Category: poetry

The  feeling is the space between the lines

The spaces in between the words make time
To and fro like waves on the  sea shore
The  feeling is the space between the lines
Why  is there  desire for  many rhymes?
The spaces in between the words mark time
The up and down like music well designed
The abyss may open  when we  can’t endure
The spaces in between the words    become malign
Our lives are  tossed up on a  darkening shore

Once we were two persons in one skin

Once we were two persons in one skin
I held you till your dying was quite done
I felt your loss  like panic deep within

I knew that death would conquer all and win
Now the  blackness took you, death had won
Once we were two persons in one skin

I saw its shadow cunningly get in
I had not known in what form it would come
I felt your loss  like panic from within

They took you to a clinic with a gym
Ignored the signs your dying  had begun
Once we were two persons in one home

I saw the  deadly blackness of your skin
Oxygen and sugar almost gone
I felt your loss  like panic from within

There was no doctor,drip nor  oxygen
You fell onto my  bosom,  all alone
Once we were two persons in one skin

The nurse asked me to help  you to lie down
Then to put some sugar on your tongue
I felt your loss  like panic from within

The paramedics ran in  like mad clowns
You were dead or dying, was I wrong?
Once we were two persons in one skin

They brought you back to life, to die again
They took you  off to A and E , how long?
I felt your loss  like panic from within

Then they phoned, he will not make it home
I sat by him and helped him with my songs
Once we were two persons in one skin

Then catheters and drips,   allover care
He  smiled at me and then he soon was gone
I felt  his loss  like panic deep within

Across the mighty river, pay his fines
I  felt  alone for I was left  behind
Once we were two persons in one skin

All I do is write my little rhymes
To get me  off the river bank alive
I feel  his loss  like  terror deep within

 

In the mud  my mind and body writhe
Can’t I  follow  him  by a deep dive?
Yet I am no master of my soul
The shape of death can’t  make me give control
I stand aloof and will not give  my life
Even though I was a  loving wife
Yet I cannot climb the cliff like edge
The river taunts me as I find a ledge
Why can no-one help me to climb back
From the mud and   from the  hellish rack?
They say I must not weep, it makes them sad
Now my grief  has got me labelled “bad”
Once we were two persons in one skin
I feel his loss ,a  torture deep within

 

 

 

 

The photograph again

Looking at your photograph again
How did I get here when we were there?
You look relaxed  and  happy  in that frame

I was on the pier  with camera aimed
Dressed in my  old  frock   to   sunlight bared
I’m looking at your photograph again

We crossed a common, flowers hid by the lane
We lay on white cliff top in sun drowned air
You look relaxed  and  happy  in that frame

How did I get here, I  feel I’m maimed?
Each moment is the whole when love ‘s at play
I’m looking at your photograph again

I just keep walking,bearing truth   and pain
If I stop I’ll drown in watery drains
You look relaxed  and  happy  in that frame

I know I will meet Jesus  when it’s time
Even though I don’t believe those claims
Looking at your photograph again
You look relaxed  and  happy, that is fame!

 

 

Would you be perfect ,agonised unspared?

Would you  be the Chosen of  the Lord
With eyes that see, with ears that hear  the Word
Burdened by  the Tablets ,in great Awe

Would you   ache to feel the Roman sword
To wear a crown of thorns on your head bared
Would you be the Chosen of  the Lord?

Would you like to hear Kind David’s chord
To write the Psalms  which  only grief can bear
To  hear God’s wish  from  Burning Bushes awed?

Would you  persevere   when hunted, scared
No praise for  good,  and tortured, unprepared
Would you be the Chosen of  the Lord?

Would you be perfect ,agonised  unspared
When God has hidden  in a  fox’s lair
Yet may whisper to  the ones with ears?

Would you like to  cleanse the world with tears
To  walk  condemned to death    and no-one cared
Would you be the chosen of  the Lord
To sense his message,  bless us with its awe?

 

 

 

How can it be morning without you?

How can it be morning without you
There is  a hollow  place inside the house 
Vacated  and now filled with nothing new
For who can take the place of a loved spouse?

How can a day begin without your smile
Without your scent like honey from the hills?
What toy or person can a wife beguile:
Would alcohol or  bottles of strange pills?

I feel the pain  in my arthritic joints
I did not know folk lived  like this for years
Who can now my aching  back annoint
Or wipe away the hanging sheet of tears

How can it be  the world  is short of you?
You cannot be replaced by someone new

I’ll take the risk

Would you like a  tapered bob, she asked?
To me, it sounds like  summat fe’ the  dog.
She carried on, she  worked hard like a wasp

I don’t know how  to style what  nature’s left
My hair is slightly thicker than a frog’s
I remember  grandad  had ten bob

Grandad was a miner, what a task!
He had a bath outside, hung on a hook
He  lit the big coal fire  where faces danced

His daughters had long hair caught up in clasps
To spend this money on my hair seems wrong
I remember grandad  with ten bob

We all had outside toilets, freezing risked
When I went , I burst into  loud song.
He  kept a big coal fire .  the  flames  would kiss.

At Xmas he had wine  unfit for cooks
Now all the family’s gone;  they wrote no books
Would you like a  tapered bob, she asked?
In  all their memories, I shall  take the risk

 

 

I sense a piece of Putin in the air

I sense a feel of panic in the air
As if the Ark is not quite waterproof
I wonder if we’d welcome Tony Blair

To the poor this life was rarely fair
But now it seems unreal, is it a spoof?
I sense a piece of Putin in the air

I am looking in the mirror at my hair
It looks like Boris Johnson’s  but more louche
I wonder if we’d  dye  old Tony Blair’s

The Russian wolf is licking his rich fur
He’s happy Britain’s weakened with fake truth
I feel  a sense of  monsters  near, oh dear.

Putin won his Trump  with  that strange hair
Now it’s cyber warfare on the hoof
Will  he soon take Leave  from Tony Blair?

The Russians in Crimea  are still  there
 The Ukraine weeps  because we did not care
I sense a feel of Russia in the air
I wonder if   they’ll  fragment us  and tear.

 

 

When I heard the voice I loved its tone

My thryoid gland has given me real hell
I  obsessed about the gas pipes and the drains
Noone realised I was unwell

The gland had overworked for a long spell
Then  burned out by this speed it was my bane
My thryoid gland has given me real hell

I lay upon my bed,my nerves were shrill
I could not walk, my weakness seemed quite plain
Yet noone realised I was unwell

A kindly voice said,Katherine make your Will
You  will die, you will not  long remain
My thryoid gland has given me real hell

Who was speaking to me, was I  ill?
The voice seemed kind, but it was not my own
Noone realised I was unwell

I saw a doctor, coma  soon would kill
He gave me thyroxine, my life   has grown
That thryoid gland  reversed,no more was hell

When I heard the voice I loved its tone
Some  angel  guided me  to earth again
My thryoid gland has given me real hell
Now I go out daily, stuff  that hell

 

 

Yet I remember  Teesdale and High Force

When I was young he liked to brush my hair
He bought a special brush from somewhere posh
Down my back  my hair flowed  gold and fair
The best of all my features, long and lush Continue reading “Yet I remember  Teesdale and High Force” →

Just a mo, I’ll put the oven on

I don’t want to walk to the front room
Can I have my dinner on a tray?
I wept inside for he could hardly eat
So thin I thought his backbone might well break
I’ll get you a small table, honeybun
Just a mo, I’ll put the oven on
I want a steak ,he called another day
If he could eat it I would be God’s prey
I can’t  chew it, pet, my stomach’s full
The fluid from the blood, I knew it well
The valve is furred, his blood is being pushed back
Fills his inner organs  swells and racks
I was almost paralysed and stunned
Putting him to bed  was  quite a  pun
Then he woke up from a little sleep
Spoke to me  in words so clear and sweet
You have a personality so bright,
The sun must envy you  your brilliant light
After that he scarcely used his words
We did not need to speak, it was absurd

 

Far away   but not in reverie

Wrapped up in my  thoughts I did not see
The sunlight on the  leaves,the russet tree.
I did not see the berries and the birds
Are they quiet, or is it  I’ve not heard?
Far away yet not in reverie
No  guide nor light  appeared nor called to me
I smelled the  damp green  leaves I could not see
Entangled in the knots of wacky words
I lost my mind in wondering  what you meant
In all those notes you never thought nor  penned
The angst,the tortured ego  off its  throne
The knife that cuts, the  breaking of the bones

Will  the islands of  our minds unite or rip?

Where do words go when they enter me?
From your angry mouth  you let them rip
They fragment,  break to glass, and poetry

Take my words or miss, you cannot see
The struggling rise, the unfelt dangerous slip
Where do those  remote words  enter me?

The pointed shards of glass cut memory 
The bleeding feeds  the vampires   of your lips
They  violate, they slice the poetry

Our   leader  hopes to mock democracy
Calls for riots  or death but not his whips
What dark words  have slid in ,  raping me?

Now  the old   don’t recall  dignity
The writers toast them with a stinging quip
They   utilise, they mince  my poetry

As the toxic liquids we will sip
Will  the islands of  our minds unite or rip?
Where do words go from my ears to me?
They fragment , needle , hurt to  poetry

Doctor,how can I keep quiet?

From 2016

 

Doctor I’ve got logghoreah

I feel worn out but I’m  still here.

Can you give me a blue pill,

As those bright green ones made me ill.

Oh,dear lady,I can teach you

If the subject’s not taboo.

If you keep your lips quite still

You ‘ll feel much better,I can tell.

Doctor,how can I  keep quiet?

Do you offer a word diet?

Which sentences are too contrived;

Can you keep my brain alive?

Never use an old cliche;

From the ancient,go astray.

Keep you thoughts inside your head.

If  you can’t,then go to bed.

Doctor I am not Herr Freud

Yet I see  my well trod road.

I  seem to always want  some man.

And in my bed I can fit one.

Yes I see you often mention

How your body needs attention.

You need love and so do I

But it’s  wicked if we try.

Talking ‘s a defence   of sorts

Used by folk  to control thoughts.

Intellectual word  excess

Is your device for happiness.

Yet it does not help your body

To keep on giving testimony.

So throw away your head,my dear

Love a man and lose that fear.

I don’t know that many men;

Maybe  I   count nine or ten.

Yet I fear they may use me

Merely as the maid at tea.

They may want  me to boil their hankies

When what I need is hanky panky.

How can I convert old boys

To make my  kleenex   their first choice?

We don’t learn that when we’re training;

Nor cure depression when it’s raining.

We will have to run a trial.

Drink the oil from this small vial.

What will this oil do to me??

I really need a cup of tea.

Will it increase my libido?

I shall not take it if that’s so.

Why don’t you trust me,my dear lady.

Do you think I’m  somewhat shady?

Well,you’re right,we men are lonely

And we look for ladies homely.

Surely you’ve got one  somewhere else.

Doctor’s need them for their health.

Yes, but I prefer your form.

How do you like my nice green lawn?

I prefer a sandy desert.

Lawns are so so last resort

Still we’re here so let’s commence.

I have  only got  five pence.

We have love so do not worry

Do not be in such a hurry

Catholics can’t have concubines

Yet God made them by design.

We must have missed some useful clue

Bow down  in worship of my shoe.

When we can afford a pair.

Then I’ll marry not just stare!

 

Feel with  the whole body, feel entire

Without the narrow focus of desire
We see a new born world of coloured hue
Our eyes feel  the sensation, gentle touch
Then breathing is much slower in this view

With this text to read why waste our time?
Achievement is not judged nor measured   here
Feel with  the whole body, feel entire
Crumble  not if struck by panic fear

Expansion of our self ,  the muscles ease
Our body softens as we gaze again
Unable to believe all  we  have missed
The inner soul   is rinsed by hiss of rain

Effort and self torment do no good
Succumb  for we are  in the hands of G-d

What is gazing for?

To gaze is   but to love without desire
To be as  satisfied as  with a  meal
To burn  in joy in the eternal fire
To  take, receive and hold  what we can’t steal

To gaze is  but to lose our  central place
To feel a part of  Life in all its forms
The entire world ablaze and full of grace
Able to withstand the  mighty storm

To gaze is but to  be alive and here
To see the new creation every  hour
When childhood’s glory’s  are no longer near
And we no longer wish for total power.

 We gaze and we are touched  inside  our hearts
We  breath  more slowly, feel  our love restart

I wanted  nothing, all was in its place

Gazing at the trees touched me with grace
My eyes receptive ,mind so still and pure
I wanted  nothing more, no list, no place

Would I dare enjoy a human face
To see the lines of suffering long endured?
Gazing at the your eyes touched me with grace

All the anxious details steal our space.
 We cannot gaze afflicted and allured.
 I wanted  nothing more, no wish, no place

If we  lose ourselves, become engrossed
We gaze with joy ,with colour we’re imbued
Gazing at the trees ,oh green their grace

The  dignity of  art is unimposed
Majestic in its heart, we take our cue
Then want no more, our wish dissolves, exposed

Lying on the earth so warm. so new
I  fertilised, delight in  being you.
Gazing at the trees my heart was graced
I wanted  nothing, all was in its place

As the entire globe is burning bright

Our politics is changing like wild weather
The rain so heavy soaked  my   flecked tweed coat
Then the sun came back  as gay as ever

I wish I were down deep in Ilkley’s   heather
 Near the  haunted moors of Wuthering Heights
Our politics is violent like the weather

A criminal now leads as people gather
In impressive thunder  and strange light
When the sun comes back we’ll get some offers

A little child shall lead us  despite scoffers
Now the Amazon is burning bright
Our politics is violent like the weather

We have our own home grown dictator
He betrayed   us like the  immigrants in flight
The English Channel is such tempting water

We need some braver people   to ignite
Debates about what’s wrong and how to right
Bad  politics is crueller  than bad weather
Will the sun came back ? In hell, I gather

 

 

Wondering how to find a better way

An empty day now full as love and peace
Though sun has changed to rain and skies are grey
A testament to mercy and release.

Yet everywhere the people fight like beasts
The newspapers are filled with lies each day
For me this time  is full  of love and peace

On slander and on libel humans feast
A silent few will hide to praise and pray
Their testament to mercy and release.

The wise will bite their lips and say the least
Until they learn what customs are today
For me this time  is full  of love and peace

Like the lion and tiger we have teeth
Even lovers bite  in childish play
They  too  are  a symbol  of release.

From the mountains,  prophets liked to  gaze
Wondering how to find a better way
Their days not full  of love nor even peace
They  need time to pray for our relief

 

 

 

The sea sings wild

 

 

acer-palmatum-shindeshojoT

The red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile
A pale blue sky, a silver aeroplane
I’m happy,I am warm, in your arms coiled

I  have no heater but the kettle  boiled
I made us coffee   then my  parcel  came
My face in the small mirror  had a smile

My love is deep, you never were on trial
If we quarrel, we both share the blame
I’m happy,I am warm, in your arms coiled

Our sorrow is, we have not made a child
Jesus cursed the fig tree in its shame
Yet red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile

Sorrow need not  madden nor make  bold
We do not know the purpose  nor the game
I’m happy,I am warm now as I toil

We need old fashioned virtues like restraint
We don’t see the whole  as life we paint
The red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile
I’m happy,I am warm, the sea sings  wild

Words haphazard, words made to amuse

Sentences unspoken crowd my mind
Words that we invented for our use
Waiting for his tongue to meld with mine

A language no-one else would  have designed
Words haphazard, words made to amuse
Sentences unspoken crowd my mind

A tongue,a lingo,  language,  is this time?
Send me  out a message with your views
Hearing not his tongue, my ears  will pine

We were quiet  people in our home
We did not waste our time,we loved and bloomed
Sentences half formed still  come to mind

I sang in the  back kitchen  with delight
Our black cat in the doorway  purred in tune
 His pointed tongue will  greet me if I’m blind

Normal service  never is resumed
God is not  quite here , as man assumed
Sentences unspoken crowd my mind
When I  sat alone,I wordless cried.

 

 

 

 

How can the world be here, yet he is not?

How can the world be here yet he is not
While beetles, ants and spiders   pass this way?
As my hungry fears I try to blot
How can the world be here yet he is not?
Whether it be cold or be it hot
No more words between us are begot
I must go through the narrow gate  today
How can the world be here , yet he is not,
As beetles, ants and spiders   pass this way?

 

Rule not Britannia

I feel ashamed of Britain and its songs
My   own mixed blood will rise up and complain
The poor are slaves ;  our rulers  did grave wrongs

I am not proud,all hate the ones who’re shunned
We, foreign ,mixed, however  did we come?
I feel ashamed of Britain and its songs

I am not a Jew,so I belong
My Aryan  face and hair  have caused me pain
The poor are  slaves,our rulers have done wrong

The  people here have spoken many tongues
English  oddly worldwide in domain
I feel enraged ; oh Britain,  hear your songs

Many Europeans, aid our plans
Others come from Asia where Queens reigned
The poor exploited; Britain did  them wrong

We look for scapegoats, preferably  unknown
We Northern Europeans set the tone
I  feel ashamed , Britannia, what a  song
Better sing  Jerusalem with pangs

I’ll just disappear one day

If I go I won’t tell you.

I’ll just disappear one day.

Like when a cigarette ,which seemed so long,

suddenly has become smaller

and you never noticed it

because you were talking

about the meaning of life

while life was somewhere else

blown away with your smoke

into the sky

and then dispersed

never quite visible again

but still floating on the breeze

hoping to be caught

in a butterfly net

but unable to communicate

except by flying.

If I go it will not be today

but it will be an ordinary day

no one will realise

that it’s that day

that the bird flies

from her nest

to go to a new place

only seeing the deserted nest

he realises,

my bird has flown

After being hurt we hide away

After being hurt we hide away
We turn down invitations  feeling blue
Ashamed to show our anguish or be prey

Behind a wall of glass we live our days
Thinking   others know the hidden clue 
After being hurt, we hide away

We miss the help of sharing or of prayer
Out skin feels thin, we agonise and stew
Ashamed to show our anguish or be prey

The way we feel is common, it’s not rare
We need to know that others suffer too
After being hurt, we hide away.

Our suit of armour stiffens , won’t repair
Retaliation   banish, don’t pursue
Enraged by our  own anguish we feel prey

Is there anyone who will rescue
The people who  to grudges cling like glue
After being hurt we hide away
Ashamed to show our anguish or be prey

Parliament like cardboard fell

I could not write a villanelle
My mind is  battered by the sounds
The repetition seems too droll

The teacher said she’d pay me well
I fled into the underground
I could not  stomach villanelles

I went by bus to Camberwell
The Monument looked sadly down
Our new leader rose from  hell

Parliament like  cardboard  fell
Contempt  dripped  down Oxford gowns
He would not like a villanelle

Jesus wept and Satan yelled
No solution has been found
The  people shudder, is this hell?

By no convention  is he bound
Democracy he fines,  impounds
I could not write a villanelle
We already  sweat in hell

Then one day the tide of life will turn

When I’m ill I feel my life’s a wreck
The mirror frightens me as I reflect
Who am I and why  do I feel so
Omnipotent,destroying as I go.?

Yet how we feel   will change as does our health
After trauma, drained of all our wealth
We stagger on the battlefield unsought
Until by kindness we are held and caught

We  must help each other,strength combined
A smile, a touch, a word, a little line
What seems common sense  may be ignored
The strong may hate the weak  and slam the door

Be with others, listen,look and learn
Then one day the tide of life will turn

Now I am  old and I have realised

pteroceras-semiteretifolium

Once I  cared for people who were old
Who wet themselves and  felt the winter cold
I gave them baths and washed their backs  and fronts
Helped them to get dressed and  zip their pants

I made them pots of tea and gave them cake
I gave them dinner  on a china plate
I listened to their stories of the past
An unknown world of war and  terrors vast

And if they cried I’d wipe away their tears
Talk to them  till sorrow disappeared
I’d   do the washing up and  clean the knives
The women missed their being someone’s wife

Now I am  old and I  have realised
I really had no feel for what it’s like.

Is love a crime?

I have not had sex since I was born
Augustine said it’s sin to touch  those parts
Yet God gave us  vaginas, where’s the harm?

I thought I’d fall in love, is that a crime?
But I got laid by sickness,missed the start
I have not had sex since I was born

Some must procreate however torn
Others are  well pricked by Eros’ dart
 God  made our vaginas, where’s the harm?

Even poppies give out seeds  with charm
Opium  is the drug that warms the heart
I have not had sex since I was born

The Church  has uttered edicts  that deform
No Catholic child can sin however smart
God  made our vaginas, where’s the harm?

Are greed and lust less bitter than my heart ?
Is envy  and its death wish more refined?
I have not had sex since I was born
God gave some  vaginas, I’ve got corns

 

 

I sang  Oh, little town of Bethlehem

Mother, it is great to be up North
Can we take a trip to see High Force?
I don’t think we can manage that,I said
Why ever  not,I need to leave my bed
Well,I can’t drive for I can’t see so well
He looked at me with pity, it was hell
Shall we take a cab, he questioned me
I don’t think  they can get there before tea
We can take a flask and  your  fruit cake
I knew his mother well, and  could she bake!
I did not like to say it is too far
Two hundred miles or more from  where we were
He asked again about my honeymoon
Did you find it over all too soon?
I felt a blush spread over  my  fair skin
He was my husband, I spent it with him
But yet I could not take away his joy
He loved his mother  much when a small boy.
Judging by the smile on his dear face
Freud was right, he wished to me embrace.
Is it wrong to let  a man   mistake
His wife for his late mother, that is fake.
But since he was so sick and suffered long
I had to keep him going with her songs
She sung in her church choir the hymns of praise
To overcome that  strange weekend malaise
So valiant as ever in my work
I sang O Praise the Lord as in  the Kirk
I sang  Oh, little town of Bethlehem
Of course there was no wall there way back when
He still read the paper every day
And in the night when sleepless he would pray.
I would have  lifted rocks and cut through steel
If I could have made his old heart heal
Yet still our  masquerade was to him real
He held my hand and smiled with great appeal.
Then he said he’d like to go to bed
With his own mother, what could I have said?
I made some tea and  he smiled even more
I guess that’s why he lived to ninety four.

Love can’t take control

Religion has been privatised like gas
I know in church we still can hear the Mass
Yet  no Chaplain comes to dying men
I did my best alone without a plan.

Inside the  holy sanctuary  bare
I became the priest and comforter
I sang the sacred songs and  gathered crowds
Outside our little cubicle they bowedL

I saw a canopy of golden cloth
Hanging down from heaven, as it does
It came nearer till it touched his soul
I was silent, love can’t take control

For a moment everything was still
A little bird sat on the windowsill
Then the cloth of gold was lifted high
I wept  the precious tears for those who die.

That one eternal moment gave us grace
I see your  sunny eyes, your smiling face