Category: story

Do not ask



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

She tried to smother me


I dreamed she tried to smother me one night
I had had suspicions with deep roots
I screamed ad yelled and kicked her, as one might

Then she tortured me with brilliant light
As her minions climbed down from the roof
I dreamed she tried to smother me, alive

She looked so ugly, she gave demons fright
I wished I were a donkey kicking hoof
I screamed and yelled,confused ten megabytes

Her muscles strong, her grip was over tight
I tried to crash her laptop, no re- boot
I dreamed she tried to smother me last night

I wished I were a tiger with cruel bite
Or God whose name to angels was a proof
I screamed and shouted 999, please write

She was more sadistic than astute
She gave me pain, this action her debut
I dreamed she tried to cut me off last night
The two pint flask saved tea, my perfect right

We still stand on shifting sands

We walked on sea shores with our mates
Though wide  oceana separate
Now we’re abandoned on the  shores
By  the loves we’ll see no more

We  still stand on shifting  sands
Expecting , needing, helping hands
But most people walk on by
And we’re too afraid to cry

Lost in places we once knew
But recognised by  very few
Our eyes  look out but do not see
Filled by tears we can’t set free

Shall we stay here evermore
Hoping lovers we adored
Are on their way back to their home
As slowly, sadly, we still roam?

The  sturdy walls that bear the sky
Have been shattered from on high
And  feeling smaller than the snails
We hear the long lost sea winds wail

Oh, weep for  him and me, wide seas
Embrace  our souls  in   your salt breeze
See the  crushed and broken shells
Hear the tolling of the bells

Connections,maps and roads

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

One tear

A silver tear rolled lonely as sliced moon
Down my pallid cheek  and wet my lip
Your loss turned me to sadness and damp gloom

My future  seemed, not promising, but doomed
The icy nails of death gave me a nip
A little tear rolled lonely as lost moons

Yet, in my mind, I heard L Cohen’s tunes
“There ain’t no cure for love” on this our trip
Your loss turned me to sadness ,clouds of gloom

Yet soft, deep darkness  need not lead to doom
Come,I’ll take a lover, board a ship
A starry tear rolled lonely as   new moon

I will  love,I ‘ll seek  for new  hope soon
Will I descend to stealing from a skip?
Your loss sent me to sadness like a room

I  need no LSD to take a trip
My open senses give me what I miss
A silver tear rolled lonely as cruel moon
Your loss turned me to beauty,life resumes

 

 

My first attempt: wind and eye

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

 

Entertainment,sadism, power

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
Entertainment,sadism, power
Making people pay  and  children cower

When we got back  to the station I was sick
What cruel minds  played such a trick?

They miaow in Hebrew,Mary said loftily

Created with Nokia Smart Cam

  • Stan awoke feeling very thirsty.
    My, this bed is much  too hard,he thought.
    He put out his hand and felt some wood not far away.It was his desk.Emile was lying on Stan’s stomach purring.
    You fell out of bed,the little cat miaowed.Luckily I clung on with my claws and I am ok sleeping down here….I can see  mice better.
    Well,it’s not ok with me,Stan informed him gently.
    How can I get up from here?
    He picked up the Cambridge Companion to Sylvia Plath and banged on his desk softly.
    Mary was awake and heard a strange sound.She  found Stan lying on the floor with his head by his desk.
    Emile wanted to sleep by the wall,you see.,he told her.
    Then he rolled over and I fell out.

     

    http://youtu.be/pT9CdnfFET8

    That is logically and scientifically mad,Mary told him.
    Surely Emile is not so big that his weight was enough to knock you out of the bed?
    It is against the law of gravityAnyway,why don’t you get up?
    I like it  down here,the old man lied to her optimistically.
    Rubbish,Mary said,then she picked up the phone and rang 999.
    Hello,she said.My cat is very upset as he feels guilty for pushing my  aged husband out of bed.
    How terrible for you,the man answered.I’ll send an ambulance right away.
    Mary opened the front door and left it unlatched whilst she lit the electric lights with a match.
    How do you feel now  Stan,she enquired tying her  red polyester fleece dressing gown a bit tighter before the paramedics arrival
    I am thirsty,give me some brandy,he ordered her politely as he was  full of kindness
    They said not to let you or Emile drink or eat
    Blooming ridiculous,he told her in a manly fashion.
    Soon the ambulance arrived and the paramedics were running up the stairs to see the poor cat. Mary fainted so they laid her on the bed whilst they comforted Emile and cleaned his paws.Then they picked up Stan and laid him right next to Mary,his wife.
    Why don’t you have a bigger bed,one asked Stan.
    Bigger than what,he responded academically.
    Well,if you were any fatter you’d not be able  to lie next to your wife.
    True,he replied but my wife is too large.I keep hoping she will lose weight.
    I shall make you some tea the female paramedic told them forcefully
    Well,you don’t seem to be hurt,the other one told Stan, but the cat may need therapy or counselling because of the guilt he will feel.
    He’s not  a Catholic ,I hope?
    No, he’s Jewish,Stan shouted  implausibly.
    That’s alright then.How do cats get to be Jewish anyhow?
    It’s their souls,Mary said…they are all waiting up there for a suitable place to be reborn and some choose to be cats.
    But how can you tell? he asked wonderingly.They have no prayer shawls
    They miaow in Hebrew,Mary said loftily.And they like to sing the psalms before bed.
    But how do you  know it’s Hebrew,he replied.Do you speak it?
    No, it’s just he hates bacon and pepperoni and always wears a hat so it seems he must be one of Jesus’s friends,but not Judas of course.I suppose Jesus wore a hat but it’s never been found as yet.Not even being sold as a relic.

    .http://youtu.be/8SCorW9r_Is

    Well,that’s intriguing.Do you think Emile might be the Messiah?
    Oh,dear.We never thought of that.Will he have to go to Galilee and catch fish and walk on water?
    No, he can go to Rome and tell the Pope that the Church is not what God planned.
    I hope they don’t kill him,Mary cried sadly.
    God will not be very happy.
    I didn’t know God had moods,Stan said.
    He has post-creative depressive disorder….no wonder when we look round the world.
    Still they did try,I’ll say that for him or her.
    And so say all of us.
    For he’s a very good yeller,he’s a very good yeller
    A cat’s life is a fuss.Miaow.

The strange world of Stan

K 
Art by Katherine

While Mary boiled the kettle in the new greenish blue painted kitchen,Stan smacked his thick red lips.
“I thought we said, we’d have no more corporal punishment,” she murmured loudly.”
Why did you smack your lips just now?”
“Well,I can hardly smack yours” he said politely
“But we said no more smacking at all yesterday”
“I just like the noise” he confessed, turning as red as a stalk of ripe rhubarb.
“Sado-masochism may be fun, but after reading,Fifty Glades of Fray,I thought we said we’d abandon it”
“Well,why don’t we abandon ourselves to our bodies or divine providence?” he answered curiously.
“I am unsure if one can do that on purpose or if it just happens whilst doing something else.”
“Elser than what?”
“I dunno” the Oxgrudge educated woman replied sheepishly .
“The Government didn’t give you a three year research grant so you’d say,I dunno” Stan told his slender and silver haired wife and lover.
“Well,that’s their problem.Three years studying Searat’s equation did nothing for my spoken English” the brilliantly brained brown haired and eyed bonny bosomed  beauty told him shrewdly.
“Well,are there rats in the sea?
“I dunno”
“So who wrote the equation?” Stan asked her.Immediately in a peevish tone
the door bell rang.
“Hello,Mary,It’s me” cried Annie their naughty neighbor and man magnet
“No,it’s not”
“What do you mean?”
“You never invented Searat’s equation”
“Pardon me for living,”Annie answered rudely.
”I prefer peeling potatoes to this noisy argument.”
“I never knew potatoes pealed”
“Yes,it’s like little bells ringing” Mary informed her kindly
Oh,for God’s sake,”Stan shouted quietly,”that’s Emile’s bell ringing so the birds can escape from him”
The women went red all over with shame.Annie ran into the kitchen and poured a bucket of cold water over her head.
It’s this hot weather;it’s too much.I need a man now!I am mad with desire.
No,it’s just that mid life madness coming too late,she told herself gently
It’s too hot to make love anyway.
Why you must be getting old,she remarked to herself confidently
Heat never turned you off before.Why you once said you’d lie down in the road and sleep with the next man who passed by.
Unfortunately he passed by on the other side,just like in the Bible.
But in my case no Samaritan came to my aid.
“Am I having a mental breakdown/” she shouted pensively
“No,it’s me” Stan told her,I am trying to stop Mary smacking her lips but it is hard work. and it has create a bad atmosphere.”
“Is it wrong to smack your own lips?Can you morally smack someone else’s?” Annie said wonderingly
“Why do you ask me that?”
“Well,it seems lots of things are wrong if one does them alone but are moral if you do it with someone else or to someone one else”
“I just have no idea what you are talking about,”Mary called valiantly.
“Make me some tea.My lips are parched!”she continued
“No wonder,”said Stan vivaciously
Well,thought Emile,I am glad cats have no lips.That’s one thing less to worry about.
He sat up and drank some tea from his china saucer
Stan and the ladies sat quietly on the patio watching the birds flying about.
“Do birds ever get obese?”Mary asked.But answer came there none.
Night fell and they all went to bed together,Emile says there is safety in numbers and I find thirty is a safe number to share my bed.I write 30 on a postcard and pop it under my pillow.With my dentures and my hanky and four mobile phones
I seem to manage the night.

And so shout all of us

I forgave him everything last year

My brother kindly set my hair on fire
He stole my food  from off the plate   or floor
So for a man I  had repessed desire

He took me fishing in a pond close by
I loved him very much,indeed adored
My brother madly set my hair on fire

We went in  disused brick kilns, we were spies.
Of his company  I never  tired
Yet for  new men I feel not much desire

Now his time has come and soon he’ll die
I forgave him everything last year
His voice is weak, he thanked me  and I cried

I did not plan forgiveness  nor to lie
“God ” filled  me with love ,  our lives restored
Yet for new brothers I   feel  some  desire

Who left Daddy’s matchsticks near my boy?
He could  not know he would destroy my hair
My brother hurt me, set my hair on fire
We choose to love until we  both expire

 

 

 

 

For men may come and men may go,

white brown cow
Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

 

 

Dr Smith that  lucky man.
Had a wife called Mary Anne.
He gave her children twenty two.
How ever did this woman do?

She had many helping hands
To take her children on the sands.
They swam in batches in the sea.
And then she took them home for tea.

She had triplets,she had twins.
She even had one set of quins.
So loneliness was quite unknown.
And all were trained to use the phone.

She was a very sturdy wife.
She worked  very hard at life.
But once a week she went to town
And looked at bags and evening gowns.

But Dr Smith did not go out.
He was dusting , have no doubt.
At night they went to bed and loved
Just like a pair of turtle doves.

In the morning she rose up
And made some tea in a big cup.
She had a tiny chunk of time.
For such a one,this is no crime.

We all need a peaceful break,
To sit by our own inner lake.
To see the fish and watch the sun
As gold and glowing up it comes.

So if you have many children too,
Take heart from this small tale.
She took her time to meditate…
And her heart never failed.

For men may come and men may go,
and likewise children too.
You need to have some free “me time.”
Whatever else you do.

Please release me,Mary cried

Mary stood at the bus stop in her chocolate wool winter coat which Stan had always loved.It hangs so well,he had told her.
The optional imitation fur collar had been removed as she preferred natural garment  made from wool with no ostentation.As a matter of fact she has one of Stan’s woollen vests on under her gold silk top.Her hair fell in light blonde curls around her pensive face and her eyes looked as if she were seeing a dim vision of the Matterhorn in midwinter after drinking a double brandy

Suddenly she realised the bus was there ;she put her card up to the machine before looking for a seat.The bus was rather full so she sat down next to a youth with an i phone hanging from his hand.
Suddenly it rang.His chosen theme was, Please release me, sung by Tom Jones.
Mary smiled as, if she were near Tom Jones she would need no invitation to free him.
The youth began to speak rather louder than normal.

Mary tried not listen but it was impossible.She was too hot as well..Wearing Stan’s vest was a mistake as the bus was overheated.She turned pink like sunrise over ICI in Billingham as the pollution had a beautifying effect.

I’m sorry I wore your vest,she told Stan.
I should have given them away but I was trying to save money on heating.Still I will be home soon.

Where is your microphone, the youth demanded.It must be one of those new tiny ones.
A microphone? Mary said curiously.
Yeah, he cried.I assume your phone is in your pocket.

Actually it’s in a pocket in my knickers,she informed h m in a manner resembling that of a mildly dotty scientist.We used to wear these knickers in the gym at school.

Did you not wear a top? he enquired,his eyes running over her hourglass figure like water falling off High Force in Teesdale. in summer storms.

Well.I didn’t have a bra until I got my grant to attend university,she told him sensitively.

Well,that’s news to me,he said.So you had to wear a bra at University? That was before feminism,of course.Did you burn it later?

Certainly not,said Mary.I’d been longing for one but my mother didn’t seem to notice my development which was her way of coping with adolescent girls.
Of course my brothers may have noticed but they were too nervous to tell Mother I needed anysupport.We were all so shy and afraid.Anyway be quiet now,I want to speak to my husband.
Have you had your phone on all this time? he asked anxiously.
No,I don’t need it to talk to him,she responded
Why,where is he? the youth enquired sardonically.
He’s on my knee,Mary informed him.In this bag.She pointed to her hessian shopping bag.
I have just been to the Coop for him.I ought to have got a cab as he is quite heavy.
Jesus Christ,cried the youth,hastily pressing the bell before leaping off the bus into a small pond that had been created b Hurricane Desmond.He swam away into the cold night.
Well. that shut him up,Mary said to Stan.
Mary,don’t become less gentle and kind,Stan said in her ear.
I can’t be gentle now,she said.It’s a nasty tough world without you to help me and tell me what you think of Jeremy Corbyn.And do I need to have a roast dinner at Xmas or just some toad in the hole?
I am sorry,sweetheart he murmured.Maybe you need assertiveness training.
I’ll just get more aggressive,she replied.Micro-aggressive perhaps
.You’ll need more than micro in this era,he continued.Mary forgot to get off the bus and found herself in the Leisure Centre by the River Lee
What about the river,Stan, she asked.
Would you like me to throw you in.A policeman standing near by ran over.
Madam, is it suicide or murder, he asked her.
No,it’s a life sentence,she said humorously as she put her hand up her skirt to get her phone.
That’s a silly place to keep your phone he said.Anyway don’t call a cab,I can run you home in my car.Have you got any China tea?I could kill for a hot drink.
I have some lapsang souchong,she told him.Do you fancy that?
I do, called Stan from the bag.
The policeman passed out.
I told you not to get a boyfriend yet,he continued to Mary.
I’ll do whatever I feel like,she said rudely.I could use a comforting arm around me.
Stan sobbed quietly
.She said,quickly
Don’t worry.I’ll get Emile to sit on my knee.Goodbye for now.
Goodbye whispered Stan faintly.
Good bye…. goodbye
Goodbye

And so say all of us

While there’s life, there’s still a hint of hope

Don’t  be anxious whether you’ll be shot
Take your break in Morecambe with a cat
Do not go to Bethlehem   this year
Someone built a wall and we feel scared

Could Jesus and his parents  have got out?
Babies cannot climb  nor can they shout
Should we go to Rome to see the Pope?
While there’s life, there’s still a hint of hope

Did Jesus really  want to start a Church?
Perhaps he wanted rabbits and a hutch
By now the entire world would be full   up
Would  endearing rabbits  interrupt?

Better to play simple in our prayers
Say them daily,  don’t  get in  arrears

We wounded hide away

10363756_491792187620581_3914824934932227777_n (1)If I could see your heart and soul and know your feelings past 
 and if you knew mine
 we could   guess why our expectations go so wrong
 because at that moment what was said seemed right but looked at from a wider perspective 
Some  words we said were  errors
or at least not expressed in a way that communicated what we really  meant….
And how painful it is to hurt a beloved person…
Beloved…….I don’t believe you after the cruel you wrote…….
this is the confusion of the human condition…
when fear for a  time eclipses the  warm sun of love
when everything seems dark and  one can only wish to hide away.
…… to protect others from knowing……….
yet the message they get does not say that  the intention………
to protect them and it seems like a total rejection…..
I’m not good enough for you……
I don’t want to hurt you.
Don’t hurt me.
Yet the eclipse will end the sun will shine again………
 and it gives us compassion for others ……….
We don’t take an eclipse personally…………
but with people………………… it’s hard not to do so……
 yet there’s so much we don’t know……… or can’t know
so trust is all we can do….
trust what we once saw………….
and take down the barbed wire we put around our hearts………
 let ourselves be touched and touch.
 When words are not enough…………
we have a rich silence….
 the gaps between the words can say so much.
……to those gifted with understanding
When words refuse to come…….. 
we can share our silence ………
and keep it empty not full of dread or images of fear
until words begin to flow…
like tears.. welcome after a drought,,,,,,
when  our  words hide…. we will find them………….
so much is unknown…………….. we can’t know………
and past losses and rejections   haunt us………
filling the pregnant space with pain.
Yet words can comfort too…console, c
caress,
make communion possible
….words………….
they are all we have…… we‘ ll make them enough somehow.
…..learn their ways and how to use them to touch gently the other’s heart.
……and show, and share our love
………….not use them as a sword…………..
 use them with care….to show care,,,,to show love..
.and regret our faults and failings … but not attacking ourselves cruelly
 stop punishing ourselves….~
have mercy on ourselves 
Have mercy on others…..
We are all vulnerable
We  may miss so much because we are afraid
Wounds can heal,will heal

Have mercy
Accept the pain until we are healed
Then we start again

A petrol bomb

As down St Giles I cycled late one night
The road as silent as an empty church 
A speeding car  attacked me from the right

I saw, I knew, I felt no touch of fright
Time was stopped until  I felt the punch
As down St Giles I cycled in the night

 Flying like a moth  towards the light
Is this my end or shall  my  mind  come back?
A speeding car  attacked me from the right

The car drove at right angles  to my bike
I had no time to scream or speed my foot
As down St Giles I cycled in the night

I saw stars,  when flung to fearsome flight
I landed on my head, a flash,  a flood
A speeding car  attacked me from the right

The choir   rehearse without  my  voice ,now crushed
To Woodstock  and to Banbury  cars  rush
As down St Giles I cycle in the night
A speeding car, a petrol bomb , ignites

 

 

 

 

Cat eats 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 will suffer torment  from cats’ yells

Just had to play

While the priest annointed him with oils
I played in the gutter all alone
I hoped to find the marbles we had lost
Or from the melted tar to pluck a stone

The summer was so hot the cobbles baked
Looking like a row of fresh made loaves
There were no fishes in the millstreams rush
Nor a place where bread and Saviour rose

I found a florin in the cobbled street
I found two marbles lying near a grid
I found a daisy squashed in a wide crack
I saw a spider hanged in its own web

To summarise ,my father went away
The Queen was crowned and we just had to play

I want to sell  my   laughter on E bay

We called the  little tree a special name
In the woods where we were wont to stay
A nutmeg tree is rare like porcelain

We loved its hanging branches blue and green
If only it were  red it might be grey
We called the  little tree a special name

We asked for tea but nutmeg was disdained
I often wonder whether I am gay
A nutmeg tree is rare like porcelain

 

I have paranoia,I’ve been framed
I want to sell  my   laughter on E bay
We called the  little tree a special name

I  split my heart and mind,I sulked in vain
I passed my darling notes so he could pay
A nutmeg tree is fine like porcelain

Then we went to bed and lost our brains
Our nipples froze, stuck on  the window panes
We called the  little tree a unique name
Like grains of sand, the words  we count in vain

 

The nuclear bomb ,Iran and Don

I’m  turning off the Evening News
I’m reading Nicholas Freeling now
I’ve heard enough of  people’s views

I put my thoughts into deep freeze
Dresden Green,Emmanuel
I’m  turning of fthe Evening News

Boris says he’s  just a tease
The nuclear bomb ,Iran and Don
I’ve heard enough of  madmen’s views

We can see no-one  is pleased
Where d’ye think  these men come from?
I’m  turning off the Evening News

Maybe Boris had a wheeze
Asthma kills, we all feel numb
I’ve heard enough of  people’s views

When it’s over who has won
The world has altered ,  it’s a bum
I’m  turning of the Evening News
Boris tortures, people lose.

By degrees
He wants Leave
We’re deceived
Who believes?

[M A Oxon]

 

Life is not what’s said but what we heard

Life is movement life is song and word
We try to capture life in all its forms
Life is wild as tigers,sweet as birds

Life is what we get yet don’t deserve
The birth of infants and the  food of worms
Life is movement life is song and word

Life is not what’s said but what we heard
Grace comes down like leaves as Autumn turns
Life is wild as tigers,small as birds

Like a boiling pot that must be stirred
We need to watch  for only then we learn
Life is movement life is song and word

Love comes to the empty, is not earned
The heart   like Joan of Arc  is made to burn
Life archaic , everlasting curves

Of our empty fantasy we’re shorn
Like the fields of wheat and barley corn
Life is movement life is song and word
Life is a wild melody   lovelorn

 

Another Autumn comes with spiralled snails

Another Autumn comes ,I see damp snails
Boris Kemal Johnson hits the  roof
Brexit  and its battles , he may fail 

A carnivore, he leaves  bloody trails
And he rarely tells the honest truth
Another Autumn comes with spiralled snails

Is it just bad luck  we should bewail?
He does not seem a  leader but a spoof
Brexit  and its battles , he may fail 

Now the  media float in Autumn gales
The people read  but  is there any truth?
Another Autumn comes  with flying snails

Jews attacked in Hertfordshire,I pale.
The baby’s pram was knocked about,  oh grief!
Brexit  and its battles   let them fail 

Anger,rage and violence  hard to soothe
Jesus  is a shadow, evil looms
Another Autumn comes , are we the snails?
Brexit  and its battles , will we fail ?

 

He kissed my hand,I knew what was afoot

He kissed my hand,I knew what was afoot
He followed me on Facebook every day
I get these butterflies inside my gut

I never fall in love with porn or smut
Or men who ask me out to make me pay
He kissed my hand, I knew what was afoot

We went to Lyons cafe, it was shut
We  fried an egg and ate it in our way
I got those butterflies inside my gut

I could  have made it funny, should I flirt?
He ate my  buttered toast like it was prey
He kissed my hand, I knew what was afoot

I did not lead him on, for it might hurt
He had to be the one who led the way
I got no butterflies inside my gut

He kissed my hand and asked me to a Play
He wrote it all himself, my fiance!
He kissed my hand,I knew what was afoot
I tell a lie, I never said I would.

 

 

 

 

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Oh, do not let the sun fall in despair
As desolation haunts our souls today
Leaving us in darkness  cold and bare

Can’t  some God or other make life fair?
I bet they’re  angry , we no longer pray
Oh, do not let the sun fall in despair

There is no  father, mother anywhere 
No priest to bless the house , its ghosts to lay
Leaving us in darkness  cold and bare

I fear the sun is heavier than air;
Though what is Mass, some form of ecstasy?
Oh, do not let the sun fall in despair

Who holds up the pillars, who would dare
While  scholars  smile at such complexity?
All their minds  are  focused on the rare

The broken altars crack, whoever cares?
The Church has never been what Jesus saw
Oh, do not let  our hearts fall to despair
Living  in  such darkness  cold and bare

Until the birds fly higher in their song

I am engaged, the crystal is my eye
An amethyst, a diamond ,how they ring
The  ceremony happens when   I die

The sunlight is refracted till I’m blind
Until the birds fly higher in their song
I am engaged, the crystal stings  my eye

What god is it that stuns me till I cry
That makes me weep  when I would wish to sing
The  ceremony waits until I die

We find there is no answer to a why
But there are problems we must live among
I’m engaged, the crystal hurt my eye

All around the old men walk awry
One kissed my hand  as if he were a king
The  consummation waits until we die

Blow the ram’s horn till the old wall’s flung
To  fiery ground  where angels speak in tongues
I ‘m  engaged,  so crystalline  my eye
I want a  pure gold ring before  I die

Dialogue

Most conversations are simply monologues delivered in the presence of a witness.

Margaret Miller [ att]

 

A monologue needs friends  attuned and named
If  alone, the endless thoughts would wind
Like cotton wraps the reel,like life begins

 

Self obsession  leads us into sin
To treat with bare contempt the human mind
A monologue needs friends to  find our aims

Do we know to whom we speak so plain?
Why ignore the facts of  life that bind
Like cotton wraps the reel till none remains?

Our thoughtless words may leave an inkless stain
And later we  mysterious sadness find
A monologue needs friends  or it brings pain

If Freud were  here we wouldn’t say the same
Would you unfold your past. all thought aligned
Like cotton wraps the reel  and order makes?

There is no static past  in  this life’s game
What we choose to utter  breaks our mind
The monologue  turns dialogue , yet lame

I prefer my paper with no lines
Then I draw, my metaphors  design
A monologue needs friends to make, bargain.
Though  they be  mute , a dialogue begins

Thus with this spirit,I my spirit wed

epimedium-domino

 
As on this foreign shore I stand and stare
Across the green and foaming tidal sea.
I do not wonder whether life is fair
Nor whether what’s to come is what should be
.
The hinterland is not a wishful dream
Whatever I meet there is all itself
So useless are past thoughts and present schemes
My courage,heart and spirit are my wealth.
Although alone,I sense some being close
Whom I accept as guide and friend to me.
To walk with otherness is not my boast.

It’s he who guides and shows me how to see.

Thus with this spirit,I my spirit wed
As close to me as in a marriage be

His human Cross

If God was murdered why should he help me?
He hung, an abject figure ,on the Cross
Some have labelled it a holy tree
If God was murdered why should he help me?
No-one can deny what all can see
From the Romans he could not be free
Thus the world endured his final loss
If God was murdered why should he help me?
He died forsaken on his  human Cross

Living fire

Alone in  my small room ,end-state despair
I wondered what to do ,go here or where?
I tried the doctor and the priest  and then
Knew there was no answer from   a man

I saw in my mind’s eye a  tunnel black
To which I was dead heading on my track
Abject and broken by a lover’s death
By his own hand, he tested out God’s wrath

Then I was  held by  golden  clouds of fire
I felt the  kindest love , the Lord’s desire
The tears ran down my cheeks in one great gush,
Acknowledging acceptance without wrath

And so I  turned  to life and to my work
Pain and torment shall not make me shirk

Stan and Mary see a naked woman

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After dinner Mary and Stan  often went for a longish walk.They liked to go to a road where the richer people  of Britain lived.,where there were some Georgian houses and one Tudor house.
At dusk they would stroll by looking into the lighted windows to see how the rooms were decorated.And if the front garden was large sometimes they crept in to see more
One beautiful  house they liked from the outside was spoiled for Mary by the garish tartan wall paper.
What sort of people would live there, she asked Emile who was in her handbag.with his head peeping out
Well,they have a cat called Percy,he mewed softly.
Why Percy?It is a noble name from the British past of course,she answered…
Earls of Percy were involved in affairs of state.
Well.Percy is a  Chinese cat,Emile said to her wittily.
He ought to be called Hu Ar U then,Mary joked ,or tried to as her sense of humour was somewhat lacking or maybe just odd.Still she looked lovely despite her moth eaten clothes bought in Sales in colors nobody else wanted like purple and lilac and bottle green.
She and Stan crept slowly up the garden path and peered  nervously into the empty sitting room trying to identify the paintings on the walls.
All of a sudden, a woman who was completely naked came into the room and lay modishly on a sofa as if she were a trained  dancer.She was a sight for sore male eyes.
Are they about to have a drawing class,Stan whispered.
She must be a model for a Life Class or an abstract woman ,with cat ,if Percy gets into the frame,Mary mused
Percy might scratch her then.Stan muttered.She could scream.
Suddenly a loud voice was booming at them.
What the  bloody hell are you doing in my garden?
There stood a big man in plus fours and and an oversized red jumper with matching cheeks
We were admiring your wall paper,Mary said.I think it is very unusual.
He smiled in gratification.
I chose it,he cried.All by my self.
But why is there a nude lady on the sofa,Stan enquired.
I am so annoyed, the man told them.My fiancee likes to walk around nude but she forgets to draw the curtains first.
Does she want to make an exhibition of herself,Stan enquired hopefully.
We wondered if it was for a life class, you know,students learning to draw and become artists of note.
Well,that’s a good idea said Arthur thoughtfully.
The woman got up and came over.She opened the wondow.To their astonishment she was Annie,their neighbour and Stan’s mistress too.Stan might have known but he had kept his face immobile after years of practise.
Fancy seeing you here,Annie whispered creatively in her sweet little voice
I am trying to seduce Arthur but with no success so far  except a marriage proposal.
You need to be more discreet and indirect, said Stan.
If you act like this he will think you are an artist’s model and likely to be featured in the Tate Modern Annual Show of Infamy .Now, would a man like this marry or even sleep with such a woman as you appear to be walking around like Eve before she ate the apple?
I don’t know said Annie but my clothes are all in the tumble dryer,anyhow.
Did you wet yourself? Mary asked her kindly.It’s nothing to be ashamed of.We all do it now and then especially since public conveniences were shut down across the UK.And now ,even winter coats are machine washable.
Well,I knocked over some lemon barley water in a big jug and so I decided to wash all my clothes. while I was here as Arthur as a tumble dryer
That’s a  very strange tale Arthur told her.You look ravishing hanging out of the window with your nipples pointing up.Let me take a photo of
you.Say,Cheese
But will you put it on Twitter,Annie asked anxiously.
No,dear.I am not so cruel.Why don’t you get your clothes and make us all some tea .
I can’t make tea,she yelled and without pausing she dialledd 999.
What is it Fire or Ambulance the lady receptionist asked politely.
It’s a kettle.
Is it on fire?
No,it won’t boil.Can you send Dave the paramedic ,please, as he makes good tea.
We are quite busy so it may be  two hours or more she was told.
I thought this was an emergency service,Annie said.
But who defines what an emergency is? the lady asked her philosophically.
I will die without this tea,Annie informed her in a  ringing tone
Ok ,hang up and I will send the ambulance now.
Arthur seemed a little surprised
I have private medical insurance,he cried.But they don’t make tea not even for old people.
Well,in the UK tea has always been   essential to the  National  Health
But it will soon be drying up and we shall get flasks from the dustmen on Sundays instead.
I just don’t believe it,Arthur said and he then passed out on the rug which stood in front of a bookcase full of leather bound volumes of poetry.
Will he  live?Read more tomorrow and pay the price… af ew minutes of fun and gaiety.