For then ,on earth, our life will long endure

110906_5662We think we own our bodies and our minds

Not realising  when we have the gift of health

We use them without thought ,.with vision blind

Yet nature creeps up with her sylvan stealth.

When to work  or when to take our ease,

The signals sent may never reach our brains.

But later, they will turn to constant pleas

For help to cease from  imposing more strain.

Days we work and never take a rest

Except to slump  by  TV,tablet,screen.

It takes much time to learn what is the best

If not, what is will soon be” what has been”

Let us learn our body’s  signals clear

For then on earth our life will long endure

For dreams can work in harmony with will

Autumn 2013 008

I only began to write sonnets a few months ago.I was afraid to try as I imagined it was very hard,but eventually I wanted to try.I sometimes do find it difficult but I am enjoying it now.I was reading a book by Leslie Farber called,The Ways of the Will.In this he says that anxiety neurosis is caused by, “trying to will what cannot be willed.”I found that idea fascinating.

We can make ourselves lie down,but we cannot sleep by will power.

We can sit at a desk all day but cannot will ourselves to get inspiration.

I am sure you can think of many examples yourselves.So we need will sometimes but also we need to allow things to happen;we are not always in control.. we cannot be but we wish to be.

Think of our brains and bodies… it’s all outside our control…as is most of the Universe,God and all… despite our technology and science.

IMG_20130820_072103 (2)

The daydream is despised by many folk
who feel that willpower is the better way.
Yet daydreams often bring creative thoughts
and teach us what to do and what to say.

I fear it is the modern curse to will,
When will cannot achieve the wanted end.
And trying too hard is effort and may kill,
where reverie and dream can make us mend

The emptiness of mind is too much feared
As if we do not trust in God nor man.
Yes,take the tiller, and with perception steer…
We do the little that we should and can.

For dreams can work in harmony with will,
As long as we can make our minds quite still.

From the News

Whatever evil  humankind may do,

The sun will rise and shine  on  one and all.

Mercy ,grace and love are spread  anew

As apples ripen and the  sweet birds call.

What is the mystery of the world we know;

That God looks with dispassion on us all?

And what his  wondrous virtues are to show

When  wolves attack and murder does appall.

Will heaven compensate the refugees

Who starve in camps  when money is withheld.

From those who gave us prophets and great seers

We see  confusion,fear  then ethics felled.

 So often we are blind to wider views

And  get mere  entertainment from  the News

He eluded to his passed with wit devine

He eluded to his passed with wit devine.

He traveled on and  passed the perish all.

And when reel  tired he often  wood recline

If not he went out for a bawl.

This spelling tests the most astyoote  of mindes

Yet Shakespeare never spelt the same whey twice.

As well it’s often felt to be unkinde.

For being obsessive is, in truth, a vise.

But used we r to different methods now.

Texting changed the whey we all now rite

And even if we  learn the rules ,I vow

Writing onto laptops   makes me byte.

No more attack the witless for your pleasure

For  we have many skills which you must treasure


Butterflies can  light upon a rose

And sparrows miss the prickly holly leaf

So   thorns deter most  larger, useless foes

And safety bring to birds instead of grief.

The butterfly is symbol of the power

That weakness has in entering sacred ground.

A  butterfly can fly through hail stormed bowers

His wings send waves across the world by sound.

A cat too has its claws as well as fur

Yet they  do have a a modicum of choice.

For those of us for whom they have a care

Claws are held ; mioaws  or purrs given voice.

Am I a holly tree or  fragrant rose?

Am I the cat who may unsheath her claws?

As if on stalks

I’d like to have a sausage for my tea

I’d like a roast potato and some greens

You can share my portion for a fee.

Or bring along some tender runner beans.

I know my  home is modest but it’s mine

My headboard broke off during a cold night.

Of what despair may that  be a   dim sign?

My hope of mending  myself is very slight.

Still I’ll  make a date with you today

Shall we eat our meal with knives and forks?

Chopsticks are de trop,what do you say?

Your eyes are following me as if on stalks.

Some days I feel I should not rhyme  again.

But better that than dwell on  long dead men

Our sacred space

In sweet darkness, love calls down a soul 

To be embodied in its mother’s’ womb.

Our growing pains by her are soon consoled

In this way we make an inner room.

Our sacred space is where our spirit lives

God alone can enter  that deep place.

We touch  a shining   blackness  which  so gives

Life itself  through  fruitful dark ,rich space.

For those  whom   fortune has  too soon betrayed

Whose mothers  lacked protection  and kind care.

Lack of such a space may soon degrade.

And  lead the lost to live in  blank despair.

If we have fortune ,let us aid the weak.

And in vain quarrels,silence let us keep

The Seasons

The season alters imperceptibly;

No  point  exact which demonstrates  the turn.

Yet soon come changes which our eyes can see

Leaves dry and crack, the acers seem to burn.

And so it is with human beings too.

Each day our loved one looks the same to us

And yet the body alters like leaves do.

Small changes made with neither noise nor  fuss.

We change into  transparent ghosts of self

Thus totter down the avenue of life

Soon death approaches with  its common stealth.

And separates  the husband  and the wife.

In winter all is black and we despair

Yet  deep in earth,worms  silently repair

Translated into melody and song

My faults are now the opposite of sin.

For I was taught that women  never swore.

Yet is this  but a private world I’m in,

Where women love and  men, at least ,adore?

No language Anglo-Saxon did we  hear

Ensuring we thought  not what “fuck” might mean.

Was it related to good luck yet  freer?

My mind throws up a lark in moorland  scene

The man who was my father greatly loved;

And  often sang us into sleep and dreams.

But sadly from this life he was removed.

Leaving   me accursed  wtrh blocked out screams .

Today I tell my tale in my  own tongue

Translated into melody and song


77be5-photo0383An apple bit by woman caused our grief

So ordinary yet an act of will.

To  think if she had merely bit the leaf

Sweet  holiness would surround each human still.

When Sylvia  bit  Ted  Hughes upon his cheek

She marked him for her future appetites.

Consciously she   looked for  kind love  sweet

But marked him more for  evil  in her rite.

Jonah was not bitten by the whale

Which let him hide inside her womb-like form

And so he was allowed in her to sail

Until his calling  hearkened him go home.

Biting wit and words can also cause much grief,

As caterpillars feast upon a  leaf..

If this be love then

If this be love,then let me have your hate.

If speak you  true then I prefer your lies.

For this, my heart, your message comes too late.

As  now my need is  for the  thoughtful  wise.

If this be marriage,let me have divorce.

If this be holy,  hasten I to  hell..

For love comes in its time without such force.

And of its message ẃho am I to tell?

If this be love,then let me dwell alone.

If this be love, I ‘ll be forever chaste.

Your  love flew like a brick.that broke my bones

The love that lays your world and mine to waste


Love can shake us to our inner core.

Hence of your love I wish to hear no more

To you who are not here

How like a prison is my cubicle
How wary is  my body on this chair.
How still my heart and yet how strangely fickle.
How fast it flies to you who are not here.

How elegant your letters and your thoughts
How gentle was your touch upon my throat.
And yet you killed  my words and all the sense  I brought
You loved me not,but like a wasp did gloat

As in this mental jail I'm  tightly  trapped,
I'll use my time to write and make my prayer.
Perhaps my mind can extricate a map..
From which I'll plot the route to get away.

The prisons which seem external are inside
Yet in such captive grief so many  die.

Post Comments

Sonnets for all

  1. A sonnet is a poetic form which originated in Italy; Giacomo Da Lentini is credited with its invention. The term sonnet is derived from the Italian word sonetto (from Old Provençal sonet a little poem, from son song, from Latin sonus a sound).Wikipedia

You must read

When you are writing you will be using whatever you have stocked your mind with.So reading poetry and fiction and other writing is crucial.and of course your life and what has happened to you or your society will be present in your writing..I find keeping a l journal of things which make an emotional impact on me is helpful.Read what you like but not rubbish.Please.

Starting with the sonnet form

The first line of Gray’s Elegy has the right meter.for a sonnet.

“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.”

So you must write a line to that music:

The clouds rise up and race across the sky

for example; then you need a second line.I find these two lines must be interesting.emotional ,deep or symbolic .After that the structure determines to some extent how you can develop your poem…Fourteen lines according to the pattern below.


Sonnets are usually serious but it is possible to write a humorous one.Historically it was the metaphysical poets who wrote this way about love and death…John Donne is one of them..He wrote the famous poem

No man is an island


Eve's temptation

Sonnet on writing a poem

Poetry is the art of shaping words

The structure contributes to make the whole.

And writing sonnets is not just for us nerds.

Creating structures helps to create our souls.

Yet many folk are frightened by the risk

Of imperfection,criticism and pain.

But for myself, I love this frightening task.

so gaily I sit down to write again.

Though what I write may not be alpha plus.

The chance to share my feelings lures me on.

And when I travel on a London bus

I write a note before my thoughts are gone

We each can be creative in  some way

And find  our happiness. from being gay

It was not sin that brought death and its sighs,

The summertime evaporates like mist

Revealing  golden leaves albeit but few.

No longer by bright flowers are our eyes kissed.

No longer do leaf buds appear anew.

Some changes in our lives are like this too.

We do not see  the moment as life turns

We think we still ascend with growth anew

And wisdom ,sense and vision are all spurned.

It is not for our sins that we must die.

For life and death are  two sides of a whole.

It was not  sin that brought death and its sighs,

This is a myth to keep priests in control.

Changes are invisible at first.

Let’s not act as if we are accursed.

And of reality no-one can tell


Though full of direct knowledge of his fellows
Whose eyes and faces are a script humane;
Though voices sing to him like Lobos' cellos
In lack and loss and woe this man remains..

In times gone by,the voice and face sufficed.
Poets'  music  seemed to us almost  divine;
But now a subtle torture's been devised
To write with pen and letters intertwined.

This man, though wise like cat,or bear or owl,
Has failed in his acquaintance with the pen.
Nor does he have the words which politicians howl.
Nor can he read more than his list of sin.

For now the map is where the mind must dwell
And of reality,no-one can tell.

Read with doubt and look for hidden clues;- Then one day you may find The Real News.

A little knowledge cannot cause us harm

So on that base with certainty we build

For learning has a wonder and a charm

As with new words our avid mind is filled

Poetry and songs can  give us voice

For others who with us share this strange earth

To dwell in silence is a  thoughtful choice

Yet sharing may lead on to  creative  birth.

The news is filled with death and with wrong deeds

Our hearts lurch as we read   cruel sentences

Our minds spin with  a  ghastly , whirling speed

Unable to accept these     pretences

Read with doubt and look for hidden clues;

Then  one day you may find out The News.


There is a sense that permeates our souls

That places value on the good of all.

Humankind is viewed then as a whole.

Blame not allocated to  a Fall.

Shall we believe that God can sulk for aeons

That he will torment  creatures for their sin?

Such theories are dilemmas to our brains

And put us in a  race we cannot win.

Should Eve and Adam still be here on earth

If  on that plum they had not sucked and bit?

It makes our lives seem to have little worth

To take this as a given in Holy Writ.

For  life’s for adults, not for girls and boys.

Do “Christian” theories take the place of toys?

A fallen tree

The rain fell and the clouds hung overhead

As I walked on the moors to meet my man.

If only we had found a heather bed.

We’d would have done what men and women can.

The sun was absent anf the trees all bowed down

The wettest winter for a hundred years…

Yet full of love ,my face displayed no frown…

My heart was full,and absent any fears.

The moon too was watching as I ran

Her silver crescent pierced the clouds with joy.

I could not wait to meet my loving man.

And with his hands and face I longed to toy.

But when I reached the spot where he would be,

Nothing waited but a fallen tree.

In summertime I love to meditate

How sweet to sit among these luscious trees

Protected from the sun’s too powerful heat

To hear the distant humming of the bees

And for our loving eyes to swiftly meet.

In summertime I love to meditate

to count the breaths as I receive the world

To be united with all beings in this state

The flags of joy are light and soon unfurled

These summer days are long and filled with light

Though storms may come and fill the sky with rage

Small birds then gather for a sudden flight

As I write sentences across this page.

For every season has its light and shade

And for such states we humans are well made

Love again

What luxury can make me feel so good

Or lover make me happier than this?

For even though we tramped through lanes of mud

I feel my life  has its desserts of bliss.

No sorrow can destroy my happiness

For joy and woe are woven very fine.

And even if you sometimes are remiss

At least there is one spark of the divine.

The garden  is a symbol of  pure grace

As flowers bare their petals to the sun.

And daises  make the lawn look like white lace

As on your brow, my fingers I do trace.

For, though our lives are finite, we can know

Infinity in tiny plants that grow