A greater Britain cannot now exist Boris is the immigrant we missed Why not invite all his family? Turkey is not the safest place to be
Europe is our enemy again We have no Empire,God save our young men If we wound or harrass France or Greece Germany will follow where they lead
Britons have few manners and no sense We are all too angry and too tense The poor are full of shame, the rich are dense Tax the rich & lower the Council’s rents
Boris are you here or have you gone? Your Dad is French, this fiddling is foregone
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 sig
The intersection of disease and age The spot which is a signpost is seen clear Some fall down and others are enraged Where is the writing, where the dreaded page? The intersection of disease and age Passed by those who’re otherwise engaged With friends and with creation to treat fear Why, these intersections are the rage! The place which was a signpost is now dear
I can only comment in a verse A villanelle for virtue,my defence I don’t know what you mean for you are terse
Love or hate,I don’t know what is worse Is this life a very spiteful test? I can only comment in a verse In my bag I have a purple purse Money is so dirty it’s a pest I don’t know what you mean when you are terse
When we marry, we won’t be the first We need a godly priest for I confess I can only comment in a verse Do not pay my bill which I detest At our party let us all be blessed I don’t know what you want when you are terse
I am in a struggle, can you guess? I am well endowed with happiness A villanelle for virtue is the best I don’t know what you mean you are so terse
This morning my mobile rang coming from Bradford [fake] phone nr A man with a threatening voice told me he was from HM Customs and if I didn’t press number 1 onmy phone I’d be in prison by next week He has an English accent but obviously doesn’t know about how long it takes to go to court etc Even though I knew it was spam, it was unnerving
The first line is the hardest to compose The mind flies here and there like a wild bird Or settles down, enjoys a little doze The first line is the hardest to compose Breaking the blank page my fears arose Until with my own ears the music’s heard The first line is the hardest to compose The mind flies here and there like a wild bird
A mood of stillness like a quiet dove A lack of wind, vast silence gives repose Symbolises blessings from above.
My trees mature now form a holy grove The sorrow ruling me has been deposed To give me stillness with the nesting dove
In such moods, there’s space to think, compose. To learn the ways of energy and love Symbolised by blessings from above.
In the crowded Mall, the shoppers shove The special mood of peace I fear eludes We lose the sense of silence and the dove
In public life, we quarrel and oppose We lose the way to our fine treasure trove We lose the symbols and the deep repose.
Give me your hand without its heavy glove As we caress, we value human love. A mood so stilled, oh, fluttering of the dove No wind to destroy peace nor rain to flood
I read a sad story yesterday written by a woman whose father died after waiting 4.5 hours for an ambulance & he had covid 19 She mentioned that the first time he was in hospital they said his blood sugar was too low.She replied, that was impossible as he was taking all his diabetes medication correctly This shows how little people know about diabetes Diabetics have too much sugar in their blood.The medication removes some of this sugar but it can reduce it too much.Then you can faint, fall etc The tablets do not cure they try to control My husband had this and had many falls some serious when he fainted onto the War Memorial and injured his brain, broke his nose & cheekbone and damaged his eye also left a large pool of blood which my neighbours saw coming back from work I studied diabetes and possible various treatments On the other hand my brother had it & after the best diet ,he was no longer classified as diabetic. If you are on such meds,carry a few sweets and if you feel faint suck one chew one Then, as soon as you can, eat a sandwich with protein If you go out for the day take a sandwhich as you can’t miss a meal You’d better not believe just me.Look it up and find out for yourself
The sky is yellowy pink but tinged with grey The sun is gone and we feel stark dismay We can’t meet friends in person any more Only shout as we stand by the door
I think the source of Covid is just cash Money laundered less, the notes unwashed The coins are black as coal in devil’s claws Don’t leave the tip that kills , nor money gnaw
I used to suck a shilling while I worked I tapped my fingers where it would not hurt But now the sight of pounds makes me feel sick Never use old notes nor lovers lick
Throw your money into a black hole You may starve but this will save your soul
Today is yellow ochre,tinged with grey Not much contrast from the soft silk sky No birds nor any brightness, light won’t play
The ones who act so manic are not gay If there is no truth, there are no lies Today is yellow ochre, languid, grey
In the sun on Sutton Bank we lay My acts outcry, my grief I shall defy No birds nor any life. the light n’t play
Who is born a hunter.who the prey? The lion has lost the unicorn nearby Today is yellow ochre, damped to grey
I think of brexit, oh the blush,shame The spirits flatten;rise up,do not die No birds nor any life, the light won’t play
I wonder what the loss is or the gain I wish we were in Suffolk by the Bly Today is yellow ochre, soon to grey No birds, no life ,I’m anguished, would you stay?
Creeds have danger, action is what counts Love your neighbour subtly and with care Tell the truth in suitable amounts Good deeds are done in secret,God’s about But views of him are hidden and are rare Creeds are minor, action is what counts Do not offend nor patronise nor doubt. The beggars in the doorway room nowhere Tell the truth in suitable amounts Live a secret life but sing and shout Write a letter clear and tinged with flair Creeds are minor, action is what counts Hunt no beast,admire the mad March hare Tell the truth in suitable amounts .f you meet a stranger, do not stare If you meet an angel be prepared Creeds have danger, action is what counts Tell the truth in suitable amounts
I was almost drowned by deep,dark grief I have wept at home and wept abroad. I lost my early childhood to these deaths
I have known grief spread like rivers wide I ‘ve been wracked by painful spasms of tears I have felt the absence of my God.
I’ve known grief for more than sixty years My father and his brother were the first I have met no being who’s been spared.
Yet we have no permission here to weep I long for ritual like my writer’s pen I ache to dream of them while I’m asleep.
Like a fox hides in a hole or den I would like to hide when day begins Uncontained by his love again
As a tree mourns for each little leaf As God mourns his human life so brief I have been demolished by wild grief I have seen lost ghosts, yet still believe
The ritual is to put the garbage out My day begins the night before it’s due When I recall the day, I have to count Instead of Mass, we put the garbage out No Confession so no sin,no horrid doubt No neighbours and no prayer,no ancient pew The only ritual left, toss garbage out My mind begins to think about the clue
My brain has turned to liquid and it’s dripping from my ears I need some kind of tampon to absorb this sudden rush Why did noone tell me this is frightful to endure? My brain has turned to liquid and it’s dripping from my ears I think it’s far too late to expect a total cure I’ll never hear the little voice nor see the burning bush My brain has turned to liquid and it’s dripping from my ears Where’s an alcoholic then, to drink the mighty rush
Elena,a baby wrapped in woollen clothes. On the last train,Warsaw to Moscow, [ change Niegoreloje.] 1939.Father,mother,brother You passed through the Arctic Wastes of life. Still as if travelling on a train To an impossibly far destination. As you left the German Army crashed into Warsaw Lost,your aunts Your cousins. Your culture. How does God select the damned? You had your own baby,here in England, Not lost like all those others. Your father died by his own hand, The hand of history; The fingers twitching, Not sure where to point. Then settling into frozen grief A sculpture only your mother saw. You saw too,Elena. You always saw,though you can’t remember; The long journey, your mother’s breast, Your father’s silence. Only the dead know that silence. Only the dead weep With the rocks and stones . And the ice in each eye Fell like snow down your cheeks As you held your own infant. Warsaw to Moscow, Moscow to Jerusalem. Always journeying Looking for what they can never find: The home they left behind The presence of the dead Lying in gaunt heaps Like rubbish Your aunts, Elena. Your cousins. You never knew them. But there’s a hole in your mind Through which the Polish wind forever blow
The bricks of the old wall, while crumbling, live Five hundred years of history passed them by While plants grew in the cracks below, above Apart from people, this is what I love That ancient structures stand and do not die The bricks of this old wall while crumbling live A little beauty will do well enough This cheers my heart and lifts my spirits high Wild flowers grow in cracks below, above We fill our minds and homes with shop bought stuff Gaze on bricks and cracks, what will we spy? The bricks of this old wall while crumbling live Like old complexions, older bricks are rough The Vicar cannot smooth them though they try Holes for plants inscribe these cracks with love From generations past, ghosts wander. shy. Looking for their graves, they whisper,sighT he bricks of the old wall still crumbling live Tenacious weeds shall wave below, aboveShare
Oh,transcendental numbers, are you gods You show the complex world that drives us nuts If only the circumference could be The radius squared, then multiplied by three.
How simple Science would be because straight lines Could wrap round the “circles” well defined All the world would be a different shape The Earth itself would crumble as we gaped
Come to that we would not be alive For women would have bosoms like road signs The womb would be a cube and not a sphere The corners would endanger life obscure
Our heads would be like Rubik’s cube in shape Our minds would be aghast and emigrate So here would lie the ruins of the West No devious politicians could invest
Men and women could not join in sex That would make the adults feel quite vexed Procreation would be IVF Look it up, it’s no fun for the guest
We would need no hats upon flat heads A dinner plate would sit up there instead But if we bring back pi, will all be well? I cannot say while living in this hell
Stupid, evil men are on the loose The air is nauseaous with a smell diffuse
The way to be successful is now clear Deny your shame,humiliate the poor Have no friends or mate whom you hold dear The way to be successful is right here Control your cronies with a hint of fear Tread on the lowly, who can but endure The way to be successful, shed no tears Repress your shame,humiliate the poor
Accidentally tread on someone’s face As you run for president again Make sure their features are unclear,erased Knowingly tread on the human face It’s not evil, it is just bad taste The devil is a clown, we feel no strain Incidentally tread on someone’s face As you run for president again
Roman roads connected in straight lines The cities they had built in wealthy times The remains of one goes past my garden gate Do ghosts of Roman legions pass at night?
I like to see connections,maps and roads Others love old cities ,walls and moats My road ran to Lincoln near the Wash Migrating birds and swans go there to rest
Going South, there is the Pilgrim’s Way Canterbury, Becket,murder, prayer Julius Caesar, Deal, the Roman hordes Boudicea, and her fighting Lords
Layers of history, meaning,love and death Still we argue what should be our path
Axes are useful, real and imaginary.Does our earth have them? Borrow one in sums.Not nice.Arithmetic sucks Calculus is based on non-understanding of first principles which may not be understandable like certain j Drawing graphs is an art and a science. Euclid has frightened some and delighted others.And a right angle to you as well. Flatland is a book set in an imaginary two-dimensional world.Fractions frighten Geometry gave way to algebra.Godel studied axiomatic systems. God was a Word not a number……. think about it. Hard as maths is, there is a non-sensual beauty in there somewhere It takes your mind off the pain when you try to visualise 4 dimensions.Be aware some never return. Jokes are not often found in our textbooks except the biggest.. that God likes jigsaws, geometry and juggling. Kurt Godel went mad.He proved maths cannot have a complete set of axioms with no contradictions.So don’t go there Logic is not identical with mathematics. Multiplication tables were sung by children at school in the past.Matrices are rows and columns of numbers. Number theory is harder than one would imagine from counting one’s digits. Operators are imaginary concepts which have an effect on other imaginary concepts which then contribute to nuclear physics, and a few other things like the end of the world. Probability seems to be part of the nature of the world despite Einstein’s famous words. God does not play dice. Quantitative methods were what they called maths to stop the anxiety students felt.But it’s a bad name. Reason is only part of mathematics Straight lines can meet. Theorems can be interesting if you know why you are learning them Why? Why indeed.Wranglers are top mathematics students at Cambridge. X or x is often the unknown we look for. Y is like X just by historical usage Zero as a concept with a sign is more abstract than One.Hence its late arrival on the human scene. Nothing can be symbolised. Ain’t that wonderfulStraight lines can meet.Straight lines can meet.Straight lines can meet.
Every poem begins with a first line After that we choose the space and time The words float in my head till they combine Must a poem begin with its first line? Some are bold and some are more refined Some are free and some have lissom rhymes A poem begins by finding a first line After that we search the Deep Words Mine
Daniel Spinnett was a newly homeless man in a horrible wealthy but cruel country called the Reblighted Kingdom.He had been married once but his wife often used to hurl his hot dinner at him if he was a bit late home and she also had four lovers into the bargain.When she was made Head of Uncivil Service UK he decided he was leaving her and hoped for a second chance and maybe a child as well with a gentler woman At first he was truly happy in his new commodious flat and also with meeting women on the Guardian Solemates website; all too soon his firm was affected by the recession and he ended up with no money to pay his rent ; his ex-wife was completely unsympathetic. though she was absolutely rolling in money and men or both ! He went to the Council to seek for cheap accommodation I have nowhere to live.The rents in Lone-don are so high.. can I get a council flat?I am on job seekers allowance of £70 per week… A council flat?The man behind the desk laughed sarcastically like a dying flea. There ain’t no such anymore,mi duck…didn’t you know the Trying Lady sold them off. Did you not build more using that money,he enquired courteously and logically. as was his wont Sorry,chum, we spent it on wine, women and bling… gold watches, golf clubs, moats, you know Daniel felt very upset so he set out to walk to Lightwebbs Forest a couple of miles away for a time of green beauty and quietness…He fell asleep under an old oak ; he was nervously exhausted ,no doubt When he woke up a huge cat was standing near him staring curiously Hello, the cat said in a kindly but loud voice Hello,I am Daniel from down the road Well, the cat said,I’m a lion from the circus.We have escaped and we are living here in the woods. But what do you eat? asked Dan. Well,we forage around and we find food left out for house cats.;we also have learned to cook leaves and grass over a fire in a double boiler. The lion smiled down at Daniel showing a light in his amber eyes You look very thin.Why don’t you come with me to have dinner? Daniel was afraid of the lion but he had no alternative in mind. After a circuitous walk they reached the deepest,densest most magical part of the wood.There were four lions,two tigers and four leopards all looking happy Is this our dinner,they cried excitedly as they gazed at Daniel. No,this is a poor starving man with no home. Well.lie down Dan and eat this leafy risotto.. Absolutely delicious,awesome, he cried greedily as he used his hands like a child with no table manners Then the first lion asked Dan to come with him to his own den. When they got there he said piteously I have got a problem and none of the animals here can help.I have got a piece of barbed wire stuck in my tail and I need a human with fingers to untangle it.. Daniel looked and there was about 12 inches of barbed wire which hit and beat the old lion as he walked or ran.Dan managed to untwist it and uuntangle it.He got some water from the stream and washed the lion’s backside where the barbs had cut into him..I have no Elastoplast, he muttered anxiously.The fresh air will heal it, said the lion gently….
And that was how Daniel came to be living in the lion’s den. He says he prefers it to living with his dominating wife. He certainly looks fitter than before and is considering asking for surgery to change into a lion on the NHS as there is a lady lion whom he has fallen in love with.No doubt lions don’t get married in church but they do love each other very deeply. Just go to the forest and take a look next time you fall asleep. Now the lions enjoy even better food because Daniel has recipe books and unlike the lions,he can read.They found some old sauce pans at the recycling centre so he can do cheese sauce using milk from the sheep on the edge of the wood, If you knew what went on in our many woods,you’d definitely get a big surprise..I can tell you
The relativization of all moral norms, the crisis of authority, the reduction of life to the pursuit of immediate material gain without regard for its general consequences—the very things Western democracy is most criticized for–do not originate in democracy but in that which modern man has lost: his transcendental anchor, and along with it the only genuine source of his responsibility and self-respect . . . . Given its fatal incorrigibility, humanity probably will have to go through many more Rwandas and Chernobyls before it understands how unbelievably shortsighted a human being can be who has forgotten that he is not God.
The end of values, kindness, earned respect The loss of wisdom,history and truth The pillars of democracy are cracked.
The centre of the heart,who can protect? Conspiracy and madness unseat proof An end of values, kindness, earned respect
Violence is admired though lives are wrecked The lasting triumph of the folk uncouth The pillars of the Western Mind have cracked
Their minds unfurnished seem bereft of tact They tread on others words like horses’ hooves The end of values, kindness, earned respect
How can such opponents make a pact? The calculating crucify our youth The pillars of the Western Mind have cracked
Yet Western Empire builders had no ruth They tortured those they conquered group by group On such ground just madmen earn respect The altars of the Western Mind have cracked
Stan awoke feeling very thirsty.My, this bed is much too hard,he thought.He put out his hand and felt some wood not far away.It was his desk. Emile was lying on his stomach purring. You fell out of bed,the little cat miaowed.Luckily I clung on with my claws and I am ok sleeping down here….I can see any mice better. Well,it’s not ok with me,Stan informed him gently.How can I get up from here? He picked up the Cambridge Companion to Sylvia’ Plath and banged on his desk softly. Mary was awake and heard a strange sound.She got up and found Stan lying on the floor with his head by his desk. Emile wanted to sleep by the wall,you see.,he told her. Then he rolled over and I fell out. That is logically and scientifically unsensible,Mary told him. Surely Emile is not so big that his weight was enough to knock you out of the bed?It is against the law of gravityAnyway,why don’t you get up? I like it down here,the old man lied to her. OK Mary said,then she picked up the phone and rang 999. Hello,she said.My cat is very upset as he feels guilty for pushing my husband out of bed. How terrible for you,the man answered.I’ll send an ambulance right away. Mary opened the front door and left it unlatched whilst she lit the electric lights with a match. How do you feel Stan,she enquired. I am thirsty,give me so brandy,he ordered her politely as he was very full of kindness. They said not to let you or Emile drink or eat. Blooming ridiculous,he told her in a manly fashion Soon the ambulance arrived and the paramedics were running up the stairs to seee the poor cat. Mary fainted so they laid her on the bed whilst they comforted Emile and cleaned his paws. Then they picked up Stan and laid him right next to Mary,his wife. Why don’t you have a bigger bed,one asked Stan. Bigger than what,he responded academically. Well,if you were any fatter you’d not be able to get laid with your wife. True,he replied but I am 96 you know.I have erectile malefaction already and am unwilling to have more mistresses and lovers or even concubines. I shall make you some tea the female paramedic told them forcefully Well,you don’t seem to be hurt,the other one told Stan, but the cat may need therapy or counselling because of the guilt he will feel. He’s not a Catholic I hope. No, he’s Jewish,Stan shouted nervously. That’s alright then.He can have concubines if he chooses.How do cats get to be Jewish anyhow/ It’s their souls,Mary said…they are all waiting up there for a suitable place to be reborn and some choose to be cats. But how can you tell? he asked wonderingly.They have no prayer shawls They miaow in Hebrew,Mary said loftily.And they like to sing the psalms before bed. But how do you know it’s Hebrew,he replied.Do you speak it? No, it’s just he hates bacon and peperoni and always wears a hat so it seems he must be one of Jesus’s friends,but not Judas of course.I suppose Jesus wore a hat but it’s never been found as yet.Not even being sold as relics. Well,that’s intriguing.Do you think Emile might be the Messiah? Oh,dear.We never thought of that.Will he have to go to Galilee and catch fish and walk on water? No, he can go to Rome and tell the Pope that the Church is not what God planned. I hope they don’t kill him,Mary cried… God will not be very happy. I didn’t know God had moods,Stan said. He has post-creative depressive disorder….no wonder when we look round he world. Still they did try,I’ll say that for him or her. And so say all of us For he’s a very good yeller,he’s a very good yeller A cat’s life is a fuss.Miaow
Donald said he’s coming back somehow In a different form, perhaps a cow! He made an error, ruining the States If he is a worm then he’ll be bait If he is a dog and bites a child He will be put down like those reviled So many on Death Row he ordered killed The only benefit is to remind Not all humans are quite human-kind
I wish that I had kissed you ten more times I didn’t know how soon you had to leave I’d draw upon your lips my best design
I tell my love in words, which is no crime. I didn’t show you all you might receive I wish that I had kissed you ten more times
If I had bought you bottles of best wine Would you have stayed and kept me unbereaved? I’d draw upon your lips my best design.
I know you were perceptive and read signs Eyes a-crinkle green as sun washed leaves I wish that I had kissed you ten more times
I’d hold your mind and weave your thoughts to rhymes Until the truest love poem arrived I’d draw upon your lips my best design.
I’d write you letters ,much love I would leave With my mind and body I perceive. I wish that I had kissed you ten more times I’d draw upon your lips our own design
Important Persons shout Is not so crude as our wish: What mad Nijinsky wrote About Diaghilev Is true of the normal heart; For the error bred in the bone Of each woman and each man Craves what it cannot have; Not universal love But to be loved alone.” ― W. H. Auden, Collected Poems
How my heart speaks 