To a kettle

Oh, lidded kettle boil me water fast
I cannot live without your heated blast
Your spout is small but perfect for its use
And, as your lid is hinged. it can’t get lost

An electric kettle made by Russell Hobbs
A teapot with a spout and lid with knob
Are what the English need in times of storm
If crisis comes, we need tea hot, not warm

I don’t object to diverse kettle brands.
We had a coal fire once with kettle stand.
Its metal black from soot an burned by coke
We made our neighbours tea which seemed to smoke.

Ah ,kettle , instrument of civil life
We cannot boil our water on a knife.

The dream

Fifty years ago you took your life
And left me for the agony, the trial

Since then I’ve had no vision but denial
Your face was absent,cut out by a knife
I dreamed of you last night, your little smile

There was no motive, we had never quarreled
I was blinded, nervous and too shy
You left to me the agony, the trial

Who consoles the woman left in horror?
Sickly on my lonely bed I lay
I dreamed of you last night, you wore a smile

In my view, I could not see tomorrow
Through my suffering I did try to pay
You left to me the agony, the trial

The grief of fifty years has gone away
Oh, lay down, baby,lay down, baby lay
I dreamed of you last night, your face your smile
You consoled me then, old lovers reconciled

Copyright © Katherine Braithwaite | Year Posted 2020l

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Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Katherine, There’s a rare gem in writing of a smile., though it chose to move on. -Richard

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Date: 10/11/2020 8:10:00 AM

Block poet from commenting on your poetry


One dear husband is enough

Oh,steam iron how I love your heat
And how you make my clothes so neat.
A flat iron is no use to me
No open fire is here,you see.

And thought I liked the flickering coals
I feared those faces that looked droll.
They were in the flames and peered
At anyone who ventured near.

I wonder how the people past
Kept their trousers neat and pressed.
Now I’ve bought a hand steamer
To keep the germs off my femurs

I didn’t like to say,my crotch
In case the devil is on watch.
I never ever used to think
My body perfume was distinct.

And yet it may appeal to men
I don’t want to try again.
One dear husband is enough
Though he did enjoy a cough

He had asthma and bad eyes
Looking out with wild surmise.
He saw my golden hair float by
As by his window it did fly

All at once he fell for me
And we sat by an apple tree.
His clothes were wrinkled so I thought
I would iron them for a start.

He could darn and polish floors
Cook lamb chops and apple cores.
So my steam iron sees much use
I wonder if it’s self abuse

For as a woman feminist
I’m not meant to iron vest
I’m not meant to boil men;s socks
Nor their pants of interlock

I’m not meant to make them tea.
What a naughty person,me!
I must confess these wicked sins
Then I’shall polish my cake tins

Satan wants me down in hell
Don’t say he needs my iron as well
As he was an angel proud
I’ll save him into One Drive Cloud.

Grass singing

I have heard grass singing in the wind.
I have walked through poppy fields in sun
I have known how dark gried can descend

I have watched trees’ shadows in deep ponds
I have felt the arctic wastes of pain
I have heard grass weeping in the wind.

Another soul is writing with my hand
Yet I have wept while loaning them my pen
I am mangled when sharp rain descends

I have known the edges of the mind
I ‘ve sensed the silence un-contained
. I have heard grass singing in the wind.

I am here for people who’re confined
I record the old deals of cruel men
I have suffered when dark rain descends

I have caught the storm by camera lens.
I have felt the solar system bend.
I have heard grass singing in the wind.
I have seen the pitch black rain descend


Like a statue

No longer am I rooted like a tree

I’m like a statue standing in a bog

Of all secure connections I am free

My only soulmate is a silent frog

The wind may blow me over then you’ll see.

I’ll sink into the earth like some old log.

I’m well acquainted with adversity.

Lost in this wet earth, my grave is dug

Eaten up by worms and myriad bugs

But not tossed out and eaten by the dogs

I dwell inside this heart still ruled by love

Abandoned by my friends and family

An unencripted gravestone floats to sea.


By Katherine copyright

Tenderly I held him took him in

As though we touched each other skin to skin

Dying is what everyone must do

Even when it splits the Me from You

What we took for granted every day

Had its end like any mortal’s play

The length of life is just enough to lie

It’s not here forever, don’t you cry

We are on no plateau but a slope

Slight at first, so we don’t see and note

Gently we are led to where it ends

Beautiful and foolish like ourselves

How can we be split when we are one?

In deep darkness dies the winter sun

Copyright © Katherine Braithwaite |