I wish there were no numbers and no dates
I forget them all , yet memory is like glue
With counting, with remembrance, with lost mate

There’s our sorrow and its seas to navigate
The waves rise up and drop, so old so new
I wish there were no numbers and no dates

Why are modern hearts so separate?
The seas of knowledge, all are one in truth
With counting, with remembrance, with no trace

Oh,universe, why do you have such space
With patterns in the stars, that might us soothe
If there were no numbers and no dates?

Why are we self labelled as a race?
Slowly, surely we will dig up truths
With anguish, with remembrance, oh, lost face

When will grace remake a soul so bruised
Struggling with the time scale, still bemused
I wish there were no numbers and no dates
No counting, no remembrance, no lost face

Oh happy were we crossing Salisbury plain

On the way to Dorset once again

The isle of Purbeck, butterflies and birds

he lark near Swanage waiting to be heard.

Once the plain was home to peace

and sheep

The Cold War brought the Army and their shells.

Now there’s War again,a thought to mull.

Do men want peace when War is all the rage?

Look on Facebook,Mr Putin’s page.

One cruel man kills children in the streets.

There is no warfield,like there are no sheep.

There is no safety now for

Ukraine’s least.

As Russia plays with evil and the Beast

s

I have walked the silent paths of grief
Sunless, dreary, cold and all alone.
I have slept on beds of winter leaves

Oh death you are a cruel, mysterious thief.
Although my heart weeps, and my joy has gone,
I have never felt I was deceived.

I have learned that human life is brief.
I have learned by sorrow we’re undone.
I have sifted earth and what’s beneath.

I have felt the dark emotions seethe
While I’m mocked by glaring, savage sun.
I have learned the geography of grief.

I wait in patience for my life to ease.
Will I know when my Last Supper’s come?
Will my tale be written on a leaf?

Unconsoled grief can make us dumb
Into our hearts, we drag the ice that numbs
I have walked the silent paths of grief
I have made my bed on winter leaves

Does Carrie feed Boris with cake

Or does she not know how to bake?

Off with their heads

When they rise from the dead.

Or all that we saw will be fake

There is a cook called Jack Monroe

Who helps the poor battle their foes.

The Tory’s don’t care

If the poor go out bare.

Starving from head down to toes

But if you have an electric car going through water surely that’s dangerous

That leaves you with a donkey you hired on a beach.Cleethorpes maybe.

I wish I had a donkey

I really don’t know who you are are

Sitting there with your guitar

I don’t know if the feeling’s real

We never even sat down for a meal.

I don’t like to quarrel or fight

Hallelujah,I am always right.

I don’t want another man who shouts.

I wonder why I think you are alright

Would I let you share my bed?

Should I get a cat instead?

My imagination dressed you to suit

The way you look is handsome and cute .

.

I fn

Random apples

Fall silently

On unknown Newtons

The sunlight’s lemonade,the trees are dark

Oh beautiful the feelings of my heart.

I remember Silverdale with joy.

The small green lanes,the meadows, girls and boys.

Arnside Knott the sheep the glimpse of sea

My heart is longing to be there with you

The train runs on the viaduct to Grange

The sea and river mix is rich and strange.

Self improvement ends when we depart
On the final train ride of our life
Silent is that little clock, our heart

When we lose our teeth that is the start
When we have no man to make us wife
Self improvement ends when we depart

When we reach the edges of all charts
Unknown oceans, crossed by unknown lines
Silenced is that little clock, our heart

Can we be improved by self regard?
Can self help kick us up till we’re divine?
Either way it ends when we depart

No more tricks as we play our last card
All that I possessed, no longer mine
Silenced is that little clock, our heart

How peaceful is the dust, it does not strive
Nor agitate itself about soul stained
Self improvement ends, we die, depart
Silent are the speeches of our hearts