Smokey road

Leaving Elham driving South to Hythe
Driving by the stubble through the smoke
As if the very earth was all aflame
The Saxon cliffs provide a steep old road

By the shore the sea was teal and glowed
The hinterland was barley, sun and light
The crops up in the North were never rich
For us Northern people , such a sight

Now the Channel Tunnel is nearby
Motorways with lorries either way
Yet I remember Dover,Deal, and Hythe
The little woods were children used to play

The Saxon cliffs are wayback from the sea
The Saxons would be startled, could they see

I carried him alone

So you are gone  who once declared your love
For that phantasm conjured in your mind
For onto me you brought down from above
A torment bitter and  strabgn words unkind.

Used to  friendship from within your books
You did not understand that I was real
Irritation grew as you did look;
You threw your poisoned  arrows  at my heel.

What once you loved then you began to hate
If not perfect intolerable I must be
And then you cursed me with this  sorry fate
Our child was born and him you’ll never see.

Illegitimate and born in desert grey.
I carried him alone from death’s dark way

Which of us desires to dress for war?

Katherinepoetryreflectionssonnet June 27, 2017 

My polyester trench coat  looks real swell
But inside it, I feel as hot as hell.
And when the storm hit, I found out
It is no raincoat, I have no more doubts.

Which of us desires to dress for war
This is what the trench coat was made for.
British soldiers  on the battlefields
Died in mud locked trenches for what yield?

Do we want to know the Middle East
Was divided by the conquerors at their feast
France and Britain split the old Empire
We see from that the rise of Herr Hitler.

The war to end all wars is on stage yet.
Go hang these trench coats  round the scapegoat’s neck

I don’t want

I don’t want your polyester dress
I don’t want your high rise skinny jeans
I don’t want to sweat and turn to mud

Fleas would love to live upon my chest
Polyester, nylon, nightmare scenes
I don’t want your polyester dress

I don’t want the corset, you suggest
Viscose,pleated, monsterous Red Queen
I don’t want to sweat and feel like mud

I like cotton jersey, cotton’s best
Wool is cosy, I can wash ir clean
I don’t want your polyester dress

Whatever next, I wonder what it means
Paying hundreds for a dress that screams
I don’t want your polyester dress
I don’t want to sweat, it might be blood