Category: poetry

Perception  stolen by the body’s pain

Perception clouded by the body’s pain
The mind dwells in our flesh   as does the heart
Life seems  dark and  all feels  loss not gain

The mind is not a ghost made by the brain
Why is flesh  not equal in its charm?
Perception’s clouded by the body’s pain

So illness and infection  cause us  strain
In the end from flesh we will depart
Life seems  dark and  all seems loss not gain

Where are they who give love warm,unfeigned?
Absence of a lover brings alarm
Perception’s clouded by the body’s pain

Why do people near project disdain?
The illness and the fevers on me swarm
Life seems  dark and  all seems loss not gain

Here is Satan with his  curving horns
He is not deterred by any thorn
Perception  stolen by the body’s pain
To Satan I  submit to  live unchained

 

The clouds must hide

Clouds like herring bones line up to die
Interspersed with clouds of other kinds
Above the Western reaches of the sky

The sun is setting ,troubling tender eyes
Sinking full of pride , impressed on minds
Clouds like herring bones line up to die

In  the West , stand hills where Satan cries
Asking for  submission  to his  binds
Below the Western reaches of the sky

Now all colours gone, the clouds must hide
As in anxious  dreams our teeth may grind
Clouds like herring bones will shiver, die

Across the fields I see a horse go by
His hooves make patterns, but to them he’s blind
He knows  now,  bewitching  is the sky

For the childhood vision we have pined
Dreams mixed with reality make eyes
Clouds like herring bones line up to die
Above the Western reaches  on they fly

 

Tips for poets

27067324_1065257550280789_1277755180664167940_nimg_20190311_122518https://www.writersdigest.com/writing-articles/20-best-tips-poets

 

Extracts

1.

The second thing I’d say is you must read old stuff. Dante, Herrick, Donne, Pope, Dickinson…Gertrude Stein, William Carlos Williams, Marianne Moore. Read voraciously! And read aloud.” – Aaron Belz, author of Glitter Bomb”

2.

“Always be writing the next poem.” – Amorak Huey, author of Ha Ha Ha Thump

“Do. Not. Take. Rejections. Personally.” – Amy MacLennan, author of The Body, A Tree

“Be kind. Be aware. Be brave.” – Bryan Borland, author of DIG

“Writing is what makes you a writer. Not a book contract or an award, so don’t let anyone make you feel less than. And don’t quit.” – Christina Stoddard, author of Hive

“I would tell (poets) to honor their truth, whatever it may be, and to write it. Trust the poem. Don’t try to force it or control it. Let the poem take you where it wants to go.” – Beth Copeland, author of Transcendental Telemarketer

*****

If this is summer, let the winter come

If this is summer, let the winter come
My  tears  run dry, my soul  is cold and damp
Where is  the High Noon of the summer sun
If this is summer, let the winter come
What evil  traps us, as our leaders sin?
When will   our  country’s wreck be done?
What Fuehrer will emerge , who runs the Camps?
If this is summer, let the winter come
Here I weep , my  heart feel cold and  cramped

God is a  fragile voice, still as a bone

God is a place we rarely  find alone
His spirit  guides us  past the demons wild
God is a  fragile voice, still as a bone

God gave his prophets  sweet  dark honeycombs
By his word they were struck, beguiled
God is a place we rarely  find alone

The Reed Sea parted  should she risk its foam,
The woman heavy with an unborn child?
God is a  fragile voice, still as a bone

The spirit called a dove  by Leonard Cohen
Caught, entrapped  endangered and   then sold
God is a place   where we  kneel, atone

Shall he  leave us bread or  graven stone?
When we feel afraid, his  love enfolds
God is a place we rarely  find alone

On we wander,  hear  the whisper frail
If we listen well we  will not fail
God is a place we rarely  find alone
God is a  fragile voice, still as a bone

And BTW why are you using Tide?

Would you be more gentle,dear,I cried
She pushed my head as if  it were a stone
I only want my hair washed not to die

And BTW why are you using Tide
Shampoo is much kinder,on I moaned~
Could you be more gentle,dear,I cried

I ‘m glad you don’t  use Ariel,  suicide
She wrote about the Moon, her  love and home
Did she want her hair washed not to die?

In Spain she  bought sardines so she could fry
In the wilds of Devon left alone
Ted was  getting famous, not his wife

I re-enter time ,I let  her dye
My hair is purple when  rinsed  from  the foam
Did Plath want her hair  dyed not to die?

Marriage holds a  breeze but not a storm
The  rose had pricked her finger with its thorn
Could we be more gentle if we tried?
We all need human love or we will die

 

 

 

Where is the world?

The boundary of my self is my own skin
Fragile, and so sensitive,  yet home
Most of what I call me dwells within

Some may have it thicker, some too thin
Some are cautious, some  have heavier bones
The boundary of my self is  my own skin

We  lose the  most beloved of our kin,
We who lose  a lover, still feel torn
Is what I call my self all   held within?

Unconscious feelings lead us  into sin
For  these malicious feelings  let’s atone
The boundary of my self is merely skin

Losing love’s  akin   to losing   limbs
No more around the wild woods may  we roam
Is what I call my self  just held within?

Unwilling, from our mother’s womb we’re thrown
She suffers as  we  leave our  perfect home
If the boundary of my self is my own skin
Where is the world when we call it within?

 

 

Once my hand wrote , thoughtless  as a gnome

My punctuation kept me sane and well
But question marks appear and  give me hell
Do I put it here? or at the end?
How can I   calm my mind  yet be on trend?

My spelling too has  driven me insane
Once my hand wrote , thoughtless  as a gnome
I’ve confused its and it’s  and  so much more
I ask my self  if I  can read a score

I cannot add  up money in accounts
And feel  such relativity devout
The phone calls, the utilities, the  noise
My cat won’t  purr  when I feel so  annoyed

I think I’ll leave out all the little signs
Enemies must read between the lines

The parting

My intellect has parted from my heart
Two now dwell within one person’s frame
I am double, I cannot restart

Like a weary horse with heavy cart
I do not want to play  for little gains
My intellect has parted from my heart

My eyes are sad although my tongue is tart
I am the object  of my own disdain
I am double, I  will not restart

Is this the journey with no  written chart?
SatNav  bears no solace for my pain
My intellect deserted this poor heart

Google Maps have missed this savage shark
Which bites and bites but will not kill   the flame
I am  two, dissociated, stark

 

Did I make an error  I can’t name?
Hold me in your arms,love keeps us sane
My intellect has parted from my heart
I am   cut in  two, who wrought this harm?

 

 

 

 

Play with our doubts

Fear of chaos stopped me looking  out
I could not see its value   nor its  gifts
To see new sights we need to live in doubt

So I  travelled on established routes
I got to places happily and swift
Fear of chaos stopped me looking  out

We often wonder what life’s all  about
Then we hurt our kin, oh love, oh rifts
New wisdom   comes from  fine creative doubt

Forgetting  this we find life full of threats
We swallow drugs and wallow as we drift
Fear of chaos stopped me looking  out

We suffer all  to find what will enchant
Then we are raised high by all we’ve missed
To see new sights we need to  feel our wants

Alert yet indolent   the  wild flowers wish
To  entice honey bees with honeyed flesh
From the Void, God’s word made mountains shout
To see new sights we must play with our doubts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The lights go out

And the pure of heart  will see right to
The beginning of the end of me and you
There are no men, the women look again
There’s something in the fire looks like my pen
But who can write when  all the the lights go out?
The women are not women,  the men are  not about
The shadows dance with winds  on lighted walls
The fire burns  redder and the devils  call
It’s hell in here, baby , keeping  living just for you
Who knows what  to do
With the pointed dancing shoe
Half a pair and the women cannot bear
Labour’s lost
Tell  us what it cost

t

The future

The enemy we  need  is close at hand
Like a secret lover  right next door
We’re always ready with an army band

Today, it is the husband who’s condemned
For dropping baby’s rattle on the floor
The enemy we  love is close at hand

The wife too is quite useful, here she stands
Her pinafore is torn, her heart is sore
She’s turned the sound down on that bloody band

Cain and Abel, was the killing planned?
Look down O God as we  your  skills deplore
The enemy we   want  is close at hand

We have no  theatre, war  is  on demand
And always it is just and it is fair~
We singalong  and wave our bloody hands

An enemy,a scapegoat, a caged  bear
Absorb the torment  we have just prepared
The enemy we  need  is close at hand~
Don’t kill them all at once, the future’s planned

The fragile voice

 
bonfire surrounded with green grass field
Photo by Vlad Bagacian on Pexels.com






The still, small voice no longer can be heard.
The  sacred, silent space  unoccupied
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

We centre our   whole self on the absurd
For iPads cannot pass through any eye
The still, small voice no longer can be heard.

God no longer feels inclined to share.
The golden cloud  of angels  cannot fly
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

The altar’s stripped,  the rituals are nightmares.
The ancient priest says Mass and wonders why
The still, small voice no longer can be heard.

A  virtual wall stops grace from being shared.
Jesus is made flesh and  silent dies
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

No one is an island, John Donne cried
But now there is no truth to satisfy
The still ,small voice no longer can be heard
.No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word

Love is often near us

Love must be so pliant ,
like a blade of grass,

Bowing to the wind,
till the storm has passed.

Love is enigmatic
Like the sphinx’s smile.

Waiting for an answer,
Nothing is on file.

Love is often near us
Yet we do not see.

Sometimes where we are
Is just the place to be

I never knew that  modern bus stops speak

The bus stop says its out of use  this week
Men are digging up the road again
I never knew that  modern bus stops  speak

I wonder will the street lamps follow suit
Their  voices like  the chiming of Big Ben
The bus stop says its out of use  this week

Maybe I can find another route
Will railway stations stutter like shy men?
I never knew that  modern bus stops speak

How to travel ,hearing voices break
Pity and compassion   hit my pen
The bus stop says its out of use  this week

I fear my travel plans  have gone astray
The journey I am on will never end
Did you know that  modern bus stops speak?

From the dark grey sky the rain descends
Evolution staggers round the  bends
The bus stop says its out of use  this week
I never knew that  modern bus stops  speak

 

The honey pence

gray and white tabby cat
Photo by Linnea Herner on Pexels.com

Blue toads enlarged in a yellow  flood
And surry I could not blather soist
And be one babbeller, ling I grud
And  clacked one fur- eyed as  ice blood
To  tare it blent  as a wander floweth

Toen blooked by wither, as bossed dax air
And having unhopped the wetter shamed
Oh, goss, wit coast  flash  yet stanted hares
Oh as for thit, they possing  gloired
Had corn them unweilded about das  Rhine

And writh in mourning cheaply dazed
In weaves no step had tradden tslicks
Oh, I whipt the wrist for loither sthays
Shirp glawing love leads on to try
I  dothered if I sheid leve knapsacks

I rell ye telling this wuth a lie
Somewhere riges and roges tense
Two  toads day-verged in a  giraffe, and aye
I took the one I wunt  blud to cry
A sprat is  maiden, by honey penced

I’m chased by signs,equations and cats’ eyes

My nightmare lives in bed,  oh fire,burned bright
I’m chased by signs,equations and cats’ eyes
After  I’ve turned out  the bedside light

I am far too weary for a flight
I see  the art and love yet all’s awry
My nightmare  comes to  bed, oh heck,oh might

Can you tell me  more about my sight?
I seem  no longer to get eggs to fry
Before  I have put on  the bedside light

The Hebrew letters  make my heart turn white
Denoting  both infinities not pi
The nightmare re-occurs, obnoxious site

Then its almost  Grecian  at its height
The tragedy of theatre, does that lie?
Forget about the bed and its gold light

The cat  bemoans it’s eyelessness  and  sighs
We’re not in Gaza yet but  don’t say  die!
My nightmare lives in bed but I shall write
After  I’ve turned on my little light

 

 

Courtesy is everlasting

since i lost you i have lost
the keys to my heart
the front door key
my phone
and my money

now all i have is a large tube of ibuprofen gel max strength
and some feathers from the tail of a baby wood pigeon
that flew into our house when i left the back door open

maybe i need better boundaries
closed doors
and windows

the wood pigeon was so strong its agitation rocked the front door like a thundergod
like you,it did not realise
there are easier ways to leave
than smashing through glass
leaving shards to pierce my heart
not to mention my feet

become a better leaver
have mercy on those other lovers
for charm wears thin but courtesy is everlasting
like love itself

Dialogue

Most conversations are simply monologues delivered in the presence of a witness.

Margaret Miller [ att]

 

A monologue needs friends  attuned and named
If  alone, the endless thoughts would wind
Like cotton wraps the reel,like life begins

 

Self obsession  leads us into sin
To treat with bare contempt the human mind
A monologue needs friends to  find our aims

Do we know to whom we speak so plain?
Why ignore the facts of  life that bind
Like cotton wraps the reel till none remains?

Our thoughtless words may leave an inkless stain
And later we  mysterious sadness find
A monologue needs friends  or it brings pain

If Freud were  here we wouldn’t say the same
Would you unfold your past. all thought aligned
Like cotton wraps the reel  and order makes?

There is no static past  in  this life’s game
What we choose to utter  breaks our mind
The monologue  turns dialogue , yet lame

I prefer my paper with no lines
Then I draw, my metaphors  design
A monologue needs friends to make, bargain.
Though  they be  mute , a dialogue begins

When the mute begin to feel their wrath

When the mute give lectures to the  rest
When gross torturers run the world’s affairs
Ambiguous states of mind are put to death

Then the blind can navigate the best
The bones, the  human parings, the cut hair
Indict the mute and torment all the  rest

No more does spirit send  us holy breath
The foxes and the wolves wait in dark lairs
Indict the mute and torment all the  rest

Send the poisoner out to kill the pests
Do not be concerned if it’s unfair
Hear the mute and silence all the  rest

Who decided loving was unblessed?
Cover up the Gorgon and her stare
Unbind the mute and  let them each confess

 

Do not any fuehrer war declare
Do not listen to the voice that blares
When the mute begin to feel their wrath
Uneasy states of mind are put to death

Killing scapegoats  brings just grief and woe

Broken  into ruins by Great Wars
Europe’s  choosing suicide seemed  mad
Where is Europe going and what for?

Is there any love left in the core?
Are we  the British people going bad
Hating our opponents in Great Wars?

Did we realise our unlocked, door
Annoyed the   low paid workers  down the road?
Where is Europe going  after all?

But why blame immigration, what’s  the bar?
We get doctors,nurses, they’re no foe
They did not  ruin Europe by Great Wars

The Jews were murdered yet the ill’s still here
Killing scapegoats    brings just grief and woe
Where is Europe going and what for?

 

As we sink in pathos, anger goads
Paranoia    our  commonsense  erodes
Broken   like an eggshell  in  the war
Is Europe   making  good the world destroyed?

 

 

Of crypto-theological  progress

Of crypto-theological  progress
Of humans rising from the humble worm
Where is Evolution’s  grand success?

Those who are imperfect cause distress
Soon we want to murder the deformed
Oh! crypto-theological  progress

Evolution’s natural life works best
Eugenics led to genocide in turn
Who is Evolution’s  grand success?

Soon  arose the measurements and tests
As if no human being could discern.
Oh! crypto-theological  progress

 

Is your IQ less than all the rest?
Does testing impede  children’s wish to learn?
Where  is Europe’s  male  evolved  success?

See the Nazis and the books they burned
Did any  of the living feel concern
Re  crypto-theological  progress
Has Europe evolved yet  into success?

 

 

A little town

A man passed by the cottage with a horse
Leading it around  on a  short rope
The horse was  happy  though its coat was coarse
A man passed by the cottage with a horse
He said  it  will resist  and must be forced
To  go back  home for freedom is its hope
A man passed by the cottage with a horse
Leading it around  on a  short rope

Castleacre built from ruined  choir
The monumental Abbey  wild men  broke
The people built their houses, lit their fires
Castleacre built from ruined  choir
Thomas Cromwell fell into the mire
He was executed not by fire
Beheaded and uncovered without smoke
Castleacre built from ruined  choir
The Abbey  and its beauty strong men  broke

Now the town is peaceful  and remote
A piper played  as  round the ruin we walked
In a  little postcard love I wrote
As the town is peaceful  and remote
In a   river in the valley  float
Bits of paper,billets doux or jokes
The remnants of the castle have no moat
We stood to gether with no need to talk
Now the town is peaceful  and remote
A piper played  as  round the ruin we walked

 

 

Thus with this spirit,I my spirit wed

epimedium-domino

 
As on this foreign shore I stand and stare
Across the green and foaming tidal sea.
I do not wonder whether life is fair
Nor whether what’s to come is what should be
.
The hinterland is not a wishful dream
Whatever I meet there is all itself
So useless are past thoughts and present schemes
My courage,heart and spirit are my wealth.
Although alone,I sense some being close
Whom I accept as guide and friend to me.
To walk with otherness is not my boast.

It’s he who guides and shows me how to see.

Thus with this spirit,I my spirit wed
As close to me as in a marriage be

Attention must be paid to each small thing

The air feel still and cool and nothing moves
The birds  have disappeared and do not sing.
Life  feels distant, love’s in interlude

As we age  when health  and wit we lose
What new  learning may our own life  bring?
The air feel still and cool and nothing moves

Are we present to  the life we choose?
Attention must be paid to each small thing
Life  feels distant,  heart feels un-renewed

Like the dough we must be left to rise
The hidden power of yeast the flour shall wring
Minute yet powerful,  how the grains collide

Hidden in the dark ,what myriad eyes
Insects scurry, wasps to nettles cling
Life  feels distant, lovers lost are rued

Now  we feel the breath of a small wind
A whispering voice, the holy dove descends
The air feel still and cool and nothing moves
Consoled by  darkness, we await its clues.

Seeing visions,hearing  that small voice

Were we created for the Shopping Malls
Or to ponder over weight and belly bold?
If  God approached would humans hear his call
As prophets did  in mystic days of old?

Seeing visions,hearing  that small voice
May be possible no longer while we spend.
 We look for  good advice on  what is choice
Not rosaries but money  fills the hand?

Instead of tenderness, below, above
We hope to find love handcuffed on the rug.
And  promises are lost as well as vows.
Vibrating dildos  surround us  like black  bugs.

The sacred has been hidden, we are  half disgraced.
We ignore our lowness and ignore the holy face

Visions serve us well

Depending on our power, we may be blessed
Hallucinations entertained and self confessed
Fill our world with wonder and delight
Unless our mind is filled with hateful spite

Seeing  the  Golden Light  may give us hope
Unless we are in Blackpool full of dope
Feeling warmth may comfort us at night
Unless a cigarette set us alight

Hearing soft sweet voices is  a change
When one is alone but not deranged
Love your spirits and you will be safe
Hatred cultivated   ruins hope

If we are kind and wish no-one ill
We live  well within the sacred will

A man waits, sleepless, anxious and unsure

In the Garden of  Gethsemane
A man waits, sleepless, anxious and unsure
Wanting to escape his destiny
From the Garden of  Gethsemane
Oh,Lord,oh God, have mercy upon me
Save me from the world’s barbarity.
Make my heart and motives clean and pure
In that Garden of  Gethsemane
Jesus sleepless, anxious, has endured

His human Cross

If God was murdered why should he help me?
He hung, an abject figure ,on the Cross
Some have labelled it a holy tree
If God was murdered why should he help me?
No-one can deny what all can see
From the Romans he could not be free
Thus the world endured his final loss
If God was murdered why should he help me?
He died forsaken on his  human Cross

Love in a mist

Western Scotland ‘s covered in sea mists
While Southern England dreams in  fragrant  heat
Today some Scottish  sweethearts kissed and kissed
In Western Scotland enjoying deep mist
While lovers touch their lips to inner wrists
Promoting in their hearts enlivening zest
Making love both holy and complete
Western Scotland bears the sea’s unrest
While Southern England’s racked by  Brexit’s heat

So then you learned that you could hate as well

 

Was this the apple,then,your mother’s breast
Which father thought was his to oft caress?
And when ,in deprived rage,you bit to test.
In anger he would ever you harass.

So then you learned that you could hate as well,
For punishment struck hard in your small heart.
Your memory was wordless ,could not tell;
Though pain and anguish made your soft skin smart.

As unknown as the journey to your birth
As shocking as the grief of unmeant wrong..
As frightening as the gauging of your worth
As sudden as the ending of a song.

Impossible to foretell or to prepare,
The ambivalence of the heart starts here.