Category: villanelle

They told me not to come

They told me not to come to you that day
They said that I was fragile,I should rest
What nonsense when your man’s about to die

They lack imagination,I would pay
If I stayed at home my heart would bust
They told me not to come to you that day

What happens to us when all is awry
My presence should contain you till you left
Not spineless abence when your lover dies

I remember Cleveland Hills and sky
Heather where we lay, embraced and kissed
They told me not to come to you that day

My tears fell like a sheet from helpless eyes
Who undid the warp,undid the weft?
The torture when your man’s about to die

Is our life on earth but a mere test
Followed by God’s kind eternal rest
They told me not to come to you that day
What ignorance when your man that day will die

Space to be alone

My presence gave him space to be alone
He concentrated on the world I could not see
Dying is an art if we’re not stones

We may marry but we do not own
Every spirit must feel it is free
My presence gave him space to be alone

At the end God makes his own Self known
His Word hangs like a Light upon a tree
Dying is an art if we’re not stones

I sat there in silence,overthrown
There is no need for money nor a fee
My presence gave him space to be alone

And as for the hereafter, that’s unknown
As is the port when ships cross a new sea
Dying is an art if we’re not stones

No need to pray or make a heartfelt plea
Sitting by his side,I let him be
My presence gave him space to be alone
Dying is for humans, not for stones

Dream like memories

Hollyhocks,delphinium and phlox
Foxgloves,cat mint, nettles,near by docks
The blind man breathed in air full of wild scent
His daughted named the colours now absent

High up on the Kentish cliffs we sat
Capel-le -Ferne I found it on a map
We listened to this girl, we did not speak
Absorbing by our senses,proud and meek

Now I recollect the details very well
In those dream like memories I dwell
Snapdragons growing just beside my chair
I smell the scent as if I were still there

I may be blinded by the tears of loss
But I remember, love, our happiness

When the grieving ends

We grieve when we have lost a love or friend
Then grieve because the grieving is now less
We feel the death more when the grieving ends

The rawness of the grief,love seems to lend
As we weep and moan, we love caress
We grieve when we have lost our sweetest friends

My body tense, my heart shrinks to defend
The once good home now is a cruel mess
We feel the death more when first grieving ends

My shoulders hunch, my body can’t pretend
But wishes still to weep, his love I miss
We grieve when we have lost a long known friend

The second grief, illusions’ haunting pends
Can I taste his lips when we can”t kiss
We feel the death more when first grieving ends

Oh, that death were something I could kick
Instead of bringing sorrow to me sick
We grieve when we have lost a spouse or friend
Then hate the emptiness when the grieving ends

Like a sieve

Language is selective like a sieve
The juice of life leaks out when we use words
Unspoken are the gestures that we give

Blinded by those words we conjure with
Unnoticed is the body which is stirred
Language is selective like a sieve

We read more book to tell us how to live
Yet happier are the lilies and the birds
Unspoken are the gestures others give

See the plummy voiced and how they shove
Walking in their pride, by power prepared
Language is selective like a sieve

Through the holes runs out the juice of love
While those who’re poor in words are ripe with care
Unnoticed are the gestures many give

In deep silence hear what prophets heard
The Fiery Bush hums music as it burns
Language is selective like a sieve
How appropriate are the gestures that we give?

The mystery of love and what we sing

The proper conscience does not wound our hearts
But tells us truly when we have done wrong
It does not injure love before love starts

Its voice is still and small, it is not sharp
Sometimes it impresses us by song
The goodly conscience does not wound our hearts

Yet conscience is no angel with an harp
Unheard when minds are crowded, with thought thronged
It does not tear up love before life starts

It does not use great force, no threats shall rape
But talks to each in their own native tongue
The moral conscience does not wound our hearts

But what of evil men,Satanic sharks,
The mysteries of genocide and bombs?
Do they tear up love’s roots from their hearts?


Even good folk suffer like the lambs
We must enter darkness with blind hands
The proper conscience does not wound our hearts
It does not curse our love before life starts

Now there is no road

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

Jesus,where’re your nails?

I’m getting a gold medal for my Mail
My inbox emptied yet itr neve whines
I’ve squared the circle,I don’t need no nail

The Met have found me, fined me,what,no bail?
I’ve never known a Pritti dame so kind
I’m getting a rude letter in my Mail

Human rights are blown out by March gales
Home Secretary,are you going blind ?
I’ve squared the circle,Jesus,where’re your nails?

Leave off murdering women and young girls
Don’t handcuff the survivors,pay their fines
I’m getting bloody metal in my Mail

Our arteries are squeezing,hearts will fail
For the hell, O writer, leave us signs
The circle’s square, I’m hanging by a nail

Well, what do you think of Britain in decline
The police resent ,mad Governments tell lies
I’m getting silver pieces in my Mail
Who’s crucified our God with varnished nails?

As waves die

The music is the waves as they run high
Across the pebbly sands onto the road
Then groaning of the shingle as waves die

The fish that dwell deep in the dark, dark brine
The flow within as outer waters flow
The music of the waves as they run high

The moon reflects sun’s light to other eyes
Above the seas which rise up to its goad.
Then groans the shingle as the steep waves die

The sea holds hidden goods where we can’t pry
In the deep the heavy water moulds
The music of the waves as they run high

All the day and all of the black night
The seas and oceans change from high to low
Ah, groans the earth as each wave has to die

Re-hear these sounds, are they a sacred code?
As angels wrestled, Jacob feared the Lord
His music is the waves as they run high
His groaning is the shingle as waves die

Our bodies pale as fish

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

Float through my mind like flowers

On summer days the cliff at Weybourne sang
Of finest grass entwined with tiny flowers
The butterflies were floating on the wind

We walked along contented, hand in hand
In Sheringham we saw no faces dour
On summer days the cliffs at Weybourne sang

We met no wasps nor anything that stings
The footpath was kept clear, no weeds to sour
The butterflies were resting on the wind

I looked at bluebells,insects hear their ring
So we passed with pleasure our free hours
On summer days, the cliffs at Weybourne sang

Was it for this perfection Adam sinned?
No human joy is with us very long
The butterflies were resting on the wind

On summer days the cliff at Weybourne sang
Of grass so fine and of its tiny flowers
The butterflies were floating on the wind

In winter the North wind will make beasts cower
No need for ventilation,faces glower
On summer days the cliff at Weybourne sang
The butterflies float through my mind, bright, winged


Now shivering alive

The myriad random movements, words and signs
Inanimate, cold blooded,hot or warm
In mystery make the world, complete, designed

From the stars at night, to needles’ eyes
Every size is present eye to horn
The myriad random movements, words and signs

Yet, not robotic, shivering, alive
Like a human baby when new born
In mystery the world is fresh, designed

So every morning we awake surprised
The dreams we had afflict us like flung stones
The random movements, words and latent signs

Are dreams the truth or can the unknown lie?
Are we subject to their nightly roams?
The mystery is the world makes its designs


As the wild geese land at one in storms
The murmurations of the starlings charm
The myriad random movements, words and signs
In mystery make the world, replete,divine

It fell to earth with solemn gravity

Another branch has fallen from the tree
For nine short months, it weakened and grew dry.
It fell to  earth with utter gravity

Is comparing us to trees good simile?
I’d find a better if I’d wits to try
Another branch  has fallen from the tree

The tree grieves not, for trees like to be free
Their main desire is stature, to be high.
Dead branches fall to earth by gravity

Some compare life to a drunken sea;
Or to the sky where dance wild nuclei
Yet our most holy symbol is the tree

The strong hang on in their tenacity
Even as their leaves and berries fly
Weaker branches fall  with gravity

Death comes  so much harder to the high
This is no truth but neither do I lie
Another branch has broken from the tree
Thus disconnected , it is down and free

Like a natural god, the geese divine

When we walked  I  held your hand in mine
We walked  round a small lake  to see geese fly
We  sauntered, in a rhythm were aligned

Time had stopped, the geese  in circles climbed
Then swept  onto the path as we came by
When we walked  I  held your hand in mine

Like a natural god, the geese divine
Landed  in their beauty with a sigh
We  entered  a new rhythm, were aligned

On the shining water  geese in line
Float and hunt for food with little cries
When we walked  I  held your hand in mine

 In our garden for your love I pine
I  cannot love another  till I die
We  sauntered, in a rhythm were aligned

God is on the mountain with his lyre
Singing of the beauty of desire
When we walked  I  warmed your hand in mine
We  lived attuned  to love  until you died

The cake tins

I see the tins I used for Christmas Cakes
The Russian Cheese Cake and the apple tart
Nowadays do younger women bake?

I remember mother making Buns
Hot,uncross, she made cakes with her heart
Her apple suet pudding beat her plum

The kitchen was a room with its own fire
There we ate and cooked and fought,alarmed
Children pinch and nip and even bite

I banged my head upon the table sharp
The corners seemed to hate me,even spurn
I wished I were a dog so I could bark

I fell down the stairs, it was a thrill
It hurt less than the beatings made me smart
Children were deprived of any will

Shall these cake tins from my home depart?
Shall I make a small cake from a chart?
I hold the tin I used for Christmas Cake
Watching TV where new experts bake

I can only comment in a verse

I can only comment in a verse
A villanelle for virtue,my defence
I don’t know what you mean for you are terse

Love or hate,I don’t  know what is worse
Is this life  a very spiteful  test?
I can only comment in a verse

In my bag I have a purple purse
Money is so dirty it’s a pest
I don’t know what you mean when you are terse


When we marry, we won’t be the first
We need a godly priest for I confess
I can only comment in a verse

Do not pay my bill which I detest
At our party let us all be blessed
I don’t know what you want when you are terse

I am in a struggle, can you guess?
I am well endowed with happiness
A villanelle for virtue is the best
I don’t know what you mean you are so terse

The personality of trees

Trees lean over, watchful as we meet
The tall ones do not shiver in the breeze
Trees can hear the torment in our speech

We have flowering cherry in our street
But mine died like my lover with great ease
Trees lean over listening as we meet

The tree won’t bend too close, it will not reach
As panic,worry, horror,nightmares squeeze
Trees discern the music in our squeaks

Alas, no tree has mastered human speech
But when they can, they coax the honey bees
Trees lean over sweetly as we meet

The leaves will rustle,wrestle and may tease
Smile for selfies,what’s the word, it’s cheese
Trees lean over, wonder, and conceive
Yet trees hate noone, nor do they believe

Love will need no trick

In my despair I felt that I was stuck
Paralysed by  grief and guilt I failed
By the end I had tried every trick

From prayer unthought to deeps of logic black
My  life, my engine ,juddered off the  rails
I hated God and of “his” Church was  sick

Starving  and alone I was in shock
The death of one I loved   had made me frail
By the end I had tried every trick


I felt  love’s arms around me,  death to block
I knew   this goodness,  why else would I wail?
I   thought I hated God  but Love had struck

Warm and golden light  that  did me hold
Where are you now when refugees  die cold?
Kind despair  that  made me long time sit
By the end I knew  Love needs no trick

The dam burst

Yout letter seems to overflow with rage
The reservoir of hatred has emerged
The loving kindness vanished without trace

I cannot see the mirror of your face
You used me to contain your anger’s surge
Yout letter, wanton, overflows with rage

Why did you enact your Play in haste?
Why treat me so coldly , why me hurt?
Your act of love has vanished without trace

Do not tell me I was not your taste
You fantasised an image I dispute
Yout letter ,sadly, overflows with rage

I hate to see my love was to you waste
Free speech applies to both, you can’t refute
How could good, true love leave not a trace?

After this, I in my world was mute
I could not speak,my heart and soul pursued
Yout letter uses words to channel rage
You wished to see me naked,this the stage

Deep down in the earth

Cold dull winters bring us close to death
The blood grows thick and scarcely does it move
The worms may shudder deep down in the earth

This damp coldness presses out our breath
The frost and ice, the memory delude
Cold dull winters bring us close to death

Do we need the sun to give us worth?
Low in oxygen, the mind’s confused
The worms have nightmares deep down in the earth

Should we pause, these issues to address?
In this Lockdown, where should we confess?
Cold dull winters bring us close to death

Wonder now what makes our voices terse
With no priests, who shall this poor world bless?
The worms may sleep deep down inside the earth


On each other,let us not intrude
Let all loving kindness be our food
Cold dull winters bring us close to death
Like worms that slumber deep down in the earth