Category: poetry

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.

 

The patience of gardens

The enclosed garden had a peaceful air.

Nothing untoward could happen there.

The irises are famous and diverse

No thorns to prick the finger or to curse.

We sat beneath the tree still holding hands

And let the peace  we felt on us descend.

But now I am alone I feel despair

Where now shall I love, where shall I care?

..

We cannot love another till we find

A felt connection to the heart and mind

When we’re anxious we cannot perceive

The mind and feelings shuttered may deceive.

Patience is so hard when we feel sad.

The tears in our own eyes make us feel bad

Loving memories

I look up our small street,
To see if you are coming.
I don’t know what time it is,
But I think I hear you humming.

You sang sweet songs for us,
And you could whistle well.
You wore an old tweed jacket
You loved us,I could tell.

I look out there each day,
But I can’t see your tall, thin shape.
I saved your Woodbine packet,
It made me feel some hope.

What does death’s door mean?
Where has Daddy gone?
When will be the welcome day,
When we hear his songs again?

I’ll sing like him all day,
I’ll dream of him all night.
I hope he won’t be angry,
If his cigarettes won’t light!

He can’t write his own songs now.
He went too far away, too soon.
I’ll write down what I think he sang,
And I’ll invent the tune.

I hear him singing now,
He dwells inside my heart.
And though I still can’t see his face,
I recognise his Art.

On a motorbike with God

There were three of us on this motorbike,
Father Dan with me,
And he had Jesus in his bag.
That makes the total three.

Transubstantiation, oh my Lord
I looked at his black bag.
Is Jesus inside there, I thought?
Should it have a tag?

It’s a secret never told
Father Dan gave it me to hold.
So I had Jesus in my lap,
No wonder now I feel a gap.

We zoomed off up an unmade road
As fast as Dan could go.
I felt bewildered and bemused,
I loved my Daddy so.

Father Dan took back his bag,
And went inside our house.
I got my marbles out to roll,
I feared I’d see a mouse.

So Three of had taken a ride
And after that, my Dad had died.
Father Dan said Mass today
Still with Jesus, so I cried.

Wakening up in the winter

The sun ignores the dark leaved compact tree.

All is silent waiting some decree.

Like a prisoner standing in the dock

Imagining the key that turns the lock

is it bird song, is it my alarm?

In the winter morning holds less charm

Once I had a loved one in my bed.

Are my feelings better left unsaid?

The art and the heart

the art of poetry isn’t hard to master
make the syntax good and  entertaining
the  gruesome heart of poetry   brings disaster

 

a meter errant makes  the lines come faster
an oxford  thesaurus   gets the listeners   waning
the art of poetry  isn’t hard to master.

 

a genius woke and saw a verse rush past her
it only needed polishing and planing
the  gruesome heart of poetry brings  disaster

 

she left the oven on,it gassed her
ever since her folk  groan, paining
the art of poetry  isn’t hard to master.

 

she saw her selves as coloured shapes in plaster
and round her mind, were ghosts all craning
the  gruesome heart of poetry brings disaster

there’s not a lot of hope if we’re complaining
for criticism  from hidden ghosts is draining
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master
the  gruesome  heart of poetry brings disaster

 

 

 

 

 

The dreams, the metaphors of the mind

I wish we were in Alston steep and fine

The Pennines all around, the lakes nearby.

We walked the Pennine way in our own time.

Your heart was in the hills, to teesdale chained.

You didn’t like the urban sprawl, the blight

I wish we were in Alston now and then

The time has passed we find our memories fade.

I miss you,miss you, miss you, I can’t lie

I wish that we were near high force, that air.

And our;United Kingdom’s in decay.

We saw an eagle but it did not fly

0h every breath we took was like a prayer.

I find it hard to walk without a crutch

I can see but I can’t feel your touch

You would hardly know me now I sigh

I wish you were in Alston by my side.

The dreams, the symbols memories combine.

This is how you’re with me for all time

I am very proud because I’ve tried

The neighbour’s cat ate my curry

I left a pan of curry on the stove
Hot as ash combined with burning coal
Yet when I went back in a cat stood there
Eating this strong curry with no care.

It must have had thick skin inside its mouth
Before I looked ,it ran out of the house
To think it gobbled up our supper so
Leaving me with nothing but a glow

So then I made a chilli beef and beans
My heart ached as I listened to puss scream
Can cats learn that pans are out of bounds?
I’d hate to hear again its anguished sounds

Be sure to close the kitchen door or else
You too will suffer torment from cats’ yells

Doctors’ exam questions

How do you treat stage 4 lung cancer?

By surgery to remove the lungs

And how do you treat brain cancer?

Isn’t it obvious? Remove the brain.

What about your heart?

I took my mine out a long time ago.

You didn’t have it done on the NHS then ?

No but I paid myself £10,000 afterwards

Now, let’s do the circulation of the blood.

Which person discovered that the blood circulated around the entire body.

I didn’t even know that anyone had discovered that.

Going back to oncology what about skin cancer?

I thought this was a general oral examination not a specialist one for people studying oncology

Alright what makes your pulse go too low?

Boredom I think.

So what is the cure for that?

Being a medical student

There’s no need to go on. You have failed completely.

Thank you very much sir or madam. I only came here to bring these pens then I thought I would just try to do the exam in case I could become a doctor straight away without doing any training.

They say the people who know the least about a subject are the ones who are more likely to believe they know a great deal about it.

So the more learned you get the more humble you get

Then heaven might be full of scholars but also of people who are highly skilled in other ways such as artists.

. I won’t say they will get on like a house on fire because that might more like hell than heaven.

And what is heaven but a metaphor?

The river in the Chilterns

I wish I were in Hertfordshire again

The River Lea a small and sparkling stream.

As I sit here clutching my gel pen

Facing a blank page, oh paper clean

I think about our holidays and walks

Now I barely get across the room.

I miss you for your feelings and the thoughts.

Sitting on the riverbank relaxed

Where has gone my treasure once unsought?

All alone I sit here and reflect

Loving these quiet memories I have brought

Once your love was here but now it’s gone

You float away like water over stones.

Astonished into bud

The journey to the heart is graced by love.
And those who need to seek obey their call.
Though virtue and her graces smile above,
We see steep paths ahead with risky falls

With willingness to cross fields deep in mud,
To struggle through the tangled wind bent wood.
Our soul within knows when there’s latent good;
Recalls old trees astonished into bud.

As flowers spring up to gently grace our toes
Encouragement is with much joy received;
And as we smell the fragrance of the rose,
At last we know our souls were not deceived.

For Virgil,fortune favours steadfast feet.
The journey may be long,the end is sweet.

Reflections

I knew myself in his face when he lived

But now I have no mirror,I’m alone.

I learned myself reflected in his love.

An actual mirror seems like a dull stone

I was alive when mirrored his eyes

For those who hate us do not give us life.

What’s the answer when when the loved one dies?

Without a husband there can be no wife.

All alone my blood seems not to flow.

The wellspring of my heart is arid,dry.

My hands curl up protective on my heart

I have no tears and so I cannot cry.

Yet I bleed inside from every part.

So where is my reflection, where my grace?

I feel I cannot live without his face.

When we walked  I  warmed your hand in mine

When we walked I held your hand in mine
We walked round a small lake to see geese fly
We sauntered, in a rhythm were aligned

Time had stopped, the geese in circles climbed
Then swept onto the path as we came by
When we walked I held your hand in mine

Like a natural god, the geese divine
Landed in their beauty with a sigh
We entered a new rhythm, were aligned

On the shining water geese in line
Float and hunt for food with little cries
When we walked I held your hand in mine

In our garden for your love I pine
I may never love another till I die
We sauntered, in a rhythm were aligned

God is on the mountain with his lyre
Singing of the beauty of desire
When we walked I warmed your hand in mine
We lived attuned to love until you died

Photo by E.L copyright

Wild Geese

Leaves have gone so suddenly
Small birds float on the wind
Like boats astride a choppy sea.
Their swaying soothes my mind.

Wild geese fly past at dusk again,
They head towards the North.
The holly berries glow in sun,
Nature gives joy birth.

I gaze intently at the sky,
The clouds hang dark and low.
If I too were a mere wild goose
I’d know which way to go

But I am left with only words
To find my destination.
Yet words do carry down to us
Wisdom from past generations

We use old words in unique ways.
We structure them to form
A new design not seen before
A new sentence is born

I send my words with love to you
I hope you safely catch them.
Give me answers from your heart
And I’ll do my best to match them.

A humorous old poem

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‘Twas but a reptile passing by.
It flew across the deep blue sky
Why do reptiles fly so high?
I’ll love you till I die.

“Twas but a cat under the moon.
Did you have a silver spoon?
Why can’t cats all waul in tune?
I’ll love you very soon

‘Twas but a wooden legged man,
Carrying a large brass saucepan.
Can men do what women can?
I’ll love you better than.

Why are adverbs?
What are nouns?
why do circuses have clowns?
I’ll love you lying down.

Where do dreams go in the day?
What game can we adults play?
Can you or can you not say?
I’ll love you,i n my way.

‘Twas but a verse that seemed so free.
It floated over my oak tree.
I have eyes but cannot see.
I’ll love you when I be

Raspberry canes that chuckle in the wind

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 as

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

Sunlight at Easter

The Easter sun came through the rich stained glass

A little child, illuminated,  passed.

The shining floor below the roof above

The glowing light a symbol of deep love

At this moment normal time had gone

Absorbed into the mysteries of the sun.

Then the child ran off, a cloud came by

Eternity has passed with just a sigh.

Little black tents the wombs of the night

The Bedouins, refugees from other times

The places were they live are still the same

But other people founded States and took

The deserts where they roamed ,ancestral nooks.

Ther little tents of black on the hillsides

Have not changed from Mediaeval times

But now they are like flies, unwanted guests

Who will know the tremor in their breasts?

Cruel is the heart of humankind,

The Commandments spat on daily by men blind.

The Bedouins of our spirit need to be

Allowed their space, allowed their deserts free

Nomads of the desert,Jesus Christ,

Nomad of the darkness in our minds

Deep in the ground the worms  drowse mixed with flowers

A day with my own self, such peaceful hours
The inner seas make music as they roll
And in the ground the worms air roots of flowers

The rain comes down in cold but gentle showers
Desiring  to  give moisture to all souls
A symbol of  the value of quiet hours

In Northern hills we looked for  Durham owls
They hunt by day to keep their bodies whole
While in the ground the worms air roots of flowers

My loved one was a native of those towers
Highcliff Nab and Hasty Bank  called home
My days with him a-wandering there for hours

As he died , deep in my heart I howled
I held his hands, remembered , paid the toll
While in the ground the worms digest  the sour

Lying in the heather  we had roamed 
May God  have mercy on his  homing soul
Now I enjoy   in reverie our hours
Deep in the ground the worms  drowse mixed with flowers

 

 

 

Floodlit Cathedral

From the miles of flatness and the fens

Comes the hill where this Cathedral stands

Everyone can see this floodlit site

When the moon is out and there is night.

I saw it through the window as I turned 

It’ struck me down with beauty never learnt.

As I lay surprised upon the stair

I absorbed the beauty I saw there 

Should we worship beauty such as this?

It strikes us with a hammer not a kiss

I think I’ve mislaid my soul

And studying engine ballistics.
but I saw the light.
At midnight one night.
Since when I’m enjoying the Mystics.

I read Meister Eckhart one year.
I found some little bits very clear.
I agree I am naught
In blindness am caught.
I am almost convinced I’m not here.

Doing the pruning is good.
Take off the dead bits of wood.
Oh,God prune my soul,
Help me to be whole.
I may even come into new bud.

Is God just a deep metaphor?
Do you really know who you are?
I was in my room
When a feeling of doom
Made me run straight into this bar!

I think I’ve mislaid my soul
I was washing it in this white bowl.
So well did I rinse,
I’ve not seen it since.
So how will I ever grow whole?

I think the detergent’s too strong.
I felt in my heart,suds were wrong.
A soul is too fine,
For modern design,
and especially for a very sharp tongue.

I always loved contemplation.
I can do it even while I’m waiting.
Life goes so fast,
From the first to the last.
I’ll meditate in your arms on the Station.
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