Now we go out in pyjamas
We wear suits and ties in the bed
I think it is odd
But I am not God
I  enjoy wearing dark red

We wear  our nighties as dresses
Frocks are not legal, you see
My husband is charming
I find him alarming
Give me a good cup of tea,

We wear our legs bare in the winter
For we come from the land of the Tyne
We are as hard as nails
Telling folks fairy tales
All in olde English and rhyme

When we get old, we go fishing
We hope to get buried at sea
Push  us all overboard
If  you feel  Geordie’s bored
Give him a hot cup of tea

As for the young they are angry
They cannot do any old trade
The Steelworks, the coal mines
Where Grandad did overtime
Now nothing useful is made

Consett and Hexham and Durham
The Cathedrals, the coal and the  rail
We used to  go hitch hike
Before we got’t motor bike
I married a North Eastern male.

Now he has gone, I am lonesome
I only have   doctors to see
They take my blood from me
X ray me merrily
Send me some olde Yorkshire tea.

I  think we have Guardian angels
Who watch us in horror and shame
The lust and the  hot rage
The lies on the front page
This  Satan is us,we’re to blame

 

I stood on a nail…. then went quite pale
I had a tetanus injection…. await resurrection
Antibiotics in Boots….colour my roots.
Bought lots of socks——vanity mocks
These are bamboo…..they match my right shoe
Elastoplast sucks…..gin on the rocks
I feel somewhat weary… my  eyes are all bleary
Now I shall rest…. I don’t want a test.
Let the MPs resign… they won’t tow my line!
Corbyn  is Satan—–What a creation.
Where are the good…. in  yonder wood?
My toe seems to ache…..tea and some cake

We’re falling over the edge—-Weird selling  our bridge
I love beef stew——-On a canoe?
Where is the exit?…….Noone can fix it.
What is the time? ……Drop me a line
I hate the theatre————Prefer a concerto
Rabbits look gentle….. Bob  is my uncle
What is  infinity?…….Don’t be so pernickety
What is an infinitesmal………..That is too small and dismal
I read a  novel…..What, in your hovel?
I borrowed the book….Sorrow  rebukes
Where is my lover?……Care makes men hover
I want to draw cats……What if they’re flat?
My duty is done…Salons are fun
Brexit means death…..The exit’s a path
The white cliffs of Dover………don’t cite the weaver
England is horrible………….Finland  is charitable

Remarkable is how the celandine  glows so yellow
Under the  old apple tree, while it’s still winter
And remarkable is how the world is continues
Its green springness despite our  violence
Except for France and the old battlefields
Men trodden into mud like worthesss old coats
And the poppies weeping red  across the green
And the ghosts standing at the edge
The shadows of dawn
Oh,Europe, do you not weep for them
And the citizens of Stalingrad
They died for us.

Did we think the War was over?
And how the starved Jews wandered homeless
If they had survived at all
Remarkable  is our ignoring the time to come
The shadows of these wars and genocides
The gay men thought evil.Alan Turing?

Ironical is the  blindness of the leaders
Giving no thought except they had “won”
We lost the Empire .Say it again
We lost the Empire, we can’t go back.
Britain is just a little island.
We can’t have “things as they were”
It was the rich who won
The eye of the needle is no larger
But the path is broad.

Only when we learn  the alphabet
And with a pencil trace the letters form
Do we break the words from their music

Murmured sweetness from a mother’s lips
Continuously we take in feelings warm
Do we need to learn  an alphabet?

Later we take words in little sips
Hoping to remember, not to harm
Can we slash the words from their music?

Even the miaowing of a cat
Seems like  living speech to  babes in arms
Do we need to learn  an alphabet?

We must accept  our language, that is that
We can’t invent a new  one all alone
But do not  part the words from their music

The human world is built up stone by stone
Leaving   here  a  project we can hone
Only when we learn  the alphabet
Do we take the words from their music

 

 

 

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/jun/07/cerys-matthews-poetry-and-music-closely-think

 

“The Welsh word “cerdd” can be translated as either “verse” or “music”. It covers both meanings, because, as we know from history, when the great bards were performing their poetry it would be accompanied by music. The two were always intertwined and music, poetry, spoken word and performance have been a part of our society for centuries. The festivals called “eisteddfod” combine literature, music and poetry. These cultural competitions were not just for the rich or educated, but were held in pubs and other meeting places and brought everyone together. They are part of an oral tradition entrenched in Welsh society as it is in many other cultures, as diverse as the Somali tradition of oral storytelling or praise poetry in India and Pakistan.”

Underneath the  constant flow of thought
There is a space of quietness and of peace
Here love is free and nothing need be  brought

 

Here  the coloured fish swim in the night
In our dreams delight they find   release
Underneath the constant flow of thought

 

Visions vanish as the dawn brings light
Yet our image seeking does not cease
When love is free and nothing can be bought

 

Happy  not to ruminate nor fight
Just to be is Joy for man and beast
Underneath the constant flow of thought

 

We must not  seize the treasure all uncaught
We lose ourself in  living with the deep
Where love  is free and no good can be bought

 

We dry  our newborn eyes,  no one need weep
All we need is  shares as  holy feast
Underneath the constant flow of thought
Silent  love encloses deep delights

 

By Katherine

Mary dreamed she was riding her bicycle.She was going up a hill and then approaching a very complicated roundabout.
How can I look at the map when I am riding my bike,she asked herself.Anyway I don’t have a map and I’ve never been here before.She looked down and saw she was wearing some dark  blue denim culottes and red suede knee high boots with laces.
I don’t remember buying these,she thought.She felt quite hot even though she wore only an olive  needle-cord coat over a Breton T shirt.
Goodness me, she cried.I look smart.
Her spectacles clouded over as she was sweating.How will I know where to turn off when I don’t know where I am or where I am going to.
When she woke up she filled Stan’s beer tankard with tea.
What a lot of tea,miaowed Emile.
I thought it saves carrying the tea pot. I’m going to go back   to bed as I feel  a bit peculiar.
You  have got a fleece nightgown on.Maybe you are too hot,he replied.
I am trying to save money on the heating,Mary answered.I see I can save  even more money by buying 2 pairs of Hotters sandals for £97.Usually they are £127.
That saves £30,the clever animal informed her.
I think it’s quite misleading,Mary answered.I
t only saves money if you were already planning to buy them.I  have such strange feet I don’t like to bare them.
Do you wear shoes in bed with a boyfriend.Emile  asked.
I’ve not got a boyfriend.Emile.
But if you did?
Well.you know, an older man might not wish to go to bed with me.He might like just sitting on the sofa holding my hand and  kissing me.
OK said ,Emile.It sounds a trifle boring to me.
Don’t be so cheeky, Emile.Talking to me is not boring.
No, he said, but it’s nice running up and down your  legs in bed.
I could hardly expect a man to do  that.He might injure me.
It was just a kind of example,he replied nervously.
Suddenly the back door opened and in ran Annie from next door.She was wearing a mustard coloured track suit and orange trainers with matching lip gloss.
What a horrible colour,Mary cried.
It’s the in colour now,Annie said kindly.I am getting my hair dyed too.
Bright yellow is  better,Mary  told her.Except it attracts insects.
Insects,I don’t want those.How are you,dear.You look flushed, she responded emotionally.
No wonder. I’ve been cycling all night in my dreams.Why can’t I dream of motor bikes?
Don’t ask me,Annie told her.I am utterly ignorant.Do you need therapy?
I don’t think so,Mary answered.I need to know where I am going.Do I decide or is it my Inner Wisdom or Higher Power.I could use higher power on that bike.
Just take it one rotation at a time, Annie murmured.
I thought it was  one step.Mary answered
You can’t take a step on a  bike.
I suppose not.But I could ride up a step on the bike.
Don’t ride up a step ladder,Anne advised.How would  you get down again?
Let’s have some coffee,Mary cried.Here we are ,the kettle is boiling.
Let’s just sit and brood.
But don’t ruminate,purred Emile.It makes you ill.
Just let your mind go blank.
And so I did.

A steroid injection—- hysteria prevention
My knee is much looser— don’t tell your tutor
My hands  are less swollen—– my head has a hole in
I feel like some food—-I steal when I’m rude
Do you have a hot dinner— shave the lot,sinner
Where is my dessert—- share and be pert
Creme brulee is great— Hurrah with a mate
What is the matter— the blood stain is fatter
Do you like a knife—-speak like a wife
My husband’s in bed——-He’s robbing the dead
My pillow is soft—-Hey, fellow in  loft
What is the filling—- fat duck’s a shilling
Where is your throw—–Fair cop,I don’t know
Mine is electric——-Rhymes are just plastic
Design is now crucial————They lie,how unusual
The baby was born…. sound the ram’s horn.

A young woman  who lost her dear husband in January  did safely have their son  yesterday to be called after his late’s father’s grandfather

A strange life indeed when these things happen so close together.

Life and death,The wheel turns and new and old mix in the flow

 

 

 

Why do the sins of rage return again
When we’d learned  of genocidal hate
How do we change the heart and mind  human?

Images of children grieving  damned.
Has Evil won the war,become our fate?
Why do the sins of hate return again?

Industrial murders,  manhood’s great orgasm
Guns and blood and gassing escalate
How  could we change the heart and mind  of man?

 

Ethics and commandments  have not won
The  still,small voice may whisper not, distraught
I feel the sins of hate return again

Goodness is  skin deep,it is a sham
God was here but we put him to flight
Who might change the heart and mind  human?

When we love, are safe, we feel delight
We  must not  trust   the armies of   the night
Why must the sins of hate return again
How do we change  our hearts to be as one?

She tainted during the dinner
Do you mean taunted?
Taunted whom?
Who is Hume?
David, he is a philosopher
Is he read?
Red or dead?
He was before Marx
Bookmarks?
They had no computers.
I can’t deceive you any more.
When did you start?
When that man hit the gong
So he startled you?
Into a  life of rhyme,sorry, crime
Send for the police.
How?
Send a letter
First class
Thank you.I am honoured
No, you are a fool
Well,I don’t fool myself.
Is that my fault?
Why build a house on  a fault line?
It’s easier when you divorce.
But will the earthquake break it into equal parts?
Infinitely many.
So calculus can be handy.
More so than an incubus
We have inkwells here.
Are they in the garden?
No, we don’t want them to get wet
Put lids on
Honestly if I knew you before I’d never have misarranged our wedding.
So who did arrange it?
Leonard Cohen.
But he died.
Not because of us?
No, he was ill already
Well being a marriage broker is not easy
But the chairs are.
I chair the faculty of meet the metrics.
Is it in Decimal?
No, English.
No English! I just don’t believe it.
That makes no difference to the language
How rude!
But words have no ears.
Do they have eyes?
Only the needles
Knitting needles?
You are joking
How amusing
Not terribly but you are trying.
So are you.I divorce you.
You have to say it 3 times
Am I Jewish?
I don’t know but God is.
And Mary?
What about her?
See her  blog, “about”
Don’t tell me they’re on Twitter!
Alright,I shan’t tell you!
Now, this really is the end

Postmodernism’s the fashion ne’er manque.
We must study Foucault and his scribes.
Get reason trapped and do not court delay.
You need to find your intellectual tribe.

Where is the goose which laid the golden egg..
Invented meta-talk and fairy tales?
Which narrative is balanced on a peg?
Which philosopher was re-homed by a whale?

What is  the whole truth and nothing but?
Whose the eye which sees reality?
Who‘s the judge who makes the final cut?
Where is the God to  whom we owed fealty?

Now nothing is what anyone can say.
I understand it’s meaningless to pray

I’m going to the clinic—-I feel I am manic
My hand  has swelled up—–Send me  twelve cups
My burn has been  bleeding— the sparrows are feeding
My shoe is too tight…. do you rue  voting Right?
I feel so alone……..I sealed up my phone
I want to remarry—— I planted the story
I want an arm round me—I sent alarms fondly
What did  you say—Hot as a prayer
He said he liked tarts—- Asses  heal hearts
When do we start—Send in  the  parts
We love your new humour… you have the blue gloomies
Shall we pray before bed—–Tell me, where’s your head
Married love lasts—– Tarry, we’re pissed.
My wedding ring broke—–In bed with the Pope
Set the alarm…..Bet the old charm
Where is my sinner—- he’s eaten the dinner—– now he’s in Pinner
God loves my soul…… blood is not all.
Love those you can—— live  clothes are so fun
We went to Mass—– Tea in a glass.
Coffee with cream…….Laugh till I scream
Do you do it too?…….I am  a new Jew
Am I anti-semitic………….I and’ auntie’re  paralytic
The hills far away—- On the pill  for today
Are you full of lust——-Sue’s scared of wool dust.
Girls must be modest——- pearl  dust and porridge

Underneath the Marches and the Speech
What is the new meaning, do they preach?
Seven MPs resigned from  New Labour
Corbyn is too old and  rather grey.

Yet he won two contests , took some seats
Good News for  the Socialist on heat
What  has he not done for everyone?
Given them no butter for their scone

It seems they need a scapegoat,sacrifice
They have kept him on some  fragrant ice
Theresa May has got away  again
Doodling   in her Bible with a pen

I wonder if a makeover will do?
Buy J Corbyn  proper coats and shoes
Give him an old film of Tony Benn
Send him to a school for gentlemen

Make him do degrees in Politics
Make him a Magician with new tricks
Make him cleaner than a Vicar’s bun
Do not let him enjoy any fun

Underneath the Arches lie the lost
Homeless,human, what does living cost?
Into the Thames  men tumble  as and when
The struggle for  success has been and gone

Hold my hand,I feel the river’s pull
My heart has  its  own limits.I am full
Someone must stand up and say,Oh,No.
We shall  offer mercy to the low

I found myself in bed with an old man
He showed me where my soul dwelt and its light
He thinks we can be holy, and we can
Especially when we  love  with all our might

I found myself at a loose end today
Walking in the rain in  my wool coat
I didn’t know what else  to do but pray
There was  holy water but no boat

I found my self and knew I was a poet
For I had a pen  behind my ear
Useful for the  images I wrought
Out of words  and into sentence dear

Nowadays it’s harder for the young
No tablet fits behind the ear  or on the tongue
I guess one might well  sing it like a song
When we hear the bells of heaven ring

I found myself in photos on the news
I look like the terrorist  who schemed
Ah ahah,they’d need  me like a bruise
I am I, a figment of their dreams

On the whole I’d rather lose myself
In a novel or in tender arms
What about our spiritual  health
Let us feel the  holy love that calms

Losing, finding, what is it we seek?
If we are a self, are we  unique?
I read Latin,Hebrew,even Greek
I  forgot that human beings want to speak

https://electricliterature.com/what-can-poetry-do-that-politics-cant-89fce5a6dc41

 

Extract:

 Zapruder wants to have it both ways — to preserve poetry as a place for intellectual and creative freedom and also for the outcome of this unlimited freedom to be automatically ethical. “Following our internal sense of music leads us to revealing who we really are,” he continues. But what if “who we really are” is white supremacist or fascist or authoritarian? History is filled with examples of excellent artists who subscribed to odious systems of thought, not least of whom was Wallace Stevens, who serves as the kind of patron saint of Zapruder’s book. Stevens, it must be remembered, once wrote a poem called, “Like Decorations in a N****r Cemetery.” Beyond this more obvious example of historical villainy are the more mundane and widespread instances of contemporary white poets who write unconsciously white supremacist poems, contemporary male poets who write unconsciously male supremacist poems, contemporary capitalist poets who write unconsciously capitalist poems, and so on. To say that if a poet writes something that aligns with her own standards of truth and beauty the result will automatically be ethical is pure magical thinking. Poets are no more ethical than anyone else, nor are our inner lives any less poisoned by the political systems we inhabit.

Could it be despair  that held me tight

in the wintry evening and the night

I could not see a way to  carry on

Everything  was wrong and I was done

 

I saw great blackness all around myself

I could not be restored, I had no health

I   had reached the end of seeking aid

God alone  knew all the coins were paid

 

  Inexplicable, the  golden light

That made a sweet shawl round me on that night

Impressing me with kindness and goodwill

Holding me until I had had my fill

 

Most sensuous, most tangled with love’s  grace

Surrounding me,  protecting my lost face

As if the arms of love were something real

That anyone  who knew this  must reveal

 

Only when we reach the very end

May the force of love on  us descend

 

Be creative when you go to bed
Wear  four  layers  of dresses and red socks
Wear pyjamas when you go in town
Wear your suit at night but  keep it locked

Nightdresses are  pretty   when demure
Covered in wild flowers and  ancient lace
Wear them to a party  with new shoes
Wear a little something on your face

In the bath, do wear a bathing suit
Maybe a bikini and red shoes
Someone stole the lock from off the door
It’s not  just me, the entire home’s bereaved

Wear a hat, a kippa or a veil
Wear suspenders, tights and bralets chaste
Wear ten nylon petticoats all blue
Wear a belt around your little waist

The rule we must remember is, do not
Wear appropriate clothing for the day
Wear it different.wear it with big spots
Make  your  others give you your own way

Spend your earnings at the betting shop
Win a race and then lose all you got
Drink red wine till alphabets  take writs
Shouting “Aleph Null” will hit the spot

If you are   prophet, take great care
Jeremiah spoke in mountain air
Why are you not here with angels fair?
Be creative, do it if you dare!

https://www.patheos.com/blogs/formerlyfundie/10-signs-youre-actually-following-trumpianity-instead-of-christianity/

 

“10. You spent 8 years criticizing every move of Obama, but the minute Trump was sworn in you started telling everyone that “Christians should respect the president” and that being “divisive” is a sin.

Remember the you of two years ago? That’s okay, because I do– and you certainly didn’t seem to believe that Christians should “respect the president” or that being politically divisive was any sort of sin.

Here I am recalling you taught me that, “sin is always sin” and doesn’t change just because culture changes. Huh!”

As we women get older and especially if we have thyroid problems our  body hair gets less.So throw out razors for body hair, rollers for your head hair.

Throw out those   powder compacts and magnifying mirrors.

Why, we may not need a deodorant.Let’s go natural!

Keep a comb and any pleasant au de toilette but don’t wear Poison or Wicked Perfume

Glare at your old passport photos where your hair is like a  princess’s and think how little we knew how  beautiful we were.Never mind.God is impervious to beauty of the body.

Throw out medicines. paracetomols 10 years old, face cream 20 years old .I did and look at me ! Or maybe do not look at me!

The sun was hot, the air was soft like Spring air.I was walking down the road in the town when I  heard someone running  after me who called my name
Suddenly a beautiful ,young woman with a lively  face was standing by my side.We had met 6 months ago having coffee and  we had had a very interesting discussion about life,teaching, poetry,everything.Since then I had not seen her.
So I found it very  touching that she remembered me and wanted to talk to me.The sun shone and the birds sang and we had a good talk.What chance had brought us together again? Seems like it was a piece of good luck

 

I did this horrible piece of art myself

I am afraid I dropped a tea pot full of boiling tea last Sunday.It landed on my right foot which is very painful.So much so I went to a Walk in Centre today. The nurse says it is healing… and eventually put a dressing on it.It seems to have affected my brain.How ? I  have no ideas in my head.

And with the flare up of arthritis…. yet again….. some is there all the time and some used to go after a few weeks but it has not gone since July last year.I am sure lots of people have it or know someone who does…. why is there no cure?

However if you need something to divert you,try wathing Stephen King on youtube interviewing various authors.I like  and admire him greatly.If you read his book on how to write you will see how hard it was for him at the beginning.