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My heart is soft like butter left in sun.
Much more heat and it will melt and run Oh, why do we have feelings,why engage When friendship turns into such bitter rage? I do not wish to live remote and stern As if I am so perfect I can’t learn Pain too deep can mortify the flesh Turn us into robots fit for trash
All I need is an enormous fridge Which will make me harder than sweet fudge I’ll go inside and pray for peace each day If I freeze to death,I shall not say.
Oh, be of merry heart,my friends and foes
When love comes in, a little hate will go
A strange comingling of the mills and moors
Green of nature,smoke from chimneys glowers While sheep graze their wool is touched by smoke But higher up the ground is bare of hope
Peering down I recognise the view
Rows of terraced houses share a loo Women wear their aprons with panache Boys are playing,give or take a bash.
Miners walking home with faces black
Painters with their ladders and their sacks Little girls are skipping with their ropes Cats are watching idly, kittens mope
Which way shall we go, we must decide
The green hill with no walls, the red brick eyes?
Unconscious of our cruelty, we sin
Yet pride ourselves as worthy and refined Those who know themselves are modest souls Who do to those around them little harm
Blinded to our our faults we strut about
Causing pain to others, oh what charm If we break the rules,we have no doubts From our errors we can never learn
So I look on your insults and smile
Self image admits nothing makes a change I shall not keep your sentences in files Unlike dried flowers in vases well arranged Yet though you now evade a little pain Your company will never be the same
No rought beast shall slouch to Bethlehem
There is no track or pattern to our fate Once Jesus’ feet were bathed by Magdalen Now communities of love disintegrate. The world does fall apart, the centre’s gone There is no named War, but armies kill Or single, abject men who carry guns On other nearby folk will shoot at will There seem to be no ” better” sort of men But all lack much conviction,common good They follow gold with bent accountant’s pen Calvin’s “way to heaven”, Noah’s flood
Now there is no road nor path nor beast
Confusion,chaos,populism will feast
When soft winds blow and air strokes our bare skin .When days are long like melodies of youth, when light wakes up the soul from out her sin Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth? When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown; When water’s short and all the ground’s forlorn Then do not meet disaster with a frown, For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born .When winter’s here and all is quiet and still And nothing seems to move or grow or speak Then we shall learn the limits of our will When through the soil the first green shoots will break .For seasons change and actors come and go. Yet through such changes, life is what we know
Now speaks the earth of spring and all its joys.
Now flowers and blossom soothe our lonely eyes.
So happy are the lovers, girls and boys,
As in the daisied meadows they may lie.
Now speaks the sun and makes us want to grow
to open like the flowers for his love
To let the life within us start to flow.
With blessings sent down to us from above.
Now every part of nature is in flood
Fresh leaves point down from trees to holy nests
The birds are active in this little wood,
And dwelling on the tree branch breast to breast.
Oh let’s not waste time glued to inner thoughts.
For we may miss the joy which spring has brought
Since you died I learned to use a crutch I have noone to lean on, none to touch I wanted you to die with kindly ease Now I miss another I could tease
Noone knows what was our special trees Nor why the pain of loss dwells in my knee As if I cannot stand or wait alone Dark earth is softer than these paving stone
The trees you loved my neighbours see as weeds I shan’t recite a list of their misdeeds Others gossip of my coloured coats A widow’s weeds aren’t teal, they grin, they gloat Before you went I saw the cloth of gold Coming down from heaven to enfold Then it rose, its satin thick and pure Taking you away, yet life endures
The emptiness, the void, the loss, the paine The crash severe we know is for ordained
In the evening. simmering handkerchiefs
Perfumed the air with odours I can’t tell Mother scrubbed them, hung them on the line Then I had to iron them, folded well
Now we have our tissues, we don’t need
Hankies that need scrubbing many times The oceans deep are poisoned with our waste Is the use of tissues a new crime?
While we did our homework after tea
My brother liked his Wagner at full blast Imagine learning Latin with that din Now the time for anger has long passed
Bad memories change by newly given grace
Evoking hints of mother and her face
In this so called office,I am trapped
Trying hard to write and to adapt I have numerous pens in this my cell Reminding me of school, the longed for bell
Ten past four, we put on winter clothes
I crossed the Park in fog, it wet my nose Walking down our street I’d see the cat Sitting on the pavement, Ginger spat
I put the kettle on to make our tea
The coal glowed low and red like elves in glee The aluminium teapot never broke The kettle had turned black , the milk was smoked
I had that tiny piece from others free
That was when I learned that I am Me
In the birdbath filled by summer rain
I saw the baby wood pigeon again So safe the garden, birds became quite tame Secret,silent, sweet,no cats, it kept me sane The bird was washing,splashing all about With darted glances,so few I could count Then it flew up into a large tree Holly,maple, apple,I could see Though it’s winter, sunshine makes me dream Gazing through the window at this scene Sap is stirring,rising in soft light Making these bare branches a new sight
Love came down and lit up this,my heart
Then the grace of being made its start
How softly sweetly,gently flowers pose Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose. Intricate the petals that should shield Yet bees with striped force shall make them yield. Appearances,both natural and contrived, Mixed with the wiles of human nature thrive. As, knowing not, we pluck the apple rare And bite its flesh,with teeth we burn to bare. We too deceive the innocent who pass Not seeing watchers hid behind the glass. The windows break,the deep earth quakes; Seized is the maiden ,he her virtue takes .Beneath the surface,force and fierceness thrive. What fearsome, burning God enjoys our lives?
Lying in the heather with you,love
The world below,the cliff edge of the hills Swainby,Stokesley, Stockton,Saltburn sea Happy, free, still unaware of bills The butterflies, the little flower bells The scent of honey and the Yorkshire bees I see your face as clear as it was then But you have crossed the Styx and not the Tees Yet still I feel your arms that held me near I see you smile , so happy to be wed We hitched a lift right to Osmotherly The entire hill seemed like a marriage bed There is a place where that sweet day exists I take your hands and kiss your inner wrists
The future unpredictable as gas Its fictions must be written by our hands On tablets with the clarity of glass Which crack like bones dried out on foreign sands
The prophets’ meanings , unnnamed, cannot pass The sentences bind stories till they blend The whispers and the excess of his blasts Till all are crucified by loss of sense
The arches of the heavens will surpass The golden eye ,the mind its telescope Then all at once humanity is trash The microcosm, a particle escaped
Will Evil change our hearts till blood is brass The valves are closing, polished into death
As music went and silence overwhelmed As in deep despair, I thought to end When nothing seemed to help me on on my way Perhaps I’d lost the track and so must pay Empty now of thought and of desire The vision of the darkness without fire The utter loss of any help at all From the depths, my heart cried out appalled Expecting nothing, hoping even less A fire of gold appeared to hold,caress And tears rained down my face from eyes amazed While in my flesh I felt caressed and saved I bowed my head in assent to this good The crucified, the lost, have understood
Katherine May 30, 2018
A mood of stillness like a quiet dove
A lack of wind, vast silence gives repose Symbolises blessings from above.
My trees mature now form a holy grove
The sorrow ruling me has been deposed To give me stillness with the nesting dove
In such moods, there’s space to think, compose.
To learn the ways of energy and love Symbolised by blessings from above.
In the crowded Mall, the shoppers shove
The special mood of peace I fear eludes We lose the sense of silence and the dove
In public life, we quarrel and oppose
We lose the way to our fine treasure trove We lose the symbols and the deep repose.
Give me your hand without its heavy glove
As we caress, we value human love. A mood so stilled, oh, fluttering of the dove No wind to destroy peace nor rain to flood
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
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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?