Thursday, July 12, 2018

We break bread

We break bread

We break bread and in the breaking see
a broken body for you, 
for me.
Crumbs dislodged and falling free
like sins you no longer see in me.

We share wine and in the sharing know
You’ve prepared a place for us to go
where pain and hurt and sorrow flow
purged away heaven’s glow.      

So touch our lips with that kiss of life
coming from Christ’s righteousness
and touch our lives with that peacefulness
that comes to restore,
and heal,
and bless.

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

The car

The photo is not a memory.
The bright and shiny car
isn’t lodged in my filing system
of yesterdays.
The car is in there
filed under hours of fun -
 rusty and clanking
along summer pavements.
Rubber tyres long worn
beyond their usefulness
rims scourging the pathways,
the pedals stiff
with age and autumns.

I do not remember it new,
I cannot remember its advent
or the joy of its unpacking.
A Christmas or birthday gift
that became a marriage,
not an affair
like so many gifts of youth
which fleet in the carefree
selfishness of childhood.

I remember the name I gave it
Bluebird the 2nd,
though speed
was never its specialty,
and painting 22
on its side.
Its rusting maroon
and curving body
mirroring Dad’s
redundant green Vauxhall
in repose on the lawn.

Tuesday, July 10, 2018


Restless, the sea,
in slap and sparring agitation,
churns colour in its tumbrel
from the rousing wake
of journeying.
Like the charnel house jumble
of dreaming
in wakeful moments,
catching uninvited
in an ambush of distraction.
These days are choppy waters,
a disturbation of the even temperance
of peace
and the mechanism of tides.

Monday, July 09, 2018


Folds burnished in the light,
an undressing,
a different skin
drawing me in;
an entrancement.
Siren sorcery
of enchantment,
for my shipwreck
on the rocks
of your breathing
and the dark-light cacophony
of my addiction.
An aching sensitivity,
the desperation of proximity,
the pernicious penetration
of my being.
Is it the ebb and flow of light
that skews the eye,
the ingress of oxygen,
the rise and fall
of the body within ?
Or is it just the living
of the fabric
that grasps
the desire
for touch ?