Category: poetry

Never write a letter full of spite

The consumer age is passing   with the dead
I tried to shop  again but Sainsburys have said
You can’t shop twice a week or twice a day
We will have to learn once more to play

Learn another language,read good books
Help another,  teach them how to cook
Go outside and  breathe the   purer air
Write a poem and then write one with flair

Walk around the street when it is clear
Drink from cans  filled up with   freezing beer
Take a photo of a tree you   like
Never write a letter full of spite

Surely we can gradually adapt
If we survive the madness and the traps

Shame is bitter, wrecks our feeling heart

I see  down in  the  valley of the Lea
Tower blocks  and numerous tiny homes
Here the Vikings came, oh, savagery
The valley is so ugly it alarms

As I look at  my books, it’s unfair
I feel sad for children who have none 
Our average reading age  grows lower  every year
I   feel angry at our leaders nothing  done

During Lockdown where shall  children play?
Those who have no gardens  shut indoors
The  end point of  such suffering is dismay
Humiliation grows   right in a  heart’s deep core

Shame is bitter, wrecks our feeling heart
A home for Satan made with   thoughtless art

We learn to see in part

 

The sun has gone and jaundiced is the sky
The silence  of the empty roads is good
For from my garden birds are  flying high
In this  precious green   we grew a wood

No holiday in Venice or Dubai
Lockdown  keeps us in   what do we sigh
 I want to  see  the   village of old Cley
The still small voice  shall speak before we die

No more  shall  rich  possesions make us high
Nor shall buying cream and caviare
We are judged by God’s incisive  eye
Stand up,  live,  despite that  all’s awry

The Sacred World  behind our little one
We learn to see in part though we are dumb

Black humour

Make my heart into a cottage pie.
Already it is minced and lies estranged
My   enemies insult me with their lies
And my last will and testament is made.

An onion and a carrot chopped up fine,
Saute  with these my heart till  all are gold
With herbs and spices I will taste divine
A mashed potato will a rooftop mould.

Do not forget my blood to use as sauce
Though now it’s cold, with garlic  make it boil.
For what is gravy but the blood of lamb?
With  sliced  onion  fried in olive oil.

O foes and devils eat me and you’ll be
Transformed into  to myself,your enemy

T

Keep on swimming

Constant rumination kills the soul
I never  think  and so I am more whole
I  write the sentence  down, just like I  speak
I find my native tongue lets symbols leak

My mind is  like a small holed metal sieve
I hope I shall be kind and will forgive
What remains is worthy of a place
As for my mistakes, I   beg your  grace

Some minds are  deep,clear streams their thoughts  like fish
Other minds are  tortured ,spin and crash
Keep on swimming like the drowning frog
He turned the milk to butter as he trod

Do not linger long on cruel thoughts
Scruples come from Satan, he’s worth naught

A rondel

I feel you presence and I almost see
The face  that was  so loving .sadly gone
There may be millions but you were my own
The anguish and the joy were all for me
As we walked the white sands by the sea
Picking sea shells, seeing washed white bones
I feel you presence and I almost see
The face  that was familiar,strangely gone
We had a home, we had a nutmeg tree
We grew apples,rosy in the sun
Flavour  vanished  like the honeycomb
Yet salty flavours linger in the sea
I feel you presence but I  cannot see
The face  that was  so loving,  known by none

 

What we do depends on what we see.

What we do depends on what we see.
By writing, I can change my own fixed view
Gain perspective, focus less on me

And to others, make an simple  plea
We can look again and see anew
What we do depends on what we see.

How the world is, how it ought to be
In my writing, I make my own review
Gain perspective, focus less on me.

Replace the  “ought” by “possibility.”
A little change beats crying, feeling blue
What we do depends on what we see.

If God exists, will she with me agree?
No doubt she’d have a wider, higher view
And share perception with someone like you

Would our world be shared by love, virtue.
A willingness to wish ,desire the true
What we do depends on what we see.
Perspective, focus, possibility

Weaving

The world is woven  in such different ways
Struts the vertical, the flat below
Oh God who weaves me shall by me be praised

Oh, shall the mystic reach what she may crave
When all  the strings release and she falls low
The world is woven  in its different ways

Timed by ritual Lady Lazarus rose
And all the eyes that gazed were burning slow
Yes, God who weaves me shall by me be praised

There is a hollow  only Ariel knows
As horse and rider as one being flow
The world is sensed  in  wholly different ways

The body ,home of mind, will   run astray
Oh, what seams of evidence forego
Fallen God  who unacknowledged knows

Beneath the sea of green the undertow,
Spirits sidle  deep like melting snow
The world is woven  in such different ways
That God who weaves me shall by me be praised

Bitterly sweet lockdown

drawing-genrleman
I confess to doing this funny little drawing ,Katherine

We  loved each other lately  life was sweet
Till lockdown ,isolation , iron walls
So we’ll have to speak .oh we’ll have to speak
From the opposite side of the street

We  hoped we’d live a while   before the grief
As we said on our long  video calls
We  loved each other, we loved to love each other
So our lives were  bitterly sweet

We longed to touch, to hug , to kiss at least
But unlike cats  we would not caterwaul
Now we’ll have to  feel , oh, we’ll have to kneel
On the opposite side of the street

We may be wrinkled with  bright yellow teeth
It has been known for  both of us to fall
We  love each other, yeah we love each other
For old age is not a defeat

We  loved   our neighbours, even those deceased
We’ve had  hard times but none that bit so deep
How can we   feel ,oha how can we feel
On the opposite side of the street?

I wanted you beside me when we sleep
I’ve even bought us fifty five new sheets
We  love each other, yes, we love each other
So our life is succulent, sweet
But how can we   touch, how can we  keep in touch
From the opposite side of the street?

 

 

 

Even in  the rain, light gave him joy

The first warm days, the birds sing in their nests
So brilliant is the sun it seems new born
In the shady green I take my rest

The art of living cannot be a test
Nor can it leave a lover all forlorn
The first warm days, the birds sing in their nests

When surprised by joy, we regain zest
Despite the costs of living and its storms
In the shady green let’s take a rest

Before he died,  he sat,he gazed  out West
Even in  the rain, light gave him joy
The bright, warm days, the birds sing in their nests

I remember Arnside, green and blessed
The hills across  the bay where we  have climbed
In the shady green let’s  dream and rest

In our childhood there the patterns form
Hope  to harvest now the rich, ripe corn
The clear blue  days, the birds  keep warm their nest
In the shades of Arnside  let me rest

 

So poignant

When you gave me that last smile  I knew
You were on the way to Paradise
My  singing voice had brought great peace to you

Sitting in a place in A and E
Quietly waiting, watching your closed eyes
You gave me that last smile  and winked at me!

You never changed, your humour was not new
Winking at the ladies undisguised
My   little voice had brought great peace to you

I felt embarrassed by the crowd I drew
In Suffolk  I could  have sung till I near died
When you gave your  smile I  guess I knew

Inside I felt a pain that pierced me through
I  felt it poignant like a bird’s first flight
My  singing voice had elevated  you

In  old Hunstanton  we walked  sands   near white
In Wells  we saw   both  dawn and sunset’s light
For   confiding with  your smiles,  may I thank you?
I wish we were on long pale sands anew

 

 

 

From the dust

Power and love, two ways that we connect
One is often hateful, one respects
The Other is a person , I and Thou
Two words, two worlds , which  love could well endow

Power has many guises, most deceive
Talking  big  but wanting to receive
Men of power who long for even  more
The Jaguar, the palace, the gold door

A select   few  took risks to save the cursed
The Jewish baby, Amsterdam, the fist
The parents on a train,  like cattle crammed
Death  was not the end their  love had planned

Hurtling into darkness, when all’s lost
A still small voice shall  whisper  from the dust
 

Dusting  books and washing garden gnomes

I  am saving money  locked at home
Whenever I go out I buy a drink
Not to mention  books and garden gnomes

No bubble baths to cover me in foam
Lots more  time to write and  truly think
I  am saving money  locked at home

While I sleep, the elves and fairies roam
Putting dirty mugs into the sink
Dusting  books and washing garden gnomes

Is Pope Francis locked down while in  Rome ?
God looks down and even he  might flinch
I  will send  the cash to help folk cope

Wisdom lies in libraries uncombed
Digital security’s a bitch
Not to mention   research   into gnomes

 Might I disguise myself and  be a witch
Can I do some magic and get rich?
I  am saving money  locked at home
Surrounded by my  books and garden gnomes

Wondering, I wander underground

In my dreams I wander round  and round
Searching for that car park   by the lake
Wondering if  the lost are ever found

There is often silence or birdsong
I wonder which new footpath I shall take
In my dreams I wander round and round

Haphazard  as the  footsteps of a clown
Looking for  the works of William Blake
Wondering if  the past   will  ever hound

I see you  struggle ,walking on wet  ground
You’d like some coffee and a piece of cake
In my dreams we wander round and round

Darling, shall I  never hold your hand?
We got into rhythms pure and strange
Wandering  through the past  we  never found

What was  the space of love   that made us ache
Fragile like  the    crystalline   snowflakes
In my dreams I wander round  and round
Can I change my ways, can I be found?

 

 

Who are we?

Photo1660
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To fulminate against the hands of fate
To vent our anger on  beloved friends
Will not repair our ills and our mistakes
But may bring friendships to  a bitter end.

For who are we to know what is the best?
Who are we to choose when loved ones die?
And  do not think this is a needed test.
As if on us God wastes his time to spy.

Once  we were a joining of two cells
The lively sperm, a salmon riding high.
The egg awaiting without  need for bells
Is fertilised and grows that which  shall die.

Astonishing that we should live at all.
Unsurprising, that a loved one falls.

 

Ironic lockdown

The irony of lockdown is  unique
More painful for the folk who live alone
Everyone’s at  home but none can meet

On the telephone , my friends can speak
I   want a conversation, not to moan
The irony of lockdown is  unique

I long for voices, even bleats from sheep
A conversation is  our human home
Everyone’s indoors but none can meet

The price we pay for safety seems quite steep
The poor may be more blighted, seeking loans
The irony of lockdown is  unique

Will Boris Johnson  get back on his feet
Do his best for his sins to atone?
Jesus  left his  home the outlook’s bleak

From the graveyards skeletons will roam
Their souls  as restless as the waves  that foam
The irony of lockdown is  unique
We’re not at home, we’re alien as this leaf

 

 

 

No gowns for NHS staff

If you are ill the nurses have no gowns
The doctors  neither, nor a dressing gown
Don’t let them borrow yours ,all’s upside  down
We can’t have naked people in the town

The government  will   rue this nudity
When Boris Johnson flies into a tree
We’ll see his valorous organ on TV
Whatever can the matter really be?

Why can’t the textile trade make us  nighties
On the NHS most stuff is free
The towel laid across your aching knee
My BT Hub is dying can’t they see?

Oh, I feel shame I live in Sodom here
Gomarrah can’t be far behind,don’t leer

Ain’t no police

The geese no longer fly past at sundown
They’re eaten by the “immigrants”  folks say
Who also kill and murder every day
The English are so perfect  in my town

That man is not an alien though he’s brown
He was born in Bradford  near the mills
His parents worked there till it made them ill
And now he is a graduate with a gown

My ancestors came to fight and to invade
They killed the  men and made the women wives
What chance that some  few English might survive
Are they now on benefits or aid?

The nesting swans have killed or maimed the geese
In their natural world ain’t no police

Their grace

After hail and storms I see the snails
On the rubber doormat and the stones 
Encrusted shells the blind might read as braille

The shell made to protect is very frail
I trod on several, cracks like breaking bones
After heavy rain I see the snails

The lion  whose   fire and strength will   never fail
The sea creatures so large , they look like drones
Compare them to the perfect broken snail

In  the Bible  read  the warning tales
Temptation,,murder, envy, honeycombs
God our Lord a lion or a snail?

Come to that, how can God be a male?
How can God approve the gold of Rome?
She  is a perfect   sacred sweet shelled snail

On the beach are empty shells, washed foam
Abandoned. they survive their use as homes
After  storm and tempest ,here are snails
Encrusted shells their decor and their grace

What we most fear

Hepatica-okesabayashi-2020 (1)

Written by: Katherine 

How like a monster is my fear of pain
Expanding to fill all my heart and mind
Swelling like a  giant sponge in the rain,
This fear begets  new  feelings more unkind.

For humans being chased by lions fierce,
Fear gives us the strength to  dash away.
But when by inner turmoil we are pierced
We cannot run  yet need  not be its prey.

Most strange,we need to do   what we most fear;
Walk towards the pain with curious calm.
As else we may be maddened like King Lear
With no Cordelia to bring us balm.

To  feel in proper ratio to our   pain.
We need perception,grace and all their gains.

Henne

Hennetwistle  has a railway stop
The name is Viking  now it’s usually spelled
Entwistle, where reservoirs fill up
Manchester wants  water , here it’s held

Too Thirlmere is an artificial lake
For tea in Manchester, those thirsty folk
How much more d’ye think that they will take?
Hamlets drowned, dull cypress trees that cloak

I once passed through Darwen on a train
On the way to Ilkley  with my aunt
No memory of bliss with me remains
Except the  flowers  so wild, their ghosts  still haunt

Yet nowhere else gives me the feel of home
This landscape is my body and my soul

Let your lips meet gently

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Photo by Mike Flemming copyright



Let your lips meet gently,
the top one resting against the lower,
touching with tenderness
your own skin to skin.

Forefinger propped on chin,
I let the others dangle,
like leaves on a branch;
how softly gravity tugs them downwards.

Let heart beat quietly,slowly
as the blood circulates
carrying its music,
a river,
following the path of least resistance.

How the blood vessels receive willingly this flow,
touching it kindly as with tiny open fingers,
helping and being helped.

How the hair on the head
floats
on the breeze,
like tentacles of an octopus
waving goodbye.

Top eyelid loves the lower one;
as we blink they touch
like lovers kissing swiftly
behind a tree.

and how the light comes in
we see a world.
[mine may not be yours,]
but the blink of my eyelid
sends waves through the air,
so we’re all touching and being touched,
lips kissing each other,
kiss all living creatures.

skin to skin.
air to air.

And inside us,the rich darkness
of creative night
transforms,in turn,
these touches
into dreams.

Whatever suits your heart

Am I an  idolator  today
For to St Jude I have been known to pray
Patron of the Hopeless, the Outcast
I call on him to find my shopping list

I call on him when I have lost my phone
And long to hear my  husband’s mobile groans
If this ignites distress I am to blame
The fires of love are what keep women sane

I call on him while  homesick though at  home
Without my love  the house feels empty, lone
 Does God  detest me when I pray for aid?
For these years, with suffering I have paid

Say or sing whatever suits your heart
We never  gain the end if we don’t start

The earth beyond

If we  never moved we would sink down
Slowly, all unnoticed. without  noise
Into the earth  our ready  burial ground

The birds are nesting, hear  untutored songs
No pandemic there to halt their voice
Those who    dislike movement  have no tongue

Life is given to all ,though  we do wrong
Is it  our inheritance or  choice?
All  end in holy earth, sweet underground

No need  in the grave for wedding gowns
Linen cloths  suffice when we are raised
Those who   never move, at worms   will frown

See the   trawlers sink and many drown
God’s own finger has each life erased
Gone to watery  wastes,  their  fishing ground

Here are buried foetuses and clowns
Men  hanged  dead as  traitors,  Kings , the drowned
If we  never move that is a flaw
But we are moved by love  and its own law

 

 

Wandering

I walked,I stumbled where I’d never been
No friend nor ally  guided me  nor could
In the  mesmerising  sharp pain of my grief

Wandering like an outcast ,  never queen
Reason was  no aid in that dead wood
I wandered  through the shadows of my  dreams

I felt the ground beneath me swirl and seethe
As if to kill me too or spill my blood
In the desolate place  of  darkness deep 

Rosemary,remembrance, flowering wreaths
Inside the heart  will mercy  come to flood?
I wandered  where to love would be obscene

But in the arctic wastes , surprised by  god
In late winter trees will start bud
I wandered  on until my heart revived
From that place of peril came new life

 

God, at last

Human sacrifice had disappeared
Would God bring it back to  strike with fear
The hearts of children washed in Jesus’ blood
His heart so sacred died, does that sound good?

Why stress the Cross, the  crown of thorns, the fear
As if God is a sadist,  cold yet nuclear
Who  might wish to   propagate this myth?
In Eden  dwell to hear the snakes that hiss

Jesus, kind and brave,  had no cruel wish
To feed a crowd he conjured loaves and fish
He  walked on water,  perhaps he loved to tease
No Caesar he,  his stories were decrees. 

And in the night, he wept  but never cursed
God, at last, knew humans at their worst

The whisper

I walk in sadness as fish swim the sea
I can’t  rememeber  how life felt before
The foetus  and the feel of gravity

Death  will come with ,without decree
The other world   a room with a   closed door
I walk in sadness as fish swim  the sea

The pain, the blood, the whisper and the grief
Could any woman wish for any more?
The foetus lost, the ropes of gravity

What  is human dies without a plea
Ah, the garments in the baby store
I walk as sad as fish flow with sea

From such  anguish,  we may wish to flee
Unless beneath our  feet there’s solid floor
To hold the foetus wrapped in love. oh, thief!

Life may cackle like a randy whore
You can’t buy babies in the liquor store
I walk in sadness as fish fill the sea
The foetus  drowned, the  urgent grave, now you.

 

 

The poor can’t take this lockdown for too long

The poor can’t take this lockdown for too long
They have no back gardens, no birdsong
Their  bed rooms shared, or they have none at all
No privacy, no silence, it appalls

I hear them talked about in cruel ways
“They go into McDonalds every day”
Would you  cook your meals in red wine bathed
If you had   only got  a  microwave?

They  can’t keep warm in winter  in their homes
McDonald’s is a luxury  they earn
Clean and neat  with heating and hot drinks
They sit and look at me , like I’m the Sphinx

The   average reading age in Britain’s only nine
They can’t read Boris’ letter, that’s malign

Who commands these viruses like flu?

 Who commands these viruses  like flu?
Consternation makes our hearts feel blue
Do we have a lifeboat or an Ark?
The situation does feel rather stark

Who  decided we could work while sick?
Our energy depleted , brains feel think
Decisions  so important  need clear minds
Not one both  unravelling and blind

We  travel  round the globe, a virus ride
Our garments are as louche as fratricide
We snap some photos of the Golden Dome
Then jump on a plane and turn to Rome

Why not stay in Britain  or in France?
The piper plays but  only demons dance

Uncertainty,unease, a maverick flu?

The government  may need one maverick
In addition, we may need a  leader  new
Too many , they  try  out ingenious tricks

In Great Britain there are many eccentrics
Inventing light bulbs, rifles and beef stew
The government  should have one maverick

Did we invent that much used  red clay brick?
Did we shoot  down  birds and peasants too?
Daft M Ps  who try  out  madmen’s tricks

If you’re wearing boots,let noone lick
Cov19 may  kill them, just like flu
The government  should have one  maverick

Everyone agreed that we are sick
Post-modern  theories  stick around like glue
To our M Ps  they are a  subtle threat

Some days I feel well,I think you do
Uncertainty,unease, a maverick flu?
The government  may need one maverick
Too many , they  wear out the new Chief’s Whip

 

Ignite

If Boris Johnson  frequently told lies
This is very common  nowadays
No-one sane would be at all surprised

If  Boris Johnson could not breath ,so died 
Everyone for his soul might now pray
Though Boris Johnson  told some  dreadful lies

Even Peter , Jesus thrice denied
This was human, of such fears we’re prey
No-one sane would be at all surprised

If Boris was with women, he  was wry
But not enough to  stage one in his  play
Oh,Boris Johnson you should not have lied

   Oh Boris  has more children than his bride 
   Now he wants another though he’s grey   
   No-one sane admits they are surprised

I dreamed  of him last night,  he was so gay
To my surprise he charmed me  with love play
If Boris Johnson   lost his head and died
The  people would be frightened and ignite