Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

Hearts in heaven

Talking to you

So what are you doing about Xmas?
What can I do?Abolish it!? Make it illegal ?
You know what I mean..
Well,how do you know that.
We both speak the same tongue.
Pity we don’t speak in tongues!
That would be more confusing.
But exciting!
Do you believe in the Holy Spirit?
I believe in all spirits wholly.
Tell me.
I don’t think the Spirit minds.
What!You have spoken to him?
No She spoke to me.
So he’s female?
In the Kingdom of Heaven there is neither male nor female.
That will be boring.How about in the Other Place?photo0333_001


I don’t think the Bible mentions it.
What would we do in heaven with no love?
We love without bodily intercourse.
Will we have hearts?
It depends on how we live.If you have no heart on earth
then it seems you’ll have none to take with you.
That seems logical…but scary.
Well,anyone can grow a heart…
How
Love your neighbour and your self..
What if I can’t love?
Just act lovingly… use your imagination.
My mother always said I had no imagination
Well,imagine that.

I can’t.That’s my problem.

Bless me , rather!

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I was thinking about going to Confession last night but nobody talks about sin anymore

1.So I copied my sister’s photograph in a dress she made herself without asking her.
2.I forgot to put my watch on so when I visited a friend I stayed far too long but it was partly because I could feel a kind of force from her pulling me in..
3.I forgot to sweep the path after my neighbours pulled down a lot of virginia creeper from both houses so no doubt I have trodden a lot of bits of wood and things into the house.However  since it is my house is  it a sin?
4. I read the Observer online woth an adblocker on because I have got the paper one delivered so refuse their requests to turn off the blocker…I am invited to donate but  there’s no where I can say,I have paid for the paper edition.
5.I wrote a  letter pf mild complaint  to someone who  was very rude to me.But that is a good thing as I am usually too much the other way.Nevertheless is it a sin?
6.Isn’t it boring?
7.Much as I covet my neighbour’s husband I have not lured him away.Even if I tried to If feel I am too old for him.He’s only 28… so he claims.I could adopt him I suppose.
8 I have dusted my pot cat but I hope I did not worship it  when I was daydreaming.
9.I looked at some lace underwear online.So far that’s  as far as I have gone…Do men like it?
10 I fear I have not done enough to interest Father Brown.So my intention is to worship a my calf tonight and my other calf tomorrow.Then I shall  worship a china duck which is in the hall on a shelf.Then I will tell myself a lie and be unfaithful to myself   by reading a romantic novelette.Then I will tell my husband if he wants me to move to Ealing he will have to get a car.A chariot of fire is not something the neighbours will be pleased to see in this suburban desert.But it would be just typical of my husband to spend our savings on one saying,It seemed a good idea at the time.13895392_10208628903533449_69103566612542102_n

 

At last I have  sinned… gossiping about my husband..That wil do for next week’s Confession

Yet all human lovers

 

I didn’t know I’d love you

With both my heart and mind

Every love is different

Each is a special kind

I didn’t know I’d miss you

In quite the way I do.

For we can’t feel emotion

Before its time is due.

And are you missing me now

Despite angelic hosts?

They may care for you , my  sweet

But I think I cared the most.

Yet all human lovers

Must part and go their ways.

Some may die and fall to dust

Some may go astray.

I didn’t know I’d love you

And hurt invade my heart.

I didn’t know that you’d love me.

But we would have to part.

From mother and her bosom

From father and his strength

We lose and gain throughout our life

Whatever is its length.

I didn’t know I’d miss you

With all my loving heart.

But . as we’re made of fragile flesh.

We must sadly part.

If you had been a sadist

If you had been unkind.

I would not now be grieving

And losing my own mind.

So maybe I should be grateful

For being found and known.

I wish you were still sitting here.

And I were not alone.

When we feel so lonely

No-one else will do.

It’s not that I am just lonely.

I’m lonely, just for you.

In the wet and stony

Pathways we must go

We must keep on walking;

Be patient when we’re slow.

The inner force is working

To make new maps for me.

Wherever they shall guide my steps,

With you I’ll long to be.

Whom once you loved

 So you are gone  who once declared your love
For that phantasm conjured in your mind
For onto me you brought down from above
A torment bitter and   hard words unkind.

Used to  friendship from within your books

You did not understand that I was real
Irritation grew as you did look;
You threw your poisoned  arrow  at my heel.

Whom  once you loved you  then began to hate
If not perfect, then intolerable I must be
And then you cursed me with this  sorry fate
Our child was born and him you’ll never see.
Illegitimate and born in desert grey.
I carried him alone from death’s dark way.

Fiction and chance

  • hanceIMG_0067
    I went to the doctor last week and he said,
    Who’re you,dear? I said
    I beg your pardon,but you know me already.
    So he said,
    Oh, my dear,I thought you were  new patient
    So I asked him if he needed glasses.He said
    Look here,I am the doctor not you.
    I apologised profusely and said it was just a way of showing  I cared.He smiled.
    Anyway I said,it’s my head doctor.It feels unstable.Is it going to drop off?
    Not literally,he replied.It’s all the upheaval  about Brexit.
    Brexit,what’s that? I asked politely.
    Why,surely you heard the News?
    No,I’ve stopped reading the paper and only get it because the newsagent is so kind.
    What about  the News,he enquired
    My TV is too small and I can’t be bothered to get a new one.
    Well,I’ve never heard of unstable heads before,he said.
    Now’s your big chance.If you study me you can write an article and be the  generator of a new disorder.Mind you,  if I recall the last 15 years of strife and war  in the Middle East  feeling the head is about to drop off is probably normal
    Well, keep it under your hat,he cried.We need patients who believe they are ill
    Maybe that’s my problem,I wear my hat under my head.
    That’s not a hat it’s a scarf, he informed me scientifically
    I’m afraid to wear it on my head in case people attack me in the street thinking I am a Muslim.
    Perhaps that explains your problems,he  chortled?
    I was born here because my mother was here
    Her folk fled from Co.Tyrone as Catholics were unpopular and had no vote etc
    To think,he said,you would not be here if Catholics had been given their rights 150 years ago, he mused.
    It’s a funny world,I said.None of us are here except by chance.
    God must love Probability.
    And so pray all of us.Ah,men!

Till you can sing and rejoice and delight

The  paragraph below  was written by the mystic Thomas Traherne.You  can see more here and also you can look in Wikipedia if you want some history.He wrote many poems which you can access through site like Poem Hunter

I love the idea of the sea flowing in our veins.

You never enjoy the world aright, till the Sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars: and perceive yourself to be the sole heir of the whole world, and more than so, because men[sic] are in it who are every one sole heirs as well as you. Till you can sing and rejoice and delight in
God, as misers do in gold, and Kings in sceptres, you never enjoy the world.

Till your spirit filleth the whole world, and the stars are your jewels; till you are as familiar with the ways of God in all Ages as with your walk and table: till you are intimately acquainted with that shady nothing out of which the world was made: till you love men so as to desire their happiness, with a thirst equal to the zeal of your own: till you delight in God for being good to all: you never
enjoy the world.”
― Thomas Traherne

I’ll have to give up writing villanelles

I’ll have to give up writing villanelles
My rhymes are strained so why not stop this game.
I’ll  write the  tales  of cats who went to hell

I thought if I wrote dozens in  a spell
I’d get  more skilful and  relax again
I’ll have to give up writing villanelles

My inner critic says we’re going to move to Hull
I don’t know if it’s Larkin   being  famed
I’ll  write the  tales  of cats who went to hell

I guess the housework made me feel unwell
I didn’t do it but I saw it, all the same.
I’ll have to give up writing villanelles

Maybe my ideas need to gell
And that’s not easy with a villanelle
I’ll  write the  tales  of cats who went to hell

I ought to write some words that I can sell.
Or letters to the  papers,  all insane
I’ll have to give up writing villanelles
I’ll  write  more  tales  of cats who went to hell!

Zest from Merriam Webster word of the day

zest Audio pronunciation
noun | ZEST
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Definition
1 :
a piece of the peel of a citrus fruit (such as an orange or lemon) used as flavoring
2 :
an enjoyably exciting quality : piquancy
3 :
keen enjoyment : relish, gusto
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Original Meanings Quiz
A quiz for the pedantic and those annoyed by them!
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Bee collecting pollen
Plus:
Did You Know?
Zest can spice up your life—fitting for a word that we learned from the world of cooking. We borrowed the term from a source that has given English speakers many culinary delights: French cuisine. The French used the form zest (nowadays they spell it zeste) to refer to orange or lemon peel used to flavor food or drinks. English speakers developed a taste for the fruit flavoring and adopted the term zest in the late 1600s. By the early 1700s, they had started using the word to refer to any quality that adds enjoyment to something in the same way that the zest of an orange or lemon adds flavor to food.
Examples of ZEST
Healthy and active as a senior citizen, Richard had azest for life, a desire to travel and see the world, and a perpetual interest in trying new things.
“Basically, chocolate powder gets sprinkled on top of your cappuccino. It may not seem like much, but the sugary bitterness from the chocolate adds zest to the beverage.”
— Jean Trinh, The Los Angeles Magazine, 24 June 2016
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A home for the Unknown

The “habit” of perfection   makes no sense
We may achieve perfection perhaps once.
It  hurts the doubtful minds of the intense.

Around our hearts we need to build a fence
To keep away such  spiritual cons
The “habit” of perfection   makes no sense

Even if we live as monks  or nuns
We   do not leave the world when robe we don
We hurt the painful minds of the intense

We may give away our gold and even pence
But find our narcissism’s  still  not gone
The “habit” of perfection   makes no sense

Work and  individual effort’s  part defence
We can    try to make  a  space for the Unknown
Otherwise we  harm the  stricken hearts of the intense

 

To claim   that we  live perfectlly  offends
And with it our salvation’s all but gone
The” habit” of perfection   makes no sense
It  hurts the doubtful minds of the intense

 

 

We walked the Cleveland Hills when love was new

The places I associate with you,
Durham in the  deepest, whitest frost
The places that I dream  of what we  knew

We walked  the Cleveland Hills when love was  new
Saw  icy windows in your parent’s house.
The places I associate with you

 

Lincoln floodlit,  threw  me  to my knees….
We crossed the Humber in midwinter lost
The places  that I dream  of, that we  knew

Christmas time  your mother  felt   the so blue
We  walked  the sea edge Redcar,Saltburn first .
The places I associate with you

But where’ve you gone and  why  is there no clue?
I travel in my dreams ,with you  impressed.
The places I associate with you,
The spaces   where we  travelled ,where are you?

I long to see your face just one more time.

I long to see your face just one more time.
I didn’t know that day  would be the last.
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.

You’d  smoke a cigarette  and write some lines
About the mountains that we’d  climbed or  passed
I long to see your face just one more time.

On Ingleborough  we had made designs
But heavy rain came down and we were lost
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.

We turned around as if it were a crime,
For we knew  such decisions have a cost
I long to see your face just one more time.

I teased you  on the muddy  slopes  in mime
I could not speak for I had seen  your ghost
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.

 

In Dent  or  up in Teesdale  will you come?
Or  by  scarred boats in Staithes,  eternal rest?
I long to see your face just one more time.
I can’t create the real by using rhyme.

 

 

 

Use your old smartphone as a wi fi tablet

Chiloschista-parishii_light

What to Do With Your Old Cell Phone or Tablet

 

 

I lost my phone a while back and it was a bit small for me.I have just found it so was intrigued to discover what it can do. without a SIM card.You can still look up maps etc while it is on your wi fi.Also you can use skype but I think you have to pay £12 for 3 months.If you take it out you can connect it to the wi fi in a coffee shop ot a BT Wi Fi hot spot..You can still make an emergency call with it even without a SIM card.
You can use the camera too but  the photos here were taken by Mike and he  is a keen student of light and how to draw with it.

I wear an apron aand a pretty dress

I wear an apron, though a feminist
I don’t believe I must forgo my dress
To keep it clean while    copying  Julia Child….
Yes,I wear an apron I confess.

And here’s my yeast so I can bake my bread
You say I  should not sink to women’s craft?
Did I not teach  to aid the working class?
To me, it’s you who sink  with words   so daft

I’ve no   to wish show  I’m equal to a man
Nor to a woman either,for you see
My wisdom  says my choice  is to pursue bents
And only doing this will make me free.

As I don my apron I connect
To all who like to cook,whatever  sex.

Adlestrop by Edward Thomas

http://www.thehypertexts.com/Best%20Poems%20Ever%20Greatest%20Poetry%20of%20All%20Time.htm

Edward Thomas is not as well-known as some of the other poets on this page, but “Adlestrop” was among the top ten most requested poems at Poetry Please, so he continues to have fans. “Adlestrop” is a somewhat mysterious poem, because nothing really happens and yet it seems extraordinarily sad. Thomas was a literary critic, biographer and book reviewer who became a close friend of Robert Frost when he moved to England. It was Frost who persuaded Thomas to begin writing poetry around 1913-14, and Thomas was on his way to meet Frost when he wrote the poem below. Thomas was also close to the “tramp” or “hobo” poet W. H. Davies, and help bring him to the attention of the reading public. Thomas died at the battle of Arras in 1917, so all his poems were written within a very narrow window of time. It is said that he decided to enlist at the age of 37 after reading a pre-publication version of Frost’s famous poem about indecision, “The Road Not Taken.” Thomas died never having seen any of his poems in print.

Adlestrop
by Edward Thomas

Yes. I remember Adlestrop—
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

Amiri Baraka: Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note

 

Lately, I’ve become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelopes me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad edged silly music the wind
Makes when I run for a bus…

Things have come to that.

And now, each night I count the stars.
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.

Nobody sings anymore.

And then last night I tiptoed up
To my daughter’s room and heard her
Talking to someone, and when I opened
The door, there was no one there…
Only she on her knees, peeking into

Her own clasped hands

Poem: “The Advice,” by Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset.

The Advice

Wou’d you in Love succeed, be Brisk, be Gay,
Cast all dull Thoughts and serious Looks away;
Think not with down cast Eyes, and mournful Air,
To move to pity, the Relentless Fair,
Or draw from her bright Eyes a Christal Tear.
This Method Foreign is to your Affair,
Too formal for the Frolick you prepare:
Thus, when you think she yields to Love’s advance,
You’ll find ’tis no Consent, but Complaisance.
Whilst he who boldly rifles all her Charms,
Kisses and Ravishes her in his Arms,
Seizes the favour, stays not for a Grant,
Alarms her Blood, and makes her sigh and pant;
Gives her no time to speak, or think’t a Crime,
Enjoys his Wish, and well imploys his time.

I wish that I had kissed you ten more times

I wish that I had kissed you ten more times
I didn’t know  how soon you had to leave
I’d   draw upon your lips my best design

I tell my love in words,  which is no crime.
I didn’t show you all you might receive
I wish that I had kissed you ten more times

If I had  bought you  bottles of best wine
Would you have stayed and  kept me unbereaved?
I’d   draw upon your lips my best design.

I know you were perceptive and read signs
Eyes a-crinkle   green as sun washed  leaves
I wish that I had kissed you ten more times

I’d  hold your  mind and  weave  your thoughts to rhymes
Until  the  truest love poem  arrived
I’d   draw upon your lips my best design.

I’d write  you letters ,much love I would leave
With my mind and body I perceive.
I wish that I had kissed you ten more times
I’d   draw upon your lips our own design

My dearest heart

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Mei tearens, farwol myn leafste hert.[ Frisian][

With tenderness,farewell my dearest heart

.Met tederheid, vaarwel mijn liefste hart.[ Dutch]

Med ømhed , farvel min kære hjerte . [Danish

Med ømhed, Farvel mín kerti hjerte.  [Icelandic]

Watercolour love

 

Like ancient watercolour paintings washed by rain,
Our hearts had mingled,yet our separate selves remained.
Two watercolour pictures without frames,
Became one picture over time;
Yet two of us still there.
Our colours blended  gradually
Till shades and hues were shared.
I loved your colours intermixed with mine:
Together they became a new design.
A watercolour image  made and stroked by rain
I, too, must go, yet our  Watercolour Love   ever remains

My blood skips

 

I found looking at languages similar to English before the Norman Conquest that joy or happiness is blydskip….. so it is a metaphor…I was so happy my blood was skipping!Maybe if we  know joy enough  our blood will circulate better and we will not heart attacks etc.

Laziness may be a sign of intelligence

 

 

Amd Jesus admired the  lilies of the field….I don’t know what sort of  flowers they would have been but that doesn’t matter.

http://www.medicaldaily.com/are-smart-people-lazy-new-study-links-high-iq-sedentary-lifestyle-394370

Can it be it measures you?

I am no less human   than before
The way you  speak does not true measure grant
Can it be it measures you  who score?

I  trusted you who begged me to adore.
Yet looking back the basis was too scant
Still I am no less human   than before

Moderation is a  better  core
Bewitching love is what you seemed to want
Can it be it measures you  who score?

What ever I gave, you always wished for more.
With criticisms you often me did  taunt
Still I am no less human   than before

When I saw your rage I  sought the  door
You took for granted I’d dwell in your haunts
Can it be it measures you  who score?

Though you might beg  while kneeling on the floor
I  wish for nothing but you be absent
I am no less human   than before
Can it be it measures you  who score?

 

 

 

 

 

 

DO NOT DESTROY

 

Do not destroy the  joy of  all we  had
The good need  not be lost when lovers part.
If you need space then take it and be glad.

Because I love you, I shall  now be  sad
But there’s no need to  stab me in  the heart
Do not destroy the  joy of  all we  had.

With your loving words I once was clad
Now naked to the winds, I must  depart
If you need space then take it and be glad.

The only constant love is that of God
No Eros is He with his arrowed darts
Do not destroy the  joy of  all we  had.

On these forlorn, faint tracks I have  once trod
In my mind I search for   ragged  charts
If you need space then take it and be glad.

I have my maps and now am fully clad.
With tenderness,farewell my dearest heart.
Do not destroy the  joy of  all we  had.
If you need space then take it and be glad.

A new thought about villanelles

The article I posted this morning points out that because of the repition o two of the lines a villanelle is especially suited to write about something that is bothering us a great deall.Dylan Thomas wrote “Do not go gentle into that goodnight”   when he learned hius father was dying.But his father did not know.
Because of the importance of the repetition they recommend writing the last two lines  before you write the body of the poem.So that is what I did with “I can’t believe,I wown’t believe you’re dead.” I think it is a very wise idea
Because of the strength of  repetition it would be suitable for writing about an unhappy love affair as well as death.Or maybe about breaking up with someone.

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Do not destroy the  joy of  all we  had
If you need space then take it and be glad.

I just wrote that but I don’t know if I can write a whole villanelle.
Well I managed it but I may want to edit it some more.And it does seem suited to strong feelings.Otherwise it’s   just an intellectual jigsaw puzzle as my friend said

DO NOT DESTROY

Do not destroy the  joy of  all we  had
The good need  not be lost when lovers part.
If you need space then take it and be glad.

Because I love you, I shall  now be  sad
But there’s no need to  stab me in  the heart
Do not destroy the  joy of  all we  had.

With your loving words I once was clad
Now naked to the winds, I must  depart
If you need space then take it and be glad.

The only constant love is that of God
No Eros is He with his arrowed darts
Do not destroy the  joy of  all we  had.

On these forlorn, faint tracks I have  once trod
In my mind I search for   ragged  charts
If you need space then take it and be glad.

I have my maps and now am fully clad.
With tenderness,farewell my dearest heart.
Do not destroy the  joy of  all we  had.
If you need space then take it and be glad.