Tag: poem

A heart like a cold stone

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

Conjunctio

 
They lay down in awe and fear,
Of what their love was bringing near.
They gazed into each other’s eyes
And so did rhapsodize.

They lay down to gaze into
the eyes and soul and heart so true.
They gazed until,when overcome,
They were united into one.

Their souls and bodies were conjoined,
And thus their hearts were well entwined;
As honeysuckle on the walls,
In joy’s sweet arbours does grow tall.

Their loving lips and eyes and hands
Gave pause to time’s soft flowing sands;
And while they touched and gazed so long,
The birds sang out in glorious songs.

The eyes are mirrors to the soul,
and love will make us grow more whole.
Gaze lovingly on humankind..
And hold care in your mind.

Only the rose

 

You know there’s that little place in the inner wrist

where it’s so soft and tender?

Where I need your touch.

Where I touch you.

Wrist to wrist,noone will notice;

But we notice,

I feel your pulse beating,

Or is it mine?

Take the rose,

Take the rose for your table.

And when you see it

Remember,

Remember everything

What we said,

What we never said but implied,

And only the rose will listen

As you sing your song

The rose will be there

In the heart’s garden

Dreaming,

Dreaming us back into being.

As we fade gently away

With evening time.

Love’s journey

Signs and symbols guide the route.
Love gives the soul her appetite.
Though the night is black and starless,
The inner guide is never careless.
The notes are struck,the tune is played,
Plain melodies are overlaid.
In this chant and benediction,
Healing comes for desolation.

Though the passage way is narrow,
This pathway is the one to follow.
Struggling through the mud and mire,
We see in darkness tongues of fire.
The sacred centre of our life
 Is never found without some strife.
Just then the dark and light combine,
To create a symbol for the mind.

What your words could do

Winter in England
Photo Kathryn

 

Maybe you didn’t know

When you teased me so.

Maybe you never knew

What your words would do.

I float across that space

Where lovers once embraced.

And thus I bring torment

To you whom love I sent.

When you close your eyes

Your daytime face then dies.

You look across dark seas

To sacramental trees.

Your dreams are full of loss.

Is night or day the worse?

When you return next here

Will love outstrip your fear?

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

Entranced by the dance.

Flood me with love
Flood

I wonder

I wonder why the geese fly high;

Creating patterns in the sky?

A group enraptured in a dance.

The stunning art of Providence.

I wonder why most trees are tall?

Standing close.I feel quite small.

The branches shiver in the breeze.

Ballet of winter,dancing trees

I wonder why the sun curves round

A path I see here from the ground?

The sun gives light which softly shines.

An Arche de Triomphe for the pines.

I wonder why two robins fed

On our crumbs of seeded bread?

Such sweet songs of courtship sound!

Life goes round and round and round.

 L

Mystic light:a poem

I have had several mystical or spiritual experiences in my life.So I thought I’d write this poem.I think many people do have mystical experiences but we don’t talk about them.

World of colour
Colour delights

Colour delights

Mystical experience

  • A beam of light passed through my eyes
  • And showed to me a world disguised
  • So near,yet far,we do not see,
    Unless by gift of grace redeemed.That world is full of peace and calm
    It’s colours mingle like a balm
    In such a moment all thought dies
    Revealing Love which underlies.

    Colours caress my naked eyes.
    Sunlight blesses new designs.
    I stand enthralled,and do not wish
    For one delight,other than this.

    My breath slows down, and filled with joy,
    I rove my eyes with bliss to toy.
    Everything is just itself.
    This is now my living wealth.

    Beneath the noise of city traffic,
    This mellow joy,love soporific,
    This depth and peace, is always near
    When we choose Love and turn from fear

Real knowledge will hurt

Source: Kathryn
 
 

 

I don’t want to see reality

But I don’t want to lose your care

I want to go on being selfish,

Yet having you always there.

 

I don’t want to acknowledge your feelings

I ‘m aware I have been very curt

I want to go on not noticing you

Because such real knowledge will hurt.

 

The longer I go on being blind to you,

The longer I choose not to see,

The more I will hurt you ,my loved one,

The more hard and unfeeling I’ll be.

 

I don’t want to see reality

I’m frightened of what I may find

I hope a friend will be with me,

While I traverse the dark shades of my mind.

 

My atoms wing like butterflies

 

A map’s a guide to find a world

Knitted by angels,plain or pearled,

And though you need a map as guide,

Keep your own eyes open wide.

 

I spent a year caught in a map

Until I found a big enough gap

I crawled out through this exit slit,

So here I am,like some half wit

 

Words can act like heroin,

You live so high ,where I have been.

But onto earth I gladly fall.

The air the sun the rain is all.

 

My senses are my lovers long-

My ears,my eyes,my skin my tongue.

The winds caress my naked flesh,

To dwell on earth is all I wish.

 

I’ll live with mice and birds and plants,

I’ll share my food with miscreants

I’ll keep my words inside a tin,

And only, now and then,go in.

 

I’ll live with cats and spiders three.

And like a wild flower grow quite free.

I’ ll give my words to those who hear,

And eventually I’ll disappear

 

Earth to earth then ash to ash

When soaked with rain I shall disperse.

My atoms wing like butterflies,

And to the Flower I’ll fly,disguised

 

Your face is map enough for Me

Your face is map enough for me

Your gaze,your smile,your frown,your glee.

And if I want to know the rest

The shape your posture’s made is best

For showing what your life is now.

A look,a gesture,all this show.

Till all you are is then disclosed

And I am in your arms enrobed.

Love vanishes when analysed,

And thinking too’ by Love’s despised

Use the means to fit the end

And then I’ll be what you intend.

Take lessons from a leaf

Norfolk UK
Norfolk UK Drawing

Poem

Sympathy is sometimes good,

Especially for those 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 such words 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 thrown off is destiny.

Into earth the leaves return

To  makee food for journeying worms.

So it will be for large and small

Regardless of status,place and all

Hands

Rosemary in flower

Sometimes my hands curl up,
and other times,they open.
Then I feel the air;
My fingers relax.
I touch your hand;
uncurl it and press it to mine.
Palm on palm,it’s no secret
that palms connect to hearts.
In your face I see a hint of melancholy,
I feel it in my soul..
as if there was a secret connection..
thought how,I don’t know.
Somehow,touching, we create another soul,
Neither you nor I, but we……
Touching,need to be physical..
We know how a story can affect us that way.
What a gift to know we have touched someone…
In the heart.’s. most tender space.The place of love.
Both true and false,my palm is lonely.
Then I feel the caress of summer air..
To touch is to be touched
as one soul opens to another..
Vulnerable,human,loving,
Painful and illusory,like those dreams of childhood.
Now I go,first gripping, then loosening our hands.
Goodbye,we say,Goodbye

My restless mind

When wanderings take my restless mind

To places peace can never find,

When imaginations linked to fear

Push tranquillity away.

To my green garden I must go

And let my mind and thoughts go slow.

I look up at maples in the breeze,

See sunlight dappled through their leaves.

I see the apples hanging down

And blackbirds peck them on the ground.

I see the hawthorn berries ripe

Upon the hedge in gold sunlight.

And then my soulf is brought to earth

Peacefulness is given birth

I feel at one with nature green,

And all that is just now unseen

So back to everyday routines

Without “what for?” and “might have beens”

All is well and shall be so

Wherever we may chance to go.

Mr Fox

 

 

Standing on the frosty terrace

He suddenly put his face to the window

His gaze hit midway between heart and gut.

Stared into eye,

Saying it’s too cold out of doors?

Or hungry.

Look, sharp as a question.

Do you not recognise me?

Let me warm myself by your fire.

Why not?That did happen ,

Before stone houses and double glazing.

Fox knew something

.Asked for recognition.

I broke the gaze.

Thinking,it’s wild.

I can’t let a fox in here.

What damage,

Will he be dirty,infested.

I didn’t open the door.

But I feel sad ,

He’s gone away.

What was the question?

He spoke from one being to another

He never came again.

I misunderstood.

He wished not to come inside

But for me to go to the wilderness with him?

 

Unknowable hearts

Source: Kathryn

When the windows shattered
And the splinters flew in
You just made for the back door
And left me
not knowing where to begin.

When the shards of glass hit me
And pierced my vulnerable skin
You were already going
Leaving me
feeling you were an inhuman being.

When I fell down covered in glass and bleeding,
And the storm raged on,
I didn’t look round because
I knew,I knew,I knew,
I knew you would be gone.
Gone.

Suddenly peace came,storm had quite
disappeared..
It was all over so quickly
Not as terrible as I feared.

My wounds were bad,I have to confess.
I had no bandage
Nothing with which to dress.
With an old towel I cleaned my blood
Then I lay me down
Just to have a rest.

Since that day,no storms come this way.
My wounds are healing
I have just one thing to say.
When the storm was so bad
You left me all alone…
but strangely since then
all is peace and calm.
Your absence has become
almost a balm.

But I hear stories of fierce storms rising up
In towns and villages
Not too far from here,where a strange man appears.

Seems like he’s running to get away
From some storm
But the storm’s inside him…
He gives it form.

So when the windows crashed in
And glass flew at my face
He left me all alone
In what, he thought,
was a very dangerous place.

Did he not pick me up
and carry me outside?
No,my daughter, he left me alone;
I might have died.

But since then
I lost a great burden…
And I lost a great feeling of shame.

Rise up,you women,bleeding and torn.
For on days like that,a new resolve is born.
While you live don’t accept all the blame.
Don’t live so long as I did,in fear and in shame.
Rise up and find that calm
In the eye of the storm…
On days like this
a new woman is born.

More wine in the water…. please

 

Happy
I used to have a great fear of tttttttttrembling

And prepacked fffffurniture aaaaassembling

But I read all your bbbooks

Which advised nnnnnnnnnnervous ffreaks

To leave no fffearsome tasks outstanding.

tree of life

I had a dread fear of sssssshivering

And my nerves enjoyed too much qqqqquivering

But I bought your new pills

And paid all my bills

And now I enjoy my own dddddithering.

Little cubes of colour

I used to fffear ssoap and water

Or giving birth to a qqqquivering daughter.

But your brilliant insights

Killed off all my frights.

But,for God’s sake,put more wine in the water.

I want a winter lover

New River

Wintry love

In summer time when sun do shine

I’m happy on my own

I gaze up through red maple leaves

All transparent in the sun.

But when winter comes I’m lonely

Sitting here beside my fire.

So I want a winter lover

To keep my spirits higher.

Oh,my winter love come to me

And I’ll gaze deep into your eyes

The light that shines in there

Is so much warmer than my fire.

We’ll go through wintry woodlands,

Where elegance lies bare.

The branches struck by sun

Now feel the frosty grasp of air.

I’ll love you all the winter time.

I’ll love you in the dark.

I’d like to take you in my arms

Make love in St.James Park

When summer comes I’ll disappear

To roam across the dales

I’ll sleep on heather moorlands

And send you loving mail.

I can’t be tied in summertime

I must be roaming free.

But ,if you accept this need of mine,

To you I’ll faithful be.

 

GIFT OF WORDS

 

My sister is learning by copying a Lowry.Can one learn to write a poem by copying? Yes,copy the rhythm of a song or a ballad.That can be a help to start you off
My sister did this

 

The theme of this poem is one that is very important to me.Actions change when vision changes.Actions are changed most by Imagination,not by force or will power,Actions change by seeing from a new perspective.

I

 

These poems are my gift to you

They flow from my perceptions

I write them to discover truth,

And my preconceptions.

 

I write because I see and think

More deeply than I knew

And seeing is the first step

To imagining the new.

 

Changing perceptions changes deeds

Without the need for force.

Find out your hidden dreams ,and look.

You speak with your own voice

 

Sometimes Love

Autumn

London in autumn
London in autumn
Abstract blue
Joy in life

Sometimes sun  shines in September

Sometimes sky is brilliant blue

Sometimes sun shines in September,

Sometimes I remember you.

Sometimes love comes in September,

Sometimes there’s this final chance.

Sometimes love comes, so remember

Such affairs are happenstance.

Sometimes love comes down in sunshine.

Sometimes love comes down in rain

Sometimes love comes in September.

Sometimes love pains us again.


At the Fair with mi Dad

To  my readers:

I use language here in the form common in the past in a working class mill town in the North of England . We always referred to people as our Mam,our John  or mi Mam,mi Dad.

Sky diving

I rode on a horse on the Merry- Go- Round at the New Year Fair,

And every time I came around,our Dad were stood right there.

The horses they went up and down,as we whirled around.

To me,so small, they seemed so high, way up above the ground.

You knew I loved those colourful horses standing up right tall;

So you let me ride on one,though Mam thunk me far too small.

I shall never lose the happiness,riding with a view..

But far more than I loved those horses, Dad, you know that I loved you.

I wish I were a child again and you were with us today.

I think we’d recognize your voice,and be eager for what you’d say.

Why did God take you off,it seemed to be so wrong.?

But thanks,our Dad,for the Merry- Go- Round,and thanks for all your songs.

I think that life’s like a Merry -Go- Round that we are turning on.

And every time it whirls right round.someone else has gone.

We don’t know how long we’ll ride here so merry,and so gay.

So enjoy the Revolution now,and say what you really should say.

The world may be a Merry Go Round and we are nothing but fools

We had so much bounty and yet we break life’s rules.

We strong ones steal and injure as we pass this way,

Will we ever realise…. it’s a serious game that we play?

Thanks our Dad, for the memory and thanks for all your songs.

Now my heart grows weary so I shan’t linger long

I tried to use my talents, like the Bible said.

I trust sweet God to judge me well,when in human terms I’m dead.

Blue hills
Blue hills

Note:I must have been three when this happened.Dad was keen on Fairs and Pantomimes

Silver words

BLUE TREES

After silence

Words fell from my lips.

I was a god

I created everything.

I spoke and each word

Was a new world.

Words fell from my lips like a silver stream of beauty.

I was a god.

We were all gods.

We created worlds.

Words touch the secret core

At the heart of the other,

Or they violate it.

“Too many words” hits me like a bullet.

I need silence

And one word,

To call me into being.

God breathed

And the world breathed.

Speaking is like breathing,

But is more than breathing.

Words sail out

Like boats crossing the sea

On a breeze of breath.

A word from a man came at me.

Like an arrow,and pierced me

With sharp sorrow.

Only a few have the true voice,

The voice that does not harm

WORDS RISE UP

Poetry

The highest calling of the mind

Is to choose the words that free or bind.

Without choice words  in true design

Human beings will be quite blind

 
York Minster,home of sacred song and word
 

 

After writing about maps I began to write about words.Words are very powerful in any kind of society but more so in a highly literate one.Words can be sacred or mundane.They can be loving or heartbreaking.And in English we have so many of them because English was developed from several other languages….Anglo-Saxon,French,Latin,Greek,Celtic…..so more than one word for some things.Here in this poem I compare words to birds [ geese ] flocking into the sky like words flock into our minds

 

Words rise up like geese at dawn

When with pale sun new day is born

The words approach and dance in line

The choice of words is mine

 

 

Words spelled here by sense and sound

In clause and sentence weave around.

Which tempting words shall I now use

And which shall I refuse?

 

 

The fire lights up inside my heart

So now my writing hand can start/

I sit down at my desk and say

“This is the way I spend my day.

With words I sing and play!

WORDS STROKE MY MIND

 

A peaceful place to meditate
A peaceful place to meditate

WORDS STROKE MY MIND

Here I talk about words as if they had a physical existence and can stroke my mind and  give me pleasure like a cat can get from gentle stroking.I treat words as if they are real things which they are when spoken out loud.And someone’s voice can soothe you if they speak mellifluously.

 

Words mark the page and stroke my mind,

And sentences are words combined,

So,many brushstrokes make a shape,

And round my mind the sentence drapes.

 

Words from farthest realms of mind

Are drawn to me by this design.

And,look, they brighten in the sun

The picture forms,my work is done

Riemann’s cat

Two whole worlds.
One small cut.
One little chink.
Hard to find.
Very,very hard.
One small place
Where a very little cat
Could slip right through
The geometrician ‘s cut.
Cat could slip right through.
Just,slip straight through.
Joining it’s own reflection
On the opposite side.
The mirror’s other side.

And if I caught that tail,
If I caught her little tail,
She could pull me through,
She could pull me through,
So she and I too
We’d be on the other side,
The wrong way round,
On the opposite side.

So when you looked in,
If you looked in,
You would see me there,
Looking out at you,
From the opposite side.
From the opposite side.
And the cat beside
Looking very small,
Very,very small;
But very,very real.
How do you think you’d feel,
If I was looking out,
Staring at you
From the opposite side?

I can’t get back.
I can’t find Riemann’s cat
and without that pussy cat
I can’t find Riemann’s cut.
I think I’m in a trap.
I cannot find that cat.
So she can’t find the cut
To get me back,
She can’t bring me back
To where I was before.

Oh,how queer,
To have two of me in here.
I hope I’ll get on well
With my other self,
Behind the looking glass.
No one looking in,
But two are staring out.
From that other world.

I am looking out,
I’m looking out
To see if you are there.
One of you’s with me
That makes the total three.
Oh,dear me,
I should not have grabbed
Little pussy’s tail.
I didn’t really know
Where she meant to go.

“Wherever have you been?
Where do you think you’ve been
To get so filthy black,
And where’s your pussy cat?”
She never came back.
Never came back
From the opposite side.
Mummy thought I’d lied.
I don’t tell lies,
But I can see my cat
Staring out at me.
Staring out at me
From the other side.
From the opposite side
Of my looking glass.
My lovely looking glass
Has trapped my tiny cat
On the opposite side.
On the opposite side
On the other side

Enchantment

BLUE TREES

My old blue fountain pen allows

The ink across the page to flow

Like wet paint from an artist’s brush,

And words come in a rush.

Enchanting through the hand which writes,

Bewitched with art, beauty alights.

The script is like a music score

Through which you pass as through a door.

Imagination’s home.

As,mysteriously.to you, to me,

The spirits of our hearts are tamed,

By rhythms of pen,of brush,of mind.

They enter vision quite unplanned,

Like moths to flutter softly round

Fire joined heart and hand.

The pen slows down,the hand goes still

And just as dreams at daybreak will,

They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone.

I almost caught that one

The museum of my heart

A poem about love,loss and memory.The title came into my mind like a shy animal from a forest.Then I had to construct the poem

I’ve got just one letter
written in your hand.
One small letter.
I understand,
One is as infinity
compared to having nought.
I’ll keep this letter
In the museum of my heart.
I’ve only got one photograph
and that is very old
but to me this photograph
is more valuable than gold.
Time has hastened by.
Is it now too late?
But may there be a second chance?
Let’s not accept love’s fate.
No matter how we falter,
No matter how we fail,
We can still forgive ourselves,
and rewrite this sad tale.
One more loving letter,
One more loving smile,
That will be sufficient
To rebirth a love grown frail.
For once this love was stronger;
Once this love was true;
Accept this invitation
To recreate our love anew.

Gathering the words to say it

Source: K
Source: K
Source: Kathryn

being a writer is like being a wordherder
words run about like lost sheep on the high moorlands
and I have to catch them and keep them safe
I need a trusty word dog to get them together
and keep them safe.

sometimes they have wandered far away
and I stand forlornly in the fields
then I hear the bark of my word dog
and down the hill a host of words are running towards me
looking pleased to see me.

so then I try to catch a few and shear off their wool
so I can knit a poem out of it all…
there are some wild,shy words
that so far have eluded me
maybe I need two trained and kindly word dogs not just one…

see the words are all running off to hide under a hedge till morning
goodbye words I love them all unconditionally
especially the wild ones
i too like the high hills and the distant blue of the far away edge of the landscape
the haze of summer and the purply moors
the wild blue and the sacred sky high blue
the earth and the heavens and the still something to discover yet.
if there’s an ordnance survey map of this world
I have not seen it yet and anyway
who could have made it?

Maps

Words structured make a map for me
Sentences enable me to see.
But there are maps of other kinds
And different maps suit different minds.

The artist with her skilled brushstrokes,
Her unique sense of the world evokes.
This goes straight to the heart,and tells
Of feelings’ deep, unfathomable wells.

The sweet, plain singing of the spheres
Moves those who hear to happy tears.
Yet notes are written on just five lines
From which can flow all music’s rhythms

There are so many different worlds,
Which all these maps to us unfurl.
The Art of Travel is to guess
Which Map will suit which World the best.

In memoriam

I look up our small street,
To see if you are coming.
I don’t know what time it is,
But I think I hear you humming.

You sang sweet songs for us,
And you could whistle well .
You wore an old tweed jacket
You loved us,I could tell.

I look out there each day,
But I can’t see your tall, thin shape.
I saved your Woodbine packet,
It made me feel some hope.

What does death’s door mean?
Where has Daddy gone?
When will be the welcome day,
When we hear his songs again?

I’ll sing like him all day,
I’ll dream of him all night.
I hope he won’t be angry,
If his cigarettes won’t light!

He can’t write his own songs now.
He went too far away , too soon.
I’ll write down what I think he sang,
And I’ll invent the tune.

I hear him singing now,
He dwells inside my heart.
And though I still can’t see his face,
I recognise his Art.

Aural love:be my now

I  kiss your  funny ears ; you kiss mine

I love Beethoven.you have qualms

I lick your ear;your licks  divine.

I love listening ,in your arms

 

I love music;you love song

I kissed your lips.you bit my tongue.

I love rightly;you love  wrong.

I’ll buy a guidebook to learn how to long.

 

 

I lick your whiskers;you shampoo my brow

i love Stravinsky.; i  love  you so.

I’ll be your sweetheart,I am unsure  how.

Since I’m in your arms . you must be my now.

 

 

The promised land

England’s green and pleasant Land

England's green and pleasant Land [from Jerusalem,by William Blake]

Note: This was a surprise to me when I was writing the last part .I will try to explain.At first I started off wanting to write a poem about nature,And evening falling as the sun set.However something else seemed to take over for the last few verses.I was especially surprised by the end….”.at last we have reached the promised land”

That is the best thing about writing poetry,that it can surprise the writer as much as if it were written by someone else.Also it is very absorbing so that the time seems to very quickly.Sometimes a serious poem has turned into a funny one and I laugh out loud.So it saves having to buy funny books….I can amuse myself.Writing  is even better than reading.

Just think of anything at all for the first line,then make a second line,then all of a sudden …you are off.Some days are better than others and you need an hour or two to do it.Or come  backto it later to edit it and knock into shape.It is a bit like sculpture,I imagine.

Joy sings out loud in golden light

Yet after day comes black of night.

New moon is rising by gray trees

This earth is where I want to be.

I want the day,I want the night

I want the darkI want the light.

I want to see and to be seen,

And not to lose myself in dreams.

The sun has set ,gray clouds turn black,

The day just gone will not come back.

I’ll rest in quiet reverie

Until the Reapers’s scythe takes me.

And then I drop and mix with dust,

And worms and beetles sate their lust.

I fall into ten thousand motes

And in sunlight ,dance music’s notes.

No more striving.no more ambition,

No more fighting,nor competition.

Every particle’s the same,

Without even a personal name.

And side by side,we all are one.

The lusts of life have been and gone.

We dwell with dirt and grain and sand

At last we’ve reached the Promised Land,