By hooking onto other people’s eyes

My new doctor  can meditate for hours
So she sends the patients out to pick her flowers
When they come back their ailments have been cured
I guess it’s something in that horse manure.

Now she’s learning how to hypnotise
By hooking onto  other people’s eyes
We all pretend that we’re not really here.
But damn it all, she is so very dear.

We formed  a patient group to give advice
To doctors, which is never ever wise.
They must at least appear omnipotent
And also  be  both nasty and  pleasant

This paradox makes me hallucinate
The hand I see before me holds a plate

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I still miss those voices I once heard

My doctor was a lady of great skill
She  cut my head off with a type of pill
I still miss   those voices I once heard
Till she convinced me they were only birds.

My doctor had got malice in her eye.
As she demanded one patient must die.
I said to her that Jesus was enough
And it was a  mortal sin to call God’s bluff.

I told her  how a voice had said clearly
That love but not great wealth would come to me
She said “you’re bordering on offence .”
So I told her that  real numbers are quite dense

My doctor was so good at curing ills
When she died, they made her into pills.

 

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Lonely, we must choose our final deal

After nine months comes the crisis feared;
The knowledgw of a  total,  final loss.
With woeful pain, the soul and heart are seared,
As we feel inside  the frightful cost.

 

The threshold of  this world   and of the new
A place to linger, liminal and long.
We cannot see new landscapes in one view.
With misperception, we risk going wrong.

 

We wonder as we reach the point of choice
Who will guide us when we must decide?
Shall we hear an inner, wiser voice
Or walk with indecision as our guide?

 

Loss brings grief; evasion does not heal.
We may gamble on a final deal

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The last songs

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A vigil begins in afflicted London

C7ntS59WsAAKAutThis photo is from Twitter

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