Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

He said he  never wanted to be me again.

 

 

Collared-Doves-2020-1Well,you weren’t  so ugly when we got married.
I never said  anything about men’s chests.I was playing  with Chess men
I wonder why  I am so inferior.There’s always one thing I can’t do brilliantly
Yes,I do love you but only in the dark.The Wedding was a terrible shock,seeing you in a dress.
I never criticised you.Why are you so paranoid?
He said he  never wanted to be me again.
He  loves me when I go away; when I come back he is furious,What’s  not going on ?
My mother told me I was not like other people.Which other people?
I wanted to be a doctor once, but dissection was easier in mathematics
His hands ran all over my body like mice  chased by a tiger
He said I was so beautiful he was frightened I might  get married before he was 18.
Why am I so jealous of my twister?
I love her and I miss her.
My aim  is bad but is it immoral?
We can’t all be bottom of the class.
I learned to talk at home with no lessons.Free apart from poor mother’s milk.
I stood up and went to the window.They all shouted: she’s walking
What a pity Dad didn’t stay alive as I liked riding on his shoulder
Where is Dad,Mum?
I hope I’ll see him one day

I didn’t say your eyes looked calculating

I am so sorry I was rude to you.You remind me of Stalin,but it’s not your fault
No offence intended.When I intend it , it is much more severe.
I  regret being unemployed.I do love you but 24 hours is too long.You could get a job
Give me some peace.Emigrate. 
I never said I loved you except when I was high
I know cooking is hard work but I am  an MP
I didn’t say your eyes looked calculating.I said I was calculating how to keep up    spending when I lose my seat
No,I’m Morris Johnson
How should I know how many children I have? Babies can’t talk
Are you Michael Gove? I really  regret meeting you.
What does Gove mean?

In green thoughts I dwell.

Small rain in summer
Pools on large green leaves,
Makes all birds dumber
Silently they weave.
Wrens fly to and fro
Nesting near the house.
They know where to go
With nestlings and spouse.
Simple life of green
Hiding in lush leaves.
A space to be unseen
Humans only grieve.
Where is our safe space?
Where can we live well?
As anguish veils the face
In green thoughts I dwell.

A and E and Kafka

 

 

img_20191122_203051I had to got to hospital today.Getting out of A and E into the street was like   something
from Kafka.”Use other door”  when there is none.Finding an Exit with 2 sets of doors.The first ok the 2nd both locked.And all deserted…. eerie.
Getting into a cab was also hard as the injury is on my foot.Still aftee so many weeks of Lockdown it made a change.I decided not to get a drinks

The pain seems worse now ; the nurse admitted it’s hard to treat foot injuries.But  it t takes my mind off the other pains.Like  rolling in nettles  which Romans used to do

The coke party

 

Photo by Marta Dzedyshko on Pexels.com
Photo by Phenyo Deluxe on Pexels.com
Photo by Barbara Webb on Pexels.com

Godzilla of the White House

 

Excerpt

 

Their excuses for Trump’s actions had the character of Freud’s famous story of the man accused by his neighbour of having returned a borrowed kettle in a damaged condition: I returned the kettle undamaged; it was already damaged when I borrowed it; I never borrowed it in the first place. Indeed, lawmakers who at first acknowledged an improper quid pro quo but insisted that it did not constitute an impeachable offence, quickly backed off from that heresy. Suddenly the story was, “There was no quid pro quo!” – or, rather, “Of course there was a quid pro quo, but it was completely proper, even laudable!” Or simply, “I’m not even going to discuss what the President did because this whole impeachment thing is a partisan travesty”.

 

Eating crotchets

Avocado and rose petal soup £2
Bean and  wasp mousse £4
Baked beans on Jew’s harp plus  omelette £3
Stiff eggs in green jelly [dyed] £25 or nearest offer
French dressing with pure olive oil free
Italian Wine free to all

Free bread and butter,tea and   cake

Plate £56 [ please wash and return]
Cutlery £.50 [non-returnable]

 

Swing the lead

 

 

Pamianthe-peruviana_2020-2Do you dislike being all alone?
Should you take your shoes off at home ?
What is the contention in a bone?
Does your shampoo  produce  excessive foam?

Do you like to kiss your cat  at night?
Have you ever seen a golden light?
Do mosquitos love us when they bite?
What is more important than insight?

Do you read  a book or swing the lead?
Do you like to charm your  friend in bed?
Do you   remember what your Mother said?
Why are wizards mentioned when they’re dead?

The cat was killed by  curiousity
I wish he’d kepy a diary for me

Found food in bed

 

 

photo of clown holding tambourine
Photo by Nishant Aneja on Pexels.com a

Menu

Sausages from trash
 Guttered Eggs 
Road hog on green bread
Mein mutter Eggs 
Scraped weetabix on bed of wooden pegs and lice

Deaths

Over-ripe peaches stuck in throat
Swallowed a button inside a salmon steak.Two for one.
Tried to thread needle while standing on   own head
Fell out of bed onto a sharp wife
Dreamed was being buried so died of shock
Asked for cremation owing to drug habits.Died when in urn or before

Save money.Be buried alive…. join now.

Thin black man

Yiou touched my heart,delivering my parcels
Thin black man from Trinidad
Not smug and conceited in a grey suit
Still polite because your ancestors were slaves
Who could be kicked or even killed
Yet in you it seems a virtue
Creating space for grace
Or for evil.
I’d like to hold your arm and talk
But you’re running off
More deliveries
Good you have a job
Hope all goes well for you
Smiling face like God on day release
From power
Sin
Blindness

 

It seemed a good idea at the time

 I studied numbers,sequences and rhymes
Connections,patterns in between the lines
It seemed a good idea at the time

 Unfortunately,  with study, we use mime
We see   beneath the surface to the crimes
I studied numbers,sequences and rhymes

Whenever  I was found, I  took the  blame
 The clock gave  more than twenty thousand chimes
Life seemed a good idea all the time

Humiliation, sadism,torture,fame
We share the blasphemy  that God will smile
Life seemed a good idea at the time

How the world is full  of rebuffs yet  beguiles
Enough,I’ll give it one more finite trial
I studied numbers,sequences and lies
I joined the Secret Service,I’m a spy

Your menu

 

 Lockdown

Corned beef  and hot fried tinned peaches  with free tin opener
Bacon grilled by the SS
Cream on hot cross buns, fried bananas with grating cheese noise on a CD
Parts of my broken tooth  with quick macaroni buttered and bred [I will send photo of tooth which broke last week and more just snapped off
Rice and pasta with pig’s head on pig’s body [alive]
Bread on toast
Cake  with tuna fish on bed of Weetabixbnd
Sugar and butter sandwich
Sugar on wafers [ not from Church]
Hot tea and long life milk [now 67 years old]

I apologise for loving you too much 

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I miss the cat and the newspaper

I apologise for loving you too much 
We never learned to balance the see-saw
In modern times the lovers should go Dutch

Two lonely   lovers with  a single crutch
Each one having many curious flaws
I apologise for loving you too much

What ever did I do to merit touch?
Then I was too careless with the salt
In modern times the lovers should go Dutch

We should measure what we speak at lunch
Then we weigh the sentences that spilt
I apologise for loving you too much

Maths and stats are useful in the lurch
Equality of signs and numbers,bills
In modern times the lovers should go Dutch

,

Let the mouth be silent, keep quite still
Love is rarely used when writing Wills
I apologise for loving you so much 
In modern times  we lovers cannot touch

 

 

The strange world of Stan

K 
Art by Katherine

While Mary boiled the kettle in the new greenish blue painted kitchen,Stan smacked his thick red lips.
“I thought we said, we’d have no more corporal punishment,” she murmured loudly.”
Why did you smack your lips just now?”
“Well,I can hardly smack yours” he said politely
“But we said no more smacking at all yesterday”
“I just like the noise” he confessed, turning as red as a stalk of ripe rhubarb.
“Sado-masochism may be fun, but after reading,Fifty Glades of Fray,I thought we said we’d abandon it”
“Well,why don’t we abandon ourselves to our bodies or divine providence?” he answered curiously.
“I am unsure if one can do that on purpose or if it just happens whilst doing something else.”
“Elser than what?”
“I dunno” the Oxgrudge educated woman replied sheepishly .
“The Government didn’t give you a three year research grant so you’d say,I dunno” Stan told his slender and silver haired wife and lover.
“Well,that’s their problem.Three years studying Searat’s equation did nothing for my spoken English” the brilliantly brained brown haired and eyed bonny bosomed  beauty told him shrewdly.
“Well,are there rats in the sea?
“I dunno”
“So who wrote the equation?” Stan asked her.Immediately in a peevish tone
the door bell rang.
“Hello,Mary,It’s me” cried Annie their naughty neighbor and man magnet
“No,it’s not”
“What do you mean?”
“You never invented Searat’s equation”
“Pardon me for living,”Annie answered rudely.
”I prefer peeling potatoes to this noisy argument.”
“I never knew potatoes pealed”
“Yes,it’s like little bells ringing” Mary informed her kindly
Oh,for God’s sake,”Stan shouted quietly,”that’s Emile’s bell ringing so the birds can escape from him”
The women went red all over with shame.Annie ran into the kitchen and poured a bucket of cold water over her head.
It’s this hot weather;it’s too much.I need a man now!I am mad with desire.
No,it’s just that mid life madness coming too late,she told herself gently
It’s too hot to make love anyway.
Why you must be getting old,she remarked to herself confidently
Heat never turned you off before.Why you once said you’d lie down in the road and sleep with the next man who passed by.
Unfortunately he passed by on the other side,just like in the Bible.
But in my case no Samaritan came to my aid.
“Am I having a mental breakdown/” she shouted pensively
“No,it’s me” Stan told her,I am trying to stop Mary smacking her lips but it is hard work. and it has create a bad atmosphere.”
“Is it wrong to smack your own lips?Can you morally smack someone else’s?” Annie said wonderingly
“Why do you ask me that?”
“Well,it seems lots of things are wrong if one does them alone but are moral if you do it with someone else or to someone one else”
“I just have no idea what you are talking about,”Mary called valiantly.
“Make me some tea.My lips are parched!”she continued
“No wonder,”said Stan vivaciously
Well,thought Emile,I am glad cats have no lips.That’s one thing less to worry about.
He sat up and drank some tea from his china saucer
Stan and the ladies sat quietly on the patio watching the birds flying about.
“Do birds ever get obese?”Mary asked.But answer came there none.
Night fell and they all went to bed together,Emile says there is safety in numbers and I find thirty is a safe number to share my bed.I write 30 on a postcard and pop it under my pillow.With my dentures and my hanky and four mobile phones
I seem to manage the night.

And so shout all of us

Yet underneath long sorrow there is joy

A strange flawed beauty  caught my naked eye
As if some  monstrous beast is hiding near
Where deep rose clouds   hang from a darker sky

Now the rose has gone and all is grey
The night will fall and sorrow is our fare
A  shattered beauty caught by mirrored eye

Yet underneath  night sorrow there is joy
The wisdom of the  ages  does not stare
Though deep rose clouds   hang from a darker sky

Now I see some gold spread unalloyed
The artist we can worship ,love, revere
 Beauty, fearless, caught  in mirrored eye

Nature in her way will never lie
Yet she can kill  what humans   hold most dear
While deep rose clouds   hang from a near night sky

In the clouds of sadness faces leer
Hallucinations look but cannot jeer
Such beauty ,numinous ,affects my eye
While deep rose clouds  sing from a darkening sky

 

 

Igor Levit–pianist who streams

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2020/05/18/igor-levit-is-like-no-other-pianist

Extract:

n March 10th, the German pianist Igor Levit played Beethoven’s Third and Fifth Piano Concertos at the Elbphilharmonie, the hulking concert complex in Hamburg. It was his thirty-third birthday and, it turned out, his last public concert for many weeks. The next day, Angela Merkel, the German Chancellor, delivered a dire warning about the scope of the looming coronavirus pandemic, and performance spaces began closing across the country. At the time, Levit had a full schedule before him. He had recently issued a boxed-set recording of Beethoven’s thirty-two piano sonatas, and was playing Beethoven cycles in several European cities. He was also preparing to tackle an arcane colossus of the piano literature—the seventy-minute Piano Concerto by the early-twentieth-century composer-virtuoso Ferruccio Busoni, a hero of his.

“That next day, the eleventh, was kind of a shock day,” Levit told me recently, in a video call from his apartment, in Berlin. “On the twelfth, I was shopping in a grocery store, and I had this thought: What if I live-streamed a gig?” He peered into his phone with a grin. He is a trim young man with sharp features, a high Mahlerian hairline, and a thin growth of beard. He was wearing a T-shirt that read “Love Music Hate Racism.” He speaks rapidly and incisively, his English nearly as good as his German. Sometimes he seems more mature than his years, poised and oracular; at others, he comes across as an antic, restless member of his digital-native generation.

Levit went on, “When I got home, I did what I usually do, which is to throw a thought into the public arena without thinking about any consequences. I went on Twitter and said, ‘O.K., I’m going to play for you guys tonight at my place.’ After having tweeted that, I realized, Hang on—I’ve never streamed anything, I know shit about streaming, I don’t even know if Twitter allows thirty minutes of streaming, I have no camera stand. I had a total panic. I was sending messages to friends: ‘Do you know how streaming works?’ And this tweet was already out there. It was a catastrophe. I ran to the last electronics store that was still open, and got some stuff for twenty-four euros.”

I saw Levit’s tweet and tuned in. The setting was familiar, because I had met with him there the previous summer. He lives in a spacious, airy, sparely decorated apartment in the Mitte neighborhood of Berlin, with plate-glass windows overlooking a park. His instrument is a 1923 Steinway B that once belonged to the great Swiss pianist Edwin Fischer. At 7 p.m., Levit pressed the Record button on his smartphone and trotted in front of his newly acquired home-Webcasting equipment, dressed casually in a black-and-gray pullover shirt and black pants. He gave a brief introduction, in German and English: “It’s a sad time, it’s a weird time, but acting is better than doing nothing. Let’s bring the house concert into the twenty-first century.” He then tore into Beethoven’s “Waldstein” Sonata, in a fashion typical of him—precipitate, purposeful, intricately nuanced. It was an imposing structure aglow with feeling.

“Joy and woe are woven fine”

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43650/auguries-of-innocence

Auguries of Innocence

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour
A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage
A Dove house filld with Doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thr’ all its regions
A dog starvd at his Masters Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State
A Horse misusd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fibre from the Brain does tear
A Skylark wounded in the wing
A Cherubim does cease to sing
The Game Cock clipd & armd for fight
Does the Rising Sun affright
Every Wolfs & Lions howl
Raises from Hell a Human Soul
The wild deer, wandring here & there
Keeps the Human Soul from Care
The Lamb misusd breeds Public Strife
And yet forgives the Butchers knife
The Bat that flits at close of Eve
Has left the Brain that wont Believe
The Owl that calls upon the Night
Speaks the Unbelievers fright
He who shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never be belovd by Men
He who the Ox to wrath has movd
Shall never be by Woman lovd
The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
Shall feel the Spiders enmity
He who torments the Chafers Sprite
Weaves a Bower in endless Night
The Catterpiller on the Leaf
Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief
Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh
He who shall train the Horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar
The Beggars Dog & Widows Cat
Feed them & thou wilt grow fat
The Gnat that sings his Summers Song
Poison gets from Slanders tongue
The poison of the Snake & Newt
Is the sweat of Envys Foot
The poison of the Honey Bee
Is the Artists Jealousy
The Princes Robes & Beggars Rags
Are Toadstools on the Misers Bags
A Truth thats told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent
It is right it should be so
Man was made for Joy & Woe
And when this we rightly know
Thro the World we safely go
Joy & Woe are woven fine
A Clothing for the soul divine
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine
The Babe is more than swadling Bands
Throughout all these Human Lands
Tools were made & Born were hands
Every Farmer Understands
Every Tear from Every Eye
Becomes a Babe in Eternity
This is caught by Females bright
And returnd to its own delight
The Bleat the Bark Bellow & Roar
Are Waves that Beat on Heavens Shore
The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
Writes Revenge in realms of Death
The Beggars Rags fluttering in Air
Does to Rags the Heavens tear
The Soldier armd with Sword & Gun
Palsied strikes the Summers Sun
The poor Mans Farthing is worth more
Than all the Gold on Africs Shore
One Mite wrung from the Labrers hands
Shall buy & sell the Misers Lands
Or if protected from on high
Does that whole Nation sell & buy
He who mocks the Infants Faith
Shall be mockd in Age & Death
He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
The rotting Grave shall neer get out
He who respects the Infants faith
Triumphs over Hell & Death
The Childs Toys & the Old Mans Reasons
Are the Fruits of the Two seasons
The Questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to Reply
He who replies to words of Doubt
Doth put the Light of Knowledge out
The Strongest Poison ever known
Came from Caesars Laurel Crown
Nought can Deform the Human Race
Like to the Armours iron brace
When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow
To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow
A Riddle or the Crickets Cry
Is to Doubt a fit Reply
The Emmets Inch & Eagles Mile
Make Lame Philosophy to smile
He who Doubts from what he sees
Will neer Believe do what you Please
If the Sun & Moon should Doubt
Theyd immediately Go out
To be in a Passion you Good may Do
But no Good if a Passion is in you
The Whore & Gambler by the State
Licencd build that Nations Fate
The Harlots cry from Street to Street
Shall weave Old Englands winding Sheet
The Winners Shout the Losers Curse
Dance before dead Englands Hearse
Every Night & every Morn
Some to Misery are Born
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to Endless Night
We are led to Believe a Lie
When we see not Thro the Eye
Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night
When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light
God Appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in Night
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of day

Converting words

Using words to capture “love ” and  store
Thinking twenty maidens will  provide
I don’t  know how to love you anymore

The mask is almost perfect, it annoys
Hatred could seep in from the outside
Converting words to weapons   which destroy

What dark secret in  your soul is stored?
You  cut down your  better self with pride
I don’t feel I love you anymore

Through the clay and stone a hole is bored
To filch the riches, weapons  can be bought
Using words to  block out love’s  real core

Loving maidens  turn to haggard whores
The savings are all stolen,more beside
 Learn to love before they close your eyes

Evil acts make evil, turning tides
Judgment finds the virtue,love applies
Use your words to capture love   no more
I’m leaving now,I should have left  before

Logic of the sign

You’re my lodestar,you’re my light.
You get me through the darkest night.
You keep me on this path I follow
I hope you’ll  be  here  still tomorrow.

You’re my companion, other self.
You have knowledge, spiritual wealth.
You have studied,you have thought,
In meditation your soul wrought.

You are there when I’m in need.
You don’t allow my fears to breed.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of you.
You mend my soul when life’s askew

You are here  but dwell unseen
Though you visit me in dreams
Give me words to comfort me
I  live my life  and hope to see.

Images and metaphors
Start and end the global wars
May our  symbols intertwine
With the logic of the sign

How I began writing poetry.

IWritten 20176429586_72f5d1321d_m

Apples inspired by Janet Weight Reed artist and blogger

I must have had a wish to write.Because for many years ,I studied books on poetry and creative writing.I began to collect images and events which affected me  emotionally in a notebook.Then one day I asked,When will I  ever  write?
I had to start,  unconfident as I was. Time was passing

Here is the first poem  I wrote.[January 2010]

CHRISTMAS SNOW

Too old for cold,I stand, now ,against the hedge,
Watching the snowflakes in the glare of neon street lights.
Darkness has come early,and I think of country uplands and huddled sheep.
On Salisbury Plain,shepherds watched their flocks
Just as in Bethlehem two thousand years before,
And then ,exactly when?
“Between the wars”,it stopped. Now we know there is no “Between the wars”.
And who decided
To cull the sheep and shepherds and the space for kindness ?
Now that same Plain still exists,but banned
And closed to human-kind,
For bombs ,not wombs
Nor for birth of lamb ,nor gypsy child ,nor Saviour
Where would He go today?
_
MImage

Photo my own

From the first poem, I can see my mind was wondering if there is any space in the world now safe enough for a creative happening.After I wrote this,I was unsure if I’d get any more inspiration but I did

Here is a slightly later poem

SUN PAINTING
Bright sun
Paints a shadow picture
On the white wall
Dried stems
Of Michaelmas daisies
A leaf caught in a cobweb sways
To and fro.
I gaze.
Silence.

After two years or so I began to write sonnets which I had never believed I could do

 

Photo1375

It looks and speaks just as a sonnet would

This poem is written in the sonnet form,
And yet I have my doubts about its shape
Though nearly to that structure it conforms
There may be holes where nightmare faces gape.

It looks and speaks just as a sonnet would
And talks of metaphysical concerns.
Do we conclude, as poets and readers should,
That in our schizoid age we cannot learn?

For humans may be decked in clothes of wolves;
And lambs be dressed in lions’ fearsome furs.
Thus, sense is tricked and problems are unsolved.
Landscapes etched, yet details seem quite blurred.

It looks like one,it feels like one,it speaks;
Yet from these words, does human feeling leak?

Another mind

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I made this image from a photograph of trees using Artweaver Free

From time and place and season I am lost,
Disorientated ,missing tracks well worn.
Do not suppose I’m unaware of cost,
Nor label me with epithets of scorn.
For usual paths lead to the usual place.
The safest way to live and perhaps to die,
But wandering through the woods I find new space
and in wild grasses with the fox I lie.
Through distant trees, I see a way to go
As narrow as a slit in  pale limestone.
I  pass in silence as if in deep,deep snow.
My courage rises even as I groan.

Remember when we’re lost ,we may then find
Another way,a place,another mind.

Touching them and keeping them at peace

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
The photo is by Mike Flemming 2020
Thank you,Mike

 

We can cast our body like a cloak
Around the loved one when they cannot speak
Hold them like an infant  when at  rest
Sleeping softly on a mother’s breast

Touching them and keeping them at peace
Until they  can accept death and its release
They seem to concentrate  on unknown tasks
Till their minds are happy and they pass

They come first but afterwards   we  fall
Into  an abyss where  we just crawl
Seeing shapes and visions, feeling sore
Aching for the one we  see no more

A paradox , we  give  and nothing  gain
The suffering of the heart, the searing pains

Affect

 

How hard it is to grieve when we can’t touch
Sight  is distant,  has no real affect
No wonder that the eyes  of  poor folk lurch
How hard it is to grieve when we can’t touch
Though from our hand an enemy might flinch
Or grasp too hard, the knife hid to deflect
How hard it is to grieve when we can’t touch
Sight can never see the true affect