Day: May 2, 2025

I beg your jargon

’ll go to Sodom Gomarrah

I’ll get some prayers; rite after death.. whose

I go to Confession; it’s smashin’

I wish we could still buy “Indulgences”

Oh, God, be fair to aged present!

Give me oil for my lamp, keep me burning.

Is desire a sin, and for ” whom”?

We should meet others without memory or desire especially in a “brothel”

He asked for a whore more in bed. I think that’s a misprint

Can’t get up, tired.

Speaks bad English

I am now a ” sinner” having committed more than 1,000 sins right here on my blog pages.

They are called posts officially But we all know about mass deception and wholly disunion.

Against sadness


J

Against sadness:no-one here can weep
Nor lounge about in melancholy deep.
Was Van Gogh senseless to permit his muse.
For his masterpieces ,was the price too steep?
We see the yellow chair but not his views
Nor his mind where technique made such leaps.
Nor was his journey broadcast on the news.
Against sadness.

Happiness or joy is hard to find
When we rest, the News preys 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 in Lancashire again

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