When true love’s gone and doom hangs over head

When life runs like a river to the sea

Then shall I take new lovers to my bed,

And with their carnal touch consoled be?

When my love lies,so breaks my tender heart.

When life seems grey and rocks bestrew my path.

Then, shall I my life of evil start,

And on the world shall I bestow my wrath?

When true love lies and wrecks all loyalty.

When puzzlement makes all my world seem mad.

Then I shall upend causality

And let myself do deeds which make all glad.

For I have love’s sweet child inside my soul

And I shall tend her till at last she’s grown

Rece

Recently  I was invited to a meal with someone who used to live near me.Unfortunately, despite this being meant to help me during my mourning period she came out with some very wounding remarks.I only mention one here

She has never seen my blog but she did tell me once my poems are no good.Well, at the table ,as we ate she told me  that men would only come to my blog to pleasure themselves whilst looking at my .photo.I was dumbstruck.She made other crude remarks about men.She seems to have a low opinion of them.

I don’t mind if people think poorly of my poems because I know which ones are good.And some are not as good.But I am not sitting an exam in poetry writing.I do it because I love doing it and because I could do it while nursing my poor husband for so long.

And I have met some really nice people here as well and seen what a wealth of creative talent there is in many people which they can use to do their photography, write poetry or write about whatever topics they enjoy, from describing their home cities to cookery and philosophy.

I  believe this “lady”  is mistaken.But as I  feel more vulnerable while I grieve I am going to be more choosy about whom I interact with in the real world.And I’d say  you to do the same.Don’t go to visit people  when you are grieving unless you know they are kindly disposed towards you.And when you are bereaved be careful as some people use it as an excuse to visit you or take you out but it’s not for your sake, in fact.I feel this lady is herself sexually attracted to me.

She looked in the pool by the little park gate
Second seeing  to find out her fate
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised.
Curiousity often seems wise
Oh,my dear sister what do you see there?
I hope it’s a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sisters dear,let us float.
We’ll never see daddy again, ‘cos he’s here
and down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel with his sharp sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with long ,silky hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two;
Eyes of one green, the other’s blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my dear sisters into the daylight.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I loved my  sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t hope for what cannot be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool,
Held in God’s hand like a jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings must ride.
For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
Nothing and everything’s passed

Some years ago I was very ill and listening to “Jerusalem” on the proms,I suddenly said to my husband,I want to see Jesus soon.I can’t wait

I don’t go to church  but as Iris Murdoch wrote,We must not let the Church take Jesus away from us.I suppose in my heart he  is a very kind  and strong person

I remember he knelt down by me and said,Don’t die,don’t die.

Now he has died.That is very naughty of him.

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/250858

The tenderness of the being touched by  the  death of the beloved

Is not unlike that of making love.

But the outcome is different.

We don’t know what new world they may be born into

Nor how we shall live here without them.

Softening into weeping our faces are the beds of rivers

Drink and remark on this

Phone

Love must be so pliant ,
like a blade of grass,

Bowing to the gusty wind,
till the storm has passed.

Love is enigmatic
Like the sphinx’s smile.

Waiting for an answer,
Nothing is on file.

Love is often near us
Yet we do not see.

Sometimes where we are
Is just the place to be

Rorsach made a fortune from blots
He says people see  their own mind in inkspots.
In such secretive ways
Psychologists play.
Like stories they all have their plots.

It seems they need some method to find
What goes on at the back of our minds.
Day dreams and reverie
Give them a measure of
That which keeps us in a bind.

Or maybe they cannot converse
Except in some slantwise obverse
Of talking the normal way
Even though it’s for pay.
Who knows what is better or worse?

Do you know how many words English uses?

And often these words may confuse us.

Some are from Greek

Pardonez moi,did I speak?

And Latin is the root of snob-buses.

Terminus  is not English to me.

Mea culpa,I’m a Catholic ,you see.

Yet we  pray Kyrie

In the Mass every day

Eleison,jubilation’s the key

How do you  understand me?

I am trying to see how to be

A useful yet modest

Doctor of non-bodies.

So please take your minds off that tree.

This is not Eden you know.

Despite the fact apple  trees grow.

Rhubarb grows too

And the Lord was a Jew.

And where He went, we  all  must go.

I am speaking in symbols,of course.

I don’t wish to cause you remorse.

But by our sins we are  punished,

We  either grow or diminish.

Dynamic’s   just ecstatic  on a horse.

My vocabulary is getting obese.

New words are devoured  at life’s feast

But what is sufficient

Or indeed beneficient?

I think my mind needs more grease.

As you see I invent my own words.

To  the foreign  they may seem absurd.

But  our society is free,

So the politicians tell me.

Yet inconvenience is often incurred.

Esperanto never lighted my flame.

It’s the classics teacher whom  I blame

For I liked ancient tongues

And never went wrong

Except in learning to spell  people’s names.

Youclid is the one I refer to.

And Sockratease cause me despair too.

Plato is  easier.

Parmenides is teasier.

‘Arry Stottle  dropped his aitch,and proved fair,too!

http://www.enhancemyvocabulary.com/improve-expand-vocabulary.html

I once had a boyfriend called Dan

Who owned a large copper pan.

He served  eggs in glue

As the aspic had flu

Copper  pans  beat before  Dan began.

When serving a group or a mass,

Let all the niceties pass.

Pasta is fine

With sauces divine.

Desserts are  best served in glass.

When  cats desire and long  to join in

Explain that mice don’t come in tins

And as for the joint

Roast up to a point

If burned,well,that is not a sin,

For sin is not based on our deeds

But from evil motives proceeds.

Were our intentions

Without fear or pretension?

Sin ignores  neighbours  real needs.

Yet  often we act or speak cruel.

Which  makes our souls look like fools

We need to  reflect

 Before the true facts

Then life   shines out bright like a jewel

How white and blue together recollect us
to the summer sky and the imagined swallows
darting in exquisite geometry
under the great domed space of the heavens,
like the Basilica in Constantinople
containing and giving space.
And how I held you for a moment that was infinite
and then you were gone like an angel fearing enchantment
into some finite boundaried world

Out of my depth,I feel the call of the sea,oh,how it calls

To me

The land has fallen away,with a crash and a thud

A shudder in my blood

I should not be here at all.

I am no  longer innocent

The lissom child who sat on the edge

For then my ligaments and tendons were loose like grass

Now they are stiff like the salty cords on a rigger in the Baltic sea.

Where could I be that would accommodate my history?

I stand on the edge but not by choice

I was here when it was a  strong land

Undone by  his hand which I held

Touching the contracted finger gently

And singing.

Don’t go.don’t go, he cried.

I didn’t;

Then he died.

Where have you gone my seafarer?

Out beyond sight in Whitby again

With the salt cured fishermen.

Now they sail North

And never come back,never come back

Never come back to me,though I wait ,I wait by the sea.

But now I stand in a dangerous place

I might walk in space,walk in that space

Walk right over the sea

Till the waves seize a hold on me,but I know

I’ll   never  let go, never let go

Just so you know that it’s me

Where e’re you foam.

Yellow is the horror of my new love’s hair.

When the coat gets thin;hope wings infernal

Dance for your bladder,my little  old lady.

I’ll build me a bullet cabin by your date,

Don’t leave me,vet!

God never paid for any little green apples.

On which drummed hill did live a lass?

Parse cues me,have you got the right rhyme?

My life  is guinness free.

When liarish eyes’re beguiling.

Tweet, Jolly fell home.

.Rockets and muskets,alive, alive,so.

Which whirled war are we in now,oh Lord?

Does evil  never blend?

Will the end be bright maroon

Have you never been in gov,my boys?

As  I was boiling some broccoli on the gas stove I received a phone call from abroad from a man claiming he had information about my computer problems.I had been strokng Alfred who was near me.Suddenly the  pan fell over spilling hot water onto my jeans and I screamed.Alfred has disappeared and so has the fraudster.So I am looking at this white starling and wondering if we have any in London or is this  one the only one in the world and if so perhaps Mike could become wealthy  by charging us all for looking at his photos!!