-
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 feetAt 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.
Tag: poem
Winking for the beginner
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
-
- Wink to me only with thine eyes,
- and I will wink with mine.
But I recall I cannot wink,
Though your winks are sublime.
Oh,will you teach me this fine skill?
I feel I have something missing.
If you won’t teach me to wink,
I’ll have to keep on kissing.
I sent thee late three love letters
As I was feeling amorous
But then I saw thee in the town
with a lady fair and glamorous.
I find it very painful.
So rather than writing love letters
I must do something gainful
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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.
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Ninety one and still loving
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
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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
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Outside the hospital I saw Anne Frank
Outside the hospital,I saw Anne Frank
Abstract summer
Source: Kathryn
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.,
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A sparrow
As the last rose dies
My heart,too,seems to fail.
Yet, when a sparrow flies,
It,fragile,beats the gale
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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.
.
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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?
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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.
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Love leaves
Maybe you didn’t know
When you teased me so.
Maybe you never knew
What your words would do.
I float across that space
And thus ypu bring torment
To me to whom love you sent.
When I close my eyes
My daytime face then dies.
I look across dark seas
My dreams are full of loss.
Is night or day the worse?
When you return next here
I gaze upon your face,
Forbidden to embrace.
My arms ache deep inside,
As if in agony tied.
Torn apart by grief.
Love is now a thief.
Where has God‘s face gone
As brightly shines the sun?
The pains of life are sharp,
Cutting through the heart.
But still we turn towards love,
With all the strength we have.
Trusting in the dark,
Trusting my own heart.
I step into the void.
Love can’t be denied
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Love you at teatime
Song of the happy husband
I find it hard to be loving at breakfast time
Listening to the horrible News
And it’s hard to be loving at Churchtime
Kneeling in those hard wooden pews.
The Bible ‘s supposed to be holy.
And it’s certainly holier than me;
For I love you so in the afternoon
When we have our Sunday tea.
I don’t like to listen to preaching
Avout how wicked I am
I just can’t wait till the afternoon
To sample your blackcurrant jam!
I know I have been a difficult person
With all my variable moods
Why not pack up a tea hamper
So we can caress in the woods?
I love you all the time ,darling,
But work takes a toll on my mind
But when you show me your cream filled sponge
My troubles are soon left behind.
I love you on a weekday
I love you dreaming at night.
But I love you the most on a Sunday—–
Your teas are a wonderful sight!
When I was stuck in the hospital
Waiting for doctor or nurse.
I dwelt in my mind on your Sunday teas
I could have been a lot worse.
Now my illness is over
Normal life reappears
Let’s have a special treat today……..
Let’s pretend Sunday is here.
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Goodbye,I say.Goodbye
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
By K
Standing together,
We lean forward touching foreheads lightly
Eyes closed for a moment
Tenderly we respect
The other’s boundaries.
Yet I feel your heart beating too,
As it it were me.
We lean for a few more moments like this.
Wordless.
Holding the broken places,with love.
Then we turn and walk away
Such moments last forever
In the eternity that Love creates
Foreheads touching,
Skin to skin..
Boundaries of the inner and the outer
You are another;
A real human person
Wanting nothing;wanting everything
I shall remember your smile.
You were with me once
And now we go our ways
Our own difficult journeys.
One meeting of souls
Creates its own symbol
May you be blessed
May the fire not burn you
Nor the water drown you
May the Lord keep you always near him.
May He protect your spirit.
May he give you strength always.
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Sympathy
Sympathy is sometimes
By K
Sympathy is sometimes good,
Especially if you are not made of wood.
Empathy can be superior
If to metal,your brain’s nearer.
Do you want to be fulfilled?
Don’t get ground by coffee mills.
Would you like to be superior?
Do not venture to your interior.
Journeys often end in struggle.
As they make the mind more muddled.
Archaic words can be a joy,
But sometimes archaisms annoy.
Do you like tea from Ceylon?
Alas my own supply’s all gone.
Do you want to study grief?
Take your lessons from a leaf.
After short weeks on a tree
To be cast off is destiny.
Into earth the leaves return
To become food for journeying worms.
So it will be for us all,
Regarding not your status tall
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Lyra’s song
A LOVELY LUTE
The lute
Lyres and Lutes
When Lyra was a tiny child
Her Mother was not happy
The lute is not so cute.
Lyra began to dream of lutes
The way small children do.
She dreamed Mozart wrote a piece
He called “The Magic Lute.”
She was very disappointed
When she woke up in her bed.
What she’d like to do instead.
She hummed and sang from morn till night
And one day realised
That singing was her genius.
Her voice was Lyra’s guide.
Now Lyra ‘s in “The Magic Flute“
Opera is her thing.
She is a high soprano now.
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Like the softness of just opening leaf buds in spring.
I see a light fuzz of hair on your head
like the softness of just opening leaf buds in spring.
The chemo is over,and you wait relieved and letting that
take you for a while before you start to face the next stage.
Will your Spring turn to a warm enchanting Summer
or has the cancer,as they say “spread.”
Just for now,you’re in that lull
so in three weeks time you will not be
arriving for another session of drugs
and days of sickness.
I see the light fuzz which reminds me
of how the cat’s fur grew back after her surgery
and she,being unable to reflect or question,
leaped from the fence top onto next door’s kitchen roof;
no thought in her mind of stitches breaking.
How beautifully the patterned fur returned
and the vulnerable skin was covered again.
Oh,to look into those eyes and see you dream
about mice that live behind the shed
and how you sat watching for hours
and how you were alive till the very last moment.
Then , all of a sudden,you were gone.
Pray it will not be so for ,the fragile,loving human
now waiting and living,hoping for what you took for granted…
a “normal” life span Or maybe just three quarters of one
would be satisfactory;would be a beneficence
such as trees feel when the sap turns and begins to flow back.
bringing life out of the darkness of earth and soil.
And another Summer comes at the right time
and we find it,shall we say,satisfactory?
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Touch me again
Source: Kathryn
Behind glass
When he went away,
He went away
Away.
I didn’t know where
he had gone
where had he gone?
The call came.:
call came….
Man,white,good health
Has died.
Has died alone
Died alone in an hotel room.
So a stranger would find him.
Man alone;
man alone in hotel room.
there was a man
alone
in his hotel room.
Not wanting to be any trouble.
trouble,no trouble alone
in his hotel room
not his room,you see.
not a shared room…
An hotel room.
Tall man with light brown hair
alone in a small hotel room
with no TV.
We had no smartphones
Smart
Phones
No,don’t tell , not me ,not yet.
He was all alone.
He was behind glass
glass walls
windows
a window of glass.
I could never touch him.
I could not touch him.
not touch,no,never,
Man alone.
Solitary man.
Tall man with brown hair.
Beds for love
Beds for leaving.
Don’t you die alone
in that hotel room.
Don’t go
You wanted to be alone,
afraid to feel.
Thin skinned and pale like a torn petal from a wild plant.
You were alone again
And you left me all alone;
alone without you.
Now I’m alone
in my hotel room.
my room.
Someone knocks.
I’m dreaming of you
wishing you were near me.
dreaming,wishing,
lonely for you.
He was all alone,they said.
In an hotel room.
His doom
In a lonely bedroom.
Don’t leave me yet.
Yet you were never here
behind your window
I see you
but can’t touch you.
Can’t touch you.
Can’t touch.
Touch me.
Touch me again.
Love me…
You were all alone
alone.
Why did I not break the glass?
Break the glass?
Why,why?
All alone
An hotel room
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Freak verse
Source: K
Ersatz raps
Oh,I see the wolf listening..he’s so gentle or is he mental?
Oh,Ah,kerbumplof.
Shrieks,calling for mate
Bang my soul up
In your bedroom
Ker pluf
Thor.War
Storms of lightning
Hail you
AAAAAAhhhhhhhhh
Me,oh,me oh,me stuck here in my groove
Give me electric shocks;the silent treatment.Sulk for me, please,Argentina.
Screech,scream,I felt you watching.
Touch me with a feather
Dust me!
Glug!
I see the wasps round your coat
They hug you and nip your neck
Bong!
Don’t cocme near me again
wolves are not
Well come!
I sigh for mein mutter
she’s a nutter,
utter
Sob
Scream
nightmare
Thud!
You hate me!
Never call again when you’re already here
You are not welcome.
I close my door
on your foot boot
Oh,yes.
Thunder and lightening
Go home now
This is a poem as likely
ill conceived
Eagle flies while I am
Falling down a mountain…
Scree burning.
I never want to see you again,babe.My duck.
Please be a love and leave me.Cheers
That’s ok.I understand you.
Asp,gasp
Per bot fly!
No thud
No dach
sunds whimper.
It’s time for my tea and biscuit
I cooked it twice
but you were
ab ab a aaab aa absent aahaa
sent!
No.No.no
I can’t believe you!
Cut this string and let it all hang out again
Oh,bloggers.Go to bed
Now
How
Mein eschreitschzung.Flightschzung.Nachtschzung
blung.blung
blot me out
I’m an ink stain.
I like your fingers, so clean and curving
I’ll mark you and give you homework
Och,aye
It’s well come
Crooning mouse traps
See Rockefeller
drop out and
Bring a bag of sylvia plath’s
scrap paper.
did she know?
Did she k now?
Did she sweat
Bang?
Thud.My sky fell in onto the millpond
Don’t smoke near me
I’ll get burned
For I hate you
Or just want your hat and an E for
flatness
Droom,droom
Dee
Bag
bug
Ted went to bed
where he spent his honeymoon
with another woman
Not with the second one
Mathilda
It’s finished us all off
Brang.Blong
Eschreitchzung
Fleightschztung
Herr Meightschrung!
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I can’t love without
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
Source: Kathryn
I can’t love you without loving the whole world too.
I can’t open my heart unless everyone can be part.
Wait for me.
I’m not afraid.
Wait for me.
I may be delayed.
I see you in my mind
Smiling, sad and kind.
I can’t love you
Unless I love the lost too.
Give me your hands
Outstretched across the world.
We’re all one
Love has begun
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Trust the Unknown
Trust the unknown”.
All shall be well,and all manner of things shall be well”
St Julian of Norwich
Trust the unknown force that grew you,
From the joining of two cells.
Act of love, of self giving,
Thus to grow a newer self.
Trust the dark,the unseen aspects
Of the life we all do live.
Trust that there is wisdom elsewhere,
To your emptiness to give.
Wait in patience for the time
When inspiration comes at last
Trust in darkness,silence,lowness.
Opposition forms the cross.
Pain is bearable in lowness,
Like the worm in earth I dwell.
When I look I see the sunrise
And I trust all shall be well.
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ON FALLING DOWN A FULL STOP AT THE END OF A SENTENCE
If you can’t acknowledge your hatred if you deny it exists, even to yourself then it may cause havoc in your life.This does not mean letting it rip either.It is very painful to hate someone you love.This is the dilemma of the infant and of all of us in life.Perception and its possibilities and flaws are of the utmost importance to me ideas wide and narrow focus in seeing They came to my notice in the book “A Life of One’s Own” by Joanna Field [Marion Blackett-Milner] and in her later book “On not being able to Paint”
Wonderful books, still available.
This poem is an attempt to describe of the problems of only using the narrow focus in life
Blind sight scattered my wits
Like whitened bones
Across the deserts of my mind.
I descended into blackness.
Love shrank into the tame cat
By the fire,unacknowledged hate
Grew to fill the room.
I stared too much,
A full stop grew gigantic
Crowded out
All the words in the sentence
I saw nothing but this dot
Now a gigantic black hole
Into which I was dragged.
An energy coming from within my own head
Sucked me into the black hole.
That place was the wrong sort of dearkness.
Within that full stop,
Love Fundamental became invisible.
Disappered into the dark.
I dragged my eyes away
And saw the moon appear , so eerie,
It shone,grey silver.
If I had opened my eyees wider
I would not now lament
What I destroyed in the wormhole
Of the black dot that drew my eye
Into a tunnel of darkness
It blinded me to the light
Did not let me read the sentences
Beside the full stop.
An error of focus left hate
Unacknowledged,unmitigated unredeemed,
Kept from love or goodness
Afraid to spoil my love with hate,
The fear of hate became
That which spoiled all else else,
By freezing Love itself.
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Find the peace of your center
Deep in a pitiful saddened state,
Relaxation is hard to await
You feel so tense you can’t sit down
Your eyes glare out, and then you frown.
You talk too fast,you lack patience
You lose touch with your common sense.
Follow instructions from a book?
oh,no your entire brain’s been spooked.
So what to do to help yourself,
Not to mention your mental health?
I discovered that very deep within
My self is always quiet and still.
To gain tranquility we must sit
And to consciousness this peace admit.
Deep down inside you are at rest
And with love your soul is blessed.
All you have to do is sit
To get in touch with this sweet state.
Your loving peace is always there
But you have spend time to discover her.
Sitting may sound a simple skill
Were we capable of will
Pretend your chair is full of glue
We have some here called UHU.
Pretend that you cannot get up,
An elephant is sitting on your lap.
Gaze patiently at a tall tree’
We share an affinity with these,
With flowers,cats bats and bumble bees.
So let all words and thoughts now go.
Your mind will shift until it’s slow,
Relaxing improves our perception,
Doing nothing is good for the complexion.
I love to look out,
And see birds about.
While glimpsing if any of them have specs on.
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ALL FOR THE LOVE OF A TREE
My daughter‘s in love with a tree,
It’s a most wonderful sight to see.
She hugs it all night
In the pale moonlight.
But what will their joint offspring be?
My sister’s in love with a book
She gives it long lustful looks.
She takes it to bed
I think it’s so sad.
If she conceives it will be by a fluke
My niece is in love with a girl.
She thought she’d give gay life a twirl.
They dance and they kiss,
O what utter bliss!
I think I might give it a whirl.
My neighbor has love on his mind
He’s ancient,,but he is so kind.
He showed interest in me
But I’m in love with a bee.
So I ‘ll have to see who-em I can find.
My friend loves a politician.
You’d know him,you definitely can’t miss him!..
He’s on the T.V.
He’s a P.M. to be.
.She’d be far better off with a tree!
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Losing you
As you walk away through lush leaved trees,
I see you come and go like a sine curve wrapped
around the axes
of tall trunks
and flat earth.
I want to call,”Come back”
but my mouth won’t open.
My lips are dry without you.
I’m flooded with loss already,
though I can still glimpse you now and then.
Sun,so high and golden,
yet I am like a moon,
my desolate heart its inscape,
my hands its freezing soil;
I stare as evening comes
into the dark night sky.
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I’m getting buried in the morning.
I’m getting buried in the morning.
Ding,dong the bells will surely rhyme.
I am in no hurry
So do not make a flurry
And do not let me get there on time.
I’m get buried in the morning
I’m puzzled as I am not yet truly dead.
There must be an error,
But never mind the terror.
I am thinking of those books I’ve never read
Put them in my coffin
And please stop that sinful laughing…
I’d like to die r beside you in bed.
I’m getting buried in the morning…
We had to book it ten years in advance.
We are running out of space
For the human race..
But why don’t we make love again,just once?
If the exertion kills me
It will surely thrill me
And I’m sorry I am so unfit to sing and dance.
You may die as well..
There’s no way to foretell.
But why not take this very last chance?
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The Risks of Love
The brightness of the summer light,
The songs of birds whose brood take flight,
I love to take in these earthly pleasures,
And so to fill my mind with treasures.
The conversations with my friends,
The closeness only death will end,
To share my life with those who care,
How could we have better fare?
Those who suffer pain and grief,
From whom love’s stolen by a thief,
Let us take them to our hearts,
So their healing path can start.
Those who fear friendship and love,
Who set themselves at too low worth,
Do they know how courage grows
Through acceptance of our woe
Life is tragic comedy.
Love may be the remedy.
Though if we give our hearts away
We shall have grief and pain to pay.
But if we lock our hearts up tight,
And keep all feeling out of sight,
We will wither like dead leaves,
Falling down from autumn trees.
Share this:
Trees swaying
Source: Kathryn
Trees swaying in the wind
Leaves
blow
down.
Birds flying through the sky
look
for
lorn.
Winter edges ever nearer.
Frost and fog will soon appear.
Cats sleep cozy by the fire
I clean the mud off my bike tires.
Trees swaying to and fro
sig
nal
love,
.
Birds flowing on air currents.
You’re my dove
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Lehitraot”… “araka” … uvidimsya pozzhe..”auf wiedersehen”….. “a plus tard”
“See you later” is sometimes “Goodbye”
Source: Kathryn
- For all mothers or fathers who have lost their sons or daughters whether in battles of war,persecution, or other catastrophes who will never hear them say “See you later” again
When he went away,
He said,”Lehitraot,mama.”
Do vstrechi.
He died but I’m still here
Yes,in my heart I feel his love.
But why did I live,
And he did not?
Auf wiedersehen
Lehitraot.
Yes,darling,I’ll see you later,
When the sky turns black and all the stars blaze bright
I’ll see you shining in the night.
I’ll see you in my dreams alas.
Do vstrechi.
But why you and not me too?
Araka
I can’t understand.
Lehitraot,beloved.
A plus tard
Some where in this world,you fell
But no-one,not even God, can tell.
God was absent then or in some other place
He’s gone again.
They said He’s died too,
But He didn’t have a mother like you.
Do vstrechi.
My breasts ache and my heart and soul,
My breasts were made to make you whole.
To feed, give love and to console.
A plus tard
And now they ache with grief as my tears fall.
A bientot
My body trembles in the night
As dreams may bring my lost ones to my sight.
A plus
I’d walk across the roughest bleak terrain
If l I could find my loves and hold your hands again.
Do vstrechi.
The bell rings on the ancient clock
As time goes on as normal ,it doesn’t stop.
Araka
I wish the hands of time could be reversed,
And I was not living with this curse.
People forget that I once had a son.
They think my grieving has been done.
Araka.
But grief and loss and pain will never end
Until the curtain of my death descends
Auf wiedersehen.
Meantime I look at flowers and birds and trees,
But it’s really you my deepening insight sees.
Lehitraot.
Th inscape of my heart is shown to few,
An artist of the lost would know this view.
I know I want to see just you.
Do vstrechi.
But for me there is no
Auf wiedersehen
Never again will you say
What you said that day
Lehitraot,
Mama.
Papa
A plus tard
Tot ziens.
See you later
See you soon.
See you.
You
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Wherever you may go
We are in our boat together
Sailing across the bay.
Some have an easy voyage,
The wind is blowing their way.
I wish I could always be sailing
Across a wide ocean with you
And never reach the other side
though it may be in view.
I want to see the sunrise
Across the dappled sea.
The ripples of the water
Reveal a new world to me.
One day this boat will reach the shore
Unless destroyed by storm
And I shall have to leave your arms
Where I have been so warm.
So just before we get there
I wanted you to know
That I shall always love you
No matter where you go.
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Let your lips meet gently,
Let your lips meet gently,
the top one resting against the lower,
touching with tenderness
your own skin to skin.
Forefinger propped on chin,
I let the others dangle,
like leaves on a branch;
how softly gravity tugs them downwards.
Let heart beat quietly,slowly
as the blood circulates
carrying its music ,
a river,
following the path of least resistance.
How the blood vessels receive willingly this flow,
touching it kindly as with tiny open fingers,
helping and being helped.
How the hair on the head
floats
on the breeze,
like tentacles of an octopus
waving goodbye.
Top eyelid loves the lower one;
as we blink they touch
like lovers kissing swiftly
behind a tree.
and how the light comes in
we see a world.
[mine may not be yours,]
but the blink of my eyelid
sends waves through the air,
so we’re all touching and being touched,
lips kissing each other,
kiss all living creatures.
skin to skin.
air to air.
And inside us,the rich darkness
of creative night
transforms,in turn,
these touches
into dreams
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A merry moral tale
While his wife went out to play.
He cooked a pie of frogs and cress,
He wanted to impress.
Stan was wearing his old clothes.
Where old clothes come from,no-one knows.
He meant to change when he was done,
So he and Mary could have fun.
But Anne his neighbour rang the bell,
Stan was so surprised he fell.
He hit his head upon the stove,
And his poor scalp turned blue and mauve.
Ring 999 and ask for Dave,
This man is old yet must be saved.
The paramedic gave him glue
To stick together his old shoe.
Then he rubbed on arnica.
Stan’s head looks like Guernica.
“Get the camera,take a pic.”
Stan was feeling rather sick.
“How can you use my wounds as art?
Rest assured I’ll take no part.”
He hit the camera with his stick,
And felled his mistress with a brick.
So now they’re in a mixed sex ward,
This experience can be shared.
They get their food at 3 am
Half for the ladies,half for the men.
The doctor asked them what went wrong.
Both of them had lost their tongues.
Neither would say what they’d done!
Now their anger is all gone.
The moral of my myth is this:
Being unfaithful is not bliss.
Mistresses can be a pain,
Especially if they’re very vain.
And better not to look for love,
Except with cats or sweet white doves.
Let your neighbour love you less!
And don’t make comments on her dress.
And as for voyeurs,keep a crutch.
Hit them hard, but not too much.
If they want a work of Art,
Tell them home is where to start
How my heart speaks 