Meeting someone’s eyes is like a touch As if our self extends outside our skin With no intention to take hold or clutch
Those who do this , how love must be rich Rarely will they mortify or sin Meeting someone’s eyes is a kind touch
If we are afraid, may we find trust Let us try again, why not begin With no intention to take hold or clutch?
We are human, do we mind who’s first? Let our minding weigh less than a pin Meeting someone’s eyes is like a touch
In the end we mingle with the dust Have we made good use of any gift With no intention to take hold or clutch?
With love around, we need not be too swift Take your own time wandering through the mist Meeting someone’s eyes is like a touch Gentle, do caress, don’t grasp nor clutch
In deep despair I felt that I was stuck Paralysed by grief and guilt I failed.
I had no right defence against attack
From prayer unthought to deeps of logic black My life, my engine ,juddered off the rails I hated God and of “his” Church was sick
Hungry, weak, alone I was in shock The death of one I loved had made me frail
The savage pain of grief turns flesh to brick
I felt Love’s arms around me, death was blocked I knew this goodness, why else would I wail? I thought I hated God but Love had struck
Warm and golden light that did me hold
I’ve told my story here,, it’s not been sold Kind despair that made me long time sit
The living heart knows more than do the wits.
Note sometimes when we are fortunate writing a poem can be a communication with a part of us that we are not normally in touch with consciously. So the line about kind despair was a gift to me because I had not sorted in that way before but in fact it was patience and waiting that brough peace tp my mind and heart.
I think this can happen even if the poem is not a great poem that literary standards but it helps us to get to know the world and our deeper selves. That’s why it’s worth doing it
Saturday was shopping then a walk Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car Reading book reviews and chewing stalks Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore
Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed
Standon with its fords and wandering cows Little rivers,Essex, flowing down The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound Water for the Thames and mossy ground
The earth feels like my body sacrificed An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide
Posted on May 14, 2017 Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough For widows and their masculine counterparts. Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.
No arms left now, that never will rebuff. No eager lips which whispering love impart Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough
People say, of course, the going’s rough The coming’s gone and nothing shall gestate Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.
Never more to share cartoons and laughs. Never more to be a chosen mate Loneliness, the word’s not wrong enough.
Did we know the heart of what we had? Did we learn the art of love. of fate? Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.
You have gone and closed now is the gate In a mad ball, I dance with love and hate Loneliness, the word’s not strong enough! Ripped in half, that’s more the phrase; like, tough.
The art of doing nothing’s hard to learn To sit and daydream till we get new thoughts It’s immoral, say the Puritans reformed
Harder to accept the need to mourn So many ancient losses strip our hearts. The art of doing nothing’s hard to learn
The feelings that seemed hardest to be borne We could have looked for maps or sought out charts It’s immoral to seek help so we’ve been told
Here we weep when our skinned hearts are torn We fear we may have forfeited love’s balm The art of doing nothing’s hard to learn
We only know our self when love is born In another’s eyes we find our calm Reject the harshness of old Luther’s forms
Fear not death, for there are strong wide arms God is not a monster who wills harm The art of doing nothing will prepare For when we meet one day his welcome stare
When true love’s gone and doom hangs overhead When life runs like a sewer to the sea Then shall I take new lovers to my bed. And with their carnal touch consoled be?
When my love lies and breaks my woman’s 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 loves lie and wreck all loyalty. When puzzlement makes all the world seem mad. Then I shall upend causality And let myself do deeds which make folk glad.
For I have love’s own child inside my soul
I shallcare for her until she is grown
I ‘ll try to get it right for one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present in your Light
Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a strong wild bird I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.
Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people had their well trained Scribes You were always there,oh gentle Light
You gave me warmth, you changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe? I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.
The agony inside me lost its bite
I wanted to go on, to be alive You do not always show your golden Light
We do not know when we at last arrive
We do not reach this meeting place by strife I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time I never saw such Gold until that night
Hollyhocks,delphinium and phlox Foxgloves,cat mint, nettles,near by docks The blind man breathed in air full of wild scent His daughted named the colours now absent
High up on the Kentish cliffs we sat Capel-le -Ferne I found it on a map We listened to this girl, we did not speak Absorbing by our senses,proud and meek
Now I recollect the details very well In those dream like memories I dwell Snapdragons growing just beside my chair I smell the scent as if I were still there
I may be blinded by the tears of loss But I remember, love, our happiness
In my despair I felt that I was stuck Paralysed by grief and guilt I failed By the end I had tried every trick
From prayer unthought to deeps of logic black My life, my engine ,juddered off the rails I hated God and of “his” Church was sick
Starving and alone I was in shock The death of one I loved had made me frail By the end I had tried every trick
I felt Love’s arms around me, death was blocked I knew this goodness, why else would I wail? I thought I hated God but Love had struck
Warm and golden light that did me hold Where are you now when Evil has grown bold? Kind despair that made me long time sit By the end I learned Love needs no trick
My front hedge is so thick, wrens made a nest I saw a small bird flying low and swift With my garden I feel human, blessed
The bonsai beech has grown till almost dense It has no trunk, the leaves are tiny gifts My front hedge is so full, wrens made a nest
My clematis has flowered beyond all sense When I looked I felt my soft heart lift In my garden, know that I am blessed
In a deep green wood the eye can rest Open eyed, a look must not be fast My front hedge welcomes wrens ,oh,love,a nest!
Deep happiness connects us to what’s best The dark blue sky, the sunset flaming, brief. With my garden I feel love, I ‘m blessed
Be alive, don’t dwell on thoughts too sweet The natural world brings virtue and deceit My front hedge is so thick, wrens made a nest These tiny creatures filled with love and zest
Hollyhocks,delphinium and phlox Foxgloves,cat mint, nettles,near by docks The blind man breathed in air full of wild scent His daughted named the colours now absent
High up on the Kentish cliffs we sat Capel-le -Ferne I found it on a map We listened to this girl, we did not speak Absorbing by our senses,proud and meek
Now I recollect the details very well In those dream like memories I dwell Snapdragons growing just beside my chair I smell the scent as if I were still there
I may be blinded by the tears of loss But I remember, love, our happiness
Saturday was shopping then a walk Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car Reading book reviews and chewing stalks Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore
Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed
Standon with its fords and wandering cows Little rivers,Essex, flowing down The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound Water for the Thames and mossy ground
The earth feels like my body sacrificed An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide
I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present with your Light
Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.pp
Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people had their well trained Scribes You were always there,oh gentle Light
You gave me warmth, you changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe? I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.
The agony inside me lost its bitep
I wanted to go on, to be alive You do not always show your golden Light
We do not know when we at last arrive
We do not reach this meeting place by strife I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time I never saw such Gold until that night
The myriad random movements, words and signs Inanimate, cold blooded,hot or warm In mystery make the world, complete, designed
From the stars at night, to needles’ eyes Every size is present eye to horn The myriad random movements, words and signs
Yet, not robotic, shivering, alive Like a human baby when new born In mystery the world is fresh, designed
So every morning we awake surprised The dreams we had afflict us like flung stones The random movements, words and latent signs
Are dreams the truth or can the unknown lie? Are we subject to their nightly roams? The mystery is the world makes its designs
As the wild geese land at one in storms The murmurations of the starlings charm The myriad random movements, words and signs In mystery make the world, replete,divine
I ‘ll try to get it right for one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present in your Light
Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.
Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people had their well trained Scribes You were always there,oh gentle Light
You gave me warmth, you changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe? I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.
The agony inside me lost its bite
I wanted to go on, to be alive You do not always show your golden Light
We do not know when we at last arrive
We do not reach this meeting place by strife I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time I never saw such Gold until that night
The myriad random movements, words and signs Inanimate, cold blooded,hot or warm In mystery make the world, complete, designed
From the stars at night, to needles’ eyes Every size is present eye to horn The myriad random movements, words and signs
Yet, not robotic, shivering, alive Like a human baby when new born In mystery the world is fresh, designed
So every morning we awake surprised The dreams we had afflict us like flung stones The random movements, words and latent signs
Are dreams the truth or can the unknown lie? Are we subject to their nightly roams? The mystery is the world makes its designs
As the wild geese land at one in storms The murmurations of the starlings charm The myriad random movements, words and signs In mystery make the world, replete,divine
In my despair I felt that I was stuck Paralysed by grief and guilt I failed By the end I had tried every trick
From prayer unthought to deeps of logic black My life, my engine ,juddered off the rails I hated God and of “his” Church was sick
Starving and alone I was in shock The death of one I loved had made me frail By the end I had tried every trick
I felt Love’s arms around me, death was blocked I knew this goodness, why else would I wail? I thought I hated God but Love had struck
Warm and golden light that did me hold Where are you now when Evil has grown bold? Kind despair that made me long time sit By the end I learned Love needs no trick
In my despair I felt that I was stuck Paralysed by grief and guilt I failed By the end I had tried every trick
From prayer unthought to deeps of logic black My life, my engine ,juddered off the rails I hated God and of “his” Church was sick
Starving and alone I was in shock The death of one I loved had made me frail By the end I had tried every trick
I felt Love’s arms around me, death was blocked I knew this goodness, why else would I wail? I thought I hated God but Love had struck
Warm and golden light that did me hold Where are you now when Evil has grown bold? Kind despair that made me long time sit By the end I learned Love needs no trick
Mary went to the hospital to see the rheumatologist.The entire hospital had been re-built and half the site wasnow full of so called “Executive Homes” She and Annie took a cab as it was raining hard.Although Mary was wearing her new green raincoat, she did not like to get it wet. Where did you buy your mac,Annie enquired jauntily? Cotton Traders,Mary admitted nervously.It looked lighter than it is and Stan liked me in green You already have two trenchoats and a nylon mac,Annie told her. And Stan is no longer here What’s it to you? you want me to give all my money to the poor? Well, some of it,Annie responded anxiously.You need to pay your utilities.
My utilities!That sounds like something sexual that cannot be openly named,Mary cried You are confusing it with urethra, Annie laughed What is my ethra? whispered Mary No, the urethra is a little tube for the bladder to empty itself through Isn’t the human body amazing? Mary acknowledged using a cliche for better effect Definitely, said Annie and I love wearing beautiful clothes like velvet Where do we draw the line though, between looking good and giving money to the poor, tortured or victimised,Mary pondered
It is hard now because we can see what the rich have and we want it.Annie shouted calmly Or in your case you can see all those philosophy books on Amazon and buy them with one click she continued. Mary could see in her mind’s eye her living room piled high with books but if she were rich like Michael Frayn she could have a huge house full of shelves and desks. Adam Phillips,’ room looked more full than Mary’s and he must want it like that as he is well off.
In the waiting room Mary looked at Wittgenstein’s biography by Ray Monk on her kindle while Annie read The Sun. Soon Mary was called in Hello, said Doctor Morse.How are you? In the pink , she cried shyly. I don’t understand that, he said in his kindly way It’s an old English saying.It means I feel fine, but I don’t really that’s why I am here He looked at her left hand. and said there was no cartilege between the the thumb and wrist. Where has it gone,Mary asked but he remained silent Then he said,I think steroid injections will help.Would you turn your chair round by 180 degrees so you can put your arm on my desk? Mary turned round and felt a bit dizzy It’s hard getting older isn’t it, the doctor said in a tone rather artificially kind like a bad actor on stage and afraid of forgetting his lines or whether he was in King Lear or a Comedy Mary burst out laughing, to her surprise. You are a weird person, the told her thoughtfully with his green eyes shining like the sun over Lake Windermere in October. Well, we can’t all be exactly the same ,she told him logically Then she had to turn her chair round again. despite her poor hands Why don’t you have swivelling chairs ,she asked pointedly They won’t give me enough money, they doctor said, even though I a Consultant and I have published lots of papers Can’t you buy a second hand chair? Mary wondered No, it has to pass Health and Safety,Dr Morse whispered cautiously I see.Well don’t blame it all on the EU. I love the EU, he told her.I hope Brexit evaporates Me too she croaked sweetly They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until his next patient arrived I will see you in September, he told her optimistically his smile making her giggle inside so her body shivered with suppressed laughter or terror.
Miaow, cried Emile from Mary’s designer handbag What in Gd’s name is that, the doctor asked nervously
Don’t worry doctor.I forgot to leave Emile in the Waiting Room Emile stuck out his head and smiled at Dr Morse Good morning, he said graciously.Is Dave the paramedic here? No, they are not here they have their own Ambulance Station down the road Emile began to sob as he liked to get his own way by any means he could Mary apologised as she shook hands with the doctor. Thank you for helping me, she murmured.I feel better already And so say all of
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 and breaks my little 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 loves lie and wreck all loyalty. When puzzlement makes all the world seem mad. Then I shall upend causality And let myself do deeds which make me glad.
For I have love’s own child inside my soul
And I shall tend her till at last she’s whole
I ‘ll try to get it right for one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present in your Light
Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.
Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people had their well trained Scribes You were always there,oh gentle Light
You gave me warmth, you changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe? I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.
The agony inside me lost its bite
I wanted to go on, to be alive You do not always show your golden Light
We do not know when we at last arrive
We do not reach this meeting place by strife I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time I never saw such Gold until that night
I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present with your Light
Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.pp
Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people had their well trained Scribes You were always there,oh gentle Light
You gave me warmth, you changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe? I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.
The agony inside me lost its bitep
I wanted to go on, to be alive You do not always show your golden Light
We do not know when we at last arrive
We do not reach this meeting place by strife I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time I never saw such Gold until that night
Autumn time in Essex where we drove When farmers burned the stubble of the corn The earth itself was fiery like young love The smokey air rose like a cloud new born
The Kentish landlocked cliffs are wide and steep The farmers grow their grain on land beneath And there too we have seen the holy fire The flames and smoke arrest me with desire
The earth and soil, the harvest we find there Give me joy both full of wheat or bare Why did burning stubble make me glow? These images affect the heart’s deep core
Now fires are banned., they damage our pure air And I did not like the murder of the hare
Hollyhocks,delphinium and phlox Foxgloves,cat mint, nettles,near by docks The blind man breathed in air full of wild scent His daughted named the colours now absent
High up on the Kentish cliffs we sat Capel-le -Ferne I found it on a map We listened to this girl, we did not speak Absorbing by our senses,proud and meek
Now I recollect the details very well In those dream like memories I dwell Snapdragons growing just beside my chair I smell the scent as if I were still there
I may be blinded by the tears of loss But I remember, love, our happiness
Autumn time in Essex where we drove When farmers burned the stubble of the corn The earth itself was fiery like young love The smokey air rose like a cloud new born
The Kentish landlocked cliffs are wide and steep The farmers grow their grain on land beneath And there too we have seen the holy fire The flames and smoke arrest me with desire
The earth and soil, the harvest we find there Give me joy both full of wheat or bare Why did burning stubble make me glow? These images affect the heart’s deep core
Now fires are banned., they damage our pure air And I did not like the murder of the hare
I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present with your Light
Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.pp
Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people had their well trained Scribes You were always there,oh gentle Light
You gave me warmth, you changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe? I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.
The agony inside me lost its bitep
I wanted to go on, to be alive You do not always show your golden Light
We do not know when we at last arrive
We do not reach this meeting place by strife I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time I never saw such Gold until that night
How my heart speaks 