Tag: poem

Your absence has so distanced us in grief.

Image

I try to feel through dark and distant space
To where you dwell in a so called “heavenly” place.
And you are far from those of us, who care.
Our hearts are dulled with loving thoughts not shared
Your absence has so distanced us in grief.
We can neither share our loss, nor gain relief.
I stare into the star filled sky at night
And see a space almost devoid of light.
I feel into the edges of my soul
I sense,somewhere, a partially dismembered whole.
Would new technology be able to aid my view,
As I search everywhere for some tiny trace of you?
How can someone vanish suddenly in the night,
And never ,from then on, be in my sight?
I wish that I’d been there when you went off,
Then I could have expressed ,in touch,my heartfelt love.
Shall I never hear again your gleaming tenor voice
Enchanting me once more with your intriguing choice?
Shall I not even find the laces from your shoes,
Floating gently back to earth through these  elm trees?
I see more flocks of gracious geese flash by.
Are those your fingers tracing lines across the sky?
Do you too see these geese from up above?
But you’re on the other side, too far from love.
And even with the very new best technology
There’s no way back now , so you won’t ever be
With us again,Goodbye,Goodbye Goodbye
I’ll turn away my tear filled green- blue eyes,
And look at all that’s near,as I’m still here.
I know now you’re too far away ,too far away, too far away ,my dear.
I know now that you’re too far away,my dear.
How can we learn to live with love, not fear,
As we go on ,now, down these coming years?
So sad that you’re not near,not here,not here,my dear.
Shall I sometimes, in the night pretend, you’re there,
Oh,that heaven were not  so agonisingly too ,too far?
As we slide down the escape chute of the years,
Like children clutching at our teddy bears.

Too far away and moving

 

Source: K
 
 

 

 

The sky looks like a Turner painting.
At the high point it’s brighter,even golden cream
Like the top of a bottle of Jersey milk;
then it dims down to a bluey gray
with a slight threat in it
like a blacker gray…It’s
Too warm today for snow.

 

I swept brown dried leaves from the step..
Had to move my bike.
Then I hid them under the hedge
So they can keep some insects warm in the winter.
But mainly I don’t want to bend down to collect them,,
I’m tired or lazy after the weekend.
I still have a dress here I was ironing just a week or two ago.
Now it will be put away till next summer.
Here’s a denim jacket with flowers all over…
I did wear it but it won’t look right now.

 

I washed my hair.It feels soft and pleasant.
I like that feeling.I am wondering what you are doing.
Are you listening to music or resting?
Or sitting looking down the road at wet fields?
I think I’ll make some tea.
I need a focus for the day which also has a feeling
Like those late watercolors
Everything merging
Until one thing dissolves into an other.
Some people like it but today
I need some edge,some definition.
I need someone to give me boundaries.
Time 4 pm
Kettle boils and a neighbor’s cat peers by the locked cat flap…
Wondering why she can’t get in.
I turn away.

Now the sky is without any gold
It’s sixty shades of gray.
It’s clouded dark and soft
Like your hair might have been
But I could never have touched it…
You were always too far away and moving.

Where is the world’s skin?

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I run my fingers tentatively

down your cheek,

 

asking you a question

 

with my eyes.

 

looking at each other,

 

you touch me too.

 

This is my skin

 

my boundary.

 

Yours is thicker,

 

like rubber.

 

I run my fingers down your chin.

 

what is this little bone?

 

I like it.

 

I like your skin

 

I like your bones.

 

I like you.

 

you please me.

 

you are tasty.

 

I like your taste,

 

your skin,your eyelids.

 

I like your eye here,

 

and your other eye too.

 

Nice one!

 

I like this hair on your head.

 

May I touch your hair?

 

do you like hair?

 

hair makes me laugh.

 

I have a fondness for laughing.

 

I love to laugh.

 

I enjoy laughter

 

I love your laughter.

 

If not, smiling is good also.

 

Or a gleam in the eyes,

 

showing the inside smile,

 

the smiling heart.

 

I like your inside,

 

Outside

 

and possibly

 

your backside.

 

your upside and downside.

 

your side sides.

 

I snuggle you all around with soft wool.

 

I knit you into my scarf.

 

I’ll have to wear you round my neck now!

 

How unusual

 

How flexible.

 

How charming.

 

How alarming

 

How creative

 

How interesting.

 

What an idea!

 

what a notion

 

but you are too big for me to knit

 

So I’ll just touch your hand

 

with my fingers.

 

and you touch my hand

 

with your fingers.

 

What good hands we have

 

with such fingers.

 

fingers are for touch.

 

fingers are keen to touch.

 

I like touch.

 

what would we do

 

without fingers?

 

I like your skin.

 

skin is good

 

We love skin

 

We love.

 

We.

 

I want skin to be ours

 

and yours

 

is mine

 

and mine

 

is yours

 

where is the edge of the world?

 

skin has no end

 

it’s infinity

 

au naturel.

 

what order!

 

what design!

 

What wonder.

 

what awe.

 

where is the world’s skin?

 

tenderly we touch the world

 

as the world embraces us.

 

It’s called love.

Love

Lost in shadowed caves

 Have you ever had a dream,
That you were all alone?
Have you lived with someone handsome,
With a heart like a cold stone?

Have you drowned in deep,cold rivers,
And been lost in shadowed caves?
Have you lived with too much fusion,
Till you drowned in ghostly waves?

The waves run down the sea shore,
Then up they come once more.
The tide turns and life alters..
Deep on that ocean floor

.
You were so beautiful and silent,
Like a sword without its sheath.
I should have let you take me,
The way you took away my breath

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

H

Love is about here

 

They think that they own us


I’ve sung my wild singing in time gone before
But I don’t want to sing now
Oh,never no more.
And it’s no nay ,never
No,nay,never no more
Shall I use my voice here…
Nor out will it pour.

My name is Allanah,or Eileen. perhaps
And I came here from Ireland
with outdated maps
And it’s,Why,why ever,
Why ever and more
Did the Brits give no votes to
The poor Catholics?

My sister and brothers
All died from T.B.
And an early dark grave
is here waiting for me.
But I bore six children
And I cared for my man
As he came home so filthy
From the auld coal diggin’

We had no free doctor
And no kind midwife.
So though my son’s born,
Strain is takin’ my life.

Always and ever
The rich will maintain
That without them this country
Will go down the drain.

But why don’t you try it
As a memorial to me.
Let the rats all depart
And what shall we see?

No,nay,never,nay never no more
Shall I bear my man children
No nay never
Not ever again.

I looked down from heaven
Where God has put me
What did I find
When out did I see?

I saw that the world
Turns round once every day
The beggars and homeless
Kneel down and they pray

Oh,no no never,
dear God help the rich.
Your son tried to l’arn them
But they weren’t bewitched.
They have their accountants
And they have all their laws
They find their amusement
In troubles and wars.
They think that they own you
But,dear God,you’re not theirs
We saw your son Jesus
And he said you are ours

So when will you come down
To make that judgment?
My pen it has broken
My life force is spent.

So it’s no,nay never
Not ever again
Will I sing my old songs
Nor  shall  I love my own man

Not love nor money

 

 

Imageonnet

 

Not love nor money should we seek to steal;
Nor for self praise and esteem be in need
For these things cannot ever truly heal.
And onto a wrong path must often lead.

 

Not to vice nor virtue must our wills be tied;
Yet by some grace we gently may be led
Our will directs attention which denied
May let our pride control our thoughtless head.

 

Not good nor bad can track the vane of God
Far from our sightless eyes are his affairs.
Yet Faith and Hope can be a dowsing rod
With Love the force to trace the Spirit bare.

Oh,come down,Spirit,take me as your wife
Fill me with holy grace and with new lif

With this song

Sky diving
I wish I were an apple
and you were eating me
I’d like to make you happy
As you sat by this tree.
I wish I were a blackbird
So I could sing for you.
I’d like to make you cheerful
And stop you feeling blue.
I wish I were the sun
So I cold warm your frozen heart.
And then your heart would melt for me
And you would be less tart.
I wish I were the moon
so I could protect you all night long.
But being only me may I
Present you with this song?

Autumn arrives

Image

I take pleasure seeing leaves turn red.
On trees from whose rich fruit we’re fed.
My apples dropped to mossy lawn,
My plums purpled from sun late born.

Stand still, then listen in the woods.
Hear the sounds of dreaming doves.
Shelter, quiet,by  oak and elm,
And find your self in woodland’s realm.

Gaze at clouds through branches high.
See red leaves light up pale sky.
The sun is angled now so low,
The trees their longer shadows show.

In what,at first,seemed silence clear
The chirps of birds, who know no fear
Are gathered to our open ears.

I’d like to live as do wild flowers.
Though life may last but one hour.
An hour of complete submission to
The bliss of love and sun and you.

A moment can be a life time too.
In joy, our love of life’s renewed.
Time stretches out in sweet embrace,
For us who live in earth’s dear space.

Image

Joy will return one day

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Some days are sad and blue
And then we feel lonely too;
Or we cause rifts.Some days are doldrum days.
Some days are like bad plays.
Not such a gift.Most days have joyful parts.
Most days we lift our hearts.
They pass all too swift.

Some days love speaks to me.
Some days I feel so free.
I love my craft.

Life is a patterned weave.
Love helps us when we grieve.
Love is a raft.

See how the sun comes back.
See how light fills the gaps..
Some days we laugh.

Weep now and I’ll weep with you.
I have known sorrow too.
Yet sorrow will pass.

Joy is not far away.
Joy will return one day….
L With life’s arts and crafts

Being alive

Being alive is joyful

Who has never felt grief
When a small gesture would have helped
but it has, unknowingly, been with held?

How many people have the imagination
to guess what’s in your mind,
And to embrace you rather than push you away?

No-one, No-one.No-one knows.
No-one knows these numbers.
No-one knows these names.
No-one knows how many feel diffident,
Nor how many feel shame.

Being alive is joyful!
Being alive is pain!
Being alive is all we have,
We’ll never be alive again.

I look into your eyes today
I sense your pain and woe.
I look into your eyes just now
And tell you that I know,

Being alive is lonely.
Being alive is good.
Being alive is pain indeed
For flesh is not like wood

You play on a clarinet

Music

Source: Kathryn
Sourc

You play on a clarinet;

I play on my old cello.

Your music is so poignant;

My music is mellow.

I can’t play from your music;

You cannot play from mine.

Our music must be transposed,

But will never sound the same.

I have longer fingers.

You have bigger hands.

You play some from memories

which I don’t understand.

I play from my own history,

You compose your own.

You have frightening feelings,

which I have never known.

Would you play my music?

Then it must be transposed;

but we can’t transpose our feelings,

Unless we are shown

how to draw out symbols

From the dark Unknown.

I love the music that you play

and I know you do love mine.

But can we play together

In some meaningful design?

Transposing keys and feelings

Is a difficult,dangerous task;

Much easier to play pretend

and never,never ask.

I cannot share your lifetime hurts

and you cannot share mine.

Is it easier to share happiness

and love of the Divine?

Oh,play your poignant music for me

with your meditativee art.

I shall listen with my ears

and listen with my heart.

And then I shall respond to you.

My instrument is here.

I am playing quite new music.

I feel you drawing near.

Suddenly we are moved to play

A completely new design.

I seem to feel your feelings

And I can hear that you feel mine.

Together we seem to make a work:

Torment and release.

This music is so tragic,

Yet its design has brought me peace.

Play on,play on,for now I know

I begin to understand,

without more words or gestures

except those from your curved ha

Lovers and other pastimes

 

Did you ever have a lover
with long red hair?
For long red hair
I long to care.

Did you ever have a lover,
and then another lover?
For there’s added gain
if you feel no pain.

Did you ever have a lover
who loved your eyes
and never ever lied,
and let you cry?
Whatever was the trouble.

You’ll never have a lover.
if you have no time for others
for love needs care,
As well as hair!

Here and there are many lovely people
who live with their lives with scruples;
if you’re scruple free,
then let it be.

Oh, let it be is fine,
Except for the divine.
I want to be involved
For I can’t please all the folk,
Who touch me with their talk.
My heart has melted down…
and now I’ve grown a world
completely on my own.

Were you ever quite alone
Like a toad under a stone?
Did you ever hear a groan
as you wrote your own poem?

For you’ll never write a poem
that makes me laugh..
Because my feet are in the shower
but my body’s in the bath.
My head is on the shelf…
and I’ve lost all of my stealth…
Yet you will love me
Evermore.

Evermore and evermore
You’ll be standing on the shore;
Watching the horizon,
wondering how the world’s gone.

Oh, you’ll never be a poet,
Unless you make notes..
They take you to the limit…..
Love, whatever is it?

Evermore, evermore…
The words seem like a roar…
I love your heart’s deep core..

Let me write you more
And more,
And more.

Did you ever have a lover?

One last time

You know you have to leave me,

Though you desire a longer stay

 

Let me hold you in my arms now

 

For just tonight and perhaps one day.

 

Then I’ll watch you travel on,sweet.

 

We take this last step all alone.

 

I’ll be here beside you watching.

 

I shall feel when you are gone.

 

May you accept, may you surrender.

 

I hope you reach the promised land.

 

                             Into this earth my tears will fall, love

                          When I feel your cold,cold hands

 

s

The Spirit Bare

Not love nor money should we seek to steal;

Nor for self praise and value  be in need

For these things can not ever truly heal.

And onto a wrong path must surely lead.

Not to vice nor virtue  must our wills be tied;

Yet by God’s grace we gently may be led

Our will directs attention which denied

May let our pride control our fuming head.

Not good nor bad can track the vane of God

Far from our sightless eyes are his affairs.

Yet Faith and Hope can be a dowsing rod

With Love the force to trace the Spirit bare.

Oh,come down,Spirit take me as your wife

Fill me with grace and  fill me with new life

Amateur writing.How I became an internet poet

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I must have had a wish to write.Because for many years ,I studied books on poetry and creative writing.I began to collect images and events which affected me in a notebook.Then one day I asked,When do I write?I had to start,  unconfident as I was. Time was passing Here is the first poem I wrote.[January 2010]

CHRISTMAS SNOW:

Too old for cold,I stand, now ,against the hedge,
Watching the snowflakes in the glare of neon street lights.
Darkness has come early,and I think of country uplands and huddled sheep.
On Salisbury Plain,shepherds watched their flocks
Just as in Bethlehem two thousand years before,
And then ,exactly when?
“Between the wars”,it stopped. Now we know there is no “Between the wars”.
And who decided
To cull the sheep and shepherds and the space for kindness ?
Now that same Plain still exists,but banned
And closed to human-kind,
For bombs ,not wombs
Nor for birth of lamb ,nor gypsy child ,nor Saviour
Where would He go today?
_
Image,s

From the first poem, I can see my mind was wondering if there is any space in the world now safe enough for a creative happening.After I wrote this,I was unsure if I’d get any more inspiration but I did

Here is a slightly later poem

SUN PAINTING
Bright sun
Paints a shadow picture
On the white wall
Dried stems
Of Michaelmas daisies
A leaf caught in a cobweb sways
To and fro.
I gaze.
Silence.

CHERRY TREE HOUSE

I love the flowers that fall like rain
From the cherry trees ,in the wind again,
And pile at the side of a garden wall.
I love the blossom still on the trees
Full of buzzing honey bees
Like an angel’s glowing shawl.
I hate the fierce wind that blows it away,
Yet I know now nothing is here to stay,
and I love it, and cherish it all.

The garden we shared

It reminds me of an East Anglian landscape
This garden’s flat planes of grass give the illusion
Of greater distance,the eye travels down them
To the trees rising at the end.
On this scene my mind superimposes
Other ideas of summer days in hot places
In flat fields stretching on either
Side down to the sea.
My eye enjoys the shape,the flatness
The form,a symbol for so many other gardens
And summer journeys on unknown lanes
Across new landscapes ,delighting in them,
In the space extending,and the trees
A gentle contradiction to the horizontal meadows.
In summer in recent years,what I remember
Is the sun across these long,flat shapes.
Looking at this small garden,I remember
So many things,my eye sees through
What is here,to far beyond
What has passed and what is to come
All  afd contained here.

THE SONG OF EACH GARDEN

Image

 

Every garden has a song,

a song beyond all words.

sit in silence there to hear

cheeps from distant birds.

 

Every garden has its silence,

special to that place

stand beneath the maple tree,

gaze up the crown’s wide space.

 

Every garden’s a part of all,

linked through heart of earth

stand in one, you ‘re inside all,

your spirit takes new birth,

 

Every garden can’t help but sing,

green calls out so sweet,

shows us Eden, long ago,

as Adam kissed Eve’s dear feet.

 

I gaze up through bare winter trees,

the song is softer now.

No golden finch,no sparrow cheeps.

It’s buried in the snow.

Deep in dark ,life sparks again

and the green shoots come.

so we wait in harmony

till our garden sings out then

I sat in the art gallery writing poems

 

Child illuminated
Child illuminated

 
The museum

Watching Plato shining torches into blackness,
Wandering through the galleries,
Sepia paintings of pines,
Pain came to the emptiness once my heart,
I sat picturing screaming Popes and babies.
Eastward, looking for fresh instruction,
My mind unpleated,like a pair of curtains
~Hung out to dry in equinoxal gales.
The bells of Satan’s cell phone
Rang again,startling in this silence.
“You had your smear done yet?”
“It’s me,hinny”
“I’m having coffee here in “Costa’s.”
Then I awoke,a man appeared.
How apposite,I need you,Ludwig!
I can’t fly my kite.

In the Science Museum,the mirror cracked
And from it stars flew out,
Adorning cars and bicycles and buses.
The building gently fell into its own reflection.
People flew out like gasping rockets,
Illuminating the blankness,
Calling “Is today the day?.”

 

Eeh,I ,Ohh. I love you so

 

I’ll draw a graph of Mother Earth
 I’ll need a lot of paper.
It won’t be easy,I know that,
But Geo’s my alma mater.

Geo came into our maths class.
We had to find her metre.
If we did then we could write
 A poem with which to greet her.

With ologies and eulogies,
The earth is deep in waste.
Give me some green graph charts
 I’ll do some cut and paste.

I’ll rearrange the entire globe,
Without a deal of fuss.
If anybody notices
 They won’t know it was us!

I’ll put all the mountains in the world
 Into one continent.
And if I am that way inclined
 The globe will look quite bent.

Ill put the lions and tigers too
Into Parliament.
Let them eat not cake but men
 And don’t charge them a rent.

I’ll paste all the seas that I find
Onto my washing line.
With less water around the world
 The weather should be fine.

Oh Geo was a darling child,
So promising and bright.
Mixed up with the graphs and charts
 I hope she’ll see the light.

I’ll put all the stars into a box
 We have far too many.
Yet only one sun and one moon,
So,would you like to buy any?

Geo return,I love you so.
I’ll give up cut and paste to show.
That you are all I ever know,

and i do love you so

 

I’ve got tennis elbow in both of my feet.

  1.  
    I once used to love eating sweets
    I hated to chew up fat meat.
    My mother didn’t mind.
    As she was so kind.
    Now I’ve got tennis elbow in both of my feet.

    I kept my own bedroom too neat.
    And I pressed all my clothes into pleats.
    The cat was quite wild..
    And I was only a child.
    I got tennis elbow in both of my feet.

    We used to eat oats and brown wheat.
    Digestion was such a fun feat!
    My sister was small..
    And then she grew tall.
    Yet I got tennis elbow in both of my feet

    At last I was due for a treat.
    I heard our cat give a loud bleat.
    A ram walked past our house,
    Wearing my blouse.
    I got tennis elbow in both of my feet.

Winking for the beginner

Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn

Riding pillion

The curate’s motorbike

Come here,Kathryn,come here quick,

‘Cos your Daddy’s really sick.

Run as fast as fast, you can,

Get the priest, get Father Dan.

Run,run went my eight year old feet,

Down the lane and up the street

I ran right up to Father’s door,

[Does God live there any more?]

“Come please, Mam said Daddy’s ill”

“Oh”,said Father,”that I will.”

Revving up his motor bike

With The Sacrament beside.

He lifted me up onto the back

And roared off up the church side track.

It was the best thrill of my life

If only Daddy had not died.

Ninety one and still loving

Sun through trees
Source: Kathryn
Source: Cat playing
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn

Oh,Stanley Brown is ninety one.

His time to procreate has come!

His lover is now having twins!

See how Stanley grins.

Oh Stanley’s cat is called Emile.

He likes mouse pie and conger eels.

He watches Stanley making out.

He’s curious no doubt!

Why does Emile not find a mate?

Perhaps Emile left it far too late.

Though he has serviced twenty cats.

And killed so many rats.

But none of Emile’s lady mates

Stayed with him past their due date.

So Emile is a bachelor.

He’s peeping through the bedroom door.

He’s watching how these humans mate.

They seem to kiss and celebrate.

They sleep wrapped in each others arms.

This kind of love has charms.

So Emile wants to go online,

To find a site called “Yours is mine.”

He wants to find a sweet,sweet wife.

And live the loving life.

We must give Emile privacy,

Just like we permit Stanley.

They must not be in photo-shoots,

No matter that they’re cute.

Annie gets up in the night.

She keeps peeing,that’s alright.

She’s peeing now for two or three.

Her kidneys are busy.

Stanley brings her morning tea,

Emile notes in his diary.

She wears a dress and looks so bright.

What a cheerful sight.

Stanley has a his pension now.

Will they have child allowance too?

Age Concern will check on that,

While Emile’s on his mat.

Do you think Stan is far too old

To father twins and be so bold?

Should he forfeit his freedom pass?

He’s not short of brass.

Oh,George Osborne is coming round.

He wants to take the old man’s crown
[an old English coin]

He wants to punish older folk.

Ain’t he an evil bloke?

He thinks he will be Camerons’ heir!

He smiles a bit like Tony Blair.

He thinks we’ll all forget his tricks.

And we’ll just take his kicks.

But Stan and Annie organize

A protest march of the Oldies.

Not many are expecting twins,

Not when the march begins!

As you grow old, don’t give up life.

You take a lover or a wife.

You organise campaigns and march

From Camden town to Marble Arch.

You sing Dylan and play guitars.

You know what’s right and it matters.

You don’t leave life to other folk.

Oh,Stan’s a great old bloke.

Politics is for us all.

So get involved whilst you can crawl.

Make protests in your own sweet way.

Go on, begin today

The way you inhabit it

Incarnation

you are not your body,
but the way you inhabit it;
the way you encourage or discourage
the circulation of feelings through flesh.

you are not your body
but how you become incarnate through it.
how you let go the angels of the high blue sky
the way you become willingly enfleshed

you are not your heart
but the way you open it;
resembling perhaps a grateful flower in sun;
or the way you clench it and turn away
so it turns to stone instead.

you are not your mind
but the way you trust it;
the way you receive new ideas,
and open up to hear and attend;
the way how,like water, you are willing to take more in
or to give it out;
the way you accept the images thrown up
and recognise them
they are who you are
who we all are
connected by the great Mind of the universe
which is more like a watercolour than a surveyors’ diagram

you are not the stones and pebbles of the river bed
but the flowing water,the fish darting and the movement
and the way you let go
as you enter the great sea.
the way you are one and many;
the way you trust and love;
the way you flow on;
the way you disappear and yet are always part of the whole

© 2013 Kathryn

Outside the hospital I saw Anne Frank

Outside the hospital,I saw Anne Frank

Abstract summer
Abstract summer

Source: Kathryn
 
 
Tree of life
T

Source: Kathryn

Walking through unceasing traffic outside the main hospital,
I saw Anne Frank at the bus stop,I thought
There was a young woman with seven children,
Jewish,I saw.Little ones shyly offering us their seats.
I asked if she lived nearby.
No, we live in Stamford Hill,North London
What a shame you have to come so far,
for this terminus is inside the hospital grounds,you see.
Oh,no!We did not come for the hospital.
We came to pick fruit on that lovely farm down the hill!
Yes,we have been there too, it is very beautiful,i say.
It’s easy enough on public transport,she murmured softly like a little girl.
The children gazed, demure and polite,
I could see their smiles were not so far away.
I asked her,Would it be offensive
if I gave my husband a kippah
as he is tired of his hat?
Not at all,she murmured,smiling.
Why,you can get them anywhere now…Stamford Hill,Golder’s Green
She took off the hat from her son’s head
to show me how white his skin was there.
She told me how they just came back from a seaside holiday.
Too soon ,their bus came.She’d be ready for a cup of tea or two.
I saw eight faces smile,just a little smile,you know;
enough it was and all for me.
The oldest girl waved her hand gently as the bus left.
I see this is not just a place with a hospital.
It’s got a pick your own fruit farm;it’s got woods,hills,
fields with horses,tomato filled greenhouses,large white houses.
When they close their eyes they’ll see the green and the sunshine;they’ll see the woods on the hill.
And I shall see them and Anne Frank too ;it was the hidden smile.
Why,I see it is almost the Mona Lisa too.

A smile can be such a mystery.

Emerging from a hospital,tests,blood,anxiety.,machines,..
it’s like dreaming,
it’s like being given a hint;
there’s another time intersecting with this
and history herself brushes against my cheek
with a rare intimacy
that makes me both smile and weep.
It’s always here,but we don’t see…
It’s not a hospital only;
it’s a doorway to other worlds

and what worlds,indeed.,

The song of the earthworm

 

 

They tell me that trees are a wonderful sight
They have leaves hanging on them all day and all night.
They tell me the golden sun shines in the sky
It’s said to be so much brighter so high.
I’d like to hear birdsong and thunder and hail.
At all these pursuits worms are likely to fail.
We only make holes in the soil as we move
And we know almost nothing about feelings and love.
We don’t know why we’re here or what purpose we serve
And our earthen workplace is also our grave.
.

The world is a verb

It appears the world is a verb not a noun.
I’ve had my suspicions of course,
I know that’s how I see,
Not yet having achieved object constancy
I see afresh,which is alarming until one adapts.
I see the way you see on Heroin,
But for me,it’s free.
I never knew if mother was the same person today,
Or some new other mother.
She did have the same hands
But her eyes altered.
I gave them all the same name,
Like a folder on the computer.
Let’s see how many mothers I created!
In the end I had to go to school
To get some kind of safety net.
We had alternative explanations there
Like we were saved from sin.
But who can save us from multiple mothers?
I never let on,though I felt stressed sometimes
By all the changes.
Couldn’t things be more fixed?
Dreams end,but life goes on
Being a verb it has to act, you see.
If it were a noun it would be enclosed
By many parameters,grids like stunning geometric orgasms,
Quite beautiful to look at it but never felt.
Feeling is the art of life.
Art is the life of the feelings.
What are the feelings of the feelings?
Who understands the heart of Art?

I love you like

I love you like I’d love a black walnut.
You’re so rare I can’t eat you.
I’ll put you in my pocket
and take you with me
when I go in town
I’ll feel your crinkles and your wrinkles,
But nobody will know.

 
I love you like I’d love a comice pear.
I’ll put you in a golden bowl.
I’ll let the sun shine on you,
Till you are ripe.
I’ll put you in my bag,
Take you to a meadow of buttercups
And devour you.
And nobody will know.

 
I love you like I’d love a flower.
I’ll give you my best vase.
I’ll stand it in the window.
Then I’ll look at you all day
With my peripheral and my central vision,
Till your pattern is embedded in my brain.
I’ll sleep well and dream of you all night.
I’ll wake up and remember it all.
And nobody will know.