Signs by the roads of the North

1  Do not stop your car to read this sign.Thank you
2. If you can’t read this sign get your eyes tested~unless you are illiterate
3 This sign is not here till further notice
4.This sign is here but don’t look at it
5  Harald Bluetooth, please call the police.
6.This sign is due to be painted so please take a photograph  of it for future use.
7.This sign  is paid for by the   local hospital to let you know
they have no A & E now.Please drive carefully.
8.Hollow road ahead liable to  flooding
9. This water is dangerous.Please don’t drink it
10 This sign is the last one before Hardknott Pass.Look at the road.Do not panic.Very few cars  have fallen off since Xmas

Harald Bluetooth….Danes ahead

 Oh,longhead Viking, who were my forebears
Eric Bloodaxe,Harald  Bluetooth,Cnut?
Their lady wives as vicious as the men
Who  will  love me true or give the boot?

I blame you not for fearing my hot breath
Yet I am  ancient Roman,British,Welsh
A thousand years have passed, but I am here
With Danish eyes and hair, but bones of Celt

Hence my  double joints and  glaring eye
My golden hair  in trouble with its plaits
My legs are bowed,my feet can terrify
Why not send me  home to   feed the cat

Britain   has succumbed to Viking   blood
We’ve’conquered you again, oh men of wood



The handmade dog

After all the wars,love still endures
Grace comes through the cracks, grace is the cure
Babies born in tents  on wet cold ground
Eerie  through the trees comes labour’s sound

But grace, like rain, needs openness and care
How can these refugees  bear children  here?
We enclose ourselves  in  fictive webs
Netflix,Prime , the BBC, the bed

We do not want to see the sky and stars
Downing gin and cocaine in the bar
We have  plastic lawns and paper flowers
From the   handmade dog to City Towers

There is a door but who can spot it now?
No poverty,no chastity no now

The promised land

Joy sings now in golden light

Though after day comes black of night.

The moon is rising by gray trees

This world is where I want to be.

I want the day, I want the night

I want the day. I want the light.

I want to see and to be seen,

I want to  float into my dreams.

The sun has set , gray clouds turn black,

The day just gone will not come back.

I’ll rest in quiet reverie

Until the Reapers’s scythe takes me.

And then I drop and mix with dust,

As worms and beetles sate their lust.

I fall into ten thousand motes

In  sweet light ,dance music’s notes.

No more more ambition,

No more fighting,nor competition.

Every particle’s the same,

Without even a personal name.

And side by side,we all are one.

The lusts of life have been and gone.

We dwell with dirt and grain and sand

At last we’ve reached the Promised Land

A gargoyle

There seems to be  a mystery inside
That is as big as what is called outside
A world of endless depth, of vision too
As large as all the oceans green and blue

In these depths do monsters swim untamed
Or sacred angels  of the nameless Name?
Is what we see a product of  our needs
And what all humans have, a lonely greed?

Ethics  and our values  make me think
Be careful as you listen not to blink
The  moment when the eye is  closed is short
Yet gives a gargoyle time to make its point

Strange creations, faces  that bring fear
Decorate  cathedrals as they sneer

Menu for breakdown

photo of monumental sculpture
Photo by Spoortesh Honey on

Baked beans on adders ‘ tongues
Adder baked and multiplied  with loaves, no fish left.
Ten lizards doused  in olive oil and brandy [flamed]
Deep fried eels in batter with chips [optional]
Bamboo  and ducks’ legs in a nest {Duck dead}
Roast potatoes  with gingered  leaves and topside
Beans in lentils brewed with whiskey with side salad


Jellied raspberries  and creme faux gay
Transparent loaf  with sardines  teeth  filling
Nail filings on  jumbo strawberries with artifical, artificial cream [ 2 negative may not make a positive]

We’re burnt by love and loss

You smiled at me and then you disappeared
Flying skyward with no hint of fear
Stunned and left behind,I wept  with shock
Deprived by death of one last lingering look

No kiss, no word of love,no last embrace
No  colour and no pinkness in your face
I saw you fly as fast as hawks at prey
I held you in my heart ,I felt dismay

How could you leave me when I need you so
Could you not remain till I too must go?

Death is sad,mysterious,unknown
Once lovers   all complete and now alone

Silently at last we take the pain
We’re burnt by love and loss, that dual frame

I saw your soul like that of a wild bird

Someone other guided me to act
Deep inside my voice had been unlocked
I sang the psalms and then a lullaby
Not aware in thought  that you would die.
I fed you with a teaspoon the mashed fish
From a  plate as good as one might wish
Like a little child you tried your best
You winked at me and gazed  like one who’s blessed
You sat up with  a  brighter  face at last
Then lay back and  God knows all the rest
Oh, don’t go yet ,my darling,I am here
The floor of heaven came down  among my tears
Made of sumptuous satin  golden,dear.
For a little moment it hung low
Then it rose and  took you in its glow
I saw your soul like that of a wild bird
Taken by the Power  who  spoke the  Word
A sheet of tears fell down from my closed eyes
It’s hard ,so hard when those you love  must die

Sienna and dark rose

Muted colours,sienna and dark rose
Lovely mauve and lilac   please my eye
Linen,silk or wool,I love my clothes

 I like to complement,I don’t oppose
The colour wheel rotates as I go by
Wearing colours,sienna and dark rose

I  like colour,all my neighbours know
The “take” on natural fibres makes me high
Linen,silk or wool,I love  their glow

If people gossip, this is not their show
If I seem conceited,  don’t make war
Wearing colours,sienna and dark rose

Now I’m in acrylic, what a blow
Wool is hard to find, the sheep cry Baaaa
I love, fabric, I love  coloured clothes

It matters not if I have burned a bra
Seems a  little  mad, but  there we are
Muted colours,umber and dark rose
Linen,silk or wool, the art of clothes



Books to read or are they?

There’s nowt so queer as foes

The  stuffed wives of Henry the Beast 
The Will of the Mass
The Mad Will
Why be a Catholic,  just to lapse?
Jesus was a wafer with no icecream,I  thought as I  bit him  tenderly
Evening  class: build your own Cross [ wood £89 ono]
By a therapist:I used to suffer badly from  loopholes  and other stories
Clean your own blood: what dialysis means to me now
Everyone else is better than me; a neurosis  lived in real time
How to make your TV smart: do not put vinegar on it yet
I see and hear things noone else does.Genius or Liar?
How to  make your own foot bawl
Sir Oliver’s  Rabble

The War of  the Poses
Mary, been and gone

The mystery of the dark

Come back to me, my sweetheart
Don’t leave me all alone.
Come back to me, my darling
I can’t believe you’ ve gone.
I’m crying ‘cos I’m feeling blue again.
I’m crying’cos I’m falling like a stone.

Oh, let me tempt you with my beauty
And my voice forever young.
Let me tempt you with my spirit
My laughter and my songs.
I’m crying ‘cos I never did you wrong.
I’m crying ‘cos with you I still belong.

I thought maybe I’d follow,
To see where you have gone
But there’s a hand upon this tiller
That is not mine alon
 I’m crying ‘cos I wrote this old blue song.
I’m crying,  I’ve been lonely for too long.

The hand upon my tiller
The mystery of the dark
The unknown one who lives in me
And sings like a skylark.
I’m singing ‘cos I wrote you a new song.
I’m singing ‘cos the cat ain’t got my tongue

My distressed jacket


This was a  photo of a small lake before I played with it


I am sorry I can’t come out.My distressed jacket has just arrived.
Denim,say what you like… you can beat it,distress it, rip it and some idiot will buy it
Distress it yourself.. teach it quantum  mechanics.Or let the dog sleep on it  if and only if you can  sleep by it and sing ,O for the winds of a dove
I can’t come out either.I can’t get my  jeggings off and I need to answer the call of nature.Moo mooo
What made you buy a distressed jacket?
It was half price!
Why can’t  you wear it to come out?
It might cry
Are you crazy?
How would I know?
Are you unwell?
No,I’m Dutch
Like a dyke?
Are you always boring or is it just  the heat?
I have no idea
You can take some of mine.i am full of the.
How much are they ?
How much what are they?Wool?
I mean the cost
Free to all daydreamers
I  like that!

In the dark

No goods nor gold can cross the Styx
The boat is small, by water crushed
The boatman’s ready with his hand
He has no use for such dry land

The woman wrapped in winter clothes
Hindered by the mist that rose
She weeps, she leaves her home and man
The dark mind  showed her where to come

Her  husband  stood beside her bones
In his loss, he softly groaned
He wept and wept and did not eat
His world  entranced by ice and sleet

Nothing’s quite as sad a sight
As old men crying  in the dark

I see a haze of hair on your head

I see a haze of hair on your head
like the softness of just opening leaf buds in spring.
The chemo is over,and you wait relieved and letting that
take you for a while before you start to face the next stage.
Will your Spring turn to a warm enchanting Summer
or has the cancer,as they say “spread.”
Just for now,you’re in that lull
so in three weeks time you will not be
arriving for another session of drugs
and days of sickness.I see the light fuzz which reminds me
of how the cat’s fur grew back after her surgery
and she,being unable to reflect or question,
leaped from the fence top onto next door’s kitchen roof;
no thought in her mind of stitches breaking.
How beautifully the patterned fur returned
and the vulnerable skin was covered again.
Oh,to look into those eyes and see you dream
about mice that live behind the shed
and how you sat watching for hours
and how you were alive till the very last moment.
Then , all of a sudden,you were gone.Pray it will not be so for ,the fragile,loving human
now waiting and living,hoping for what you took for granted…
a  “normal” life span Or maybe just three quarters of one
would be satisfactory;would be a beneficence
such as trees feel when the sap turns and begins to flow back.
bringing life out of the darkness of earth and soil.
And another Summer comes at the right time
and we find it,shall we say,satisfactory.

The skin

Like the adder,I would shed my skin
Extravagant ,new painted colours bright
Then I’d live with snakes,my new true kin

In my wavey life, emotions run
Tempting only other snakes in sight
Like the adder,I would shed my skin

No arms to hug, no bosom,but much fun
Wriggling my whole body in sunlight
Feeling one with snakes,my new  true kin

Once such transformation has begun
We  cannot ride the wind like   children’s kites
Like the adder,we would shed our skin

All other  needs must for this be foregone
Change and breed, for all must hibernate
Then dwell with snakes in burrows where sun’s dim

In the frozen winter,sleep all night
Sleep all day and live without love’s rites
Like the adder,we should shed much skin
The endings of the nerves , life’s   origin



What makes a good poem




blue enclose van during sunset scenery
Photo by sungmu heo on

What Makes a Good Poem?


Patricia Hubbell. Black Earth, Gold Sun. Marshall Cavendish, 2001. City Kids. Marshall Cavendish, 2001.

“Prose = words in their best order; Poetry = the best words in their best order”—Coleridge said it, and I believe it. Poetry IS about words—their precision, texture, beauty (and ugliness). Prose is about words, too, but not in the same way. Prose is about the bigger picture. The canvas is bigger and so are the brushstrokes. A good poem, whether narrated by a character or by the poet her/himself, uses words wonderfully, and it uses them to capture specific moments in a fresh way, a way that makes the reader exclaim with delight, “Yes, that’s it! That’s right!”

A good poem may also ask philosophical questions. In its condensed form, poetry gives these questions an immediacy, a great power to startle and grab the imagination. Poetry is great for asking—and sometimes answering—those questions that come to you just as you’re falling asleep.

Into the eye of love itself

The roses by your gate
Revealed my sweet fate:
That I would love you in summertime,
That my poetry would always rhyme,
That a dream of petals falling from above
Would drench us both with sunshine’s golden love;
That we would fall into deep grassy meadows
Full of daisies,lie on our backs.Swallows
Darting across the sky would see
Our shapes intertwined with bright buttercups.
Who knows when love will erupt
And carry us on its flowing waters
To places unreachable in summer saunters?
Into the eye of love itself

Accelerating into madness

close up photography of cat
Photo by Amir Ghoorchiani on

Who owns the weapons of mass extinction?
The Queen has been raining since 1954 at least
Brtain  is a mock-democracy.
We sell instruments of torture to keep the Economy entranced
Across the  globe people are  locked up without trial  but has it made the
 world safer?
You can kill one Osama but there are others.Why not use the power
of reason?  Why not  think? Why not wonder?
It’s madmen  playing games to make their names