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.