When I returned up home when I was grown

The whole street seemed so small, it puzzled me

Adults need so much, we cannot see 

The richness of this tiny world forlorn.

A little child will love each stone and crack

Attention and desire are never short

Even to the sweets our pennies bought

We know our little world from front to back.

When we hurry on and do not breathe

We cannot see the world but we don’t know

On and on and on our sick brains go.

We do not lie but yet we are deceived.

The heat will slow us down we droop like flowers.

I know again my childhood, such sweet hours.

https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/health/wellness/g65079563/hobbies-that-will-make-you-happier/

I remember how the heat felt down in Kent 

The flowers beside the cafe gleamed like dawn

How I see the colours  smell the scent

All was new and fresh the world reborn.

Sometimes sun and heat may make us still.

We cannot hurry on in search of more

And acting from our nature, not our will

We feel at one with weeds and small wild flowers.

The blind man closed his eyes to see the scene.

He smelt the nectar, heard the little bees

And life was then as real as our best dream.

Floating with the small birds on the breeze.

I’m happy bto be slow and feel embraced

By nature and the sun with golden face

We lived in an end of terrace house. From the top of the street to our house the road was covered in tarmac and from our house downwards it was cobbled. My mother said it was because it was three different parishes but secretly I thought it was because  our house was very important

I like the cobbles because there was tar in between them and in the hot weather the tar would melt and we could pick it up and play with it.

In the summer we wore bathing suits.Sunburn was not regarded as bad

There was still quite a lot of TB and also polio. So sunshine was healthy although we often used to get burnt backs. Not to mention damage to our faces.

1953 was a hot year and my father was dying. I was outside playing on the cobblestones or playing with my skipping rope etc

I think we have the coronation as I remember a party at the bottom of the street where the cobbled part of the road met the main road going to St Helen’s.

None of my siblings came with me so I felt lonely not knowing what a coronation meant in practical terms apart from the Queen being crowned

Now the brickfield and the clay quarry has been filled in and they’ve built new house is over it

They used to be allotments prices were some men kept hens

Then as people got cars they closed the allotments and built ugly garages them

The convent and  the school that I went to closed and now this is a housing estate so my sister told me. She was very happy that the school was knocked down. So was I

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/d841ff52-49bf-460e-bcac-4bf19d8f6a94?shareToken=20d171d4553337834a6ffe88d5ae92e7

Words can help buoy you up. Making every minute count. Making memories. Only the snobbish and arrogant, the ever so healthy, mock aphorisms as trite. When things seem impossibly gloomy, when I don’t think I can take much more bad news, I turn to another wicked old friend. In the past I called her the emphysemic pit pony, because she has short legs and used to wheeze when she pushed my wheelchair uphill. That was long ago, before getting old became unavoidable and before I bought a power chair for going any distance. Now she’s over 70, still has short legs, still smokes one roll-up a day and employs the most dogged, brilliant, multipurpose saying of all:

Every day above ground is a good day.

In our yard, we had a dog on wheels.

Its fur was almost gone,it was so worn

I sat upon its musty back,my steed.

I thought that he looked sad, he looked forlorn

In that house my grandma lived and died

My father was a child it was his dog

Rich as grass in meadows was its fur.

The rusty wheels were bright and pierced the fog

I see the yard the coal shed and the lav.

The green back gate my grandad coming in

The shed where bikes were piled up in a rush.

The cat jumped  up so fast on the ash bin

Dad went off then grandad went off too.

I see them coming home in polished shoes

You might be poor but still you could look neat

A Sunday coat,best shoes on polished feet

God has been replaced by our machines

We worship them all week, no Sabbath day

No need for leisure nor  the fallow field

No unconscious mind, no grace, no play.

No wonder little children want their phones.

They need to worship like their parents do.

Unlike God, machines can be controlled

Everything is fine, till dogs miaow.

Before the metal and the wire bow down.

Clean your Lord with disinfectant blue.

Keep all his brethren clean no need to pray

Meditations just another clue

Give your washing one more spin tonight

Eventually you’ll see that glowing light

My bonsai beech has blended with  the yew
And in it   little wrens have made a nest
A robin, so much  bolder,passed by too
In late spring the birds make us feel blessed

As a child I had no garden home
The  girls and boys  with balls and ropes make play
I laugh to think we went out with no phones
The cobbles in the  road held marbles stray

We had no trees,we had coal mines and mills
My aunties’ faces lined and worn  still smiled
With their sugared tea were bitter pills
Each a  single tear shed  by   the  Christ

Arsenic and opium combined
Which will win the contest for our minds?

 

Hello Katherine are you going to Mars on Sunday?

I was wondering about an evening bath.

Are you going listen to Beethoven’s trial in sombrero?

What about Mozart’s clarinet twin set?

I want to get a new sinful coat in the gales

Where is your mouse truncated?

He says who wants to paint your balls?

I hope he will change the sea lion.

What about the Hunt bore,

It’s illegal to count boxers.

Is your dog a large warrior?

Have you possibly exams on your whores?

I guess I was tight 

What sort of fear do you like?

Who wrote about the finality of evil,?

Can I have my own Korea?

What do you think of speech to vexed in 5 words?

What do you think of a bird being banned?

Could the Red Sea divide again?

What about Solomon’s twinkle?

https://www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2014/04/why-teaching-poetry-is-so-important/360346/

More complex than our mind is nature green

The River Lea still murmurs as it flows

Waltham abbey, Eleanor her cross

In the sun, the kingfisher still glows.

Through the fields the river sings her song.

There are grassy banks where we once rolled.

Where is now our innocence of heart?

The shepherd guides the flock into the fold.

In the abbey crypt the sacred dwells

Near the yew trees and King Harold’s grave.

Once there would have been the sound of bells

And in-our hearts we felt that Jesus saved

Let the world receive the humble child.

Who can see the gods in,this world wild?

https://poemanalysis.com/william-butler-yeats/coole-park-and-ballylee/

https://poemanalysis.com/william-butler-yeats/the-wild-swans-at-coole/#

The pure in heart shall see their God one day.

With  love’s intention clear they offer prayer

Yet God will not talk big like Donald Trump

God will whisper what he has to say

Is no one listening for that voice today?

God is tramped on as the high priests pray.

The bombs to stop all future bombs are stumped

There is no future where no children play

I remember Xmas ’46.

the glowing coal,the sugar bag,the sticks

The boys had fairisle jumpers in pure wool

The golden cup of happiness was full

In the flames I saw bright dancing shapes

oh happy infant ,love, oh happy state.

on a Xmas tree were hung the chocolate coins

in the crib I saw Lord Jesus born

My sister too was soon to leave the Womb

Next time she would be there in the room

Her Celtic face was round her eyes were green

Rarely did she cry,Allanah, Queen

This was Eden,this was all our joy

Come back Love,do not our lives destroy.

I could have spent much time in studying ice

The thin pools  on the pavement froze like stars

Reflecting light from street lamps would suffice

I  was late for school, it wasn’t far.

I  knew each crack, the depth of pools, the shape

Like the mother’s body, studied, loved.

When the water froze my eyes would gape

Along would come my brothers with a shove.

I knew each brick each stone, each clean doorstep.

There was no time for me to stop and stare

I feared the rage of teachers and the priest

I neglected life, took no time to rest

Adults seemed much worse than ravenous beasts.

The little world is spoiled when they “know best’

Potential pleasure and the painter’s joy

Sacrificed to “learning”, love destroyed

Ray Queer’s cat’s in parquet

Request cats get parts t’.

I forgive you your twins. But you must be a virgin when you can.

All unmarried versions please report to the press bitterly

Guardian angels leave heaven on sight.

Cheerio, Elaine’s son

Hail glorious St Hat Trick.
Lord, it’s hearsay.
Lord, I’m worser
Forgive all dear trespassers.
Blessed is the foot of thy broom.
Pay for us now and the whore at our death.
I believe in none,God.
The communion of tyrants

Criminals will be persecuted in rhyme
.
Jesus wants me for his angels.
The Ten Demanding Torments are here.
Have you paid for your wrecks yet?
For all the saints who laboured at their tests
For all the painted ghosts
Remember man my heart tart is frost
Ash to ash,dust if you must
Forgive us an hour’s trespassing and we shall be in heaven
Please do as you would have fun by.

Do you resent both your sins ?

You are not allowed any descent from the church.

Why do we have to start by saying 

prey Father?

I have committed five mortal sinners  to the asylum. They will be put on rhythm if they are bipolar magnets.

What does it mean?

Why can’t we use table salt instead of lithium?

Alternatively we could put lithium on the table instead of sea salt.

I say, I think that’s really disgusting.

I said you’ve got the wrong adjective.

How do you know when you’ve got the right one?

Like skittles struck by well aimed iron balls

One by one, my friends, my siblings fall

Who will be the last to meet their death?

The great wheels of the engine grind the path.

The young will not desire to meet the old

And so we lie down sick and grow more cold

Everything is taken every cell

I hope with gratitude I shall die well

Remember how our breathing slows right down

When we see a small bird close at hand

We want the happy moment to expand

To feel the greenness, and in that greeness drown

Our breathing is much faster in the town

Our hearts will beat as fast as Previn’s hands.

We lose our mind and body, their demands.

  We walk through traffic like damned clowns

See the human faces as they frown

They each update their phone,a thousand pounds!

They will park and ride the underground.

To Mayfair with a credit card and crown.

We need to create new memories that last.

In Dedham Vale the wild geese still fly past

Words can’t match the flowers so happy here.

Take love to your own heart,a souvenir

The poet can sing until you feel you’re real

The love of beauty helps the heart to heal

I saw my house uprooted like a tree

Great roots were severed, how I ached to see

And all was tossed without my love and care

Bits of earth fell from the roots. now bare.

Barbaric in its mad intensity

I wept the tears of grief for you, for me.

Our home attacked,destroyed and I lie here.

Putting out the flames with profuse tears

Lamenting for my love who died within

The collapsing of my world now with no sun

The house a symbol of our marriage true

Cannot stand without a me and you

So my vision passed and I am here

My memories are my only souvenir

I wish we were in Daisy Street again

Play cops and robbers, children’s games.

Skipping with a rope, reciting rhymes.

Rolling marbles, finding walls to climb

Going to the park,we liked

There may be other meanings to your words

The words you keep the words that you discard

The one you meant to write, the one I heard

The way you punctuate, the way sound blurs.

The ones that might be soft, the ones so hard.

There may be other meanings to your words

Some pierce like swords, some are   diamond hard

The words you meant to write, the ones I heard

The way the kettles sang, the way cats purred.

The words that open doors, the ones that bar.

There may be other meanings to your words

The way the cookie crumbles, paper chars

The ones you meant to write the ones I heard

We don’t know what we say,l when life’s absurd

My recipes from books, how mother stirred

There may be other meanings to your words

Why write poetry when your phone’s not charged?

Can patience be alluring in our age?

There may be other meanings to your words

The ones you meant to write the ones I heard

I lost myself in books and in wild flowers

I lost myself in you,oh joyous hours.

But now I cannot lose myself, I fight

My presence to myself,  a heavy weight.

My skin became like armour, my defence

No flowing into others as was once.

The joy of losing  all my sense of self

Now I see this as a source of wealth.

I became all others yet still me

I felt the human kinship I could see

To feel yourself and not an alien thing.

How is life renewed how shall we sing?