We called the little tree a special name
In the woods where we were wont to stay
A nutmeg tree is rare like porcelain

We loved its hanging branches blue and green
If only it were red it might be grey
We called the little tree a special name

We asked for tea but nutmeg was disdained
I often wonder whether I am gay
A nutmeg tree is rare like porcelain

I have paranoia,I’ve been framed
I want to sell my laughter on E bay
We called the little tree a special name

I split my heart and mind,I sulked in vain
I passed my darling notes so he could pay
A nutmeg tree is fine like porcelain

Then we went to bed and lost our brains
Our nipples froze, stuck on the window panes
We called the little tree a unique name
Like grains of sand, the words we count in vain

A silence rich with love and full of joy;
The silence after waking at the dawn,
Can be both an anchor and a buoy.

Yet often we don’t know what we seek for:
The latest dress, the perfect English lawn?
We forget this marvellous essence, forget joy

We murder by ignoring love’s deep core
We do not see the buds which are newborn.
We want an anchor yet we want our toys.

What is most arresting is the awe
We feel when we see human love again
Find silence rich with thought and full of joy

Out of Nature, its Creator calls
Taking in his arms what caused us pain.
Being both an anchor and a buoy.

The silence underneath the silence calms,
Stills our breathing with reviving balm.
Perfect silence, rich with love and joy
Shall be our anchor and shall be our buoy.

It seemed to me, my vision and my mind
A template to project into the world
Brought you into being by my side.

I miss you, love, so slow the seconds wind.
I crept into the space between the words
I made you in my vision and my mind

Is there only chaos, no design?
Are we dust around the spaces whirled?
I bring you into being by these lines

I smell your skin and see your eyes alive
I move my head but you have disappeared
I feel both from my vision and my mind

Why did all the pit props fall down blind?
I crept beneath black coal, with darkness smeared;
A person alien to humankind.

Who fears death, when life is sharp and hard?
What means love, when no-one else is here?
I imagined you in vision and my mind
Reality is so much more unkind

He writes like an iron bic-ed amateur
He is ill,but literate
A new EU law says women must wear bikinis in Tesco’s or wrestle with unarmed policemen in the Forum.Which do you prefer?
She is literate and beautifully formed
He’s reads swell in any form
I never like to show off my sun gnats.They bite the hand that wrote them
It’s the Sybillines that count
Make sure you do writhe all day to start with
There’s no such thing as a poetic horse.
Remember stress is useful in poetry only
She has a very worried accent.
She asked me was I very foreign.I said I was about two standard abbreviations from the mean.And by golly,they are very mean
Don’t bother about Eugenie’s ass
If you can read and write you can learn a lot of bad things and pass them on to cause more harm and sin

I’ve got writer’s block.
Oh,put your head on it

I have dried up.
Are you a river or a man?
I can’t write
.You lie,my friend.You contradict yourself

I think I am dead.
I kept telling you to stop thinking! Now,stop dying

My eye offends me
Oh,cut it out.

I’m blocked
Get someone to plumb the depths of your mind
What with?
A teaspoon will be enough

Should I pray?
Who can answer that?

Can I wear a hat in Church
Only if you are a Jew.
But they have a synagogue
You are so conceited you could get a synagogue on yours and a mosque as well.Or St Pall’s Cathedrall
You think my head is swollen?
Take some ibuprofen and follow the beat
What beat?
The heart has its reasons and it beats as well
I’ve had enough
Is it as good as a feast?

Don’t keep asking questions
Why not?
Just do as I say
Why?
Not everything has a reason
Why not?

https://www.cnbc.com/2023/09/17/this-is-the-nopoint1-personality-trait-linked-to-living-longer.html

The sky is now pale lilac edged with dark
The trees where small birds sleep are almost black
A mystic may enjoy a vivid spark
Through having senses other mortals lack.

The sky’s more pale than it is darker grey
I see a pink, a blue in clarity
Now it turns as rapid as dismay
Until devoid of such variety.

And darker still ,in grey it edges down
Until it’s less distinct from those large trees.
But with my words to keep me from a frown
Darkness comes and so my words must cease.

A mirror to the outer world in verse
May save us all from wintering with a curse

I wish I were in Lancashire again

Pendle Hill the pike of Rivington

The mountains of North Wales , the Cheshire plain

I will never climb, my legs are gone,

Dear home, the cobbled Street my skipping rope.

The end wall of the house my mother’s face.

The tree she planted and her helpless hope

The love ,the feeling sad, the lost embrace..

I wish I were in junior school once

more

The powdered ink,, the brass the desks of oak

Children’s laughter to the sky can soar,

Skipping fast and how our arms would a àche

I wish I were a child and has no cares

I miss the. Freedom, bonfire night the War

I came to see you leave, it was well done

I saw your faces blurred and indistinct

My eyes were full of tears I had to blink

Where I looked again the train has gone)

Kindertransport helped you to survive

I hope the children in Ukraine will live

I’m a ghost there’s nothing I can give

But tell you that my children are alive

My children have got children of their own

They live in in English towns, they play their games

English both in manners and names

Jewish in the blood and in the bones

I float away to join the other lost

I died and now you live, at what a cost

I breath as softly as a little bird
Like the robin did 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

I wish we were in Silverdale again

The meadow full of flowers,the nettle’s sting

The boarding house,the hedges rich with song..

The sketch pad,ink, the birthday pen

My brother’s humour and his wacky games

I miss his buoyant face, his eyes untamed

At least he’s not in prison doing time.

I liked the way he misprounced my name.

I wish we were on Windermere today

The bouncing sun,the blossoms rich display

Come back now I love you anyway

My heart was stabbed with death,you went away

I saw your shadow cycling in black rain.

May we help each other with the pain?

I wish we were in Silverdale again

The meadow full of flowers,the nettle’s sting

The boarding house,the hedges rich with song..

The sketch pad,ink, the birthday pen

My brother’s humour and his wacky games

I miss his buoyant face, his eyes untamed

At least he’s not in prison doing time.

I liked the way he misprounced my name.

I wish we were on Windermere today

The bouncing sun,the blossoms rich display

Come back now I love you anyway

My heart was stabbed with death,you went away

I saw your shadow cycling in black rain.

May we help each other with the pain?

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2019/jun/03/mental-illness-is-there-really-a-global-epidemic?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

How can it be that he is never here?
How can it be I do not hear that voice
His presence haunts from his old ,battered chair

Though I have money and no need unbare
I feel the grief , the affect of his choice.
How can it be that he is never here?

What is the world when loss turns to despair.
When every sheet by weeping is made moist?
His presence haunts from his beloved chair

Now we learn the symbol of the hare
Unpeaceful, hunted, jugged or potted roast
How can it be that he was ever here?

Into the real we stand and long time stare
We’re begging, blaming,badgered and then gassed
His presence feints with ours in death’s own lairs

Now the world of man has long surpassed
The time we could blame God for what we‘ve missed
How can it be that He is never here?
His absence haunts , symbolic , suffered, real

Curves seem quite unreachable by lines

And differentiation can alarm.

Analyzing love has little charm

Learn instead to read your lover’s signs.

The bitten lip, the tear,the pallor state

A wordless phrase,a touch that conveys warmth..

The narrowed eye, the stare is an a alarm.

Isaac Newton knew the growing rate

I wish I were in Dorset once again

Lyme Regis in the sunshine, in the rain

The little river flowing by the gate

The cafe where we sat but you are late.

The joy in such surprises swells the heart.

The silence in its deepness conquers charts

Absence can be happy as with noise.

All that will remain is our own voice.

On the Cobb I’m nervous all alone.

The wind is fierce and cuts me to the bone.

I d like to draw a map,the Cobb of Lyme

A nest of tangents triggers my design.

Nature did what calculus has learned.

The speed of tiny zeros can alarm

The men who built the Cobb new shape by heart.

The answer seems to be in where you start.

The the waves rolled up the beach and, startled, down

Pulled the shingle made a suffering sound

The script of seashells writes upon my soul.

Yet and yet and yet, I am alone.

No mobile groans are allowed in this hospital.
Please faint on the bed only.Or if pushed,faint onto the nurses’ station.
No lipstick to be worn at night.
Pills must be swallowed your own water.
Do not undress in this cubicle.Undress outside before entry.
Leave your clothes in the bin for people to steal on demand (X ray unit]
Kindly tell us your name before we drug you.
If afraid please report to the nurse paranoia is rampant
.If no night nurse is available please die after 8 am.
If you must have sex in the ward, please do not scream or moan as the other patients may be jealous.
If you have no relations please ask the doctor to oblige when he finishes his rounds.
If you feel weak,do not use your Kindle Fire on the bed
After a heart attack do not resume sex until you get home unless you had the heart attack here in which case please feel free to continue either or both..
Sex is a form of exercise but also can create chaos in public.Try walking instead with or without a partner.
If borderline kindly make your mind up whether you love or hate the doctor
If you have no bosom,you are probably a man.Wards are now mixed so there is no. problem apart from a shortage of braziers.
Cover all your parts before the Royals visit.
Please leave me all your money before you leave the ward when about to pass over
Sex changes by an operation or sometimes naturally.
Are you bored in bed?Get out and walk up and down the corridor to annoy the visitors.
Kindly do not drum your fingers all day.Use a drumstick.
If you have erosive dermatitis, please dry carefully.
If you have an egg please donate now.Fertility counts.
Owing to a world shortage of egg cups,we now use mugs to eat from and saucers for our tea.
Do you have any further problems?Please weigh your words before you start
None of the staff understand the government…so please do not mention Dom Cummings.if you wish to go home on one piece.
Pies are sold in the conservatory.We do not know why.
In fact we know hardly anything but don’t worry,we’ll treat you barbarically anyway.
Be a stoic and accept the NHSl.We all die one day/night
Any tips, feel free.

https://www.healthline.com/health/fitness-exercise/upper-back-pain-exercises#1

I wish I were at Whitby by your side
From the Abbey Steps we saw the.whole
The sound of gulls aswirling round our minds

The atmosphere of Yorkshire blunt and kind
Salty air,the North Sea,winds that groan
I wish I were at Whitby by your side

See the children taking donkey rides
The fishermen look anxious , happy, worn,
The sound of gulls is swirling round my mind

From Saltburn,Staithes to Bempton bold cliffs rise
Then Bridlingon where Hockney was a boy
I wish I were at any by your side

The two weeks break seemed long when we arrived
Now all my past seems like an old map torn
The sound of gulls is calling you to mind

To be in Whitby is to be alone
The pie shop’s open yet I feel forlorn
I wish we were at Whitby side by side
The sun and air, I dream into your mind

Each body cell can widen or contract

Like individual beings, each minute,
Each shows a different world than we expect

With secrecy, new visions may impact
Our hidden mind with metaphor’s astute,
As body cells each open or contract

From our pain, experience distracts.
The mind and heart and soul can each re-route
We see a world more changed than we expect

The world of trust, of relaxation, tact,
Tensions in the mind will soon dispute.
The choir of cells may sing or lose affect

Faith in the unknown, what shows our lack?
Can we reach such faith in minute steps?
We “see” our ” world ” as fierce attack

As glows the candle, at sweet Fire it hints
Let each respond in their own dialect.
Each body cell can widen or contract
We see new worlds, not mirrors dead reflects

The holiday we never had again

In Weybourne, we were happy at the dawn

We saw the sun ascend in tongues of fire

I saw the place where images are formed

From the door we looked straight to the North

The Wash lay to the left,a land of seals.

The high tide carries sand from Yorkshire shores.

Blakeney church now stands up well inland

We had not seen that vision pure before

Driving back through Walsingham,I sang

I learned my own heart from these little ears

There is no need for headphones nor the smart

Let your intuition help you when you steer.

I remember everything you said

Now I am alone in my new bed

Against sadness:no-one old must weep
Nor lounge in a melancholy deep
Was Van Gogh senseless to permit his muse.
For even genius ,is the price too steep?
We see the yellow chair but not his views
Nor his mind where technique made strange leaps.
Nor was his journey broadcast on the news.
Against sadness.

Happiness or joy is hard to find
When we rest, the News lies on our minds
Yet some are cold towards the slaughtered priest
His nose a beak of bone in old face lined
Now Muslims go to Mass and join Christ’s feast
Against sadness.

What rages in the mind make men kill thus?
In Syrian wars the innocents fare worse.
But these are our near neighbours so we weep
And wonder how to end the frightening curse
The sins we once committed hold us deep
We hold our hands out, wanting to be nursed
Against sadness

I wish I were on Hutton Roof again
The limestone and the little open flowers
The sea at Arnside like a distant gem
The spaciousness, like days with far more hours

I wish I were as agile now as then
I’d climb the mountains, hills,the little lanes

Windermere below still winding on
The handsome Lake the old man, Coniston

I wish I were in Dent, the curious shapes
The hills and their deep mystery engross
The height, the little river, the mistakes
The lost loved man alive, to hold me closeI

I yearn to be on Hutton Roof today
The holy smell of grass, the feel of air

The earth has its own gravity and grace
Perception will develop as we grow
Maintain the sacredness of this our space

When we live, we need to find our place
The process may be long and very slow
The earth has its own gravity and grace

The good and bad both need to be embraced
Grace comes easiest to those who’re low.
Maintain the sacredness of this dear space

Good and bad make patterns as in lace
And through the gaps, the living waters flow
The earth has its own gravity and grace

Life must grow at its own steady pace
By our intuition ,we will know
Maintain the sacredness of this dear space

Of the fruits of earth, the living taste.
Admire the flying birds from thrush to crow
The earth has its own gravity and grace
Maintain the sacredness of this dear space

How white and blue together recollect us
to the summer sky and the imagined swallows
darting in exquisite geometry
under the great domed space of the heavens,
like the Basilica in Constantinople
containing and giving space.
And how I held you for a moment that was infinite
and then you were gone like an angel fearing enchantment
into some finite boundaried world

We walked on sea shores with our mates
Though the ocean separates
Now we’re abandoned on the shores
By the loves we’ll see no more

We still stand on shifting sands
Expecting , needing, helping hands
But the people walk on by
And we’re too afraid to cry

Lost in places we once knew
But recognised by very few
Our eyes look out but do not see
Filled by tears we can’t set free

Shall we stay here evermore
Hoping lovers we adored
Are on their way back to their home
As slowly, sadly we still roam?

The sturdy walls that bear the sky
Have been shattered from on high
And feeling smaller than the snails
We hear the long lost sea winds wail

Oh, weep for him and me, wide seas
Embrace our souls in your salt breeze
See the crushed and broken shells
Hear the tolling of the bells

The dentist wants to charge in advance in case I die in the chair

Surely it’s not electric?

Not the first time apparently.

Is it not murder?

I don’t know I’ve never been murdered 

Have you ever committed suicide?

That’s murder too 

So that’s a No?

Yes.

I am going to translate a passage of good English into modern English of the worst sort. Here is a well-I Iknown verse from Ecclesiastes:

I returned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.

Here it is in modern English:

Objective considerations of contemporary phenomena compel the conclusion that success or failure in competitive activities exhibits no tendency to be commensurate with innate capacity, but that a considerable element of the unpredictable must invariably be taken into account.

This is a parody, but not a very gross one.

George Orwell

The brightness of this sweet sunlight,
The songs of birds whose brood take flight.
I love to take such earthly pleasure,
To fill my mind with precious treasure.

The conversations with my friends,
The closeness only death will end,
To share my life with those who care,
How could we have better fare?

Those who suffer pain and grief,
From whom love’s stolen by a thief,
Let us take them to our hearts,
So their healing path can start.

Those who fear friendship and love,
Who set themselves at too low worth,
Do they know how courage grows
Through acceptance of our woes?

Life seems tragic comedy.
Love may be part remedy.
Yet when we give our hearts away
We shall have grief and pain to pay.

But if we lock our hearts up tight,
And keep all feeling out of sight,
We will wither like dead leaves,
Of our whole life we’ll be bereaved.

So choose your path with care and thought;
Never be by lies distraught.
All humans are as gold to me.
With my love,I end my plea.