How sad it is to see dried river beds
The clouds no longer weep my love is dead
The water does not flow, there is no breeze
The leaves have fallen from the summer trees
Category: nature
So lonely
Many lonely people
living in one street
Can they get together nie
why don’t they all meet
Noone likes to bare their soul
Others may attack
But if you need more people
You must show us lack.
You are feeling empty
Hollow in your heart
Nobody may notice
You must make a start
Grab your courage strongly
Love is on your chart
Do not wander wildly
Still your gentle heart
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Sun in November
The sun shines on the river and it gleams
Sparkling water,bouncing golden beams
Two ducks float without much will or hope
Let them find it some pleasure as they mope
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Would I were
I wish I were a wild wild goose
And I could fly and seek
Looking for my lost lost love .
With eyes that cannot weep.
What is my life when I love none
And noone loveth me
When all are fled when all are gone
Take me to the sea
I saw the hills I saw the lakes
I saw the mighty ocean
What is beauty what is joy
When my true love is broken
I peck my breast I shed my blood
The pure white goose would die
Take me to the cold. cold earth
Under a cruel white sky
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Goose
Disoriented, lost,the wild goose flew
Seeking for its mate which lately died.
As if it never saw ànd never knew
The mourning song of doves is not a lie
So birds and other creatures share our pain
Hoping that the lost will soon return
Yet this is final, none will come again.
Unless we day dream, till we lose our way
Believing our own fantasies, we pay
And so our heart will freeze or it will burn.
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Too much rain
Heavy rain has made the river full
It overflows its banks, goes where be it will
From higher Epping rivulets descend
The great trees shed loose leaves as down trunks bend
The birds are silent,hoping for some sun
The people wander weeping like old men
Tears like melting hailstones wet my face
Round the ancient bridges children race.
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Soil
I am feeling for the many roots that curve beneath the soil
Where insects scuttle silently, where kindly beetles toil.
Roots keep huge trees from falling down,an anchor and a friend
They feed the trees and crops and flowers in spring when life expands.
I place my feelers out to learn
what other life forms know.
Everywhere the mind can think
imagination goes
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Blinded by the past
The old man and the seea were calm as glass
The Cafe was surrounded by mixed blooms
He was listening to a lady who described
The flowers, their colour,name all afternoon
He could not see at all yet was relaxed
Indeed he was delighted in the sun
I thought blind men were piteous,full of fear
That tells you more of me, than of the men
Below the steep cliff path, in ran the sea
I can’t imagine how our Airforce fought
Barely trained young men went out to war
Is Brexit Britain worthy of their Cause?
Now the blind man gazes out to sea
Was he one of those who kept us free?
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Dream like memories
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
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Another mind
From time and place and season I am lost,
Disorientated ,missing tracks well worn
.Do not suppose I’m unaware of cost,
Nor label me with epithets of scorn.
For usual paths lead to the usual place.
the safest way to live and perhaps to die,
But wandering through the woods I find new space
and in wild grasses with the fox I lie
.Through distant trees, I see a way to go
As narrow as a slit in pale limestone
.I pass in silence as if in deep,deep snow
.My courage rises even as I groan.
Remember when we’re lost ,we may then find
Another way,a place,another mind.
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Revolution
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?
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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
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Our bodies pale as fish
We are swimming in deep water,deep and green
I am coming towards you with my fingers stretched
Our bodies pale as fish, our soft hair streams
The deep sea has no sun, yet we can see
The retina is waiting, ready,etched
We are swimming in deep water,deep and green
I see your face and eyes,how well they gleam
Do we have to undergo a test?
Our bodies pale as fish, our soft hair streams
Underneath the ocean are strange scenes
I will tell you later, we are blessed
We are swimming in sea water,deep and green
Our fingers meet, our lips share silver sheen
We float in circles, weightless is our flesh
Our bodies pale as fish, our soft hair streams
What will happen, what shall we do next
Inspiration,grace, we are perplexed
We are floating in deep water,deep and green
Our bodies pale as fish, our soft hair streams
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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
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Now speaks the Earth
Now speaks the earth of spring and all its joys.
Now flowers and blossom soothe our lonely eyes.
So happy are the lovers, girls and boys,
As in the daisied meadows they may lie.
Now speaks the sun and makes us want to grow
to open like the flowers for his love
To let the life within us start to flow.
With blessings sent down to us from above.
Now every part of nature is in flood
Fresh leaves point down from trees to holy nests
The birds are active in this little wood,
And dwelling on the tree branch breast to breast.
Oh let’s not waste time glued to inner thoughts.
For we may miss the joy which spring has brought
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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
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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
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Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.
How softly sweetly,gently flowers pose
Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.
Intricate the petals that should shield
Yet bees with striped force shall make them yield.
Appearances,both natural and contrived,
Mixed with the wiles of human nature thrive.
As, knowing not, we pluck the apple rare
And bite its flesh,with teeth we burn to bare.
We too deceive the innocent who pass
Not seeing watchers hid behind the glass.
The windows break,the deep earth quakes;
Seized is the maiden ,he her virtue takes
.Beneath the surface,force and fierceness thrive.
What fearsome, burning God enjoys our lives?
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They haunt the seer
Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me
They waken up my heart from dull, dark dreams
The marvels are the poignant shapes I see
I recognise them in the grace and fear
Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me
I’m branded with their shapes so known so dear
Yet how huge shadows frighten,haunt the seer
Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me
They waken up my heart to what may be
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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
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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
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THE MEMORY LASTS
midsummer days evoke the trancelike past
where children played in joyous, daisied fields
with buttercups so bright the memory lasts
a freedom that our conscious growth will steal.
those stones and leaves and many coloured flowers
were gathered into images that glow
yet later we forget those treasured hours
when for a while we lived in life’s deep flow
we did not look and see,but felt at one
we lived as did the birds high in the trees
now we write , experiencing has gone
we cannot live like flowers filled with bright bees
to lose ourselves in nature is a joy
which to our adult selves we must restore
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Owls surprise
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
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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.
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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
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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 flash
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Cliches for all
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
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Blythburgh thoughts
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?
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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
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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
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The Iron Fist
I missed the flowering of the maple tree
Where red leaves swell like baby’s growing fists
i fear to struggle there, what shall I see,
Just the doves and sparrows flying free?
Missed the flowering of the maple tree
But watched less subtle human comedy
Saw politicians flounder, saw ships list
Missed the burning of some red leaved tree
I wonder when they’ll break the baby’s wrists?
How my heart speaks 