Than the song of birds,he had the words

He ‘d held me in his arms and said,
what I had never read,
That life is more than learned discourse.
So as he spoke, I watched his face
And his rich dark eyes;of course
His eyes gave out such natural force
More strong and subtle than the song of birds.
Yes,almost like a poet’s words
In how he moved me like no other man;
No matter how they think they can,
They lose the step and do not dance
And never ever chance
A leap when they might lift me high
Above their head. I’d want to fly.
Yes,the form and feeling give an extra note
To express those feelings more remote…..
We do not need to speak or write
We have both touch and our eye sight.
And yet our human discourse is a need
An anchor,lest the current’s speed
Should crash us down on Coniston,
And we’d be gone.
Just write it down
A verb ,a noun..
A string of sighs,our mouths,our eyes.
A paragraph that never dies,
within your finger tips and cries
For pen and paper and my wish to save
Some part of you,some heart some art

far beyond your grave.

Your gaze.

My days

As Alchemists foretold

God’s son was born  on earth.

A  young girl gave him birth.

His words remind us of our worth,

Gave hope of heavenly mirth.

He brought the gifts of love-

To cure our bad eyesight.

But we don’t want to see,

Bear painfulness of light.

We love our flaws unknowing,

Even as we’re sorrow sowing

We rage when someone points  them out,

We’d rather stay in dark and doubt

Than have our weakness showing

But when  we  seek advice

From someone  wise and true,

They tell us that our hearts will be

Healed when we can bear to see

The mirror’s total view,

The looking glass is truth

It’s painfully acquired.

But, oddly ,when we face the glass,

A transformation comes to pass,

And our souls change from black to gold,

As Alchemists foretold

I’d like to lie beside you

I’d like to lie beside you,
so we’d be face to face.
Then we could at last enjoy
A sweet visual embrace.

Eye to eye,
I look at you.
Beloved face is
in my view.

Then I take my fingers
way across your brow;
my fingers linger on your lips-

I trace these dear lines of old age
which wander round your eyes.
I run my fingers down your nose.
My touch is satisfied.

I’d like to trace your smiling lips.
That look so fine and strong.
With my own pink finger tips.
Would you think me wrong?

Your powerful arms enclose me
And I hug your shoulders now.
I’ll rub you down with fragrant cream
From your toes up to your brow.

I’d like to boil your hankies
In an ancient pan
On a big coal fire..
Though the coal fires are long gone.

I’d like to rest my curly head
Upon your bony chest
I’ll test your antiperspirant
And the whiteness of your vest.

I’ll treat you very tenderly
and keep you free of dirt
For as they used to say one time:
Oh,how real loving hurts!

I long to see your face just one more time.

I long to see your face just one more time.
I didn’t know that day  would be the last.
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.

You’d  smoke a cigarette  and write some lines
About the mountains that we’d  climbed or  passed
I long to see your face just one more time.

On Ingleborough  we had made designs
But heavy rain came down and we were lost
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.

We turned around as if it were a crime,
For we knew  such decisions have a cost
I long to see your face just one more time.

I teased you  on the muddy  slopes  in mime
I could not speak for I had seen  your ghost
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.


In Dent  or  up in Teesdale  will you come?
Or  by  scarred boats in Staithes,  eternal rest?
I long to see your face just one more time.
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.




Red maple tree


I lie back in this weather-proofed green chair
To gaze up at the flowering maple tree.
Now,touched by sun,my lungs full of fresh air
I embrace with joy the beauty I now see.

Old celandine flash brightly by my feet
Neglected currants straggle round the path
There is no birdsong yet a silence sweet
Soothes my heart and quietens my wrath.

Formy heart's sore and anguished is my mind
Yet in this little wood I feel deep calm.
My eyes are shadowed and my face is lined.
May this green spring bring me a gentle balm.

For even in depression and deep grief,
The mind makes healing medicine of a leaf.

Sailing like a flower across the sky

I spent my life on books on how to live
Then  when death was near I really did
I saw the little smile on my friend’s face
I saw the shining eyes, the lost embrace
I gathered up these books and threw them out
I wasted time in thought  and curious doubt
Let’s leave our heads alone and use our sense
To hear a bird sing to enthrall his spouse
To see  a swallow dip and fly away\
To see a  little orange butterfly

Sailing like a flower across the sky
The silken skin of children and  their glee

When father stops to  show them the cat’s flea
The smile of mother, her security
Containing all their woe  transformed and free
To  gather in sweet memories  of joy
Noone else can know what  our life ‘s for

Asking for it

Thank you for your email I’m afraid I’m on holiday at the moment. I will not be at home ma for 3 weeks

My address is 93 Magic Rd Tottenham Edinburgh 31. there is a door key hang8ng from string just inside the letterbox .

Please steal my vacuum cleaner. I don’t like it so if you take it I can claim on my insurance and get a new one please don’t steal anything else because I have locked my gold and diamonds in the freezer for safekeeping and I don’t want you to open the door in case you don’t shut it properly.

If you need help with your work please contact your line manager as soon as possible I can’t be bothered to do anything.

In the end we step with shuttered eyes

Katherine villanelle  

In the dark street with its glaring lights
Deserted pavements, cars that multiply
I see two of everything in sight

Twenty dogs two owls that fly by night
Two black cats  with amber eyes run by
In the dark street with its glaring lights

As I walk I sing  to cats’ delight
I sing Joan of Arc,I wonder why
I see two of everything in sight

The song takes seven minutes,or it might
If I sang like Leonard ,  if I sighed
In the dark street with its glaring lights

No-one can detect my wandering sight
Yet now and then I wail or emit cries
I see  more than you do with insight

These little deaths mount up as our time flies
In  the end we step with shuttered eyes
In the dark street with its errant lights
I see two of everything in sig

Blythburgh thoughts

Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey
Not much contrast from the soft silk sky
No birds nor any brightness, light won’t play

The ones who act so manic are not gay
If there is no truth, there are no lies
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey

On our backs on Sutton Bank we lay
My acts outcry, my grief I shall defy
No birds nor any life. the light won’t play

Who is born a hunter.who the prey?
The lion has lost the unicorn nearby
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey

I think of brexit, oh the blush,the shame
The spirits flatten;rise up,do not die
No birds nor any life, the light won’t play

I wonder what the loss is or the gain
I wish we were in Suffolk by the Bly
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey
No birds, no life ,I’m languid, would you stay?


Poetry and lovely images