Category: villanelle

Blue the sky

The  sea shore blue of  operatic sky
Turned to navy then to darkest grey
Dark trees  despise the mysteries of light

The holly has its depth unknown to eye
Hiding fragile wrens  from birds of  prey
The  cerulean blue of soothing sky

And in my room upon my bed I try
What words would come,what humour could you say
Oh trees  held in the mysteries of light?

The words won’t  come,unspeakable the sigh
The weeping  of the sick, the donkey’s bray
Depression of Van Gogh. the lowering  sky

Oh,mother, why must newborn  babies cry?
The Lord ignores, the sheep flee as I pray
The  trees   hold in the mysteries of light

I meet your eye,I’m feeling drawn and grey
You want my love,I fear the  last  mistake
In sinking blue of  dawn and  passive sky
The  trees  despise the virus and the lies

 

 

 

Climbing cliffs  then caught by geese and God

I remember all the  funny things   we did
Peering into windows lit by lamps
Climbing cliffs  then chased by geese and dog

Walking down  from  Redcar,sea so still
 After Saltburn Pier, the cliffs high jump
I remember all the  funny things   we did

Wandering Whitby in a sea grey smog
Eating a pork pie cut into lumps
Climbing cliffs  then chased by geese and dog

Old Hunstanton ,white sands where we’d sit
The wild spikes of the gorse  spread out  unclamped
I remember all the   colours,scents and that

I feel the joy inside my heart is lit
Woe  is leavened by old nature’s stamp
Climbing  high  then chased through mud by dogs

 

We see in shadows shades are not so stark
In Studland Bay   astonished by skylarks
I remember all the  humour  and the love
Climbing cliffs then caught by geese and God

 

 

 

 

Tarmac. cobbles, flat slabs  of grey stone

Did   the earth weep when we paved the streets
Tarmac. cobbles, flat slabs  of  grey stone
Leaving  merely holes for trees long roots?

Covering in our cities all that’s deep
Startling ancient graves and  bits of bone
Did the earth weep when we paved the streets?

Motorways  increased that tarmacked  roof
As we drive  our ruinous cars    alone
Leaving  there no holes for trees long roots

In the hidden depths beneath our feet
Live the riches, seeds  awaiting growth
Did the earth weep when we paved the streets?

As the trees bloom  we see our deceit
We want it all  but do not pay nor mourn
Leaving  there  small holes for trees long roots

Once an orchard, now  so sterile,  torn
The gardens   became car parks  bleak, forlorn
Did   the earth  quake when we paved the streets
Leaving  merely holes for trees long roots?

 

 

 

Oh, gentle Light

I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time
You did not converse with me in words
You were simply present with your Light

Nowhere did I feel your power and might
You were no eagle, but a little bird
I ‘ll try to get it right just one more time.

Who made our language with its subtle rhymes?
The ancient people  had their well trained Scribes
You were always there,oh gentle Light

You  gave me warmth, you  changed my too fixed sight
A comforter , a Spirit, how describe?
I ‘ll try to get it right a final time.

The agony inside me lost its bite
I wanted to go on, to be alive
You  do not always show your golden Light

We do not know  when we at last arrive
We do not reach this  meeting place by strife
I ‘ve tried to get it right this final time
I never saw such  Gold until that night

The art and the heart

the art of poetry isn’t hard to master
make the syntax good and  entertaining
the  gruesome heart of poetry   brings disaster

 

a meter errant makes  the lines come faster
an oxford  thesaurus   gets the listeners   waning
the art of poetry  isn’t hard to master.

 

a genius woke and saw a verse rush past her
it only needed polishing and planing
the  gruesome heart of poetry brings  disaster

 

she left the oven on,it gassed her
ever since her folk  groan, paining
the art of poetry  isn’t hard to master.

 

she saw her selves as coloured shapes in plaster
and round her mind, were ghosts all craning
the  gruesome heart of poetry brings disaster

there’s not a lot of hope if we’re complaining
for criticism  from hidden ghosts is draining
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master
the  gruesome  heart of poetry brings disaster

 

 

 

 

 

When we walked  I  warmed your hand in mine

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 may never 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

Photo by E.L copyright

Deep in the ground the worms  drowse mixed with flowers

A day with my own self, such peaceful hours
The inner seas make music as they roll
And in the ground the worms air roots of flowers

The rain comes down in cold but gentle showers
Desiring  to  give moisture to all souls
A symbol of  the value of quiet hours

In Northern hills we looked for  Durham owls
They hunt by day to keep their bodies whole
While in the ground the worms air roots of flowers

My loved one was a native of those towers
Highcliff Nab and Hasty Bank  called home
My days with him a-wandering there for hours

As he died , deep in my heart I howled
I held his hands, remembered , paid the toll
While in the ground the worms digest  the sour

Lying in the heather  we had roamed 
May God  have mercy on his  homing soul
Now I enjoy   in reverie our hours
Deep in the ground the worms  drowse mixed with flowers

 

 

 

Emotions overwhelmed before we’d words.

Unable to recount by spoken word
What speechless  infancy endured in fear,
Through the body pain and hurt are shared.

In the doctor’s office, body bared
The blood test and the scan are both quite clear
Unable to express this pain by any words.

“Show , don’t tell” is in this case, absurd.
Wise for writers, not much good right here
The body hurts so human minds are spared.

Expressions on the face are not endured
Affectless  and wooden, yet unfeared;
Emotions overwhelmed before we’d words.

Like the Dutch boy’s thumb held back  the waves
But inner seas are not the oceans fierce
The body jerks , believing minds are spared.

 

Sometimes our defences cost us dear.
Yet floods can kill, destroy, debase and jeer.
Unable to recount by  our own words
With the body, pain and hurt are bared.

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 Evil has grown bold?
Kind despair  that  made me long time sit
By the end I learned Love needs no trick

The edge of sight

The impatience of a hunter, keen,intent
Will miss small movements at the edge of sight
Will miss the sacred spirit’s new descent

Relaxing when in danger,insolent,
Will throw a wider beam of golden light
Curb impatience, excess of intent

Slowness is a sign we can present
That’s enough for heart to speak to heart
We see the holy spirit’s new descent

Can we from our eagerness dissent
Lean back, let the other play their part
Curb impatience, excessee of intent?

For my narrow vision,I repent
How I’ve missed the whole with graphs and charts
Now I see the holy spirit’s spent

Scanning with a wider gaze unvites
Calmer ways of living with less spite,
The impatience of a hunter, keen,intent
Will miss the gold of spirit’s new descent

Love’s victory

Turn back, live again, he asked of me
Do not wander in this darkness anymore
One false step might give death victory

We are each connected to that tree
The sunlit top, the roots hid in earth’s floor
Come back, live again, he asked of me

While we live, we’ll live with dignity
Not scrabbling for the gold in blood and gore
One false step will give death victory

The kindness of the golden light was clear
And left an image in my mind’s deep core
Come back, live your life, he said to me

Do not wonder now why you are here
We’re here to live and living shall restore
What our suffering self has found so dear

I had never seen the Light before
Only Christ the Tyger with his roar
Come back, live through pain, he asked of me
One right step will give love victory

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 Evil has grown bold?
Kind despair  that  made me long time sit
By the end I learned Love needs no trick

Soaring soul

A  robin came in after you had died
The little bird is missing you like me
After hopping round, away birds fly

You sat there in the kitchen looking kind
The birds were eating crumbs left from our tea
The  robin looked in after you had died

Should I see it as a  subtle sign?
Once a bird tapped on the window here
I  knew   the meaning as I sadly sighed

After hopping round, away birds fly.
Their delicacy, their size haunts me like fear
The  robin looked in after you had died 

I wish the  bird  had stayed a little while
I wish I were up North near Windermere
On a  boat that sails  till my heart smiles

Oh, for another  one to  share , to steer
I miss your hands so warm and once so near
A  robin called by after you had died
With your soaring soul the small birds  fly

Daddy, is it far?

Seems like a  dream, I’m riding in this car
He’s kind; he’s bright ; he likes to drive and chat.
We’re intellectuals; ha ha ha ha ha!

I wonder if the house is very far.
I’m happy not to map read; I sit back
In my dream, I’m cosy in this car

The motorway is salted, frost  to clear.
In the fields, looks like they’ve emptied sacks.
The cars spin round; so merry, like a fair.

I like the softened meadows’ silver stare
M25, I thought I’d not be  going back
In my dream, I’m  flying but to where?

This  frosted  grass has beauty debonair
Once stubble used to burn and make skies black
Crossing Essex, flames would fill the air.

The dear child sits behind me, tra la la!
I like his magic and the way his marbles clack.
He likes to hear me humming,  fah la la

Oh, how  he drives well in the fierce sun glare.
He never swears nor  shouts; he brings good luck
The sun lights boldly trees with branches bare.

I feel relaxed, enjoy the comfy car.
His little boy asks, Daddy is it far?

My Wedding Dress , my eyes, my shining hair

I remember riding in that car
Through unknown Essex.Suffolk to the sea
Oh Aldeburgh,Dunswich,  where we were

The fields  invited love  with yellow stars
Beguiling buttercups, and you and me
We got lost in Braintree in our car

Framlingham, we saw  wild primrose there
Mary Tudor  unimagined  flees.
Ah, Aldeburgh, fishing boats and tar

History  so poignant  and bizarre
Bloody Mary’s heretics, the siege
They might have got away inside our car

Southwold Harbour, walking on the spur
Rowed acrosss the  tidal river  clear
Then Walberswick where Freud’s descendents  smirk

As death came down  was I  the  wife  you chose
Your pretty one with  cheeks of  peach and rose?
My Wedding Dress , my eyes, my  shining hair
Your flowered shirt, your  eyes , your humour rare

 

 

 

A poet can fly

Try writing nonsense, you will be surprised
I have used a comma, that’s the end;
How hard it is to know a poet can lie.

Unless you have a calling,shut your eyes
Do not break where you can also bend
Try writing nonsense, you be surprised

When I read a villanelle, men cry.
Ask the poet never to 1pretend
For cruel it is to find a poet who lies

Triolets bear sadness to the wise
If your aim is cruel, do not send
In learning nonsense, we’ve been ill advised

Rubbish is not nonsense,realise.
Lewis Carroll’s Alice was no friend
How hard it is to know where poets lie.

Sense and nonsense travel in a blend
So it is that fiction can offend
When writing nonsense, you must be composed
How hard is it to learn a poem transposed?

  Thoughts annihilate

Postmodern poetry has no formal shape
No sonnet,villanelle or rondeau there
Nor is it true or false that we are apes

A sentence made from curses aggravates
Makes   even slight hurts something we can’t bear
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape

This very poem’s ironic , it emotes
Glares with total rage at  you who care
If it’s true or false that we are apes

This poem,alas, will offer no escape
If it has no rhymes  then I have flair
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape

The forms are hung until we get to break
We shatter and we crack the poet’s lair
I think it’s true and false that we are apes

For a metre I will hang in here
Waiting with no patience for a jeer
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape
Nor is it true  that  thoughts annihilate

 

I dream into your mind

I wish I were at Whitby by your side
From the Abbey Steps we saw the.whole
The sound of gulls aswirling round our minds

The atmosphere of Yorkshire blunt and kind
Salty air,the North Sea,winds that groan
I wish I were at Whitby by your side

See the children taking donkey rides
The fishermen look anxious , happy, worn,
The sound of gulls is swirling round my mind

From Saltburn,Staithes to Bempton bold cliffs rise
Then Bridlingon where Hockney was a boy
I wish I were at any by your side

The two weeks break seemed long when we arrived
Now all my past seems like an old map torn
The sound of gulls is calling you to mind

To be in Whitby and to be alone
The pie shop’s open yet I feel forlorn
I wish we were at Whitby side by side
The sun and air, I dream into your mind

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 empty feeling when grief ends.

I have made my bed on winter leaves

I have walked the silent paths of grief
Sunless, dreary, cold and all alone.
I have slept on beds of winter leaves.

I feel that death’s a cruel, mysterious thief.
Although my heart weeps , and my joy has gone,
I have never felt I was deceived.

I have learned that human life is brief.
I have learned by sorrow we’re undone.
I have sifted earth and what’s beneath.

I have felt my dark emotions seethe
While I’m cruelly mocked by glaring sun.
I have learned the geography of grief.

I wait in patience for my life to ease.
Will I know when my Last Supper’s come?
Will my tale be written on a leaf?

Unconsoled grief can make us dumb
Into our hearts, we drag the ice that numbs
I have walked the silent paths of grief
I have made my bed on winter leaves

God’s little hands

The  branches of the tree  reach out like  hands
The hands of children trusting in their need
Beseeching me to notice their demands

On the sea shore, ghosts of children stand
By gasping waves. where  fishing boats made speed
The  branches  bend out like   god’s little hands

In microcosm, in miniature on land
In macrocosm where the planet bleeds
Beseeches us to  answer earth’s demands

The suck of surf, the prayer of shingle sound
Where  rough plants  fill  the shorelines with their seeds
While  branches  reach out like   god’s little hands

Look stranger  at this island, hear its sounds
The sea birds here, the robin in the weeds
Beseeching man to notice their demands

Prayer  is less important, it’s these needs
Demanding ,without bitterness, our deeds
The  branches of the  trees, the golden strands
Tell us, humankind ,their  last demands

 

 

 

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

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

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