Category: poetry

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

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

The only ritual

The ritual is to put the garbage out
My day begins the night before it’s due
When I recall the day, I have to count
Instead of Mass, we put the garbage out
No Confession so no sin,no horrid doubt
No neighbours and no prayer,no ancient pew
The only ritual left, toss garbage out
My mind begins to think about the clue

Liquid unmodernity

My brain has turned to liquid and it’s dripping from my ears
I need some kind of tampon to absorb this sudden rush
Why did noone tell me this is frightful to endure?
My brain has turned to liquid and it’s dripping from my ears
I think it’s far too late to expect a total cure
I’ll never hear the little voice nor see the burning bush
My brain has turned to liquid and it’s dripping from my ears
Where’s an alcoholic then, to drink the mighty rush



Tread right on the holy human face

The way to be successful is now clear
Deny your shame,humiliate the poor
Have no friends or mate whom you hold dear
The way to be successful is right here
Control your cronies with a hint of fear
Tread on the lowly, who can but endure
The way to be successful, shed no tears
Repress your shame,humiliate the poor

Accidentally tread on someone’s face
As you run for president again
Make sure their features are unclear,erased
Knowingly tread on the human face
It’s not evil, it is just bad taste
The devil is a clown, we feel no strain
Incidentally tread on someone’s face
As you run for president again

The Words Mine

Every poem begins with a first line
After that we choose the space and time
The words float in my head till they combine
Must a poem begin with its first line?
Some are bold and some are more refined
Some are free and some have lissom rhymes
A poem begins by finding a first line
After that we search the Deep Words Mine


The pillars of the Western Mind have cracked

The end of values, kindness, earned respect
The loss of wisdom,history and truth
The pillars of democracy are cracked.

The centre of the heart,who can protect?
Conspiracy and madness unseat proof
An end of values, kindness, earned respect

Violence is admired though lives are wrecked
The lasting triumph of the folk uncouth
The pillars of the Western Mind have cracked

Their minds unfurnished seem bereft of tact
They tread on others words like horses’ hooves
The end of values, kindness, earned respect

How can such opponents make a pact?
The calculating crucify our youth
The pillars of the Western Mind have cracked


Yet Western Empire builders had no ruth
They tortured those they conquered group by group
On such ground just madmen earn respect
The altars of the Western Mind have cracked

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








	


	



			
				


			

			
Enigmatic  like a midday dream
		
	
	

		

The fallen sun makes black the trees that lean
Its liquid centre thrown up wild and bright
Enigmatic  like a midday dream





The  pinky edges shift in  sun’s bent beams
Do they convey the aura of the light?
The fallen sun makes black the trees that lean





I wonder where my haunted eyes have been
In the forests deeper than the night
Enigmatic  like a midday dream





Schizoid, lacking affect,  a  slit scream
Destroying what is left of love and sight
The fallen sun makes black the trees that lean





Here we saw wild primrose by the stream
The castle of the Tudors soft in  blight
Enigmatic  like a midday dream





Bewildered people  kill their own insight
Toss their fears , into the weak to bite
The failing sun as pure as  boiling screams
Enigmatic  are our midnight dreams

	


	



			
				


			

			
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





















	


	



			
				


			

			
Now the melancholy’s gone
		
	
	

		

Now I’m feeling  kind of numb on this January day
The darkness came down sudden and I feel it’s here to stay
Shall I make some tea and pretend that you are here
I’m naked like the wood underneath that swish veneer.

I’m feeling kinda nothin’ now the melancholy’s gone
Should I be doing something  that will give me, like, some fun?
The silence is not threatening, but neither is it good
Did you ever wish that you weren’t made of flesh and blood?

I’m feeling  so damned stupid  for falling on my back
My shoulder was in agony and there’s whiplash in my neck
The doctor, he injected me, but  he said it’s down to luck
He may have missed the mark, he says,I wish I’d said,oh feck

Apparently  the elderly are not in much demand
I heard a sorta whisper as my head  went  in the sand
We must keep the silence or we’ll frighten off the young
They don’t seem to notice   but the cat  will lick my hand





I  didn’t  know how old I was   till the  clock flew off the wall
Isn’t it uncanny what you see before the Fall?

	


	



			
				


			

			
The dam burst
		
	
	

		

Yout letter seems to overflow with rage
The reservoir of hatred has emerged
The loving kindness  vanished without trace





I cannot see the mirror of your face
You used me to contain   your anger’s  surge
Yout letter, wanton, overflows  with rage





Why did you enact   your Play in haste?
Why  treat me so coldly , why me hurt?
Your act  of love has vanished without trace





Do not tell me I was not your taste
You  fantasised an image I  dispute
Yout letter ,sadly, overflows with rage





I hate to see my love  was  to you  waste
Free speech applies to both,  you can’t refute
How could good, true  love leave not a trace?










After this, I  in my world was mute
I could not speak,my heart and soul  pursued
Yout letter uses words to  channel rage
You wished to see me naked,this  the stage

	


	



			
				


			

			
Her voice
		
	
	

		

The ice in the eye
Invisible glass
Splinters the vision
Light can harass.





Panic makes feints
Like dancing  with skates
She passed  out in angst
Traumatic the date





The clutch at  the heart
Oxygen, gas
Loosen your grip
The glory, the waste





Ariel,Israel,
Where is the horse?
Where are  the olives?
Where is her voice?

	


	



			
				


			

			
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


	


	



			
				


			

			
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

	


	



			
				


			

			
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

	


	



			
				


			

			
Rehab  is not  kind when nearly dead
		
	
	

		

To get you fit for death they took you in
The Rehabilitation   of the   dead ?
They got you up and sent you to a gym





You had a bed, the light was very dim
So  those new books I brought were never read
To get you fit for death they  forced you in

You  fell onto my lap, it was no sin
Your face as black as Satan’s in his bed
They pulled  you up  for torture in a  gym






They taunted you  like Nazi’s, what’s to win?
Tell me what  the liars  wrote down or said
To get you fit for death they forced you in





When Christ was killed, they hung him on a hill
If God is tortured, where should man   be led?
Who imagined dead men in a gym?





 When the trouble came the nurses  fled
You died in A and E , there was no bed
To  prepare you  for  you death they asked me in
 You cried,I want to  die, but they just grinned

	


	



			
				


			

			
Trembling with anxiety will circulate your blood
		
	
	

		

They say we ought to exercise
Walk up and down the stairs
Never use a Lift instead
Despite the tear and wear

I think I’ve found the answer
It’s as simple as  can be
Just shake your limbs and head about
While you watch TV





But if you’re very nervous
That will do you good
Trembling with anxiety
Will circulate your blood





Or if you see men following you
Then run until they stop
They might be a fantasy
So do not call a cop





Agitation’s terrible
But even that’s ok
You won’t be able to sit down
Ot even kneel to pray

So have a nervous breakdown
You will live to ninety nine
You may not  enjoy it much
But it fits my little rhyme





I suppose the answer is now plain
We have to choose our way
Loose and happy on the sands
Or  shivering & trembling all day










When you die the Coffin men
Will thank you  if you’r slim
It might be a real  nervous breakdown
Is better than many a gym

	


	



			
				


			

			
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

	


	



			
				


			

			
The holes and ink are fashion
		
	
	

		

I’ve got liquid Quink on all my clothes
I thought that everyone would like to know
I’ve got moth holes in my  sweaters like small eyes
But my winter coat is  still almost alright

I’ve had this coat for fifteen years,it’s brown
It drapes quite well, the maker is renowned
I must put it on to take  a walk outside
To see which plants have died and which survived

My husband would be very shocked indeed
My tights have gaping holes upon my knees
The ink has  penetrated to my vest
God knows where that Quink will  wander next

If your clothes are damaged, do not cry
At least 5,000 moths have learned to fly

	


	



			
				


			

			
God with you
		
	
	

		

Bring your own God with you, you can’t help it anyway
I have heard you singing, don’t tell me you can’t pray
We’re strung like beads along a chain, we’re linked  with none left out
Every time that someone dies, there opens a new mouth
Mouth brings voice,   the people’s choice, there is no faking Truth
Eat and live, speak and grieve, give and so receive
Eyes to see and ears to hear,grace may be about
Still the  Sirens  wail and moan, leave them, they can’t count

	


	



			
				


			

			
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

	


	



			
				


			

			
Let them see your feet without their shoes
		
	
	

		

When strangers ask for photos of  you nude
Or wearing clothes  so scanty they’ll go blind
Let them see your feet without their shoes





Let them see your twisted toes turn blue
Let them see the bunions God designed
When strangers ask for photos rather rude





Can one solve a crossword with no clues?
Can one have no bosom and look fine?
Can they love your feet without  cute shoes?





When you’re feeling sad and life is blue
When you long for love but not divine
When  gentlemen want  photos somewhat crude





Try to sell  them on  the  Evening News
Take the veil  or drink the Altar Wine
Let them kiss your feet without their shoes





When you’re looking for the hidden signs
Don’t  read numbers  settlers left behind
When strangers ask for photos,  give them clues
Let them wash your feet but make them queue

	


	



			
				


			

			
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

	


	



			
				


			

			
It speaks
		
	
	

		

seashore under blue sky
Photo by Tom Swinnen on Pexels.com





This poem is written in the sonnet form,
And yet I have my doubts about its shape
Though nearly to that structure it conforms
There may be holes where nightmare faces gape.





It looks and speaks just as a sonnet would
And talks of metaphysical concerns.
Do we conclude, as poets and readers should,
That in our schizoid age we cannot learn?





For humans may be decked in clothes of wolves;
And lambs be dressed in lion’s fearsome furs.
Thus, sense is tricked and problems are unsolved.
Landscapes etched, yet details seem quite blurred.





It looks like one,it feels like one,it speaks;
Yet from these words, does human feeling leak?

	


	



			
				


			

			
The shape and form
		
	
	

		

Put your painful feelings into form
The sonnet,villanelle, the triolet
The shape controls the anguish of the storm

Our wounds  can shape our vision  and our thoughts
Remember school, where bullies  made you pay?
Put your painful feelings into form





Words like daggers pierce the loving heart
Oh, memory must  not cut us off from play
The  play controls the  violence of the storm





Let all thought of vengeance  now depart
Or our spirit blackens, then decays
Put those painful feelings into form





In its time the sun will  bring new dawns
Tears will wash our souls from  black to grey
The words  compress,contain the  bloody storm










Do not give the monsters time of day
Conversation   does not always pay
Put your painful feelings into form
The shape will heal the anguish  like a balm