Category: poetry

The secret self  shrinks and  the falseness blooms

Time when life divides, it has two streams
One is on the surface, one  below
The secret self, the other one assumes.

I  walk on as the gap grows wider,screams
One shakes hands and one hides,  stamping low
The secret self, the other one assumes.

Can I  link the two or must I dream?
Times when life was gentler and more slow
The unknown self,  the outer it consumes

Now one is riding high to crash and bloom
Will death be the outcome,I don’t know
The secret self, the other they assume

The longer I go on,  the  nom de plumes,
The silent axe, the present danger grown
The unknown self,  the outer it consumes

Cannot   someone sew  me ,mend my holes
Help me, Lord,I have no place to go
Time when life divides in its two streams
The secret self  shrinks and  the falseness blooms

 

 

 

 

Aching

My skin is aching,tender, loss  has pierced
My heart needs walls, its boundary has gone
I miss the touch of love from him so dear

A belt of metal pins  brought me tears
Why suffer this till I  am quite undone?
My skin is aching,tender,  by loss pierced

We forget that grief is close to fear
Then alone, we panic, what’s to come?
I ache without the love from him so dear

Psychotic with no unity, who steers
My head  is so remote,I have no plan
My skin is aching,tender, by loss pierced

Cursed be the One who made our sphere
Since Eden went,by  so called  sin undone
I ache without the love from  someone dear

I should   get my cell, like Julian
Hide inside the church wall, will Love come?
My skin is aching,tender, loss  has pierced
Uncaressed by him  whom I held dear

 

 

 

 

 

Creating love from endless tiny sparks

First posted on August 25, 2017

Our roots are in another kind of earth
Invisible,  yet felt in guts and heart
Unlike the trees that bow down at our birth

Ignorant of our roots, now torn  and worse
We come to grief and all its  little parts.
Our roots are in another kind of earth

Our conception,  to the sperm, is merry mirth
The egg is eager for her life to start
Unlike the trees that, windy, flounce and curse.

We do not know what our deep roots are worth
Till sad we see our angels each depart
Our roots are in  some other kind of earth

We grow,enlarge, and learn a language first
Then in our home grown  narrative we star
Unlike the trees that bowed down at our birth

Creating love from endless tiny sparks
The form of every universe  must start.
Our roots are in another kind of earth
With fabled  trees entrancing every birth

The kindness

Every time  I think that I will stop
That poetry is not my kind of game
The kindness of my readers picks me up

I start again and emptied is my cup
I wander through the library of names
 I feel the affect  and the unwilled stop

In the mind we know we suffer gaps
That every heart and soul has got its stains
The kindness of my readers picks me up

Each of  us can share our  homemade map
Can ask for comfort when we are in pain
All feel the affect  and the unwilled stops

Comfort me,  give charm to my black cat
He seems to have no affect, he is lame
The kindness of my readers picks us up

Would we wish the wild world to be tamed?
Were better if we could start  life again
Every time  I think that I will stop
The kindness of my readers draws me up

 

 

Faltering voice

The moment that they told me he was gone
I knew I never more would be at one.
The guilt  is bad, the shame is harder still
That I no longer am  what I would will

That I did not perceive the   your state of mind
That to your heart I seemed to have been blind
That I was not enough to keep you here
That life and death most grievous are  so near

Then  shamed by my emotions I withdrew
Into the prison cell  that no-one knew
My soul was  pierced , I could not own my grief
 Limp, submissive , blown away, a leaf.

Shame is deadly, unexposed to speech
With reddened face and   faltering voice I weep

Their own heart

Living with division in the self
Two parts that can’t be joined by any wealth
Worthlessness,  remote the place it starts
Can we heal,rejoin the broken parts?

Must we go back to  places where we failed
Or be unfree, a prisoner with no jail?
Who might knit the stitches that would join
The valued  half, the other part they scorned?

Ways to go down deep might lead to death
Earn the  anger,bait the holy wrath
The earth cracks wide, the precipice appears
Astride the split, there is  no use for tears

So easy to break up , to split ,to part
Who   will hold their self  in their own heart?

 

The enemy of vision

The sacred heart fragmented does not awe
Broken,lost, and trampled, global   wars.
We worship our own selves, by camera formed
There are no depths, no Saviour to be born

The horizontal Flatland  where we crawl
Does not encourage us to stand up tall
There are no experts, no-one  understands
The dignity of art, the  learning scorned

The heart has cracked, the jigsaw can’t be done
We all lose a game that no-one’s won.
Here comes a vacuum cleaner which will suck
The heart of God  mixed with our human muck.

Can we  think there is no vertical
The lost imagination, the strained will

A million kindle fires

Do you think my house should be rewired?
Should I enlarge my kitchen,go for broke
I have got a hundred kindle fires

I wonder  why I cannot be a liar
I have  got less faith  but still I hope
Do you think my brain should be rewired?

Can I rent a  mind for  thirty  hours?
I ‘d love to go to Chester in a boat
I have got a hundred kindle fires

Am I misusing love and with it power?
Where did Charley hide inside an oak
Do you think my  tongue should be retired?

Many minds have  like the milk gone sour
All they do is send me bytes, not talk
I have got a hundred kindle fires

Why do all  the British fight or mope?
They must have washed their mouths with Fairy Soap
Do you think the world should be rewired?
We   have  got a  billion kindle fires

In the slutch

My mauve silk trousers  fell off in the slutch
I ‘d read the fashion page on Friday night 
Whatever did they mean,  do bring  the pitch?

In heels my entire body seems to lurch
My mother often muttered, what a sight
My mauve silk trousers spluttered in the slutch

A clutch of eggs . a handbag, butter Dutch
My coat was yellow  since  that yolky night
Whatever did they mean, we wring in Church

Slutch is kind of mud that’s damp and rich
In Lancashire, we fall in it when tight
My mauve silk trousers   wasted by the slutch

My hem is down and I’ve no-one to stitch
Am I here for love or to be right?
Whatever did they dream about  our hunch?

I read the fashion page;I saw the light
Turn it off. I don’t feel I am bright
My mauve silk trousers   ruined in the slutch
I had to wear pyjamas in the Church

The churchyard wall

The bricks of the old wall   while crumbling  live
Five hundred years of history passed them by
While plants grew in  the  cracks below, above

Apart from  people, this is what I  love
That ancient structures stand  and  do not die
The bricks of this old wall  while crumbling  live

A little beauty will do well enough
This  cheers my heart   and lifts my spirits high
Wild  flowers grow in  the  cracks below, above

We fill  our minds and homes with shop bought stuff
Gaze on   bricks and cracks, what will we spy?
The bricks of this old wall  while crumbling  live

Like old complexions, older bricks are rough
The Vicar cannot smooth them though they try
Holes  for plants inscribe these cracks  with love

 From generations past, ghosts wander. shy.
Looking for their graves,  they whisper,sigh
The bricks of the old wall   still crumbling  live
Tenacious   weeds  shall wave  below, above

 

 

Oh, good Lord, don’t let me be your prey

I forget that I am old  until I’m out
Walking like a cripple in a drought
People tell me,dial 999
I don’t want to be so well defined 

Getting off the bus, five people call
Wait until he stops or you will fall
Am I looking worse than yesterday?
Oh, good Lord, don’t let me be  your prey

I sit down on a wall, is that a crime?
Have I crossed a boundary or line?
The wooden benches all are gone away
The homeless used to sleep on them, they say

I sang Joan of Arc at the bus stop
In Lancashire they say, y’ alright cock?
Cock and darling,honey and my sweet
My lovely,   you are looking a real treat

I forgot to keep accounts and say my prayers
I guess I’m  fending off some kind of dare
Where’s my handbag, where’s my bloody phone?
It’s acting adolescent as it roams

When I take  naproxen, it won’t work
Opium is dangerous with some luck
I lie in bed and see the sun pour in
Then I know that life will always win

 

Dreaminess and calm

The  mind with space for reverie  comes  first
There love  can dream and hate can be informed
The inner garden, sanctuary and rest

To live completely, hope  to live with zest
Patience, slowness,   dreaminess and calm,
The  mind with space for reverie   comes first

We all sin and we may not confess
Unless we’re held by love in gentle arms
The inner garden, sanctuary and rest

Preoccupation with  our own self is a  curse
Be ,to your own heart, a lover warm
The  mind with space for reverie  is blessed

Wasted time is never reimbursed
Can we live without  the   holy balm
The inner garden, sanctuary and rest?

Each one lives,creative in her rhymes
Our life is art as  colour washes lines
The  mind with space for reverie  is  first
An inner garden, sanctuary and rest

 

And died in peace

My husband was a very selfish man
He gave me polish in a brand new tin
That was for the furniture not  for me
Well some may lose yet others might well win

He thought that I was programmed by my genes
To bake him cakes and polish  wood and brass
To cook lamb chops and boil  potatoes new
I said we did not learn that in  the maths class

Then he grew enraged that I was bright
He told me off for playing Chess  with men
He told me off for  reading Wittgenstein
What could I do  but drink   all of his gin?

He complained  I knew the villains in a film
My brain was far to fine to make me dear
Perhaps I was a witch   in angel’s clothes
Drinking tea like  others might drink  beer

After he’d unloaded all his  grief
He thanked me for my  love   and  he died  in peace

Deep the soil

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Photograph by Mike Flemming 2020 copyright

 

The ancient bricks are crumbling   making space
For living creatures humble,self effaced 
The  wallflowers waver on the topmost ledge
Leaning out to watch the hurried pass

The sun shines from the East in blinding glare
Shadows shorten .trees bud ,Spring is near
My baseball cap protects my eyes and skin
Even the  most strong  will never win

We take the humus ,grow our crops and flowers
When our time is  done,   we will not cower
Gratefully we love  our neighbours,friends
Right until we reach the very  end 

Then with the  bones of innocence we lie
Deep the soil  and deeper still the Eye.

Wild wallflowers

Wallflowers grow among the ancient stones
From the highest part they cling to  life
Reminding me of Devon  where we roamed

In  the cliffs of Beer, wild  from sea foam
We saw their flowers one  happy Easter time
Wallflowers grow among the ancient stones

Down there I feel there must be little bones
From birds and animals that long time died
Deep in Devon’s cliffs, its muddy  lanes

The wild flowers live  in verges  left un-mown
The little herbs we  crush as on we stride
And wallflowers grow on clffs  or ancient stones

Most of our wild places are unknown
In these tiny homes  God  still resides
I’m humbled by our place in  nature’s schemes

In a flower’s heart designed  to guide
The Lord himself   is wont to   from us  to hide
Wallflowers grow between the ancient stones
Memories  of  much love not passed nor gone

The Fire

The fire  shot out its sparks  like Catherine wheels
The coals  were living creatures and red-faced
Now I’m angry,I know how  they feel

We said night prayers with hearts like stainless steel
Said them fast as if prayer were  a race
The fire  shot out its sparks  like Catherine wheels

My mind was wriggling like an angry eel
As if it sought for subjects to out-face
Now I’m angry,I know how that will feel

The outside stiff, the inner self revealed
The fury at the loss of love’s embrace
The fire shot out its sparks like Catherine wheels

We were raised to keep our wounds concealed
To show no affect, keep a stiffened face
Now I’m angry,I know how that feels

Never given love  nor even praise
Is it a surprise we were ill graced?
The fire  shot out its sparks  like Catherine wheels
Anger made our hearts dance violent reels

The boats on Windermere

When I wake up in the morning I think you are still here
I feel warm and cosy but it doesn’t last for long
The  sudden shock  of memory  fills my heart with fear

The memories of  Brancaster,  of the seats on Southwold Pier
Soothe my  inner being as if I hear birdsong
So I wake up happy,thinking you are here

The cottage of our honeymoon, the love that was so dear
Even though you’ve gone away, with you I will belong
The sudden shock  of memory  fills my heart with fear

Waking up completely seems to  be ,well,  insincere
Here are my  two pillows on the floor where they’ve been flung
When I wake up in the morning I think you are still here

I walk into the bathroom,I must wash my hair
I see your tartan handkerchief, it dispels my song
The burdens  of the  memory ,heart  filled full with fear

I get aching in  my heart, aching lasts so  long
But I will keep on singing, the cat ain’t got my tongue
I wake up in the morning, I think you are still here
But  then  return  sweet memories,  like the boats on Windermere

Go well

The brother silenced by disease lies still
Like a cat lies in the hedge awaiting death
Where are his choices, where his powerful will?

Freedom’s an illusion we  distil
He  felt he had  free choices on his path
 Oh,brother  frozen by disease be still

To the strongest , losing choice is hell
But death will come despite our  crashing wrath
There are few choices, little we can will

The lowly lean on God when they are ill
Like  Jesu did, they bear their heavy cross
 Oh brother will   your frozen muscles kill?

Only rich folk ask to be fulfilled
They have  their  own  wishes as their boss
Accepting all we die.sweet animals

He’s left  it late to act , which  man can choose
To  find the  ghostly fire where burns the rose?
The  soul prepares and bears the body   still
We  only choose  our  attitude , go well

With the people who fall through the cracks.

The child too shy to join  a little group
Or shamed by her old clothing  and her shoes
The one who feels they don’t fit in or match
The one who suffered early from the blues

The barren wife, no virgin yet unused
The girl so clever yet she was well bruised
The middle age of suffering ends and views
The loneliness  of age  with none amused

The man too nervous to make any move
The man who cannot pass  yet cannot love
The aging figure hopelessly bemused
The sperm still leaping,never to be used.

Some are in and others are outside
How few stayed with Jesus as he cried!
If we were more like him we would now mix
With the people who fall through the cracks.

A hint of suffering in the edge of eye
A hint of sadness by  the mouth denied
A hint of being tired of one’s own life
A hint that maybe someone wants to die

There is no order, randomness is come

An act of war when no war is declared
 Makes war a problem of the entire world
Now we see    a plane burn  in the air
Was this just an accident bizarre?

No land is  safe,  all  meadows killing fields
We all are soldiers, none of us have shields
We must pretend  for how else can we live
To make   the children safe, what must we give?

Once we had  imperatives,now gone
There is no order,  ethics are undone
War is undeclared , we now shall  share
The fate  so many suffer unprepared

Global  markets lead to global war
The essence of the incident lies bare

New Blue

 

 

 

I wonder what’s the reason  we call a sad mood blue
My fountain pen is coping but I have not got  the glue
I see your eye is staring and I know it is a clue
Send me to the theatre and I will get the cue

I wanted to get  dressed today but I couldn’t find my shoe
I watched a film of cows on heat, all they say is moo
Would they change their attitude if I was  still with you?
Take me to America. take me to the Zoo   

I have got no appetite.I need someone new
The food is very boring,  it’s made with UHU
You put  it in the microwave and send a text or two
Blimey,I forgot it was a homemade real beef stew

Well,  the moon is shining and Paul Robeson  gleams in glee
I want the stars to play with me, they pray for very few

As the clock ticks

You know you are superfluous,alone
When going to the dentist makes your day
Lying in the chair without a groan
Although you shut your eyes and say a prayer

A gentle hand,  a polite word or four
The nurse who gives you water is so kind
I hope I shall not go there anymore
But what is lurking,waiting in my mind?

Shall I  find dating site and see
The kind of man  attracted by my smile
What is love and what will come to be
I feel a lack of cunning and of wiles.

As the clock ticks, we are  getting old
Who will help us when we feel so cold?

 

Amber eyes

I brought home a kitten from a friend
So tiny yet so fierce he bit my hands
We could not find him  when we came back home
He was   tucked in with the sheet  under the foam

We  had no garden so we  took him out
Wrapped in a wool cardigan,I think
He lay contented on my knee  all day
Looking at the trees and coloured sky

When mature  he roamed the night away
Sleeping in a rocking chair all day
Benjamin, we called him, was run down
In the rush hour by a speeding clown,

The amber eyes of  Benjamin would glow
He gave us  happiness,we  loved him so

When we bombed Iraq

Do you remember when we bombed Iraq?
No doubt the war was for  the good of man
Yeah, some would die,  and others feel their lack

By and large, what does it mean to sack?
Real  democracy  was said to be the plan
Do you remember when we bombed Iraq?

In Downing St will Blair have a blue plaque?
His conviction, where did it begin?
Yeah, some would die,  and others feel their lack

Now  the Leader wanders  in the gaps
But we no longer call such deeds a sin
Do you remember when we bombed Iraq?

At night when we can’t sleep, we see  attacks
Where to start, well Trump  suggests Iran
Yeah, some will die, but  there is  heaven   for wrecks

Since we write, we read  our scripts again
Civilised, we use our manners well
Do you remember when we bombed Iraq?
Yeah,  we chose to   follow   Evil’s tracks

 

 

Gently dancing in the sun

Gently dancing in the sun,
Wildflowers grow;
they bloom,
are gone.

With no thoughts,they have no cares;
And their lives are gentle prayers.
May I walk in such a way
That I am alive to this day.

So I see with widening view,
And joy and sorrows embrace too.
Then my time will come like yours
And of us nothing shall endure.

As to the earth our bodies go,
All are one;it shall be so

The branches  in the breeze  sway , cats miaow

Already sparrows dart between  the shrubs
No asking where to go or what to do
Before the blossom and  emerging bulbs

No outdoor flowers  decorate  my tubs
The waxy flowered cyclamens are few
Already sparrows dart between  the shrubs

As I watch the sparrows my heart ‘s stilled
The  politics, the corrections are subdued
Yet  trees will blossom  over crocus bulbs

The leaders seek to force a war by will
No reflection, certain what to do
Would I were a sparrow on the sill

Will the warships move their mighty hulls?
From bow to stern they ‘re filled with bombs for U
Yet  trees will blossom  over  tiny bulbs

The branches  in the breeze  sway , cats miaow
Was evolution wise for chimpanzees?
Already sparrows dart between  the shrubs
Our species cannibals ,  can we not love?

 

 

 

 

 

The doll

They gave me a small watch on Xmas Day
But with a watch a little child can’t play
I envied both my sisters with  new dolls
As on the old settee the dolls were lulled

I stood  there uncomprehending and alone
Had I reached unknowing a milestone?
Then my sister lent  me one of hers
I broke that little  head  upon my chair

I was holding her with tenderness
Scarcely breathing in my velvet dress
So   I sat down to   rock  my babe  awhile
The horror of   her  cracking head was vile

Now I play with  numbers and with  words
And   look back sadly at that little girl

 

We broke the symbols down and we are mad

Jesus   is not in the Sacred Bread
Nothing  stays the same ,much as we hope
He drowns with refugees,  he crawls in mud

Life and God aren’t static.souls have fled
Do not deny  the loss,  nor  its great scope
Jesus   is not in the Sacred Bread

Europe cracked ,  a billion billion   dead
Unacknowledged evil  is the rope
He burned with  Europe’s Jews ,we lust in bed

The War’s not gone, it lives inside the head
We do not need a thousand microscopes
Jesus   is not in the Sacred Bread

The symbol’s done, the  bread of heaven ‘s bad
We “Christians” were not there when Jesus  spoke
Christ burned with  gypsies, queers , was shot unclad

It’s over, people,what  we  never read.
We  ruined  the world ,  destroyed the ones who fled
Jesus   is not in the Sacred Bread
He drowned  and burned was shot,he’s truly dead

 

 

 

 

 

 

We left the  old Road Atlas in a box

London is bewildered by its roads
The Circular, the North,the South,  the Codes
The Morse  and the  Enigma Turing broke
So now we have new bicycles with spokes

Once we had the A to Z  in hand
Turn it upside down and you’ll be grand
New technology has  made  great strides
Carrying us to Eden ,what a ride

The motorways are  empty  for  tonight
God decided  we had too much Light
He  taught the bare cheeked Moon   on Jesus’ mount
To turn the other side when love’s about

I liked to use a compass and a map
But now, my dear,  most everything’s on tap
I crouch  beneath my sister as she drives
In the dark on the M 25

But if it’s closed, we are completely foxed
We left the  old Road Atlas in  a box
Along with all my ex’s underpants
And naturally  his principles of Kant

We may be in Watford  or in Bucks
I  often wonder what will rhyme with luck
We may be near St Alban’s, we can’t see
The car ran up the trunk of this oak tree

We rang 999  and they are here
A fire engine filled  up with Kentish beer
A ladder  for the ladies to climb down
Now they are just women on the town

London won’t exist ,destroyed by cars
Angry men who cannot find a bar

The raspberry canes, the honesty know more

The empty canes of raspberries  hang low
Red maple leaves are mashed up in the mud
 Nature  seems to  hover by death’s door 

Animals and humans drained as whores
No feeling ,no  green sap,no  flowing blood
The crackling canes of raspberries hang low

What can we say un-cliched, metaphored?
At dawn the sun will  burn despite the Flood
Nature  did not force us through death’s door 

Can the death  of God    mean this and more,
Though love and hate are fractured, life is good?
The chuckling canes  the berries sang below

Can  a life  with heart not be restored?
End  retaliation,   understand
Nature  did not wave us through  the door 

At the edge of Europe  are no hordes
Jesus is  more small  than any  bud
The crackling canes stored laughter in their cores

The remnants of the foxgloves in the wood
Wave politely . even seem to nod
The raspberry canes, the honesty know more
Nature ,light and darkness, affect stored

 

All heart

The slanted beauty of the winter light
On people walking by , their shadows long
The day of beauty and the deep, dark night

The gift of gladness and of our  own sight
Be your weakness, then you  might be strong
The slanted beauty of the winter light

Do not let your mouth with sarcasm bite
Pause before you act or write or fling
On days of beauty and their still, dark nights

Free like colour runs  when wet  yet bright 
Translucence of  love’s  eye can make one sing
Of slanted beauty  in  the winter light

 This  is just one day, and yet  Good might
Be here and now, eternal in our songs
On days of beauty and their too dark nights

The one we love must speak in their own tongue
Truth  will stand and with it we belong
Oh slanted beauty and your winter light
You make the day  all heart, bring long sweet nights