Happy New Tier


I wish you a low Tier
Happy New Leer
Happy, need beer
Hippy New Flair
Happy, Loo near!
Aptly New Here.
Happy New Beer
Unhappy with Lear?
Snappy New Year
Cherry Xmas
Happy Mums R Us
We kiss you and say it’s Xmas, so happy you’re dear
Very Xmas to view.
Very Xmas with flu
Make a post of it.
Flay the dust out.
Hope to flee you soon
I can’t mate to go home.
Sorry I’ve not been in clutch.
Sorry not to sweep my promises.
We must be, this year.
Be good but impure
Have emotions in the flesh
Let’s get together with a SIM
I’ll see you with the Creator.
Are you any good with tarts
Flap both your ears
.Well, we were born with no lore.
I see men gnaw more.
Happy Low Tier
I feel I am queer

I have studied and I’ve got my last degree

I started to write villanelles because after 2 years I was still suffering intensely
I decided to learn something new.I’ve written many villanelles now. I learn new things as often
as I need to.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Villanelle

 March 14, 2018

I have studied  and I’ve got my new degree
My heart has learned its lessons one by one.
I’m a graduate of the grief academy

I didn’t know how anguished one would be
When the man you love is here and then is gone
I’ve been studied, oh  I got the third degree

The tears I wept  could fill up the Dead Sea
Add more salt and scour the shore till done
I’m a graduate of the grief academy

I know now I must die,we cannot flee
We turn to dust and that is not much fun
I have studied  and I’ve got my last degree

It’s no  News, nothing for the BBC
Unless you’re Stephen Hawkings, that great man
We’re graduates of the grief academy

We can’t control life with a self made plan
God is gone though prayer  might well begin
I have suffered till I got my Ph.D
I’m a graduate of the grief academy

On the shore

The face that was familiar is no more
Yet in my dreams he  is alive again
Without his presence, I feel lost and sore

The truth of loss, no human can ignore
It tears our  heart  to pieces with its pain
The face that was familiar is no more

Yet sentimental offerings I abbhor
When parted from the love with whom I’d lain
Without his presence, I feel lost and sore

No give and take of love, the shore is bare
The tide is out  so far the waves complain
The face that was familiar is no more

On the sea’s edge, we would walk and stare
Now I walk alone is this  my shame?
Without his presence, I feel lost and  bare

By my write the inner rhythm’s regained
The art of losing well  may be attained
The face that was familiar is no more
With him I   found sweet sea shells on  the shore

Corruption

I’m in my cashmere hoodie
And I’m wearing cashmaere track pants
Polly Wolly Doodle, life’s a lay
I’ve got a folding Samsung
I think it has a stylus
Polly Wolly Doodle. life’s E bay
My sheets are very cotton
Like they were when slaves were pickin’
Polly Wolly Doodle’s in decay
So we lay on slaves’ productions
But we did not want to meet them
Polly Wolly Doodle, Jesus waves.
We were praying to the Devil
Dancing with the demons
Polly Wolly Doodle, we will pay
We imitate work clothing
But ours are fur and satin
Polly Wolly Doodle, who can pray?
The priests abusing children
The nuns hide babies dying
That was for Lord Jesus
They must all be unbelievers
Horror is the feeling I declare

Win them back

I saw a book called Split:how to win your husband back.I wonder if it works when they are
dead?
Hey,Lord,I want my husband back.I’m sad by myself
Help some other sad people then
But I will still be alone at night
I know the feeling only too well
Oh,Lord.I’m sorry for being so egocentric
Everybody seems to be nowadays and even in the past Eve stole that apple
Yes, you’ve seen it all
There’s a lot more to life than that.The beauty and the terror
I suppose you also have felt the terror
No doubt, I did.
So you know how people feel when they are homeless and despised
I know some of it.
I hope I didn’t interrupt you.
I have plenty of time
Good night
Good night

My husband has a rubber face













My husband has a rubber face,
He’s from a subset of the human race.
Some men have faces fixed and set;
My husband’s face is not like that.

He imitates our politicians,
Just like Rory Bremner can.
Though he has no wig or hair piece,
He can look like anyone.

Some nights I waken for I am laughing
While I am quite sound asleep.
I am dreaming of his mobile features,
Contorted to a different shape.

He is skilled at telling jokes.
And he loves a good cartoon.
If I am feeling flu style blueness
I he can get me up again.

He has a rather noble visage.
He gets attention he abbhors.
In the bar on King’s Cross Station—
I was asked was he a Lord!

He’s a Lord of Fun and Humour.
He’s a Lord at Listening Well.
He’s unique, but so are you,
And all creatures that on earth do dwell

	


	



			
				


			

			
Ferrets are popular now
		
	
	

		

Ferrets are the   latest  thing in pets
They need less food than any pussy cat
But if you have a rabbit  hole nearby
A ferret will run down there like a spy
Their faces look adorable and sweet
But don’t let one run up a lady’s feet
Very soon they’ll reach   her private parts
That will be the end for all sweethearts
On second thoughts I’d get yourself a snake
Or why not live alone and  bake a  cake?

	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
My arm was paralysed
		
	
	

		

When I wrote  in a poem that my arm was paralysed when I planned to write
something hurtful  about someone who had hurt me,it really happened
I wrote the beginning and middle but the  revenge I could not write at all
So has my conscience got control ……I didn’t  think,I just felt puzzled
I could not move my hand or arm until I decided I was not going to retaliate
After that I was able to  finish the poem.
Unfortunately I usually have to work it out for myself

	


	



			
				


			

			
Mute again
		
	
	

		

On Monday morning he was  mad  wih me
I asked him what I’d  done to make  him hurt
He said I  thought too fast and talked too slow
Then he lay down flat and  looked inert

So I try to think  more slowly and talk quick
It makes me stutter ,stammer and go mute
My tongue got tied in knots I swallowed it
I can’t eat or speak,he thinks I’m cute

Best to stay with nature and  your form
If  men  get angry that is  their concern
Why does being  a genius  and a wife
Make  men  envy  me until they  burn?

I wonder if I should  go mute again
Then my lovers will not suffer pain










h

	


	



			
				


			

			
With good will
		
	
	

		











At last my one ambition is fulfilled
I have a desk where I may write at will
No more the dining table or a board
A two desk family is safely moored
Men must have their study if they write
Though grandad was a coalminer at night
And Father was a writer in gold paint
Embellishing the Churches with quotes quaint
He also did The Stations of the Cross
Then he died, what torment ,oh what loss.
We went to see his grave and said a prayer
Jesus was so quiet,was hardly there.
But I believe in love and always will
Now I’ll write my poems with a quill

	


	



			
				


			

			
I hated once but that is not an end
		
	
	

		






Photo by Quang Nguyen Vinh on Pexels.com










I meant to write a poem of revenge
To hurt the one who shot out glacial words
I knew how to begin but how to end?





Through the Oxford. my sharp eyes had lunged
My vile emotions then were further stirred
I meant to write a poem of revenge





First he wooed me , showed his cultured friends
Sweet the words and soft the voice I heard
I knew how to begin but how to end?





Would retaliation my heart rend?
Down the vultures rushed ,carnivorous birds
As he wooed me with the words he wrung





My arm was disengaged by unseen hand
I could not write, impossible cruel words
I meant to write a poem of revenge





Lady of Macbeth, who’d wash in blood
When evil can be overcome by good?
I meant to write a poem of revenge
I hated once but Good controlled my hand

	


	



			
				


			

			
Bee hives in the sun
		
	
	

		

He was  good at acting not at sums
The Latin teacher hit him on the head
How can teachers hurt some mother’s son?
He was good at acting not at sums 
Premature and fragile, yet he won
He  was the only man  who shared my bed
He  smelled of honey, bee  hives in the sun
The thought  of mathematics hurt his head






B

	


	



			
				


			

			
He likes to tease
		
	
	

		

My husband entertains me in the night
He pulls his face  and grins with expertise
I shake  with laughter at this funny sight
My husband entertains me in the night
While I sleep I dream he is alive
He  sings and dances till I am at ease
My husband entertains me in the night
He pulls his face and grins, he likes to  tease






	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
The words evoked what no-one could conceive
		
	
	

		

With the Mass in Latin,I believed.
The words evoked what no-one could conceive
The women in their hats  looked like proud queens
What was, what is,  and what once might have been

The men came late,hung over, full of dreams
They took no Wafer, drunk from living streams
I did not mind confessing made up sins.
Nor did I mind  beans found in small tins.





Religion gives fresh  themes  to those obsessed
Guilt and sin,but scruples are the best
I went  to church and told God I was through
He said, hang on,I’ll send my Light to you.





Thus it was that I was saved from death
I had worshipped Satan in duress.
After that I  took a job   for health
I am rich in love, though not in wealth





To me there is a White House of the Soul
We shall meet again there when we’re whole
A place of beauty, space and coloured light
God  won’t  boast, and neither will the mice








	


	



			
				


			

			
Enigmatic  like a midday dream
		
	
	

		

The fallen sun makes black the trees that lean
Its liquid centre thrown up wild and bright
Enigmatic  like a midday dream





The  pinky edges shift in  sun’s bent beams
Do they convey the aura of the light?
The fallen sun makes black the trees that lean





I wonder where my haunted eyes have been
In the forests deeper than the night
Enigmatic  like a midday dream





Schizoid, lacking affect,  a  slit scream
Destroying what is left of love and sight
The fallen sun makes black the trees that lean





Here we saw wild primrose by the stream
The castle of the Tudors soft in  blight
Enigmatic  like a midday dream





Bewildered people  kill their own insight
Toss their fears , into the weak to bite
The failing sun as pure as  boiling screams
Enigmatic  are our midnight dreams

	


	



			
				


			

			
The personality of trees
		
	
	

		






Trees lean over, watchful as we meet
The tall ones do not shiver in the breeze
Trees can hear the torment in our speech

We have flowering cherry in our street
But mine died like my lover with great ease
Trees lean over listening as we meet





The tree won’t bend too close, it will not reach
As panic,worry, horror,nightmares squeeze
Trees discern the music in our squeaks





Alas, no tree has mastered human speech
But when they can, they coax the honey bees
Trees lean over sweetly as we meet





The leaves will rustle,wrestle and may tease
Smile for selfies,what’s the word, it’s cheese
Trees lean over, wonder, and conceive
Yet trees hate noone, nor do they believe

	


	



			
				


			

			
Trees can’t walk
		
	
	

		

Trees are deeply rooted,trees can’t walk
They don’t sleep nor do  they stay awake
Trees can’t  sin  because they cannot talk
Trees are deeply rooted,trees can’t walk
Can’t exclaim when they espy a hawk
Trees will bend  and so they do not break
Trees are deeply rooted,trees can’t walk
They don’t sleep nor do they stay awake

	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
In this city
		
	
	

		

Photo by Peter Laskowski on Pexels.com





Searching in this city I may find you
Then you will desire to  come back home
In my  savaged heart I feel  this true
Seeking in this city I may find you
I’m searching all  the  places that we  knew
From Greenwich up to Amersham I  roam
There is nowhere in this city I can find you
I grieve for you will  never come back home

	


	



			
				


			

			
My curly headed baby
		
	
	

		









I sang this to my husband when he was dying.I  did not consciously know he was dying
My mouth opened  by itself and I began singing ,unwittingly giving  a  performance to all the other
people in A & E
When I was little my dad sang it to me when he put me to bed.
I seem to have inherited his habit of humming or singing  a great deal….

	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
Free electric shock treatment in Berlin Airport
		
	
	

		

Photo by Phyo Hein Kyaw on Pexels.com










Baggage handlers at Berlin’s new airport have reported receiving electric shocks from scanners in yet another problem to befall the troubled project, which is widely seen as an engineering catastrophe.
From the Guardian Newspaper





If you’re feeling real depressed   again
Get free treatment   down here in Berlin
Put  your arm into the scanner, not your bag
The shock will cure you with a short time lag
If it’s not enough, you must sneak back
Stick your other arm in for a shock
It’s a bit like vaccination, some need two
Yet only one is needed for the flu
In Germany the home of engineers
This scanning error reduced grown  men to tears
If you can’t afford to  hack Berlin
Put your finger in a socket to begin
The shock is scary, it will make you run
Exercise  like this sure  beats a gym
If you are unlucky you may die
Then you’ll see the stars up in the sky
If it’s not your  time come back to us
I fear you’ll need a cab, there is no bus

	


	



			
				


			

			
I miss the eyes that used to smile at me
		
	
	

		











Katherine  September 6, 2016





I miss the hand that used to hold  my hand
I miss the eyes that  used  to  comfort me
The needs of love don’t  feel like a demand
I miss the hand that  caressed  my  held hand
I miss your love  and miss you as a  friend.
When you gazed , your eyes lit what you’d see.
I miss the hand that used to warm  my hand
I miss the eyes that  used  to smile at me.





I miss your arms around me in the dark
I miss the early morning,  thoughts unspoke
On Purbeck Hills; the  Easter singing lark
I miss your arms around me in the park
Poole Harbour’s beauty is a living spark
Sharing silent glances as we walked
I miss your arms around me in the dark
I miss the mornings, though we   rarely spoke





Silent sharing ;  company in  love.
With strangers,  we must  manufacture talk.
To be silent ;the domed sky above
To be silent ;  spaciousness of    love.
With strangers, how their talk can jolt and shove
I held your hand and stroked it when we walked
Silent caring;  symphony of  love.
Not strangers blindly  snatching in the dark.

	


	



			
				


			

			
The world destroyed
		
	
	

		

Hannah Arendt, an émigré from Nazi Germany.“The result of a consistent and total substitution of lies for factual truth,” Arendt wrote in her classic volume The Origins of Totalitarianism, “is not that the lie will now be accepted as truth and truth be defamed as a lie, but that the sense by which we take our bearings in the real world—and the category of truth versus falsehood is among the mental means to this end—is being destroyed.”





Photo by Kendall Hoopes on Pexels.com






	


	



			
				


			

			
The footstep on the stairs
		
	
	

		

I  remember you  so well  for those eight  years
The nights you sang love’s lullabies  to me
I was fearful of  the  footstep on the stairs





You held me as we paddled in the sea
Maybe Blackpool,maybe Morecambe too
You told me stories as I sat upon your knee

I have  some good memories, too few
Where are all those days we played outdoors?
Who knows  if these memories are true?

In East Lancs and in West Lancs rain will pour
Once you wrapped me in your coat, but then
Mam was angry when we   reached the door





She  told you, you were foolish for  a man
Why should men  be wise, should anyone?
That  was when your illnesses began





You let me lie beside you in your bed
I’d had my tonsils out and felt  unwell
I talked but don’t remember what you said

I didn’t know the meaning of pure hell
I guess I learned that when death you befell
Come back,Daddy,missing you  too well
I’m still your little girl, your smiling belle





















	


	



			
				


			

			
Arrest those who incite crowds
		
	
	

		






What woud happen here if Boris Johnston’s followers rioted,burst into Westminster ,some armed
and five people died?
I think he’d be in a police cell waiting for his trial
Surely inciting people known to  be unstable/crazy to  do what these Americans
did is also guilty of  a crime- depriving someone of their life.
What will happen in the next week?





city road landscape man





Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com

	


	



			
				


			

			
May the Lord kiss you
		
	
	

		

May the hordes not stress you
May the cord pull for you
Hail Mary, show your face
My guardian angel is quite a sight
To more horror and misdeeds, make all not prey
Be, just  for today.|
Be just, for today
It’s Art in heaven
Well, bless the frail.
Our heart should need no pay