Oh,Emile got up, then he yawned & stretched Cat pandiculationFor cats get stiff and cats get tense They won’t write no dissertations Emile called to Stan and Stan got up Pet manipulationion Stan made tea and fed Emile Emile’s ecstasisulation Mary came and she saw old Stan Oh, a manifestation? Are you real,she called to him What impertinentication!| I like your cheek, her husband cried Show me your appreciation Where is that, his dear wife said. Is it underneath my aprion? Well,Leonard Cohen did mention this I’m damned by my own veneration Oh,Stan get up and get us gin This is pure excruciation Calm down,Mary.I am back This is a mere notification Well,I have got myself another man What a pestification Does he sleep by you in bed at night? There may be an evacuation Don’t be rude, we thought you had gone I’ll drown in my own perspiration I feel such shame at seeing these men It’s torment and it’s a tribulation The doctor told me you were dead Is it conspirification? Send a code to my phonionion That will verify my restoration And om
Thanks for calling to tell me I am owed insurance money after that bus ran over me in Uxbridge Road.However,I have died since.My funeral is today at 6 pm
Thanks for asking me what I think of your telephone service.I prefer Westminster Cathedral.
Thanks for saying I have a beautiful voice.However you may not realise I am 87 and no longer date strange men or indeed women or other human beings.
Thanks for the offer of three pairs of shoes for the price of two.I have 50 pairs of shoes now so I must turn down your offer or buy a new home.T
hanks for sending me the Sun.If the Guardian is not there I’d prefer nothing at all to come or if you are desperate for money send The Telegraph
Thanks but the LRB is too much for me already.It gives me a certain je ne sais pas or qua or da da as I walk into the Turkish Cafe for my coffee.It keeps men at bay.And women,I hope.I love Jesus best.
Please stop writing to me.I don’t speak Russian.I don’t even know if it is Russian.And I do not want to be your wife.Or a spy
Of the evils,,devil, world and flesh The world is what is worst of life and death We may pray in chapels with stained glass Then let migrants drown while we’re at Mass.
Christians desired to convert this world That ended when the atom bomb was hurled The Jews and Muslims lived in Spain in peace Till Christian Monarchs killed them with no grief
The flesh is not an evil in itself Coercion of another makes ill health Abandonment of children and the weak Disillusioned, insecure we break
Now I’ve lost my faith I face the gulf Struggling to stay human above all else
The fearsome wildness of the natural world Where tigers kill and sharks drag up their prey Where viruses destroy both friends and foe And cancer kills young children every day
The world was never made for our demands Creation and destruction seem to be the way Evil men can love a Schubert song While better ones kneel down but cannot pray
Can we imagine God in our own form Who could take pleasure in psychotic rage Could listen as we say our night time prayers Could cut and paste to make their own collage?
Touch your loved ones with your tender hands Beggars can’t be choosers,understand
A strange comingling of the mills and moors Green of nature,smoke from chimneys glowers While sheep graze their wool is touched by smoke But higher up the ground is bare of hope
Peering down I recognise the view Rows of terraced houses share a loo Women wear their aprons with panache Boys are playing,give or take a bash.
Miners walking home with faces black Painters with their ladders and their sacks Little girls are skipping with their ropes Cats are watching idly, kittens mope
Which way shall we go, we must decide The green hill with no walls, the red brick eyes?
While I was ill recently with a UTI I heard a cat running then jumping onto my bed and resting against me for a minute or two.I thought it was real,Whatever it was it fled after 2 minutes and I am missing the dear animal,I had heard a loud noise rather like the army helicopters we have flying over us today Is it preparation for the Funeral on Saturday?
My mobile phone has been a trial The other could not hear me I could have run a million miles Carrying tote bags filled with files My mobile phone has been on trial It seemed ok what e’re I dialled I bought a plastic case,you see It covered up the microphone And turned all humans into stone Hardware problems it cannot be My mobile phone has been a trial No foe or friend could hear me
Oh who can see into our hearts And make them safe in grief Catch all our tears in rivers dark Oh you who see into our hearts Let love be shared in vital sparks In golden flames that burn no leaf Oh you who see into our hearts Oh make them wise with grief
After a trauma it often makes the person relive and be retraumised One week after my husband died I shed a tear and was advised to have counselling but is it bad to cry? And you can do a six week course and get a certificate to become a bereavement counsellor so beware.Always ask your friends and contacts for their views I spoke to a psychoanalyst who advised me not to see a counsellor.Crying helps us.Surely we can comfort each other?
United Kingdom sever ties that bind Wales and Scotland never were our kind If England leaves that might well pacify The violence in the Northern land of Ire
Build a wall round England with no gates The United Kingdom fragments with great pain We English are so stupid, fit for jail Then we will have this problem done and nailed
Hadrain’s Wall is still there, I have been Imagined Roman Soldiers I have seen Then the drop to Scotland’s in my gaze The Romans went no further through the haze
Le Royaume – Uni is a shattered glass Help the poor, abolish social class
We’ll need a passport if we go to Wales Snowdon is not English,I bewail One can reach the summit on a train To see old England and the Labour pains
We’ll have to go to Cumbria, is it ours? There is no border yet,no Northern Powers Hellvellyn and Great Gable are not small The Cumbrian folk might link them by a wall
The banks and braes of Scotland are not ours It’s cold and wet up there,don’t be coward A foreign trip will need no aeroplane There is not yet a Motorway to Spain
Wales and Scotland sundered from our land Foreign travel there will give no tans
Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves That come and go on beaches , wet the sand The sea is always moving as is love
The unconscious is a language dark engraved We cannot read unless we can descend To rhythms as natural as the rippling waves
Rich and strange so different from above What we find is not what we intend The sea is always moving as is love
What’s in authentic nature that should save As colours interact, by brush to blend? Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves
Yet ,in a poem, what part of us can bathe The mind , the heart, the soul, the writing hand The sea is always moving as is love
The golden seas, the oceans can command The ships that sail, the whale, the hidden ends Poetic rhythm is natural like the waves The inner sea is moving , tender love
The BBC is flooded by complaints People missed their favourite shows last night Prince Philip died, “they” say he was no Saint
Much appreciation he had earned When lesser men might well have taken flight The BBC is flooded by complaints
The Queen will ache like every widow aches This weeping will not show itself in sight Prince Philip died, he was her much loved mate
Her tears might well if all the childen spoke Keeping her new mask on will denote The BBC is flooded by complaints
This is not the time to hurl out cruel taunts Get your pen and write as I have wrote Prince Philip died, “they” say he was no Saint
The children of Victoria caused much hate The Kaiser and the Tsar in the same boat The BBC is flooded by complaints Prince Philip died, “they” say he was no Saint
To the depths The trees’ roots wind beneath the grass So green and perfect,neatly mown .The roots entangled,serpents mass, the fruit trees which now groan. Another,richer world beneath, Where the roots stark homes do give To tiny creatures which yet seethe, And all our darkest shadows live. From here a serpent malice took From our neglect of what we hate. We see the surface , do not look At what lies deeper ,till too late. And so we live, so often blind To the depths of our own minds
Adam,Eve, the apple and the snake We know the story well,we are quite smart Their children filled the earth with crude mistakes Adam,Eve, the apple and the snake God is not in charge of what we take With the nuclear bomb, the earth will break Particles light nightmares,man awake Where are our little souls and human hearts Adam,Eve, the apple and the snake We know the story well,we are so smart
Near illiterate, they watch TV Not Nigella not the BBC They ask the educated to sink down Come Dancing ,Benny Hill. the maddened clown
No more does learning merit due respect Nor do they treat the erudite with tact They do not wish to study or discuss So any leader vicious wins the toss
Does it matter much if sights are lowered? They felt shame at school and were ignored They do not think they’ll benefit from books But watch the behaviour of an errant Duke
The lack of cash,the shame, the rage, the crash No surprise some vote for sociopaths
Decide with me Past walls of heaving lies. Past politicians who shall be the Bride? Decisions fly like demons on the tide. Grab Satan”s tail and take a free and evil ride.
I fear no pill Can help the poor and reft. All of their payments Are to be Put to the cracked Test. We do not help For passive is our state. Send us to Bedlam for we are adrift.
Post modernism Says all stories are good But we must sift them With our heads of wood. I fear no evil For soon I think I`ll be Driven to seek asylum Where the angels swim at sea
I will always love Hugh, though John gave me his home We married very hastily,but were by chance in Rome
There’s no place lacks combs There’s no grace in Rome
Come to Jakarta or send me a bone I wanted a mere threesome, though I feel best alone
Life is what happens when we are busy making puns Come now to supper but don’t eat any guns
Imagine all the people living life in grief Imagine there’s no laughing, imagine nothing feels Don’t read a comic, only books have leafs Then in the Autumn they fall out unsealed
So you want the Loons to play with Cirque du soleil to swing away with They’ll come if you don’t lie
Success is like a swinging rope Up and down, the monsters joke
I decided to be a graduate but never learned to read Thinking is of little use especially at speed
Do something useful,sweep the floor Have some coffee,clean the door
I voted Labour all my life I got married for the strife Now he’s dead, I am quite lost Noone warned me what it cost
Haarold Willson our PM Very clever decent man I will drink a toast to him Though maybe not one for old Jim
The family tapestry is full of holes I want to mend them, will I be believed? Maybe a few pleats and then a fold The family tapestry has got huge holes And places where we scorched it with hot coal The cat has got her claws in, an own goal Oh,Lord, I think the ghosts are here like thieves The family tapestry has got huge holes I want to mend them now before I leave
Now my birthday comes again Send me paper and a pen I think a villanelle is good When the trees burst into bud Though its form is never fluid Love alone will never do it But grief is what will damp my eyes Tears and ink produce new lines. I love to feel the pen in hand My old friends will understand The ink once made from powder dry Mixed with water for supply We had a monitor it’s true But like a prefect tasks to do The old brass jug stands full and proud Now then children, two’s a crowd
How my heart speaks 