A contradiction  felt outside
The  sun, the wind, a barbed wire  blade
It marks my   flesh ; I run to hide

We ignore context and a guide
We live on earth not in a   glade
A contradiction ,stealth as crime

The background alters all we find
The picture frame, the pins. the shades
This marks my  heart;I long to hide

All bear suffering in the mind
So our being alters shape
Adds  paradox  to  paradigm

New creation,crucified
From the Cross  the man is draped
Our hearts bleed  or do I lie?

All unmeasured by a tape
Can we find the will to make
From contradiction   our own guide
Life marks  the flesh, love haunts disguised

In the dark street with its glaring lights
Deserted pavements, cars that multiply
I see two of everything in sight

Twenty dogs two owls that fly by night
Two black cats  with amber eyes run by
In the dark street with its glaring lights

As I walk I sing  to cats’ delight
I sing Joan of Arc,I wonder why
I see two of everything in sight

The song takes seven minutes,or it might
If I sang like Leonard ,  if I sighed
In the dark street with its glaring lights

No-one can detect my wandering sight
Yet now and then I wail or emit cries
I see  more than you do with insight

These little deaths mount up as our time flies
In  the end we step with shuttered eyes
In the dark street with its errant lights
I see two of everything in sight

Only my despair made me static
Paralysed by  grief and guilt I failed
By the end I had tried every trick

From prayer unthought to deeps of pure logic
My  life, my engine ,shuddered 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
At the end I had tried every trick

I felt  love’s hands 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 tricks

The widowed man and I near drowned in tears
When meeting  by the bus stop down the road
Missing those who  loved us all these years

Through loss itself , we’re  vulnerable to fear
The face shows each one’s  horror like a code
The widowed man and I   gave way   to our deep tears

We think we’re on a plateau,  we ignore
That we are on a  downward slope, age goads
We’re missing those we loved despite  old scores

The cold wind and the rain  were listening ears
To our sad speech when comfortless, alone
We’re widowed  and  enraged by   salty tears

Is this pain a selfish one to share
Waiting for our little bus  to show?
We’re missing  our old lovers and their care

Now we know not what to eat  or dare
We both catch on,  this hint that life’s unfair
So widowed both, enfeebled by  lost tears
Between us we have loved a hundred years

art

My brother charmed the ladies on the bus
He charmed the teachers and the parish priest
When at home he spared no charm for us

When I asked him  why he said,because.
Those do best who say the very least
My brother charmed old ladies on the bus

I asked him to be kind; said he was
I ate   the green herbs  at his marriage feast
When at home he had no charm for us

With age he  grew much closer, in the blood
He was  not  a   friend , he was a beast
My brother charmed old ladies and the fuzz

Now  he’s  changed, he’s almost getting  good
We seem  more  like each other in  life’s tests
When at home he had no charm for us

I don’t  know why he fought.I had no  rest
But I bequeath him love if I go  first
My brother charmed old ladies on the bus
Now at home he  has learned  charm for us

In my fantasy I swear till blue
The  colour of the sea and sky in June
My velvet skirt and tights are the same hue

I have a pair of boots, a tube of glue
In case my skirt falls off in a sand dune
In my fantasy I wear much blue

My skirt did slip down yesterday, it’s true
When I put the key in and it turned
My velvet skirt and tights were  liked by Hugh

Hello, it’s only me so wet with dew
After walking through a mass of ferns
In my fantasy  still wearing blue

When I have a fever or the flu
I wear blue pyjamas as I burn
My velvet house-coat is just that  same blue hue

Should we call the  doctor and complain
The traffic’s swerving round from lane to lane
In my fantasy I’m wearing blue
My velvet skirt and  jacket ,where are you?

I

Now Cain does not kill Abel his own kin
With his drones he kills men faraway
As if his hatred can’t be held within

We can feel enraged as  can women,men
When others needs decide the game we play
So  envious Cain  killed Abel,  his own kin

In the end , dark Cain could never win
Regret,remorse,reaction,reckless day
 He had no space for  calming rage within

With new powers, Cain  can bomb Iran
Convulsive hate enjoyed, then perhaps dismay?
But Cain does not kill Abel. his own kin

Have  we learned no lessons from Japan?
I am become death,I heard O say
Visions of  the burning with no skin

There  will be reactions some grave day
More death, more suffering, what can  we declare?
If Cain does not kill Abel what comes then?
Does hatred find new targets, distant men?