Bethlehem

Hills and sheep lie quiet in the depths of dark,
Shepherd watched the woolly wealth of nations.
Their guardians sit and wonder at the night
So filled with stars and silence.   In the distance light
Flickers, in this town of bread and census taking.

A song of songs now fills their hearts, their minds, their ears
And lights flash vivid through their darkness and their fears.

Glorias are sung; angelic peace is prophesied -
O wondrous heavenly night!   God's surely not denied!

Town-wards the shepherds travel, leaving flocks alone
(Though vulnerable lambs are cared for and still travel
In their securing arms), towards salvation's birth.
A maiden and a carpenter are here where cattle sleep.
A tiny babe seeks suckle from a virgin breast
And, wondering at this marvel, shepherds kneel and gaze
On Him whom Heaven proclaimed their Saviour and their peace.

A stable?   Surely God would choose a palace for His Son?
And yet this stable's Heaven itself when all is done.

The long lost garden

Remembering the beauty of a long lost garden,
Set between rivers and surrounded by waters;
Breezes to soften and sun's heat to harden
The land which He recovered and bought us.

Paradise lost and now rediscovered,
A garden where fruit trees were once forbidden;
An edict broken, a covenant severed,
But now a Lord to walk with, no longer hidden.

Clouds black the sky, the temple veil's broken;
Skull hill bears crosses where the dead will die.
Here is beginning's end which so long was spoken -
Now all creation waits patient for reply.

A stone is moved; the garden blooms once more.
The sun is risen, the glorious day has dawned.
Lost paradise regained now, Heaven is ours again.
Man's salvation paid for and we are re-born.

There is a sound...

There is a sound, a sound of gentleness,
From breathy flute and gently plucked harp strings;
There is a voice, a voice of peacefulness
Which, in the silence of my heart, now sings.

There is a touch, a healing touch I sense
Upon my heart, within my soul as well;
A hand divine, forgiving all my sins
And reaching out to guide me from my hell.

There is a cross, of punishment and shame,
The shame is mine, not His; He dies for me.
He hangs in anguish as He bears my blame
And with His blood spilt here, He's paid my fee.

There is a prayer within my silent heart,
A prayer of Hope, a song of praise and love;
In that same silence I have found my part,
As now He leads me to my home above.

Golden years

Can it be fifty that we celebrate:
Where have the years gone?   What's been achieved?
Life speeds into the future with such haste
And only memories now can be believed.

Memories of good, some maybe less;
Memories we will treasure nonetheless.

The people we have known, the summer breaks,
The Christmases and birthdays, more to come.
Life is a tasty richness like the cakes
We shared, the butter, flour, fruit and rum.

The children whom we knew and now are grown
The older friends of yesteryear. now gone,
The good deeds done, and maybe wild oats sown,
All are the stuff of life, the things we've done.

And yet the years ahead hold more and more
Of God's good gifts to help us on our way;
Each year that passes brings another door
Which opened, leads us to a newer day.

So go, my child, into the years ahead,
May all our blessings help you on your way.
May God go with you and, when done and said,
Bless you especially on this golden day!

The bedbug's song

I am a bedbug; I come out at night
Wherever I find you I'll give you a bite
On your ankle or wrist, your elbow, your knee
And the blood that I suck will be so good for me!

You'll not know I'm there - you'll be fast asleep;
When you're silent I'll crawl out on you and I'll creep.
I'll drink and I'll suck until morning is nigh
When, sated with blood, I'll retire to my lie.

And there I will sleep throughout all of the day,
Swollen and round with your blood - that's my way!
Whilst you'll wake up and yawn and you'll noisily stretch
Till, feeling the itch of my bites, you will scratch.

"It's bedbugs," your mother will cry out distraught;
She'll shiver and scream and she'll cry at the thought.
Then she'll try to dislodge me and all of my kin,
But the next night I'm still there and after your skin.

Again I'll creep out and crawl right to your place;
Maybe this time I'll try for the blood in your face!
Ha! Ha! Ha!   Ho! Ho! Ho!   Ha! Ha! and He! He!
Everyone fears the bedbug and that bedbug's me!

Home

There are elephants parading on the plains of Serengeti
And in the Himalayas there are those who seek the Yeti;
But I sit by an ocean and watch the moon arise
Through the dark and curtained heavens of the cloudy English skies.

There are romance boats a-sailing across the China seas,
And picturesque tall clipper ships which carry Indies teas;
But I sit by a fireside and watch the glowing embers
As the winter grows much wilder through October to December.

There were days I went off chasing after wild and youthful dreams,
But I very soon discovered that nothing's what it seems;
Now I sit and search my memories and know I'll never find
The answers to those questions which used to vex my mind.

I'm settled now to quietness and harbour no regrets;
My life now lacks adventures but it's good as ever gets.
Nothing bothers me now and nothing drives me on
To wild adventured travelling - that part of life is done.

I've found my own Utopia, my long sought Shangri-la
In a little smoky cottage near the harbour by the bar.
Here I sit and read my memories and wait for her to come
To the place where we have settled, the place we call our home.

The protested hunt

The huntsman galloped over the hill,
Chasing his prey as huntsmen will;
Over the hill and into the wood
Where the fox had hidden as best he could.

The fox lay just as still as could be
And peeped to see what he might see;
He heard the horse as it snorted its breath
And he felt the cold, cold wind of death.

The hounds bayed out their dreadful cry
As storm clouds filled the morning sky;
The beasts had found the fox's scent -
They knew their task was imminent.

And they cried their frightful cry of doom
Till the fox, heart beating, flicked his broom
And breaking cover began to chase
Over the hill in a life and death race.

The huntsman blew a victory blast
As he saw the flash of the fox go past.
Then the hounds picked up their hunting pace
As they joined in the fox's fright-filled race.

But what is this?   From a nearby hedge
Appears a protester carrying his badge.
It says: "Long live the fox and damn the rest."
He waved his board at the humtsman's chest.

The horse reared up and the rider fell
And rolled into mud in the ditch as well.
The horse ran off in its fear and sweat.
It began to rain as the hunt was upset!

So what with the chaos of this event,
The hunt wasn't quite as the hunter's intent.
The fox escaped in the wind and the rain
To return to its den where he's safe again.

The huntsman, angry, returned back home
Where he found his horse returned from its roam.
He dressed his wounds, his bruises and aches
But he'll ride again, for he loves the stakes.

How he cursed the man who would save the fox,
And spoil his fun and that of his dogs.
He complained and grumbled to friends that night,
"The hunt," he declared, "is the countryman's right!"

But maybe the fox has a different view
That this is his country to live in, too,
Where he hunts the rabbit and chases the hare;
It's his right in the wind and the country air.

The countryside beckons to all and sustains
All types of life in the sun and the rain.
Should the hunt be allowed?   They will long debate
The merits of this from the morn till late.

Meanwhile the fox does what foxes do,
Hunting to feed his family brood;
While men rant on as to whether they should,
And continue to fight on the edge of the wood!