From Dover to the East there are white cliffs The little path is bordered by wild flowers We saw the Lighthouse looking in good shape And lay down nearby on the grass, sweet hours
But now alone and troubled by my sight I shall not visit cliff tops nor high towers I stay in woods or gardens or green lawns I hope you will not think I am a coward
Even little ladybirds or ants Enthrall me as I watch them in their bowers And when it’s wet I watch the clouds pass by And sometimes in the heat we enjoy showers
Vision narrow focussed may be wrong. With mind relaxed, we know the wild birds’ song
In the July grass we lay down deep The lighthouse painted white was by our feet In winter gales the whole place was destroyed The lighthouse disappeared into the storm
So life seems more uncertain,death awaits Even what we hope will keep us safe I shall not walk on cliffs now you are late Your ashes in the wind gesticulate
We need our myths and narratives so words Can keep us safe and block out the absurd And hell is other people,not just me The noose, the rope, the hangman and the tree
Yet I shall lie again on sun warmed grass Reliving the psychosis of the Mass
Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves That come and go on beaches , wet the sand The sea is always moving as is love
The unconscious is a language dark engraved We cannot read unless we can descend To rhythms as natural as the rippling waves
Rich and strange so different from above What we find is not what we intend The sea is always moving as is love
What’s in authentic nature that should save As colours interact, by brush to blend? Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves
Yet ,in a poem, what part of us can bathe The mind , the heart, the soul, the writing hand The sea is always moving as is love
The golden seas, the oceans can command The ships that sail, the whale, the hidden ends Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves The inner sea is moving , tender love
The Romans too were keen on building walls To keep out Scottish immigrants and balls But the Vikings got their genes into our pool I am one, be careful, I am cruel
Hadrian’s Wall. the moss ,the ancient bones Undeciphered like our old grave stones Looking West we see the Solway Firth Quiet and tender like the ancient earth
In the East is Berwick on the Tweed The Tyne is further South and then the Tees The grandeur of the Pennines makes eyes leap Estimating sizes,watching sheep
If the Scots desire to cross the wall We will not shoot them down nor make them crawl
Stan was standing on the patio behind his bijou home when a sudden heavy downpour of water drenched him all over. This is like a monsoon,he murmured to Emile who was also wet and drowned looking A head and neck appeared over the dark wooden fence. I’m awfully sorry,old boy.A pipe has burst in Annie’s loft.I tried to fix it myself. I don’t believe it.You are Stan Brown.It must be 50 years since I saw you. Stan was hiding his surprise at seeing Rudolf Hairnet,his former logic tutor at an ancient foundation, in the garden of Annie,Stan’s beloved colourful mistress. Why not pop in Rudolf,he said.I’ll leave the door open and go upstairs to change my clothes.Be with you in a moment. Stan went upstairs and removed his clothes.His body was now as thin as when he reached his full height of 6 ft 6 inches but alas it had less muscle and more fat. nowadays.He gazed into his wife’s full length mirror. To his surprise, he saw Satan looking out.Although he knew this was possible for Catholics he had never met Satan before.Not that he was keen to,exciting as it might be. How do you get behind the mirror,he asked Satan gently. God only knows,said Satan morosely. Why not ask him? I’m too proud,the poor devil replied in a bleak voice. Well,we all have our pride,Stan told him,though no doubt yours is the biggest in the universe. Yes,indeed,Satan answered.It’s bigger than Everest Are you here for any purpose,Stan enquired. Yes,your home seems more intriguing than most and I like to watch you in bed with that flame haired woman… is she your paramour? I see,said Stan,You are a voyeur par excellence That’s one way of describing me,Satan said,No woman will come to bed with me so I am trapped here behind every mirror in the world.I can see it all but never take part. You must be very lonely,said Stan Yes,the dark spirit muttered painfully Are there no she-devils about who might oblige you?Stan asked him thoughtfully. I don’t seem to fancy them so much.They are all as bad a me,I want kindness and tenderness not just lust.After all,one might satisfy that with a vibrator… we have them in hell you know!We have many things but love and humility are not there. Why,you are beginning to sound almost human,Stan told him.We want love too.If only you would apologise to God I am sure he would forgive you and let you come into the real world of others instead of being trapped in there Stan heard a noise.He turned round displaying his bony frame and his drooping organs to Rudolf. Are you ok? I was worried that the drenching had knocked you off balance.I have out your kettle on the fire to make you a hot drink and phoned 999 for aid. But we don’t have a fire,Stan responded. loudly Well,you do now said Rudolph Oh,hell, cried Stan
I got a winter coat online 3 months ago.I have never seen a coat so strangely shaped The shoulders are extremely wide so they drop off the ends of my own shoulders This ensures that the sleeves are so crazily long that my whole hands are covered The length should be lust below the knee but it is nearly down to my ankles And I could wear a dozen thick jumpers under it [ may be useful in the cold[ The only positive thing I can say,I got it half price !Instead of it upsetting me,I could not help being amused when I looked down at it It’s the sort of thing a homeless person might get for a shilling from a Jumble Sale Can I get free soup from a Convent?
The red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile A pale blue sky, a silver aeroplane I’m happy,I am warm, in your arms coiled I have no heater but the kettle boiled I made us coffee then my parcel came My face in the small mirror had a smile My love is deep, you never were on trial If we quarrel, we both share the blame I’m happy,I am warm, in your arms coiled Our sorrow is, we have not made a child Jesus cursed the fig tree in its shame Yet red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile Sorrow need not madden nor make bold We do not know the purpose nor the game I’m happy,I am warm now as I toil We need old fashioned virtues like restraint We don’t see the whole as life we paint The red leaves in the sunshine seem to smile I’m happy,I am warm, the sea sings wild
His hands travelled all over me like a herd of drunken fleas the size of spiders His eyes wandered over my supine body like a surveyor estimating the price of a house He kissed me with my permission as I was frozen He showed me our marriage certificate in triplicate in a gold frame He tickled me with a feather till I was maddened by rage So I said, quit staring,I don’t like your gaze His nails were as thick as the icing on a Xmas cake He never scratched me even when I itched I don’t know if it was deliberate but he missed I said I would never get married and it was a lie in retrospect
I have caught a drug resistant bug Could it be that European mug? They drink coffee till the cows come home As for me I’m permanently stoned I want to go to bed, so I must eat I take the powerful tablets as I sleep When I waken I may well be cured Not like bacon,I can’t see the lure All day breakfast is a silly name Keats would be astonished ,it’s iname My mother tried to make me knit and sew I can’t see but will that make me slow?
I did not know my mind was strong as sin My wickedness was choosing to be thin My ringlets seemed far wilder than cats’ screams The torture and the vividness of dreams I picked up books and read them in an hour How could I guess the wreckage of men’s power? I made pastry, I baked cakes of wheat To honour God , my father, the elite .From my pram I gave the neighbours shocks Electric was my verbal skill and luck They asked me how to vote and who should win I sucked my dummy as my thoughts all ran I sit and listen by the kitchen sink For I get drunk without a single drink
Near sturdy cobbles rounded with tar packed The gutter’s dirty grids held marbles drowned Washing new hung out like rain damped macs
When the bin men came they used the back The ash bin was full up,some on the ground By sturdy cobbles rounded and tar packed
The sound of lorries terrified the cat From his throat there came a frightful sound Washing now inside, like rain damped macs
In the backyard was the privy dank An air raid shelter full of wood we scrounged Near sturdy cobbles rounded and tar packed
How the washing dried I cannot think On the wooden maiden some was singed Washing rarely dried, like rain damped macs
Five sheets, towels, the knickers, all were hanged Waving in the drizzle like mens’ hands Above the sturdy cobbles well tar packed Washing in the back street, abject,pecked
Cracks in the pavement,mosquito bites When my own blood runs,I don’t waste the sight Ants on a tree trunk,busy all day If you are grieving, with you I shall pray We don’t know the future, we forget the past For asylum seekers, we pray and we fast For refugees starving, for the suffering lost Give them attention, what does it cost?
We are swimming in deep water,deep and green I am coming towards you with my fingers stretched Our bodies pale as fish, our soft hair streams
The deep sea has no sun, yet we can see The retina is waiting, ready,etched We are swimming in deep water,deep and green
I see your face and eyes,how well they gleam Do we have to undergo a test? Our bodies pale as fish, our soft hair streams
Underneath the ocean are strange scenes I will tell you later, we are blessed We are swimming in sea water,deep and green
Our fingers meet, our lips share silver sheen We float in circles, weightless is our flesh Our bodies pale as fish, our soft hair streams
What will happen, what shall we do next Inspiration,grace, we are perplexed We are floating in deep water,deep and green Our bodies pale as fish, our soft hair streams
I always think I hear you when I wake Lying in the warmth of the front room Memory stabs my heart,I want to wail There’s noone near,my mind is swept by gales I always think I hear you when I wake Then I know it is a sad mistake Tears like petals fall through Easter hail I gave my heart but love grows not in tombs I often think I see you when I wake Smiling in the warmth of that bedroom
Stan was reading the paper at 9 pm when the front door bell rang.Emile,his delightful tomcat who was asleep,nearly jumped out of his skin.Stan opened the front door cautiously .“Goodnight,sir.” remarked the handsome man standing there. impassively “Goodnight?”Said Stan confusedly, ”But I’ve never seen you before.Are you the sandman who comes to put little children to sleep?” “Good evening,sir.” the man continued,”I’m so sorry my English is so poor.I am studying David McChrystal’s Cambridge Encyclopedia of the English Language and I’m still a trifle mystified by it.” “What do you want?”Stan asked him. ”What do I want? I want to study philosophy and write a novel like Iris Murdoch did ”“ No,no.” said Stan” I mean,why are you here ?” “A good question,why are we here? Do we have a mission in life or are we here as a result of mere chance and happenstance or even serendipity or did God send us on purpose ?” “I mean,why are you here ringing my doorbell at this time of the night?” “Shouldn’t that be evening,sir?” The stranger enquired sardonically yet politely.“ Look.are you after something?” “Well,I’m after getting people to go to church or other place of worship.” “Are you partly Irish?”Stan asked him plaintively. “What’s happening,”called Mary from her study where she was reading a critique of Principia Mathematica for the seventeenth time .“God only knows!” said Stan. Mary came to the front door.She wore a green silk blouse with a jade necklace, a pair of smart jeans from Per Una and some pink trainers with yellow laces.On her face she wore Lancome of Paris light beige foundation,strawberry pink lipstick and purple mascara from Clinique.Her perfume was by Beyonce. “Goodnight,madam” said the stranger. “I think that’s slightly rude,” said Mary.”If you’ve never met someone before it’s inappropriate to say goodnight.” “Well,you aren’t in bed,” he replied laboriously. “What has that got to do with it?” she asked “Inappropriate is often used to refer to sexual behaviour.” “Well,who are you?” she whispered politely. “I’m the new curate!””I’m Polish and I’m here ” “Well,I’m sorry I don’t know a single word of Polish.would you like to speak in Latin?”“Ite,missa est!” The curate exclaimed.“Uno reductio ad absurdum”S tan muttered seductively .“That’s Italian,UNO” cried Mary shyly .“Well,it’s pretty similar.” Stan said ironically; “Well,I must go,”said the curate anxiously “You’ve not been yet so how can you go?” Mary asked mathematically, demonstrating the futility of logic.“ I don’t know,sir.Good evening,good afternoon,good morning.”the red faced man screamed as he ran hurriedly down the garden path. “Are we Catholics ?”Mary asked Stan .“Oh,I can’t remember,” he said.”Do we go to any church,synagogue or mosque?” “Well,we may be non-practising at it all, I suppose.” “Perhaps we’d better start practising,” he murmured affectionately. “Oh,if you insist,” she replied in an un-wifely roguish tone. “That’s right,blame it all on the man.In my experience it’s you who is keener than me on all of that.” “What are you talking about?”she enquired seductively.Prayer? Suddenly the door bell rang.It was the curate. “Goodnight” he called.”goodnight”“Goodnight, old man” they responded in their reserved English fashion. “Mioaw” cried Emile,”Mioaw,miaow,miaow.And so pray all of us.Amen Donations via PayaFriend.com please live generously
By Salthouse Church the wind blew off your hat We watched it flying like an unstrung kite Then snow fell in cold Cromer,see the map! A cat dosed by the fire in the warm pub Yet near Salthouse winds blew off your hat I’d have blown off too, were I less fat These gales would give the sailing boats a fright By Salthouse Church the wind blew off your hat We watched it flying up in cold sunlight
He sometimes seemed cantankerous Yet he carefully looked after us He bathed us by the hot coal fire But for all you know I am a liar I’m certainly tempestuous
He had an even temperature Of that I am almost sure We did not use thermometers The doctor stuck one up of us Which showed us life must be endured
He was good at his arithmetic He could read and perform tricks We loved him and we smiled at him With his dog so clean and trim Alas we weren’t allowed to lick
He liked the sand at Morecambe Bay And said he’d like to sink right there Very economical No need to hold a funeral And that is all I wish to say
When I read that a family had pitched their tent on the edge of a cliff in Yorkshire I wondered whether many of us had retained the natural intelligence we had as animals rather than spending years in school then coming out with a low reading age In the UK the average reading age has fallen from 11 to 9 in the last few years by some reports
“Up to 16 million adults – nearly half the workforce – are holding down jobs despite having the reading and writing skills expected of children leaving primary school, a new report reveals today.”
This is shameful.Surely reading and writing should be higher than this for most people It might explain some of our economic problems.How can we have a democracy when half of us can’t even read the pamphlets we get before Elections?
Going back to the campers. is there no innate sense of danger in human beings in the West? If you sleep on top of a cliff are you not likely to drop off completely forever? If you sleep next to the bottom of a cliff you might be hit by a falling body or even a large lump of rock
The River Warfe has raw sewage in it and will have until 2030 so the Water Board say And it looks so inviting,The further upstream the better if you want a paddle
A couple and a child put their tent up for the night on the Edge of The Cliffs near Staithes [it’s unclear whether that’s the top of the cliff or just below.’There have been many cliff falls near Runswick Bay and all along there It may not be in Yorkshire but it’s close
A house in Halifax blew up but nobody seems to be seriously injured Can it be gas?
The moon fell down into the village pond Thus gravity was lost and mirth began The gravity of grief is deep, profound The moon fell down into the village pond Noone heard the silence or the sound As they floated out with their beer cans The moon fell down into the village pond Thus gravity was lost and mirth began
The spiteful moon glares through the clouds of night Unwanted by the men whose conscience aches They must long for dawn, for sun and light The shivering moon peers through the clouds of night With unintended force it hurts the eye Reminded those bereaved of their ill fate Demented now, the moon gawps through the night A loathsome sight to those whose conscience wakes
