On Sunday we would stroll to old Deane Road

My brother used to speak in.his own code

My baby sister in her pram so bold

Now both have died and passed away

I can’t forget the golden rods and Mum’s coat frayed

The cemetery where we used to pray

Now Mum is dead will there be room for me

I prefer to lie beneath my own

I hope I shall be eaten like the Host

Though I am no Saviour I have done my best

And crave the peace of nature and her rest.

The church bells ring again in harmony

Asking for some peace and charity

I rode on Daddy s shoulders held his ears

He sang and whistled I wished he was still here

Xmas 1946

I remember Xmas ’46.

the glowing coal,the sugar bag,the sticks

The boys had fairisle jumpers in pure wool

The golden cup of happiness was full

In the flames I saw bright dancing shapes

oh happy infant ,love, oh happy state.

on a Xmas tree were hung the chocolate coins

in the crib I saw Lord Jesus born

My sister too was soon to leave the Womb

Next time she would be there in the room

Her Celtic face was round her eyes were green

Rarely did she cry,Allanah, Queen

This was Eden,this was all our joy

Come back Love,do not our lives destroy.

Touch me again

My hand reached out to touch you but all there was was air

I stared into the garden and see the birds fly off

I can’t tell you any thoughts like the ones we used to share

Are they bound for Africa, àre they plump enough?

I call out for your tender touch,I ask you to come back

All there is is silence,no love to fill my lack

I cry out for your presence now but you are flying too

I have to do this part alone

I don’t have a clue


I saw a London ambulance go by

I wonder who will live and who will die

On Yom Kippur God writes upon a scroll

The ones who will be cut off or made whole.

Who knows they have been living without heed

Thinking not. about their neighbour’s needs,,,?

We can look out if we feel. It free from fear

That is hard when demons seem to leer.

Who are you ,?

Officer,my vocation is to care for the dying

Surely God doesn’t want you to shoot them first

Well, people live too long

Too long for what ?

For me to be practice my vocation

I think there is something wrong with you

But also something right?

Who are you, Wittgenstein ?

Never heard of dear Ludwig

Neither have I.

What a paradox!

What else have you never heard of?