Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

I am washing my lair.

I can’t go out,
I am boiling my mittens
I am washing my lair.
I am retiling the ceiling
I am freezing the cleaner.
I am filing a grudge
I need a new body of work.
I am rhyming worse.
My ghost is calling.
The phone is dead.
The computer is asking for my vital  head tricks
I am a liar
Believe me.

A rain of roses from the sky above

 

If I were to choose a flower for my love

A rose of perfect form would be my choice

A rain of roses from the sky above

Might express what I can’t yet voice.

I might well choose a daisy with no thorns

I might choose lush lipped tulip for design

But never would I send a flower forlorn

Should you reject this loving heart of mine.

But, no, I choose these roses for your bliss

For Blake wrote of a tiger not a dog;

Yet if I am made bloody by a kiss,

I shall be turned at once into a frog.

The rose with other names would still be sweet.

So, to you , with fragrance I entreat

Then numbness folded round me like a wheel.

A strange and lonely feeling held my heart
Gripping like some pincers made of steel.
From my beloved, I had had to part
Then numbness  folded round me like a wheel.

And quietness loved,  has now turned into threat
Nero-like, I  fiddle with my  tunes
Pie Jesu’s not made top ten yet!
Larks’ ascents aren’t worth much to a loon!

I phoned a friend, her voice did me no good
It echoed in the chambers of my mind
Where metal walls echo the coursing blood
And escalate these feelings so unkind

Though he l loved has gone and is now dead.
I  see his face upon my  heartless bed

A day can take to flight as does the Spring

A  day as warm and bright as in the Spring
The pine cones shiver in the gentle breeze.
The trees in bud, the birds  revel in song .

Our memories   cannot store the very thing
The air on skin, the feel  of blossom trees
A  day as dear  with light as is the Spring

On  days like this, once more we do belong
And nature will respond to make us pleased
The trees in bud, caressed with new bird song.

The sounds  of earth are silenced when phones ring
Our flesh has turned to ashes long deceased
A  day  can take to   flight as  does the Spring

We  are betrothed, the bridegroom’s in the wings
The new act starts, the play’s by  conmen seized
No consummation now, but for  the winged

I  wish that I had written more to please.
And yet the air is fresh  and we still breath
A  day of charm  may revolution bring
The trees still bud,  yet birds rebel in song.

And if love ‘s good enough, we may survive.

We need to self-deceive to stay alive
To function in this  terrifying world
And if  no trauma comes we may survive

If we watch the shadows in the cave
We have our  story ready  to unfold
We need to self-deceive to stay alive

We follow rules on how we must behave
As if into a void we might be hurled
And if  no trauma comes we may survive

The adages and  proverbs  satisfy
Unless we are attacked in our own world,
We  cannot self-deceive, are traumatised

We need the hold of  friends who’re kind and brave
We need this love that  rises when it’s shared
And if love ‘s  good enough, we may survive.

We will not scratch our wounds if we are wise.
We will not  rush to speech while wounds are bare
We need to self-deceive to stay alive

The words that mother said we can embrace
That we are loved,  despite fragmented face
We need to self-deceive to  function right
And if  no trauma comes we may survive

We live on earth and act in plays we write

We live on earth and act in plays we write
The  shadowed  drama unfolds  scene by scene
In Eden,  sin brought knowledge to our sight.

Then Freud desired to  bring the dark  more light
It’s  hard to suffer, harder still to learn
We act on earth in plays we partly write

We each have lived in ways without much light
But fire brought power and light  then  darkness gleamed
In Eden,  sin brought knowledge to our sight.

Christ was born, and yet we lived in flight
From guilt about the apple bit unseen
We act on earth in plays we   try  to write

Our play  with good and evil  has  its might
For meaning’s worthy of  our human schemes
In Eden,  wrong brought knowing to our sight.

We look and see the Christian story failed.
For the Holocaust  itself was not derailed
We live on earth and act in plays we write
The Christian play we had gave  slight insight
As refugees, as children drown who fights?

 

Going to confession:That was one topic we never did in the cemetery.

Pray Father, give me some washing.I’ve got Wikileaks and a new obsession.
Tell me more, my child.
I think someone has been inside my computer.
They can’t be human.
Why not, Father?
Well, we are not thin enough to get into the computer.
Ah, they turn themselves into particles and come in with the current
when it’s high tide.
Do you mean tied?
No, Father.I’ve not been reading that book.
Neither have I but in the confessional, I’ve heard it all.
And how does that make you feel?
Why pay to read a fantasy when you can dream up your own?
Some are born dim… others become dim…….
Well, any sins tonight?
I’m so sorry.I was planning to tell a lie but I forgot.
There’s a list of sins in the Missal…
Yes, I’ve not tried most of them yet… just got a pang of anger
when a brick fell on my head.
That’s natural, my child.
Has a brick ever fallen on your head, Father.
Not yet but I’m only 97.
Wow,you look much older.Are you longing to diet?
Why, is there no food in heaven?
I wonder who cooks.
Maybe they live on manna.
Does God eat food
That was one topic we never did in the cemetery.
Do you mean the seminary.
At my age, it’s all one.
You have reached Nirvana….congratulations.
Well.I’d prefer a cup of tea.
You English!
What are you?
I’m a great Dane.
Did you say a grey Dane.
That too.
Well perk up; the show’s not quite over till the gnat really stings.
Do gnats eat string?
String… it’s my passion.Love it or mate it…get involved.
Live a little.
And for your penance… you must have a bath…
Why?
I don’t like the way you smell.
Well,I am a dog.. we like a sniff.Can I borrow your hankey?
Definitely.
I’ll wash it for you.
Well, it’s not over till that gnat gets a sting!

I found a postcard I had sent myself

I found my HP Stream  upon the shelf
The “Guide to Cumbria” paused in my still hand.
Tidying up does peanuts for the health

It’s an ancient book, yet is my wealth.
The mountains and the moors are my own land
I found  a postcard I had sent myself

If I change the sheets, I   bless myself
A clean  bed is  much better when unplanned
Tidying up  may aid  your mental health

 

If you do good , do it all  by  stealth
If you sin then do not tell your friends
I found my laptop screaming  uon the shelf

If you need to,   always ask for help
What is often borrowed can’t be lent
Tidying up does  wonders for the health

If you see a  burning bush  then quickly  bend
Then, from the bare mountaintop, descend
I found my books  I lost  upon the shelf
Tidying up can startle  mice and selves

McName,McBath

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From Messiah to Hitler, What You Can and Cannot Name Your Child

While reactions to the Messiah order have centred on the questions of religious freedom and free speech, the inspiration behind the name seems to be a common one: the appeal of alliteration. Martin said she thought the name was unique and complemented the names of his two older siblings: Micah and Mason.

Wilting  Joe Coward
Bull Goring
Aeons Era Long
Iron Longs4Filings
Izz Rayle Hear.
S. McDeath
Just Call Menne
Will Hugh Shut-Uppe
Bee Quiet.
God-Bless  Hugh Dear
Courtesy Queen
Joe Zens Peep-Hole.
Kind Rabid
Yvonne Wolffman-Spaceship.
Pall O’ Stein.
Ami Overjord-Now
Rollin’ Heights
Syria Plath
Ted Who?
Sue I.Sighed
Overa Dose

If the charts were right, the sailors cried.

The street is still, the windows brim with eyes.
Everyone is looking, no-one sees.
These eyes are tainted by their owners’ lies.

As we age, our innocence will die
But saplings grow between the older trees
The street is still, the windows speak by eye.

If the charts were right, the sailors cried.
Eyes  gazed out  across  the unknown seas
These eyes distorted by  old, telling lies

A spectacle, a triumph, who and why?
Who displays their riches, who will flee?
The street is still, the windows weep like eyes.

The Arche de Triomphe for the French, I sigh.
Was defeat imagined Victory?
Their  thoughts distorted by  old worn out lies

Was the blame borne by the true and free?
Who was hanging on the shadowed Tree?
The street is still.Look, window-fulls of eyes.
These dark eyes  are  crying  for their lovers lies

When you have no partner your opportunities for committing sins are greatly reduced.

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You know, I  think I want to go to church again and I must go to Confession before I go to Mass.But the trouble is that when you have no partner your opportunities for committing sins are greatly reduced.Especially if you don’t go out much
You can’t have a row with them about what TV programme to watch or which side of the bed you sleep on nor about whether they pull the duvet off you in the middle of the night.So you can’t blame them when you feel tired.
You can’t get angry when they ask you to wash their trousers again either or about them wearing a cashmere sweater in bed.Also you see less of their relatives and they were always good for producing sins like envy, rage, jealousy and so on.In fact their relatives change and become saintly so it’s even worse.I suppose that might make me sin.
It’s really hard, though, to commit a sin now so I am wondering   if I should get  a partner purely for the purpose of becoming a sinner who can them be saved by the Sacrament of Confession.I always thought it was odd because if God exists he must know our sins.. in fact  he might know more than we do.He must.
With that in mind, I  wonder about going into therapy as surely that would make  me aware of all the questionable things I have done.Which is better: therapy or getting married? I suppose if I married a rich person they could pay for psychoanalysis for me but it would be a sin to marry purely for that reason.Is that Russell’s Paradox?
Or if I got 2 cats  I could be unkind to them and  not let them sleep on my bed.But I have to admit I cannot be unkind to cats.And I don’t like dogs in the house.Too much work.You might as well get married again as have a dog to care for.Although dogs don’t wear clothes and can’t shout and scream and demand sex at 3 am.Barking is not quite the same
.I suppose I could become a Quaker instead because it might be  tough to find a husband  who is happy for me to study Wittgestein and Sylvia’s  Wrath.My hair is no longer what it was.. my eyes are still blue  but now I have a scar on my face.I thought maybe no-one would notice but the dentist said,
Wow, he’s done a great job hasn’t he? Fantastic, there’s just a little lump here…. what little lump? She’ll have me back in Dermatology as soon as take my teeth out.It was a  little lump that began the whole damn business as it was a bit like a Russian Vine invisibly covering [ part of ] my face.Well I can proudly say I had 23 injections of local anaesthetic  in my face but the surgeon was very handsome.Greek…
Anyway I went out today with no sun cream on and that is really wicked when you’ve had what I had but the hypothalamus gland needs sunlight so my brother tells me.I have three brothers plus my aide P so I have plenty of men to tell me what to do or not to do.Still you can’t marry your brother can you? I wonder what the priest would say about that.I rest my case.By gum, it was heavy.I’ll take to drink

I HAVE desired to go

http://www.bartleby.com/122/2.html

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89).  Poems.  1918.
2. Heaven—Haven
 http://www.bartleby.com/122/2.html
A nun takes the veil

http://www.bartleby.com/122/2.html

    I HAVE desired to go
      Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail
    And a few lilies blow.
    And I have asked to be         5
      Where no storms come,
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,
    And out of the swing of the sea.
See Notes.

FULL OF ONESELF? HOLIER THAN THOU? IS WILL POWER ENOUGH FOR THE GOOD LIFE?

 

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“Holier than thou” is an interesting phrase.Holiness was a state we were taught we should aim for.But how should we aim for it? Can one become holy by will power?
I suspect not.Though one could be wicked by will power though I suspect most  people don’t usually want to be wicked.And I don’t believe babies are born evil as I was taught.But we do wicked things.Pride is often involved.So what are some qualities that may help us to become ,not holy perhaps, but better.The first is one thing doctors have to agree to:

Do no harm.

How can we do no harm? Well paying attention is a possible beginning.If we are not attentive to ourself and the lives around us we don’t have the basis for  choosing how to act.Then there is the quality of our perceptions.To a large extent these may have been formed by our experiences in infancy.If we are insecure and anxious we will perceive mainly danger,This leads me to think that we need to gain trust in either God,the Universe,our deeper selves….. something beyond us.If we have little trust we will live on guard and see things in relation to our own safety…..Somehow we will have to move to a wider perception/How many of us truly see others as people who  are just as valuable,just as interesting,just as worthy of respect as we are.That when we kill a person physically or emotionally we are killing a whole world.Each person has their own world…..I believe.

If we trust we can perceive and as we perceive so we can act justly, caringly or in the best way possible towards that person.And we hope to receive it back.There is also grace which  is a gift… if we live well and are open then grace may come from  another source which  may help us.But only  if we are empty enough for it to come in.Being “full of oneself” is  unlikely ro be good.Self forgetting, absorbtion in the other,the world,a task,a creation may be the best part of life.562732_10200197585195760_396877548_n

S

 

I found it interesting to make a link between being able to be aware of other people as real people like ourselves and being secure in our inner being.That security or trust enables us to have an attitude  called,”Submission to the will of God” in Christian teaching.I am sure it is common to many other religions especially Judaism.And for atheists it can be acceptance of reality,
Without trust in others, life is much harder as we are always concerned with keeping ourselves safe.I am not sure how much we can change our attitude from Fear to Trust.And I read today that paranoia is becoming more widespread  probably because the government and other people can spy on us easily or find out where we are etc with modern technology
I recall  a friend of mine dying when I was 15.We were  taken to the Requiem Mass.I just recall the priest saying in the sermon something from the Bible
he Lord has given and the Lord has taken away
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
In other words,we can’t understand.Life and death are a mystery but we accept this is the will of God
At the time I’m not sure if I believed it.But i think acceptance of pain and grief helps us to cope with it even with the terrible suffering with losing a child.I was the last classmate to see her.It was late October.We left school and walked about 1/2 mile.I lived there but she had to then catch a bus fro a 4-mile journey
I still see her smiling face.Eight days later she died.
When you suffer a lot it’s hard to trust God,the Universe and all else.And depending on the circumstances it’s easy to be bitter or vengeful.But that will not help.
What I am wondering is:
How much can we change our attitudes by will power.Pr is there another way of changing?
Changing the way we see something may give us a different attitude.Talking to a good person may help.Sometimes we can only endure patiently.Sometimes God comes to us in the wilderness of tragedy,grief and pain.Because  he can get in when we are still and silent.
I suppose going to the desert or on a Retreat may give us the same opportunity.Sometimes we can’t verbalise our suffering but that is not a problem.I found after seeking many ways out that as many people have said:~
The way out is through.
But we struggle like hell to avoid i

Spring is here

I have not written new poems today as I  went to the hospital owing to a horrible cough.It was a side effect of the antibiotics and they were not working un any case, so now I have got different ones.I should soon feel ok again

Photos by Mike Flemming  today!

DrySandford2017-4DrySandford2017-3http://www.ukbutterflies.co.uk/phpBB//viewtopic.php?f=29&t=7459&start=720&sid=8b14bb686870247d71879f08abbe54ce

I lost my own head

 

 

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Photo by my sister
I once lost my head in the bedroom
But it will never recur, I am sure
A decimal point,
A finger to point…
The exit is through the front door.
My tongue used to wag in the kitchen
But now it’s as broad as it’s long,
Geometrical measures
Ain’t what folk treasures
.They prefer one to fall into song.
My heart used to throb in the ballroom
And in the bedroom, as well.
Then one day it broke,
Just at a stroke.
Though now it’s  real hard to tell.
My hands used to tap on the table.
My nerves were on edge with constraint.
I could not control myself
Nor my own mental health
.But I’d have done better to faint.
My knees were expert at knocking
My legs turned to jelly as well..
I fell to the ceiling
My mind began reeling.
If this isn’t heaven, what the hell.
My body has given me problems
But without one we’d never be here.
So enjoy the trembling,
Without dissembling…
Thank God we don’t have to steer

I have had a muff

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I have re-drawn my boundaries so we no longer intersect…Eve.
Thank you for the heathen, please ring, Josie.
I never want to flee from you again,  I  have pre-flown, Anne.
You promised me a rose pardon, not a humorous growth, Hubert.
I’ll never prey on women again in case I meet you or your doppelganger, Bill.
This week my prayers are sponsored by Hewlett-Packard as God likes HP sauce, Kate.
You  cried out  like a  radioactive boar at first but then you went over the hedge and wanted love in the nettlebed.Too rash for me, Tom.
I only married you for lack of other duffers, Marie.
You are a very good actress or actor as we PC folk say now.I truly believed you liked me until you thought I was a tea bag and brewed me .What does it all seem? Jim
If and only if you die I shall grant you eternal rest.So wake up and play, Tim.
Life, what’s it all but a doubt? Joseph
I know God loves me from afar but I had hoped you would approach me bodily, Tora.
My husband liked his mother so much he practically married her.
Ariel gets the dirt out of your clothes and you will be amazed when you see them.They’ll look different but will feel you the same.
I never wish to be you again, Cleo.
I never wish to strangled with glue again, Antony.
Caesar was killed by a brute  with a stagger and a hungry fiend
I’ve never trespassed on God but why does he keep watching us?
I need a new gas cooker.The oven is no G-d.No use worshipping  this…Baal!
 

Why not boil the kettle?

 
 

Dotty cats 2

 

When Mary got home, she took off her coat and put the kettle on the fire!She got the tea caddy out and put some tea into the pot.Suddenly the door burst open and Annie her exuberant neighbour fell into the kitchen
Are you ok, Mary asked her gently.Those 4-inch heels are rather dangerous.
Annie was wearing a sky blue track suit, red stilettos and a big green pashmina. Her make up had melted all down her face as she was so warm with running.She had some waterproof makeup but had the feeling it might be dangerous to clog the pores.So why had she bought it?
Where have you been? she asked Mary curiously.You were ages.
I forgot to get off the bus as I fell into a reverie.
That sounds like a black hole!
I was daydreaming so I ended up by the river and a policeman asked me for a date, sort of.
Did you have any dates with you?
No, I only had Stan in my bag, alas.
Where is he?Have you put him into the wardrobe?
It’s already full.He’s still in the bag at the moment.
The two women fell into a sad mutual silence realising Stan would never now teach Emile to swim in the bath nor return his overdue library books.
Am I liable for his fines, Mary wondered.
I can pay if you like,Annie, said generously.She got out homemade biscuits and gave one to Mary who was wearing a  long black dress from Lands End which resembled a nun’s habit.
Are you thinking of  retiring to the cloister soon , she continued.
No, I don’t believe in Christianity any more.Christ.yes, Christianity ,no.
What about Xmas? Will you celebrate?
I shall pray and do out the kitchen cupboards.
Are they that bad, asked Annie curiously, twiddling  her ringlets with her fingers.
Possibly, Mary giggled!
They didn’t teach domestic science at Oxford!And Mother was always busy cooking and cleaning the grate after she got home from work.
Talking about grates, I’d better look at the kettle.She lifted it off the fire and held it up in the air.It was very black on one side, just like the one Mary’s mother had had so many years ago.
Why don’t I make some tea, she asked.
I don’t know, said Annie.Is this the Xmas quiz?
No , you don’t understand.It’s a rhetorical question.
Oh, do stop  showing off, Annie told her.I only went to Knittingham Polytechnic and we  never did Greek, just Aramaic.I have forgotten it now.
Mary poured out the tea into two pint sized mugs and the women sat silently warming their hands on the mugs and meditating on the  wilful backwardness of the local poly which now only taught Latin, Hebrew and chemical engineering.The latter was an error as the professors thought that was what Wittgenstein had studied before finding Bertrand Russell more attractive.
Russell’s paradox had haunted Annie ever since those unhappy student days.Whereas she being a lady with a very high libido would have preferred Russell to his paradox if she had been given the choice.Alas, he was already dead.But why let that stand in the way of fantasy? If not Bertrand maybe  some other clever old chap who could talk in an interesting manner,

The skin is thin, but life may be resumed

We wrap our wounds in any kind of rag
Till we can make it off the battlefield
We walk for hours  till we fall to the ground
To harsh fear and weakness, we must yield

Some dare not remove the dirty cloth
Afraid of what confronts their nervous eye
Some tear if off and start to bleed again.
And seeing this, they weep and wish to die.

A time will come when intuition tells
We’ve reached the central space where we will see.
The wound’s not killed us, so we hold our breath.
Wishing not to fall in apathy.

The lines and shape of face  display the wound
The skin is thin, but life may be resumed

 

 

Teaching children not to smirk.

Oh, toilet with your flushing  plumbed
You are  the saviour of girls young
We had to go outside at night
To a closet with no light.
When menstruating, it was hard
To run in rain down the backyard
What a glory later on
We had a bathroom with plumbing
Now many folks have three  or more
One downstairs with its own door.
We used chamber pots  at night
Without putting on the light.
But children rarely woke  too soon
We’d have stayed in bed till noon.
Saturdays, my mother baked
All sorts of mysterious cakes
Then she knitted, sewed and  cried
For my dad who  who early died.
She sewed our clothes and brushed our hair
Didn’t bother with the stairs.
And she had her full-time work
Teaching children not to smirk.
She made them read and write in ink
She questioned them and made them think.
There was a loo for teachers use
Gosh, it flushed and was kept spruce.
Gone, the days of no bathroom
Gone the sweeping with the broom
Dysons are worshipped as  our gods
Getting dust out of the rugs.
One thing always puzzled me
Why did God want us to wee?

 

If we lock our hearts up tight

The brightness of late summer light,
The songs of birds whose brood take flight.
I love to take in these earthly pleasures,
And so to fill my mind with treasures.The conversations with my friends,
The closeness only death will end.
To share our life with those who care,
How could we have better fare?

Those who suffer pain and grief,
From whom love’s stolen by a thief,
Let us take them to our hearts,
So their healing path can start.

Those who are fear friendship and love,
Who set themselves at too low worth,
Do they know how courage grows
Through acceptance of our woes?

Life is tragi-comedy.
Love may be the remedy.
Though if we give our hearts away
We shall have grief and pain to pay.

But if we lock our hearts up tight,
And keep all feeling out of sight,
We will wither like dead leaves,
Of our whole life, we’ll be bereaved.

What sort of spirit are you?

 
I heard my husband unlock the front door last night.I never knew ghosts had to use keys…

Then I heard him again.I shouted, Get on with it. I’ve been waiting for you for 18 months and now you can’t get through the front door.What sort of spirit are you?And talking of spirit.I found a bottle of whisky.You should have drunk it before you died. What a waste of money.You know I don’t like it.

Then I heard him on the stairs.A pity I’ve not moved to a bungalow yet.

I said, I’ve been wearing your vests.He said

I think they look very fetching.

A bit late now.How did I know a woollen vest would turn him on?I bought some red underwear and in the end, I gave it to the Salvation Army.That was tactless.So if you are married ask your spouse what clothes turn them on.Then never wear them.Well, we are contrary!

When I wore a big woollen vest over my nightdress I didn’t realise I had fever.It was my kidneys.My husband never knew we had kidneys.He didn’t know what lungs were for but he had asthma, anyway.That was odd.Men!

Anyway, I may be confused but they seem to have the same programmes on TV as last night.Oh, I get it now.It’s the News.That Middle East, it saves the reporters looking at North Korea and Tibet.And the Isle of Man.They still have capital punishment there, you know.And the indigenous people have almost died out.Well, they all used to marry out and eventually they lost all their own DNA.Possibly in the washing machine.I blame Ariel myself.Ariel and Sylvia Plath; what a woman.She deconstructed poetry alright.And my mind as well.It’s just stuck together with little hooks now.I’ve cut my thumb in the kitchen, but did I write a poem about it? There’s a thought.Suppose I cut my own throat.That would give me something to muse over. I’m a bit too timid with knives.I keep them very blunt and never send them to Cambridge in term time.What more can I do? Stop eating!

Oh , do open that door.Can’t you see through it yet?I’m crying

Paranoia is the safest way

Paranoia is the safest way
To live in  this unsavoury world today
Advertisers know  the spies and MI5
Know the evil  habits of the live.

So get a doll the same size as yourself
Sit it on the sofa by the shelf
Make a short recording of your chat
Put it in the doll  under its hat

Make it say the Government is great
And Theresa May is almost your best mate.
Say you  enjoy helping MI  seven
And what an idiot was Ernest Bevin.

Say that Harold Wilson was  an error
He went to Oxford which filled him with terror.
Say that Tony Benn was almost red
The spy whom you saw underneath your bed.

What the bedroom habits were  of Lords
What the working classes thought of bawds
This useless information clogs their wires
And hence it helps the spies who are all liars.

TV spying on you?

 

sunlight-ohttp://www.zdnet.com/article/how-to-keep-your-smart-tv-from-spying-on-you/

 

“Well, for starters, don’t buy smart TVs in the first place. Apple TV and Roku, to name two, supply pretty much everything a smart TV does and more. Sure, they can have security holes as well, but at least they’re designed by people with a clue about security and network engineering.

What’s that? You already have a smart TV? Bite the bullet, disconnect it from the internet, and turn it into a dumb TV.

First, check to see if your TV will let you disconnect from your Wi-Fi network. If it won’t, reset it to its factory default setting. When it turns on again and goes through its setup routine, don’t give it your Wi-Fi password.

If you’re using Ethernet, do the same thing — except this time, you simply don’t plug it into your network.”

And knowing me

I love him but he does not love me
Although he  once seduced me with his art
His complex face I still would wish to see
I love him  yet but he does not love me.
I puzzle over this anomaly
And wish the grief of lies  to leave my heart
I love him but he does not love me
From his seduction,I, in pain, do smart.

I detest him  for I was then but newly known
He hung on me the clothes of his desire
And when I called him once on his iPhone
He  labelled me a whore and made me groan
His fantasy was not one I could own
Tried, condemned to perish in his fire
I detest him, for I was but newly known
And knowing me, he'd send me to my pyre

And how the the light comes in.

 

Let your lips meet gently,
the top one resting against the lower,
touching with tenderness
your own skin to skin.

Forefinger propped on chin,
I let the others dangle,
like leaves on a branch;
how softly gravity tugs them downwards.

Let heart beat quietly,slowly
as the blood circulates
carrying its music,
a river,
following the path of least resistance.

How the blood vessels receive willingly this flow,
touching it kindly as with tiny open fingers,
helping and being helped.

How the hair on the head
floats
on the breeze,
like tentacles of an octopus
waving goodbye.

Top eyelid loves the lower one;
as we blink they touch
like lovers kissing swiftly
behind a tree.

and how the light comes in
we see a world.
[mine may not be yours]
but the blink of my eyelid
sends waves through the air,
so we’re all touching and being touched,
lips kissing each other,
kiss all living creatures.

skin to skin.
air to air.

And inside us,the rich darkness
of creative night
transforms,in turn,
these touches
into dreams.

Life is what we know

 

When soft winds blow and air strokes our bare skin.
When days are long like melodies of youth,
when light wakes up the soul from out her sin
Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth?

When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown;
When water’s short and all the ground’s forlorn
Then do not meet disaster with a frown,
For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born.

When winter’s here and all is quiet and still
And nothing seems to move or grow or speak
Then we shall learn the limits of our will,
When through the soil the first green shoots will break.

For seasons change and actors come and go.
Yet through such changes, life is what we know

But you went much too fast

I wanted to touch you again
I felt you were going away
But  you went much too fast
Like a bomb, like a blast
I had hoped  for the summer you’d stay

I wanted the feel of your arms
Keeping me   safe from the storms
It seems I knew not
Of the love I had got
Till the life disappeared from your form

Now I live with the birds and the bees
The slugs and the snails and the fleas
I don’t see the harm
Of spending my time
With the lower forms of life,  I’m at ease