midsummer days evoke the trancelike past
where children played in joyous, daisied fields with buttercups so bright the memory lasts a freedom that our conscious growth will steal.
those stones and leaves and many coloured flowers
were gathered into images that glow yet later we forget those treasured hours when for a while we lived in life’s deep flow
we did not look and see,but felt at one
we lived as did the birds high in the trees now we write , experiencing has gone we cannot live like flowers filled with bright bees
to lose ourselves in nature is a joy
which to our adult selves we must restore
I’ve got liquid Quink on all my clothes
I thought that everyone would like to know I’ve got moth holes in my sweaters like small eyes But my winter coat is still almost alright I’ve had this coat for fifteen years,it’s brown It drapes quite well, the maker is renowned I must put it on to take a walk outside To see which plants have died and which survived My husband would be very shocked indeed My tights have gaping holes upon my knees The ink has penetrated to my vest God knows where that Quink will wander next If your clothes are damaged, do not cry At least 5,000 moths have learned to fly
Photo by Tom Swinnen on Pexels.com
This poem is written in the sonnet form,
And yet I have my doubts about its shape Though nearly to that structure it conforms There may be holes where nightmare faces gape.
It looks and speaks just as a sonnet would
And talks of metaphysical concerns. Do we conclude, as poets and readers should, That in our schizoid age we cannot learn?
For humans may be decked in clothes of wolves;
And lambs be dressed in lion’s fearsome furs. Thus, sense is tricked and problems are unsolved. Landscapes etched, yet details seem quite blurred.
It looks like one,it feels like one,it speaks;
Yet from these words, does human feeling leak?
The moment that they told me he was gone I knew I never more would be at one. The guilt is bad, the shame is harder still That I no longer am what I would will
That I did not perceive the your state of mind That to your heart I seemed to have been blind That I was not enough to keep you here That life and death most grievous are so near
Then shamed by my emotions I withdrew Into the prison cell that no-one knew My soul was pierced , I could not own my grief Limp, submissive , blown away, a leaf.
Shame is deadly, unexposed to speech With reddened face and faltering voice I weep
Now we’re used to hearing “fuck” and “shit” What words can we use to let off steam? Oh, what a twit omitting words like “twat” However will I have erotic dreams? Few words are forbidden in our books Little children learn to swear and scream On the television, some won’t look As words like this flow out in lengthy streams Lady Chatterley, you were the cause But what will be the affect and effect? Lawrence, you were eager to enjoy But who could know what others might detect?
think I shall say ” sorry” when I rage Would “lies and curses” draw more to my page?
ldeburgh,Sizewell,Dunwi ch Heath The nuclear bomb shall bring eternal peace Housed between the town and the Reserve Its blackness is ignored by little birds If force deters, then we shall all be saved Or this our world will vanish without trace Innocently playing on the shore Children find old marble unrestored
Birds may sense the blackness of our heartsed For, even though unused, the bombs take part They are here where Britten once composed And so the sanctuary ends unsaved,destroy In between the lover and his rose A screen electric in the silence glows
Do not rush about when under stress You may fall and bang your tender head With agitation caused by business
Rather than do more, we must do less Do it slowly till it’s time for bed Do not rush about when under stress
Do not ruminate nor second guess Grace is blocked,imagination led By agitation caused by business
Slowness leads some space, so slowness bless In tune with nature, not the words we read Do not rush about when under stress
If you are a hare,keep from excess If a tortoise,you’ll end up ahead No agitation caused by business
The lilies of the field by grace are fedh And so our hearts are when our burden’s shed Do not rush about when under stress With agitation causing grief to living flas
Astounded by love’s impact, my tears fell As if a door was opened up by you The reservoir of grief, the flooded bell, The marble on the shore, the hidden view. I stayed still and by you I was held In your golden cloud, I felt embraced You covered me with warmth,I was your child A candle in the gale,a shining face I was silent,I was even dumb They who see a face can not unknow Love is not a method nor a sum Nor can logic point the way to go Do not ask for knowledge or belief Do not ask reprieve from human grief
My heart and guts were stolen by a thief All I was became a frame for grief Extremities of bony hands and feet The shrinking brain now denser.distressed heat Umoving in this lethargy, I stared My head and body felt like they weren’t there A headless chicken runs though it be dead Motion in itself does not fool dread I gently felt my hands,I let them be My eyes were still closed to humanity My feet were trembling as they lay so flat I saw the slivers of the shattered glass
The glass had cut my skin,I felt despair Bring me stained glass windows and their prayers
Trapped in home made offices , we work Reading from our screens, no space for thought As we type ,our tender fingers hurt Not the copperplate that I was taught No commuting, no more fraught deceit Harder are affairs, no private door No more kisses unless they are quite fleet Just daydreams, which will come to be no more No walking to the station at sunrise No hour alone to read or look without All is known, where is the grand surprise? Where the room for thoughtlessness or doubt? Work from home but keep some private space Do not harm your friends, keep from disgrace
I love Picasso, it’s his line,you know How he evokes the movement fast or slow The sundered parts arranged in a new form The image still and yet depicting storms The unexpecting vision threw me down My mind was blown and I lay on the ground I heard no sound except for music lite For I was in a shop,not an art site I did not think I’d see great art in there My fences bypassed by such beauty bare The light of art burns into human souls May shatter or fragment, create new wholes Noone ever knew the blow I took When I saw with no intent to look
The clock electric does not need to tick The seconds pass unheard by any ear If you watch, the hands don’t seem to move Eternal is the memory of love So my life is passing as I write I see the seconds hand move fast as light The memories stored inside my brain,my mind Will influence all I do, will make designs When this my heart stops ticking like a clock The cells of all my body run amok Who will mourn for me when I am gone? The angst and joy of life will soon be done The golden numbers move in patterns bright The sun defeats the ogres of the night
I lingered in ambiguity like a bride Who fears disclosing that her face is fake And while we’re on the subject, I take pride In mixing water colours from the lake
Ambiguous in intentions we don’t know We send out signals full of world slass news If this rebounds an artist might then show Our vision centres on our point of view
Seventeen types of clarity are mine Fifteen from my mind and two from pride From this glass I make a view divine Though Sunday someone said they thought I lied.
Ambiguously enchanted, given bail We try to glimpse another through their veil
So you are gone who once declared your love
For that phantasm conjured in your mind For onto me you brought down from above A torment bitter and some words unkind.
Used to friendship from within your books
You did not understand that I was real Irritation grew as you did look; You threw your poisoned arrows at my heel.
What once you loved then you began to hate
If not perfect then intolerable I must be And then you cursed me with this sorry fate Our child was born and him you’ll never see.
Illegitimate and born in desert grey.
I carried him alone from death’s dark way.
Think of this, a weed still has its flowers They may be small, like ivy they may spread We must display ourselves, not cower Until the moment comes when we are dead
Does it matter that you hate my guts? That you dislike my face so pink and white? I am happy to deflect your bombs so hot The nuclear option seems so very trite
I am me and I may be a weed The definition falters as we talk Let us be judged by all our deeds The sparrow must be careless of the hawk
I no longer want your letters vile Be gone from me and you will make me smile
I walked across a desert grey and bleak
All alone, with nothing there to eat
I shuddered when I realised the truth
I was giving birth;I was refuse.
Cast out for some failing quite unknown
My baby was too small and I alone
A doctor with no face appeared and said
This baby died for he was never fed
He flung my baby to the heap of dead
I lay in the dirt, now red with blood
I had to leave or I would die of griefT
he will to live is stronger than a thief
I went to kiss my baby, then he smiled
He was still alive, my love,my child
Your absence from our home is a still a wound
A bruise upon my heart, a knock, a blow
A song that has no words nor any tune
That hovers in my ear,is loth to go
Yet I am glad I helped you to let go
I would not wish that you were here alone
But when the lake of tears still overflows
I wish that I could reach you on my phone
I am not lonely,I am missing you
Your tenor voice, your loving touch and words
The distance when you from the world withdrew.Seems to me, few voices I have heard.
Yet I accept all living creatures die
But why are widows not allowed to cry?
I heard the thud our cat made on the stair
But when I looked there was no creature there
Can our longing make us hear strange sounds;
Delusions,wish-fulfilment, breaking bounds?
I heard the wrens sing by the kitchen door
At least there is no cat to make them fewer
I want to make some tea but I feel stuck
I’ll fill the pan, while love my heart strings plucks
For aeons I feel I’m paralysed by grief
The caterpillars gnaw upon green leaves
I judge myself incompetent,too slow.
Yet would I judge another, wound with blows?
I feel half-way between the real, the dream
In reverie I’ll follow where love leads
Autumn time in Essex where we drove
When farmers burned the stubble of the corn
The earth itself was fiery like young love
The smokey air rose like a cloud new born
The Kentish landlocked cliffs are wide and steep
The farmers grow their grain on land beneath
And there too we have seen the holy fire
The flames and smoke arrest me with desire
The earth and soil, the harvest we find there
Give me joy both full of wheat or bare
Why did burning stubble make me glow?
These images affect the heart’s deep core
Now fires are banned., they damage our pure air
And I did not like the murder of the hare
Roman roads connected in straight lines
The cities they had built in wealthy times
The remains of one goes past my garden gate
Do ghosts of Roman legions pass at night?
I like to see connections,maps and roads
Others love old cities ,walls and moats
My road ran to Lincoln near the Wash
Migrating birds and swans go there to rest
Going South, there is the Pilgrim’s Way
Canterbury, Becket,murder, prayer
Julius Caesar, Deal, the Roman hordes
Boudicea, and her fighting Lords
Layers of history, meaning,love and death
Still we argue what should be our path
An ancient one roomed building was once home
Lit and warmed by fire,heat upward flowed
The smoke escaped through one small hole or “eye”
The winter wind would fight to get inside.
Like a human eye, it was a breach
The bones of head and face allow this reach
We must see out and not live all within
Wolves, those metaphors. might bite our skin
Enclosed spaces need selected gaps
Few would enjoy choking in a trap.
We need a way to breath, to see, to touch
Sophisticated means, this eye to watch
Sitting round the fire we hear Wind howl
Through the eye, we see the moon,our jewel
On a hilltop not so far from Rhyl
Mother took us to the Zoo as Mothers will
The wind was strong and cold, the air was harsh
Although it was in August, not in March
Vultures in enclosures chained by leg
Like convicts in a prison full of dread
When they vainly tried to get away
I felt their faith and hope dismayed
Who had chosen birds like these to show?
Even God himself would never know
Making people pay and children cower
When we got back to the station I was sick
What cruel minds played such a trick?
You smiled at me and then you disappeared
Flying skyward with no hint of fear
Stunned and left behind,I wept with shock
Deprived by death of one last lingering look
No kiss, no word of love,no last embrace
No colour and no pinkness in your face
I saw you fly as fast as hawks at prey
I held you in my heart ,I felt dismay
How could you leave me when I need you soCould you not remain till I too must go?
Death is sad,mysterious,unknown
Once lovers all complete and now alone
Silently at last we take the pain
We’re burnt by love and loss, that dual frame
No goods nor gold can cross the Styx
The boat is small, by water crushed
The boatman’s ready with his hand
He has no use for such dry land
The woman wrapped in winter clothes
Hindered by the mist that rose
She weeps, she leaves her home and man
The dark mind showed her where to come
Her husband stood beside her bones
In his loss, he softly groaned
He wept and wept and did not eat
His world entranced by ice and sleet
Nothing’s quite as sad a sight
As old men crying in the dark
The clouds hang out together like bored girls
Until they form a shield with greasy curls
The radio mumbles on about the old
As if we are unable to be bold
Do we not have courage as we age
When we have laid our dear ones in their grave?
We edge our way downstairs to make the tea
Sit in bed,imagine we’re at sea
Children play their games and so may we
The bed a boat,the sky as wide as eyes
Where is the navigator, do we drift?
Eclipsed our passage through the soft soft mist
If life’s a Play then we may take our part
To hypnotise the audience and their hearts
The day his mother died he’d cut his arms
With bits of pointed glass like frosty nails
The blood had stained his shirt, yet made him calm
He did not like to make a scene or wail.
The day his mother died he sat alone
Wondering what to eat or who to call
Above him was hot sky, a blue, blue dome
Below the earth where very soon she’d fall
The day his mother died he hugged his catShe alone gave comfort without blame
His eyes were silent,still and very black
What hope, what help, where is the nameless Name?
The day his mother died he went to sleep
To dream and wander in the deepness deep
Everything is whirling round my mind,
The lack of government , the words unkind
That the poor are short of food and clothes
We deny it, everybody knows
Sudden gusts of wind mock these old trees
Does the lure of nature disappear
When the butterflies have gone away
Yet the stinging wasps are here to stay?
Once tortured now abandoned refugees
Can’t make phone calls, have no mental ease
We make our own defences into walls
We do not want to hear their their poignant calls
Oh,Lord God take the beam from out my eye
I want to know the worst before I die
The sun sinks but it burns like a great fire;
All the sky’s aflame with fierce intent;
Who thinks of death as weakness, is a liar
Before the end our glory must be spent.
The graphics of the branches look Chinese
As blackened brush is drawn across red silk
Infinite yet countable my days
Running like a river without silt
Thus I am not transcendent in myself
But joined to all that lives I feel I am.
In conjunction we will find our health
Ambivalence contains both lion and lamb.
The fire of orange leaves me with a glow
As into night I with all creatures go