Agnus Dei

The handsome elm tree stood for year on year
Until the deadly infestation years ago
Swept the country; the elms all died I fear
Conquered by this dutch disease as though
The black death swept the world to kill all men -
Though now ‘twas trees edging the field or fen.

For nine long centuries the Priory stood;
Two centuries the elm tree marked the gate,
But now a lonely stump of hardened wood:
No leaves. no twigs, all it can do is wait
Until the cruel chain saw chops it down,
To leave a weeping scar where it had grown.

But wait, a different fate awaits this tree;
To mark nine hundred years a sculptor carves
The Lamb of God, for everyman to see
And bless this sacred art beneath the stars.
We stand and watch as wood is chipped from wood
Admiring so much skill and so much good.

The tree has found new purpose and new life.
It blesses all who visit here and gaze
On this bare wood, which carries not a leaf
And yet has found a way to live more days.
The echo of the resurrection is not lost
On those who stand and look on sculptural art.
As Christ arose so does this tree now rest
And show the wondrous power of God’s heart.

FIN

This is the death of a man;
Not the final breath
Of solitary death,
But these last doubts of just who I am.

This is the death of thought:
Not the end of debate,
Or the word devoid state,
But negation of all that I sought.

This is the death of me:
Not the doubts or the guilt
Or the false hopes I built,
But the absence of sympathy.

This is the end of the world:
Not the cold of the frost
Or the spring that we lost,
But the sneer on the lips we see curled.

This is the end of my hopes:
When failure arrives
And no one believes
In the one who for real life still gropes.

Thus the finality of time:
Whatever we've been
And despite what we've done,
We'll all fall to someone's new scheme.

Thoroughbred

Four legs helplessly stretched out on the straw,
Feebly kicking and trying to rise,
Dampened by birthtime, enclosed in a cawl
Which your dam licks away from your eyes.

Four legs that stand and are carefully surveyed
By an owner, a medic, a trainer and lads,
Shaking heads and low voices show that they're afraid
That the shape of the ankles is bad.

Four legs and a knife and the surgeons deft hand,
With a mask on your face and asleep to the pain,
The ankle is straightened, your future is planned
To assure that your owner will gain.

A race won and lost and your future destroyed;
The sale now, the auction, the death promised price;
The handling, the door closed, the shot that's employed.
For only your death will suffice.

The greed of the trainer, the owner, the punter,
The inhuman lack of respect for the beast,
The glorious animal, the thoroughbred hunter -
To them he is less than the least.

But stand and be proud as you're led to the slaughter,
Stand and be proud that you're made as you are;
The one who has bred you, the one who has bought you,
Have much less of splendour by far.



(Inspired by a TV programme about racehorses)

Metamorphosis

Rocks sitting still in the silence of time,
Settling down slowly and sinking in slime,
Tertiary, quaternary, secondary, prime -
But they're changing to something else.

Man grasping still at a past now long gone,
Flickering and failing, but still hanging on,
Otherwise what will he depend upon
When he's changing to something else.

Is dying just failing, nothing but loss?
Is it no more than just one last, final gloss
On a life that has always been bearing a cross
Although changing to something else?

Hear now the chimes and the sound as it fades
Like the twilight that drags the sunlight to the shades,
Or the seed that is sprouting, the life from the dead -
All changing to something else.

Gone is the cool of the morning's first light,
The noon has shone angrily with no respite;
Now they're both gone forever, replaced by the night -
All is changing to something else.

Skyline

an aeroplane flies by

drones its way quietly through space

another screams its jetstream

into the blue morning

white-streaking the virgin canvas

with crystal lines of ice

like a mist of nothing

marking the footsteps of the future

or the trail of the snow queen

thrusting another crystal

into the heart of forgotten man

passengers looking out

onto a lilliputian world

where mountains are now but part

of the flat landscape

even though covered

with a carpet of snow crystals

cast from the skylines of the day

Spirit of God

Breath on us, Lord and Father.   In Your love

Take all our hurts, our brokenness, our sin;

Smile and replace our badly broken lives

With Your own Spirit.   Then we can begin

To love as You would have us love; to pray;

To be with You in all we undertake,

Reaching to each other so that, day by day,

We’ll know that Christ, Your Son – who for our sake

Has died and risen and is by Your side –

Will send Your Spirit now into our hearts.

Your Holy Spirit thus will be our guide

As He, to us, His gifts and fruits imparts.