Category: sonnet

Green flowers

 The  bowling green, the clack of ball on ball 
Across the grass as perfect as  the dawn
We sit down on a bench,new painted too
Lumpy paint  but good enough to do

Round the edge, the dahlias  bloomed  like suns
No irony was meant nor overcome.
Goldenrod, geranium were bold
The earth was   hot and rich in summer’s hold

Past virgin rhodedendrons , children  played
Swings and see-saws, all somewhat decayed
Painted with the same paint as the bench
I saw my father fall, I felt the wrench

Where shall we sit, my sweetheart, by the lawn?
I have lost your face. my heart lies torn

Choice

Shall I be one of those who get no care
The framework of the doctors’  thoughts  lies bare
Who can say migrainous hearts  are weak
Who  has  got a  heart valve which might leak?

Since I see the world throught just one eye
Will that be enough to let me die?
My thyroid gland is fading as I age
I do not have the  energy for rage.

We have no rights from God [ is he a  lie?]
Kant’s Imperative  deserves a try
If I’m looking pale  or even sad
That does not mean I  wish that I were dead

Austerity was  hardest for the poor
Now the Graveyard waits, there is no cure.

Words or sin

The paradox  of praise is that we’re judged
Yet how can judgement place us on a dot
The eye is wet, the dropped tear is a smudge
A line in-finite,  dense with its own spots

Whether beauty of the body-mind
Or depth of thought,  now hanged by awe
Where many alien eyes look out unkind
And noone knows what we each saw

How can we be ranked on things long passed
Yet  not forget the lessons  we took in?
We sat  matric in school while Jews were gassed
With children  backward, queers and gypsy kin

We learned to  read the maps we  now live in,
Forget the world is more than words and sin

Wallflowers,wild as eyes are when sincere

I remember Charmouth and the cliffs
A piece of land had broken  off and tipped
On this island rabbits sang and danced
We stood high above.amused , entranced.

We walked  the Devon side and came to Beer
Saw wallflowers wild as eyes are when sincere
On the cliff mixed in with weeds perfumed
Above  the sky hung  silent like  the moon

The Baker’s shop. the little stream the path
The innocence of love,unknown the wrath
The hope of being healthier and strong
The  hope that my own heart  had not been wrong

O beauty, where are you when I am old
My husband  in his his grave, why am  I cold?

Ecstasy can’t last,can’t be pursued

Maybe Meghan  knew we’d have a storm
A hurricane of doubt,  the leaders scorned
She’s back in Canada, I wish I were
Seeing Leonard Cohen every where

A thousand kisses deep may be too much
Especially  for those who’re unrehearsed
The tower of song is just a maisonette
Joan of Arc burns as she pirouettes

Suzanne  bore his children then she left
She fell out of  love, he was bereft
Poets need their time alone to muse
Ecstasy can’t last,can’t be  pursued

We still lose  the space to enjoy dreams
While up above our leader stands and screams

A cruel hill

We measure walls and windows and the rain
But not the patterns painted on  the  pane
We measure flour and butter and  the tin
But not the love with which we mix them in

There is  no  linear scale in human  minds
Where you are up above and I’m behind
Complexity and wisdom  intertwine
No measure seems quite apt  for those who’re blind

There’s something  Nazi in  the way we rank
The industry of measurement now stinks
Every human  is a  unique  world
Yet into the abyss , they might hurled

We do  not   get perfection as we kill
The Christs who stumble up   their cruel hill

Make my heart into a cottage pie.

Make my heart into a cottage pie.
Already it is minced and lies estranged
My   enemies insult me with their lies
And my last will and testament is made.

An onion and a carrot chopped up fine,
Saute  with these my heart till  all are gold
With herbs and spices I will taste divine
A mashed potato will a rooftop mould.

Do not forget my blood to use as sauce
Though now it’s cold, with garlic  make it boil.
For what is gravy but the blood of lamb
With  sliced  onion  fried in olive oil?

O foes and devils eat me and you’ll be
Transformed into  myself, your enemy

Continue reading “Make my heart into a cottage pie.” →

This treasure

Absenting ourselves from presence in this life
Glued onto the pictures in our minds
It neither matters if  we wish for strife

Or whether they fill needs of better kind.

We know that wish fulfilment comes in dreams
And also in our fantasies by day
When anxious worry fills our mind with schemes
Guilt and shame impede us from our play.

Creative thought requires the loss of self,
And needs our empty soil to plant its gifts
So throw out selfish fancies for this wealth
We’ll let ourselves  go slow, so minds can shift

To waste our days in suffering or false pleasure
Will lose for us this vital, vivid treasure

Then opening  like a smile 

Forsythia  hangs ,oh flexible and flowered
A wig of  natural hair by breezes stirred
A budded branch  has caught my face and eye
While squirrels laugh from woodpiles yet unburned

We are sick but garden flowers will come
Pushing shoots into the mad March air
So eager to find light, to  patterns grow
Then opening  like a smile  its flowers to share

Now  my friends are all awayI’m sad
I see  the falls by Buttermere  in dreams
Not the mills and dirt of my  home town
In Buttermere we first saw those clear streams

Silence  has its joys and  lets us  hear
The  still, small voice, the whisper. the blessed ear

I wonder who you are and feel for you

So many people read on WordPress blogs
Many write their own  words down as well
From different countries  all across the world
What the effect is nobody can tell

But  is  it  so  surprising that  all words
Written with a true and thoughtful heart
Can bind together  those of us who care
And  so from cruel Wars we may depart

From Vietnam and China  from Finland
From Maryland,Brasilia,Peru
From   Rome, from Jordan and from Palestine
I wonder who you are ,I care  for you

The mystery is the goodness  we can share
Yet always there’s a darkness in the air

 

Fear of illness

The wasted years  of  our uncivil war
Continue as we fight for toilet rolls
All too soon will come the blood and gore
The bulls escape,we trained no matadors

Tins of soup and packets of  dried meat
Fly from shelves  to baskets as we queue
Fear has grasped  our throats  with its deceit
The faces of the old are  turning blue

Still there is a palace on the hill
A forest where the princes ride  each day
Doused by rumour,fear  that watchers kill
What worth is there in  turning now to prayer?

Stupid and corrupt  we miss our lives
Our children cry,  our  heartfelt anguish writhes

Where God’s in hell

The sadness of the television world
Where actors have no character to share
Where all is flat and perfect but unreal
Where God’s in Hell,  and yet it is concealed

The sadness of a toddler with a phone
Eyes near focussed like he is alone
Where he can see a Zoo in Montreal
Or hear hyenas  as they  make their calls

The sadness as we toss out ancient books
And never teach our children  how to cook
The imaged food is perfect in   young eyes
But when we live on that I think  we die

The sadness  when our neighbours  have blind eyes
The sadness as our culture slowly dies

Over burned spaghetti and red wine

God has made men suffer making me
As beautiful as morning by the sea
Because I’m only interested in maths
I have long since left the garden path

I never look in mirrors  or deep ponds
Narcissus eat your heart out in ferns’ fronds
I  never used to wonder how I looked
When my eyes were glued on a textbook

What irony that men would love me so
I   thought myopia  would  make them shy
I thought they’d like to talk  of Wittgenstein
Over burned spaghetti and  red wine

But now I’ve learned how beautiful I looked
Lying on the sofa with a book
Alas it is too late for any more
I see the edge of Heaven by the door

God  may seem ironic, it’s a test
I may kiss you once if you insist

Touching

I let my entire being take you in
Surround you like  it were second skin
I made an astral cloak to give your peace
Where I could  share the burden and release

How hard it is to find the  words that say
How we live and die  afresh each day
When we  get a foothold on the hill
We must not hurry , pressed on by  our will

Every instant,every time we breathe 
Eternal life  is here, we’re not deceived
God appears and disappears ,he flames
The Burning Bush, the  prophet and their rage.

Enlightenment  comes after we  have crossed
The  avenues of suffering   and  the cost

The churchbells shuddered

When God came down , the rivers overflowed
Great trees were floating ,angled and exposed
The houses broke up like a loaf to crumbs
The hearts of humans  trembled  till they hummed

The winds deceived, the gusts unmeasured stung
The churchbells shuddered then untimely rang
The power was cut and all our screens were dark
Where were the rulers, where the saving Ark?

The women  giving birth were paralysed
The babies in the womb took ill and died
Their cradles rocked the world,  they swung so fast
And in a moment all of life had passed

In the void, God started  his new  world
Rich and strange,  the grit and then the  pearls

 

No words

If we had no language,we’d be good
No communication but by sense
What devil conjured up the  demon word 
Made our dealings complex and intense?

No Tower of Babel, nothing but mud huts
Caressing,kissing,kicking,  real contact
Boxing,wrestling,killing the unjust
No law except the fist. no guilt.no wrack

No religion but  a sense of awe
The rising sun, the moon, the distant stars
Oh,bow before the Cedar and the Oak
Anything that is taller than we are

No  books, no news no media,no war
It makes me wonder what live words are for

Banal to hide the strife

Wandering roung the local brancb of Boots
Shall I buy  a moisturising cream
Maybe Astral, or E45 ?
Many choices, who  can bear to dream?

Shall I wear  red lipstick  dye my hair
Boots or shoes, a skirt or velvet shorts
Trousers of black wool  or  sky blue tights
Shall I keep the baby or abort?

Shall I take an M.Sc. in Art?
What about my car,shall I replace?
Which man shall I marry or repulse
Will the baby  now have  grown its face?

Underneath the common wastes of time
The real concerns are pushed out from the mind

 

Happiness was 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

The astral body

Tenderly I held him  took him in
As though we touched each other skin to skin
Dying is what everyone must do
Even when it splits the Me from You

What we took for granted  every day
Had its end like any mortal’s play
The length of life is just enough to lie
It’s not here forever, don’t you cry

We are on no plateau   but a slope
Slight at first, so we don’t  see and note
Gently we are led to where it ends
Beautiful and foolish  like ourselves

How can we be split when we are one?
In deep darkness dies the winter sun

Like babies

Sunday dinner. roasted  spuds and meat
Yorkshire puddings, gravy,pepper,salt
These are what the English like to eat
Though microwaves  may bring it to  a halt

Roly poly,syrup sponge and cream
Apple dumplings,marmalade on toast
Men adore hot puddings gently steamed
Though who will  have the time to be a host?

Now we buy sponge puddings ready made
Bread and butter custard ,raisins,hot
How did  women manage in past days?
Spotted Dick, brown sugar,that’s the lot

We seem to love the sweet yet we are rude
Still like babies, ignorant  and confused

The labour and the  hurt that life will cure

I found a pair of knickers on the chair
They must be mine,oh dear, that is bizarre
I did not take them off,I am quite sure
They make the entire room seem quite impure

Yet why are knickers   thought to  be like porn
When they adorn the  place where life is born?
If you  hung the washing out to dry
You might see an angel in the sky

Most of us traversed the  holy path
We suffered pain but hope it did not last
Mothers too have struggled and endured
The labour and the  hurt that life will cure

The simplest items, pretty, well designed
Tomorrow I shall hang them on the line

Beyond

Of Genocide.  who could sing or write
Just silence,impossible and stark
Yet was transmuted in a   poet’s mind
Into a dance of final light and dark

Walking to their death by Mozart’s  sound
Their special prayers were offered,what great trust
In Cohen’s mind   the source of love  engraved
Like Job  before, he knew the sacred dust

Mysterious is the Lord with his demands
Christians went to  Mass, reviled the  Jews
Few of us  will suffer, understand
Past pure reason ,feeling…God  help who?

Beyond  that flickering  candle  flame called God
We see the shadows lost, we see the Dead.

Awesome  now means  medium at best

Rubbish is  just something we don’t need
Or something  not worth mending   we believe
Where nonsense may be foolish talk or jest
Or English humour at its lethal best

There is no Judge, it’s people who decide
Whether it is nonsense to deride
The  message of the media  online
Which like the Consecration, is divine

Awesome  now means  medium at best
That is, you have barely passed the test
What a lot of stupid people say
Appears on someone’s T shirt the same day

Nonsense can give pleasure,make us loose
Sometimes it can make us feel confused.

O wounded heart

O wounded heart,I cannot heal your pain
I shall bear it  as it still  remains
But why should I forgive  the one who broke
My tender  heart, my love and all I wrote/

The pride of men, the  anger soon provoked
The  cruel emails and  the  words he spoke
Why can’t we be kinder, more aware
Yet God himself was  killed,  who can compare?

The sadist drawn to those  who seem less strong
Will find  a dozen reasons  to do wrong
They  know their own pain not  the pain they cause
Some will kill  despising land and law

We  choose life despite these cruel  acts  
We ‘ll do well if we can live with tact

What nonsense

Writing nonsense is extremely hard
Writing rubbish verses can annoy
Nonsense has some style, some meaning too
Gyre and gimble till the spies  find you

Read aloud it makes me laugh and cry
Borogroves are woods where mancipes die
Wabe is like  the sea, its rappling  gorm
Please put  your wrong name upon  a form

Why not  stroke A Rest for Oxford now
Lie down in a stunt without a cow
The rivers   bring  down water from  the  hills
Why God put the springs there, we can’t tell

Read a little Alice for your heart
Through the mirror is the wiser part

Rain

I’d like to melt into the slanting rain
Be mist or fog so I  may feel less pain
The   raindrops on the window tun like tears
Who is weeping,  has some death occured?

The strange eugenicist  just hired  has  gone
According to his thinking he’s not won
We’ve heard of racial purity before
This opens up a deathlike dangerous door

When I’m rain I’ll  have no need to  think
Into the earth with all  the past I sink
No more to  hear the News of  Government
The newspapers each  rotting  with dissent

Words in print are given special powers
We  think we’d   like  the truth but  we are cowards

We see what we expect

We are not false and neither are we true.
We’re not propositions,I’m not you
We have our different selves which are displayed
In our manner  and in what we say

To the teacher we may be polite
To a shy young man we show our heart
With the priest we feel  the breath of God
Dying on his Cross misunderstood

We see what we expect not what is here
Eyes are muddled by our wish  and fear
We need each other so that we can share
Perceptions and emotions we can’t bear

Getting new ideas we can grow
Don’t think we just know it  all,t’ain’t so

In silent peace we humans pray

He explained to me that blossom trees are good
Submitting to God’s will as Muslims should
With reverence they shake their flowers and leaves
Like  butterflies  on thread s and at their ease

How should  we know what act is the best
But  the  God of all will help us through our tests
He shows himself in many different ways
In silent peace we humans pray or gaze

None must   cultivate  a bitter heart
Nor retaliate too quickly  when we smart
What we do comes back to us at last
Be merciful,  for all of us face tests

Now the blossom  shows despite the winds
All can see it ,even those who’ve sinned

 

This  poem was a inspired  by a cab driver from Bangla Desh

Inward

My eyes look inward as I concentrate
I’ve lost my glasses,camera and my mate
When I forget to mourn,I lose  far more
When I weep again,they are restored

I am not present to the world of sense
Attention will be paid, it is intense
Gathering wordless cues  to guide my mind
As  by  flame,by  fire I am refined

What I seek I cannot tell in words
It would make no sense  to those who heard
I will know it when it comes to me
The  jade and turquoise wreckage of the  sea

When the time is right I’ll tell my tale
Until then I  hide,I wear a veil

My cat Ben

The first cat,Ben, was tabby, with great eyes
On Sundays we took him riding in  our  car
I used to wrap him in  a woollen scart
For he was very small and very blyth

Ben grew  up so he went out all night
Hunting round the flats for  mice  or hens
Cat suck eggs and don’t care who or when
They run and hunt until the sun arrives

No doubt they  find a mate to  play with, as one might
Father kittens, scatter their seed wide
Ben followed me into the road at five
A rushing car hit my dear cat, Ben died

Soon  my husband’s father went as well
We could not cry, for dried up was the well

The storm

The rain  has hit on my windows   with great force
Like the horns of bulls  toss bloody matadors
The Spanish rites acquaint us with  our lacks
For in the end we by a horse are dragged

The bull is strong with open fearsome eyes
But in the end it  is the bull that dies
Helplessly  he runs and he rotates
Strength and helplessness are not good mates

The matador takes risks to taunt the beast
From a snack  he  makes us a great feast
Better to   be eaten by a  man
Than make a meal for worms  when death has come

Men may claim they’re strong and great and  pure
In the end it’s  wits that have most power