Avocado stare with prophecy and police caution
Melon and brain salad. Fresh brains daily
Carrot and Squeak soup. Sorry we have no screams today
Battered beans all aching on fresh moans
Casserole of jam with funny broken bones .
Salmon and duck eggs in steam chamber

Cheese sauce on white mice and immigrant children. (None black yet.)
Fishcakes and celery hearts with bullet holes. Very Pretti
Vegetarian man just shot with pearl barley and foreign spices
Hot spiced police with pasta laws
Chilli thief and barmaid
Seven pear trees with roasted root canals
Icecream and sausage jelly on custard pond. Bloody Sunday

Shoulder,breast very Renee Good and sweet lamb toast with bloody butter

Crazed marauders with ginger cat, well bred. Recently shot with stolen handgun

And why not have a drink of a special coffee

Mau mau brew with apartheid screams

No torture is allowed in the coffee shop please go outside first.

short-eared durham owl
meditating over the dale’s edge,
shadows the fields and folds
in elegant diurnal flight.
on wind-side,careful sight,
may swoop to prey
and away.

your yellow broad-eyed look,
at once both sharp and distant,
holds me.
oh,silence,
oh,wind on green,
oh,earth,
sky.

immense your held vision,
sphere without center,
pied geometer of flight,
oh, swift descent and ascent.
trees bunched by dry stone wall
call heart home

 

Whirling in the winter wind, dead leaves
Dry and brown and broken ever more
Send their substance to the souls bereaved

People pray and yet do not believe
Christ was born and angels him adored
On the winter wind float dying leaves

By our spirits may we be deceived,
Even in the heart’s quiet hidden core,
Sharing presence with all us bereaved?

Look into the sun and fire perceive
Power destroys the lives of all its whores
On the wind float lingering, burned out leaves

For men of power think God  can be deceived
Yet even kings will die despite their force
To lie in marble graves, of love bereaved

Wrapped in cloths of linen, cream and coarse
With no coffin, Jesus high is borne
With the wind, with ashes , with dead leaves,
The photons of his love light hearts bereaved

In my dreams I travel deep and low
Into the loving world of long ago
The jacket on the chair ,it smelled of smoke……
The funny tales, he sang, he laughed, he spoke

So faint the memory, strong are its remains
Security and love in our domain
The brushes and the stipplers all stood by
For no-one told his tools that he would die.

On his shoulders, like a queen I rode
So safe and happy on the path he trod.
His voice was clear and he could whistle too
In those days men were used to do

 

And  love shone from him on my mother dear
She smiled and made us cakes for Sunday tea
What  tragedy to leave  his children five
But in that distant space ,he is alive

The fire as red as any glowing rose
We were dressed so well in  home made clothes
Too happy, needing no words to relate
Our sense of being in this  generous space

I can’t get back to them, I cannot swim
The passages too wet , the light so dim
Yet I feel it in my body faint and clear
Death is not the end of those so dear.

Deep inside our minds, ancestors live
And   to out hearts a depth and breadth they give
Yet missing him,I hover near the place
Where I might dive into his dear embrace

The  table where we  banged our little heads
The chairs so close together like a bed
The teapot  always full, the sugar bowl
The fire, the kettle , pussy cat and coal

The fireplace had its oven  nice and warm
Looking at hot coals made me feel calm
The children seem to play in that   far space
And all around  is love  and on  and on I gaze

https://www.ecoticias.com/en/psychology-suggests-that-the-loneliest-people-in-life-are-not-usually-the-outcasts-but-rather-those-kind-competent-and-always-available-individuals-whom-everyone-values-but-whom-almost-no-one-call/30813/