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!

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!

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.

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!

Spring song

The golden trumpet blows its song of spring
In silence, crying for the voice to bring
The early warmth of blossom, winter's end;
For snow and fog and hail from now offend.
Now only softest greens will be allowed
And hosts of daffodils - a Wordsworth crowd!

Soft pinks and whites of budding cherry flowers
And apples too in leafy orchard bowers
Provide the focus for an insect crowd
To pollinate: thus might they be endowed
With many a fruit for autumn's rich delight.
Yet wait! for there might still be frost at night!

And now the birds begin to sing their songs
To wake the morning and declare the throng
Of leaf and flower and insects now returned.
The new year courtship, many a lover spurned -
But others in their feathered finery have won:
Mating, nest building and joy as life's begun.

The warmth of early sunshine and the sound
Of myriad life awakening; now is found
The early budding cowslip and primrose
Which from the meadow grass quickly rose.
I love the sense of new awakening life
And end of winter's cold and stormy strife.

Beach farewell

We walked a while in silence on a beach set hard,

The ocean sleeping gently ‘neath the sky’s cloud smile,

Darkening the horizon, in an evening quite unstarred
And moonless.   We walked unspeaking many a mile.

Though there was much to talk about we left it all unsaid;

The wheeling of the knots at dusk,  the curlew’s cry -

We let the evening talk for us, attending it instead.

And as the evening talked on it spoke our last goodbye.

And now the years have mostly passed but I remember still
The years we walked together on the sandy beach of life.
The sea was often gentle, though it sometimes crashed until
We'd had enough of trouble, and we'd had enough of strife.


I wonder if remembrance is a gift of God,
Or maybe it's old Satan's way of building up our guilt,
Searching out our conscience and giving it a prod:
Stilettoing bad memories, to reach right to the hilt.


But I would rather dwell on all the happy times and good,
The smiling and the holding, the gently pleasing word.
For life's too short to dig up dirt to drown us in its mud.
The beach of life speaks out to us and everything is heard!

My city

I used to recognize this place.
I knew its size, its colour, face;
I knew the way the traffic blew:
The buses, cars and cycles too.

It was a place that lay, quite flat,
So cyclists in abundance went
Their to's and fro's, forwards and back,
In factories and docks descent

In teaming hundreds; sometimes more
Would cycle to their factory floor.
Blue collars in abundance then;
Now there are fewer working men.

On Hessle Road wives once would wait
Their men's return, their trawlers' fate;
But those for whom fish filled their dreams,
Are cast adrift in planners' schemes.

They ripped the heart from docks, and more,
They tore up many a factory floor.
Now concrete towers and malls abound,
Groceries traded out of town -
In supermarkets!

The working docks are now filled in
Providing parks and pretty places.
One's a marina full of boats,
The leisure of the one who gloats

At what his soft-earned riches bought;
While for the many work is sought
In vain and mean, demeaning dole.
This was my town; they took its soul!