dead site, contact me via Elaine Pomeransky on web or


NOVELS | press review | Jane Haining | Death Row | Jewish | photos | oil paintings | Family Tree | Book Launch Central Library | Article in The List | The Star on Ictis | Curtain/Toynbee Theatre and Redbridge Youth | * | Children's lullaby poem | Dr. Kent's review of Ictis | LOURDES | Hippy days in St. Ives | Heroines | Autumn and me | Section 18 | Tom Keating | Section 20 | Section 21 | Book Cover | Section 22 | Qualifications | Section 24 | Section 25 | Section 26 | Section 27 | Section 28 | Section 29 | Section 30 | Section 31 | Section 32 | Section 33 | Section 34 | Section 35 | Section 36 | Section 37 | Section 38 | Section 39 | Musicals | Press review | Press Reviews | Press Reviews | PUBLISHED POETRY



THE CLOWN: 'She was the clown of hearts, somesaulting over jagged edges of life. Walking the tightrope of emotions, drinking the potions which the jesters prescribed. Fighting for life in the health care circus, as the tigers and snakes tore her flesh. The straight men juggled with her mind, wearing masks, professionals like priests in confessionals. Face make-up for the medical stage, as they turned the page of negligence and immorality. The clown of hearts shed tears for the years in the circus. Smiling through the tragedies, her body broken like her mind, from those unkind spectators who didn't rate her. Mask slipping, paint fading, cracking. Big top too high, sawdust floor too low when she fell from the tapeze, onto her knees, and lay down. Life's circus had broken the heart..... of a clown'.

MY GOD WHO SLEEPS: All praise to the holy one, the omniptent, omnipresent God of all mankind. Creator, all knowing, loving, so loving you gave us life...and death. Why do you sleep during the bad times? Are you snoring when a child is Raped, beaten or suffocated to death, screaming its tiny lungs towards Your heavens oh merciful God? You love us so much, but you slumber when a little one burns Beneath torturous flames of the unknowing ....and at the vicious hands Of the known. Miraculous intervention for some, others get nothing. Your manual states that you knew everything before the world began, Before birth you chose some Lord of perfect justice. But, alas, not so just for those of us unchosen. What form does your justice take, would the ancient Greeks and Egyptians know Or are you just one of their well travelled myths? You slept for five years during the holocaust of your own people. The chidlren of the Sudan, didn't you hear their hungry bellies rumbling For you All powerful Lord? The Negroes sang to you for so many years, sang tirelessly as they were Flogged Stripped of their humanity by the Devil in white skin, didn't you hear? Perhaps you are deaf, hearing only random prayers when your all Perfect ears programme in. The rest of the time you sleep, for you are, after all, outside time. Tired of those whom you created, knowing before their birth the Tragedies that would await them, mapping out each individual life. Planning their nightmares, the tortures for the children, raped, beaten And suffocated to death. All for a world without end. Amen


I read of them daily, photos brand my mind.
Abused, beaten, some haven't eaten, starved of love unkind world, random luck who rears, clips or kisses your ears. Anne Frank, a saint succoured by time, dead before prime, or maybe a child of foreign nation, bone thin in       desolation. How I prayed for the children beaten or who hadn't eaten, and those whose parents were cruel.
Was I such a fool? For having loved you, paving your path of protection, striving for maternal perfection.
Grieving for those close at hand, third citizens left to roam, no-one at home to cook their dinners, or kiss their scars.
Dying, so long I was dying, you never knew, I was your carer so you could rest, I wanted you to have the best. Was it a test and I failed? For my cup spilled over with love. No callous clouts nor shouts; never hit, had every kit for play. And joined the Disney fun, whilst I lay dying in the shadows of the sun. Why did you leave, what had I done, didn't you love me..... .....your mum?   

PRAYER OF NEW MILLENNIUM, OLD TESTOSTERONE: Kitten, creamy, warm, homely, sexy, lock up your daughters! Breasts, wombs, playgroups, recipes, poor old spinster. Baked your bread, until you were dead. Synagogues, sit behind the rail, it's an honour. Only the men can face Ha Shem, carry scrolls, wear shawls Cover your head! Can't touch if you've bled. Play role of subservient, only in public for the crowd A game to be played, Talmud of myths, rules written by men. Hide your Sabbath car from view if you're a Jew. Catholic nuns hostile, their only entry the fraudulent priest Submissive beneath medieval veils, bitter from their wails. Beat the kids thrice, then crucified their innate Christ. Free the price! Baptists cried, whilst in their hearts they lied Only men preach and serve communion wine, now eat the swine. Law has gone, but not for women, now go and make the tea! No oestrogen masons, arrange flowers, unclean why do you bleed? Canterbury not your seat nor Rome, Eve unholy...See. Witches, whores caused your urging, desired a blessed virgin. Iraq is free the media shout, yet only a few women about In black robes whilst their men do play, in western garb. Liberation for whom, can't break out from a self made tomb. An honour to cover, as the widow jumped onto the funeral pyre God's blessing modesty, hide from the world whilst men are free No Debras' worth preaching, Ruth's silently screeching. Kitten, pretty, brainwashed by whom, those dependent on your womb. Holy, pure, go to Heaven if you refrain from leaven, eternal virgin. Dance to the tune of imperfection. Bleeding unnatural selection.

THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER: I came over the border, smashing, slashing, tearing the twisted thorns That ensnared me, Struggling on my torn knees towards the heather, purpling On the horizon. Highlands glowing red beneath the Tartan sunshine beckoning to a war weary soldier Fought battles only God had seen, flesh torn, splintered bone, sinews exposed to public view How they had tortured me, experimenters tying me down, dissecting brain and body. And all those I had carried along the lowlands, left me bleeding dying, dancing on my broken bones The pipes played through the heather, crying out like a wolf at the edge of the forest of promise, as I crawled through the briers and braes of uncertainty. And then I saw her Edinburgh! In the distance the castle stood formidable, proud, an eternal monarch. I had fought and won, searching through tear-filled, raw, sore memory-drenched eyes for a hand of friendship, a word of praise. But they mistook me for the enemy, a worthless unknown soldier.

NORTHERN GAS The tribe Arrived in the cattle wagons of no return, to burn Soul upon coal. Life and death smelting in the pit of humanity. Banality. Tears of disbelief, Beyond grief at the slaughter, Of their daughters. Princesses of Zion, Lions of Judah. Crusades In the name of a Jew, as they crowned Him with a lampshade Extracting His teeth as He cried 'Eloi Lama Sabbachthani!' forgive them But never forget, the day we met before the world began. Yet I claimed to be a man... of peace. Far left, far right regressing to the night of York, you will eat pork! Electoral roles of un-kosher filling, whose blood will be spilling? Oldham, and back to the root, Face in their boot The devil is back. Blind All blind as they help turn the key, why can't they see? Political freedom to torture the mass, Prepare the gas ...of democracy.

MENAGE A TROIS (UNHOLY TRINITY): 'Menage a trois', he said to me on a sultry day in June Menage a trois? I looked bemused, was this a melodious tune? And as we sat in the meadow sweet, beside the holy Gave He spoke of lusts and fetishes and just what he thought of love. I'd spent the year in bed so sick, lonely and afraid I'd spent the year in hospitals where I'd constnatly prayed. Not once he wrote, no card he sent, as he propped up a Dublin bar and as I looked into his azure eyes he said 'menage a trois'. 'Menage a trois' he sang his tune in the meadow holy Menage a trois, I repeated his words, did he think me so very lowly? For I only played the game of truth although I knew I'd fail I felt like Christ upon the cross stigmata'd by those nails. No pleasure could I ever get from playing the game of cheat I sacrificed ego and truly preferred to wash my enemy's feet. The game of pain, can it produce some good or just a jealous desire? Are the dice loaded with seeds of truth or flames of tomenting fire? ....So I missed my time of heaven on earth, a time of prayer and love I felt deprived and cheated by the one who rules from above. If I'd been well, if only Lourdes wasn't quite so very far If only there'd been a sweet kiss goodbye...but he just said 'Menage a trois'.

Lapping lamb like around the shores of Cornish seas hippy king, leading the children;                              .
sheep like we followed. Splish splashing my sins in waters dirtied by tears as lion-proud you confessed your own      perfection Yet never worked, only smirked as I alone provided your cars and homes, and never once took me out.
"My friends won't think you're good enough for me" was your ode, after my body you'd rode. Were you blind, out of your mind? They said I should model and the men wished I were free.... It was only you who couldn't see. Long greasy hair, scruffy clothes, slip slopping along in a world of your own. I was house bound; your conscience pebble bound, lost at sea. But when you needed a bed you knew the rules of kindness then mother hen, bumble bee buzzing around my sickbed. A liar, the fire of the Holy Spirit never burnt you as chaos licked about your feet with the incoming tides of deceit. Lapping lamb like around the shores of Cornish seas leaving me to bleed....leading away my child.

Enter content here

Enter supporting content here