Category: poetry

I pushed  my sisters up our quiet street

I remember riding on his back
It was summer; I was only two
He had an old tweed jacket full of smoke
Woodbines, they would probably kill you too

Walking with my sister in her pram
Mam looked as happy as a summer lark
My brothers were pretending to be soldiers
We walked along, right into the deep dark

A few years later Dad was sat there crying
They never told me he was very bad
Eight years old, I pushed the baby
My sister walked while clutching at my side

I was worried Grandad would be angry
Seeing us three coming up the lane
We usually went there only at the weekend
On, on, on, went my brain

Going back home it was the evening
The sun had gone ,time to go to bed
I pushed my little sisters up our street
Auntie told me Daddy was now dead

No more rides on his thin shoulder
No more walking in the flowery park
Only the anguish of our feelings
Only children weeping in the dark

Where we slept, my sister oh my child

In our double bed, mi dad had died
Mammy slept w’t baby, a release
Now I slept, mi sister by mi side

A wooden frame, flock mattress where I lied
Making up long stories for mi sis.
In the double bed, owa dad had died

Up the stairs, we smelled the bacon fried
All the food was cloaked with grief and grease
And I slept mi sister by mi side

I was trapped by guilt don’t you deride
I disobeyed mi daddy, now deceased
In the double bed, he thought to die

He punished me, I never even cried
We had no phone to send for the police
Did I sleep mi sister by mi side?

He wore a green tweed jacket and a tie
While his overalls dried hanging underline
In our double bed where daddy died
We kids both slept, my sister, oh my child

Oh,my dear sister what can you see ?

She’d never seem rainwater deeper than eyes
Mystery undisguised.
Round the big puddle she ran and ran;
Too much for her dolly’s pan.
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised.
Curiousity’s often so wise
Oh,my dear sister what see you there?
I hope it’s a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sisters dear,let us float.
We’ll never see daddy again, ‘cos he’s here
And down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel with his sharp sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with long  golden hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two;
Eyes of one green, the other’s blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my dear sisters into the light.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I loved my  sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t hope for what cannot be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool,
Held in God’s hand like a jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings must ride.
For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
All we can live by is trust

Choose not death

The crushing  grief when  someone chooses death
When life had shown much promise and much hope
Turns the  ones who loved to  find new paths

Some may sin, encouraged by cruel wrath
Against the  one who chose the wicked rope
The shock of grief  at such too early death

Others freeze  and cannot take a breath
Scarcely moving as their mind elopes
Making  then impossible   their path

The mountains  of  deep grief I could not pass
Until  a  warm gold light caressed  my heart
The  wounds  of grief , the sacrifice, the Mass

Do not dwell in darkness  and distress
Follow me he murmured  while we start
I will help you find a different path

The golden light  had brought for me a chart
The sea of life had ripples ,brilliant sparks
The suffering and the  grief from such a  death
Turned the  one who loved  onto this path.

 

 

 

 

 

An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide

Saturday was shopping then a walk
Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car
Reading book reviews and chewing stalks
Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore

Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed
Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed
Farmers working hard,  a harvest, grain
The sky  through mist a cobalt  blue displayed

Standon with its fords and wandering cows
Little rivers,Essex, flowing down
The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound
Water for the Thames  and mossy ground

The earth feels like my body sacrificed
An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide

 

I do not feel the love I felt before

The face that was familiar is no more.

The world we made  seems empty and remote.

I do not feel the love I felt before.

I’m homeless world-less, comfortless at core

Wandering like the Jews with torn ripped coats.

The face that was familiar is no more

Why can this man’s life not be restored?

I cannot eat, a lump has blocked my throat

I do not feel the love I felt before.

In my nightmares, I look for a door.

Or I search the lake from my small boat

That face that was familiar is no more

I beg for grace like some abandoned whore.

That time itself evaporates is gross.

I do not feel the love I felt before

The well is empty,like my husband’s clothes.

When they are gone, what can I then propose?

The face that was familiar is no  more.

The love I lost can never be restored.

I loved you in the silence

I loved you much in silence with no fear.

A rare condition seldom found today

I gazed upon your face which was so dear.

My happiness began when you were near

Is this what mystics found in wordless prayer?

I loved you much in silence with no fear

When we row a boat we have also steer.

Mindful meditation gets nowhere.

I loved you then in silence with no fear

Who creates a space with atmosphere?

Who creates the love and then its care?

I long to see your face which was so dear

In the mornings I’d waken to you here

I felt the breath of God pass through the air

I loved you much in silence with no fear

In Blythburgh church stone angels seem to stare.

Magnificent and peaceful house of prayer

I loved you much in silence with no fear

I long to see your face still loved and dear

Z

Wandering   with no haste we see far more

In the pools, reflections , colours, gleam
Like watercolour paintings in a stream
Another world, a mirror to our lives
A way to extricate us from the cave

People have distinctive motions,shapes
When vision’s poor  the curve, the back, display
I recognise you not by face alone
But by the  pictures you make in the rain

Wandering down the avenues and lanes
The eyes are open wider, vision’s gain
The little muscles  slacken round our eyes
We see the broader images come by

Wandering   with no haste we see far more
Our inner eyes have opened like a door

God have mercy as the devil can’t

In the bitter depths of winter night
Boil the kettle, lose your human rights
If you feel depressed then eat our bread
It will remove the skull from off your head


Are you feeling lonesome in the crowd?
Buy our lipstick then men will be cowed
Did you think ceramic hobs were best?
Come to us and have your IQ blessed


I want a pan for halogen hot plates
I’d ask the cat but it’s out on a date
I need to boil my head and clean my feet
I guess that I ain’t smelling very sweet


Does Confession really help the damned?
God have mercy as the Devil can’t

Thoughts at dusk in winter

Four o’clock– and the sun’s still glowing
Four o’clock – of a colour bright day,
Up above, pink-tinged clouds are sliding
Down still sky, sweeping sun away.

Come back sweet sun, do not yet leave us.
Come back bright beams,I need sunlight
Down on earth,it’s witch moon darkness,
When your golden face is out of sight.

I see the orange clouds extending
I feel such sense of sky lit bright.
But gently now, the mist surrounds you
And sweeps away that happy sight.

Into velvet blackness sinking,
The dazzling, dreaming darkness falls.
Goodbye to haste,and glare, and sunshine,
Time for reverie,night time calls.

On the night-trains gentle journeys,
On this trackless train we ride
Strange new visions, haunting pictures
We will see in dreams’ designs.

In my night train,I’ll be happy
In such rich deep reverie.
We visit darkness in our sleeping,
There we learn its ecstasy.

Now we may have no God to hold us,
In His Hands of Living Love,
What will help us trust deep blackness
If there’s no Saviour from above?

Must we enter that great darkness,
Go back to dark from which we came,
Into dark all living creatures,
In that darkness find our home?

Trust the dark unknown, to hold us,
Trust the dark,both night and day.
Must we walk into that darkness
And trust it is our safest way?

On calling mathematics quantitative methods to make it sound easier!

It seems quite clear that maths should take the blame

As quantity and quality. are not the same

The Hebrew temple used the number pi.

And pi is not a quantity, I say.

So pi is not as a measurable as 10.

It’s decimal expansion never ends

There is no pattern, how God condescends.

  Don’t think about this funny stuff it drives you round the bend     

Creation

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

by Mike Flemming copyright

My old blue fountain pen allows
The ink across this page to flow
Like wet paint from an artist’s brush,
And words come in a rush.
Enchanted by the hand that writes .
Bewitched by art,beauty alights
The script is like a music score
Through which we step as through a door,
Imagination’s home.
As,mysteriously, to you, to me,
The spirits of our hearts are tamed ,
By rhythms of pen,of brush, of mind,
They enter vision quite unplanned,
Like moths to flutter softly round
Fire joined heart and hand
The pen slows down,the hand grows still,
And ,just as dreams at daybreak will,
They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone
Like dew dies in hot sun

Blue the sky

The  sea shore blue of  operatic sky
Turned to navy then to darkest grey
Dark trees  despise the mysteries of light

The holly has its depth unknown to eye
Hiding fragile wrens  from birds of  prey
The  cerulean blue of soothing sky

And in my room upon my bed I try
What words would come,what humour could you say
Oh trees  held in the mysteries of light?

The words won’t  come,unspeakable the sigh
The weeping  of the sick, the donkey’s bray
Depression of Van Gogh. the lowering  sky

Oh,mother, why must newborn  babies cry?
The Lord ignores, the sheep flee as I pray
The  trees   hold in the mysteries of light

I meet your eye,I’m feeling drawn and grey
You want my love,I fear the  last  mistake
In sinking blue of  dawn and  passive sky
The  trees  despise the virus and the lies

 

 

 

When red sun drops

When red sun  drops and  cooling night  rolls in
Darkness masks both danger and our vision
Ancient minds fear day won’t come again
Courage for the  delicate   seems thin
We  wrestle  with  our indecision
When  sun  drops and night  rolls darkly in
But now , new stricken by   a dread of sin
Who shall aid  the souls   derision?
Our  ancient minds fears   day won’t come again
When  we sleep we we’re entertained within
Deft dreams squander all illusion
When the sun  drops and  the night  rolls in
In reverie we’e loved  and  so  open
Then  fancy turns to full communion
While ancient minds fear   day wont come again
And so  it was that our own life began
When sperm leaped up in  proud confusion.
When  deep sun  dropped and  a   new night  rolled in
When  ancient  hearts cried Day  shall come again”

Tarmac. cobbles, flat slabs  of grey stone

Did   the earth weep when we paved the streets
Tarmac. cobbles, flat slabs  of  grey stone
Leaving  merely holes for trees long roots?

Covering in our cities all that’s deep
Startling ancient graves and  bits of bone
Did the earth weep when we paved the streets?

Motorways  increased that tarmacked  roof
As we drive  our ruinous cars    alone
Leaving  there no holes for trees long roots

In the hidden depths beneath our feet
Live the riches, seeds  awaiting growth
Did the earth weep when we paved the streets?

As the trees bloom  we see our deceit
We want it all  but do not pay nor mourn
Leaving  there  small holes for trees long roots

Once an orchard, now  so sterile,  torn
The gardens   became car parks  bleak, forlorn
Did   the earth  quake when we paved the streets
Leaving  merely holes for trees long roots?

 

 

 

Love was,oh,so long ago.

 

Waxy flowers poking through
Snow so white
Flowers bright.
Made me think of you.

I see once more yoursweet white hair,
Soft as snow
On pillow.
Now my bed is bleak and bare

,
Face alight,flower to sun,
I loved you.
Love so  true.
Fear by love was overcome.

Cyclamen in  the snow,
Pink and red,
Now frozen,dead.
Love was,oh,so long ago.

But never gone from in my mind.
Thoughts so deep,
Upwards seep.
Love was gentle,love was kind
And always in my mind

That village Street

Standon church, the village and the ford

How the eye will wander as it stares

Lazy cows stand idly by the gate

How deep silence holds and melts our cares.

The heavy load of work, the children’s gaze.

The weight of coppers spoils the father’s clothes

The cake stand gleams, sadistically exposed

The cat sleeps on,while BarclaysBank is closed

We left the car beside the butcher’s shop

Climbed up to the church his mother moaned

She enjoyed the view down this long Street.

Despite the aching of her twisted toes.

Now they’re gone and I stand here alone

I see your face, your eyes,your smiling bones

A golden sheet

I saw your soul like that of a wild bird


Someone other guided me to act
Deep inside my voice had been unlocked
I sang the psalms and then a lullaby
Not aware in thought that you would die.


I fed you with a teaspoon the mashed fish
From a plate as good as one might wish
Like a little child you tried your best
You smiled at me and gazed like one who’s blessed


You sat up with a brighter face at last
Then lay back and God knows all the rest

Oh, don’t go yet ,my darling,I am here
The floor of heaven came down amidst my tears
Made of sumptuous satin, gold,revered
For a little moment it hung low
Then it rose and took you in its glow
I saw your soul like that of a wild bird
Taken by the Power who spoke the Word


A sheet of tears fell down from my closed eyes
It’s hard ,so hard when those you love must die

From cats to evil

Mary wants to get a letter

This means she’ is feeling better.

Here’s the postman with his sack

Coming up the garden track

she hears the letterbox go bang

The postman seems to talk in slang

Ear ye are pet ain’t got much

Oh dear Mary mind your crutch.

I have no crutch I have a walker

You are just a nosey parker

No I’m from Warsaw,madam dear.

Well you speak English without fear.

Yes I know I’m feeling proud.

In this country it’s allowed.

Yes said. Mary I know that.

If you’re not sure I’ll ask my cat

Emile opened one green eye.

I’m not here to be a spy.

If Eastern Europe is is in trouble

Get the cats out at the double

That’s what Mrs Johnson said

She saw Boris on the bed

She brought her cat a golden collar.

That’s why Boris’s face turned yellow

There are babies and young children

Little faces all a- quivering.0

See they look like Jews tormented

By the Nazis men demented.

But would you have had the courage.

To stand up to the Nazis savage

How long will we support Ukraine?

Let us not ignore their pain

The Russian wolf is riding high

Threatening Europe from the sky.

The Jews and Yiddish have all gone

From Europe to Babylon.

We heard we must show more courage

But who hears the voices savage?

We feel like children in our hearts

Prepare us adults that’s a start.

Survival as a moral wreckage

Comforts Satan sends a message.

You do not want to know the worst.

The human race may be accursed

Oh, gentle Light

I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present with your Light

Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird
I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.

Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people  had their well trained Scribes
You were always there,oh gentle Light

You  gave me warmth, you  changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe?
I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.

The agony inside me lost its bite
I wanted to go on, to be alive
You  do not always show your golden Light

We do not know  when we at last arrive
We do not reach this  meeting place by strife
I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time
I never saw such  Gold until that night

The black cat’s run

The sky is stark, the air is cool and still
The black cat’s run, the birds unfold all day
I sit down here and with my totty pray
Ye cast o’ foolish thoughts, you raped my will
. We’ve each enraged the bureaucratic mill.
Oh frigid purse, I never meant to pay!
The sky ‘s a-spark, the air is warm and shrill
The saturnine demoted knelled their way
With this feathered pounce, my sample quill,
I cite the cheque and date it for next May.
Oh, tit for cat, the tiger’s bed ‘s astray.
Yer life is settled by a harlot’s will
The sky ‘s a shark, the air is sharper still.

Which way?

My path has been obscured by heavy rain

Tangled ancient brambles bite my flesh.

I am lost, will I get home again?

No one here will help me they all laugh

The rain that fell was not a cleansing wash

My path has been obscured by heavy rain

I did no wrong but still I feel ashamed.

My mind and my emotions sadly crashed

I am lost I can’t get home again

Wandering on my own without a path

Have I become a beggar, poor unwashed?

My path has been obscured by heavy rain.

Life is not a jigsaw nor a game

Did anyone at all ask where I was?

Feeling lost I can’t get home again

I must find a way I have no map.

Take me, take me, take me from this trap

My path was washed away by heavy rain

I’ve come so far, I wish my route was plain.

Happiness is like a golden shawl

The pebbled beach on which we walked at dawn

The sun was dancing singing stone to stone

The sea was pale as silk and gently ran

The tide was coming in, the day began

Why is my memory so deficient here?

I remember little but you near

I remember Portland Bill at dusk

The sea was wilder then with many thrusts

Happiness was like a golden shawl

A world like Eden, man before the Fall

Today they say, illusion, I say, no

What matters is where this insight makes you go.

The fruits of meditation are its test

May we be generous, may our souls be blessed

Copyright © Katherine 

Maps are no more certainties than hints.

My heart is like a rowing boat adrift

Whose occupant has fallen overboard

The empty vessel drifts through deep sea mist.
And in those pearl filled ears the q1 l deep sea roars.
Just as the boat drifts mapless, so do I.
My maps were drawn for quite another sea
My captain’s taken leave and now I cry
As if that drowned soul might just be me.
Yet on the sea bed mysteries abound;
Such wonders and such magic there displayed.
I wonder if it is my lot drown
And to a memory then quickly fade.
Maps are no more certainties than hints.
Between the lines hides gold from other mints.

For a moment everything was still

 

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 bowed

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  deep blue eyes, your smiling face

Essex cornfields

Saturday was shopping then a walk Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car

Reading book reviews and chewing stalks

Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore

Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed

Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed

Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain

The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed

Standon with its fords and wandering cows

Little rivers,Essex, flowing down

The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound

Water for the Thames and mossy ground

The earth feels like my body sacrificed

The artist’s canvas stretched ,a matricide

Jesus must be free

Jesus does not live within the church

Like the wild birds of the sky he’s free

Jesus is in no parrot with a perch

Nor does he require a bended knee

In the ancient buildings there’s some air

Quiet years of prayer have left a mark.

Yet its sad destructions caused despair.

The abbot of old Glastonbury stark

The restless ashes spread as in the air

The winds of love are heartless yet demure

Would it be a way to make things fair?

If there is a God he must be there.

Not with those who scandal eyes the poor

Soon they’ll have no shoes nor much to wear

Whores do not pay tax, oh what allure.

Christ and Mary Magdalene come by

How economics causes men to lie

The power of mathematics made the bomb

Soon the the earth shall burn to kingdom come.

Down the other side of the mountain

From the high peak of the middle years

We walk downwards slowly but it’s clear.

We lose our parents siblings other kin

Who will now agree we are born to win?

Our bodies stiffen while we’re yet alive

Who will die,atone,does God decide?

From the man he takes the caring wife

The heart itself will harden in the strife

Last Man standing is a bag of bones

In his grave the king decays alone.

The hand upon my tiller

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Come back to me,my sweetheart
Don’t leave me all alone.
Come back to me,my darling
I can’t believe you’ ve gone.
I’m crying ‘cos I’m feeling blue again.
I’m crying’cos I’m falling like a stone.

Oh, let me tempt you with my beauty
And my voice forever young.
Let me tempt you with my spirit
My laughter and my songs.
I’m crying ‘cos I never did you wrong.
I’m crying ‘cos with you I do belong.

11I thought maybe I’d follow,
To see where you have gone
But there’s a hand upon this tiller
That is not mine alone.
I’m crying ‘cos I wrote this old blue song.
I’m crying ‘cos we’ve been apart too long.

The hand upon my tiller
The mystery of the dark
The unknown one who lives in me
And sings like a skylark.
I’m singing ‘cos I wrote you a new song.
I’m singing ‘cos the cat ain’t got my tongue!

[Does God live there any more?]

Come here ,Kathryn, come here quick,
‘Cos your Daddy’s very sick.
Run as fast as fast, you can,
Get the priest, get Father Dan.
Run,run went my eight year old feet,
Down the lane and up the street
I ran right up to Father’s door,
[Does God live there any more?]
“Come please, Mam said Daddy’s ill”
“Oh”,said Father,”that I will.”
Revving up his motor bike
With The Sacrament beside;
He lifted me up onto the back
And roared off up the church-side track.
It was the best thrill of my life;
If only Daddy had not died.