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.

Baptism

When we stand ankle deep in the river

Or completely immersed in the pool,

When we take the great step that will never

Be taken by him who’s a fool,

We know that the seas and the ocean

Will wash and refresh every shore

And banish the darkest illusion

That polluted those beaches before.

The rain washes down on the mountain,

The stream flows across every rock,

The birds are refreshed in the fountain

Of life-giving water.   Each block

Which once caused us to stumble,

Each obstacle placed in our way,

The fears that made us all fumble,

Are here speedily washed away.

The water pours out and anoints us

With life and with love and with grace,

And the Spirit of God now appoints us

To Him as we stand in this place.

The people of God here assemble,

The light of the Church drives the shades

From the place.   Now the saints are atremble

In God’s presence, where they all parade

In support of the one who’s invited

Into salvation from sin,

Which Christ has forever requited

By His sacrifice.   Now we begin

To know that the Spirit is with us,

The anointing and washing is done,

The baptised have become the believers

And can walk hand in hand with God’s Son.

The Spirit of God breathes and reaches

To all who have now gathered here

On the shores of Heaven; the beaches

Of paradise on earth appear.

The sacrament is never ended,

It stays with us throughout our life,

Our souls and our spirits are blended

In Him in whom all our belief

Is focussed and actioned in Charity,

And Hope that we’ll always be sure

Of His strength, and His triune parity,

And a Faith that in Him remains pure.

Seychelles beach

A sea that flows, a tide that ebbs, an ocean now in view,

Then hiding but reflecting still a sky of deepest blue.

A land of mystery and charm, a beach that, white as snow,

Still holds the heat, the sun, the light and beckons us – although

We know the sand will burn us and the sun will be too strong

For us to venture onto it, till shadows all grow long.

Yet even then the heat remains.   The lapping waves, still warm,

Will kiss us as we venture forth to enjoy the blessed calm

Of evenings in the tropics, as the sun sinks slowly, far

Behind a distant island.   Can you see the evening star?

Then the moon’s edge makes appearance above the distant seas.

All these wonders, all these beauties seem anxious just to please.

So we stay a while and linger on the evening’s lovely beach

And wonder how we ever found such things within our reach.

War (2)

I watched you lie there silently and die,

Drowned in a widening pool of crimson blood.

I knew you not – and yet that is a lie,

For we’re all one.   We are the devil’s brood,

And war comes naturally to us.   That is why

Our country’s torn in two, our land destroyed,

Our houses blasted out of sight.   We die

To feed the monster death himself.   The void

Extends throughout the land.   We know no peace,

No love.   Our greed is all that counts for ought.

We’ll drive you out, you will respond.   Disease

And famine now are what we all have wrought.

This is the final sin: when we have killed each other,

To pretend this dead man’s not my brother.

The sacrifice

Did my Lord die for me and in His death
Prepare a way for me that I might live?
Did He, in breathing His last gasping breath,
Give me that thing which only God can give?
Did He hang there and in His bloody grief,
All the hateful things I do did He forgive
In the same way as He forgave that thief,
Who turning, asked Him, when in Paradise,
To remember him who here had died?
Did my Lord make this final sacrifice
For me? Therefore I cannot but decide
To follow Him and stay with Him until
I'll know His final peace. Such is His will.

Good Friday Dance

Deasil and widdershins,
The long dance continues
Into the night and beyond;
The moon has gone down now,
The sun has appeared not
All through the night and beyond.
The cross stands alone there
Weeping and bleeding,
Saddening the night and the day;
The hill stands there, windswept,
Darkening and keening,
As another life passes away.
Widdershins and deasil
Deasil and widdershins
The devil is dancing ‘til dawn.
The tomb is awaiting,
Salvation frustrating,
Into the night and beyond.
Dying is daytime,
The night rules on lonely,
Hiding its face from the light;
Here is a moment
In mankind’s long history,
A moment of permanent night.
Widdershins and deasil
Deasil and widdershins,
Where will the long dance progress?
Gone with the darkness,
The gloom and the shadows,
This moment will never grow less.

Shopping expedition

There’s nothing in the cupboard, all is gone,
So to the store my wife and I must go.
It’s not exactly my idea of fun,
Or jollity, or pleasure you should know.
Still it’s essential to acquire such things
As margarine and butter, coffee, tea,
And eggs and sugar, and she homewards brings
A bottle or two of wine – but not for me.
We each have our idea of what’s essential,
The things we need to make life jog along.
Some of her needs I find inconsequential,
But I suspect she thinks I’ve got it wrong!
My name’s Jack Sprat you see, and as Jack’s wife,
She much prefers the fattening things in life

Sweeney's friend

‘Twas in the bar that I met Sweeney’s friend,
We’d had a few, of that I am quite sure.
We had discussed the merits of a blend
That none of us had tasted there before.
It was a whiskey of a powerful mien,
Quite mellow in the look, but not the taste.
We downed a glass or two and in between
Made sure the beer did never go to waste.
By ten upon the clock we all were drunk,
But quietly, as gentlemen should be;
Old Sweeney to the floor had slowly sunk –
When suddenly by his side it seemed to me
I saw a little man dressed all in green,
Who said straight out, “Y’re stewed, me auld spalpeen!”

Trip the light fantastic!

Dear P.,

You held me in your arms, we danced all night
To music with an ever rising beat,
But though you told me that my steps were light,
Your heavy tread has damaged my poor feet!
You told me that you’d now learnt how to dance;
At last, you said, you really did know how
To waltz’ you proudly emphasised that now
You quick-stepped, rhumba’d – just give you the chance.
I took you at your words – but they were lies –
My feet have told me so, not only once
But several times. You really cannot dance
With me again. I hope you realise
That both my feet are now in plaster cast.
The doctor took one look and was aghast!


Yours, M.

Winter

Now wintertime has cast its cruel grip
On house and barn, on field and meadow too,
On every dirty town’s street, now made new,
On car and lorry, aeroplane and ship.
The stream is frozen, so too is the drain
Through which the kitchen waste was once expelled;
Hot flames must ape the distant springtime’s meld,
That all the world might come to life again.
We’ll don our furs and heavy duty wear
To keep our toes and ears and fingers warm;
We’ll search the shed until we find a pair
Of skates, then linking friendly arm in arm,
We’ll head towards the iced up river, where
The ice lies crisply cold and smooth and calm.

Midnight

A day becomes a day, a night a night,
Dying from the evening’s long held twilight
Into a darker death before the resurrecting light.

A night becomes a night, a day a day,
As the presences that were have passed away,
The future that will be is here and for a while will stay.

The bell has ring its sound of dark finality
Pointing the past to rest, and what will be
Has come to take another step towards infinity.

Rise the stars and set the moon’s pale light,
The day has gone to beckon to its night
That it is time to stay the backwards vision’s sight.

For as it lies in final rest, another
Day comes to life, the echo of the other,
Sitting within the week’s womb, a sister with her brother.

WAR

No war is just.
The terms completely contradict each other.
When nation battles nation, brother kills brother,
Justice destructs.

There is no love
In fighting for the greater human cause.
We join in battle with each other just because
We have no love.

Where is the care?
And where the listening to another point of view?
Evil can never become good, nor falsehood true –
Arret la guerre!

Yes, stop the war
For every drop of blood that we have spilled,
For every parent, every child whom we have killed
Cries out before

Our creator
For the simple justice which they have but sought;
For the values which the Son of God has taught –
Salva nos, Pater!

Sleep

Relaxing so to breathe and breathe each breath,

I now descend into the lesser death

From which tomorrow, waking, I shall rise

Feeling the sun bring life to sleep filled eyes.

Eleven haikus

Golden, buried trees
Prepare for winter’s torment
As, naked, we die.

New blossom brings bees
To the orchard’s luring colours -
Harvest yet to come.

Snow lies and freezes
In the breath of frosty days’
Solar impotence.

Morning welcomes light,
Beckoning to the coming day -
Before night returns.

I kneel and reach weeds
To dig them out, roots too.
Next week they return.

A rose smells sweetly
By the ripening onion bed.
They smell when gathered!

Garlic moments now
Excite the gardener’s harvest;
They remain in you!

Beans climb to the sun
And grow from scarlet blossoms.
The wind destroys them.

We walk, holding hands
Within the dappled forest light.
Scattering rotting leaves.

I watch the moon rise
Over distant snow clad hills;
The bright night stars fade.

Clattering over falls
The brook disturbs the quiet,
Yet is peace itself.

Christians united

Pentecostal presence lighting up the congregation
Sacramental Catholics raise their voice in jubilation
Methodists who preach the word with power, authority,
And Anglicans complete the group to bring sincerity.

Denominational differences will now be set aside
Here in a world in which the power of God must be applied.
We'll pray together, act together, witness to this land
And do everything we can to bring about God's Kingdom plan.

We'll praise Him in our worship and recognise the pain
Of a world which has forgotten His resurrection gain.
So join me fellow Christian along this pilgrim way
And be my Christ-companion today and every day.

Christmas

Christmas is a time for love and joy,
A time to give and also to receive.
This is a time that hurries quickly by
For time which dragged now speeds and so deceives.