However bold, the rivers sigh

However folded rivers sigh
Watch fields of barley unreel red eye
Bad-mouth the world then eat the sky;
And thro’ the weald the toads run by
To moody glowering Havelot;
And chips in hand the fishes row,
Gazing as the matrix glow
Refine algebra with its flaws
The Geometry of My Blot.

Pillows quaver, aspirins quiver,
Little wheezes flush our livers
With two eyes mauve that gleam forever
By the cardinal’s email lover
Fleeing down to grab a phone.
Fifty shades of grey ,balls powered
Overload the ovaries
And the silent male implodes
For the Lady, will she Not?

At my jargon, pillows wailed
They read the heavy sheets in braille
Slow and blue the duvets failed
The dry mop shuttered silk and pale
Slapping down wi fi Hotspots
But which computer saw her glands?
Or at her thyroid wondered long?
Or is she known to heartless men,
The Lady M.A [aegrotat]

Only drapers, fold sincerely
In among the beds and parlours,
Hear a gong that echoes queerly
From the river bounding eerie
Down to showers for Camper’s Foot
And on the Lune, the sweeping fairies
Pile the leaves in uplands barely
Listening, whispers “‘Tis the lovely
Lady with a white Tea Pot.”

Oxford holy riddle

Gold stone from Cotswold quarries young men brought

And built into a way of life for those who bought

Their lives so cheaply,

And did not see

The children’s eyes,the ball,.the game ,the tree

Of life that grew in small backyards and gave all

To those who climbed into its arms.

Why should this not be you?

Oh,Eden,I see that you are nearer now

In lowly homes where love is free

Than in the temple, grove,and soft set brow

Of those who worship God in churches built of gold.

Now we must know that this is easy to behold

When sun is setting,and escapes the ashes

Thrown up and floating in the watches

Of the days of voter’e eyes cast up to skies

and,wondering fearful, what will come

when all the secret deals are done.

So take the gold of life and let it fall

Into your children’s growing souls

And let this Cotswold town and spires

Melt into sunset’s glowing orange fires.

Published by Katherine

What I am giving up


SPBF2_20160615Washing my hair with  washing machine detergent.
Using colourless shoe  polish instead of face cream.
Using frozen strawberries  to color my lips.
Reading Sylvia Plath in bed.
Cutting my hair  with the pinking sheers in summer.
Eating the cat’s biscuits.
Drinking tea from a beer tankard while reading the News.
Drinking beer in  the bath.
Forgetting I am older than I was.
Having 67 handbags .
Having 54 mobile phones all on PAYG.
Polishing my nails.
Reading newspapers.
Ironing  my bra.
Wearing a bra.
Wearing underwear in summer.
Going paddling  in the sea with my frock tucked up my knicker legs.
Drinking tea from a flask instead of going  to a cafe.
Cooking real food.
Adopting stray cats.
Adopting  another man.
Marrying again.
Talcum powder.
Fly spray.
Hair spray.
Infinity and how many types there are.
Going to church.
Singing  in the street free of charge.
Groaning when my knees hurt.
Sitting on Waterstone’s stairs as they have no chair downstairs.
Wearing lovely coats because I have to sit in daft places now they have no benches anywhere.

Rules and regulations made simpler

Patients must not share beds ,food,relatives or looks.Jokes shared from 5 to 6 pm daily

Books may be shared unless they are infectious.In that case kindly boil them in hot soapy water before lending out.

Please do not laugh while the consultant is here.She only wears miniskirts to cut her laundry bill.

Please do not ask for permits to visir Kentucky Fried Chicken  Cafe whilst a patient  here.

Remember your dignity and kindly avoid wetting the floor by visiting the toilet every hour on the hour… or on the dot

Courtesy is welcome.Four letter words are punishable by cold tea in the morning.

Free dictionaries are available if you want to enlarge your vocabulary whilst recovering from our errors.

Please do not play board  games at night.

No sex of any kind is allowed unless you pay for it.

Reproduction is not allowed either whether free or purchased off  line

The  grief of God, the  pity of his mind

Armageddon  comes and we don’t find
The time to stop and think and wonder at
The wrath of God, the thunder of his mind

Is he  the ground of   being undefined?
The earth where seeds are nurtured  by his  hands
Armageddon  comes and  we are blind

He is not  a sweet and compliant friend
Nor the lord of  rich and  fertile lands
His  the wrath  and his  the thunderous mind

As the storms washed men off Kentish sands
So God  hurls the energy he sends
Armageddon  comes and  we are blind

In these trials, whose hearts are refined?
Are  we open, can we each attend,
His  the sun and his  the mighty mind

As on the rocky path we wary stand
Below despair, we find the deep commands
Armageddon,  love and care are drained
The  grief of God, the  pity of his mind

The Lune runs like old tears

I breath as softly as a little bird
Like the robin in the glade in Arnside Wood
Quick yet calm, who for some food would dare.

The view from Arnside Knot is  broad and fair
The atmosphere is  pure, we see trains chug
The Estuary of the Kent will never bore

Further South the Lune runs like  old tears
Morecambe Bay endangers, how it floods
Behind the Pennines rise,   the edges  fierce

Dent is ancient, mobile phones won’t dare
To penetrate  the  music of  its blood
Nor bring   their tones to hurt the mad March hare

Hutton Roof , cathedral, how we stared
A gentle hand caressed my heart to good
Meek flowers grew in the cracks  as safe,as  pure

How my heart expands  and I am glad
For mourning heals and  I am no more sad
I breath as softly as a little bird
I tiptoe on the path  the peace is shared