The proper conscience does not wound our hearts But tells us truly when we have done wrong It does not injure love before love starts
Its voice is still and small, it is not sharp Sometimes it impresses us by song The goodly conscience does not wound our hearts
Yet conscience is no angel with an harp Unheard when minds are crowded, with thought thronged It does not tear up love before life starts
It does not use great force, no threats shall rape But talks to each in their own native tongue The moral conscience does not wound our hearts
But what of evil men,Satanic sharks, The mysteries of genocide and bombs? Do they tear up love’s roots from their hearts?
Even good folk suffer like the lambs We must enter darkness with blind hands The proper conscience does not wound our hearts It does not curse our love before life starts
My heart is soft like butter left in sun. Much more heat and it will melt and run Oh, why do we have feelings,why engage When friendship turns into such bitter rage?
I do not wish to live remote and stern As if I am so perfect I can’t learn Pain too deep can mortify the flesh Turn us into robots fit for trash
All I need is an enormous fridge Which will make me harder than sweet fudge I’ll go inside and pray for peace each day If I freeze to death,I shall not say.
Oh, be of merry heart,my friends and foes When love comes in, a little hate will go
A strange comingling of the mills and moors Green of nature,smoke from chimneys glowers While sheep graze their wool is touched by smoke But higher up the ground is bare of hope
Peering down I recognise the view Rows of terraced houses share a loo Women wear their aprons with panache Boys are playing,give or take a bash.
Miners walking home with faces black Painters with their ladders and their sacks Little girls are skipping with their ropes Cats are watching idly, kittens mope
Which way shall we go, we must decide The green hill with no walls, the red brick eyes?
A beam of light passed through my eyes And showed to me a world disguised So near,yet far,we do not see, Unless by gift of grace redeemed. That world is full of peace and calm Its colors mingle,like a balm. In such a moment all thought dies Revealing Love which underlies. Colors caress my naked eyes. Sunlight blesses new designs. I stand enthralled,and do not wish For one delight,other than this. My breath slows down, and filled with joy, I rove my eyes with bliss to toy. Everything is just itself. This is now my living wealth. Beneath the noise of city cars, This mellow joy in love endears This depth and peace, is always near When we choose Love and turn fromFear
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
Don’t send me an apron forXmas 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
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
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 darknessfull and slow
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
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.
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
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
