Category: villanelle

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

 

 

 

 

To risk perception is a fear we share

The pools of water on the pavement gleam
Reflect  the colours  of the   shops and cars
Giving us a feeling all’s serene

As I walk I wander and daydream
I sit on an  old wall,  the moss like hair
The pools of water on the pavement gleam

I invent a   sentence and a theme
Will I forget before I have gone far
Taking back the feeling all’s serene?

I notice how the old wall seems to lean
To risk perception is a fear  we share
The pools of water on the pavement gleam

I feel the moss ,I love the colour scheme
I love the texture with my  hand  unbared
Giving me a feeling all’s serene

Each lovely brick is different  yet is fair
Evoking in my mind  the sacred  word
The pools of water on the pavement gleam
A light rain falls and  this world feels serene

 

Are you foreign?

Are  you foreign  locals say to me
You have a funny accent, and you rhyme
So do you ever have a cup of tea?

Where do you come from, did you swim the  sea?
I see a kind of hatred in their eyes
Are  you foreign   locals say to me

Lord, forgive them,  what  can  these folk see?
I must look other, not the same as I
And do they ever use a cup  for tea?

All of us are blends of history
The Romans and the Vikings left  long lines
Are  you foreign.   locals  question  me?

I wonder  have I missed some little cue
To tell the truth, it’s rare for  me to lie
And even now I nurse a cup of tea?

I look odd but  so do all I  spy
What a nerve , they stole a whole pork pie
Are  you foreign  locals say to me
Be off ,I  cry, I’ll kill  for   privacy

 

 

A little death  to let the earth revive

A stillness falls across the garden trees
A little death  to let the earth revive
Stand silent here  and feel the gentle breeze

Yet some icy hands will sting like bees
To test our spirit, show we are alive
As stillness falls across the garden trees

Later in mid winter trees half freeze
Frost will hang like silver chains devised
Stand silent here  and feel the sharper breeze

As the year is ending  don’t retrieve
The bad ideas, the feelings  cruel  archived
As stillness falls across red maple trees

The sun so low  it blinds  us to our needs
We waste our time of peace with pointed jibes
Stand silent here  and feel the colder breeze

Winter rituals enrich starving lives
So cruel the cold,   yet frost with beauty chides
A stillness falls across the garden trees
Stand silent  fall and winter ,feel the breeze

 

 

Across the bay I see the Langdale Pikes

Across the bay I see the Langdale Pikes
Their shapes like faces  staring   out our grief
With savage slopes, sheer cliffs, inhuman sights

When we climbed, the shadows   caused me fright
As if a godlike painter  filled his brief
Across the bay I see the Langdale Pikes

The sun was hot  and gave us help and light
The hills  were bare there was no falling leaf
From savage slopes, sheer cliffs, inhuman sights

From these slopes there is  no fight or flight
We may fall down, the terror now released
Across the bay I see the Langdale Pikes

We gain a small idea of God’s true might
Climbing high and higher brings relief
From savage slopes, sheer cliffs, inhuman sights

At the top  we  feel a moment’s peace
No longer on the scree  with tense gripped teeth
Across the bay I see the Langdale Pikes
With savage slopes and hollows , our bombsights

They’ve offered me a job dry cleaning Hell

Hypothermia made me write so well
The pen froze to my hand and would not leave
They’ve offered me a job dry cleaning Hell

Just in case my head should start to swell
I made myself a hat from dried brown leaves
Hypothermia made me write real well

The government is  giving us free bells
So they will ring whenever we’re deceived
They’ve offered me a job dry cleaning Hell

Hell is very fiery but with gel
I can get it  clean   from all disease
Hypothermia made me write,oh very well

I tell a lie, the cold invades my cells
I can’t clean  yet a bottle in a breeze
They’ve offered me a job dry cleaning Hell

My husband is asthmatic, he can wheeze
He has  inhalers as his lungs will tease
Hypothermia made me write so well
They’ve offered me a  column, what the hell

 

 

 

 

The mind’s intentions, its mutating schemes

The entrance  opens to world of dreams
Impossible to   find out by our will
The mind’s intentions and its hidden schemes

Enlightened by  the    feel of  fey sunbeams
Knowing it is  stronger to sit still
The entrance  opens to the  deck of dreams

The eye grows wider. our vision   limpid leans
Until our  reverie has   got its fill 
The mind’s intentions and its wandering schemes

Warnings come in nightmares, how to heed?
The pain grows stronger like a workman’s drill
The pathway   leads to far more fearsome dreams

Are we  puppets strangling on our leads?
Who ‘s the master, who  must pay the bill,
Receive the mind’s intentions and its schemes?

High and low  let interact  and  tell
How we shall find our way  and what   to kill
The entrance  opens to world of dreams
The mind’s intentions, its mutating schemes

I’d like to die with flowers in a field 1

I’d like to die while  lying in   sweet fields
Surrender to the sun and poppy seeds
Dissolve  myself and to the hot sun yield

For we are nature and we nature feel
In dandelions,  in daisies, stunned by weeds
I’d like to die while  lying in a field

What is life if mystic love’s not real?
There is much more than action and its deeds
Let us  melt as to the sun  we yield

Take this piece and let our love be sealed
For binding love and honour  is a need
I’d like to die with  flowers in a field

Let us keep in  rhythm and not congeal
Who shall   make  life dance and  who shall lead?
Let us  melt and to the hot sun yield

Is our purpose  done and shall it breed?
Let no-one  cling to love and  die of greed
I’d like to die while  lying in a field
Dissolve  to mist and to the hot sun yield

 

 

We cannot read unless we can descend

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 way the body curves with silent grace

The glance exchanged,  the look we share, the smile
The way the body curves with silent grace
By non-verbal means we are beguiled

The movement of the eyes, the lips, make calls
That  beg our bodies  for a  joint embrace
The glance exchanged,  the look we share, the smile

We don’t know what we do, we’re reconciled
Without a trick or plan, without a trace
By non-verbal means we are beguiled

We’ve counted all the points but  are they real?
Like  fractal geometry  our  love  is space
The glance exchanged,  the look we share, the smile

Stillnesss come, eternity is poised
All know the dance embodied does not lie
The glance exchanged,  the look we share, the smile
By  the gaze and glances we are beguiled

 

The candlelight of winter brings its glow

The candlelight of winter brings its glow
More joyful than the summer sun up high
When days are dense with dark,  dim paths with snow

How good it is to reach the heart of home
To  heat the oven for a lover’s pie
The candlelight of winter brings its glow

In summer time  in heather we lay  down
I did not know which kiss was yours or mine
Our days were deep with  hearts  alight with love

On Winter Hill there was no  sight  nor  sound
Except the bleats, the sheep. the lambs  new cry
The candlelight of winter brings its glow

We had a crib lit  blue with cardboard round
The figures knelt by Jesus, mystic signs
The days were dense with dark., the paths with snow

The happy years of infancy benign
When mother smiled, when father  was alive
The candlelight of winter brings its glow
When days are dense with dark ,a the paths with snow

 

Dying  and we cannot say what for

Doubt and rumination  lose the war
Tangle our emotions like barbed wire
Dying  and we cannot say what for

Too much thinking’ opens the wrong door
Sadism to our self ignites hell fire
Doubt and rumination  lose the war

Do not let your mind become a whore
Nor label   those who’re true as screaming liars
Dying  and we cannot say what for

Tightly wound,  we   frighten and we bore
Stop before the situation’s dire
Doubt and rumination  lose the war

Do not dip your hand into the gore
Hold it only in  eternal fire
Dying  and we cannot say what for

As we struggle  we will find some cheer
Another soul whom we find very dear
Doubt and rumination   make for war
Dying  and we cannot say what for

 

On google earth you look so far away

O
Like the street where I grew up and  fondly played
You are fading into mist and memory
On Google Earth it looks so far away

I’d like to go, but it’s too far for one day
And gone is my extended  family
From the street where I grew up and joyous played

The  Convent School was sold,not on E bay!
I hated   how they used to torment me
On Google Earth it looks so far away

Now a Mosque stands on the hill to point the way
We Christians lost our faith. God’s territory
Bare the street where we knelt down  at night  to pray

My life felt like enacting a mad play
I angered nuns  with violent modesty
On their Earth I felt so far away

The water soft made better tasting tea
The    rivers ran,the moors  grew bilberries
Oh,dear land where I grew up and  fondly played
On Google Earth you look  too far away

 

 

 

My late one’s whisky bottle

I am being haunted by a bottle
It’s half full of whisky,which I hate
I thought your love would be a bit more subtle

You see  love as a  fraught battle
I ache to see  the next, who is my fate
I am being haunted by a bottle

Why you sent me whisky is a puzzle
I prefer a cup of tea with cake
I thought your love would be a bit more subtle

!I don’t like your kisses,wear a muzzle!
I am not the Lady in the Lake
I am being haunted by a bottle

We will never make a lovely couple
The atmosphere is poison when I bake
I thought your love would be a bit more subtle

I  feel so cold I’d like a fire and stake
My spelling is atrocious,oh, milk flake
I am being haunted by a bottle
I  enjoy love   only when it’s subtle

Where are the boats.the anchor chains?

We stopped outside the gates of the small park
A pool had grown from  heavy  Pennine  rain
A danger to the old  when nights are dark

I leaned on the  old push-chair ,aching heart
My other sister ran around blocked drains
We stayed outside the gates of the small park

She asked, is this the sea, or just a  part?
I said, where are the boats.the anchor chains?
A danger to the old  when nights are dark

She saw a vision  coming from her  heart
She saw Dad cross the ocean leaving wains
I looked  right through the gates of that small park

Oh,Daddy, do not leave us all forlorn
We heard an angel sounding the ram’s horn
We wept  quite near the gates of the small park
The  pool  showed our reflections, they were stark

 

We must be happy or we’ll go to jail

We must be happy or we’ll go to jail
No holy Contemplation  nor deep peace
No ethics,love nor comforting  the frail

Sadness must be hidden from email
Confession disallowed, no humble priest
We must be happy or we’ll go to jail

We must be jovial even when we fail
Who needs to get a First, or a dance in  Grease
No ethics,love nor comforting the frail

Like a slug, we leave a joyous trail
Who needs a decent job or trouser crease?
We must be happy or we’ll go to jail

Yet humans ,even babies,need to wail
From far away  we see the foretold Beast
No ethics,love just save us a four big nails

Why did the Magi come here from the East?
Why drink the wine superior at the Feast?
We must be happy or we’ll go to jail
No ethics,love,no Mother  turning pale

 

 

 

In the road, we played our ancient games

The summer heat made cobblestones like stoves
The Coronation happened, I know now
We played with melted tar, industrial bairns.

My mother’s hands were black and much beloved
The coal and coke had tattooed her, we sa
The summer heat made cobbles hot as stoves.

In the road, we played our ancient games
The older children passed the knowledge down
We played with melted tar, industrial wains.

The bully boys were cruel , did not heed love
A little boy had tried to be a clown
In summer heat, they beat him on the stones.

We were  quiet they flaunted power again;
But in our hearts, we knew we’d let him down
We threw warn melted tar, industrial wains

And in our fantasy, he was alone.
No-one knew who threw the vicious stone
The summer heat made cobbles feel like flames
We played with melted tar, Christ  died again

For we resemble,love, the annual flower

The red leaves of the tree are its last fling
Pretending to vitality and  power
Yet soon  the tree  is bared by  autumn winds

Winter waits, the blackbirds do not sing
The sunset is now earlier by the hour
The red leaves of the tree are its last fling

The tree will grow new leaves in sunny Spring
Showing  death and rebirth  in the bower
Despite   the tree  now stripped by the  strong wind

Like  the red leaves we   must never cling
For we resemble,love, the  annual flower
The red leaves of the tree  oh,let it fling

We fear the darkness,fear  demonic power
We falter  as we age , yet will not cower
The red leaves of the tree are its last fling
For soon  the tree  is undressed by the wind

 

Knit of fear

Suddenly  the winter snow is here
What we desire  does not have any weight
Britain is now covered with new fears

At least the men are far too cold to leer
Wearing shoes that don’t protect their feet
When  the winter snow is  resting here

Babies shiver  as their mothers steer
Down the   unkempt homely little streets
Britain is now covered with new fears

Do I look a clot in  padded gear?
Shall I savour  friends   who’re bittersweet
As the winter snow is  resting here?

Am I  a racist, do you hate  the  Jews?
Shall we drop a bomb  on ghostly fleets?
Britain  revives madness old and new 

In the hills  we hear forlorn sheep bleat
Disappointed. where’s the Paraclete?
Once again  the winter snow is here
Britain  wears a blanket   knit of fears

 

The holiness of slow

The thinner branches wave  like fragile grass
Bewildered by the wind so strong and cold
Like prisoners suffering from a cruel lash

The cat walks by ,the  little hedgehogs pass
So in my winter coat I could be bold
The thinner branches wave  like fragile grass

If only winter travelled very fast
But time is needed for the seeds  to grow
As humble as a  snail on its own path

We humans  too need silence without rush
We must earn the holiness of slow
While thinner  trees  still wave  like fragile grass

In the soil, the worms  pursue their tasks
Eternities of beetles move below
Humble as the  snails on  their own path

Why we’re here  this day we cannot know
Our souls soak in the  silent world below
The thinner branches wave  like fragile grass
We’re not gods. we suffer  from the lash

 

 

Late,late roses on the ancient barn

Once you drove me out to that old Farm
Before the Crab had caught us in its claws
We saw late roses on the ancient barn

We saw cars faraway like ants that swarm
Late October, nature takes a pause
Once you drove me out to that old Farm

What are the new lessons I have learned?
That cancer  changes lives,oh, what we saw
The late, late roses on the ancient barn

Grace is freely give, it is not earned
The  fingers of the clock   move with  time’s  laws
Once you drove me out to that old Farm

Take what’s offered, even though you yearn
For  other people, love, and  holy awe
 Become  the late rose on   this ancient barn

As we wander  here, no doubts can gnaw
Nor the tiger slash us with his claws
Love once   took  us out to that old Farm
We  worshipped roses on the ancient barn

 

Be silent  hearing  love’s new mysteries

Trying to solve old problems  bothers me
When I’m feeling weak or undermined
As if I could rewrite my history

The past is never dead, but leave it be
Or with  present troubles it combines
Trying to solve old problems  upsets me

In  the  trees  I find tranquility
As  they  give up so let our human minds
We cannot rewrite all our history

Restrain temptation  , drop hostility
Use the fire of anger to refine
The soul and heart and  problems none can see

The Holy One  remembers all we’ve been
Aids the poor as   to them we are blind
Be silent  hearing  love’s  new mysteries

Then having  no real truth  to   cleanse our mind
We  hope  and long for patient, thoughtful  times
Trying to solve old problems  wastes our lives
Time gives new perspectives, we   revive

If  pride’s the source of evil. who can boast?

Those who think they’re sinless,sin the most
Be humble self, we are not human gods
If  pride’s the source of evil. who should boast?

We are human, not the heavenly host
We will sin with knowledge  and with blood
Those who think they’re sinless,sin the most

Trust in God  and on his grace we float
Being neither demon nor all good
If  pride’s the source of evil. who can boast?

In another’s eye seek not the  mote
Did  not God die on a cross of wood?
Those who think they’re judges,sin the most

Yet  gazing inward triggers over-thought
We  should not aim so high but call on God
If  pride’s the source of evil. who can boast?

No more the dreadful judge with heavy rod
Instead a  Jew we murdered  while he loved
Those who think they’re sinless,sin the most
If  pride’s the source of evil. why  the boasts? 

The photograph again

Looking at your photograph again
How did I get here when we were there?
You look relaxed  and  happy  in that frame

I was on the pier  with camera aimed
Dressed in my  old  frock   to   sunlight bared
I’m looking at your photograph again

We crossed a common, flowers hid by the lane
We lay on white cliff top in sun drowned air
You look relaxed  and  happy  in that frame

How did I get here, I  feel I’m maimed?
Each moment is the whole when love ‘s at play
I’m looking at your photograph again

I just keep walking,bearing truth   and pain
If I stop I’ll drown in watery drains
You look relaxed  and  happy  in that frame

I know I will meet Jesus  when it’s time
Even though I don’t believe those claims
Looking at your photograph again
You look relaxed  and  happy, that is fame!

 

 

Would you be perfect ,agonised unspared?

Would you  be the Chosen of  the Lord
With eyes that see, with ears that hear  the Word
Burdened by  the Tablets ,in great Awe

Would you   ache to feel the Roman sword
To wear a crown of thorns on your head bared
Would you be the Chosen of  the Lord?

Would you like to hear Kind David’s chord
To write the Psalms  which  only grief can bear
To  hear God’s wish  from  Burning Bushes awed?

Would you  persevere   when hunted, scared
No praise for  good,  and tortured, unprepared
Would you be the Chosen of  the Lord?

Would you be perfect ,agonised  unspared
When God has hidden  in a  fox’s lair
Yet may whisper to  the ones with ears?

Would you like to  cleanse the world with tears
To  walk  condemned to death    and no-one cared
Would you be the chosen of  the Lord
To sense his message,  bless us with its awe?

 

 

 

I’ll take the risk

Would you like a  tapered bob, she asked?
To me, it sounds like  summat fe’ the  dog.
She carried on, she  worked hard like a wasp

I don’t know how  to style what  nature’s left
My hair is slightly thicker than a frog’s
I remember  grandad  had ten bob

Grandad was a miner, what a task!
He had a bath outside, hung on a hook
He  lit the big coal fire  where faces danced

His daughters had long hair caught up in clasps
To spend this money on my hair seems wrong
I remember grandad  with ten bob

We all had outside toilets, freezing risked
When I went , I burst into  loud song.
He  kept a big coal fire .  the  flames  would kiss.

At Xmas he had wine  unfit for cooks
Now all the family’s gone;  they wrote no books
Would you like a  tapered bob, she asked?
In  all their memories, I shall  take the risk

 

 

I sense a piece of Putin in the air

I sense a feel of panic in the air
As if the Ark is not quite waterproof
I wonder if we’d welcome Tony Blair

To the poor this life was rarely fair
But now it seems unreal, is it a spoof?
I sense a piece of Putin in the air

I am looking in the mirror at my hair
It looks like Boris Johnson’s  but more louche
I wonder if we’d  dye  old Tony Blair’s

The Russian wolf is licking his rich fur
He’s happy Britain’s weakened with fake truth
I feel  a sense of  monsters  near, oh dear.

Putin won his Trump  with  that strange hair
Now it’s cyber warfare on the hoof
Will  he soon take Leave  from Tony Blair?

The Russians in Crimea  are still  there
 The Ukraine weeps  because we did not care
I sense a feel of Russia in the air
I wonder if   they’ll  fragment us  and tear.

 

 

When I heard the voice I loved its tone

My thryoid gland has given me real hell
I  obsessed about the gas pipes and the drains
Noone realised I was unwell

The gland had overworked for a long spell
Then  burned out by this speed it was my bane
My thryoid gland has given me real hell

I lay upon my bed,my nerves were shrill
I could not walk, my weakness seemed quite plain
Yet noone realised I was unwell

A kindly voice said,Katherine make your Will
You  will die, you will not  long remain
My thryoid gland has given me real hell

Who was speaking to me, was I  ill?
The voice seemed kind, but it was not my own
Noone realised I was unwell

I saw a doctor, coma  soon would kill
He gave me thyroxine, my life   has grown
That thryoid gland  reversed,no more was hell

When I heard the voice I loved its tone
Some  angel  guided me  to earth again
My thryoid gland has given me real hell
Now I go out daily, stuff  that hell

 

 

Will  the islands of  our minds unite or rip?

Where do words go when they enter me?
From your angry mouth  you let them rip
They fragment,  break to glass, and poetry

Take my words or miss, you cannot see
The struggling rise, the unfelt dangerous slip
Where do those  remote words  enter me?

The pointed shards of glass cut memory 
The bleeding feeds  the vampires   of your lips
They  violate, they slice the poetry

Our   leader  hopes to mock democracy
Calls for riots  or death but not his whips
What dark words  have slid in ,  raping me?

Now  the old   don’t recall  dignity
The writers toast them with a stinging quip
They   utilise, they mince  my poetry

As the toxic liquids we will sip
Will  the islands of  our minds unite or rip?
Where do words go from my ears to me?
They fragment , needle , hurt to  poetry

I wanted  nothing, all was in its place

Gazing at the trees touched me with grace
My eyes receptive ,mind so still and pure
I wanted  nothing more, no list, no place

Would I dare enjoy a human face
To see the lines of suffering long endured?
Gazing at the your eyes touched me with grace

All the anxious details steal our space.
 We cannot gaze afflicted and allured.
 I wanted  nothing more, no wish, no place

If we  lose ourselves, become engrossed
We gaze with joy ,with colour we’re imbued
Gazing at the trees ,oh green their grace

The  dignity of  art is unimposed
Majestic in its heart, we take our cue
Then want no more, our wish dissolves, exposed

Lying on the earth so warm. so new
I  fertilised, delight in  being you.
Gazing at the trees my heart was graced
I wanted  nothing, all was in its place

Reverie is in deficit by law

What is inconsistent gives us pause
Reverie is in deficit by law
Brings images  divergent from art’s laws

Our language  is abstracted  by the jaws
The mouth and tongue make murmurings that swirl
What is inconsistent gives us pause

A child that speaks too early is annoyed
She’s taken from her senses, by words hurled
Can an image   trespass in art’s laws?

He said he loved me then abused my voice
He changed what I had written to his pearls
What is inconsistent  must give  pause

He said he loved me ,offered no real choice
Our culture  makes us  hide what  may unfold
Those expectations  anchored by love’s awe

Greed  exaggerates what we are told
Come inside and shelter, it is cold
What is inconsistent gives us pause
Like tube maps  split from geography with cause