Outside our house the tarmac road was changed
Cobbles flat as dinner plates were laid
All were lying neat and well arranged
Outside our house the tarmac road was changed
A line was drawn by councillors deranged
Neglecting reason, arguments soon strayed
Children saw that adult life is strange
Outside our house the tarmac road was changed
Cobbles flat with gaps for worms engraved

We saw across a valley, saw the Pike
The graves were by the river undisturbed
We went to visit Daddy,prayer seemed right
We saw across a valley then the Pike
Noone noticed what the live felt like
When panicked insecurity would strike
Little faces innocent, perturbed
We saw across a valley, saw the Pike
The graves were by the river,no returns

https://www.google.com/search?safe=active&rlz=1CAKDUD_enGB925&sxsrf=ALeKk03MXbSZTjeZd2TRQo1KCf7gWfHUaA:1608143735475&q=dodgy&spell=1&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjN6OagktPtAhUHT8AKHX1SAmQQBSgAegQIFhAv&biw=1113&bih=526

The birds are darting to and from the shed
Parabolas at speed, they look like bees
Bright holly berries looks like flowers of red
The birds are darting to and from the shed
In metaphor, the berries are Christ’s blood
The world is rich in meaning to those fed
The eyes that see, the mind, enriched and pleased
The birds are darting to and from the shed
Geometric paths ,oh, wondrous bees

since i lost you i have lost
the keys to my heart
the front door key
my phone
and my money

now all i have is a large tube of ibuprofen gel max strength
and some feathers from the tail of a baby wood pigeon
that flew into our house when i left the back door open

maybe i need better boundaries
closed doors
and windows

the wood pigeon was so strong its agitation rocked the front door like a thundergod
like you,it did not realise
there are easier ways to leave
than smashing through glass
leaving shards to pierce my heart
not to mention my feet

become a better leaver
have mercy on those other lovers
for charm wears thin but courtesy is everlasting
like love itself

Why don’t you want to go Hadrian’s Wall built as it was by the Romans
I’ve got boundary value problems
Do you mean borderline personality orders?
Is a boundary a borderline?
Just a minute,I need a tranquillieser
Is it a Paradox?
No it’s a Diazepam
Was that a Celtic Tribe?
Stop or I’ll need another tablet
You already have 3 Androids
What with them and the Celts I am getting nervous
I have an iPad
Showing off!
I try to hide it
Where?
In my vegetable basket
Are they clean?
Yes, if I buy them in a Supermarket
I grow my own.
Your own what?
Tramquilisers
They look like potatoes to

I looked at where my visitors have come from today

Looks like Cricket!

oy

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 so called “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

https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/obituary-marion-milner-1163951.html

Milner underlined the need to imbue the common-sense world with one’s personal sense of meaning. She described this process as the alchemy which transmutes base metal into gold. This requires a sacrifice of the old self and a plunge into emptiness, from which one develops a trust that, out of the unconscious, something new and valuable can grow. These lines of thought led on to other interests of Milner’s – the role of art and poetry in the life of the mind, and mysticism.

This person suffered a fit when Trump lost the election
She thinks she is St Paul
Is she suitable for gender re-assignment or is it schizophrenia?
Wait to see if she writes any letters

This person has been given a lethal injection but is alive.
It’s a miracle.Tell the Pope
To whom did you pray?
God
Make God a saint immediately.

This person is guilty of fraud
How?
He teaches birds how to fly
I thought it was innate
Who’s Innate?

This person is too logical
For what?
For a human being
Is they an alien?
Is you?
I aren’t yet

The sun is shining brightly
Shall I sit by the pool?
No,I always live my  life by
Rigid personal rules.

Last week’s unruly weather
Let rain fell down in spools
I might have had the heating on;
Oh,those rigid personal rules.

Wear a dress from Mayday
Wear  coats when winter’s cool
Only wash your hair on weekends
That’s a personal rigid rule

But,Ma ,my hair is oily
The girls all point in school.
Don’t be such a  cry baby
Don’t  be such a fool.

Ma,I’ve done my homework
I’m top of all my year!
Can I have an hour alone?
She thwacked me on the ear.

I was her little puppet
And she controlled my strings
Till I caught my Guardian angel
And I stole her sturdy wings.

Well,Ma died  half my life away
But  she is now a ghoul
Watching me so patiently
With her chart of rigid rules.

She didn’t leave me money
She didn’t leave me jewels.
She just left me a message
All my rules are  yours.

I cried ,Holy Moses
She is worse than God
She made rules for everything
From  love to  boiling cod.

Don’t bath when you’ve your period
Don’t let your brothers see
You are now a woman
But  you’re still under me

I think I’ll leave those rules behind
And if it makes me fear
God will send a devil round,
I’ll hit  him with this spear.

Flexible  our bodies
Flexible our minds
We must climb the mountain
And leave those rules behind.

Following personal rules
Can make us feel secure
But  our vocation calls to us
And cares not if we’re   pure.

Steal  and purloin all you need
From books and people too.
Follow your own calling
While you share our human zoo.

And share your learning freely
Give as well as take
Oh,my Lord ,I see some men
Carrying a stake.

They are going to burn my body
But they can’t touch my  soul
Wrap me well in flax,  my dear.
In heaven ,I’ll be whole

The heart is struck a blow, can we live on?
The pain, the blood, the wound ca’t be undone
Lying in the rocks, so grey, so doomed
Death is waiting in the sitting room

Imperceptibly our minds are changed
The contents we examine, rearrange
No energy for living and new games
Like a worn out puma,limping, lame

The animal, our being, our poor flesh
Wishes for relief or even death
Yet as the sun burns through the maple leaves
Who can tell what else we may perceive?

Life and death, those twins walk on white cliffs
I stumbled once,I froze,I turned from death.
Then I found the wild rose and its thorns
The pain of grasping love, the treasure shown

The future is yet fiction,I’ll be damned.
Come to me and hold my lovely hand

A long time ago in my garden

s  March 13, 2018 Cat rescue 2002

I had a cat which never scratched or bit
Her manners were perfection , I can say
But on the stairs she lay and fell asleep
She tripped me up and fled to Uruguay

She always recognised my newest frock
She would leap down from the window sill
And she would try to milk the fabric that allured
Till I had threads and holes writ in my Will

She  used her scratching post when on good form
Yet when we went away, she disobeyed
For we found scratches on the sofa arms
Where she had exercised the right to fray

Yet when she died  we missed her perfect pitch
I should have learned to mioaw like a witch

Died of ulcer on foot, was used to pain, so ignored
Verdict: too unassuming,undemanding and scrupulous
Accidental death by suicide

Died of a stroke.She thought it was migraine
Verdict: knew too much yet not enough.Accident

Got out of bed on the wrong side and set fire to her dressing gown with lamp
Verdict:Too shortsighted.Hence accident and fire

Was found by the wardrobe in her nightgown
Died too early to get dressed hence mistook the door.
Verdict:Accidental death, though unusual

Ate too much and got indigestion
Verdict: Stupid not to realise it was a heart attack.Suicide!

Was found dead by the maid who took her a cup of tea.Hole in forehead
Verdict:Accidentally shot by a poacher with good vision or fell over a runner bean cane

Fell down the stairs and then down a hole
Traffic wrongly rerouted through her hall
Verdict:Murder by Transport for London
Sentence:Send to USA to be shot before January 19th 2021

There were no flocks of sheep on Winter Hill
No goats,no asses,rivers,pools nor glades
From the top, we saw Welsh mountains still
There were no flocks of sheep on Winter Hill
There was no coffee shop,no window frills
There were no good hotels nor lovely maids
There were no flocks of sheep on Winter Hill
No goats,no asses,rivers,pools or glades

On the top, the Mast for ITV
Signals sent to Lancashire and Wales
Just as far as Southport’s distant sea
On the top, the Mast for ITV
There was no toilet, nor was there a tree
Hence none blew down in Pennine fearsome gales
On the top, the Mast for ITV
Signals sent to Yorkshire and North Wales

Why no public loos in such a spot
I guess the sewer did not run uphill
Who would build it,maybe time forgot?
Why no public loos in such a spot?
At least it’s not in hell,it is not hot
There is no cat asleep,no window sill
Why no public loos in such a spot
I guess the sewer could not run uphill

1800 feet above the sea
Measured with a modern wooden rod
You’d think they’d have a cafe selling tea
1800 feet above the sea
Who will go, it’s certainly not me
There is no cave, no prophet and no God
1800 feet above the sea
You’d think they’d have a cafe selling tea

I heard your footstep coming up the stair
You made me tea then listened to the News
Then you disappeared,I don’t know where
I heard your footstep coming up the stair
My heart was troubled, feeling skinless,.bare
What is this sound familar but askew
I heard your footstep coming up the stair
You made me tea then listened to the News

I’ll never mention carrots. baby
I know you hate the colour,taste and shape
Would you like my cake
Seved on a bed of hake
Or just a Jaffa Orange and a steak?

I”ll never, mention carrots. baby
I know they were not eaten by the apes
Would salami do
Served on a pizza new,?
Or would you rather eat the berries off the yew?

I’ll never mention carrots,baby
You won’t eaten them raw or cooked till glue
Would you like an egg
Boiled until it’s dead?
Do you think it’s moral that I beg?

Happy Xmas,my man Sam
Here is bread and here is jam
Let us lie down in this ditch
Just be mine,I am bewitched
The dry leaves crackle as we move
Or is it Satan with his hooves?
You kisses sweet fall down like rain
Your arms are warm ,hug me again
I like your odour, honeybun
I give my heart to you again
But now the sun has gone down low
To our cottages we go
Our secret love, our love so grand
Keeps us fit, for life’s demands
Find yourself in someone’s arms
While you’re alive, love is a charm

I went to vote, the queue ran down the street
Strange to see the British change their ways
None were holding phones nor were there bleeps
Eager faces, animation sweet
Well as it’s free we do not have to pay
I went to vote, the queue ran down the street
The staff were kind, the voters were no sheep
They did not need a shepherd for this Play
None were holding phones nor were there bleeps
The politicians crippled by conceit
Put fake websites on the net today
I went to vote, the queue ran up the street
I am curious but I feel alright
The stupidity of gossip is made clear
No-one made a video of my seat
I did not queue, a cripple may shed tears
All I have is sight loss and red ears

I went to vote, the queue stood with no light
Smiling, patient people black and white

Copyright © Katherine Braithwaite | Year Posted 2020

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Posted on September 25, 2013

Poetry can be just clever playing with words.. or not so clever!
But true poetry stems from  living and feeling then writing with feeling
Feeling itself is not enough for poetry.
The poet needs to transmute the feeling, using their craft into something that contains and retains the feelings and passes the result on to readers.
Being able to play with words is useful, but not sufficient.Maybe that has to be impregnated with feeling?

---

Gently dancing in the sun
Wildflowers grow; they bloom, are gone.
With no thoughts,they have no cares;
Yet their lives are gentle prayers.
May I walk in such a way
That I am alive to this day.
So I see with widening view,
And joy and sorrows embrace too.
Then my time will come like yours…
And of us nothing shall endure.
As to the earth our bodies go, All are one;it shall be so

Waxy flowers poking through
Snow so white
Flowers bright.
Made me think of you.

I see once more your dark,dark hair,
Soft as snow,
On pillow.
Now my bed is bleak and bare

Face alight,flower to sun,
I loved you.
Love so true.
Fear by love,overcome.

Cyclamen in the snow,
Pink and red,
Now frozen,dead.
Love was,oh,so long ago.

But never gone from in my mind.
Thoughts so deep,
Upwards seep.
Love was gentle,love was kind,
You’re always in my mind

https://poets.org/poem/charge-light-brigade

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Some one had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Utter stupidity but it goes on still.Our lives are not valued by our leaders

I am worried that I might go blind.One eye is.Will the other last?
Thinking positively,I may get run over and die while I can still see so that’s good
I might have a major heart attack at any moment.It won’t matter then
I might get cancer in a worse place.Then it will be a race between that and the eye
I’d better get married asap so I can enjoy some company while I can still see their face
On the other hand, perhaps better not see a face full of anxiety and wrinkles
Re my eye: it looks lovely.I think so.
There are degrees of blindness.
Do you know some people go blind on purpose just to get
the disability £70 a week.
Some people do anything for money & I don’t mean sex
They will break their legs, arms, fall under buses and trains
They will stab themselves while carving meat
Sylvia Plath wrote a poem about cutting the top off her thumb
She got no benefits as she gassed herself too soon to apply
However her heirs got a lot of money from her poetry
People seem surprised when someone kills themself
In this cruel world, I am more surprised that most people don’t

Some people won’t eat.They get thinner and thinner.Why, some people get cancer just to lose weight
That shows the horror of being fat
Anxious people can’t eat.We should let them have a bottle.Free!
When your husband dies, all the houses seem to lean over as if all the world is going to collapse
The sky is held up by pillars which can bend or break.
The sky itself might fall down.And the stars will gleam in your hair as you lie down in the grass
Security is not constant.
Why do some people help the oppressed while the people doing the oppressing don’t care
They might enjoy it.
I think the Nazis did.

Katherineethics, poetry, reflections, Thinkings and poems  December 13, 2019 1 Minute

Boris Johnson  thrown out by his wife
Now he has a different tole in life
He has a  girlfriend will he have more kids?
Lucian Freud was  surely up for this
They say he might have had perhaps  thirty   two
With all that sperm what is a man to do?
He could take Precautions as they say
I  prefer icecream  but let’s go  stray
Lucian Freud  was not a man to  rule
They say he once burned down his own Art School
He married once, he married twice but no
He would not be captured  in Soho
Beautiful and strange he made his mark
Boris Johnson   has a  nuclear heart
Winter will come down upon us all
Europe we are sad, almost appalled
Sadness for the surgeon who cured me
The cancer  grew  like rampant lush ivy
He is Greek and no-one else was skilled
To leave me looking   better  than God willed
Will he  go back   to where  his grandad  came?
Say a little prayer for my dear face
I don’t want  to suffer but  all will
We’ll die sooner,  sadly Boris kills
The NHS is  going slowly  to its grave
Watched by men who  look  without a face

“The curse of man, and the cause of nearly all his woe, is his stupendous capacity for believing the incredible.” ― H. L. Mencken

As in “Brexit will make Britain great again
And Boris Johnson is like Churchill.



Well the latter liked a siesta
Johnson likes women but will he have the energy?