Poetry Blog by Cate

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Live in my house

But do not leave a footprint

Upon my life.

No cup nor plate

To mark your passing.

No hair on brush

No careless towel

 In blameless bathroom.


No toasted crumb

No waste nor wrap

On flawless floor

No ill placed bag

Nor muddied boot

In hallowed hall.


I will ignore the path

I see you take.


You m...

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Touch and Go

For my daughter Rebecca.


There are moments in life

Which imprint

On heart and mind

And soul.

Many years ago now

I remember

My moment well.

Mothers Day, and I

Was alone.

Marriage gone. Children gone.

I stood

Gazing through misted windows

Grey street, grey skies

Leaden heart,

And round the corner came

A little grey 2cv

Chugging its nine hour jo...

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Touch and Go

The Last Song

                 THE LAST SONG



Dim are the depths and deep are the dives

As he glides on his solitary way

Through forests of fronze and rainbowed reefs

Round rocks where the guillemots play



Past silvering sands and palm dappled beach

And out to the oceans embrace

He follows the path that his ancestors took

The last of his line and his race...

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52 Hertz

I Am Ill


  I am ill Nose drippingly chest rippingly Ill Bones achingly nerves rakingly Ill Head poundingly spins roundedly Ill Temp soaringly sick flooringly Ill Body quiveringly blanket shiveringly Ill Why can I alone See how sick I am? Sister arrives for a “toddy” And a gossip. Daughter arrives for a...

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Naughty Digits!

I have never been one

To slowly and lowly

Dip my toe in the flow

Of life.


Rather I`ve leapt

Feet first in a burst

Of passion not to ration

My enthusiasm


Walk a straight line?

Well no, what a bore!

Throw me a curve and I`ll swerve

Off track.


I have no control

Over lower digits which fidget

To land me and strand me

In t...

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Uncle Ned

Yes I remember Uncle Ned, a short man stout and round.

Born and bred in Lancashire, where men like him are found.

Though manner bluff and hearty, and accent slow and thick,

His tack sharp mind was canny too, he didn’t miss a trick.


He owned a shop down Ashton way. His main job was to stock it

If any pennies  were found short, they weren`t from Ned`s own pocket!


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Under The Stairs





In a stony cold house, many years ago now
Lived a family as happy as fate would allow.
Though leaking the roof, with cracked window pane
And open to elements like wind and the rain.
No bolt on the door, no lock and no chain.
Nothing to steal , no nor nothing to gain.
The children were happy. They ran wild and free.
I remember it well, for the eldest was me.


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Biting The Bullet



I do not want to know

Don’t tell me.

I do not want to see

Don`t show me

I do not want to feel

Don`t make me

Please leave me

Cocooned and wombed

Numbed and dumbed

Safe and secure

In my candy floss

Detached, two point two


Happy happy clappy clappy


Do not shoot the bullet


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Pandora`s Box

My hands are clammy

Cold my heart

My mouth is dry

My every part

Is trembling, shaking,

Drenched with fear

I would be anywhere

But here.


I close my eyes

And fathoms deep

I glide through corals,

Mermaids weep


On mountain top

Where eagles fly

I see death`s face

In golden eye.


In ferny forest

Filtered light


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She watches across the room

As he rises, stealthily, silently

From his chair, and heads towards

The  Woman.

She sits, head bowed, pen still

Engrossed, absorbed in the work before her.

She watches across the room

As he stoops in passing

And takes The Woman`s gloves

From her bag.

White lacy feminine gloves.

Frivolous gloves.

Joyful gloves.


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Not John`s Cargo

Shrivelled sacd saddo with a belly stuffed beer gut

Vomiting his bile duct on a mad May day

With a cargo of longing and lust urequited

For pretty Polly Perkins who won`t come out to play.

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The Night Worker



“Out of my way! Do as I say!”

         He descends.

“Cant wait. I`m late”

         He shouts.

Mother worry children scurry

        Before him.

“Set up for shaving.” Face laving.

        Pet hate.

Cat tripping face dripping

      Across floor.

Soap swilled pain filled eyes.

      “ Towel "


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If I Could



I look at your face

Small and innocent

And my heart bleeds

For what this world

Will do to you.

     I want to wrap you

     Close in my love

     Hold you safe

     In my heart

     Throw a shield

     Around your innocence

     Guard your preciou...

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Let`s Hear It For Music

                        Let’s Hear It for Music!!

 Music, what is it? Just random notes placed

On a scale diatonic, re arranged to suit taste?

Shakespeare’s “food of love” or Beethoven’s great art?

Reserved for the gifted, or for all to take part?

Whatever the origin, genre or string

It’s magic to hear your chosen instrument sing!

Be it plinkerty plonk, or silk...

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Taj At Sunset


                      The Taj Mahal

                      Stands before me.

                      White and pure

                      Its slender minarets

                      Reaching to the heavens

                      Its  jewelled mirrored eyes

                      Glinting in the dying light.

                      Perfectly symmetrical


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For Whom The Wheel Turns



The wheel grinds slowly

But grind it does.

Inexorably, imperceptibly

Fraction by fraction

It turns.

Moons wane, suns die.

It turns.

Icebergs rain, oceans dry.

It turns.

Planets birth, stars explode.

It turns.

Mountains earth, lavas flow.

It turns.


So you think you’re safe

My dear

In your snug improved

Little semi?

Black tentacles reaching

Spiderlike to drain

Your vict...

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  Put sunflowers on my coffin

  When I am gone.

  Big bold bright faces

  Lifted to the sun.


  Do not put roses

  Petals curled tight in

  Upon themselves

  Hiding their sweetness.


  No chrysanthemums

  Mediocre and melancholic

  Nothing flowers from those

  Who knew me not.


  Do not put lilies

  White and sterile,

  Their death stench reaching

  Down the years.



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A Cheeky Little Number

                                 Cold in Ibiza

                                  A lylo beneath her

                                  An itsi bikini

                                  With not much betweeni

                                   A tan top to toe

                                   Her bum all on show!

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Our Gramps

Our Gramps

Our Gramps was a miner, who worked the coal face

A tall man, and proud with a pantherish grace.

His body rock hard as the pick axe he`d wield,

His eyes blue as harebells we`d pick in the fields.


Oh how we loved him, and we were so proud

Of his tallness, his blackness, his clogs scraping loud.

“Make them spark Gramps,” we`d shout, hopping with glee

And fire flew from his irons...

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Old Photographs

Old Photographs


I came across

An old photo of you


Torn around the edges

And faded


As old photos 

Stored and forgotten



I was smiling

And you looked


Your arm was wrapped

Protectively around my


Our baby cradled warm

And secure against my



How could we know

Then, what the future


The years not yet

Lived, stretching out


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What Do You See...



What you see

Is me.

I will not be altered

By the perception of others.

I will not be seduced

By promises of the popular.

I will not be bannered

By headlines not my own.

I will not be tarred

By the brushstrokes of strangers.

I will not be overwhelmed

By the crushing of censure.

I will not be destroyed

By the sound of silence.


I will be controversial.

I will fly in the face ...

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The Body Builders Lament

Here ya go chaps.... tis a little poem all of forced rhyme to sink your literary fangs into....


Want a good shag


Need a good lay


Want a bit a totty


Roll in the sack


Rough your fancy



Seen this tone


Look at this pec


Spotted this swell


Noticed these abs


Loving this pose


For fucking sakers

ANY takers???????????...

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A Pretty Shitty Little Ditty... OR.. It Was Good Enough For Shakespeare....


In its time

Can shine.

And take and make in its wake

A pretty

Little ditty

From a shitty

Set of word which occur when you stir

A poets thoughts

And get caught


In their dreams, what they mean and the ream

Of ideas

That free us

And see us

Not just mortals, but as portals

To sublime.

Thats rhyme.

In its time.

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My Little Red Haired Laddie

 Id like to prefix this piece of work with an acknowledgment to Nabila for her lovely poem "Green Eyes" which started me thinking about genetics and inspired me to write this poem.



Whence do you come my little red haired laddie?

Your vibrant beacon light, blazing bright

In this ditch-dull drear-dull world?

What random thrown genetic dice

Created the glory of your past?

Those wild warri...

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Stock Market

Oh woe is me, oh woe is me

I fear Ive lost my shirt

They`ve stole my stock in Northern Rock

And left me in the lurch.


Oh woe is me oh woe is me

My shares have hit the floor.

That bloody Blank has stuffed my bank

And now he`s back for more!


Oh woe is me oh woe is me

My oil shares hit the dumps.

The price has dropped in field and stock

But not the effing pumps!




Oh yes, oh ...

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For Isla

So soft

The down upon your head

Like the first feel of virgin snow

Alighting upon my fingers


So smooth

The skin upon your cheek

Like satin skein of new spun silk

Cocooned against my hand


So deep

The midnight of your eyes

Like star strewn skies in navy night

Gaze unfathomably up at me


So dear

Your tiny new born form

My present past and future held

In one innocent heart.

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I am.....

I am
The twitch of your curtain
Your future uncertain

Your mosquito bite
Your sweats in the night

Your nightmares repeated.
Your hopes all deleted.

Your sighs half forgotten
Your morning sheets sodden.

The stone in your shoe
The steak you cant chew.

The lines on your face
The years that you race.

The shadows that haunt you
The memories that taunt you.

The tears in your eyes
The smile in your lies.


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