Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

IF THIS BE LOVE

 

If this be love,then let me have your hate.

If you be true then let me hear your lies.

For this, my heart, your message comes too late.

For now my need is for the thoughtful wise.

If this be marriage,let me have divorce.

If this be holy, hasten I to hell..

For love comes in its time without such force.

And of its message ẃho am I to tell?

If this be love,then let me dwell alone.

If this be love, I will be forever chaste.

Your love is like a bomb. that breaks my bones

A love that lays your world and mine to waste

.

Love can shake us to our inner core.

Hence of your love I wish to hear no more

Parody

P1000346
parody
ˈparədi/
noun
noun: parody; plural noun: parodies
  1. 1.
    an imitation of the style of a particular writer, artist, or genre with deliberate exaggeration for comic effect.
    “the film is a parody of the horror genre”
verb
verb: parody; 3rd person present: parodies; past tense: parodied; past participle: parodied; gerund or present participle: parodying
  1. 1.
    produce a humorously exaggerated imitation of (a writer, artist, or genre).
    “his speciality was parodying schoolgirl fiction”
Origin
late 16th century: via late Latin from Greek parōidia ‘burlesque poem’, from para- ‘beside’ (expressing alteration) + ōidē ‘ode’.

Where is the boundary?

If there is bad poetry   and good poetry how about grey poetry?

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The poem was not a diamond  nor a pearl
Nor was it even moonstone  they surmised
But  in the weekly news, it got a mention
Which gained the author looks of great surprise.

The postman and the milkman lingered longer
The  dustmen were all eager to commend
They rescued other writing from recycling
They told the author it was in demand.

Or if not now, then maybe in the future;
Like Ted Hughes, we ought not to destroy.
The driver’s  done an OU course in writing
Everything from Pontefract to Troy.

The postman wrote us verses  every Xmas
The milkman gave us readings from our palms.
The dustmen read the Times  if it was folded
If it was creased, then they were up in arms.

Save letters, lists and diaries when handwritten;
Even the old  table where you write
Perhaps your  golden pen from Haifa
And the Esterbrook which knew your daily plight.

I don’t know where Sylvia’s stuff was quartered
But now it fills  great rooms  with gravitas
Innumerable academics sift it
Has all her suffering brought her down to this?

So build a shed and make it dry in winter
Get heavy duty bags from Shangri La
Every single sentence you have written
Put it there before you cross the Bar

In your Will,do mention your grey  verses
Leave all to the University of Rome
If they    don’t really  want  to shelve them
Make a university  of your home.

 

Get used to how deserted spouses gasp

The art of living   is  to  stay relaxed.
The art of living’s not to keep or grasp.
Ignore the signals of the phone and facts

 

Ignore the peeling paper and the cracks.
Ignore the buzzing of the angry wasps
The art of living   is  to  stay relaxed

Don’t bother  how the  other folk  react
Do not  extend your  hand, in case it’s clasped
Ignore the signals of the phone and facts

Keep your suitcase  in the  porch and  packed.
Get used to how deserted spouses gasp
The art of living   is  to  stay relaxed

Remember  phones  de facto can be tracked
Remember all you’re breaking is   their  trust
Ignore the signals of the phone, and facts

Don’t let  the ten commandments keep you fixed
Facades, in the end, all come to dust
The art of living   is  to  stay relaxed
Ignore the signals of the phone, for I will fax

 

 

 

A tyrant’s spell makes ruin seem like fate

Writing poems is easy,in the end
For they exist already in the tongue.
We  remove excess, and inappropriate,  mend.
Hence what is left cannot be written wrong.

The longer and more complex is the poem
The easier for the poet to  sculpt to shape
But brief and succinct verses  hide, or roam.
Empty is my paper and I  mope.

Or are words  a  mere random heap  of stones
A poet ,  a builder of a drystone wall?
Skeleton,  or heap of  beggars’ bones
Awaiting  flesh , for which desire they call?

Maybe a hidden body in the woods,
A hand protrudes and dogs run all a-bark
Lazarus waiting  for  his unique   God
Who alone  provides the  living spark

Frankenstein or Saviour, who can tell?
Construction  may obscure  and then  too late;
Both  good and evil can  be written well.
A tyrant’s spell  makes ruin   seem like fate

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop



The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Our fascination for bad poetry

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https://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/articles/detail/69448

 

I suppose,moreover,it’s never easy to tell
To coin a phrase,what is new and great
From what is bad
And it’s darned uncomfortable sitting astride this fence
I suppose it has to be nice,full of cliches and perhaps rhyming
And rarely scanning;
Or it’s about sort of hackneyed type of stories
With nothing new  under the sun in them
And  with  a few too many adverbs, prepositions and no nouns like names
Just to get the ball rolling,here’s my point of view
Would you like it read out at your third wedding?
Or your one and only funeral
Don’t keep me guessing.I like a quick response
I am not easily bored but when I am bored it’s easy to stay that way,kinda thing.
When I feel paralysed and stare at the  things piled on the sofa
And wonder how to sort them out..
Ah,well,many a mickle makes a muckle
And lions roar while cheetahs chuckle
Bite your own knuckle.Oh,fuckle.

He who owns the camera owns the zoom

He who pays the piper calls the tune
He who owns the camera owns the zoom
We used to make hay  down in sunny Froome
While shepherds watched their flocks  outside the town
Laughter is the antidote  to loss
If you’re hurt then it’s ok to curse.
Many hands make lights work after dark
If you have a car, you   need a park
If you die make sure that you are clean
All that’s well ends with a happy cheer
Many like to drown their guts in beer.
A bird in my hand nipped me with its beak
My bladder’s full so I must take a leak.
My clothes are cleaner than a Bishop’s Dream
If you meet one ,all you do  is scream.

I can’t stop getting it

I can’t stop getting it
The Radio Times,lost , unread.
The newspapers all writ with blood
I can’t stop getting it.
I get that you are gone for good
I get my tears may cause  the flood
I can’t stop getting it.
The mustard, yellow, in its pot
For my taste,  too wild and hot
I can’t stop getting it.
The cutlery I bought to cheer
Those new plates, the bottled beer
I can’t stop getting it.
You think I’m smart,
I have no heart?
I only like  pure numbers cold,
Transcendental,undersold.
I write while   sentences still dart
I write because  we are apart
I can’t stop getting it
The LRB, Arthritis Care
The Oldie,Damart,what men wear.
The Guardian Weekly,Africa
Apartheid, Sharpeville.what you saw.
I can’t stop getting it.
I’ve got it all.I’ve got  the warmth
I’ve got the memories  of calm
I’ve got it all,and yet, and yet
I’ve got nothing,I’m bereft.
I can’t stop getting hit.
I can’t stop getting it.
Save me with your wit.
Your mobile features,not your phone,
The abject utterance of your groans
The trolley in  the A & E
How you died , right next to me.
I held your hand and sang the psalms
You smiled at me ,at last you calmed
I can’t stop getting it
The groups of doctors just outside
Listening to me sing you  right.
The nurses  stopped ,like frozen film
That was heaven,not a prison
I can’t stop getting it.

 

Happy to do nothing,nothing seek

Rich deep silence brings pleasures unique
From  peaceful green of  trees where small  birds  hide.
The work within the mind  may be complete

About our souls, we each must be discreet
Even to those  who’re  living by our sides
Rich deep silence brings pleasures unique

Happy to do nothing,nothing seek
Innocent as  young,beloved bride
The work within the mind  may be complete

Ignorant of Latin,Hebrew,Greek,
The heart needs no such learning to decide
Rich deep silence brings pleasures unique

I listen to the  world around me speak
Underneath the turmoil,love’s alive
The work within the mind  may be complete

In our society,  sensitive means freak.
Yet, by our intuitions, we may guide
Rich deep silence brings pleasures unique
The work within the mind  may be complete

Cliche

IMG_0003 - Copy - Copy - Copy - Copy (2)
cliché
ˈkliːʃeɪ/
noun
noun: cliché; plural noun: clichés; noun: cliche; plural noun: cliches
  1. 1.
    a phrase or opinion that is overused and betrays a lack of original thought.
    “that old cliché ‘a woman’s place is in the home’”
    synonyms: platitude, hackneyed phrase, commonplace, banality, truism, trite phrase, banal phrase, overworked phrase, stock phrase, bromide; More
    • a very predictable or unoriginal thing or person.
      “each building is a mishmash of tired clichés”
  2. 2.BRITISH
    a stereotype or electrotype.
Origin
mid 19th century: French, past participle (used as a noun) of clicher ‘to stereotype’.

How to make your poetry worse.Part 1

Write in form but make sure the lines don’t scan
Iambic pentameter

I love my love with all my human heart
I    bake Dan apple tart
I love his wicked  face and legs
I love to cook him  loads of scrambled eggs

Use cliches as often as possible

CLICHED POP UP

Every cloud its silver lining has
Get your sheets white using mega Daz
Finders may be keepers in some lands
I keep my hair on with elastic bands.

 

Whiskas cat food’s  quite enough for me
The cat eats  all my dinner , while I wee
Remember  not to roll on mossy banks
As rolling stones may gather on your flanks

I had a bird in my hands just the once
My parents looked at this and made me wince
They made my punishment fit my so called crime
So now I live free doing my own Time   [jail in UK]

Too many cooks can spoil my broth today
For soup’s unsuitable in summer gay.
I’m marrying a   clever maid who’s also sweet
Hermaphrodites can do it all and tweet

You may be cutie pie and like free love
But I prefer an owl to a  soft dove
Yet love  needs payment , even in the  end
In the end is the beginning  of the penned

 

When shadows fall and night begins again

When shadows fall  and night  begins again
When  artificial light is all I have
I feel the grief of loss  in  biting pain

And by the evening ,energy is drained.
We list the memories of those we’ve loved
When shadows fall  and night  begins again

 

So like the moon ,my feelings wax and wane
And sunlight does not fall from far above
I feel the grief of loss  in    biting  pains

When no words seem appropriate to explain
The river rushes fast, but I’ve no  boat
When shadows fall  and night  begins again

At least I do not look for who to blame
But wish to live surrounded by a moat
I feel the grief of loss in   biting  pains

A premonition warned me of what came
And down I sank forgetting how to float
When shadows fall  and night  begins again
I feel the grief of loss  in  biting pain

MW Insinuate

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Suggesting night by Katherine 2015
http://www.merriam-webster.com/word-of-the-day
Word of the Day : August 24, 2016

 insinuate

play
verb in-SIN-yuh-wayt
PrevNext

Definition

1 a : to introduce (as an idea) gradually or in a subtle, indirect, or covert way

b : to impart or suggest in an artful or indirect way : imply

2 : to introduce (as oneself) by stealthy, smooth, or artful means

Examples

“They are confident buildings, but not boastful ones. They have a way of iinsinuating  themselves into the landscape, behaving as if they’ve always been there.” — Karrie Jacobs,Architect, 18 June 2013

“Pokemon Go players couldn’t catch much on Saturday. That’s because the game kept crashing. … [A] group called PoodleCorp claimed responsibility for the server crash in a series of tweets. The group also insinuated that another attack on the game was imminent.” — Ahiza Garcia, CNN Wire, 16 July 2016

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Did You Know?

The meaning of insinuate is similar to that of another verb, suggest. Whether you suggest or insinuate something, you are conveying an idea indirectly. But although these two words share the same basic meaning, each gets the idea across in a different way. When you suggest something, you put it into the mind by associating it with other ideas, desires, or thoughts. You might say, for example, that a book’s title suggests what the story is about. The word insinuate, on the other hand, usually includes a sense that the idea being conveyed is unpleasant, or that it is being passed along in a sly or underhanded way (“She insinuated that I cheated”).

Canny- what does it mean

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Canny is used a lot in the North of England and canny lass is Geordie
canny
ˈkani/
adjective
adjective: canny; comparative adjective: cannier; superlative adjective: canniest
  1. 1.
    having or showing shrewdness and good judgement, especially in money or business matters.
    “canny investors will switch banks if they think they are getting a raw deal”
    antonyms: foolish, reckless
  2. 2.
    NORTHERN ENGLISHSCOTTISH
    pleasant; nice.
    “she’s a canny lass”
Origin
late 16th century (originally Scots): from can1 (in the obsolete sense ‘know’) + -y1.

The rage of living

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The point of living is to feel alive
Not caged  by  too high walls or steely fence
We want to love,be taken by surprise.

Our  wounded mangled self we can’t deride,
Recalling  fights and  struggles lived  through once.
The point of living is to feel alive.

We dither to and fro in puzzled ways
We feel the anguish, still and quite intent.
We want to love,be taken by surprise.

The self’s spontaneous, not a thing contrived;
Formed with love and  hate,with all intense.
The rage of living is to be alive.

When washed away by feelings glad,immense
That cross our borders without our lament
The  hope,the need of living is  our life
We want to  give and take  yet fear surprise

In those lost lands, I saw your face

 
 
In the land which dreams dwell in

where love and joy and life begin;

how swiftly the deep rivers flow

from those lost lands of long ago.

I wander through wild poppy fields

Underfoot the dark earth yields….

I see the flowering fruit trees start

Their blossoms gather round my heart…

I hear the sparrows sing with joy

And bees their busy wings employ.

In those lost lands I saw your face

And now I long for your embrace.

Are you real,am I deceived?

From this earth we all must leave.

Earth to earth and ash to ash

Glory,pride and boasting pass.

Leave me now,my dearest one

Soon I too will be called on.

Nothing lasts but truth is real

Keep the truth and your ideals..

Earth to earth, we rest in clay

We must give all self away

Softly on this earth I roam

Seeking still my love and home,

for until the very end

Love and kindnss may descend.

Soft as wings of butterflies

Tears well up and wet my eyes.

My heart has melted into yours

Thus we grow and die like flowers

Merriam-Webster​:Lenient

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lenient

play

adjective LEEN-yunt

Definition

1 : exerting a soothing or easing influence : relieving pain or stress

2 : of mild and tolerant disposition; especially : indulgent

Examples

Because Kevin didn’t have any past violations on his driving record, the officer decided to be lenient and let him off with a written warning.

“In February, he pleaded guilty to a bribery count and a tax count. His attorney … has said federal prosecutors have recommended a lenient sentence in exchange for his cooperation.” — Jimmie E. Gates, The Clarion-Ledger (Jackson, Mississippi), 18 July 2016

Learn a new word every day. Delivered to your inbox!

Did You Know?

Lenient is a word with a soothing history. It derives from the Latin verb lenire, meaning “to soothe” or “to soften” (itself from lenis, meaning “soft or mild”). The first, now archaic, sense of lenient referred to something soothing that relieved pain and stress. That meaning was shared by lenitive, an earlier derivative of lenire that was commonly used with electuary (a “lenitive electuary” being a medicated paste prepared with honey or another sweet and used by veterinarians to alleviate pain in the mouth). Linguists also borrowed lenis to describe speech sounds that are softened—for instance, the “t” sound in gutter is lenis. By way of comparison, the “t” sound in toe is fortis.

A wig for Stan

 

  • Stan wore a wig in bed so his cat  Emile could stick his claws into it without scratching Stan………..though the lady in the shop where Stan bought it assumed he was a transvestite.This is what happened in the shop:

    IMG_0038
    After being scratched on the head by Emile, who slept on Stan’s pillow,Stan had decided he must buy himself a wig.Seeing as it was a very cold summer it would keep him warm.He went out and took the car onto the road.
    Come on Emile,you can read the map for me to get us to the wig shop
    on the other side of Knittingham.
    Why don’t you get Sat Nav? the naughty little cat answered rudely
    Why should I when I prefer Cat Nav…. and you are always good company.
    How flattering, purred Emile,putting on his spectacles which had gold rims.
    When they reached the Wig Shop “Fakes and Fantasy” in Eastside Road Emile was so tired with navigating he went to sleep and Stan ventured nervously into the shop as it was in new hands.
    Are you alright, sir? a charming young  lady asked.
    What are you looking for? Some viagra perhaps?
    No, no! Stan muttered
    A vibrator? She offered calmly
    I get enough vibration in my old car!I am looking for a wig.
    But your hair is quite thick!Ah,I see… a lady’s wig?
    Yes,he whispered,Exactly.
    I think an auburn wig would suit you.
    The colour is no concern…I shall only wear it in bed.
    Does your wife not  mind you being a transvestite?
    I’m not a transvestite,I sleep with the cat! My wife wouldn’t mind if I wore a steel pan on my head.
    Well,whatever turns you on as long as it does no harm to anyone or the cat.It’s a free country.
    A free country ? pay my income tax gladly…for if I was not getting a pension from the Civil Service I would not be liable for tax.It’s a privilege to pay tax!
    I am glad you feel that way,the lady replied,I am a liberal myself but of the “lefter than thou” school of thought.
    A leftover liberal,he joked feebly
    And it’s no longer very free here..soon they will monitor our emails.
    I’ve not written you any emails,Stan murmured softly.
    Not yet,but most men I meet send me emails!
    Well,what’s your address,he  asked seductively.
    It’s  katlover.me@yoohoomail.co.uk or

    mary.isaac-newton78@googledmail.com

    Why have you  got 2 addresses,he whispered to her
    Oh,I can’t remember.I also have a   gmail one.My user name is covetgarden.rose
    Don’t you mean coventgarden?
    Well,it’s too late now.I’ve just applied as covet!
    You should be more careful.You may attract the wrong type of person.
    Do you think there is a wrong type?
    Well,avoid a very egocentric person or one who seems to be after your money or your maidenhead.
    I am 25 years old and after a few boxes of super large tampax I no longer have a maidenhead.
    That’s why the Bishop’s banned them! He  informed her
    All I say is.. let a Bishop experience menstruation,commuting and modern tight clothes and then I shall heed their advice.
    I see,muttered Stan,You seem a very intriguing young lady.Have you ever thought of having a blog?
    No,never.I am unable to think of a blog title.
    How about,
    “It’s bleeding obvious.”?
    What is?
    That’s the title.
    I see.It’s a bit rude.
    Well,you need to draw attention to yourself.
    I have enough already,she answered lightly
    Thank you so much.I do feel I am your man despite the age gap.
    To get back to my purchase…I’ll take a long red wig that is machine washable.
    Very wise,the girl responded.I do hope your cat will like it.It’s polyester but feels very nice.
    How much is it? asked Stan.
    Half a crown,she replied.
    Here you are I have a florin and two three penny bits.
    I’ll save those for my Xmas pudding,she cried happily.
    What a good idea,Stan howled. merrily
    Clutching the wig in one hand he tried to get out of the shop without knocking over a mound of vibrators stacked by the exit.What is it with modern technology,he whispered to himself
    In my day,we never needed a vibrator,he told the assistant.
    We could vibrate naturally.
    Oh,those good old days…. when love was as natural as a flash of lightning or a shower of hailstones…
    As natural as having a very clever Prime Minister like Harold Wilson..
    Those were the days,my friend
    When we thought we could change the world
    And now we are disillusioned
    But we may as well love each other,anyway.
    They even say,
    It’s love that makes the world go round.
    So love someone today,please.
    Visit an old person or a lonely neighbour.
    Throw a party tonight!

The fruit

 
 Ah,did you throw away the  ripened fruit
Because inside it hid a hardened stone?
As anything not total does not suit
Love’s ambivalence seems to you a crime

Don’t throw away my love when I  offend
For I am human too and lose my sense
As tension makes it difficult to bend
And sometimes even love is too intense.

Rather , see how much love there still may be
And balance that against my human faults
Instead ,one mark ,one sin  one thought unfree
Weighs more than years of love ,binds me in guilt.

As panic  will grow less when we just wait
In such a way , real love can contain hate

My canny lass

I can see you in  the  distance in the   meadows
You’re  walking all alone,  though it is late
I’m watching you and wondering what to do.
I  always keep to roads   that run    dead straight.

I’m sorry if you’re weary and forlorn
I’m afraid to leave the beaten track.
I even have a sat nav  on my bike
Perhaps if I  shout  out,you will come back.

I think you should  avoid the fields and hills
For you are old and stiff and  mad
I phone you on your Windows  phone again
To tell you ,you are being very bad.

toBut you asked me to  join you in the grass
To see wildflowers and  in blue   heather   lie
But  can’t you  see the dangers ever near?
Is it weakness   on my side or am I wise?

I once lay down   myself on   heathery moors
The Cleveland Hills, so beautiful a view
But later I saw I ‘d edged a cliff
So near to falling off,I never knew.

Since then I’m careful where I  walk
I  study charts and  maps and feel afraid
I get the weather forecast ,wear a mac
But is it a wise decision I have made?

I see that  you are sinking in a bog
I vault the gate and speed across the grass
I grab you and I pull you to  dry earth
I always did admire you,canny lass.

Oh,I’ll take you in my arms and get you warm
I won’t admonish you  or make a pass
I’ll give you hot  tea,check if you are harmed.
I love,I love ,I love my canny lass.

As brave as the old Vikings in  longboats
As wild as a cat demon in the hills
As  bright as a bronze shield in Northern sun
Oh,canny lass, be mine, please say,I will.

.

Daisied fields

What shall I do ,the  widow asked her friend.
I feel this knife inside my heart again
What  can I do to make my sorrow end
What can I do to  stop the bloody   pain?

Do nothing, the  sweet friend  gently replied
Your task is  to  accept   your own despair
The  wisdom in your mind will work,she sighed.
Your body hurts and  for such  pain we  care.

Sit here and  count the daisies i n the lawn
No need to talk or  even think  or will.
As in this peaceful sitting for  a day
Your mind will    rest and  hope  and trust may call.

Receptive to the shivering, daisied  fields,
The heart releases; to  its  grace  we yield

I know you well enough to wish to care

I knew you well  for  just the  everyday
The little happenings which we have shared
But in your  grief, I  don’t know what to say.

How many losses hit you on  your way?
I know you well enough to wish to care
I knew you well enough for  every day

Is sorrow  what survivors have to pay?
I’m afraid  to feel  my dark emotions  bared.
So in your  grief, I   fear what I might say.

On your hand,my hand I gently lay
I lived near you when all was kind and fair
I knew you well enough for  every day.

I ‘ll comfort you  perhaps just for one day
We’ll live this darkness hour by   pained hour
Oh,in your  grief, I  don’t know what to say.

We’ll take a walk ,and movement shall be prayer.
We’ll smell the  damp green lawns and   lavenders
I knew you well  for  just the  everyday
But  when you grieved, I   knew not what to say

The second coming

http://www.poemhunter.com/poems/grief/page-1/14033/

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of i{Spiritus Mundi}
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at laSt,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

 

 

The fruit

Ah,did you throw away the  ripened fruit
Because inside it hid a hardened stone?
As anything not total does not suit
Love’s ambivalence seems to you a crime

Don’t throw away my love when I  offend
For I am human too and lose my sense
As tension makes it difficult to bend
And sometimes even love is too intense.

Rather , see how much love there still may be
And balance that against my human faults
Instead ,one mark ,one sin  one thought unfree
Weighs more than years of love ,binds me in guilt.

As panic  will grow less when we just wait
In such a way , real love can contain hate