Thursday, May 28, 2020

Goodbye, fare well.

Goodbye, fare well.

These are days of greyscale rainbows
when half-face angels without wings
hold the hands of the dying
proxy kinfolk,
substitute emotion
flows from heart to cheek.
Goodbye, fare well.

A ship slips its berth
and fades from ICU
to I don't see you
Goodbye, fare well.

Breath stolen,
new journey begins
from that unchosen harbour.
A trolley, clanking in night
like rigging in sea breeze,
takes your anchor body away.
Goodbye, fare well.
Journey on.

Sunday, April 12, 2020


Standing on the threshold of an empty tomb:
the void is endless,
darkness complete,
as we stare into the abyss.
Eternity is not within
however much it draws us in
however much it tears apart
however much it breaks our heart.
Eternity has left
this building:
we must turn our eyes
from what has gone
and look for what
is yet to come
in the warmth
of a new day
in the garden
of hope.

Friday, April 10, 2020

Good Friday poem

This is a link to the poem by Keith Wallis, read by Louis Kasatkin of Destiny Church Wakefield, that was used in the Good Friday service.
on this hill

this is the text:

On this hill

In darkest daylight
with all sin revealed
the host is lifted high.
There is no melancholy melody to this sacrifice,
no quietude of choir-filled gentility
to align thought and soul.
This altar of absorbing pain
staggers the senses, grips the mind.

This is a solitary place.
A hermitage,
crowded with broken hearts
and wounded spirits,
oblivious of their fellows.

Let sense be dulled;
for here the sting of death
awaits those who turn their face
for easier vistas.
This unquiet beauty of wracked passion
steals the splendour of simpler creations
and scourges art and word and song.
Tears are the sea
from which this mast arises,
this lighthouse which signifies
wrecking rocks and vicious tides.
The storm which ravages here
breaches time and place,
pulsing of life and void of death.
A lightning flash shears the curtain,
the thunderous roar
a fanfare to sanctity.

On this hill eternity is on trial;
a single soul it’s witness,
the jury a world of closed eyes.

A timbered, suffering sacrifice
sees my small pain
and weeps.....
.......for me.