA, she cried in amazement and shock I came back last summer,he told her informatively Come in, she told him and they both appeared on the patio giving Stan a shock, though it was not electric I’ll make some tea, she told the men,even though I am a woman. Stan spoke briefly to Arthur, as if he were speaking through the window of the Flying Scotsman departing from its home country Hi,Art, I’ve got to go out in few minutes Art stared at him before shouting I don’t believe it, a fox fur was bad enough but to wear a dead cat as an accessory is beyond the Pale. Stan went red with anger Emile is still alive,he cried That makes it even worse, said Art But he likes to sleep there if he can Oh,I am sorry.I have got a UTI and it’s making me demented.Art answered nastily I thought he was tied round your neck, he continued merrily He would bite me if he were tied there,Stan said wisely That’s possible,Arthut murmured nervously.I have had a breakdown and I am not very calm In future, think for longer before attacking someone,Stan said insensitively Alright, said Art.But at my age I might forget to remember and I could break down again Mary cut the lemon sponge cake with a pair of barbers’ scissors, ignoring Art’s plea for help Try this, she muttered,as she poured the tea from a coffee pot of china What are those scissors for,Art enquired.We used a cake knife at home till Brenda died I can cut my hair with them but they are good for other things Is it legal,her cousin in law asked? Do you think we need to ask for legal advice?Is there a law about scissors? Stan stood up,I’ve had enough What of,Mary asked. I’ve not seen Art for 29 years and we are quarreling already Old habits die hard, said Mary calmly Monks’ habits, said Art in wonder? All sorts of habits like chewing your nails and smoking Are they alive? I suppose it’s a metaphor,Mary said ponderously. It means change is hard, on the whole Yes, people are cracking up at the thought of Lockdown ending, Stan sighed. Everything that happens now is a trauma or is abuse, his cousin said furiously Well, maybe it was before but we weren’t allowed to mention it Emile woke up and stretched It’s Twitter and FB, he mewed.People with no knowledge of an issue write as if they are experts and then other people believe it Like already people are saying they don’t believe Meghan Markle could be depressed when pregnant.Yet there is evidence that pre-natal depression exists or at least anxiety about looking after a baby can worry many people A woman drowned herself recently in the reservoir as she was terrified of giving birth and the pain Well said,Emile,shouted Art.I think we can be friends No, you can’t,Stan told him in a cruel tone I never want to see Art ever again. Shall I take all the pictures down, said Mary What are you talking about? Well, they are Art! Women, why are they so clever? And so say all of us
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 cars, This mellow joy in love endears This depth and peace, is always near When we choose Love and turn fromFear
I see your image in the lake below Bending like a thirsty iris plant I drown in leaves of paper and of woe
Mirrors, water,faces all can show But not explain the meaning to an ant I see your image in the lake below
Let me show by gestures what I know That love can make an imprint like a stamp I drown in leaves of paper and of woe
A generous smile. a hand held out,a blow The Duchess made her tarts just for a tramp I see her visage in the lake below
Think again and this time think it slow Do not burn a candle, use a lamp I drown in leaves of grass and old grey snow
If I offend you, do not take the hump Let not your pride inflate as by a pump I see your image in the lake below Let’s sleep in leaves of elm and mistletoe
The joyous flood sent sailboats through the streets Sea and land were mingled in display The sun shone softly with its fiery heart The joyous flood sent sailboats through the streets What was once disparate came to meet Then the sea ran back enriched and fleet And children flew outside in pools to play The joyous flood sent sailboats through the streets Sea and land were mingled, sweet display
The ancient bricks are crumbling making space For living creatures humble, self effaced The wallflowers waver on the topmost ledge Leaning out to watch the hurried pass
The sun shines from the East in blinding glare Shadows shorten .trees bud ,Spring is near My baseball cap protects my eyes and skin Even the most strong will never win
We take the humus ,grow our crops and flowers When our time is done, we will not cower Gratefully we love our neighbours,friends Right until we reach the very end
Then with the bones of innocence we lie Deep the soil and deeper still the Eye
Onto every strife a little shame will fall Freudian terror Been in ark,can type Lost shadows in hall Traffic jams on white dea In analysis we meet the undesirable unread unwanted desires I have a camel bare coat Would you like me freed?
One evening Mary got earache so bad she was anxious if her brain might be damaged What’s wrong,mother? mewed Emile her small black cat I’ve got earache, she told him.And I am still not your mother! When will you be my mother? If the law was changed we could get married,Mary said wittily I can’t marry you, it would fee like incest,Emile whispered I don’t expect to have a sexual life with you, but you could massage by legs and run up and down my spine Anyone can do that. Well, not a dog I hope,Mary giggled.No I love cats After watching “Princess Di, the true story” on their tablets,were both happy to rest in their beds Mary woke up to find her earache was worse, like a knife running into her head Stan, she cried, where are you? I need you!Come home! Emile ran in, with tears in his eyes You know Dad is heaven,Mother Yes,said Mary, though he could be in Purgatory Is that because he had Annie as his lover,Emile asked No, no, l love is not what I’m thinking of.I bought a very nice bag in Somerset as my workbag When he left our flat to get the train to work, he had taken my bag not to mention six notebooks with unlined paper I was going to use for Art So what did you say. Mother? I said nothing.Wittgenstein wrote Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must remain silent But you could have thrown a bucket of cold water over him,Emil said angrily I doubt Wittgenstein would like that,Mary smiled Sometimes we just have to let things go or go into a bohemian boutique .. I went into one and got a yellow cord skirt of unusual design and some deep red trousers Did you not wear a top,Emile enquired jauntily? No,I went to give a lecture on 3 dimensional calculus nude from the waist upward Did nobody say anything? I was so thin I looked like a boy and they were all enraptured by my words anyway Those days we were civil to others and ignored their errors or that their trousers were ripped and that some shirts looked crumpled.We mathematians don’t care about these things. Then they saw DPD had a van outside. man crossed the road wth several parcels from M&S. Mary pulled put a long green wool coat and a cashmere hat So who doesn’t care,Emile mewed? I thought it would be good when I need to sit on a wall.The moss on walls is green. Well,I can see the sense in that, he replied In ran adulterous Annie their neighbour and Stan’s former mistress Oh,I have bought one of those.I fear they will shut down and it’s hard to buy a tailored wool coat these days.They have merino wool jumpers too Perhaps I’ll buy another, she muttered. Can I have a jumper,Emile asked? May I May I what? Have a jumper I am not human, he mewed.Don’t be rude I will knit you a jumper,Mary told him.Let me know the colours you like Don’t climb a tree in it or it might catch on a thorn Oh, mother, thank you,Emile murmured as he fell asleep
I see you have left out an apostrophe on wild birds song.You should be old enough to know your grammar You only use question marks or hyphens.You will never succeed with such carelessness or laziness I may not be a success but at least I never make a mistake. Unless it’s the ultimate mistake, having no creative ideas nor urges I never write anything down I see how stupid this is, like never having any relationships in case I commit a sin by feeling desire wrongfully and I never married in case I should commit adultery or an act of violence So I might as well have died as my fear of errors has paralysed me and Jesus mixed with sinners,I wish he were here with me now Anyway,I hope you understand my feelings and you could learn grammar too for my sake
From Dover to the East there are white cliffs The little path is bordered by wild flowers We saw the Lighthouse looking in good shape And lay down nearby on the grass, sweet hours
But now alone and troubled by my sight I shall not visit cliff tops nor high towers I stay in woods or gardens or green lawns I hope you will not think I am a coward
Even little ladybirds or ants Enthrall me as I watch them in their bowers And when it’s wet I watch the clouds pass by And sometimes in the heat we enjoy showers
Vision narrow focussed may be wrong. With mind relaxed, we know the wild birds’ song
When soft winds blow and air strokes our bare skin .When days are long like melodies of youth, when light wakes up the soul from out her sin Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth?
When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown; When water’s short and all the ground’s forlorn Then do not meet disaster with a frown, For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born
.When winter’s here and all is quiet and still And nothing seems to move or grow or speak Then we shall learn the limits of our will When through the soil the first green shoots will break
.For seasons change and actors come and go. Yet through such changes, life is what we know
In the July grass we lay down deep The lighthouse painted white was by our feet In winter gales the whole place was destroyed The lighthouse disappeared into the storm
So life seems more uncertain,death awaits Even what we hope will keep us safe I shall not walk on cliffs now you are late Your ashes in the wind gesticulate
We need our myths and narratives so words Can keep us safe and block out the absurd And hell is other people,not just me The noose, the rope, the hangman and the tree
Yet I shall lie again on sun warmed grass Reliving the psychosis of the Mass
Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves That come and go on beaches , wet the sand The sea is always moving as is love
The unconscious is a language dark engraved We cannot read unless we can descend To rhythms as natural as the rippling waves
Rich and strange so different from above What we find is not what we intend The sea is always moving as is love
What’s in authentic nature that should save As colours interact, by brush to blend? Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves
Yet ,in a poem, what part of us can bathe The mind , the heart, the soul, the writing hand The sea is always moving as is love
The golden seas, the oceans can command The ships that sail, the whale, the hidden ends Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves The inner sea is moving , tender love
There are no hours and minutes in a day Whatever Nokia Lumias might display Babylonian clocktowers hover; Cracked a wall , now built in Dover, There are sixty cuckoos to gainsay.
Day and night, or hey, what black and white People range in hues of fruits delight I like olive and Greenpeacers Wearing hats from crowns off steeples Day and night,oh shall we take a flight?
I see the Berlin Wall is coming back Mexico has ordered ten sick plaques Trump has promised work forever: Dangerous walls from Hell to Dover Even God has been electro-shocked
No ,these demons cannot get across They’re stuck in an inferno; what is worse………. God now can’t be omnipresent. He has high walls around Grace Crescent. Holy Moses,who can take this flak?
If you miss yer dinner,don’t it hurt? Same as if yer finger gets a cut Refugees with their feet bleeding– Christ,we’re underwhelmed in feelings Get a barbed wire fence, and kick them back.
The Lord’s THEIR shepherd, so we’re gonna pay. He watches US like NEVER from today We’re ex-colonial criminals We’re Self-esteem Unlimited. Now the Devil’s comin’ out as grey.
Oh,someone jumped the Central Line today Could not take this life so full of play Oxford Street was blocked by walls Of vehicles sent to the Call. What is my vocation,what my Play
The Romans too were keen on building walls To keep out Scottish immigrants and balls But the Vikings got their genes into our pool I am one, be careful, I am cruel
Hadrian’s Wall. the moss ,the ancient bones Undeciphered like our old grave stones Looking West we see the Solway Firth Quiet and tender like the ancient earth
In the East is Berwick on the Tweed The Tyne is further South and then the Tees The grandeur of the Pennines makes eyes leap Estimating sizes,watching sheep
If the Scots desire to cross the wall We will not shoot them down nor make them crawl
Stan was standing on the patio behind his bijou home when a sudden heavy downpour of water drenched him all over. This is like a monsoon,he murmured to Emile who was also wet and drowned looking A head and neck appeared over the dark wooden fence. I’m awfully sorry,old boy.A pipe has burst in Annie’s loft.I tried to fix it myself. I don’t believe it.You are Stan Brown.It must be 50 years since I saw you. Stan was hiding his surprise at seeing Rudolf Hairnet,his former logic tutor at an ancient foundation, in the garden of Annie,Stan’s beloved colourful mistress. Why not pop in Rudolf,he said.I’ll leave the door open and go upstairs to change my clothes.Be with you in a moment. Stan went upstairs and removed his clothes.His body was now as thin as when he reached his full height of 6 ft 6 inches but alas it had less muscle and more fat. nowadays.He gazed into his wife’s full length mirror. To his surprise, he saw Satan looking out.Although he knew this was possible for Catholics he had never met Satan before.Not that he was keen to,exciting as it might be. How do you get behind the mirror,he asked Satan gently. God only knows,said Satan morosely. Why not ask him? I’m too proud,the poor devil replied in a bleak voice. Well,we all have our pride,Stan told him,though no doubt yours is the biggest in the universe. Yes,indeed,Satan answered.It’s bigger than Everest Are you here for any purpose,Stan enquired. Yes,your home seems more intriguing than most and I like to watch you in bed with that flame haired woman… is she your paramour? I see,said Stan,You are a voyeur par excellence That’s one way of describing me,Satan said,No woman will come to bed with me so I am trapped here behind every mirror in the world.I can see it all but never take part. You must be very lonely,said Stan Yes,the dark spirit muttered painfully Are there no she-devils about who might oblige you?Stan asked him thoughtfully. I don’t seem to fancy them so much.They are all as bad a me,I want kindness and tenderness not just lust.After all,one might satisfy that with a vibrator… we have them in hell you know!We have many things but love and humility are not there. Why,you are beginning to sound almost human,Stan told him.We want love too.If only you would apologise to God I am sure he would forgive you and let you come into the real world of others instead of being trapped in there Stan heard a noise.He turned round displaying his bony frame and his drooping organs to Rudolf. Are you ok? I was worried that the drenching had knocked you off balance.I have out your kettle on the fire to make you a hot drink and phoned 999 for aid. But we don’t have a fire,Stan responded. loudly Well,you do now said Rudolph Oh,hell, cried Stan
How my heart sings 