Sitting in a plant pot

I was sitting on a plant pot in my grandads old backyard

He used to be a coal miner, so we had a lover birds

Grandad loved canaries I liked little wrens

We’ had few up in Manchester, we had big mills and rain,

Grandad had no deck chairs that’s why we sat on pots

When we went to Blackpool we had deck chairs by the lot

We went to Southport on the train, the sand was like sick dust

The sea was just a mirage, go there if you must.

The people were all friend they called each other cock

If you go there in the morning I wish you you much good luck

I was sitting in the plant pot hiding from the dog

Grandad called her lassie, she died at 6 oclock

Frogs and lists

Floating in the mists inside your mind

You have no connection to your kind.

Fear cut through the cord that make us safe

We float away we see no sharpened knife

Keeping the eyes blurred is our defence

One that needs no excess maintence

Yet if the lion approaches you and snarls

No fog will save you from his savage arms

Myopia is no aid in jungle war

we wont see the tiger with its claws

Cowards denied Christ he did not fail

Nor did Jonah sleeping in his whale

Floating in your non-existent world

Is safety safe ? Will fog destroy the hail?

Don’t lie so still

 Katherine  beautiful thoughtschildhoodCouragedeathemotionhow to liveimagessorrowThinkings and poemstruthfulnessvirtue  October 2, 2021 1 Minute

Ah,brother I don’t want you to lie still

No blood to circulate,no thoughts,no will

No help,no humour.jokes no

sharp true eye

From our old shared pram,to live, to die.

I used to do your homework

late at night

Abstract thought to you was no delight.

You wondered over X and y and z

Preferred the shapes of Nature in your head.

I shall retain the memories of the good

You who taught me speech and hate and love

Prayers for the wildflowers

There are superficial trends in our society to encourage us to build our self esteem and to value ourselves… to develop and achieve  a place suited to our talents.. but what is best for me is when I lose myself in something.I was reading an old blog of a friend and was quite absorbed and went into a different state of mind..then I regretted I don’t manage to lose myself enoughb have an adult having much on my mind and being busy.

Sometimes it can happen when we love a person.Sometimes a wonderful landscape feels like home.. other times a sunset across the Irish sea from the cliffs of the Isle of Man where myriad butterflies swirl and float over flowers and rocks.

Modern life, the News,talk,excitement of the wrong sort seem to lock us into  our self and frighten us so we forget the value of finding something in which to lose ourselves and grow as a result. Sitting by a river  fishing,knitting,sewing,a book, many things can elicit this response  And remember how horror filled was the self consciousness of adolescence and how good to forget one’s self being more comfortable and accepting of appearance and image..How to live like a wild flower for a time… and be happy not to be a rose but just a tiny wild geranium or a moderate  sized  gentle pink flower in a arden


A blessing

The pebbled beach on which we walked at dawn
The sun was dancing singing stone to stone
The sea was pale as silk and gently ran
The tide was coming in, the day began

Why is my memory so deficient here?
I rem LPember little but you near
I remember Portland Bill at dusk
The sea was wilder then with many thrusts

Happiness was like a golden shawl
A world like Eden, man before the Fall
Today they say, illusion, I say, no
What matters is where this insight makes you go

The fruits of meditation are its test
May we be generous,kind, may souls be blessedS