Advent tide

Advent tide

The star shines in city and town,
dark places yield their grip,
shadows become the hiding place of fools.
Clamour and bawl of purpose, desire,
and achievement’s scheming vacuum
are struck dumb this unsilent night.
There may be no angels singing here,
no outcast shepherds with restless flock
nor sages perched on tired dromedaries.
There may be no warm cattle or festooned straw,
no earth stood as hard as iron
or dreamless sleepy streets.
But soon, with embers of heaven,
the child returns to open hearts
and with smiling eyes says again
“fear not”.

11.11.2009

11.11.2009


A nation stops, breaths hold,
eyes water,
history fills home and street.
Shop tills cease tolling their rabid gunfire,
cathedral choirs fall silent.

Generation gone,
Harry Patch and Henry Allingham
nod no longer before poppy carpets
and small wooden crosses -
the arboretum of splintered lives
remembered ragged bodies,
a sympathy of bones.

The last post never sounds its last post
the not so Great War didn’t herald
ploughshearing of sword and spear
grenade and Lee-Enfield.

Foreign fields greet falling bodies anew.
Tomorrows close their doors
to the betrayed young,
lives stolen by history’s stutter
take wings to Wooton Bassett.

Sometimes

Sometimes

Sometimes You are the indistinct spot,
an out of focus horizon
losing colour to the vagueries of distance.
Hedges and fences my defences
against what You may ask of me.
Fields and copses
of my realities -
exposure or shield
in the conduit between here and there.

Sometimes You are the certain stone stile
that bridges the immediate;
breaches the ramparts of my trouble.
The path prepared for safe traverse.

Sometimes you are the staggering view
that overwhelms when the mist lifts
and a different clarity prevails.

Sometimes You are the warmth of the sun
in the daily chill of Autumn.

Sometimes
I allow You
to be God.

Tinged with blue

Tinged with blue

With the passing those looks begin to fade,
royal colours losing precious golds,
the blues of Winter
cool breathing heralds
of a new season.
Autumn sun posts its rearguard sentries
between the drizzled mists
and there’s a sword in the air
that slices the bones.
There are yet darker days to come
with barren trees, colour gone,
when the grey of the skies
blunders into hoary branches
with damp kisses.
Even then the promise lingers,
seedtime and harvest flown,
while earth remains -
God’s cyclic colouring
challenges our palette of conception.

I’ve known these trees

I’ve known these trees

I’ve known these trees from childhood
since clambered branches
scavenged knees
and liberated blood.

I’ve know these trees
when wind’s calamity
steals and shapes
and when sun’s spotlight
peers through crowded branch
with welcoming smile.

I’ve know these trees
in ragged Winter, pregnant Spring
and the birthing of Autumn.

Again, October’s kiss
and changing embrace
kidnaps leaf with reds and browns,
sending awestruck words
scampering for expression.

At close of school
others now explore and seek
fondly remembered footholds
sending squirrels to
sanctuary.

Leaf upon leaf

Leaf upon leaf

Leaf upon leaf
golden gem upon crimson brother
the finery of Autumn
drips from weeping trees.
A regal carpet mantles the ground,
for a while,
then begins the cycle of decay.

Wind gathers them in huddlings,
the scattering laughter of children
blasts their dispersion.
A spun web of frost consolidates
painting new hues
upon their background canvas.

The residue of veiling greenery
sacrificed
to graven soil
will return
in its cycle.

A wonder

A wonder

A wonder to behold - the blues and hues
where sky melts into sea in distant covenantual arc.
There is an unseen beyond,
though earth’s arched back cloaks it from view,
like tomorrow from this moments passing vantage,
or faith and hope one step ahead of experience.
In quiet contemplation
creation imposes its own spectacle
drawing the eye
claiming the thoughts.
And from this tower, distanced for a while
from the clamorous affliction of time,
design seduces the attentive machinations
of a wondering mind.
God speaks.