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.