Category: poetry

The orchestra that plays as we go in

The chattering cacophony of cars
Underneath  the silence  of the stars
The echo of lost voices,faces, smiles
To which our little  heart is always loyal

The horns that shriek, the trains  that wreck the track
The vision of the lost who can’t come back
The loaded wagons  and the violin
The orchestra that plays as we go in

The crackling of the ice the skaters skim
The refugees whose clothing is too thin
The  scream of Munch, the horror he foresaw.
The end of Europe in the first World War

The  decorated War Memorials  grim
Reminding us that no-one ever wins

She drowned in mobile phones which could not speak

Drowned by words whose owner could not speak
Disordered  and untimely they came down
Her   mind had lost its  senses, its critiques

She did not wish to see a world so bleak
She  lay  there  like a fox  on bloody ground
Crowded by the  slobbering hounds  she shrieked

I asked  if Su Doku would bring  her peace
She  beat me with a heavy pan  all round
Her   mind had lost its  pity in her grief

I begged her use a hammer,kill or tease
She  cried  out, oh, my wi fi has gone down
She drowned in mobile phones which could not speak

She begged me  to cook dumplings with the  beef
Atora still make suet, it’s renowned,
Her   mind had lost its  legacies, its reach

I  bought a bunch of roses from a clown
The thorns  a  sharp reminder of  her nouns
Spared the  words  this woman could not speak
Our silence  gave me comfort,  yet I weep

Oh, brilliant leaves

Oh, brilliant leaves are now turned duller red.
The first day of  our Brexit winter time.
From the sun  bright  colour had been  bled.

What seemed innate was stolen then instead
As life  is taken when we pass our prime
The  shimmering leaves are now turned brownish red

Oh,sadly  know the leaves  face  sudden  death
Torn from branches where  boys used to climb
All  the   foliage flies  in  one last breath

Mystics hear the still small voice   of God
When all is lost and meaning ‘s but a  line
Those   high leaves  for tramps shall make a bed

 
When we had it,what was it we had?
We hear the Word when we have paid the fine
Once  lovely leaves are now turned dull and dead
For  only sun   expressed  what had been  fed.

Continue reading “Oh, brilliant leaves” →

Small and humble

The clouds are large  like galleons on the sea
The sails are rounded swimming on the blue
The earth seems small and humble company

Some take  fright and into dark they flee
Blinded  by the size,ignored the clue
The clouds are whipped  like  icecream into goo

I see a dream that  hangs high on a  tree
A crow stands on its head, the small birds rue
~The earth seems small ,unreal yet company

God wrote us a  letter,that is key
We staggered to the fire,we burned with glee
The clouds  disguise  the sin of  our envy

The dying god hangs through eternity
Shall he be raised, shall we his promise see?
The earth seems small and humble company

Oh, do not  let us kill the sacred tree
Fragmented it wlll split  the Trinity
The clouds are  beads  upon a rosary
The Cross  beseeches.words are  heresy

 

 

The liturgy of the birds

The force and beauty of the wild North Sea

The coast of Norfolk,sands so white,so free.

The grief that rips the heart out from its cave

Throws it on the sea to ride the waves

The loss of you and love and all it means

With my inner eye I see these  scenes

The snow that fell on Cromer Easter Day

The lifeboat on the pier, the words to say

Ancient churches guard the holy space

And everything is right and in its place.

Eagles do not live here, but the birds

  Sing  from yellow gorse and know the words

What names might small birds  call us as they  watch?

The world is re created in a snatch.

The word gorse rhymes with norse

In 865 Ivan the Boneless a Viking  invaded East Anglia His army wintered in Thetford forest before heading North where they eventually conquered York

The birds singing in the yellow gorse is a reality but it’s also reminder of the history which the birds may remember more than the humans.

Also because the birds are singing for joy and they know the words it is akin to a liturgical offering

It’s not only humans who can praise. The way that the world is at the moment it may be hard for us to do that

He is alive

In my dream, I gave birth to a child
The doctor said that he would die quite soon
My feelings overwhelming made me wild

The Nazi doctor threw him on a pile
I lay nearby unmoving as I keened
In my dream,I gave birth to a child

A week passed by,I knew that death beguiled
Frozen lips made no sound, song or tune
My feelings overwhelming made me wild

I had to rise and say my black goodbye.
My baby with the others;horror loomed
In my dream I gave birth to a child

I picked him up , when suddenly he smiled
I held him to my breast, my songs I crooned
My feelings overwhelming drove me wild

I had to carry him, the landscape gloom
A desert grey aand rocky like some moon
In my dream I gave birth to a child

In terror I had walked yet love consoled

Their lover wants a burglar to alarm

How sad I think of washing the bed sheets
When my partner  holds me in his arms
Instead of kissing me  he   might well shout

Do I get more pleasure as I sleep
Dreaming of a Bendix  and its charms~
How sad I think of washing the bed sheets

Even grown up men are seen to weep
Their lover wants a burglar to alarm
Instead of kissing her , he  might well shriek

Even when it’s raining cats and sleet
Women  hang their washing  in the yard
How sad I think of washing all the  sheets

When we marry we  don’t know these weights
The world sits on  our backs quite unadorned
Instead of kissing  him,she  might well shriek

Now romance  cannot last, and love  lies lame
Buying houses, babies, what to blame?
Women  are still   fraying mind and  sheets
Instead of kissing lovers ,indiscreet

 

Unless you’ve feet

We walk along the Pennine way some years
If farmers let the bulls out,we don’t care
I like stiles and jumping over walls
But then I’m not a man with stuff to haul
I like mountains,I like lakes and boats
I like being tickled as we float
I like sheep that follow me all day
Trying to find the perfect spot to pray
Up near Dent the sheep beg very well
They learn to knit while sitting on a Fell
In the winter Dent is somewhat cold
It feels more frosty to the very old
I’ll never go to Dent or Alston now
Unless the bull is gone and there’s a cow
I’ll never climb up Coniston Old Man
Nor meet Mary,Annie, Dave or Stan
They are in another kinder place
Where one the women made the famous lace
On the River Trent come down the Peak
Do not wear your shoes unless you’ve feet

Joy will return one day

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Some days are sad and blue

And we feel lonely too
Or we cause rifts.

Some days are doldrum days.
Some days are like bad plays.
Not such a gift.

Most days have joyful parts.
Most days we lift our hearts.
They pass all too swift.

Some days love speaks to me.
Some days I feel so free.
I love my craft.

Life is a patterned weave.
Love helps us when we grieve.
Love is a raft.

See how the sun comes back.
See how light fills the gaps..
Some days we laugh.

Weep now and I’ll weep with you.
I have known sorrow too.
Yet sorrow will pass.

Joy is not far away.
Joy will return one day….
With life’s arts and crafts

We walked the Cleveland Hills when love was new

The places I associate with you,
Durham in the deepest, whitest frost
The places that I dream of what we knew

We walked the Cleveland Hills when love was new
Saw icy windows in your parent’s house.
The places I associate with you

Lincoln floodlit, threw me to my knees….
We crossed the Humber in midwinter lost
The places that I dream of, that we knew

Christmas time your mother felt so blue
We walked the sea edge Redcar,Saltburn first .
The places I associate with you

But where’ve you gone and why is there no clue?
I travel in my dreams ,with you impressed.
The places I associate with you,
The spaces where we travelled ,where are you?

Is it worth  his pain to know the truth?

They don’t mention  when you study maths
Consistency,completeness and  their lack
For  with any set of axioms there are gaps
Another world, a place, another map

Discoveries that shocked, past reason’s  grasp
The  man who  crossed the hurdles in his path
Godel   paid for this by going   mad
Is it worth  his pain to know the truth?

 I wonder if  the politics  of fear
Will prove  completely nothing    is  a cure
The axiomatic system of dark arts
Is not enough ,  brings more pain to endure

For maths is simple when compared to life
Where ugly feelings like dark demons writhe

The night train

We’re all going on the night train journey
Full of strange and  lovely sights
We’re all going on the night train journey
So we have   the brightest lights

We’re all going on the night train journey
We  don’t pay for our own seats
We’re all going on the night train journey
We’re companions discreet

We’re all going on the night train journey
When we die, is this the route?
We’re all going on the night train journey
Wear pyjamas not  a suit

We’re all going on the night train journey
Might we find our mom and dad?
We’re all going on the night train journey
All the living, and  the dead

We’re all going on the night train journey
Circulating like our blood
We’re all going on the night train journey
Joan of Arc  needs Noah’s Flood

We’re all going on the night train journey
Who  creates us,  makes our form?
We’re all going on the night train journey
Heal us ,we are people,torn

 

 

 

Who sieves earth?

When we think of God, we see an eye
Watching us like some abhorrent spy
What of his touch, his hearing, his   small voice?
What his  taste conveys and  how employed

Larger  than the total of  sand grains
That  form all  ocean shores  by  moon arranged
Smaller than  the eyes of ladybirds
And insects humble without   spoken words

What is size  compared to tangled roots?
What is loud compared to army boots?
What the colour, what the perfect form
To ripple through my eyes with no alarm

What do you here, what  vision do you flee?
Who  sieves earth and whose the face you see?

The liturgy of the birds

The force and beauty of the wild North Sea

The coast of Norfolk where we loved to be

The grief that rips the heart out from its cave

Throws it on the sea to ride the waves

The loss of you and love and all it means

With my inner eye I see these  scenes

The snow that fell on Cromer Easter Day

The lifeboat on the pier, the words to say

Ancient churches guard the holy space

And everything is right and in its place.

Eagles do not live here, but the birds

  Sing  from yellow gorse and know the words

What names might small birds  call us as they  watch?

The world is re created in a snatch.

The word gorse rhymes with norse

In 865 Ivan the Boneless a Viking  invaded East Anglia His army wintered in Thetford forest before heading North where they eventually conquered York

The birds singing in the yellow gorse is a reality but it’s also reminder of the history which the birds may remember more than the humans.

Also because the birds are singing for joy and they know the words it is akin to a liturgical offering

It’s not only humans who can praise. The way that the world is at the moment it may be hard for us to do that

Delight

Enfolded   by your  smile,I saw the  light
As if a hidden world such love revealed
Our spirits touched, our sorrows pushed to flight
In that space, our worries did not bite
The trees were shelter, losses were each healed
In your holy smile,I saw the light
Blessed be, there is a second sight
From heart and soul , the  silver bells shall peal
Where spirits touch ,where sorrows quickly fly
And who but you would see my inner plight
Would know the false from what is right and real
Cradled  in  your  smile,I felt  the light
No army with its metal and its might
Can win the final war , love conquers steel
As spirits touch  as sorrows say goodbye
I know it’s hard to learn what others feel
And not draw back from grief, from loss revealed
Enchanted by your smile ,O golden light
Our spirits touched, our eyes wept their delight

Christ came down  as weak as candle light

In a stable with no heat or light
Who will celebrate the birth of God
When we each deny our rage and spite

Psychosis swallows up  the dark of night
The star that shepherds saw  has filled with blood
Above a stable with no heat or light

We live with fear, we  know who has the might
Can our  minds contain both  bad and good
When we each deny our rage and spite?

We fail to know how others suffer fright
That they are persons  too , not understood
 Christ came down  as weak as candle light

We are each a world, there is no fate 
I see the tears  run down the face of God
When we each  engage our rage and  spite

Shall we  lose in darkness  or in  flood?
Asked a  man   bereft of  his  true love
In a stable with no heat or light
Love is born, is  frozen, is denied

 

 

Oh,kind despair

In deep 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

Hungry, weak, 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


The heart knows so much more than do the wits.

Europe is corrupt

Beyond  the image, man dwells now abject
We treated fellow creatures worse than worms
We do not talk of genocide, such tact.

What we can’t yet know, in us reacts
Europe is in trauma,I’m informed
Beyond imagination dwell  those acts

God   is  outside language,  he’s no fact
We can’t digest  the meaningless unformed
We do not dwell on genocide, such tact.

 

The  gypsies innocent were cruelly wracked
The men  who loved another man were burned
Beyond  the image, man dwells now abject

 

The s ghosts of Auschwitz  weep as Europe  coughs.
The past’s an old compartment in the train
We do not feel that genocide, what  lack

 

Oh, to wind the film back till we learn
Killing, torture, gassing,  we must mourn
Beyond  the image man dwells now abject
Enlightenment , ambivalent ,  has cracked

Is it worth  his pain to know the truth?

They don’t mention  when you study maths
Consistency,completeness and  their lack
For  with any set of axioms there are gaps
Another world, a place, another map

Discoveries that shocked, past reason’s  grasp
The  man who  crossed the hurdles in his path
Godel   paid for this by going   mad
Is it worth  his pain to know the truth?

 I wonder if  the politics  of fear
Will prove  completely nothing    is  a cure
The axiomatic system of dark arts
Is not enough ,  brings more pain to endure

For maths is simple when compared to life
Where ugly feelings like dark demons writhe

It’s good to look outside

The grieving one who never looks outside.

Suffers like a prisoner in a cell Yet they have some freedom to decide

To grieve, yet view our holy world as well.

To turn the eyes back to the lost and dead.

Is what we all may do in painful times But to this natural world, we must be wed;

And under suffering, draw a heavy line.

From despair, we rise to be renewed;

To see our friends and make our hearts feel glad. And look behind us with a gentler view

See the joys mixed with the loss we’ve had.

In the sea of grief, we’ll swim not drown,

And cast away lead weights which pull us down.

Crushed my mind

Drowning in the seas of grief again

A sudden fever crushed my anxious mind

Can I learn to float, to  bear the pain?

How come the world is bad, am I to blame?

Now my friends are cruel who were once kind

Drowning in the sea of grief again

She who injured me cannot be named.

Nothing seems to help but passing time.

Can I learn to float amidst the pain?

I must be perfect so I can’t complain.

Nothing seems to help but nursery rhymes

Drowning in the sea of grief again.

Is there not a God to grief contain

Now I know why faces old are lined

Who knows how to float through seas of pain?

I thought I had seen much but I am blind 

The scholars mind lacks common sense to bind

Drowning in the sea of grief again

Teach me how to float through all this pain

Through the fields

More complex than our mind is nature green

The River Lee still murmurs as it flows

Waltham Abbey, Eleanor her cross

In the sun, the kingfisher still glows.

Through the fields the river sings her song.

There are grassy banks where we once rolled.

Is there still an innocence of heart?

The shepherd guides the flock into the fold.

In the abbey crypt the sacred dwells

Near the yew trees and king Harold’s grave.

Once there would have been the sound of bells

And in-our hearts we felt that Jesus saves

Let the world receive the humble child.

Who can see the gods in,this world wild?

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While there’s life, there’s still a hint of hope

Don’t  be anxious whether you’ll be shot
Take your break in Morecambe with a cat
Do not go to Bethlehem   this year
Someone built a wall and we feel scared

Could Jesus and his parents  have got out?
Babies cannot climb  nor can they shout
Should we go to Rome to see the Pope?
While there’s life, there’s still a hint of hope

Did Jesus really  want to start a Church?
Perhaps he wanted rabbits and a hutch
By now the entire world would be full   up
Would  endearing rabbits  interrupt?

Better to play simple in our prayers
Say them daily,  don’t  get in  arrears

As the red sun dies

The glare of yellow street lamps on the snow
The thick green hedge where cats curled up to die
The ice and frost above, the worms below.

The tarmaced road,the sidewalks, seem to glow
No pleasure comes from neon lights so high
Oh, stare of yellow street lamps on the snow

As the red sun dies, our blood won’t flow
Take an aspirin, calm’s a good ally
The ice and frost above, the soul below

Bare my feet and numb are all my toes
My socks are holed.I’m darned if I know why
Oh, glare of yellow street lamps on the snow

My nails are thick like monsters’ fearsome claws
Podiatry is hard to get,I’ve tried
The ice and frost above, the souls sleep slow

The world is puzzled, minds are all awry
There’s nothing in a shop but rot to buy
The glare of yellow street lights on the snow
The ice and frost above, the dead below.


I remember everything

I can see you in our house

In the kitchen, on the stairs

I see you  playing in the street

And on your rocking chair.

I see you in Saint Patrick’s church

Were we went on Saturday

And when you were in hospital

You held your beads and prayed.

You had to use your fingertips

Before I bought the beads

I half wish I had died with you

It hurts inside, I bleed

I have got a photograph

It’s us three girls and Mam

Now you’ve gone away with them

My sister,oh my lamb

My   Mother and my Father 

my sisters and one boy

I remember Christmas Day

Happy with our toys

One by one the people go

Till one is left alone

I remember everything

It’s written in my bones

Because real knowledge hurts

I don’t want to see reality
But I don’t want to lose your care.
I want to go on being selfish
And having you always there.

I don’t want to feel your feelings.
I am aware that I’ve been very curt.
I want to go on ignoring you,
Because real knowledge will hurt.

The longer I pretend to be ignorant,
The longer I opt not see,
The more I shall hurt my loved ones.
The more unkind and cruel I’ll be.

I don’t want to see reality.
I’m frightened of what I might find.
I need a dear friend to be with me
Whilst I traverse the dark glades of my mind.

I am afraid to discover reality,
But it’s better for us all if we do.
I hope I can get enough courage
To be able to bear what is true.

Christ came down  as weak as candle light

In a stable with no heat or light
Who will celebrate the birth of God
When we each deny our rage and spite

Psychosis swallows up  the dark of night
The star that shepherds saw  has filled with blood
Above a stable with no heat or light

We live with fear, we  know who has the might
Can our  minds contain both  bad and good
When we each deny our rage and spite?

We fail to know how others suffer fright
That they are persons  too , not understood
 Christ came down  as weak as candle light

We are each a world, there is no fate 
I see the tears  run down the face of God
When we each  engage our rage and  spite

Shall we  lose in darkness  or in  flood?
Asked a  man   bereft of  his  true love
In a stable with no heat or light
Love is born, is  frozen, is denied

 

 

But a prayer could ascend to its height.

Great Bardfield and Dunmow by meadows  of blue
Linseed and poppies delight
Narrow lanes curving  are leading us to
The Essex  of Constable ‘s sight

At Manningtree swans  jostle near the  stone edge
I recall we have seen them in flight
Like a god might descend  to fulfill an old pledge;
A humbling  and marvellous sight.

In Dedham,  all’s still and wisteria  hangs
From a house with the door painted white.
The church was  quite empty and no bell was rung
But a prayer could ascend to its height.

After the quiet of the village out here
The A12  was revealed as a blight
We crossed it then  turned down a lane that was near
We drove home  in the  cool of the night.

Windmills not turning and churches not used
Yet  a  beauty to charm and delight
No mills  as in Yorkshire,no  hills  to denude.
Long Melford and Eleigh ,oh wait!

A crack, a loud smack

I know that's how death will come, 
Suddenly flying into another orbit when I am photographing flowers
 It's not a gentle transition.
 No-one will know where I've gone. 
One step wrong and I'm off the high wire
 And plunging into the no safety net.
 Flying for a while 
Jumping into hyperspace,spinning electrons 
Startle my wide eyes. 
Transiting the new black sun 
I'm on a double gold helix, 
Spider on her web,
 Knitting furiously
 Into the future heaven on gossamer wings. 
Butterfly goodbye,
I'm off to see the stars.
 And the black holes.
No one will come with me.
 I'm shaking off,evaporating into mist.
 I'm a flying saucer on a circus mission.
 I can't say no to a new invitation. 
Make it fast and break with tradition.
 Time is passing smoothly till that break In the music,
I've been transmuted into a different key 
someone else will play me on their violin
 I'm a tune, I'm a thought, I'm a whisper in your vision. 
Goodbye,darling.
I'm under orders Ready to leave for my performance
 On the electric carpet.
 Death dancing to a tune on a violoncello,
 Arpeggionne sonata 
I'm playing your words upside down
 In a new foreign translation,
 Accompanied by solo artists,ice cracking 
I'm going in.
It's too sudden. 
I'm flying. 
Spinning faster to amuse the clowns, 
too many ups and no downs. 
I'm going right out of orbit
 I've broken the pull of gravity,
 And fly with pure equanimity
 Into my future life,
 I'm off at some moment
An instant,a crack,a loud smack
That was me passing

v

The liturgy of the birds

The force and beauty of the wild North Sea

The coast of Norfolk where we loved to be

The grief that rips the heart out from its cave

Throws it on the sea to ride the waves

The loss of you and love and all it means

With my inner eye I see these  scenes

The snow that fell on Cromer Easter Day

The lifeboat on the pier, the words to say

Ancient churches guard the holy space

And everything is right and in its place.

Eagles do not live here, but the birds

  Sing  from yellow gorse and know the words

What names might small birds  call us as they  watch?

The world is re created in a snatch.

The word gorse rhymes with norse

In 865 Ivan the Boneless a Viking  invaded East Anglia His army wintered in Thetford forest before heading North where they eventually conquered York

The birds singing in the yellow gorse is a reality but it’s also reminder of the history which the birds may remember more than the humans.

Also because the birds are singing for joy and they know the words it is akin to a liturgical offering

It’s not only humans who can praise. The way that the world is at the moment it may be hard for us to do that

Rhythm, meter, movement are our guides

Actors are the poets of the real.
They mould the air with bodily appeal
The body is the soul  through which we feel
Imprisoned bodies kill the soul ideal.

Dancers fuse with music stretching air.
They push and pull the freedoms that  live there
They play with Newton’s laws as they change gear
The bodies bend and flow with utter zeal.

Singers touch us deeply to the core.
As we listen with  our shrunken hearts  so sore
We  will cry out, oh, more,oh, more , yes, more.
As deep into our inner self ,they gore.

In every aspect of our human lives
Rhythm, meter, movement are our guides