The past a lost abyss

Photo by fotografierende on Pexels.com
Photo by zhang kaiyv on Pexels.com
Photo by Pok Rie on Pexels.com
Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

What to you may be a worthless weed
Bears its little flowers to make its seeds
Thus it spreads itself as Love requires
Humble speedwell,hear of our desires.

In the pavements cracks were home to grass
The sidestep slabs were broken like thick glass
When deep frost came, rain made frozen pools
I trod in them as I tore up to school

The crackling ice, the mist dropped on the park
Our ginger cat, the trees, the dog that barked
A woman in the kitchen making tea
The oven by the fire, the big door key

Little signs spark tender memories
The future fiction, past a lost abyss

To a kettle

Oh, lidded kettle boil me water fast
I cannot live without your heated blast
Your spout is small but perfect for its use
And, as your lid is hinged. it can’t get lost

An electric kettle made by Russell Hobbs
A teapot with a spout and lid with knob
Are what the English need in times of storm
If crisis comes, we need tea hot, not warm

I don’t object to diverse kettle brands.
We had a coal fire once with kettle stand.
Its metal black from soot an burned by coke
We made our neighbours tea which seemed to smoke.

Ah ,kettle , instrument of civil life
We cannot boil our water on a knife.

The dream


Fifty years ago you took your life
And left me for the agony, the trial

Since then I’ve had no vision but denial
Your face was absent,cut out by a knife
I dreamed of you last night, your little smile

There was no motive, we had never quarreled
I was blinded, nervous and too shy
You left to me the agony, the trial

Who consoles the woman left in horror?
Sickly on my lonely bed I lay
I dreamed of you last night, you wore a smile

In my view, I could not see tomorrow
Through my suffering I did try to pay
You left to me the agony, the trial

The grief of fifty years has gone away
Oh, lay down, baby,lay down, baby lay
I dreamed of you last night, your face your smile
You consoled me then, old lovers reconciled




Copyright © Katherine Braithwaite | Year Posted 2020l




















TheRaven Avatar















Block poet from commenting on your poetry





Katherine, There’s a rare gem in writing of a smile., though it chose to move on. -Richard





Michael Avatar










Date: 10/11/2020 8:10:00 AM





Block poet from commenting on your poetry






	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
Ironing
		
	
	

		

One dear husband is enough















Oh,steam iron how I love your heat
And how you make my clothes so neat.
A flat iron is no use to me
No open fire is here,you see.






And thought I liked the flickering coals
I feared those faces that looked droll.
They were in the flames and peered
At anyone who ventured near.






I wonder how the people past
Kept their trousers neat and pressed.
Now I’ve bought a hand steamer
To keep the germs off my femurs






I didn’t like to say,my crotch
In case the devil is on watch.
I never ever used to think
My body perfume was distinct.






And yet it may appeal to men
I don’t want to try again.
One dear husband is enough
Though he did enjoy a cough






He had asthma and bad eyes
Looking out with wild surmise.
He saw my golden hair float by
As by his window it did fly






All at once he fell for me
And we sat by an apple tree.
His clothes were wrinkled so I thought
I would iron them for a start.






He could darn and polish floors
Cook lamb chops and apple cores.
So my steam iron sees much use
I wonder if it’s self abuse






For as a woman feminist
I’m not meant to iron vest
I’m not meant to boil men;s socks
Nor their pants of interlock






I’m not meant to make them tea.
What a naughty person,me!
I must confess these wicked sins
Then I’shall polish my cake tins






Satan wants me down in hell
Don’t say he needs my iron as well
As he was an angel proud
I’ll save him into One Drive Cloud.






	


	



			
				


			

			
Grass singing
		
	
	

		

I have heard grass singing in the wind.
I have walked through poppy fields in sun
I have known how dark gried can descend





I have watched trees’ shadows in deep ponds
I have felt the arctic wastes of pain
I have heard grass weeping in the wind.





Another soul is writing with my hand
Yet I have wept while loaning them my pen
I am mangled when sharp rain descends





I have known the edges of the mind
I ‘ve sensed the silence un-contained
. I have heard grass singing in the wind.





I am here for people who’re confined
I record the old deals of cruel men
I have suffered when dark rain descends





I have caught the storm by camera lens.
I have felt the solar system bend.
I have heard grass singing in the wind.
I have seen the pitch black rain descend





I

	


	



			
				


			

			
Like a statue
		
	
	

		

No longer am I rooted like a tree 





I’m like a statue standing in a bog





Of all secure connections I am free 





My only soulmate is a silent frog





The wind may blow me over then you’ll see.





I’ll sink into the earth like some old log.





I’m well acquainted with adversity.





Lost in this wet earth, my grave  is dug





Eaten up by worms and myriad bugs





But not tossed out and eaten by the dogs





I dwell inside this heart still ruled by love 





Abandoned by my friends and family 





An unencripted gravestone floats to sea.

	


	



			
				


			
				


			
				


			

			
He said I can keep the box
		
	
	

		







































































 


Mary was in the bijou teal coloured kitchen of her almost detached house making a jam sponge pudding when the doorbell rang.She wiped her hands on her new purple trousers because she didn’t want to dirty a clean towel.

She found her colleague Dr Rosa Benchez standing nervously outside shivering

Come in , Mary cried.Would you like a cup of tea? You need to sit by the fire and get warmer

I’d love that, Rosa said politely but distantly

A few minutes later they were sitting looking out of the bay window watching a blackbird sitting on the fence;they hoped it would start to sing

May I talk to you,Mary? I have got rather more agitated than ever before.I am wondering if I need counselling or maybe shooting, she joked morosely

OK,said Mary cautiously.Has anything unusual happened ?

Yes, my sister has had her driving license taken away because of big panic attacks she had crossing the Humber Bridge …. you know how huge it is.She got out of the car and screamed,Help! Help!

That was dangerous with so much traffic about

She is furious and says we live in a Nazi state and is writing to the Times

Well, it can happen that you lose your licence,Mary said,but when she has learned to deal with the attacks she can re-apply and get her license back.Simple things like not eating and being tired can bring that on so I have heard.And fear of fear, too.

As well as that,Rosa said,my son has got a recurrence of cancer and is going onto some new drug-type chemo.My ex husband is very distressed and so am I as it was unexpected.

And even worse my new fiance Prof. Charlie Blogge has broken off our engagement with no reason.I can’t think of any at all.Shall I ever trust a man again?

He said I can keep the ring which is a blue sapphire ,supposedly, but when I had it valued they said I was mistaken and you can buy them on amazon for £57 and less.

So she took off the ring and hurled it into Mary’s coal fire where it looked very nice as it got hotter and hotter glowing like a lighthouse off Portland Bill in a sea storm or a banger about to explode


Good grief, said Mary.No wonder you are agitated.We may have to phone Dave the bisexual lovable paramedic available on the NHS 24 hours a day.Or we could have our hair permed and dyed red instead, she murmured to herself

Which of these events bothers you most,Rosa? She continued gently while hoping she would cope.

It is my own feelings that worry me most.I wake up feeling very sad and nervous;I wonder if I am having a breakdown.Then I feel worse as I turn it over in my mind trying to decide what to do.Then I get up and get food into me and think it all over and over again while drinking my tea.

Well, you know it is normal to feel sad, anxious or distraught when bad things happen,Mary told her.

But most people look happy when I see them in the town , Rosa shouted angrily

That is because being outside they put on a mask.They could be feeling worse than you.Anyway, why bother about that? We are all different.Some people think I am very calm but they don’t see me when I’m not.I go stiff like a piece of wood.Then I pass out

So what do you do? Rosa asked her nervously,twirling a golden ringlet around her finger as she watched her engagement ring melt in the fire.

I don’t do anything,Mary said.This is one of the fundamental errors in our society that action is needed for so many things and especially for negative feelings.But it’s usually part of life.Things pass.

I pretend I have a big round box inside me and I let the anxiety live in there nice and cosy until my mind has absorbed and dealt with the pain.Once my box was quite small but it has grown bigger now and so it has room for mad or bad feelings.I do little tasks and listen to music.

Then if I feel really bad I listen to Leonard Cohen and tell myself, he had it worse.But he made money out of it! Not that you can make money out of yours. though it’s worth musing about

Well,Rosa replied.Thank you,Mary.I am glad I am not the only one who feels so anxious sometimes.I shall try to get a box like yours.

You are welcome,said Mary jovially.Come round on Sunday for tea.Emile is out hunting but he loves to see you and so do I

The women hugged cautiously and Rosa went out looking less cold and nervous as she bravely carried her box away .It was invisible to the people walking nearby





























	


	



			
			
	
		
		

	




		


		
	




		
		




	

		

	



	
	


	
	
									
					
						
						

			
			
					
						
			




		
				
			
	

		

			%d bloggers like this: