Everyone is bleeding

Everyone is bleeding but we won’t stop fighting wars
We even sell our weapons and the torture tools make gold
Europe a disaster for more than several hundred years

We will not watch the News as this sort of stuff’s a bore
My heart is beating faster and I’m feeling freezing cold
Everyone is bleeding but we won’t stop fighting wars

We’re defenceless little creatures with wicked central core
With our many nuclear weapons, maybe we are over-bold
Europe courts disaster for more than several hundred years

Jesus hangs defenceless outside the liquor store
I wonder how much longer those Roman nails will hold
Everyone is bleeding but we won’t stop fighting wars

The pain of living here is that our swollen hearts will tear
God picks up a paperclip, his lips are cold and closed
Europe a disaster for more than several hundred years

Now the Day of Judgement comes, we stand arrayed in rows
The Jews are singing Kaddish while the tortured children freeze
Everyone is bleeding but we won’t stop fighting wars
Civilised disaster for the last two thousand years

The one ram’s horn

Xmas lights induce a feeling sweet
Memories of the love inside our home
Little children safe drift into sleep

I never knew that other mothers wept
The smell of baking,cards and keeping warm
Xmas lights induce a feeling sweet


My errant brothers did their best to tease
Burned my golden hair as if to warn
Joan of Arc rocked restless in her sleep

When the lights are off nobody sees
The moment when the Saviour child is born
Xmas lights induce my feelings deep

Holy are the beggars in the street
Waiting, hear the sheep bells, the ram’s horn
Little children dream this as they sleep

Midwinter low, and slow the sun, the dawn
The veil between the worlds must not be torn
Xmas lights , oh stars that deck the night
Little children smiling draw us tight

Not the words we read

Do not rush about when under stress
You may fall and bang your tender head
With agitation caused by business

Rather than do more, we must do less
Do it slowly till it’s time for bed
Do not rush about when under stress

Do not ruminate nor second guess
Grace is blocked,imagination led
By agitation caused by business

Slowness leads some space, so slowness bless
In tune with nature, not the words we read
Do not rush about when under stress

If you are a hare,keep from excess
If a tortoise,you’ll end up ahead
No agitation caused by business

The lilies of the field by grace are fed
And so our hearts are when our burden’s shed
Do not rush about when under stress
With agitation causing grief to living flas
h

It doesn’t have to hurt

I get up in the morning after twenty cups of tea
I dress in some bright clothing that will make God worship me
I am getting so much older and I never learned to flirt
How did I have time to go to work ?


I spend a long time daydreaming,I love a reverie
Now I have no cat at all, my new plants all love me
I sit and write my poetry, it doesn’t have to hurt
How did I have time to go to work?

I’ve a prayer plant from the tropics,Brazilian so I read
I’m buying it some pebbles, it likes a waterbed
I’ve also got a Peace Lily, surveillance is covert
How did I have time to go to work?


Time they say is precious, as they run with manic verve
Like a tangent to a circle, they miss the holy curve
My ambition is for indolence, my ideas I will nurse
Why did I waste time and go to work?



Cliches for all

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https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-squeaky-wheel/201306/the-seven-hidden-dangers-brooding-and-ruminating

It was the best of times, it was  the  worst of times in a very real sense.
Mary  dreamed Stan was in heaven enjoying the company of Wittgenstein,Jesus and Pascal , not to mention Lady Jane Grey Ann of Cleves,Juliet,Cleopatra and an angel.
At  least  at this point in time he can’t sleep with them  ,she thought as she woke up.Though did that matter? Can men be faithful and monogamous?
Look at Leonard Cohen.Was he better off flitting from flower to flower? Was he so stunning that women threw themselves at him and he could not resist?Sometimes people are actually afraid of intimacy or feel life is short and want some new experiences.Was he a wolf? It t akes one to know one
It was indeed  almost the worst of times when Mary remembered she had no food in the house except cat food for Emile.He was all she had now as  her daughter Lyra lived in Australia and Stan was in heaven, she hoped.
Here I am, she thought, pondering unanswerable questions and not looking after myself .It is probably  best to err on the side of buying food and going out rather than lying in the bed wondering  if life has any inherent  meaning. or  if we must create our own.
Even discussing that with someone else would be better.But men folk don’t want to discuss serious topics with their lovers.
It was an even worse time when she recalled a man who once  loved  her leaving her because she asked him if he knew what post-modernism was one night after going to the cinema to see a comedy.She realised then that she would have to play a part,To act like a woman.So far it was but moderately successful owing to her myopic view of life
If only I had kept quiet, she told herself,I could be  lying beside  him now enjoying a few kisses and hugs and asking him how to light  the electric fire.Still ,there’s many a slip twixt cup and lip
Now then, said a  loud voice.Stop   ruminating and get  up. One stitch in time saves nine.
Who are you to say that to me, she called nervously ?
She wondered of stress  had driven her round the bend.She had begun reading a book which said mental illness in not an illness like flu.
It is a reaction to bad events and  other life strains.
It doesn’t matter who I am,just do as I say, came the answer
Mary recognised the voice.It was her dad who had died when she was 9.
Dad, she called, why are you here now?
Because Jesus told us to  love our family, he revealed pleasantly.
Why now after all these years? she persisted.
I have missed you.
I always did have a bad sense of direction,he told her.But do as I say.You won’t recover easily if you never get up.Stan is here but he is busy cleaning the gold cutlery for an angel.
Alright, but I never knew there was cutlery up there, she murmured as she put on her  new clothes.She had bought some purple trousers and two new jumpers.One was pink and one  was teal.The trousers were exceptionally comfortable  being  in a last years’ sale  by a famous label..She  then found some Weetabix in  the cupboard and some long life milk.As she drank her tea she admired the acer’s brilliant red leaves.
Almost too bright, she thought.It’s  due  to the hot September.Plants are affected by their environment and so are we.Especially by bad or hot tempered men and women
Poor people may have  more than in the  past but they tend to live in the ugliest areas of the town with no gardens nor parks.
And seeing the better off walk by wearing expensive clothes it is surprising there are not even more muggings.
She recalled seeing  a man with a Rolex watch and gold earrings on  talking on his new iPhone as he wandered through the Mall.I suppose we think everybody else is like us; we don’t mix with  very poor or very rich people on the whole.Unless we are one of those two types.
Mary went outside and found a neighbour wheeling in her bins.
Thanks ,Tom, she cried.I wondered who it was.I am very grateful.What is post modernism,by the way?Nobody will tell me.
Emile was watching from the window sill.
I knew it was Tom, he mewed.
But you didn’t tell me,Mary replied.
You didn’t ask.
Tom wandered off ,while Mary admired the autumn trees lining the road.Tom turned  back and looked at her but she didn’t notice.
Time for coffee, she muttered and went inside again.She was embroidering a  table mat which said “Rumination is for the birds”.Where it had come from was a puzzle.But it may be a good thought

And so say all of us

Blythburgh thoughts

Blythburgh, Holy Trinity Church - History, Travel, and accommodation  information

Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey
Not much contrast from the soft silk sky
No birds nor any brightness, light won’t play

The ones who act so manic are not gay
If there is no truth, there are no lies
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey

On our backs on Sutton Bank we lay
My acts outcry, my grief I shall defy
No birds nor any life. the light won’t play

Who is born a hunter.who the prey?
The lion has lost the unicorn nearby
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey

I think of brexit, oh the blush,shame
The spirits flatten;rise up,do not die
No birds nor any life, the light won’t play

I wonder what the loss is or the gain
I wish we were in Suffolk by the Bly
Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey
No birds, no life ,I’m languid, would you stay?

Confess again

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img_20190510_163300

May I confess my sins online,Father?
If you must.
Well, I don’t like Boris Johnson
Is that it?
Sorry to be so boring.
Everyone today is confessing the same thing
I just saw him!
Yes, he hates himself too
Is he a Catholic?
Well. Hitler was.
But was Johnson brought up as one?
Well, he knows how to confess sins
That’s no use unless he stops committing them
Right, he has no firm purpose of amendment.
He  compliments Trump for his racist outbursts
He may even complement Trump.
Stitch them together and there is still something missing
What?
Humanity, humaneness,caritas, agape,care,kindness
I  see you went to a good Seminary,Father.I used to like the Latin Mass
But not Latins en masse
I prefer them to the English
That is a sin.We must love equally
Can’t we hate equally instead?
I am  ambivalent about that
You’re a Paradox
Where do they  originate? 
Somewhere Unorthodox.
This is getting rude
No it’s not!
Don’t contradict me
That’s Latin!
It’s an order
Or a disorder?
Stop playing games
Who’re you? Wittgenstein?
He’s dead
What a shame
Actually would he  enjoy living in England now
No, because he was Jewish.
So are lots of people.
Somehow they get hurt  or even killed at times
What times?
Nazi.times
Stalin-times
Tsar-times

GoodFriday-times
Greedy-times
Allthe-time
In the Times
Of the times
Oh, time!
Well it’s about time we stopped it.
About time
On time
In time
After time
Time and Motion
Soon we’ll have the Flood
Why has Boris not built an Ark?
Because he doesn’t Noah how to
Because God didn’t see him
Because there was a  full stop at the end of the sentence.
Is that not normal?
Not on WhatsApp!
What is up?
What is down?
I don’t know, where’s the Eskimos snow


The eyes see what we fear or what we need

He thought I was an enemy , he said
The eyes see what we fear or what we need
I gave him love,but hate grew there instead

If you need to hate, try someone dead
Do not say cruel words that make us bleed
He thought I was an enemy , he said

Do not dwell where people hate the good
If they curse, it’s best to pay no heed
I gave him love,but hate welled up instead

Emotions mingle, wanton like fresh blood
Let them be till form can be perceived
He thought I was his enemy , he said


Do not confront the paranoid nor mad
The agony of their minds has them deceived
We give them love,but hate wells up instead

Never take such people into bed
Let them run away, they’ll be relieved.
He mistook me for an enemy , he said
I gave him love and care now I feel bad

Confusion is a pool but not a lake

With words. he pulled some in and pushed some out
He wanted love but still encountered doubts
Should he make commitments then feel trapped?
Should he disappear from lovers’ maps?


He joined an online dating site and smiled
His profile photo strong and slightly wild
He got ten ladies asking for a date
Did they want a lover or a mate?


He gazed upon their photos,felt confused
Did he want a wife or perhaps a muse?
He could not bring himself to use the phone
Spent the evening time at home alone

He fell into obsessive thought and dreams
A new friend may be party to a scheme
Could he trust his judgement or their truth
Soon he lost his temper, gnashed his teeth


Should he seek a therapist for aid?
Was his mind withdrawn or in decay?
Should he join a gym or grow a beard?
Was he what they wanted, what they feared?


In the end he thought his life away
He died in bed alone one autumn day
It does not matter deeply what we choose
But life is more important than these clues

Do not ask



Astounded by love’s impact, my tears fell
As if a door was opened up by you
The reservoir of grief, the flooded bell,
The marble on the shore, the hidden view.


I stayed still and by you I was held
In your golden cloud, I felt embraced
You covered me with warmth,I was your child
A candle in the gale,a shining face

I was silent,I was even dumb
They who see a face can not unknow
Love is not a method nor a sum
Nor can logic point the way to go


Do not ask for knowledge or belief
Do not ask reprieve from human grief


Oh,mother

Oh,mother dear wherever have you been
To leave a cat all day is very mean
Emile,I need my freedom now and then
I can’t love Dave but I would like a man
I must go out to buy a handsome coat
Cognac is the colour I love most

Emile cried, whatever do you think
I saw some frogs a-courting in the sink
I was on the draining rack up there
They asked me to avert my amber stare


Are frogs faithful, don’t they just leave spawn?
They are cold towards tadpoles unborn
We saw them by Moss Bank in shallow pools
Mary wonders if all frogs are cruel


Stan came in with his angels right behind
They are tired of heaven, they’ve resigned
Here’s a pin upon which they can dance
Mary was delighted and entranced


Do you need a dinner now you’ve died?
I wouldn’t mind a steak, the old man sighed
Some buttered new potatoes and a fool
Rhubarb or vanilla would be cool


I have done no shopping, Mary cried
I have no money for the food you like
Shall I get a pizza, fish and chips
That will put some colour in your lips


I am only joking, Stanley said
I shall merely visit you in bed
Emile wept with joy to see his Dad
What a spirit, is he going mad?


In came Annie in her long green coat
Her eyes were black and scratched was her throat
I fell into the Croal when eating chips
See the bruises on my purple lips


Never walk on water,Mary screeched
Even when you cross all Southport Beach
Stay away from danger,I’ll ring Dave
He will dress your bruises with his gauze

Annie did not tell them all the truth
She had fallen off the sloping roof


With good will

At last my one ambition is fulfilled
I have a desk where I may write at will
No more the dining table or a board
A two desk family is safely moored
Men must have their study if they write
Though grandad was a coalminer at night
And Father was a writer in gold paint
Embellishing the Churches with quotes quaint
He also did The Stations of the Cross
Then he died, what torment ,oh what loss.
We went to see his grave and said a prayer
Jesus was so quiet, hardly there.
But I believe in love and always will
Now I’ll write my poems with a quill

The valued sin

If you need to find the perfect man
Find one who’s a good companion
For as we age we are not acrobats
Preferring to dance slowly as we chat
If you can go further, keep it quiet
Or all your lonely neighbours may cause riots
Very few lack a last faint desire
Eying others in the Oldies’ Choir
But when at home we like to read and talk
Take the cat out for his daily walk
Only jealousy revives the beast
So with a married women flirt at least
There is value in all kinds of sin
Whatever life you choose, you’ll always win

Keep a cat

The writer told me psychopaths love dogs
Those who murder rarely keep a cat
I wonder if a thief might love a frog!
The author told me psychopaths love dogs
Cookbook writers might go the whole hog;
Sad ghouls enjoy the company of bats
The writer told me psychopaths keep dogs
Those who murder never love a cat

Thieves

The thieves took only one of my blue mugs
Spode, I think,from Holt where cars break down
I still keep my wildflowers in the jug
The thieves took only one thing, sweet blue mug
My husband gave me China.so he browsed
All Spode, I think,in Holt where we broke down
The car was large but caused frustrated howls
The thieves took only one thing, a blue mug
My gifts from Holt, the bed ,the wedding gown

And their prayers

My heart and guts were stolen by a thief
All I was became a frame for grief
Extremities of bony hands and feet
The shrinking brain now denser.distressed heat


Umoving in this lethargy, I stared
My head and body felt like they weren’t there
A headless chicken runs though it be dead
Motion in itself does not fool dread


I gently felt my hands,I let them be
My eyes were still closed to humanity
My feet were trembling as they lay so flat
I saw the slivers of the shattered glass

The glass had cut my skin,I felt despair
Bring me stained glass windows and their prayers


Sculpture as metaphor

Sculpture makes a metaphor look real
We can use more senses than our sight
We see the body hollow where we feel

Seeing, touching,sensing all appeal
If there is sufficient sun and light
Sculpture makes a metaphor look real

We feel it in our gut, how can it steal
The feeling of our innards in the night
We see the metal hollow where we feel

The heart has broken up and disappeared
No more time to love or lust ignite
Sculpture makes a metaphor too real

To admit another’s sorrow makes us fear
Denial as the cock crows ending night
We see the body’s hollow where we feel

Oh, will such bald agony take flight
Can we hold the grief in our insides?
Sculpture makes a metaphor so real
We see the grieving empty and unpeeled

No new disgrace

Trapped in home made offices , we work
Reading from our screens, no space for thought
As we type ,our tender fingers hurt
Not the copperplate that I was taught


No commuting, no more fraught deceit
Harder are affairs, no private door
No more kisses unless they are quite fleet
Just daydreams, which will come to be no more


No walking to the station at sunrise
No hour alone to read or look without
All is known, where is the grand surprise?
Where the room for thoughtlessness or doubt?


Work from home but keep some private space
Do not harm your friends, keep from disgrace




Human sacrifice

The sacrifice of humans, slain by will
The death instinct, no accident, the kill
Now it’s done more subtly than with fire
We need the help of cunning and of liars
Propaganda,adverts, image, word
Overwhelm our minds till life’s absurd
Inhabited by ghosts of adverts seen
Saturated minds, for soul no room
Who is in and who is out today?
Mainly white and Western on display
I was born without a screen to hand
The radio was old and had a stand
Little drawers where Mother kept her songs
Sonatas,Mozart,Schumann, was it wrong?
We read each other’s faces and our books
Heard Mother playing as we fell asleep
Time and space and peace, a slowed down age
Now we’re full of data and of rage
Father lost so long ago,we weep
Civil discourse takes a lengthy sleep




of overwhelming people with adverts ad cheap credit in Western Socie



The personality of trees

Trees lean over,watchful as we meet
The tall ones do not shiver in the breeze
Trees listen to the torment in our speech


We have rowan and cherry in our street
But mine died like my lover with great ease
Trees lean over listening as we meet

The tree won’t bend too close, it will not reach
As panic,worry, horror,nightmares squeeze
Trees listen to the music in our squeaks

Alas, no tree has mastered human speech
But when they can, they coax the honey bees
Trees lean over sweetly as we meet

The leaves will rustle,wrestle and may tease
Smile for selfies,what’s the word, it’s cheese
Trees lean over, wonder, and conceive
Yet trees hate noone, nor do they believe