Who opened up the inner eye to me

Is what I make  original and new?
Can  Imagination   rise and fly for me
To   recreate the glory   this child knew?

Who lit the candle flame that brought me view?
Who opened up my inner eye to see?
Is what I make  original and new?

We birth into a culture others grew
We´ŕe part of all,  responsible and  free: ./unsure of this line
Oh,   recreate that glory children knew

We make music with our voices too
The ram ś horn  or the string/ed lute make plea
Is what we make  original and new?

The charcoal on the paper is a clue
I sail  with wonder on my  inner sea
Oh,  recreate the glory children  knew

Oh,God , oh eye,  have mercy upon me
Oh God, the voice, the hand , the touch, save me:             I l
Is what I make  of worth and pattern new?
To create , to live , must  we know Calvary?

Noah dug a grave

Eton broke up on July the Third
Theyŕe selling pieces set by William Byrd
Put one in the garden, that looks posh
Maybe we need a bottle of whitewash

State schools finish nearly 3 weeks on
Who has got the nuclear waste and bomb?
Do you want your child to be well taught?
Should we have to pay when we have naught?

The Forest of the Amazon is done
All good things will end and we´ĺl be gone
Wisdom has been left out of our thoughts
Certain things are never sold or bought

Now we see the Eton Club are safe
Jesus wept and Noah dug a grave

In between two numbers

In between two numbers there are so many more
Uncountable and infinite this is their allure
And then there is the circle, unmatchable, unsquare.
There is stern white beauty, the air is very pure

In between two numbers, a dancing pair can kiss
The band has paused to take a breath, the space is not amiss
The music has its rhythmic beat, how different from mere noise
Listen to the humming, listen to its voice

In between two numbers,puzzled and unsure
I try to guess the one you sent, your manners are obscure
Am I thinking in straight lines, when curves would tell me more
I see the comic sanctions that down on me will pour

In between two raindrops, in between two tears
In between our words and songs, love displaces fear

A picky person

KatherineThinkings and poems  May 9, 2015 

He was a picky person with a penchant for piss artistry
He liked to excite women with his studied impropriety.
He often went to bed with a woman of society
Then she would be troubled by her sudden notoriety.

As demanding as a pigeon with one eye and no stability;
Although he had been gifted with a wide range of abilities.
He always told the truth in a manner Jesuitical
It gave rise to deep wounds and to curious thoughts inimical.

He read between the lines and fantasised romantically
He knew his Greek and Latin and corrected folk pedanticly.
He liked to drink ripe brandy and practise tantric gallantry.
Until it led to arguments and words fired off too frantically.

He said he felt real lonesome even when he was in intimacy
Wished he’d never bothered to lose his youth’s virginity
He did too much for others and got stressed out accidentally
Until his control broke and he lashed out unimaginatively

So now he is in prison and finds it suits him perfectly.
He was made to be a hermit and he lives his life less jerkily.
All he misses now are sweet ladies so well loved by men…
He wonders,can they be jailed,share his cell and comfort him?

No sense

The child is father to the man
The duck is father to the swan
Inverted,tortured, where to go
The rain is frozen into snow

Once we were a little egg
Looking for a sperm with legs
The winner will enchant like God
Till both are one, in their soft bed

While we work or shock by oath
We´re unaware of inner growth
So drink a glass of cider now
Welcome,welcome, we shall bow

Every child is full of grace
Until by governement erased
When once we lived close to the earthI
In burning towers the poor give birth

Little flats far to the East
Those unemployed are shamed like beasts
Yet their children are of God
Ne´ér to Eton shall they tread

Those who rule shall be come slaves
Satan waits beside their graves
Down in hell they shovel coal
To be rebuked for all they stole

Then they see the light and pray
God forgive our wicked ways
Sin will bring its own reward
From Heaven the wicked are self-barred

The great ode by Wordsworth


There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
       The earth, and every common sight,
                          To me did seem
                      Apparelled in celestial light,
            The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
                      Turn wheresoe’er I may,
                          By night or day.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more

Nude feet

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

When strangers ask for photos of you nude
Or wearing clothes so scanty they’ll go blind
Let them see your feet without their shoes

Let them see your twisted toes turn blue
Let them see the bunions God designed
When strangers ask for photos rather rude

Can one solve a crossword with no clues?
Can one have no bosom and look fine?
Can they love your feet without cute shoes?

When you’re feeling sad and life is blue
When you long for love but not divine
When gentlemen want photos somewhat crude

Try to sell them on the Evening News
Take the veil or drink the Altar Wine
Let them kiss your feet without their shoes

When you’re looking for the hidden signs
Don’t read numbers settlers left behind
When strangers ask for photos, give them clues
Let them wash your feet but make them queue

If your shoes don’t fit

I will spare you an image of my feet.As a GP once said:you are deformed

You can buy shoe stretchers
You may be able to remove the insole which gices more spae

To stretch shoes pour some boiling water in, empty and put your foot inside [ if the house is warm
That will help

Alternatively, put in as many rolled up sheets of newspaper as you can and push them well down.Leave to dry

Fold the shoe in half backwards and put a heavy weight on top.This makes a difference

All of these methods may disfigure the shoes slightly but at least you can wear them