Yan, Tan, Tethera… the shepherd counts his sheep;
I wonder, as he counts them, does he ever fall asleep?
The woolly flock, in rank and file a military disgrace,
Flee from the friendly shepherd in a crazy, ram-led, race.
I wonder does the shepherd ever wonder of his flock
If they really understand that they’re an edible kind of stock.
Or do they graze unwitting of their butcher’s destination,
That their legs will soon be dinner for a hungry human nation.
They’re the dumbest kind of creature and yet they have their charm
As they move in wavelike motion across the hilly farm.
The wonder is the pasture on the slopes will turn to meat
(Or some creamy dairy product: milk or cheese) for us to eat.
Life for the sheep is simple though it has its share of threats:
The winter’s bite at lambing; the fox or wolf that sets
Its hungry sights on lambs and sheep that, heedless, carry on,
Leaving safety to the shepherd or to the farmer’s gun.
I sit and think on these things as the dish comes to the table,
The mint sauce on the sideboard – that’s not too execrable.
For th’ambition of the farmer with the lonely shepherd’s aid
Is to fatten them for slaughter – then the table's truly laid!
Tuesday, 26 October 2010
Sunday, 3 October 2010
The head in the window
I sat in the car whilst it sat in the window
And stared down at us in the street
Its glassy eyed look reflected the sun's glow
Through the glass of its window ledge seat.
The head was of paper, in fact, papier-mache,
Pink painted to look just like skin.
I wonder, in this street, if there is some cachet
In windows with heads sitting in.
It's a quite eery feeling to see that head peering
And gauging street life as it looks.
Is each person and vehicle as they're appearing
Recorded in his secret books?
Or does he just sit and secretly ponder
Philosophical thoughts on this place?
Of matters like this I can only wonder
As I stare at his motionless face.
Why was he made and who was it made him?
I don't suppose I'll ever know.
Such things can be planned or result from some whim:
I suppose it will always be so.
It's amazing that such a pink model head
Arouses in me so much thought;
My queries unanswered even by the well-read
On this vision that I never sought.
So farewell paper head, now in verse made immortal -
You'd think I might choose different theme.
But in truth I came out by some very strange portal
Where nothing was quite what it seemed.
We had driven to visit someone in Park Avenue, Hull and I parked just outside the building where she resided. As I switched off, my wife drew my attention to a papier mache model head in an upstairs window peering out into the street. She said it had given her a start as she noticed it and for a moment thought it might be a real person. The eyes were open and large, white against the pink of the face. I decided to write a line or two about it as we wondered what its history was. The question will never, I guess, be answered.
And stared down at us in the street
Its glassy eyed look reflected the sun's glow
Through the glass of its window ledge seat.
The head was of paper, in fact, papier-mache,
Pink painted to look just like skin.
I wonder, in this street, if there is some cachet
In windows with heads sitting in.
It's a quite eery feeling to see that head peering
And gauging street life as it looks.
Is each person and vehicle as they're appearing
Recorded in his secret books?
Or does he just sit and secretly ponder
Philosophical thoughts on this place?
Of matters like this I can only wonder
As I stare at his motionless face.
Why was he made and who was it made him?
I don't suppose I'll ever know.
Such things can be planned or result from some whim:
I suppose it will always be so.
It's amazing that such a pink model head
Arouses in me so much thought;
My queries unanswered even by the well-read
On this vision that I never sought.
So farewell paper head, now in verse made immortal -
You'd think I might choose different theme.
But in truth I came out by some very strange portal
Where nothing was quite what it seemed.
We had driven to visit someone in Park Avenue, Hull and I parked just outside the building where she resided. As I switched off, my wife drew my attention to a papier mache model head in an upstairs window peering out into the street. She said it had given her a start as she noticed it and for a moment thought it might be a real person. The eyes were open and large, white against the pink of the face. I decided to write a line or two about it as we wondered what its history was. The question will never, I guess, be answered.
Sunday rain
Sunday morning. Come awake and welcome this new day
The bedclothes thrown, the curtain tweaked but all we see is rain.
The gutters run, the pools are formed, the mud grows from the clay
Yesterday we had such sun - now we have rain again.
Why is it always Sunday that the sky seems made of lead?
Why do we watch the window where the the raindrops form a trail?
And if you think about it, why are we out of bed?
We could watch from on our pillows and see every detail.
Sunday is the day when we just want to take a walk,
Bathed by the sun, enjoying all of nature's song.
On Sunday we could sit outside and drink our wine and talk,
Enjoying garden flowers, knowing it's where we belong.
But the problem we encounter is the rain that falls and falls
Preventing us from going to the countryside to stroll.
So the sun and birds and flowers that to our spirit calls
Are lost and hidden from us leaving just a barren soul.
Lord, I know the rain is needed to help the plants and flowers
But does it really need to fall on Sundays and for hours.
I'll keep on looking out until the sun is breaking through
And then I'll take a country walk and maybe I'll take you!
The bedclothes thrown, the curtain tweaked but all we see is rain.
The gutters run, the pools are formed, the mud grows from the clay
Yesterday we had such sun - now we have rain again.
Why is it always Sunday that the sky seems made of lead?
Why do we watch the window where the the raindrops form a trail?
And if you think about it, why are we out of bed?
We could watch from on our pillows and see every detail.
Sunday is the day when we just want to take a walk,
Bathed by the sun, enjoying all of nature's song.
On Sunday we could sit outside and drink our wine and talk,
Enjoying garden flowers, knowing it's where we belong.
But the problem we encounter is the rain that falls and falls
Preventing us from going to the countryside to stroll.
So the sun and birds and flowers that to our spirit calls
Are lost and hidden from us leaving just a barren soul.
Lord, I know the rain is needed to help the plants and flowers
But does it really need to fall on Sundays and for hours.
I'll keep on looking out until the sun is breaking through
And then I'll take a country walk and maybe I'll take you!
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
Wasps that sting
"Do they have a purpose that helps the world go round?"
I wonder, as I dodge the buzzing yellow menace.
His football coloured thorax and menacing buzz sound
Warn us of the danger that is difficult to efface!
These hornet coloured insects always spoil our summer walks
Through the fields and woodland up-slopes where we lay our picnic sheet.
Then out come cakes and goodies, and drinks and popping corks
But the dreaded wasp appears then, for he knows what's good to eat!
We swat and wave and duck and dive, and run and leave our food.
Then the striped beasts settle on it, for they love the thing that's sweet.
Meanwhile we ponder how we can recover what is good,
But this horde of buzzing insects has caused us to retreat.
And if we stay in that place to get back what is ours,
Be sure the little devils will attack us with their sting.
Then swellings, pain and misery will blind us from the flowers
Of a day turned really hateful, though its beauty tries to sing.
The song has turned to discord and the buzz is all that's left
On this brilliant summer's day. We admit dreadful defeat!
The food has been abandoned - of our picnic we're bereft.
And there's nothing of our picnic that's available to eat!
Oh, dreadful, poisonous, monsters; you awful insect horde.
You're the bane of summer's beauty, the destruction of delight.
You buzzing yellow perils; I really can't afford
To hang around when you're about, you're really such a fright!
I wonder, as I dodge the buzzing yellow menace.
His football coloured thorax and menacing buzz sound
Warn us of the danger that is difficult to efface!
These hornet coloured insects always spoil our summer walks
Through the fields and woodland up-slopes where we lay our picnic sheet.
Then out come cakes and goodies, and drinks and popping corks
But the dreaded wasp appears then, for he knows what's good to eat!
We swat and wave and duck and dive, and run and leave our food.
Then the striped beasts settle on it, for they love the thing that's sweet.
Meanwhile we ponder how we can recover what is good,
But this horde of buzzing insects has caused us to retreat.
And if we stay in that place to get back what is ours,
Be sure the little devils will attack us with their sting.
Then swellings, pain and misery will blind us from the flowers
Of a day turned really hateful, though its beauty tries to sing.
The song has turned to discord and the buzz is all that's left
On this brilliant summer's day. We admit dreadful defeat!
The food has been abandoned - of our picnic we're bereft.
And there's nothing of our picnic that's available to eat!
Oh, dreadful, poisonous, monsters; you awful insect horde.
You're the bane of summer's beauty, the destruction of delight.
You buzzing yellow perils; I really can't afford
To hang around when you're about, you're really such a fright!
Monday, 23 August 2010
Friday greeting
May Friday be the best of days;
May rain be damned! And may sun's rays
Shine on you. May the words one says
Greet you with summer's roundelays!
May rain be damned! And may sun's rays
Shine on you. May the words one says
Greet you with summer's roundelays!
Monday, 26 July 2010
Governments are good!!!
"Governments are good," I hear them all say,
But I am not sure that that's the real truth,
For governments seem to have their own way
Regardless of needs of old or of youth.
They make great decisions on "people's behalf;"
"It's the right thing to do," they contend.
"Right thing," I think, "Now there's a real laugh
They just do it because it's the trend."
"Politics are good," they then will insist
Trying to tell us that they're different.
Socialist or Tory, they each will resist
The others way of thinking. I do so resent
The strongest polemics that they both employ,
Pretending that they hold the only good way;
But all this will pass at last - Oh, what joy!
When governments collapse on the great judgment day.
But I am not sure that that's the real truth,
For governments seem to have their own way
Regardless of needs of old or of youth.
They make great decisions on "people's behalf;"
"It's the right thing to do," they contend.
"Right thing," I think, "Now there's a real laugh
They just do it because it's the trend."
"Politics are good," they then will insist
Trying to tell us that they're different.
Socialist or Tory, they each will resist
The others way of thinking. I do so resent
The strongest polemics that they both employ,
Pretending that they hold the only good way;
But all this will pass at last - Oh, what joy!
When governments collapse on the great judgment day.
Sunday, 18 July 2010
On Saturday, 12th June 2010, we joined eight other Christians for a prayer walk at Spurn Point. The day was fine although at the beginning of the afternoon a large and heavy black cloud threatened to reverse our fortunes!
For a variety of reasons but mainly because of pressures of time and other engagements in the morning we were unable to join the party at the beginning of the walk from Kilnsea. Instead we drove down the peninsula and joined them at the car park. They were already there, enjoying a break and a drink, when we arrived. We set off towards the point pausing at the lifeboat station for our first prayer and reading. We prayed for all those who worked to save the lives of others, sometimes in difficult and dangerous situations.
From there we proceeded up over the dunes to the old wartime bunkers where we pause for more prayer recognising how nature in her own time reclaims territory previously occupied by man. The continuation of the divine creative process was everywhere to be seen.
Then we moved onwards to a high point where we had views over the sea and beach. A hawk flew into the wind soaring with its straight tale and wide pinions. We later confirmed our identification of it as a marsh harrier.
Another stopping place was in a quiet glade amongst the shrubs and undergrowth. For a few moments we enjoyed the complete silence which only allowed gentle bird song, the soothing movement of the sea on the beach and the calm sound of the breeze in the branches. Somehow the divine presence seemed very obvious at this moment confirming the mystical experience of inner silence experienced by contemplatives.
As we moved northwards up the sea side beach we spotted a seal in the water and were able to enjoy its inquisitive looking from side to side as if to determine what these invaders of its territory were up to. By the lighthouse we paused for further prayer. Before we came together, however, we were much taken by moth caterpillars which invade the point at this time each year, infesting the buck thorn and other plants and some of which were sunning themselves on the lighthouse walls. These caterpillars can be dangerous to humans causing rashes, allergies and breathing problems. They are best completely avoided!
Next we found a quiet and relatively sheltered spot on the river side for a break and food, recalling how, after his resurrection the Lord shared bread and fish with His disciples on the shores of Lake Galilee. Unfortunately as we ate and later prayed the tide was coming in. By the time we finished we found we were cut off by the waters. Undaunted we scrambled on to the sea wall, helping each other according to our relative mobility or otherwise. A walk along the wall soon brought us back to the car park. By this time we were well into the evening but the sun still had plenty of heat in it.
As we drove back up the road to Kilnsea we spotted a fox crossing the road. It paused briefly to look at the car displaying the bird it was holding in its jaws - we were not able to identify what kind of a bird it was. Then the animal slipped away into the bushes and we could see it no more.
Back to Kilnsea then where we used the toilets in the Crown and Anchor hostelry before having a welcome cold drink sitting outside, watching the activity in the estuary. Finally we arrived home at about eight o'clock tired but exhilarated by a time with fellow Christians, friends old and new, and with God. We felt He had rewarded us with some wonderful sightings of wildlife and a real sense of His presence in creation.
Gaudete Deum, apud omnibus creatoribus!
For a variety of reasons but mainly because of pressures of time and other engagements in the morning we were unable to join the party at the beginning of the walk from Kilnsea. Instead we drove down the peninsula and joined them at the car park. They were already there, enjoying a break and a drink, when we arrived. We set off towards the point pausing at the lifeboat station for our first prayer and reading. We prayed for all those who worked to save the lives of others, sometimes in difficult and dangerous situations.
From there we proceeded up over the dunes to the old wartime bunkers where we pause for more prayer recognising how nature in her own time reclaims territory previously occupied by man. The continuation of the divine creative process was everywhere to be seen.
Then we moved onwards to a high point where we had views over the sea and beach. A hawk flew into the wind soaring with its straight tale and wide pinions. We later confirmed our identification of it as a marsh harrier.
Another stopping place was in a quiet glade amongst the shrubs and undergrowth. For a few moments we enjoyed the complete silence which only allowed gentle bird song, the soothing movement of the sea on the beach and the calm sound of the breeze in the branches. Somehow the divine presence seemed very obvious at this moment confirming the mystical experience of inner silence experienced by contemplatives.
As we moved northwards up the sea side beach we spotted a seal in the water and were able to enjoy its inquisitive looking from side to side as if to determine what these invaders of its territory were up to. By the lighthouse we paused for further prayer. Before we came together, however, we were much taken by moth caterpillars which invade the point at this time each year, infesting the buck thorn and other plants and some of which were sunning themselves on the lighthouse walls. These caterpillars can be dangerous to humans causing rashes, allergies and breathing problems. They are best completely avoided!
Next we found a quiet and relatively sheltered spot on the river side for a break and food, recalling how, after his resurrection the Lord shared bread and fish with His disciples on the shores of Lake Galilee. Unfortunately as we ate and later prayed the tide was coming in. By the time we finished we found we were cut off by the waters. Undaunted we scrambled on to the sea wall, helping each other according to our relative mobility or otherwise. A walk along the wall soon brought us back to the car park. By this time we were well into the evening but the sun still had plenty of heat in it.
As we drove back up the road to Kilnsea we spotted a fox crossing the road. It paused briefly to look at the car displaying the bird it was holding in its jaws - we were not able to identify what kind of a bird it was. Then the animal slipped away into the bushes and we could see it no more.
Back to Kilnsea then where we used the toilets in the Crown and Anchor hostelry before having a welcome cold drink sitting outside, watching the activity in the estuary. Finally we arrived home at about eight o'clock tired but exhilarated by a time with fellow Christians, friends old and new, and with God. We felt He had rewarded us with some wonderful sightings of wildlife and a real sense of His presence in creation.
Gaudete Deum, apud omnibus creatoribus!
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