I want to take a walk this afternoon
The frozen river is a pretty sight
I shall see the high November moon

Storms and gales are coming very soon
Shall we hear the whisper,see the Light?
I want to take a walk this afternoon

Elijah in his cavern, feared  the Queen
Jezabel had eyes like tiger’s bright
She had her private vison of High Noon

Where is God and  what does my life mean?
The Hebrews  did survive  with wit and strife
I want to  have a think this afternoon

Why did Moses feel the mountain loom?
Why did Jacob wrestle all the night?
Could he see the future  and of whom?

How from all the choices to pick right
How to be  discerning in our sight
We might  take a  pause this afternoon
We  may see the Light  or  hear its tunes

I wanted to reject expected pain
So pushed away the feelings of my soul
But as I did not look,they came again.

To unreality,  my self was chained
And so I did not see the image whole.
I wanted to avoid expected pain

Such vigilance  will bring  a sense of strain
And ,too, a story always here,untold
But as I did not look,fear came again.

Then I was afflicted  by deep shame
My heart, once full of feeling, turning cold
I wanted to bypass expected pain

Let no human allocate the blame
But life  was almost a blocked,I paid such tolls
But as I was afraid,fear came again.

Now I see the best way is the bold
Like the lion who sleeps in the sheepfold
I wanted to reject destructive pain
Imagined visitors kept me in chains

His gentle touch conveyed what words  might say
But skin to skin we feel, we  learn, we know
That in my heart I felt what he displayed

Into this heart he  softly made his way
As  if he had a map, to quickly go
His gentle touch conveyed what words  don’t say

Like apple blossom in the month of May
The love. the beauty  and the breeze that blows
In my heart I recognised  his play.

Like a husband loving  and still chaste
His hands were guided  well both high and low
His gentle touch conveyed what words  cant say

Should such love be aberrant,lay waste
Death may come to hearts that overflowed
In my heart I recognised  his ploy.

So I kneel down and in my lowness wait
To  give new birth alone in desert grey
His lying touch spoke   truthfully to cry
That in his heart he  aches  and cannot  pray

The pleated skirts that teachers  used to wear
The tight permed hair, the handbag and the pearls
The words we heard when we  learned how to swear

With words we threw out what we could not bear
Then simpered by the window lips uncoiled
The fleeing minds that we dare not declare

The worst came out and everybody stared
My head was turned, inside my mind  still whirled
The  muck we heard when we first  had to swear

Now we wear   our jeggings, pleats are rare
Yet there’s elegance in skirts that   swirl
Depleted teens  with beauty gone awry

We did some Hardy and into Shakespeare tore
Now we read  Ted Hughes and  Sylvia’s pearls
The  midden  reeks,hate makes the goldfish swear.

The gold rimmed glasses in the mist and murk
The  hairnets, the control, the constrained smirk
The worn out books, the  turning   of the years
The words of joy  and woe, we learn our  prayer

To you my villanelle I plight my troth
A poem both  dignified  and full of play
I love your form and elegance ,oh both

In your form I’ll never insert oaths
Neither will I boast  of making hay
To you my villanelle I plight my troth

I’ll take you in my boat to the North Coast
From you I expect  no reward or pay
I love your form and elegance ,oh both

You are a welcome visitor to host
Though you look both diffident and fey
To you, dear villanelle, I plight my troth

And when my friends come round we’ll drink a toast
To wordsmiths and to poets  on their way
We love your form and elegance ,oh both

On my bed at night I gently rest
Knowing that I wander  as your guest
To you my villanelle I plight my troth
I love your form and elegance ,oh both

Like the threatened frog or timorous toad
In a bowl of water by the path
We play dead,we keep our profile low

Until a sense of safety is restored
We freeze instead of exploding with  crazed wrath
Like the threatened frog or timorous toad

Our cowardice  makes the withered soul erode
And who can weep all day and never laugh
We play dead ,we keep our  living low.

Feelings frozen in  burst , explode
We will kill  the best  with poisened  pus
Unlike the threatened frog or wise old toad

We   discover  patience when bestowed
Or we shout an  aggravated curse
Even risking killing by those we loath

Patience is like money in a purse
We fill up the lacks with our  sweet love
To our frightened self  we love bestow
We live  now accepting that we’re low

It seems I can’t feel good unless you’re bad
We have to   see things clear, to draw a line
I am only happy when you’re sad

You’re not me, so ,oh,I’m deeply glad
I don’t want any grey in my domain
It seems I  don’t feel good unless you’re bad

If there’s sin  and evil we applaud
You’re  the Jew, so bear the tragic stain
I am only happy when you’re sad

Jesus is called Shepherd and Our Lord
I forget he was a Jew again, again.
It seems I can’t feel good unless God’s bad

You’re my shadow I will kill your kind
Then I can be in charge of the  whole world
I am only happy when I’m blind

Why can’t we use our own hearts and our  minds
To  simplistic theories,foolish, undermine
It seems I can’t feel good unless you’re bad
I am  joyful when  I drive you mad

The human mind creates both good and ill
A chimpanzee is harmless, unlike man
Where is  our acceptance and good will?

The hatred of the other lives on stilln.
We see  both plots and evil where we ca
The human mind creates both good and ill

By word  and action, evil is instilled
Do we need  more laws  and legal bans?
Where is  our acceptance and good will?

The scapegoat dies  for our sins, pays our bill.
The massacres and pogroms ,oh  they’re grand!
The human mind creates both good and ill

As Jesus walked up Calvary, that hill
His  burden heavy, did we understand?
Where is  real acceptance, where good will?

Comes the  legal killer ,head in hand
The flesh and skin and bone  he nowl demands.
The human  heart  should  shudder,  feel the ill
Would toleration  and acceptance  kill?

A villanelle is like a cable knit
The lines repeated twist ,make strong ,make warm
My  mind  is held by pattern as I sit

How can we find a subject that is fit
To spend our time to make  this unique form?
A villanelle is like a cable knit

My  mind  is held by pattern as I sit
1 and 3 repeat while 2 rhymes with
1 and 3 make strong the cabled arm

For few escape the dark, the glimpsed abyss
The patterned repetitions keep us calm
A villanelle like love is holy writ

Who hurts whom and why did Judas kiss?
King David knew the valleys ,wrote his psalms
My  mind  flows with the  patterns as I sit

From life and death and injured pride we learn
That noone who repents will suffer harm
A villanelle  from chosen words is knit
My  mind   dwells in the pattern and the wit.

The art of sadness isn’t hard  to master
Anyone can learn this should they choose
Dwell on all your losses  and disasters

Think of all the bad times, slower, faster
Ruminate until you get the blues
The art of sadness isn’t hard to master

Make your face numb like   cold alabaster
Never smile or cheer at  friends’ good news
Dwell on all your losses  and disasters

Compare yourself unkindly with your sister
Let envy ,spite and hate dwell in your house
The love of evil isn’t hard to master

See ambiguity  as inevitatably nasty
Let your soul be poisoned and abused
Dwell on all your losses  and disasters

As we stumble through the sites  of memory loose
We could change perspective and  our views
The art of sadness isn’t hard master
Ruminate on  nothing but disaster.

The  wordless feelings of the soul  catch light
Like fire,like diamonds, like the dust of stars
With their fire they penetrate the night

To expression, they the mind incite
To where the words may open and be clear
The  wordless feelings of the soul  catch light

Expression by its method brings delight
We see the  molten universe  desire
With great fires , with wonder, what  is wrought?

Like a flock of geese in happy flight
The heart of unknown worlds is not a liar
The sense and feeling  souls will   bring  us light

Of the thunder  and the lion we note
The natural world with its own might conspires
With its  being  it permeates the night

So our hearts and souls does love devour
Never cornered never shall it cower
The  wordless feelings of the soul  catch light
With  such brilliance can we feel the night?

The unconscious is  the home of image stark
The faces of our  love and of our hate
The holy, the important  and the dark

The cat that bit, the black dog with wild barks,
The bills ,the charge, the  passive, irritate
The unconscious is  the cave of image stark

The Northern moors the heather and the lark
Old letters torn up when they came  too late
The holy, the important , the deep dark

The marvelled fire, the glowing light, the spark
The holy place immune from every State
The unconscious ,oh  the home of image stark

Here  too dwell envy and   malicious hearts
Yet in that space we  must a soul create
The holy and its candles light the dark

Time has gone, there is no day or date
We are never early or too late
The unconscious lives,  the home of image stark
The holy, the  divided , glossy dark

We only see what is already there
What grabs attention ,what we ought to fear
In our minds and hearts own  common ware

We see  the beauty or  what makes us scared
We see the  horror like it is right here
We mostly see what is already there

Men see woman and pick out the fair
Some will ever wink and send a leer
From their mind and heart’s own  common ware

But who can  see the gifted one  and care
Helping them develop in  their sphere
We  try to see just what’s already there

We suffer   till we feel a mute despair
There’s music  playing nobody can hear
With the mind and heart’s own well used ware

Who has hands and eyes well fit to steer
At autumnal turnings of these years?
We only see what we  ourselves put there
In our minds and hearts own  common ware

Surprise is welcome  if we are secure
When happiness with safety is enough
Otherwise it’s  more pain to endure

The cliffs of Howth, a beauty loved  each hour
The harbour and large seabirds  can be rough
Surprise is welcome  if we  feel our power

The grassy upland  welcomes with small flowers
Oh, see large ships  sail seas from Dublin  tossed
In stress our eyes are tight, we sob, endure

The salty wind our city faces scours
No need to buy more products to  feel loved
Surprise is welcome  when we are secure

Innocence in chilhood is no bower
The hymen of the soul so rudely stabbed
With fear our eyes are shut, we  just endure

We read of people who have had enough
Their  life and light extinguished , sadly snuffed
Surprise is welcome   to  one who feels secure
Else it’s   plainly pain  too long endured

I saw the parts of town where I don’t go
Old factories and shops too large for us
A retail park is different from Soho

The cars don’t respect Sunday any more
The fumes and dirty air  are our new curse
I saw the parts of town where I don’t go

Is it good for children to explore
Too soon their sexuality diverse?
A retail park should be different from Soho

Am I just an old man who deplores
The way   the adverts  make temptation worse
I saw the parts of town where I don’t go

We despise  a tart or an old whore
At least they are embodied,reimbursed
A retail park disturbs more than  Soho

Clutching my prescription in my purse
My mind was entertained by writing verse
I saw the places where I rarely go
The retail park  gave my mind  a great blow

The act of charming is so well conceived
That easily we’re softened  and succumb
The tempter flatters us in deed and word

To our rational mind .it is absurd
Can we not resist the tempter’s thumb?
The act of charming is that we’re beseiged

So many of these stories have been heard
“He seemed so nice until he stole my plum”
The tempter flatters us in act and word

Soon we are entranced and feel we’re paired
Yet why was he so free to use his gun?
The act of charming is a  tortuous deed

The good man is more natural,more unsure.
His clothes dishevelled, he is chewing gum
It’s Satan who will flatter with his words

To criticise is good if we’re not dumb
We  all want  love and want  our  time to come
The art of charming is a weapon bared
The wicked flatter all in deed and word

Eagerly  desiring  summer  scenes
Before I am immobilised and blind
I  let my tongue  taste flowers like lizards  green

My eyes roam like a lover’s on his Queen
Sentences  suspended in my mind
Eagerly I  soak  in summer ‘s dreams

Ah, running water,  here’s a little stream
Horses chase   the rabbits,  rapture’s  grounds
Infinite,I  soak in all this green

Memories come, invited with their schemes
And fill my  eyes with images untimed
Gently now. I   float  in summer ‘s dreams

Heaven  is here longtime and serene
Behind the fumes of petrol  and mankind
As,  like a child,I  roll  down banks of green

My happy nose  sniffs  air  and pollen mines
The goodness  spreads on upwards undefined
Giving . losing all , by love consumed
I  let my  tongue  taste earth, my eyes catch beams

Affect matters more than numbers do
Reason without love ,so blind to ends
Rational means were used to kill our Jews.

Searching  Europe’s “haystacks” for a clue
Reason makes its wondrous,  obscene blend
Affect matters more than numbers do

When Belsen was relieved, who bought the glue?
The bones of  suffering  dead  might,did offend
Rational  calculaters  tortured Jews.

Was Jesus rational,  what the end he knew?
See his mother Mary, weeping,kind.
Affect matters more than numbers do

By the Christians, Jesus was abused
His brothers and his sisters barred, disdained
Factories were used to gas his Jews.

How  to see what matters in the end
Hate outweighed by Love, controlled not blamed
Affect matters more than numbers do
Rational  calculations ,G-d, oh G-d, Jesu.

I did not think that he would teach me hate
When love was what he falsely spoke to me
Alas, that was the end, the goal,my fate

Once enmeshed ,it’s hard to separate
It’s hard to find the eye with which to see
I did not think that he would teach me hate

What was waiting was ,too soon, too late
With hesitation, love I did agree
Alas, that was the end, the goal,my fate

Did he intend this, did he navigate
Like a lifeboat on a choppy sea?
I did not think that he would teach me hate

I did not send the images he sought
Even that did not make this heart flee
Alas, that was the end, the goal,my fate

How could  love become my enemy
And shame and bitter hate the remedy?
I did not  guess that he would teach me hate
Alas, that was the end, the goal,the  state

The crane will mate for life, unlike a man
For some it’s rarer than the hope of Spring
Was it so when life on earth began?

Post modern love is months, not years, in span
Loss and  separation our love rend
The crane will mate for life, unlike humans

Over us the  fickle moon has shone
The cranes rise in a flock,away they wing
So  they have since life on earth began

With peace, these rare white cranes will long go on.
When will we  reach  the  nadir of the wrong?
The cranes dance for their partners, one to one.

Love is a true process, not a thing.
Engagement  with the other,that’s  our song
The crane will mate for life,may they have span..
Happenstance  brings love  but who knows when?

Ironically, the mourner  must console
Must lend an ear , must seem,must exhale calm
To  visitors and friends who make their calls

We are not permitted  rightful  roles
Of grieving  widow,mother, woman harmed
Ironically, the mourner  must console

The cancer patient’s told to be more whole
The illness,  like a   poison snake,  to charm
Say  visitors and friends who make their calls

How much of our  self can be controlled
By power of will or meditation’s balm?
Ironically, the sufferer  must console

Was there  Eden, was there a great Fall?
Is there a  God or has he been embalmed?
Oh  visitors and friends  go make  your calls

Like the Mariner I am becalmed
For I did not gather death into my arms
Ironically, the mourner  must console
The  visitors and friends who  feel the call

A man of peaceful face and pale blue eye
An old man in the sun beside  a tree
A pilot in the RAF  at war

He could have been a  Nazi, German spy
His Aryan appearance I could see
A man of peaceful face and pale blue eye

Men like him  flew from the other side
Mad blitz on London, blazes,poetry.
A pilot in the Luftwaffe for years

And who brought God in here,must Love be tried?
Was he the God of  Copper, broiling free?
The man had gentle face and kind blue eye

Was that life the one for which man’s born?
Was Jesus silent on his bended knee?
Is he  our pilot  in the inner war?

Up and down, the bells ring by the sea
Open up your arms,Lord, embrace me
Oh ,man of peaceful face and pale blue eye
A pilot in the RAF, dark Victory

How should we remember those we’ve lost
The husband, the miscarried child, the dreams
The date they died, or where we loved them first?

The place in time, the lists we make, the ghost
Or should we reimagine  much loved scenes
Should we cling to  memories of the lost?

Who is it that we shall miss the most
The husband or the children unrevealed
The date they disappeared, the last, the first

I do not laugh or cry when all alone
Emotions have no message,nothing mean
When noone  knows  or shares the  space between

While I live, my body and my bones
Prefer the sensuous scents of ripe cornfields
The place he slept, his tenderness ,his arms

I  still feel the  grief  from child stillborn
The Saxon cliffs of Kent,with smoke adorned
How should we remember husbands  gone
When they leave no child and all is done?

The grey cloud of unknowing held me fast
I knew reality unsymbolised
I gaped at trees with blossom till it passed

I would have paid no heed to stinging wasps
The strange, lost feeling  blinded heart and eyes
The grey cloud of unknowing held me fast

Is this why girls self harm to feel at last?
Inner pain  too deep to make us cry
I look at trees with blossom, this shall pass

Numbness,nothingness,the  human test
To try  our being ,show our hearts can die
The grey cloud of unknowing taught me fast

Who owns life and whose forefinger traced
The universe, the stars, the earth and sky?
I look at trees with blossom,self effaced

Our  words are maps,our sentences are lace
That weave us into being, all engrossed
The grey cloud of unknowing held me fast
What I did not know held me in trust

Life is woven daily , warp and  weft
We    make the threads and colours as we act
As we age our hands become more deft

I like  almost  everything  that’s Left
The NHS. the OU , what a knack
Good is woven daily , warp and  weft

When we see the butterfly. we kiss
Creating joy and love with gracious tact
As we age our  hearts become more soft

One by one our loved ones turn to dust
Yet on this life we will not turn our back
We  still make  our good daily , warp and  weft

On Jacob’s ladder held by angels fast
We see the Heavens open to our lack
As we age our  hearts relearn to trust

Do not fear with bitterness the cracks
The light shines in  and darkness is pushed back
Life is woven daily now and past
As we age, we  make truth  our repast

The  death of self , the emptiness, the loss
Make a space where new works may be born
Like the dying of Lord Jesus on his Cross

The more the loss, the  more space  dispossessed,
The more may be the harvest of the corn
The  death of self , the emptiness, the loss

The creative must most freely their wish toss
Though pain like this is hard to make  welcome
Like the dying of Lord Jesus on his Cross~

In the soul, the  sharp thorn is  embraced
God himself from poor hearts  has been torn
The  death of self , the emptiness, the loss

The good, the holy, even love’s defaced
As we wander in the wastelands all forlorn,
Feel the death of Jesus on his Cross

Absolute,we lose our wealth and home.
In spaces deep as hell new life  is born
By the  death of self , the emptiness, the loss
The weeping of Lord Jesus on his Cross

Attention in each moment gives us grace
To lose our self in seeing brings us peace.
We see the most when we are most effaced

Who has lived without the threat of war
Our war’s ongoing,makes us what we are
Recovering from the last and making sure
We’re ready for the  next aggressive “cure”

From lover’s cruel  to Holocaust Hell’s flame
We do not enjoy peace within our homes
While  in the arms of love we  plot  escape
Intimate demands  are feared far less than rape

From states’ aggressive greed to married hate
We come to love in fear and perhaps too late
Who wrote the script ,who acts their part alone?
The Play  returns,repeats as  humans mourn

Who can bare their  tender, living hearts
Before the ruinous  “wars  of mercy” start?