Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

God  is murdered daily, we perceive

How precious is the life that we will lose
The joy of senses open  like new leaves
The  holy sun, the air,  our attitudes

Our boundary, our skin  protects, is bruised
By those who  claim to love but soon deceive
How precious is the life that we will lose

The mind  and body open  for new views
Are vulnerable, yet glad, as they receive
The  holy sun, the air,  our attitudes

And Jesus came to Earth, a holy Jew
God  is murdered daily, we perceive
How precious is the life that we will lose

We are   torn apart, love, hate ,confused
Yet every  moment, God   is re-conceived
In  holy sun, in air,  in gratitude

First we love  our neighbour , then believe
The web of  holy actions, who can weave?
How precious is the life that we will lose
The  holy sun, the air, its magnitude

The hand upon my tiller

Epimedium-versicolor-2020

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 alone.
I’m crying ‘cos I wrote this old blue song.
I’m crying ‘cos 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.

Housework

 

 

img_20200111_143234https://www.additudemag.com/housekeeping-made-easy/

EXTRACT

Straightening Up

Many people with ADHD like to keep their stuff in full view because they find that seeing a thing helps them remember to repair it, return it, remove it, or replace it. Unfortunately, clutter is unattractive and distracting. I wish there were a painless way to get rid of clutter. Alas, it takes a bit of work. But it will go more smoothly if you do things systematically.

To keep stuff out of sight but not out of mind, use labeled, see-through containers, bins, and baskets. Once you fill a container, that’s your cue to go through it and toss what’s not needed.

 

 

Words or sin

The paradox  of praise is that we’re judged
Yet how can judgement place us on a dot
The eye is wet, the dropped tear is a smudge
A line in-finite,  dense with its own spots

Whether beauty of the body-mind
Or depth of thought,  now hanged by awe
Where many alien eyes look out unkind
And noone knows what we each saw

How can we be ranked on things long passed
Yet  not forget the lessons  we took in?
We sat  matric in school while Jews were gassed
With children  backward, queers and gypsy kin

We learned to  read the maps we  now live in,
Forget the world is more than words and sin

Love buried and unseen

The kindness of  our neighbours helps us cope
With life, with death,with many shades between
When we despair and  can’t imagine hope

When the sailor takes us in his boat
When he rows us on a  night-blank sea
The kindness of  our neighbours helps us cope

The world  seems  made to hurt, and then frustrate
The mind confuses   dreams , reality
When we despair and  dare not even hope

 Love is built  as we contain our hate
Sailing well  we  find a new country
The kindness of  our friends helps us  to  cope

Persistence in the virtues   gives us scope
Start again, the angel said to me
When I despaired and  lost my  bits of hope

In our mind love’s buried and unseen
Yet we can raise the dead with energy
The kindness of  our  frriends helps us cope
When we are lost and  can’t discover hope

 

Get your head examined

As I was standing  in a special machine for a scan of my head, the words
” you want to  have your head examined”
came floating back to me from childhood.I seem to recall it was an insult….
And it shows people believed insanity was a brain defect whereas a  lot of the things we do when we are agitated might make sense if someone asked us  a bit about our life.

After I had the scans two men were looking at  them wondering if they had got the right place because what I have is  not easy to see
In the end I told them to put gloves on and put a finger into my mouth to feel it
Well, I didn’t  know  it’s  up to me to tell them what to do
Next,I’ll be having surgery and they’ll ask me to hold the knife while they decide what to cut out.Or maybe I’ll have to do it all   while they learn…….
I absolutely will not behead myself in a hospital free
I will ask for £1,999,999  first.

My daft ideas as a child:

Instead of boiling the old kettle on the fire to make tea,I had a brilliant idea when I was eight  years old
Why not put the teapot on the fire directly…..?
Why not,indeed.

I was having to do things from the age of 7 or 8 which would be banned now
I decided as tea is not “dirty” then after stirring the tea I could put the teaspoon back into the drawer
That could have led to an interesting discussion… that milk is organic etc
Except I was only 7.

As someone said:dirt is only matter out of place.Cow’s milk should not be here in my fridge.So it is dirt.It should be feeding a calf.
I wonder why we  use so much milk in our diet.Is it the comfort that reminds us of the benign breast? Though some were more benign than others.

What does “paradox” mean?

Fritillaria-meleagris-2020
This flower is here,now despite all the troubles we are having

https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/paradox

 

Meaning of paradox in English

a situation or statement that seems impossible or is difficult to understand because it contains two opposite facts or characteristics:
[ + that ] It’s a curious paradox that drinking a lot of water can often make you feel thirsty.

 Thesaurus: synonyms and related words
Logic and reason

Please release me,Mary cried

Mary stood at the bus stop in her chocolate wool winter coat which Stan had always loved.It hangs so well,he had told her.
The optional imitation fur collar had been removed as she preferred natural garment  made from wool with no ostentation.As a matter of fact she has one of Stan’s woollen vests on under her gold silk top.Her hair fell in light blonde curls around her pensive face and her eyes looked as if she were seeing a dim vision of the Matterhorn in midwinter after drinking a double brandy

Suddenly she realised the bus was there ;she put her card up to the machine before looking for a seat.The bus was rather full so she sat down next to a youth with an i phone hanging from his hand.
Suddenly it rang.His chosen theme was, Please release me, sung by Tom Jones.
Mary smiled as, if she were near Tom Jones she would need no invitation to free him.
The youth began to speak rather louder than normal.

Mary tried not listen but it was impossible.She was too hot as well..Wearing Stan’s vest was a mistake as the bus was overheated.She turned pink like sunrise over ICI in Billingham as the pollution had a beautifying effect.

I’m sorry I wore your vest,she told Stan.
I should have given them away but I was trying to save money on heating.Still I will be home soon.

Where is your microphone, the youth demanded.It must be one of those new tiny ones.
A microphone? Mary said curiously.
Yeah, he cried.I assume your phone is in your pocket.

Actually it’s in a pocket in my knickers,she informed h m in a manner resembling that of a mildly dotty scientist.We used to wear these knickers in the gym at school.

Did you not wear a top? he enquired,his eyes running over her hourglass figure like water falling off High Force in Teesdale. in summer storms.

Well.I didn’t have a bra until I got my grant to attend university,she told him sensitively.

Well,that’s news to me,he said.So you had to wear a bra at University? That was before feminism,of course.Did you burn it later?

Certainly not,said Mary.I’d been longing for one but my mother didn’t seem to notice my development which was her way of coping with adolescent girls.
Of course my brothers may have noticed but they were too nervous to tell Mother I needed anysupport.We were all so shy and afraid.Anyway be quiet now,I want to speak to my husband.
Have you had your phone on all this time? he asked anxiously.
No,I don’t need it to talk to him,she responded
Why,where is he? the youth enquired sardonically.
He’s on my knee,Mary informed him.In this bag.She pointed to her hessian shopping bag.
I have just been to the Coop for him.I ought to have got a cab as he is quite heavy.
Jesus Christ,cried the youth,hastily pressing the bell before leaping off the bus into a small pond that had been created b Hurricane Desmond.He swam away into the cold night.
Well. that shut him up,Mary said to Stan.
Mary,don’t become less gentle and kind,Stan said in her ear.
I can’t be gentle now,she said.It’s a nasty tough world without you to help me and tell me what you think of Jeremy Corbyn.And do I need to have a roast dinner at Xmas or just some toad in the hole?
I am sorry,sweetheart he murmured.Maybe you need assertiveness training.
I’ll just get more aggressive,she replied.Micro-aggressive perhaps
.You’ll need more than micro in this era,he continued.Mary forgot to get off the bus and found herself in the Leisure Centre by the River Lee
What about the river,Stan, she asked.
Would you like me to throw you in.A policeman standing near by ran over.
Madam, is it suicide or murder, he asked her.
No,it’s a life sentence,she said humorously as she put her hand up her skirt to get her phone.
That’s a silly place to keep your phone he said.Anyway don’t call a cab,I can run you home in my car.Have you got any China tea?I could kill for a hot drink.
I have some lapsang souchong,she told him.Do you fancy that?
I do, called Stan from the bag.
The policeman passed out.
I told you not to get a boyfriend yet,he continued to Mary.
I’ll do whatever I feel like,she said rudely.I could use a comforting arm around me.
Stan sobbed quietly
.She said,quickly
Don’t worry.I’ll get Emile to sit on my knee.Goodbye for now.
Goodbye whispered Stan faintly.
Good bye…. goodbye
Goodbye

And so say all of us

Wallflowers,wild as eyes are when sincere

I remember Charmouth and the cliffs
A piece of land had broken  off and tipped
On this island rabbits sang and danced
We stood high above.amused , entranced.

We walked  the Devon side and came to Beer
Saw wallflowers wild as eyes are when sincere
On the cliff mixed in with weeds perfumed
Above  the sky hung  silent like  the moon

The Baker’s shop. the little stream the path
The innocence of love,unknown the wrath
The hope of being healthier and strong
The  hope that my own heart  had not been wrong

O beauty, where are you when I am old
My husband  in his his grave, why am  I cold?

Ecstasy can’t last,can’t be pursued

Maybe Meghan  knew we’d have a storm
A hurricane of doubt,  the leaders scorned
She’s back in Canada, I wish I were
Seeing Leonard Cohen every where

A thousand kisses deep may be too much
Especially  for those who’re unrehearsed
The tower of song is just a maisonette
Joan of Arc burns as she pirouettes

Suzanne  bore his children then she left
She fell out of  love, he was bereft
Poets need their time alone to muse
Ecstasy can’t last,can’t be  pursued

We still lose  the space to enjoy dreams
While up above our leader stands and screams

Terror and rage

 

A force far deeper than our anger
Elemental as a storm
Annihilating all before it
Terror makes our rage perform.

This force saying self is threatened
Runs to rise and to protect,
Most murderous when we’re most alarmed
Rage the enemy detects
.
Over-riding other feelings
Deprives us of the power to think
Like a nuclear tsunami
Disconnecting human links.

Reddened vision,focused,narrow;
Eyes locked onto enemy’s
All the wider context losing,
Wipes out our good memories

Like a mother tiger fighting,
And the cornered eagle’s force;
We will destroy what we think other
Without bitter,pained remorse.

img_20200308_121807723-1

Nature made such to protect us;
Yet our perception can be wrong
. Once the flood of feeling takes us
All reflections seems too long

Later, if we see our victims,
Will we know that we have erred?
For hate deceives ourselves and others
When our inmost terror’s bared.

How can we step back and ponder,
See life from a wider view?
How can we become less blinded,
So we see our world anew?

Succumb not to final despond
Succumb not black despair
Always there are those who see.
Always there are those that care.

Tempered by reflective wisdom
Rage can change when understood.
When we find another being
Who  helps hold our frightful flood

I’d rather swim through it

 

Scilla-greilhuberi-2020Would you like to  be my friend?
No,I don’t   value him highly

Would you like to fall in love?
I’d rather swim through it

Would you like a new car?
I’ve not got an old one

What is your name?
No, it’s not, it’s Nat

What shall we eat tonight?
I can chew my nails after putting mango chutney on them

I don’t like to eat snails but neccessity is the mother of invention
Will you saute them in olive oil?
No, I’ll stuff them into a tomato
You need a big one
I’ll crush them
How cruel cookery can be
But not as bad as Goering,Stalin,Hitler or Nero.
Snails won’t know that
But we know

Where are the children?
I didn’t know we had any

Why are we in bed?
Because we are married
Since when?
Gosh, you’ve got dementia already
Well, we do live in a Care Home
Wow, only 29 and in a Care Home
We run it

Fragility is measured by the glass

As fragile as the sacred crystal glass
Which  broken was smashed up like any cup
Till its particles invaded us at Mass

Uncontained,  how will this  moment pass?
Suffering  breaks us down, what helps us up?
Hearts as fragile as  a crystal glass

Do not climb the cliff  in love’s mad  rush
Height  endangers, vertigo, a drop
Whose particles invade us at the Mass?

Feeling like the flower tramped underfoot
Never to be raised,  true life has stopped
When fragility is measured by the glass

Did Jesus know that physics  would  forecast
That he could be alive mixed in, not mocked
His particles  shall dance with ours at Mass

When we die, the shop is out of stock
There is no other I in any book
As fragile as the ancient crystal glass
Whose particles  fly solo in the Mass

A cruel hill

We measure walls and windows and the rain
But not the patterns painted on  the  pane
We measure flour and butter and  the tin
But not the love with which we mix them in

There is  no  linear scale in human  minds
Where you are up above and I’m behind
Complexity and wisdom  intertwine
No measure seems quite apt  for those who’re blind

There’s something  Nazi in  the way we rank
The industry of measurement now stinks
Every human  is a  unique  world
Yet into the abyss , they might hurled

We do  not   get perfection as we kill
The Christs who stumble up   their cruel hill

No way out of this one except glass eyes.

I feel mathematics is bad for society
Do you have the statistics?

I  wish people would not pick their noses
I always thought your was  rather large for your face

Why learn algebra and be unable to boil an egg?
Well, you can fry eggs,

Do we really need fashion in  frames for glasses?
Maybe they have a “see by ”  date
That would be just the lenses
But you can’t use them without a frame.
No way out of this one except glass eyes.

Why are people so kind to me during this crisis?
They have read your stories and feel sorry for you
Why?
That you are not  a writer  who makes a profit
I  even make a loss
What on?
Buying laptops,printers and  having acupuncture
I don’t see the connection
I feel it

Is this a coup d’etat?
No, it’s just a trial run

 

 

Make my heart into a cottage pie.

Make my heart into a cottage pie.
Already it is minced and lies estranged
My   enemies insult me with their lies
And my last will and testament is made.

An onion and a carrot chopped up fine,
Saute  with these my heart till  all are gold
With herbs and spices I will taste divine
A mashed potato will a rooftop mould.

Do not forget my blood to use as sauce
Though now it’s cold, with garlic  make it boil.
For what is gravy but the blood of lamb
With  sliced  onion  fried in olive oil?

O foes and devils eat me and you’ll be
Transformed into  myself, your enemy

Continue reading “Make my heart into a cottage pie.” →

Conceited,filled with pride, you  give me pain

Suddenly I know you as a fool
Believing you can love and yet be cruel
You’re blinded by excessive self esteem
When you’re a  cockroach as in Kafka’s  dream

Your eyes are hidden, yet you pounce, you snake
Your fire is going out and you don’t smoke
Why bother me when I have other friends
Since you came I see no decent end

I hope you fall off London Bridge at night
Hidden in the darkness of the  lights
Or maybe you will go when in your sleep
Stop harassing me, you are a creep

Conceited,filled with pride, you  give me pain
Why not flow with water down a drain?

 

The black cat

The sky  is stark, the air is cool and still
The black cat’s  run, the birds unfold all day
I sit  down here and with my totty pray
Ye cast o’ foolish thoughts, you raped my will.
We’ve  each enraged the bureaucratic mill.
Oh frigid purse, I never meant to pay!
The sky ‘s  a-spark, the air is warm and shrill
The saturnine demoted  knelled their way
With this feathered pounce, my sample quill,
I  cite the cheque and date it for next May.
Oh, tit for cat, the tiger’s  bed ‘s astray.
Yer  life is settled by  a  harlot’s will
The sky ‘s a shark, the air is sharper still

I don’t like gravity either

SmTort_NGWales2013-2

Clue:take the first sentence literally

I feel for you
She’s my wife

I  am feeling Very Angry
Will  he let you?

I feel intense hatred for my wife
That’s very kind of you.It will  make her burden less

Should I marry or live in sin?
Both

I feel blue or I see red
Do you hear yellow?

I feel  very down
Is it better than goose down?
Well it feels better

I hate my brother
I bet he does too.

I  hate my untidy habits
How do they feel about this?

I don’t want to work nor rely on a man
Your grammar is excellent

I am getting tired  of hunting for new recipes
Where do you usually find them?

Shall I have a cheese sandwich or a bacon one?
Have you no eggs?

Shall I take a Master’s Degree or go round  the world?
I’ll be interested to see  that

I hate  shopping for clothes
How about stealing them?

Will I ever get better?
What do you think?

You said I would find love in the afternoon
Don’t  listen to me.

Are you a real therapist?
At last,progress

Have I got a virus as I fear?
No, you have  it as you are relaxed.

Shall I take the Oxford entrance?
No, leave it.

Shall I read Medicine?
No, swallow it

I do hate the way buttons fall off my coat
I don’t like gravity either

I  am afraid  of  topology
You are so  conceited

I hate it when my thoughts circulate
Well, you can feel what you like, they are yours

I wonder if I  can afford Freudian analysis
I do too

I hate clever  people
Don’t come any nearer

I hate Catholics
Don’t tell anyone

Is Boris Johnson English?
No, but neither is anyone else

Why am I here?
Don’t start that again.

Does it matter why we are here?
No, it matters how we are here

That we are here

The survival of the fattest

Being obese might be one way of surviving this plague.
Or as someone said to  a cancer sutvivor: At least you have lost weight or was   it ” at last”
You would lose weight after death if you kept turning over in your grave…
Jesus never mentioned  weight:Go thou and weigh no more.Double entendre.
Who invented the word “sin”  and why?
Weight is  like savings in the several banks.You can’t lose it all at  once
I thought I was flat once.It was because clothes are.Yet chair covers are not.
 Don’t know where, don’t know when,  we’ll meet and hoard our funny days

Abbey Steps

I’d like to visit Whitby and its shores
See the Abbey ruins on the cliff
I can’t climb those steep steps any more

The whip of salty sea, the shells, the lore
The  old town with its alleys and its fish
I’d like to visit Whitby and its shores

We heard the seagulls shrieking, Jesus rose
We were in a cottage but in fact
I  won’t climb  those abbey steps no more

In my mind I find an unmarked door
A dream comes by,  who  whipped my tender flesh?
I’d like to visit Whitby and its shores

Fish don’t die like sheep in abbatoirs
But yet it must gruesome so to thrash
I can’t climb those steep steps any more

I don’t like eating fish,I hate their whiff
It makes me conscious of my father’s death
I’d like to visit Whitby and its shores
Who can’t climb those Abbey steps no more?

I wish we were on Sutton Bank again

I wish we were on Sutton Bank again
The Cleveland Hills with heather and bright bees
We lay down in the heather in the sun

We hitched a lift, Osmotherley, a van
Another day was Whitby and the sea
I wish we were on Sutton Bank again

I wish that you were near, my loving one
Your suffering  face was   very  sad to see
We   lay in  purple heather in the sun

What shall I do, what am I  to become?
I  waken up  too early, make my tea
I wish we  lay on Sutton Bank again

Our backs ,warm earth , our faces smiled as one
The  heather a warm bed, no shady tree
We  once lay in the heather in the sun

I miss your face, your eyes, their loving plea
The sun above, the windswept  leafless tree
I wish we were on Sutton Bank again
We ‘d lay down in the heather ,where’ve you gone?

 

 

This treasure

Absenting ourselves from presence in this life
Glued onto the pictures in our minds
It neither matters if  we wish for strife

Or whether they fill needs of better kind.

We know that wish fulfilment comes in dreams
And also in our fantasies by day
When anxious worry fills our mind with schemes
Guilt and shame impede us from our play.

Creative thought requires the loss of self,
And needs our empty soil to plant its gifts
So throw out selfish fancies for this wealth
We’ll let ourselves  go slow, so minds can shift

To waste our days in suffering or false pleasure
Will lose for us this vital, vivid treasure

Pure presence

Red-Admiral-2020-1Pure presence is a gift without demands
No intrusion, no monopoly
Within its light our withered self expands

Those who had to sit before may stand
Beside the waves, the gentle rippling sea
Pure presence is a gift without demands

A quiet place, a friend to hold our hand
Helps us to  make bold our heresy
Within the  light our withered self expands

A gift of grace, as humble as an ant
Where can we be present you and me ?
Pure presence is a gift without demands

Is there more than human empathy?
The flowers so small and wild have sympathy
Pure presence is a gift we understand
Within its light our withered selves expands

 

No map

The more I  write, the more I feel the gap
From  the immense, the real  of skin and eye
To what  I write or draw upon a map

When you  lay still, my skin around you wrapped
I touched you with my  nerves   but made no cry
The more I  write, the more I feel the gap

We can hold  a baby on our lap
But not a  husband who needs space to die
What  could I write or show upon a map?

Words like little wires,  a  rabbit trap,
Catch a moving moment as it flies
The more I  write, the more I feel that gap

There is a silence, music is surpassed
A puzzled truth and not  wordly lie
What to  write or show upon a map?

Can we close the lids, the lover’s eyes
Sorrow  follows  couples like a spy
The more  the words, the more I feel the gap
The real  hides as I write, there is no map

He won’t like  the crap you shed

I am frightened I’ll run out of food
My   insides are in knots that feel glued
I  feel sick tonight
What was I ate?
The cat’s looking mad  yet amused

The Whiska’s beef ‘s  meant for the cat
I trod on him, he is now flat
I stole his dinner
I am a great sinner
I should eat  both the snake and the bat

This epidemic is my fault, you see
I gave away bat food for free
The homeless have soup
And suffer from croup
The rich  folk denounce liberty

A huge sense of guilt is conceit
In a sense it is also deceit
We’re not omnipotent
Nor are we impotent
We’re in the grey, be discreet

I wonder  what new world we’ll get
When Boris  in aspic is set
He’s having a  baby
It happens  now daily
It’s the mother who’s caught in his net

Fancy  a nappy change now?
Boris  is taking a bow
He won’t like  the crap you shed
When you are in his bed
Well, it’s far too late after the plough

Geese rested

In the distance I hear soft music on the radio.
The air is still and silence holds us
In her arms.
Quiet Sunday morning
Rode past the field where geese rested
Looking from far away
Like a flock of pigeons
In the sun.
See so many different kinds of brick,
Angles of rooftops,buildings haphazardly
Added to before planning laws.
I sit and watch the people pass,
Some happy,one weeping though she assured me
It's merely an allergy;
An allergy to loss?
Yes,I'm allergic to loss.
Loss makes my eyes water and my nose run.
Where does all that water come from?
Pass me your handerchief,mine is a ladies
Since men must work and women weep
Surely we should have the biggest hankies?
Men can wipe their nose on their sleeve
As long as they are not wearing their hearts there!
Or they might consider sharing hankies.
How kind;for at times, almost,
Every one weeps.