Category: Thinkings and poems

When true love’s gone

Asarum-Jade-Dragon-1

When true love's gone and doom hangs over head
When life runs like a river to the sea
Then shall I take new lovers to my bed
And with their carnal touch consoled be?



When  lovers lie and break my woman's heart.
When life seems grey and rocks bestrew my path.
Then, shall I my life of evil start
And on the world shall I bestow my wrath?


When my love lies and wrecked all loyalty.
When puzzlement makes all the world seem mad.
Then I shall upend causality
And let myself do deeds which make me glad.

I have the fruits of love within my heart.

Sorrow will not tear me into parts

Memories of childhood

My sister oh my sister do not die

I feel that I still need you in my world

And Rivington we saw the larks upfly

Anglezarke the reservoir still swirled

Fresh water for old Liverpool’s

supply

I cannot go to Rivington alone

Nor Scotchmans Stump to see birds little bones

Once we lit a fire by a stream.

I’d like to go there now my love my queen.

Sturdy and determined she would climb.

Take the bus to Horwich it’s nearby

We saw ripe elderberries full and fine

In the distance Winter Hill stood high

The highest hill about so high austere

I won’t take you there sweet Eileen dear

In the silence, trembling

Freed from her trap
Bird soared into air,and hovered
And floated, resting;
And flew higher, singing as she flew,
And higher again,
Till there was only her song,
Left in the silence,
Trembling.

Up on the wide,stump topped hill,
I felt the lark inside my heart
And heard her singing.
And flying up with her,
I saw gold sun and silver moon,
Moors of heather ,and sheep grazing
Green hills,
And shimmering lakes,
Clouds ,sun and sky in watery mirrors.
And sang ,and dipped,and dropped,
And curled
Up the blue
Bright heaven, and rested
On the wind.
All that day
I was a lark singing.

I shall always have a vision of
A bird
That flew upwards,
Rejoicing and free
Into a deep blue sky, and high
And higher
Beyond high
Into a place, beyond eye even,
But music still sending.

I wish I were back on that heathery moor,
With the nibbling sheep and the bees sweetly humming,
Hearing again
The poignant song
Of the skylark,
A prisoner,freed by a magician,
From her trap,
So happy to be free,
So wonderful to see.
Do it again,
For me.

New boundaries

I have re-drawn my boundaries so we no longer intersect…Eve.
Thank you for the heathen, please send another, Josie.
I never want to flee from you again, I have pre-flown, Anne.
You promised me a rose pardon, not a humorous growth, Hubert.
I’ll never prey on women again in case I meet you or your doppelganger, Bill.
This week my prayers are sponsored by Hewlett-Packard as God likes HP sauce.
You cried out like a radioactive boar at first but then you went over the hedge and wanted love in the nettlebed.Too rash for me, Tom.
I only married you for lack of other duffers, Marie.
You are a very good actress or actor as we PC folk say now.I truly believed you liked me until you thought I was a tea bag and brewed me .What does it all seem? Jim
If and only if you die I shall grant you eternal rest.So wake up and play, Tim.
Life, what’s it all but a doubt? Joseph
I know God loves me from afar but I had hoped you would approach me bodily, Torah.
My husband liked his mother so much he practically married her.
Ariel gets the dirt out of your clothes and you will be amazed when you see them.They’ll look different but will feel you the same.
I never wish to be you again, Cleo.
I never wish to strangled with glue again, Antony.
Caesar was killed by a brute with a stagger and a hungry fiend
I’ve never trespassed on God but why does he keep watching us?
I need a new gas cooker.The oven is no G-d.No use worshipping this…Baal!

A sparrow on the wing.

The still small voice is easy to ignore.

Why does love speak in this quiet voice

Underneath the bustle and the noise

Coming from it’s habitation poor

On the peak the frightened prophet heard

Hiding in a cave, while tempests shreiked

He heard god’s whispers, in this place so bleak

Absent was all life bar little little birds

Now we are cocooned with food and heat

The BBC controls the voices heard.

Jezebel is coming we must act

Lineker the prophet sends out Tweets.

Wisdom is a sparrow on the wind.

Listen to its song for we have sinned

Flowing with the wind

I had an interesting conversation a woman who said to me that she was never aggressive that she was assertive.

But can you judge your own behaviour or should you take into account how people experience you?

I asked her that question and she knocked me out with a single claw.

Katherine

You shouldn’t say prat

I bed your jargon.

What rhyme is it?

What play is it today ?

I’m afraid. I have to go home somehow

Won’t you pay for wee?

Please raise the dead before I come

It’s a good thing we had sex before marriage because we have had none since

What about your 15 children?

They have not had it either

Horrible poem

9

I had a cat which never scratched or bit
Her manners were perfection , I can say
But on the stairs she lay and fell asleep
So tripped me up when I had got a tray

She always knew when I had a new dress
For she would leap down from the window sill
And she would try to milk the fabric pure
Till I had threads and holes where she had pulled.

She used her scratching post when we were home
Yet when we went away, she disobeyed
For we found scratches on the sofa arms
Where she had exercised the right to play

Yet when she died we missed her very much
So now she’s sitting on the sofa, stuffed

I beg your pardon

O

We felt lonely in the garden
Noone climbed through our dense briars
All we saw were flying saucers,
Plus twenty menstruating liars.

Is it right to be amusing
Is it ethical or droll?
I have neuralgia in my eyeball
Would you like to see it roll?

Would you like to be my pupil
Would you widen in the light?
I saw angels on the roses.
What a ravishing delight

The bird

A bird taps on our window every day,
Fast as flying leaves whirl in a gale.
But now he perches on the potted bay.
He feels the weather as the blind do braille.

This bird is faithful and I love him dear.
He’s thoughtless as he pecks upon the glass.
I hope he has a modicum of fear,
For who knows when a sparrow hawk will pass?

I see him like a human soul forlorn
Struggling to discern his own true way.
For soon he may be taken by a storm
But blithely he will eat, and after play.

The smallest bird has trust in the Unknown
By his example, our right way is shown

Strange angels


There was a holy place made with the screens
Where lay the old man, trembling into dream.
His face was pale, his nose felt like white ice
An offering on the block for sacrifice.

The sacred place was marked by song and prayer
Made quietly so no-one else would hear.
He held my hand and whispered, please don’t go.
I held him in my heart, as his went slow.

A cocoon made in noisy A and E
A strange place for the Lady God to be.
Deep silence underneath the usual noise,
Pierced only by my child-like singing voice.

I saw his soul, my tears made stiff curtains
Hidden so, I felt the weight of pain.
I felt my heart crack, struck by loss and grief
Death had been there like a silent thief.

His pale face on the pillow seemed to smile
The kindness of strange angels did beguile

Don’t forget to floss: the science behind dementia and the four things you should do to prevent it

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2023/mar/11/dont-forget-to-floss-the-science-behind-dementia-and-the-four-things-you-should-do-to-prevent-it?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

The lifeboat

We are in this boat together
Sailing across the bay.
Some have an easy voyage,
The wind is blowing their way
I wish I could always be sailing
Across an ocean with you
And never reach the other side
though it may be in view.
I want to see the sunrise
Across the dappled sea.
The ripples of the water
Reveal a new world to me.
One day this boat will reach the shore
Unless destroyed by storm
And I shall have to leave your arms
Where I have been so warm.
So just before we get there
I wanted you to know
That I shall always love you
Wherever you may go.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

When after death I lie deep in the earth

O happy worm that of  my flesh might eat
When after death I lie in deep in the earth
My bosom,hands and eyes  become your meat

You have no sun as you enjoy your feast
And none is  chosen as we were at birth
O happy worm that of  my flesh might eat

All of us are equal in defeat
None are high or low , what are we worth?
My brain,my hands,my eyes  become worms’ meat

In the soil, we rest  in comfort sweet
Let us all be blessed,God  make no curse
You made the happy worms who   will  us  eat

O  remember the deep  ash from Auschwitz’ heat
The little children killed without Kaddish
Those  hearts ,those hands, those eyes   no worm   could eat

,
Why should we  be satisfied by wish
When  people burn or starve  beside our dish
O Godly worm that of  my flesh might eat
Let my very self  become your meat

The promised land

Joy sings now in golden light,
Then after day comes deep,black night.
New moon is rising by grey trees,
The earth is where I want to be.

I want the day,I want the night.
I want the dark.I want the light.
I want to see and to be seen,~
And not to lose my precious  dreams

The sun has set, grey clouds turn black,
The day just gone  will not come back.
I’ll rest in quiet reverie
Until the reaper’s scythe takes me.

And then I drop and mix with dust,
Till worms and beetles sate their lust.
And fall into ten thousand motes,
And dance, in sunlight,  music’s notes.

No more striving ,no more ambition
No more fighting,no competition.
Every particle’s the same
Without even  a unique name.


And, side by side, we all are one,
The lusts of life have been and gone.
We dwell with dirt and grain and sand
At last we’ve reached the Promised Land

Last thing he did

My husband was already a very humorous man. I was sitting holding his hand in A and E for 3 hours and he seemed to be concentrating on something

He lifted his head and smiled at me looking very happy and then he winked he put his head pillow and that was it. His pulse had stopped.

Sitting in a plant pot

I was sitting on a plant pot in my grandads old backyard

He used to be a coal miner, so we had a lover birds

Grandad loved canaries I liked little wrens

We’ had few up in Manchester, we had big mills and rain,

Grandad had no deck chairs that’s why we sat on pots

When we went to Blackpool we had deck chairs by the lot

We went to Southport on the train, the sand was like sick dust

The sea was just a mirage, go there if you must.

The people were all friend they called each other cock

If you go there in the morning I wish you you much good luck

I was sitting in the plant pot hiding from the dog

Grandad called her lassie, she died at 6 oclock

Frogs and lists

Floating in the mists inside your mind

You have no connection to your kind.

Fear cut through the cord that make us safe

We float away we see no sharpened knife

Keeping the eyes blurred is our defence

One that needs no excess maintence

Yet if the lion approaches you and snarls

No fog will save you from his savage arms

Myopia is no aid in jungle war

we wont see the tiger with its claws

Cowards denied Christ he did not fail

Nor did Jonah sleeping in his whale

Floating in your non-existent world

Is safety safe ? Will fog destroy the hail?

Don’t lie so still

 Katherine  beautiful thoughts, childhood, Courage, death, emotion, how to live, images, sorrow, Thinkings and poems, truthfulness, virtue  October 2, 2021 1 Minute

Ah,brother I don’t want you to lie still

No blood to circulate,no thoughts,no will

No help,no humour.jokes no

sharp true eye

From our old shared pram,to live, to die.

I used to do your homework

late at night

Abstract thought to you was no delight.

You wondered over X and y and z

Preferred the shapes of Nature in your head.

I shall retain the memories of the good

You who taught me speech and hate and love

Prayers for the wildflowers

There are superficial trends in our society to encourage us to build our self esteem and to value ourselves… to develop and achieve  a place suited to our talents.. but what is best for me is when I lose myself in something.I was reading an old blog of a friend and was quite absorbed and went into a different state of mind..then I regretted I don’t manage to lose myself enoughb have an adult having much on my mind and being busy.

Sometimes it can happen when we love a person.Sometimes a wonderful landscape feels like home.. other times a sunset across the Irish sea from the cliffs of the Isle of Man where myriad butterflies swirl and float over flowers and rocks.

Modern life, the News,talk,excitement of the wrong sort seem to lock us into  our self and frighten us so we forget the value of finding something in which to lose ourselves and grow as a result. Sitting by a river  fishing,knitting,sewing,a book, many things can elicit this response  And remember how horror filled was the self consciousness of adolescence and how good to forget one’s self being more comfortable and accepting of appearance and image..How to live like a wild flower for a time… and be happy not to be a rose but just a tiny wild geranium or a moderate  sized  gentle pink flower in a arden

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