Crunching through the pebbles on the beach
The shells and stones shine damply  in the wet
They slip and slide beneath my  sandalled feet

Underneath, in places we can’t reach
Live tiny creatures on which humans step
Crunching through the pebbles on the beach

Salty air like sunshine colours bleach
The  neutered stones and shells  are lovely yet
They slip and slide beneath my  sandalled feet

We murder without knowing what we teach
Human greed, dark  oceans of regret
Scrunching through the pebbles on the beach

The smallest  of all creatures cannot screech
Say humans acts  still shapeless  are a threat
Worlds  slip and slide beneath my   first world feet

The blurred edge of the sea and sand’s not set
The boundaries   make a  space for what’s not yet
Loving are my memories of the beach
They slip and slide  in  wondrous retrospect

Th broken lamp   once lit our little night
In silent harmony, we read, or sewed and wrote
The smaller cheaper  lamp now  gives  me light

I wish the shining lamp was in my sight
Oh, your  mellow voice. I miss its notes
The broken lamp   once lit our little night

God does not assist me in my plight
Nor does he send me Joseph’s coloured coat
A smaller cheaper  lamp now  gives  me light

Remember Southwold and the river Blythe?
To Walberswick we went in that old boat
There we bought the lamp and blue bowls bright

Now memory is  of  teal green seas at Hythe
The burning  stubble, Saxon cliffs well-wrought
My smaller  world  seems withered, over scythed

Joy and sorrow twined teach  nothing’s bought
The sacred flame extinguished can’t be caught
The broken lamp   brings sorrow   to my sight
But shadowed memories  of our life  ignite

Orchid copyright Mike Flemming published with permission
When our skin feels  vulnerable and frail
Slighter than a cobweb’s weave of silk
Then doubt may hold us back like iron rails

Fearful of bad news in our new mail
Our mood swings like a seesaw at fast tilt
Then our hearts feel vulnerable and frail

Like a frightened dog with drooping tail
Bad news  strikes like a  sword plunged to the hilt
Pain may hold us back like  prison rails

We sentence our own souls  and give no bail
Fearful of the strong, from iron built
Oh, how our hearts feel vulnerable and frail

Like a shoe encumbered with a nail
Our being harms us  through our own bad will
Pain  imprisons us like iron rails

Fear of judgement and our end term bill
Takes from us our goodness and goodwill
When our skin feels  delicate and frail
Then doubt may trap us in our self-made jails

Curious about  my silent thoughts
Her tongue was wagging as her ears pricked up
She needled me with steel that she had brought

Her eyes glared like some fish that had been caught
Her face grew wrinkled , straining to pick up
Curious about  my secret thoughts

Her hair stood up on end at my strange plight
Yet  rudeness  made her tongue  and lips slip up
She fondled me with steel that she had brought

She looked as if she’d just encountered Light
She handed me some paper she’d ripped up
Hinting that she knew my secret thoughts

She baited me and  cursed, I did not  bite
I merely drank the tea  from my own cup
She  pitied me with   condescension’s blight

Why was she so keen  to  offer me her traps
In places that she knew were off the map?
Curious about  my silent thoughts
She  stitched me up with  needles  she had brought

We suffer the ill fortune of   a brain
A mind that gives attention to ourself
We think and think and then we think again

In evil times the mind becomes a drain
Filled with long dark dramas from its wealth,
Oh, curse misfortune   caused by  human brains

It makes us into islands,not the main
And does it coldly, cruelly by stealth
We think and think and then we think again

How this hyperactive mind gives pain
Causes sadness and decline in health.
We curse misfortune, thinking and our brain

Surely we must tell ourselves quite plain
Monologues internal tend to bolt
We think and think and then we think again

How we love to suffer and find fault
How treacherously we hurl  ourselves to guilt
We suffer the misfortune of  a brain
We think and think unless our mind is tamed

Punctured by his words my spirits fell
I landed in a muddy, unfenced  drain
But as my face was blank, no-one could tell

As high as a balloon let free in hell
I tried a look of pride and deep disdain
But  ruptured by his words, my spirits fell

As stupid as a cat with a loud bell
For lack of mice, I’d cry and I’d complain
But as my voice is dim, no-one could tell

As placid as a milkshake which won’t sell
As  winsome as  a triolet on a train
Punctured by his  glance, my spirits fell

As optimistic as  the  sun in early Fall
As wise as was the jury of Dunblane
But as my voice was cracked, no-one  was thrilled

As sorry as a head with a migraine
As  cosy as a cat  by windows framed
Intense and metered like a villanelle
As my eyes are black, I cannot spell

I cannot mend the lamp that we both chose
The top and bottom split when  he fell down
But I can make it look as if it glows

The candle burns with fragrances of rose
That takes away my sadness and my frown
I cannot mend the lamp that we both chose

I find it hard to  bear the pain of loss
The concept is  more verbal than it’s noun
But in my room  the candle  brightly glows

In Blythburgh church, a lighted candle  bless
See, the painted saints wear golden crowns!
I  will bear this breakage and its cost

I will get the strength to bear my cross
Oh,haul me, holy one, if I fall down.
Beyond  these lights we sense  the Light of God

Bless the hand that points us past the known
Where each of us must travel,all alone
I cannot mend the lamp that we both chose
I  stumble in my grief amongst the low

I spend an hour in worry everyday
From lists of all disorders on the net
Then  the Wars which on the feeble prey

I wonder sometimes if I might be gay
Although one’s gender is not quite preset
I spend an hour in worry everyday

War in Syria,Palestine. and more
I could run through the entire alphabet
To name the Wars which on  so many prey

I give an extra hour , you cruel whore!
She wants me to be anxious tete a tete
I spend more hours in worry everyday

If I’m tired I cannot shut that door~
The conscious self’s invaded, thoughts preset
Don’t name the Wars, just kneel and say a prayer

Has the Devil laughed and  placed his bets
That the human race the world will wreck?
I spend an hour in worry everyday
I’ve had enough,I’m more  inclined to pray

Who should speak, which persons have a voice?
Can we trust the ones who’ve told such lies
Post-truth, post-God, post meaning, post remorse?

If we’re wounded, who shall give recourse?
Does it matter to them what we’re tortured by?
Who should speak, which people own their voice?

If we hear bad news, what is its source?
See the bodies  hear the babies cry,
Post-truth, post-God, post meaning, post remorse?

Can we spread democracy by force?
Is it still democracy post-war?
Who should speak, which people own their voice?

Which of all the methods is the choice?
What is politics the reason for,
Post-truth, post-God, post meaning, post remorse?

If I speak, will you believe I lie?
The tongues of angels whisper, what of Troy
Who should speak, which people have a voice?
Post-truth, post-God, post meaning, post remorse

Human punctures easily repaired
Price no wonder when you’re in despair
Leave your ego and we’ll strip it bare.

Some would puncture God,  or at her tear
Be cognisant of the gorgon stare
Human punctures ,pay and be repaired

Before you leave,I ask you to declare
That you will never at my shadow glare
Leave your ego and we’ll strip it bare.

Now I must  dissect  the older layers
See how deep the hole is, offer prayers
Human punctures ,some can be repaired

Do you love yourself, for humour care?
Does your heart leap  with the leaping hare?
Leave your ego and I’ll strip it bare

If we live, we  must  feel we can play
With words or paint or music in the air
Human punctures, pause here for repair
Leave your ego here, the judge is there

Would you choose your phone or your  own mate
Which old object would you like to trash?
With a phone, it’s hard to procreate

With a human, one might recreate;
Enjoy the wonder of the precious flesh.
Would you like a phone put in your grave?

Hermaphroditic was my kettle late
As on the fire, it  boiled the tea to  bless
A phone is  sexless, neither loves nor hates

Phone in hand the crowd perambulates.
Avaricious, as they eye the press
Would you choose a phone or human mate?

I doubt if the   new tax man gives rebates
So we need  to question then  address
Is a phone a particle or wave?

All in all, I think that I can guess
We are schizoid, wanting to regress
Would you choose your phone or a real mate
Will a phone connect or stimulate?

I did not think just then about the end
That we too would   struck by time and place
As we stood in ruined Abbey’s ground

Underneath the cliff, the swishing sounds
The waves all riding,dying in the race
I did not think just then about the end

From the sky  did love like rain descend
As I yielded to your  piercing gaze?
Then we stood in ruined Abbey’s ground

Your heart was   in the hills,my honey found.
Not even Africa itself would this erase
I did not think just then about the end

Now I see the shadow and the mound
Now I grieve for want of your dear face
Like when we  loved in Whitby Abbey’s grounds

In the  child’s loved landscapes, self is made
May nothing spoil such worship nor degrade
I did not think just then about the end
I stand in reverie  on holy ground.

Like the water  in a mountain stream
In flood it drowns  the weak and  very young
In drought we can explore its bed  and dream

The limestone around Alston’s very clean
And in the little river stones are flung
It’s  water  in a new born mountain stream

Dry  river beds in Teesdale are  pristine
The dark hills threaten  as they overhang
In drought, we can explore, find stones  and dream

But much of  Pennine land remains unseen
The  steepness,wildness ,blackness darkly sing
Like the  currents  in a flung down stream

In rare heat, bare feet are river clean
The hot stones make a flat seat on the bank
In drought, we can explore or  view the scene

In  love the mind will savour and then thank
The world of nature into which it sank
Unlike the water  in a mountain stream
If our mind runs slower  it better dreams

Is it wrong to hate him for his face
His temper  and his  vicious  comments  show
And we can read the lies he has embraced

No finger of my hand would wish to trace
The petulant smirk, the lines which rage has drawn
Is it wrong to judge him by his face?

Is my judgement  wrong  to see menace
Where others might see merely a man’s frown
Still we read the lies he has embraced

Yet is it not the people’s lack of grace
To give an Empire to an enraged clown
Is it wrong to judge him by his face?

Remember how a child will hide her face
When she’s down wrong and fears to be brought down?
Yet he hides nothing from his  bold fraught face

Our children reap what men like this have sown
There’ll be no help when we’re all overdrawn
Is it wrong to turn from his grim face
Where we can read the hatred he’s embraced

Whirling in the winter wind, dead leaves
Dry and brown and broken ever more
Send their substance to the souls bereaved

People pray and yet do not believe
Christ was born  and angels  him adored
On the winter wind float dying  leaves

By our spirits may we be deceived,
Even in the heart’s most hidden core,
Sharing   presence with all us bereaved?

Look into the sun and fire  perceive
Power  destroys the lives  of all its whores
On the wind float  lingering, burned out leaves

For men of power think they can  God deceive
Yet even kings will die despite their  force
To lie in marble graves,  of love bereaved

Wrapped in cloths of linen, cream and coarse
With no coffin, Jesus  high  is borne
With the wind, with ashes , with dead leaves,
The photons of his love  light  hearts bereaved

How good to savour fully with our sense
Whichever one we favour in our minds
All life is better when our love’s intense

Yet more important is to be content
With peaceful hearts we let our self unwind
How good to savour fully with our sense

With inner voices which too much dissent
The day gets darker and we fall behind
But life is better when love it invents

In the desert,will there be a tent
Where we may sleep and find life undefined
Can we savour fully without sins?

We find our hate which love will complement
Reparation guides us unresigned
So life is better, hate is not cement

As our faces alter with our lines
So the play is acted in its time
How good to see the truth of what we sense
Life is full when love is not lament

Floating on a black balloon at night
Clinging on for I’m afraid I’ll fall
High above the earth in a dark sky

If I  fall  no-one will see this  sight
Maybe just a tiger who might maul
Floating on a black balloon at night

My platform is  unsafe  so I will die
No-one else can save me if I call
High above the earth in a dark sky

Below me are grey clouds, they whisper sighs
The earth looks distant and so very small
Floating on a black balloon at night

Would that the  grey moon had her own light
Lone and vast the spaces that appal
Bereft of anchor on the earth, dark sky

I’ll fall forever, why was I stillborn?
Falling down like small leaves do forlorn
Clinging to a black balloon at night
Way above the earth in a dark sky

Virtue is a habit like cigars
Like cream cakes and like coffee strong and sweet
But virtue’s safer as it has no tar

One might not search for virtue in a bar
Nor look for virgins in a dark lone street
Virtue is a habit like cigars

One does not act with virtue for a dare
Instead we hide our virtue,we’re discreet
Say, virtue’s safer as it has no tar

I have got much virtue I can share
And I have suffered scruples when I speak
Virtue is a habit like cigars

Indeed I have much virtue.don’t know where!
I am obsessive lest some from me leaks
But virtue’s safer as it has no tar

I am mild and  yet I am no sheep
I admire the lamb that upward leaps
Virtue is a nuisance like catarrh
Let’s   be wicked ,oh,my Lord, we are!

I spent my adult life in puzzles mazed
No more to play in parks  or climb green hills
Wondering was it true that Jesus saves.

On green hills,  the Herdwick sheep would graze
While in the town, the people swallowed pills
I spent my adult life in puzzles mazed

On the sunny side,old people  prayed
For pensions were too small to pay the bills;
Some wondered in which Bank the Saviour saved

I may have been  obsessive in my ways
Keeping my accounts was quite a drill
I spent my entire life in puzzles mazed

How many  mortal sins.such thoughts would  prey
Of self torture,I have had my fill
Wondering is it true that Jesus saves

Jerusalem upon its rocky hill
Cannot show but maybe it can tell
I spent my adult life in puzzles mazed
Wondering if it’s true that Jesus saves.

You did not speak to me in  words at all
But how can I express my vision  otherwise?
Imagining your presence is my call

The image of a golden cloud-like shawl
Full of warmth and love, so saw my eyes
You did not speak to me in  words at all

Like the  sun, and yet a cloud not  ball
Emanating care,sublime surprise.
Imagining your presence is my call

I was low and had  to further fall
Though startled when  you  came in this disguise
You did not speak to me in  words at all

Bleak despair and grief were my allies
I have seen  so cannot now deny
You did not speak to me in  words at all
Imagining that presence is my call

As I wrote the paper blew away
Despite the season I was on the  grass
I need a weighty topic for  today

I believe our words and writing  pray,
Passwords should be  sacred words embraced
As I wrote ,the paper blew away

Prayer,  like walking, can maintain each day
A moment is enough  to give heart ease
I need a weighty topic for  today

Salvation will be ours  though deep the fray
When we take   within a human  face
While I wrote, the paper blew away

Look into the eyes of  one who’s pained
So both souls are gently  interlaced
I need a  holy topic for  today

My fingers on the pillow   tranquil trace
The dent his head made in our last embrace
As I wrote the paper blew away
I  saw the light and  lost my dark despair

The heavy snow clouds  menace from  the East
No sun, no light,no golden joy,no thought
Where are our wise men, where is our feast?

On moorlands they  bring down befuddled sheep
In deep snow drifts they are smothered , caught
The heavy snow clouds brood  over the East

Is there wisdom in the human beast?
Does intuition tell? Where is it sought?
Where are our wise men, where is our feast?

In Siberian wastes, the child Christ  speaks
Oh, be now our creative  word, sweet Lord
The heavy snow clouds  protect him  in the East

The feast is here but shared with those the least
The currency is not what rich men bought
We do not see the women, nor the feast

For freedom and for dignity we fought
Yet empty we must be before our God
The heavy snow clouds  gesture from  the East
Here are our wise women, here our feast

Do we wait for hints from other Realms?
Though hints can be  confusing to the dead
Oh, let life run  like seas that overwhelm

We first look after those who are  becalmed
As hints can  be a nuisance when unfed
Do we care for hints from other Realms?

Spiritual  rules become embalmed
And hints fill shyer people with deep dread
As does life  with seas that overwhelm

Was our life an accident designed?
Do we want our hints  to be unread?
Do we share our hints from other times?

What is compassion  worth when  life’s unkind?
Where are the arms that opened when we bled?
What is life  that seas  should overwhelm?

What is life  for those who have no bed?
Sacred are all children  underfed
Do not wait for hints   and special signs
The  little voice  beneath the noise calls time

e

Overcome by fantasies of mirth,
Recollections of my lover’s rubber face
I giggled in the pew right through the Mass

The priest alarmed by shudders and much worse,
Wondered if the Spirit could efface
Occupation by these fantasies of mirth

He prayed to God to end my sudden curse
My partner,dead, unknowing of disgrace.
I giggled in the pew right through the Mass

I wonder whether tears or laughter’re worse?
My shakes and giggles, sorrow soon displaced
Occupied by fantasies of mirth

I took Communion smiling with Jesus
I longed to see his wholly truthful face
I shivered in the pew, right through the Mass

And so I crossed the boundaries of good taste
Now I’m common, like my human face
Overcome by reveries diverse,
I hummed and waved green palms right through the Mass

A lonely man superior to us all
As he describes himself in his own words
It is no accident when such men fall

Around himself he built an iron wall
Too thin for perching of the singing birds
A lonely man superior to us all

There seemed to be no door where one might call
No telephone was answered, if he heard
It is no accident when such men fall

His pain was such, if seen it would appal
He hid it with his feelings, none recalled.
A lonely man superior to us all

We observed no more than he was pale
His blood had stopped, dried up by constant boils
It is no accident when such men fail

He did not love as he feared love’s sharp trials
But hell itself was less sour than his bile
A lonely man, superior to us all
It is no accident when such men fall

The inner coil and tangle  of the wild,
Where rose run mad and holly are as one
Ensure that nature’s heart is undefiled

To these depths, the winter bird’s beguiled
Until  the red dawn’s fetched by lowly sun
Through the coil and tangle of the wild.

On the path’s side,  brown-green leaves are piled
A thousand beetles  search for food within
A hidden  space where nature’s undefiled

The cat  is waiting, acting like the mild
Then dancing, hunting, acting  like his kin
At ease in coil and tangle of worlds wild.

The sun is setting, and the night clouds pile
As  lovers kiss, so smiles the holy one,
Living all his natures undefiled.

Now, at last, the darkness has begun
The  trees unmoving shield the riots within
The inner coil and tangle make the wild,.
Is the space for soul still undefiled?