Tuesday, 30 June 2009

Ravens come

Ravens come (1 Kings 17 v 1-5)

A piece of peace
separate, whole, a shelter.
Here is that healing calm
haven for the tormented tortured soul
an ointment on the wound
shade from stinging heat
and the quiet place.

The ravenous wind prowls outside
the quakes of life are just out of reach
and the glittering of storms do not penetrate.

Ravens come,
laden with their offerings of bread.

The journey to find this place
leaves littered baggage in its wake,
sprawling the used clothes
and worn shoes
battle wounded on the path.
Parting with unfriendly comfortable chains
sears with fear
stabs fingers in holed unhealed scars
grasps and releases nettled yesterdays.

Stabbed and bleeding,
naked, robbed, blinded
and accused
here, only here
the small voice is heard.

But this place is not the world,
nor is this place home,
this place is not tomorrow
but a shelter in today.

Ravens come,
laden with their offerings of bread.
‘We’ll be back.’
Say the ravens.

‘I’ll always be here.’
Says the small,
refreshing, voice.

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

To be in black

To be in black

A dry and arid place
when the oasis is in sight
but held at a distance
by circumstance and happenstance
twin dictators of mood and heart.
To be in black on the Lord’s day
In a walled room devoid of light,
cringing within shadowed soul
wounds weeping
a hearts cry away from God.
To be in black on the Lord’s day.
When all the screams of life
deafen in tidal flood
blind in binding fear.
A dumb breath-sucked vacuum
where life is somewhere else
where reality is a God away
and these limbs are useless to move me there.
To be in black on the Lord’s day.
When the spirit battles to say its yes
to all things good and love-cared
and somehow falls under the weight of effort.
To be in my dark room seeing your light
its single ray stretching to me
And the heart makes its cry
on the Lord’s day.

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Between waking moments

Between waking moments

Between waking moments
all I can hear:
my partner’s sleepy breathing
and the layered meanderings of thought
which take me on a journey.
A moment of quiet
with my boys at the earth-clothed place
where you mingle with roots and soil
saying “hello” in an accent of “goodbye”.
They do not know you,
all there is to show of your brief life
is the kissed tattoo
which ravages my chest
and this tiny plot of remembrance.
How can they know one heart beats for two?
One pair of eyes share this scene,
the other views the heart of God.
One soul conjures images of heaven
the other enjoys its reality.
Between waking moments,
when all things are possible
we share a tear and shed a smile.

Monday, 15 June 2009

Why does the silence seem so loud

Why does the silence seem so loud
when 'be still' is Your command ?
Why do colours drain from view
when seeping sadness encamps around ?
'Why are you downcast, O my soul ?'
Trust and sight vie for supremacy,
faith and life - arguing foes
giving no quarter sparing no peace.
The blood upon the battlefield
is tears upon my cheek;
constant cut and thrust of life
wounds and leaves me weak.
The only sword within my grasp:
a will to follow at Your call,
the only rod and staff to clasp
is an ensign that won't pall.
So all the blacks and blues and greys,
drab soul-mates of today,
in the light of faith and truth
begin to startle and amaze.

Thursday, 11 June 2009



You are invited,
nay commanded
to the starring role.
Come as you are.
You are the main attraction,
you are the V.I.P.

Yours was the flashing light,
the penetrating siren overture,
the abandoned kiss of life.

Even now the props are being prepared,
dates confirmed with minor players,
invitations written,
box last-lacquered,
handles polished,
name embossed.

shouldered like a football hero
at some final final,
you will go alone
to drink the fire
when the curtain closes.

Wednesday, 10 June 2009

Broken relationship

Broken relationship

the tie binds
a broken bind
binds us still
for separation
cannot steal remembrance
departure cannot kidnap love
care is held till
healing ransom is paid
on the nail
or thorn

and when they were done

and when they were done,

and when they were done,
they were done,
they stood and stared
at an empty cross
an empty tomb
with their empty eyes

their empty eyes
they began to create
and their creation
and invisible gods
with agendas