My sister oh my sister do not die

I feel that I still need you in my world

And Rivington we saw the larks upfly

Anglezarke the reservoir still swirled

Fresh water for old Liverpool’s

supply

I cannot go to Rivington alone

Nor Scotchmans Stump to see birds little bones

Once we lit a fire by a stream.

I’d like to go there now my love my queen.

Sturdy and determined she would climb.

Take the bus to Horwich it’s nearby

We saw ripe elderberries full and fine

In the distance Winter Hill stood high

The highest hill about so high austere

I won’t take you there sweet Eileen dear

My sister came when I was two years old
Born into an icy winter cold
Her little face was full of sunny joy
As we played with dolls and our stuffed toys.

We lined up all our dolls in rows by size
The large ones at the back had blinking eyes
We played with an old dog on little wheels
It had no fur but still held great appeal

Dad lifted Eileen and held her very high
My little one, my darling don’t you cry
But all too soon the family turned sad.
Mother was not Mother without Dad

We survive and love and live our best
Life is hard but may we all be blessed

Distracting thoughts harass my heart and mind.

Like gnats that dance on ponds in bright sunshine

In the deeper waters there are fish.

How to tempt them to my little dish?

The gossips have no wisdom, they are fools.

Idle thoughts are idle, they misrule

Do not converse with your own idle thoughts

Wait in peace for wisdom has a heart

Gossip has a function in a street.

Gives us bored old folk sweet meats.

Do not introduce your careless hate.

As ,hidden in the Shadows, Satan waits

Quietly drowning in the rivers deep

The inner guide will help you dream to sleep.

Shedding tears there’s nothing much to say

Everybody dies in their own way

While we’re healthy we can bawl and shout

Serious illness makes us feel afraid

Conscious of the messes we have made

Remember birthdays and the bag of cards

When they’ve died it feels so cruel so hard.

We like to think we’ve got a chance for Grace

We cant know the time of death or place

Our house is for sale it looks so small.

The vestibule has gone there is a hall

I can’t believe the other people dwell

In a place that we lived in so well

We had no inside toilet we felt cold

Menstruation bleeding we were bold

So we look at photographs with care

But still we see no toilet anywhere

The one outside has disappeared from view

Whatever do these people have to do?

Excretion is a nuisance for us all

But go on sweetheart let your sad tears fall

For rears are clean and will not do as harm

Uric acid rarely has much charm

The  white clouds look too real

It makes them seem artificial

The sun is making them glow,nor healthily eitherm

They add a certain ornate beauty to the sky

I wish to know that had not built the extension to their kitche

They don’t even seem to be there now

Why did they bother?

There’s a tiny cloud like a left behind baby

Or a squirrel.

There’s a West wind now and it’s very strong.

I’d like to go outside but I can’t.

My sister is ill. The Impossible death

Now seems imminent

It’s alright for the clouds they have no hearts.

I still have mine but maybe one day it will just give up

Too many dying people around

And the politicians don’t help

I wonder where they find them now

Maybe under an artificial rock at Southport

The lamp posts scream with laughter

I wonder where my mother is but there’s no way to find out

One day I will die as well

That’s all we need to know

The sun burned in the mirror of the loft

The window crimson like  the Scotch Queens hair.

No hallucination,  vision true

I saw the heart of nature red and bare

The violence of the dawn gave me great joy

The world’s not prim and pretty it is fierce

It burns our eyes . It drives away our dreams

If we see such dawn our hearts are seared.

For me the world will end with my own death

But while I am alive I feel its joy

The sun burns up the waste of mind and heart .

While why we are on earth we are its toy.

I saw the sun rise in your window

pane

Such a sunrise may not come again

My sister’s eyes are sea green and deep

Like pools in the Irish sea off the coast off Anglesey.

Moelfre where she swam ,despite the cold,

Like a small seal.Night times I told her stories,

She lay and dreamed them till schooltime

But we grew beyond my storytelling

When adolescence drew us apart.

Years later

As I sat with her child

At my knee,

Weaving stories for her

Around the Russian horse

From the antique shop in Aldeburgh,

I saw my sister leaning towards us,

Her green eyes full of long-lost yearning.

I realised she was still my loving little sister,

From long, so long ago, her green eyes,

In the deep caves of her inner sea ,filled with longing.

I felt she wanted to get back

Into the magic circle

Of the arms of the mother we

No longer had to hold us.

So, I took her inside my heart,

And hold her  there always