September from BCUK

  • I’d like to lie beside you,
    so we’d be face to face..
    A sweet embrace..

    Eyes to eyes…
    I look at you
    Your face is always
    in my view

    Then I could take my fingers
    Across your brow,
    they linger….
    and trace the dear lines
    around your eyes.

    I’d like to touch your lips
    With my finger tips.

    I’d like to blow your nose
    On my handkerchief.
    I’d like to get inside
    Those powerful arms
    And rub your shoulders
    with a hot balm.

    I’d like to boil your hankies
    In a pan
    On a big coal fire..
    Though the coal fires are long gone.

    I’d like to rest my head
    Upon your chest
    And check the whiteness of your vest.
    I wonder if
    I should starch your shirts,
    For as they say
    Real loving hurts!

  • I was waiting for the ink to sigh.

    He was waiting for the ink to lie.

    I’m waiting for my pen to fill,I can’t write yet.

    Oh,I can’t write…I have to pick a lily.

    For what?

    To pay for England!

    Oh,I was waiting for the link to come by… but it was so fast it was absolutely hyper.

    She’s waiting for some misty petals.

    Or was it a new electric kettle?

    He was waiting for his mother’s views to falter.

    She was waiting for a whip to home in.

    He was waiting for your lips to come closer.

    I wake-up and yell,Whoopee!

    I crack up and shout,I see!

    I make up and I look like a bee.

    I wake up and need to pee.

    I believe above the storm a boiling kettle causes alarm.

    I had wake-up fall…….. the bed threw me out!It was tired of me.

    I’d love to wake-up on the wrong side of the bed… on top of you..

    I can talk about a mile wide…but how high?

    She walks softly and carries a big lipstick.

    I was practically talking as the eggs fell.

    It was a walled garden called Eden before the government interfered.

    The walls have ears in the hospital.If only the doctors listened how happy I would be



    You have come here gradually,
    from the whirling chaos of the dreaming infant,
    anchored by the maternal hand to earth
    to this strange place.

    Do not try to fly back to heaven today.
    Be patient;your guides will,with no effort,
    Teach you the patterns and the dance.
    All you need is to be open and to trust,
    For you have a place in the world.
    We need your contribution.No-one else
    will see this world from your perspective.

    And as you trust the chaos now,fear it not
    Should it return.Every creative act
    involves the breaking of these barriers
    by which we keep the chairs and tables
    anchored into themselves.The patterns may break up
    but new ones are somewhere near.Patience
    with this suffering is the only route now.

    You cannot go back.Heaven comes only after
    you have grown roots into this earth,
    grown sunward,and travailed the storms
    and stinging blows;
    have grown your flowers and leaves
    And let them fall.

    The only way you can go
    is the earthly way.
    You are part of us.
    We love you.
    Our hands are reaching out
    If you just lift your eyes.
    In the Chaos,God danced and rainbows
    Flew from his hands and tears fell from his eyes.
    Those tears which fertilised our earth.

    He wept, knowing of the pain to come;
    And yet,he did not cease to dance.


    I’m a thin skinned person
    On a thin skinned, spinning earth.
    We’re living on the surface,
    Creating more financial worth.

    My skin is getting thinner
    I am feeling far too much.
    My skin is very fragile,
    I may need to have it patched.

    The earth is full of danger
    But we build on it like fools.
    As if our skins would thicken
    If we covered them in jewels.

    Inside the earth are fires
    Which rage like infernos.
    But we build nuclear reactors
    In places we don’t know.

    We build our human cities
    As if we are in charge.
    Banks,shops,bridges growing,
    The built world has grown too large.

    The earth has a thinner skin on,
    But we don’t want to know.
    We just want our human cities
    To grow and grow and grow.

    My skin is getting thinner
    I feel life far too well.
    I don’t want to write poetry
    But I feel that I should tell.

    My skin is getting thinner
    I’m at one with Mother Earth
    She groans and labours loudly
    Like she is giving birth.

    Her skin is getting thinner
    Is it something she will shed?
    As adders are reborn
    When we think they are dead.

    But if we have too many cities
    The earth has no space to move.
    We’re like acne pustules dancing
    Without energy or love.

    The skin is getting thinner
    The world is going to split.
    And the energy released
    Is a fierce charge to transmit.

    We split the atom once
    And opened the abyss.
    But when we split the atom
    Who knew about all this?

    My skin is far too permeable
    I’m feeling too much pain.
    I want a thicker skin
    To survive on this terrain.

    The world groans and she labours
    And she destroys cities and trains.
    She’s giving birth to her own self
    As she struggles,works and strains.

    Her self is something fearsome,
    She is not civilised.
    When God spoke from the Burning Bush,
    We covered up our eyes.

    My skin is getting thinner
    I feel the heat again
    My skin is getting thinner
    I’m feeling too much pain.

  • Robert Frost


    Fire and Ice

    Some say the world will end in fire,
    Some say in ice.
    From what I’ve tasted of desire
    I hold with those who favor fire.
    But if it had to perish twice,
    I think I know enough of hate
    To know that for destruction ice
    Is also great
    And would suffice.

    Emile helps Stan and Annie to create a painting

    If you look carefully you will discern Emile’s foot prints.

    He is now swimming in some Fairy Liquid in the bath..

    He tells me it is a card for Annie’s birthday though she doesn’t know that.

    Will she like it?

  • His wit have been tried and found haunting.

    So I invited him to be my ghost.

    I saw you


    When I saw you waiting in that cafe
    I knew you would be mine.
    You were handsome, smiling, were specially designed.
    You looked like men I’d only dreamed about in all those years before.
    I’m so broke up,so broke up;you don’t love me anymore.

    I saw you on the station as I came from out the train.
    You wore an old green parka to protect you from the rain.
    I wanted to be one with you,to make a Love entire;
    But all you did was give me pain too bad be endured

    You walked away so quickly,I could not see you long.
    I wish I had a big guitar to draw you back with song.
    I looked at where you disappeared;what love has loss revealed?
    I wish I could just lay down on this floor and keep my face concealed.

    Railway stations sadden me, for I know we’ll never meet .
    I won’t cry more ,for tears are running almost to my feet.
    I walk fast looking straight ahead past that entrance gate,
    I pretend that you have missed your train,that work was running late.

    I count from one and one up to a thousand and many more–
    But I know for sure it’s far too late; you have closed that heavy door.
    You are hiding in a dungeon
    You are covered with white steel
    But I know you had a heart and you must surely feel.

    I lost all my illusions, and then I lost some more.
    I wish I could lay down and die,right here on this floor

  • An agitation of the air,
    A perturbation of the light
    Admonished me the unloved year
    Would turn on its hinge that night.

    I stood in the disenchanted field
    Amid the stubble and the stones,
    Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me
    The song of my marrow-bones.

    Blue poured into summer blue,
    A hawk broke from his cloudless tower,
    The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew
    That part of my life was over.

    Already the iron door of the north
    Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows
    Order their populations forth,
    And a cruel wind blows.

    Make sure Jesus gets no benefits!



    Silent spite.

    Holy rite.

    Shepherds flocks.

    Vicars frocks.

    Three Wii Men.

    We three Kings of Haunting and War.

    A million children died,children of beloved renown.

    Will you Kings donate your crowns?

    Oh little drink of bed time cheer.

    When will Horlicks get up here?

    Faith of our Fathers,time for a rethink?

    the Vatican hotline’s on the blink.

    God test thee,holy gentlemen.

    Wait till Jesus comes again.

    Was Mary after a council flat?

    Oh,yes,Joseph mentioned that.

    God didn’t marry her, for if he had.

    He’d have had to buy her,her own pad.

    Fancy,Jesus is illegitimate.

    Make sure he gets no benefits
    Oh,mother’s mind is in full spate.

    where will it all end at this rate?

    Why did God not want to wed?

    I don’t know,he never said.

    But someone told me he is dead.

    That’s just a rumour some nerd spread.

    God is still in us today.

    But something always blocks His say.

    A party?


    Stan was down on his hands and knees washing and scrubbing at the carpet with a new microfibre cloth and
    some shampoo for dry hair.He had a bucket of hot water beside him.Happy, as always, when cleaning and
    scrubbing he whistled “The lark ascending” for his cat Emile, whilst sipping at a big mug of lager.
    Mary was down in the town buying some new earrings to match her red dress from Phase 8 Sale.Their
    granddaughter Flora had also gone to town but she wanted a nose ring not an earring.As she was a girl it was
    mandatory in the UK.
    Suddenly,quite out of the blue,the doorbell rang.They always do don’t they.It was their Muslim neighbour
    Bert.”We’re going away in the caravan.”He boasted gruffly.”Anyroad,the cat ,Nelsonia Mandelinaah, doesn’t
    want to come.Would you be able enough to feed her over the weekend without any politically correct remarks
    being issued ,as it were?”
    ” Certainly” Stan responded jovially.”When are you off?”
    “Well we went last week but we need a weekend in bed to recover from seeing Brent Cross Shopping Centre
    in Kettlewell right next to the old Post Office.[Kettlewell,Yorkshire’s idyllic village]
    “Very strange”Stan said,”Mary was in it only yesterday ,she claims,in Knittingham spending all our minute
    joint pension on new dresses and shoes.”
    “I encounter women who have seen Brent Cross down the road all the time all over Britain.Still they’re
    entitled to believe what they want!
    ” “But what will the consequences be?”
    “Is there a flying Brent Cross?”
    “That sounds rather religious,” Bert answered quickly
    ,”Is it an augury?”
    “I’d say it’s an omen,myself”
    “But of what?”
    “The times we live in?
    “But what’s going to happen?”
    “God knows.”
    “Well,does he though?”Stan’s hot water had gone cold.In fact it was frozen.”The laws of physics seem very
    mutable” Stan wrote in his journal,
    “Also my spelling has deteriorated badly ssince I began drinking lager.
    Would whiskey be better?”
    Meanwhile,he had cleaned only one third of the carpet.
    He filled the bath with hot soapy water,stepped in fully clothed and then rolled himself around all over the
    carpet to pick up all the fluff.
    When Mary came in she was amazed,
    “What’s going on?”
    “You look as if you’ve been having an orgy on the floor!”
    An orgy was something unknown to Stan as yet.”Would you like one?” he murmured.”Yes,”said Mary
    childishly “Age has not beaten me yet!””Better have it soon before my knees get too bad!”So now Stan is
    cleaning the carpet again.It’s very soft and thick,just perfect!The list of invitees is posted on his blog.
    Well,he’s been told to do something new every week.An orgy this week,the marathon later!
    But why is Mary ringing 999?
    Does she want to invite Dave,the paramedic or is it more sinister than I can tell you?
    Yes,indeed,she wants to invite Alistair Campbell and Tony Blair but she’s not telling Stan!.He’ll be furious.In fact he might be tempted to slap someone but no,even these people have the right to life.And they did some good in Northern Ireland.But would you want them at an orgy?””Me neither!”

    The stranger


    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



    If I go I won’t tell you.

    I’ll just disappear one day.

    Like when a cigarette ,which seemed so long,

    suddenly has become smaller

    and you never noticed it

    because you were talking

    about the meaning of life

    while life was somewhere else

    blown away with your smoke

    into the sky

    and then dispersed

    never quite visible again

    but still floating on the breeze

    hoping to be caught

    in a butterfly net

    but unable to communicate

    except by flying.

    If I go it will not be today

    but it will be an ordinary day

    no one will realise

    that it’s that day

    that the bird flies

    from her nest

    to go to a new place

    only seeing the deserted nest

    he realises,

    my bird has flown

    The music of silence

    by Kathswords Pro @ 2012-09-26 – 10:14:42

    Somehow,you were here.
    I didn’’t hear you coming,
    then I saw you were here.
    Happiness fills me.
    Standing in the garden
    looking at red leaves,
    I hold your hand gently,
    and share the sweetness
    of autumn leaves,
    the distant doves cooing,
    the sun dipping down to the horizon.
    Life is good today.
    We hear together
    the music
    of silence,

    Emile and the flu jab


    Stan realised it was time for Emile to have his annual flu jab.He stopped polishing the windows and picked up
    the phone.Hello,it’s Stan here.Can I make an appointment for Emile?
    Yes, come today if Emile has had a bath!
    Are you joking?
    Yes,the receptionist responded cheerfully.
    Actually he did have a bath and now can swim breatstroke!
    How amazing,she said sweetly.
    Stan got out Emile’s travelling basket.He put some copies of The Independent inside
    in case Emile was bored.
    Here,Emile,I’m taking you for a ride in the car.kindly step into your basket,
    Can’t I sit by you and wear a seat belt?
    I fear it’s illegal.
    OK,grandad,Emile answered jauntily.He climbed into the basjet and sat up staring out boldly with his great
    amber eyes.
    The doorbell rang.
    Hello,Annie,Would you like to come to the vet’s with us?
    She looked down at her violet velvet tracksuit and purple trainers with real gold laces.
    Yes,I’ll sit in the back with Emile.
    After ten minutes they arrived and parked the car under an elm tree.Stan carried the basket steadily not
    wanting the poor cat to fall in an undignified manner,Annie looked at her green nails.
    Do you like my nail varnish,Stan?
    To be honest,I prefer shell pink.
    Why is that,darling?
    It is more feminine!
    Feminine!But you can see I’m feminine!
    I like you to be even more feminine.
    Oh,yes ,agreed Emile,So do I.
    You men,she cried sweetly,never satisfied.
    I wouldn’t say that,my America,my Newfoundland!
    What’s up?Swallowed the dictionary.
    It’s a poem,actually.
    You’ve been reading again.It’s bad for you.
    Don’t you like to be my new found land?
    A bit late to ask now,she murmured seductively.
    Next moment they were in the empty waiting room.Then a man came in with a big black dog.Emile stared
    fiercely and the dog whimpered and lay down on the floor.
    The vet came out and asked Stan to bring Emile in.Emile gave a yell at the dog before Stan shut the
    door.So,said the beautiful young vet,how is pussy today.
    Emile remained silent.He’s fine,just needs his flu jab.muttered Stan.
    Come now,Emile come out of there.But Emile was clinging to his basket with ll his sharp claws.
    Are you afraid Emile?He asked kindly
    No,I’m not afraid,I’m just acting how vets expect cats to act.
    So Emile speaks English?
    He knows French too.
    Je t’aime Emile.
    Stop showing off and get out of there,she doesn’t speak Dutch.
    Mein mutter wast immer krank,cried Emile.
    Get out now!
    Emile came out slowly and stood by this good lady.She looks a bit like Annie, he whispered.
    The vet took out a small needle and swiftly injected Emile.
    What a good boy,she sang,would you like a jelly baby?
    A jelly baby!Cats don’t eat jelly babies!
    Well, have a go!
    Emile stalked back to his basket,put on some glasses and began to read the editorial in The Independent.
    Stan was hoping to make a suggestive remark to the vet,but Annie came in.
    Hurry up,there’s a thunderstorm coming.Her nails were now pink.
    Did you change your nail varnish?
    No,the green was artificial nails!I took them off.
    Can I have some claw varnish.demanded Emile
    What colour?
    I fancy teal,Emile miaowed.
    Teal!How ludicrous!
    What about red?
    Too pretentious.
    I don’t think I’ll bother then,the cat said languidly
    We men don’t have to bother about such things.
    Well,you are lucky said Annie.
    I hate makeup and nail varnish,blow dries and manicures but I don’t feel feminine without it.
    You feel very feminine to me said Stan,running his hand softly along her forearm
    and patting her behind!
    Stan!Not here in the road!
    Why not?enquired Emile.It looks ideal to me if you go behind those bushes.
    Annie jumped into the car and drove away leaving Stan to carry Emile to the bus stop for a tedious journey
    home.Then she reappeared,opened the door and said,come on now
    let’s all go home.I’m sorry I drove away.I’m feeling a bit blue today.
    They got in and arrived safely home where Stan brewed a big pot of tea and let Annie sit on the sofa with her
    feet on cushion.He rubbed her head gently.Lovely,she purred.
    I like having my head stroked.So do I,said Emile loudly but alas they were too busy to hear or care.

  • I shall wail it today.

    I said a ball for the dogs!

    I hate someone re free market.More than one…

    I feel the hots.

    Oh,a cat can speak,can it

    A can of germs was bailed for £5,000 last night.Doctors said it would be happy in the fridge till being tried for manslaughter.

    You are so quaint I could eat you.

    I can’t fold a candle up.

    I can’t judge a look by the eyes alone.

    You can’t learn a psalm without understanding the words.

    I can’t pray enough for him

    i can’t teach an old dog to eat Weetabix

    I’m a pessimist but I’m ok


    I’m a pessimist and I’m ok
    I worry all night and I sleep all day.
    I do my shopping at 1 am
    Then I’m certain to meet some very naughty men.
    I’m a pessimist,it’s not a gay life,
    Especially if you have a watchful wife.
    I invent crossword puzzles for the Times.
    Then I write these cunning little rhymes.
    I am rich but I generally suffer panic.
    Either that or I get pissed and manic.
    I’m a pessimist and I love to laugh
    It makes women wet themselves,just like a bad cough!
    But we’re too fragile to worry about such issues,
    Just fill your handbags with plenty of thick tissues.
    I’m a pessimist,I’m neurotic and depressed.
    Will I feel better now that I have confessed?
    But I earn money by writing all night long;
    Then I lick my lover’s face with my bright red tongue.
    That is more than enough.THE EDITOR.
    No,it’s perfect.Just right.

    Word fun


    The Aliens have no Maps.

    A Map a Day keeps Words at Bay.

    Read a Map without eyes: Touch your Way to Happiness.

    I am a Map.

    I am a Door Map.

    Lonely and Mapless:Therapeutic advice from Angelic Geographers.

    The Map of Heaven.

    I see the Map but I have lost touch with Reality.

    Maps of Desire.

    Contour Lines for British Boys.

    Equilevel Curves for Latin Men.

    Isoquants for Greek lovers.

    Equilateral computers for geeks and their lovers.

    Triangles are ringing in my head.

    Where is the Path of Wrath?

    Isoquants for Greek Lovers.


    I had a little nutmeg and drank a glass of wine

    Then I fell asleep and dreamed I was divine.

    When I was awoken by my little cat.

    She was in the kitchen fighting with a rat.

    I made myself an omelette in a special pan..

    Eggs are full of protein so I ate up 21..

    Then I had some custard,I made it yesterday.

    Here is the policeman for the 60th time today

  • Unable to travel far

    I concentrate more closely

    On the flowers in my neighbours’ gardens

    In one small road

    One thousand jewels.

    I close my eyes

    To take in the scent

    Of the late roses.

    Of the late roses

  • The colour of the flowers

    touches my eyes

    more softly than a raindrop

    Yet with the intensity of the sun


    “Say what you mean, but don’t say it mean.”

    Not a poem

    He went off his huff and decided to laugh.

    Of its time..10000 years ago.

    Quaff these newts in ale.

    She stole a cough off the shelf.

    She stole the top of my head.

    You are off your blogger now…

    I feel a little old “miss you”

    Oh brother.I want mother.I feel so sad.Can I sleep on your iPad?


    Oh my blood is wetter than I expected…thanks to drinking tea all day long.


    Lyra’s a Bohemian girl
    She makes even dead men’s hair curl!
    She wears vintage skirts
    And old blue denim shirts.
    She has whopping golden earrings
    And black fishnet stockings.
    Lyra carries a black velvet tote
    Full of the latest poems she wrote.
    Lyra’s a Bohemian girl.
    She makes even her own hair curl.
    Lyra’s in love with an ancient Emperor,
    His unreality does not prevent her.
    She believes she is an Egyptian Queen
    She sees Mark Antony in her dreams.
    As she lies there covered in face cream,
    Her unconscious plans more wondrous schemes
    Which cause her psychoanalyst to despair.
    About a man who isn’t actually here.
    But the Emperor’s mad desire
    Has set Lyra’s Bohemian mind on fire.
    Desperate Freud got a bucket of cold water
    And threw it over this delirious daughter.
    He was,at the end,unable to maintain
    The distance and silence he claimed
    Was essential for a cure-
    What a torment to endure!
    Lyra made even Freud go crazy.
    She’s one real cool Bohemian lady.

  • I want silk and money.

    I am past the witch’s efforts.Her broomstick broke.

    This is the last Bazaar before the Day of Judgment,

    Taste, but don’t eat.

    I quaff beers with no limit

    I laughed all the day as we sank,

    Play down the law.

    I got laid by a bard in a fable


About Katherine

I like art, poetry,history, literature,cooking,doing nothing to music.And conversation
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