Category: love

Air strokes our bare skin



When soft winds blow and air strokes our bare skin
.When days are long like melodies of youth,
when light wakes up the soul from out her sin
Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth?

When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown;
When water’s short and all the ground’s forlorn
Then do not meet disaster with a frown,
For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born


.When winter’s here and all is quiet and still
And nothing seems to move or grow or speak
Then we shall learn the limits of our will
When through the soil the first green shoots will break


.For seasons change and actors come and go.
Yet through such changes, life is what we know

Float through my mind like flowers

On summer days the cliff at Weybourne sang
Of finest grass entwined with tiny flowers
The butterflies were floating on the wind

We walked along contented, hand in hand
In Sheringham we saw no faces dour
On summer days the cliffs at Weybourne sang

We met no wasps nor anything that stings
The footpath was kept clear, no weeds to sour
The butterflies were resting on the wind

I looked at bluebells,insects hear their ring
So we passed with pleasure our free hours
On summer days, the cliffs at Weybourne sang

Was it for this perfection Adam sinned?
No human joy is with us very long
The butterflies were resting on the wind

On summer days the cliff at Weybourne sang
Of grass so fine and of its tiny flowers
The butterflies were floating on the wind

In winter the North wind will make beasts cower
No need for ventilation,faces glower
On summer days the cliff at Weybourne sang
The butterflies float through my mind, bright, winged


It fell to earth with solemn gravity

Another branch has fallen from the tree
For nine short months, it weakened and grew dry.
It fell to  earth with utter gravity

Is comparing us to trees good simile?
I’d find a better if I’d wits to try
Another branch  has fallen from the tree

The tree grieves not, for trees like to be free
Their main desire is stature, to be high.
Dead branches fall to earth by gravity

Some compare life to a drunken sea;
Or to the sky where dance wild nuclei
Yet our most holy symbol is the tree

The strong hang on in their tenacity
Even as their leaves and berries fly
Weaker branches fall  with gravity

Death comes  so much harder to the high
This is no truth but neither do I lie
Another branch has broken from the tree
Thus disconnected , it is down and free

Yet life endures

Since you died I learned to use a crutch
I have noone to lean on, none to touch
I wanted you to die with kindly ease
Now I miss another I could tease

Noone knows what was our special tree
Nor why the pain of loss dwells in my knee
As if I cannot stand or wait alone
Dark earth is softer than these paving stones

The trees you loved my neighbours see as weeds
I shan’t recite a list of their misdeeds
Others gossip of my coloured coats
A widow’s weeds aren’t teal, they grin, they gloat

Before you went I saw the cloth of gold
Coming down from heaven to enfold
Then it rose, its satin thick and pure
Taking you away, yet life endures

The emptiness, the void, the loss, the pain
The crash severe we know is foreordained



The handkerchief pan

In the evening. simmering handkerchiefs
Perfumed the air with odours I can’t tell
Mother scrubbed them, hung them on the line
Then I had to iron them, folded well

Now we have our tissues, we don’t need
Hankies that need scrubbing many times
The oceans  deep are  poisoned  with our  waste
Is the use of tissues a  new crime?

While we did our  homework  after tea
My brother  liked his Wagner at  full blast
Imagine  learning Latin  with that din
Now the time for anger  has  long passed

Bad memories change  by  newly given grace
Evoking hints of  mother and her face

The cake tins

I see the tins I used for Christmas Cakes
The Russian Cheese Cake and the apple tart
Nowadays do younger women bake?

I remember mother making Buns
Hot,uncross, she made cakes with her heart
Her apple suet pudding beat her plum

The kitchen was a room with its own fire
There we ate and cooked and fought,alarmed
Children pinch and nip and even bite

I banged my head upon the table sharp
The corners seemed to hate me,even spurn
I wished I were a dog so I could bark

I fell down the stairs, it was a thrill
It hurt less than the beatings made me smart
Children were deprived of any will

Shall these cake tins from my home depart?
Shall I make a small cake from a chart?
I hold the tin I used for Christmas Cake
Watching TV where new experts bake

Pen and bell

In this so called office,I am trapped
Trying hard to write and to adapt
I have numerous pens in this my cell
Reminding me of school, the longed for bell

Ten past four, we put on winter clothes
I crossed the Park in fog, it wet my nose
Walking down our street I’d see the cat
Sitting on the pavement, Ginger spat

I put the kettle on to make our tea
The coal glowed low and red like elves in glee
The aluminium teapot never broke
The kettle had turned black , the milk was smoked

I had that tiny piece from others free
That was when I learned that I am Me

Of the green

In the birdbath filled by summer rain
I saw the baby wood pigeon again
So safe  the garden,  birds became quite tame
Secret,silent, sweet,no cats, it kept me sane

The bird was washing,splashing all about
With darted glances,so few I could count
Then it  flew up into a large tree
Holly,maple, apple,I could see

Though it’s winter, sunshine makes me dream
Gazing through the window at this scene
Sap is stirring,rising in soft  light
Making these bare branches a new sight

Love came down and lit up  this,my heart
Then the grace of being  made its start

Failed in sarcasm!





Hello Mary. what are you doing today? There stood a vision dressed in a teal jumpsuit
it was Annie, Stan’s  mistress,[ when he was alive.] Quite what her status as a former mistress can be is unknown,but she remained on friendly terms with Mary ;she  had helped Mary a good deal while she was grieving,mainly by being present yet undemanding not to mention making frequent cups of tea and putting out the washing

 I’m going to stay with the Pope in Rome ,Mary cried out from her pink armchair

 Are you being sarcastic, ironic, or have you gone mad? Annie  replied politely

Well I was trying to be sarcastic but I am not very good at it yet I hope to improve as time goes by because research shows being sarcastic improves your creativity

But can you be sure which part of your life will become more creative, Annie ask her thoughtfully with a little grin

 For example you might become more creative in the way you trying to attract  men

 Well that would not be difficult, said Mary ,as I do nothing to try to attract  them at the moment and on the other hand it could be rather time-consuming

 Would it improve my ability to write in a creative manner or to be more creative in what I cook?

 I have no idea Annie  told her. the only problem is is that if you practice on me it might affect our friendship

 You are far too  childish, Mary told her. Is that sarcastic?

 Tell me, the ex mistress of your ancient husband!

 What do you mean ancient, he was only 23!

 23 what? said Annie

Are we being sarcastic?

  Well if we can’t  know the answer then we are not being sarcastic because I am sure we would realise if we were

 I am glad you  can express yourself in such a brief manner

 What have briefs got to do with it?

 I just found a bag full of dry ones and I have been folding them  and  putting them into the drawer

 Do you mean knickers?

 Yes, I do, but I couldn’t remember the name

 You’re pulling my leg

 No I’m not. I’m nowhere near your leg

 Don’t tell me that you are not familiar with the expression meaning “you are joking”

 Why do you assume I am not familiar with anything?

 I am giving you the benefit of the  doubt

 Doubt is a very dangerous State of Mind

 Shall I wear the pink knickers or the blue ones I spend  all morning trying to decide so it is best not to doubt anything but to believe that what you do must be correct and everybody else is wrong

 That’s alright as long as you’re not stealing people’s husbands

 If they can be stolen so easily  what does that tell us about the state of the marriage?
Nothing nothing at all, men are so easily beguiled that is in the best of marriages they’re not be enough to keep them faithful  for ever

 Don’t be so horrible
I was trying to be sarcastic
Should it not come naturally  like  loving?

 What kind of  loving do you mean?
If you mean physical loving it doesn’t always come naturally to  human beings’

.many couples go for help in having a baby and the doctor discovers they didn’t realise what sex was

 They thought by sleeping in the same bed, the wife will get pregnant

 It seems very hard to believe but compared to thinking about Donald Trump

 and his lies, it is nothing

Shall I put the kettle on,  said Mary

 That is sarcastic Annie said  because you know that I always put it on when I am here
it is more like dropping hints  Mary cried
All these things are very hard for scientists. You don’t solve mathematical problems by dropping a hint nor does anyone drop hints  to you whereas  in interpersonal relationships it is very important to be able to drop hints and to be able to take hints when they’re dropped in front of you
Mathematics and physics much easier than everyday life because they contain no sarcasm no irony and no hints whatsoever
I wonder if Wittgenstein would agree with you.

 As he is dead we cannot know but I am almost sure he would agree

 I was just being sarcastic,that’s all!

 It seems like that Mary and Annie are going to have to spend much longer  practicing sarcasm before they were able to go outside and be sarcastic to neighbours or Friends

 well Emile’s view is that he will not accept sarcasm from anybody

 He will bite the hand that feeds him if necessary because he knows that Mary will forgive him when he apologizes

 
On the other hand it would be easier if  he didn’t bite  anyone And God might be angry  with Emile  for being a trying animal to live with

God, does he enjoy sarcasm?

Noone has asked before!

I think he is beyond language altogether

And so say all of us

Cleveland Hills

Lying in the heather with you,love
The world below,the cliff edge of the hills
Swainby,Stokesley, Stockton,Saltburn sea
Happy, free, still unaware of bills

The butterflies, the little flower bells
The scent of honey and the Yorkshire bees
I see your face as clear as it was then
But you have crossed the Styx and not the Tees

Yet still I feel your arms that held me near
I see you smile , so happy to be wed
We hitched a lift right to Osmotherly
The entire hill seemed like a marriage bed

There is a place where that sweet day exists
I take your hands and kiss your inner wrists

When music ends and silence overwhelms

As music went and silence overwhelmed
As in deep despair, I thought to end
When nothing seemed to help me on on my way
Perhaps I’d lost the track and so must pay

Empty now of thought and of desire
The vision of the darkness without fire
The utter loss of any help at all
From the depths, my heart cried out appalled

Expecting nothing, hoping even less
A fire of gold appeared to hold,caress
And tears rained down my face from eyes amazed
While in my flesh I felt caressed and saved

I bowed my head in assent to this good
The crucified, the lost, have understood

I can only comment in a verse

I can only comment in a verse
A villanelle for virtue,my defence
I don’t know what you mean for you are terse

Love or hate,I don’t  know what is worse
Is this life  a very spiteful  test?
I can only comment in a verse

In my bag I have a purple purse
Money is so dirty it’s a pest
I don’t know what you mean when you are terse


When we marry, we won’t be the first
We need a godly priest for I confess
I can only comment in a verse

Do not pay my bill which I detest
At our party let us all be blessed
I don’t know what you want when you are terse

I am in a struggle, can you guess?
I am well endowed with happiness
A villanelle for virtue is the best
I don’t know what you mean you are so terse

Nor rain to flood

Katherine   May 30, 2018

A mood of stillness like a quiet dove
A lack of wind, vast silence gives repose
Symbolises blessings from above.

My trees mature now form a holy grove
The sorrow ruling me has been deposed
To give me stillness with the nesting dove

In such moods, there’s space to think, compose.
To learn the ways of energy and love
Symbolised by blessings from above.

In the crowded Mall, the shoppers shove
The special mood of peace  I fear eludes
We lose the sense of silence and the dove

In public life, we quarrel and oppose
We lose the way to  our fine treasure trove
We lose the symbols and the deep repose.

Give me your hand without its heavy glove
As we caress,   we  value human love.
A mood so stilled, oh, fluttering of the dove
No wind to destroy peace nor rain to flood

My husband has a rubber face













My husband has a rubber face,
He’s from a subset of the human race.
Some men have faces fixed and set;
My husband’s face is not like that.

He imitates our politicians,
Just like Rory Bremner can.
Though he has no wig or hair piece,
He can look like anyone.

Some nights I waken for I am laughing
While I am quite sound asleep.
I am dreaming of his mobile features,
Contorted to a different shape.

He is skilled at telling jokes.
And he loves a good cartoon.
If I am feeling flu style blueness
I he can get me up again.

He has a rather noble visage.
He gets attention he abbhors.
In the bar on King’s Cross Station—
I was asked was he a Lord!

He’s a Lord of Fun and Humour.
He’s a Lord at Listening Well.
He’s unique, but so are you,
And all creatures that on earth do dwell

	


	



			
				


			

			
The words evoked what no-one could conceive
		
	
	

		

With the Mass in Latin,I believed.
The words evoked what no-one could conceive
The women in their hats  looked like proud queens
What was, what is,  and what once might have been

The men came late,hung over, full of dreams
They took no Wafer, drunk from living streams
I did not mind confessing made up sins.
Nor did I mind  beans found in small tins.





Religion gives fresh  themes  to those obsessed
Guilt and sin,but scruples are the best
I went  to church and told God I was through
He said, hang on,I’ll send my Light to you.





Thus it was that I was saved from death
I had worshipped Satan in duress.
After that I  took a job   for health
I am rich in love, though not in wealth





To me there is a White House of the Soul
We shall meet again there when we’re whole
A place of beauty, space and coloured light
God  won’t  boast, and neither will the mice








	


	



			
				


			

			
The personality of trees
		
	
	

		






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

We have flowering 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 discern 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

	


	



			
				


			

			
The footstep on the stairs
		
	
	

		

I  remember you  so well  for those eight  years
The nights you sang love’s lullabies  to me
I was fearful of  the  footstep on the stairs





You held me as we paddled in the sea
Maybe Blackpool,maybe Morecambe too
You told me stories as I sat upon your knee

I have  some good memories, too few
Where are all those days we played outdoors?
Who knows  if these memories are true?

In East Lancs and in West Lancs rain will pour
Once you wrapped me in your coat, but then
Mam was angry when we   reached the door





She  told you, you were foolish for  a man
Why should men  be wise, should anyone?
That  was when your illnesses began





You let me lie beside you in your bed
I’d had my tonsils out and felt  unwell
I talked but don’t remember what you said

I didn’t know the meaning of pure hell
I guess I learned that when death you befell
Come back,Daddy,missing you  too well
I’m still your little girl, your smiling belle





















	


	



			
				


			

			
Our bodies and their songs
		
	
	

		






Your breath became my spirit,made me live
You touch me as I breathe air in and out
I feel your presence in my heart’s inside

You have made our bodies, there’s no doubt
Growing from two cells, the urge is strong
The body’s wishes are not sinful now

In the schizoid era,  flesh seems wrong
The intellectuals  are the most admired
Yet we need our bodies and their songs

Ideas,   more than loving,  are desired
Sex and our poor bodies make us sin
Yet th damned chaste  sing  in Hell’s own   choirs





Breath of God, the clay made into flesh
We continue in  the holy work
No creation can be  kept suppressed

May our lively bodies be well blessed
Loving into being all the world
Breathing in and breathing out God’s dust


	


	



			
				


			

			
Deep down in the earth
		
	
	

		

Cold dull winters bring us close to death
The blood grows thick and scarcely does it move
The worms may  shudder deep down in the earth










This damp coldness presses out our breath
The frost and ice, the memory delude
Cold dull winters bring us close to death





Do we  need the sun to give us worth?
Low in oxygen, the mind’s confused
The worms  have nightmares deep down in the earth

Should we pause, these issues to address?
In this Lockdown, where should we confess?
Cold dull winters bring us close to death





Wonder now what  makes our voices terse
With no  priests, who shall this  poor world  bless?
The worms may sleep deep down inside the earth






On each other,let us not intrude
Let all loving kindness be our  food
Cold dull winters bring us close to death
Like worms  that slumber deep down in the earth

	


	



			
				


			

			
I fried the honey moon
		
	
	

		

The cat would listen as I sang a tune
Maybe Leonard Cohen, maybe Bach
I washed the pots and dried the silver spoons





He  lay down on the carpet as I crooned
Now I have a doormat and no heart
The cat would listen as I sang a tune





In early married life. I saw no doom
Oh,mother, don’t you know we have to part?
I washed the pots. gave back the silver spoon





Instead I saw the silver of the moon
Where do we draw diagrams  or charts?
The cat would wriggle gently, dance my  tunes





He said the cat was ill,oh, can’t be cured
The cat had tumours ,soon we had to part
I threw the pots outside and  bent the  spoons





Our hearts  are full of holes, pierced by such darts
My lover left me and my  friends were sharks
The cat should listen as I sing a tune
I am mad, I fried the   honey moon

	


	



			
				


			

			
High the cost
		
	
	

		

I am this, the cobble stones
Hot tar between the wails and groans
Some stones are flat,our stones were round
Snap entry to the Underground
I am the pools in pavement holes
In winter frost  you crack my bones
On my surface, children prance
I am the stage,I am the dance
I see you and you see me
As  your peek with bended knee
I am the bricks that built your house
I am the mousehole and the mouse
Here comes Ginger,  the big cat
He caught a chicken  and a rat
Here the coal shed, here the lav
That is what  our houses had
Cold it is if  menstrual pain
Comes on in the  night again
Colder still to lose your child
To the sewers  wizened smile
I am the earth on which we grew
I am the mystery,I the clue
Stand on me,I am your strength
I the bowler,I the length
Golden children came   to dust
I the promise,I the cost

	


	



			
				


			

			
I regret nothing
		
	
	

		






Don’t send me an apron for Xmas
When all that I want is a glove
A glove for the oven
Its hands must be frozen
Let’s drown the  old oven in love.





Don’t send me a card on my birthday
I cannot remember your name
Just bake me  a cake
I prefer it to steak
Don’t limp unless you are   lame

Don’t change the sheets every week,dear
For  washing them  makes them wear thin
Just give me a  brush
I’ll beat off the fluff
Then we can both have some fun





Don’t give me bacon for breakfast
God won’t let Jews  eat it yet
His aversion to swine
Is what makes him divine
The fig tree  is dead I regret

	


	



			
				


			

			
As waves die
		
	
	

		

The music is the waves as they run high
Across the pebbly sands onto the road
Then groaning of the shingle as waves die

The fish that dwell deep in the dark, dark brine
The flow within as outer waters flow
The music of the waves as they run high

The moon reflects sun’s light to other eyes
Above the seas which rise up to its goad.
Then groans the shingle as the steep waves die

The sea holds hidden goods where we can’t pry
In the deep the heavy water moulds
The music of the waves as they run high

All the day and all of the black night
The seas and oceans change from high to low
Ah, groans the earth as each wave has to die

Re-hear these sounds, are they a sacred code?
As angels wrestled, Jacob feared the Lord
His music is the waves as they run high
His groaning is the shingle as waves die

	


	



			
				


			

			
In the desert grey
		
	
	

		

I was walking in a desert grey and bleak
All alone, with none to speak or  eat
I shuddered when I realised the truth
I was unmarried, pregnant, mere refuse.





Cast out for other failings all unknown
My baby came too soon and I alone
A doctor with no face appeared and said
Your baby died ,I see he’s never fed





He flung my baby  on his heap of dead
I lay there  in the dirt, red with  my blood
I  had to leave or I  would  die of grief
The will to live  just stronger than a  leaf





I went to see my baby, and  he smiled
He was still alive, my love,my child
I took him in my arms,  where should we go?
I walked into that darkness full and slow

	


	



			
				


			

			
Owls surprise
		
	
	

		

Photo by Francesco De tommaso on Pexels.com





Look without and see the claret sky
The sun is falling like Greek wine tonight
As  sparrows hide in holly,safe from eyes





We need protection till our minds sublime
Into dusty corners shine their lights
Look without and see the curious sky





Tell your  heart, your truth, though others lie
Seem rewarded with  both cash and spite
Oh, sparrows hide in holly, leaves awry





 A man is called  an emperor , yet  he dies
Look without and see the  fatal  signs
The sky is turning panic to   delight 





At last, philosopher, the silence sighs
Throw away the your thoughts, cold or benign
As sparrow safe  in holly, shut their eyes





The hawk may soar  across the sacred lines
Where patterns of complexity  arise
Look without and see the open sky
When sparrows rest in holly, owls surprise

	


	



			
				


			

			
I sing of colour and of love
		
	
	

		

The butterfly is like a flower
which moves its station every hour.
Oh,happy is he on the wing.
The vision makes me quick to sing.
The flower is open in the sun,
And to its heart, true love shall come.
The bees shall feast and fly replete
With nectar they are now full sweet.
I sing of colour and of love;
Blessings that rain down from above.
I wish to be a flower too.
Ah,that the bee could but be you.

	


	



			
				


			

			
Willing
		
	
	

		





 Do not cultivate a bitter heart
Nor spread the seeds of malice  where you go
Accept the worst, be willing, though it smarts










Do not  plot your hatred on a chart
Stand and  feel , accept what we can’t know 
Do not cultivate a bitter heart





When we suffer  deeply, when  death parts
The agony is torment passing slow
Accept the worst, be willing, wounds do smart





Though we have no dagger,words are sharp
The little snails have nothing  but teach slow
Do not cultivate a bitter heart










Do not be the tiger as it snarls
Fate and death and anguish  hurt us most
Accept, be first, be willing, though it smarts





 As we sink down further into low
We see the glow worms, wondrous like lit snow
Open arms and time relieve   our hearts
Accept, be  patient, willing, that is smart

	


	



			
				


			

			
Meeting you
		
	
	

		
I used to see you waiting up the hill

Your shape a cipher,features not yet seen

My heart would smile and I feel tender still


I’d start  to run, while your eyes had their fill

Getting close with kisses like thick cream

I used to see you waiting up the hill


We would get the paper,pay the bill

As love flowed out like water from a stream

My heart would smile and I feel tender still


We walked  the City churches, they were  chill

But beautiful  and complex like a dream

I used to see you waiting up the hill


Now never will you be here,yet I shall

I mistake another person as sun gleams

My heart may smile for I feel tender still


In the night, I woke up with a scream

I felt I too must die, that’s how it seemed

I long to see you waiting up the hill

My heart will smile, I feel  so tender still


 


 


 

	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
Lay down ,lay down,I saw you smile,lay down
		
	
	

		

I dreamed of you last night, you wore a smile
Fifty years ago you took your life
And left me for the agony, the trial





Since then I’ve had  no vision but denial
Your face was absent,cut out by a knife
I dreamed of you last night, your little smile





There was no motive,  we had never quarreled
I was blinded, nervous and too shy
You left  to me  the agony, the trial





Who  consoles the woman left in horror?
Sickly on my lonely bed I lay
I dreamed of you last night, you wore a smile





In my view, I could not see tomorrow
Through my suffering I did try to pay
You left to me the agony, the trial










The grief of fifty years came out today
Oh, lay down, baby, lay down, baby, lay
I dreamed  that you were here,  your face. your smile
You  console me now poor lovers reconciled

	


	



			
				


			

			
The silence glows
		
	
	

		

Aldeburgh,Sizewell,Dunwich  Heath
The nuclear bomb shall bring eternal  peace
Housed between the town and  the Reserve
Its blackness is ignored by little birds

If  force deters, then we shall all be saved
Or this our world will vanish  without    trace
Innocently playing on the shore
Children find old marble unrestored





Birds may sense the blackness of our hearts
For, even though unused, the bombs take part
They are  here where Britten once composed
And  so the sanctuary ends  unsaved,destroyed

In between the  lover and his rose
A screen  electric in the silence glows