No Northern accent if you want to win

Outside wa house ‘t new umbrellas drip~
Wun is red and wun is pretty beige
They’re wa sunshades, t’weather’s hit a blip
If A wer a child A’d sail a ship
Or dash in pools u’ water in mi rage
Outside wa house ,’t new umbrellas drip ;
Times there were Mam’s moods got a grip
Then it wer quite hard to re-engage
Hide wa sunshades, mother’s hit a blip
Mam we’ lovely but she lost her top
Seemed we ‘ad been reading ‘t naughty page
Outside wa house ,’t new umbrellas drip ;
Nuns told me off for speaking in my voice
To get to Cambridge I must Me erase
Now I is a foreigner down ‘ere
No Mam ,no evil nuns ,no wicked sneers

I feel it in my guts

There’s a secret nuclear bunker ar the bottom of my street
It’s on the Ordnance Survey Map along with flocks of sheep
The other one’s in Essex near Brentwood says the sign
Dont get on a train just yet, it’s not the Central Line

Are they for the Government or for my neighbours near?
Who is going to drop a bomb and escalate the fear?
Why d’ye think our tax goes up Boris drugs the goats
He’s building his own bunker now, with a private moat

If the bunker’s secret, who’s it hiding from?
Who can’t yet read English, but knows best how to stun
Is it Meghan Markle or little Lilibet?
Or someone quite invisible who makes the neighbours sweat

Should we all dig trenches and say we grow our spuds?
Either way this is the end,I feel it in my gut

We’re indecent

What is life to me without Tea
What s left when you eat buns
With no wife
Who’d brew tea
What is left when she won’t agree?

What is satire when I’m stupid
I pick the pods off the lupins
What is strife
Strive errant Cupid
What is weft when warp is dud

What’s an oak when we’re flaccid
Eating apples full of acid
Who is broken
When the wheel has spoken
I may as well feel kind of placid

What is poetry to a pheasant
Being shot is pleasant
What is emotion
In our maddened Nation
Now we realise we are indecent

I desire to live

I feel soft ghostly hands around my throat

That want to pull me to the  darkest deep

My husband cannot leave or be remote

He wishes me to join him in his sleep.


I shall resist for I desire to live

Though  blind now are my hours without his face.

I have no more I hope to give

Since he withdrew from me his  kind embrace.


As lonely as a swan without its mate.

As tired as swallows after they migrate

I must accept my unconsoled fate

I'll  not  accept this be a constant state.


From my loss I shall recover when

The birds return and summer comes again

A million nights

I have spent  a hundred nights alone
No face to greet  me  when my dreams depart
No comfort  from the warmness of your arm

I  hear your key  but it’s a false alarm
A tear runs down  my face  and then more start
I have spent  a  thousand nights alone

A   river with no bridge  nor stepping stone
This water which keeps  lovers  late apart
No comfort  from the warmness of an arm

I see you are now dust, where are  your bones?
Where eyes to show  me  when you are contrite
I have spent  ten thousand nights alone

In the night you prayed for all who groan
You  smiled  when I  once spoke  of future life
What comfort could I  bring  to the Unknown?

I shall find a way to carry on
I will find the secrets  and the  light
I accept a million nights alone

When we were joined , who knew when we would part?
I am left with fragments of  a heart
 I have spent   so many  nights alone
Give me comfort  ,take me in  your arms

We lose ourselves in shadows and may fall.

Katherine  March 7, 2017 

The world is exists but I just wish to flee
The flowers come into bud but I can’t see.
The birds have built their new   small nests again
Birds forget, but memory feeds our pain.

When I get trapped inside this mud black silt
I forget the tools my mind has lately  built
Again it feels eternal and unkind
The sorrowing  fills the endless realms of mind.

The mind  helps us to mediate and muse
We need it to give weight to different views
But   inwardness can  build up dangerous walls
We lose ourselves in shadow  and may fall.

The life within us will rise up again
If  we  can accept our mental pain.

Envy is such pain

I so loved your beautiful
coat of many colours
I almost passed out

Other women made such
Spiteful remarks
I knew it would be hidden

You wore a cheap mac from
A large chainstore after that
Depriving my eyes of drowned joy

And then I became afraid
Of women’s tongues
Destroying what they never found

Envy does not want to like
Handmade clothes
Colours of dawn or sunset

Wants others grey and plain
Treads on their bare faces
In disdain

Why Do Writers, Painters, and Other Artists Bloom Late?

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on

Do read this interesting article by David J Rogers