Category: poetry

Sun in the evening

The sun glows orange
The sky is grey blue  and soft
Sun is too bright for my eyes.

Mend a camera
Wondering if I can eat
My insides are sore.

Anti-semitism
Makes me feel sad nowadays
Will it ever go?

I got the runs bad
And I can’t run any more
I feel young inside though.

That sun still glares out
Sylvia Plath could deal with it
But it’s too strong now

It’s the sideways burn
The direct line to the brain
Red hot retina.

Mine are a problem
Yet I can see the lines of your face
Love you more  and more

You are absent now
But I can remember love
Cleveland Hills pull hearts.

Lying in heather
Never noticed the hot sun
Only your buttterflies

They floated by us
All afternoon;later  found
We lay near a cliff!

A woman drove us
To Teesside by  old Yarm Lane
Out of sheer kindness.

 

 

So much

I feel achey now
My body is unhappy
I shall listen  now

The music soothes me
I hear radio 3 now
It’s on the TV

When violas are soft
I prefer them above all else.
Sing in  the middle.

A day  has layers
Peel them back slowly and wait
One by one they  speak

Maybe not in words
Maybe in new metaphors .
Maybe in silence

Soon the News will come
A Muslim Mayor of London
But does he practise?

I missed going to vote
I felt unwell,pathetic
Could have got a cab.

I feel far away
I don’t count,I don’t notice
I am  alive though

It is night at last
Mozart is playing  sweetly
I miss  you so much.

I can not kiss you
I can not lie in your arms
I can’t shout your name.

But I can see you now
Imitating Cameron
I am smiling at you.

 

 

Just

Image

At the end of the day,
it all boils down to
what happens in that moment in time
in that split second.
I offer you my words of wisdom,
Don’t delay… you don’t want to be
A moment too soon or too late.
We must listen to our hearts
To find out our gut feelings,
Trust your instincts
And remember,it’s never too early or late,
Or exactly the right moment,
To start saving for a pension.
At the end of the day,
I hope you made your bed
The way you wanted to lie in it..
Though usually,love needs truth
And lying is an art
unlike survival and love;
Though love is not all you need
but love helps us roll along
gathering a little moss.
Ask not for whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee,,
and me too.
But when we sum it all up

We can say,with hand on heart..
we were just following orders
Then the grieving will start.

Could Wittgenstein well?

Do you think philosophy’s monotonous?

Prefer  an elephant to a  hippopotamus?
Do not feel sad
When joy can be had
From seeing which writes are dichotomous.

A plunesh bull in a kitch

Is your spelling far wurse than myne?
Are your thoughts far from sublyme?
Could Jacques Derrida spell?
Could Wittgenstein well?
Answering these questions will take up our tyme

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In between two raindrops

Some evenings,the sky turned  pink
We were happy,lying in the grass
watching the sun set..
arms around each other.
Seemed like eternal life had come
Earlier than forecast
.Those weathermen are too often wrong!
They need new training.
But,forever,
I’ll remember you –
in that timeless moment
in between two raindrops,
in between two tears.

When will they pay and go?

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From the Times of Malta….Syrian toddler

Where have all the cowards gone?
Wrong time passing
Where have all the cowards gone
Wrong rhyme ago?
Where have all the cowards gone?
In the government half of them
When will they pay and go?
When will old  Satan show?

See him in a liar’s eyes
See him in the murky skies
See him  laugh as children die
See him,hear him by and by
when will we ever learn?

Let children drown in warm blue seas
Shut the doors to refugees
Like we did to Europe’s Jews
Just buy red poppies and  feel pleased
When will we truly mourn?
When will we ever grieve?

 

 

 

 

 

 

The play goes on

The sun’s deep gold dwells in a sky not  blue
Whle black tree branches   cross against pale cream
There is no pink or coral  or red hue
No warmth to give its strength to summer dreams.

Even as I write the sun  dips  low
A silence  full and round creates new night
The tenor of the day  leaves afterglow
And love surrounds  all even without light

Farewell this day on which we voted thrice
As Peter lied before the cocks did crow
And as the world  evokes the murdered   Christ
To his mercy I would likely  go.

The backcloth of fair nature beauty shows
Yet on the stage  much cruelty  is bestowed

W

 

 

 

 

Reach

Black against light sky
Bright flowers blown ; bare branches now
Reach  beseechingly.

Reluctant sun hangs
Sending thin light  and pinkness
To clouds sleek as  cats

Now paling, blue grey,
I see mauve dying into dark
Night sky edges in

The  blackness awaits;
Dreams dangle  like stringed balloons
A new born gurgles

How full the holly!
Forsythia large and darker,
Birds shelter  wisely

Tramps might sleep on them

I slipped on the stairs,
In  our Waterstone’s  bookshop
They don’t have a lift

In the old churchyard
There are no longer benches
Tramps might sleep on them

Waterstone’s  is out
I’ll buy all my books online
Sad as it is quiet.

In the sun a great heat,
I think I heard a cat mew
And my late husband smiled

I feel  happiness
Rising like a tide in spring
I’ll write a poem

 

I love the shade of you

I love the color purple.

I love all shades of blue

But most of all,my dearest,

I love the shade of you.

I love the color circle.

I love to paint the dew.

But first of all,before I start…

I’m studying your hue.

I love to see the sunlight

Gleam across the trees;

I love the green,I love the shade

But it’s you I want to see.

Emile sings

Fish,fish wonderful fish…
Nothing so tasty gets onto my dish.
I live on Whiskas and milk and cold tea.
They don’t know I drink it to help me to pee.
Milk,milk,I love it well.
Mother’s was best,but,oh,what the hell!
I drink it at night,to send me to sleep.
I feel so nervous when Stan’s old sheep bleats.
I sleep with Stan and he’s very kind.
I lean on his legs to help me unwind.
When he’s got company,I stay outside.
I look through a mirror and blimey,I spied
Stan was cuddling a lady who was totally nude!
You would not believe the weird sights I have viewed.
He was quite naked but I’m used to that.
He has no bosom…………..men are quite flat!
Mice,mice,mice are so nice!
Mince the left overs and serve with boiled rice!
Do you need puddings…we never do.
Some cats like chewing their master’s old shoe!
Drink,drink let me imbibe
Nothing quite like it for aiding  the Scribe!

It was not him

I saw him going
He winked at me and smiled broadly
He looked much younger

Then he lay gently
You want the moon to play with?
I sang so softly

He had blown away
The doctors had heard it all
We were in A and E

They each looked happy.
He curled down pale in his shell
No,it was not him

I had seen him leave
I did not scream nor wail loudly
A brief sheet of tears……

A water curtain
Veiled me for my widow birth
Now I am silent

Depths

I looked under my chair
To find a box of oddments
It was almost clean

I wonder if Marge
Would like a cat to help her
Chemotherapy

I don’t hear a sound.
She’s behind the party wall
Feeling nauseous

A cat might comfort
I’d feed and clean it for her
If she would like it

But when I call her
She never answers the bell
She contemplates depths

I have not seen stars fall
I saw the moon reflecting
The sea is calmer

The cruelly chopped trees
Have burst out in bright new leaves
How incongruous.

Crucified, they show
Aaron’s rod planted again
Surprises the world

Death takes all colour

Original sin is
Cain must kill Abel again
And again.There is no end

More,he  says he’s right
Does not see the still  corpse  pale.
Death takes all colour

White and shrunken too
They burn him  sacrificial
Plant the land with seed

Sunset

The sunset is pale
Coral with grey finger marks~
No bird sang today

The leaves wait like mouths
Now they are shutting their lips
They don’t get night feeds

All is calm and still
The moon is singing  Mahler
Dead babies  whisper.

Lullaby,the  heart
Enfold all  infants’ pathos
Dies with them daily

Forget not at night
Those for whom the sun is dead
They are stiff like dolls

They will be silent

The algebra  book
Full of  new structures unformed
Is lonely like me

I am unread yet
Please touch me with  your fingers
Find out my secrets.

Find the formula
Blow up love with your bombshells
Make finger bones scream

Alone on the rock.
One day someone will find them
They will be silent

Mountains  will fall down
The temple will rise again
The Messiah shifts.

Lambs will lie down here
Tigers of wrath shall pounce then
The lion was late

 

Faces full of light

I saw pretty clothes
Hanging in the shop windows
It’s still very cold.

Laughing girls ran past
Long slender legs,gleaming hair
Faces full of light.

A circle of men
Drinking  coffee and talking
By the big windows.

The gale has gone now
Then I heard the still,small voice.
Why am I still here?

God is burning us
In his eternal furnace
We will turn to gold

Sung geometry,

 

Cracks in the pavement
Look like rivers approaching
an estuary.

Natural beauty,
the shapes and forms wandering,
sanctifies the road.

Cherry trees branches,
A wide canopy of leaves,
Blossom blows away

Sung geometry,
held still and made eternal,
Catches at my throat.

Lodestar

You’re my lodestar,you’re my light.
You help me through the darkest night.
You keep me on the path I follow
I know you’ll still be here tomorrow.
You’re my companion, my other self.
You have knowledge and spiritual wealth.
You have studied,you have thought,
In meditation your soul was  wrought.
You are there when I’m in need.
You don’t allow my fears to breed.
Your sweet touch brings me such peace
So all my anxious worries cease

Mirror by Sylvia Plath

 

I am silver and exact.

I have no preconceptions.

Whatever I see I swallow immediately

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

I am not cruel, only truthful

The eye of the little god, four cornered.

Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.

It is pink, with speckles.

I have looked at it so long I think it is a part of my heart.

But it flickers.

Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake.

A woman bends over me,

Searching my reaches for what she really is.

Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.

I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.

She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.

I am important to her.

She comes and goes.

Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.

In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman

Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

Title : Life’s Complexity Author : William Mae

From poetry and quotes

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P O E M # 1
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Title : Life's Complexity
Author : William Mae



The body shall lose its seely grip,
And the soul and spirit leave,
Fly past nature's natural bonds,
While the urn lies down in sleep,

Leaving the body they bid farewell,
And from its presence slips,
They mourn the days that use to be,
But still they make their trip.

What awaits we only guess,
And the body begins decay,
The spirit and soul rise to live,
They do not pass away.

Life is taken for granted,
With endless days it seems,
Memories now and aching hearts,
No visions now or dreams.

The wind of change left it's mark,
Nothing to dispute,
What's written now is written, 
When death spells out it's truth.

The hour glass drips no more sand,
Just silence fills the void,
The song of life is quieted,
No more strumming on its chord.

The foolish thought would think like this,
The person can't return,
But harder to birth a person once,
Then twice to birth the urn.

The question isn't will they live,
The answers clear they do,
The question left is tell me when,
They will be born anew.

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One letter


I’ve got just one letter
written in your hand
One short letter
I understand,
One is as infinity
compared to having naught.I’ll keep this letter
In the museum of my heart.
I’ve only got  one photograph
and that is  very old
but to me this photograph
is more valuable than gold
Time has wandered by.
Is it now too late?
But will there be a second chance?
Let’s not  accept  love’s fate.
No matter how we falter,
No matter how we fail,
Can we still forgive ourselves,
and rewrite this  sad tale?
One more letter,
One more   heartfelt smile,
That will be sufficient
To rebirth a love grown frail
For once this love was stronger
Once this love was true;
So now we are  wondering
If we can create our love anew
Cracks will make a pattern
Beautiful,complex.
Our love will be more real
When we both reflect.

Mystical experience

Fritillaria_pontica2016-1

 

A beam of light passed through my eyes
And showed to me a world disguised

So near,yet far,we do not see,
Unless by gift of grace redeemed.

That world is full of peace and calm
It’s colours mingle like a balm
In such a moment all thought dies
Revealing Love which underlies.

Colours caress my naked eyes.
Sunlight blesses new designs.
I stand enthralled,and do not wish
For one delight,other than this.

My breath slows down, and filled with joy,
I rove my eyes with bliss to toy.
Everything is just itself.
This is now my living wealth.

Beneath the noise of city traffic,
This mellow joy,love soporific,
This depth and peace, is always near
When we choose Love and turn from fear

Desiring all

Our life is like a shell upon the shore,
tossed up by squally,salty,shivering sea
.To shrink inside is safe,yet we want more,
To make,to love,to see,at last to be.

A shell, though tough, is made to open out;
To give the living core its chance to grow
.Towards the new we each must shed our doubt.
Every myth and story say it’s so..
Impregnable,that home had seemed to be
To the tiny creature growing in its heart#.
Yet thrown by winds across the rolling sea
The slender cage must open and let part.
Protection can be prison to the soul.
So we  crack our    out grown shells, desiring all

Our poor spirit

If  I should change as does our weather now
Then  down to Bedlam I would soon be rushed
One moment  calm,one moment violence blows.
Then apple blossom’s  thrown into a bush.

I think of all the birds that nest so near.
I can’t protect them from this   savage  gale and rain.
They follow Nature’s laws and yet must fear.
For she does not protect them from  the strain.

Why is it that our love and work don’t count?
Nesting  birds  must struggle with this hail.
Destruction or Creation equal mount
Yet birds  will try again who this time fail.

We learn that even when all  seems destroyed
By future  hope our poor spirit is buoyed,

We’ll meet again,I Iove you so.

Down daisied fields sweet grasses grow
Down these green fields,I know,I know.
In unploughedy fields  where wild flowers  blow
We’ll meet again,I Iove you so.
It was in the first soft summer light
I saw you standing,hair so bright.
I saw you by the drystone wall.
I never doubted you at all.

 

When meadows bright all bloom again
I know we’ll see you coming then..
in sunny fields where wildflowers hide
I know my love is by my side.

Oh,come dear  heart,do not delay..
We are not long till in the clay.
I’ll stand upon the beacon here
And never rest,till you are near.

When flowering buds all open wide
When bees to poppies  swiftly glide.
When your dear heart is pressed to mine
Our eyes will melt and souls combine.

Oh,where are you,my dearest one
All too soon our lives  are gone
I gaze across the fields  and hills.
As sunset-sky with flames is filled.

When buttercups and celandine
Beckon  to me in my dreams.
When apple blossom fills the tree
I believe with love I’ll see.I’ll see.

I need some edge,some definition.

The sky looks like a Turner painting.
At the high point it’s brighter,even golden cream
Like the top of a bottle of Jersey milk;
then it dims down to a bluey gray
with a slight threat in it
like a blacker gray…It’s
Too warm today for snow.

 

I swept brown dried leaves from the step..
Had to move my bike.
Then I hid them under the hedge
So they can keep some insects warm in the winter.
But mainly I don’t want to bend down to collect them,,
I’m tired or lazy after the weekend.
I still have a dress here I was ironing just a week or two ago.
Now it will be put away till next summer.
Here’s a denim jacket with flowers all over…
I did wear it but it won’t look right now.

 

I washed my hair.It feels soft and pleasant.
I like that feeling.I am wondering what you are doing.
Are you listening to music or resting?
Or sitting looking down the road at wet fields?
I think I’ll make some tea.
I need a focus for the day which also has a feeling
Like those late watercolors
Everything merging
Until one thing dissolves into an other.

 
Some people like it but today
I need some edge,some definition.
I need someone to give me boundaries.
Time 4 pm
Kettle boils and a neighbor’s cat peers by the locked cat flap…
Wondering why she can’t get in.
I turn away.

Now the sky is without any gold
It’s sixty shades of gray.
It’s clouded dark and soft
Like your hair might have been
But I could never have touched it…
You were always too far away and moving.

A single one remains

I saw  the sun rise over the North Sea
Accentuating coloured fishing boats.
The beauty of the dawn gave hope to me
A restful pleasure made my  soft eyes  dote.

The peace of this small town has caught my heart.
Scenes from ancient times  come close again
The gulls swoop down and  sketch their flying charts
Remote as ever from the realm of man.

The shingle beach,the  Church  where Britten lies
The in and out of tides  of salty sea;
An exact match of houses,hill and skies;
The   amber shop, the chip shop,the oak tree.

In my mind I walk in love again;
Though of the two, a single one remains

Being alive is joyful

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Who has never felt grief

When a small gesture would have helped
but it has, unknowingly, been with held?
How many people have the imagination
to guess what’s in your mind,
And to embrace you rather than push you away?
No-one, No-one.No-one knows.
No-one knows these numbers.
No-one knows these names.
No-one knows how many feel diffident,
Nor how many feel shame.
Being alive is joyful!
Being alive is pain!
Being alive is all we have,
We’ll never be alive again.
I look into your eyes today
I sense your pain and woe.
I look into your eyes just now
And tell you that I know,
Being alive is lonely.
Being alive is good.
Being alive is pain indeed
For flesh is not like wood