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Valentine
As if a time,
a day, a date,
could in any way
dictate
the tides and times
of love.
It never has
it never will,
nor seasons
fulfil,
some primal age
of love.
And Valentines
again comes round.
Some things lost,
some things found,
and yet the sound
and it is a sound
of love
retains a voice
and melody
that starts and ends
with you and me.
kw 2026
Standing
on the threshold of the season,
waiting for the darkness to
clear,
waiting for the travellers on their journey,
waiting for
the new star to appear.
Standing midst the songs of
celebration,
waiting for the dawn of that day
when the tide of
time begins returning
to keep the dark of night at bay.
Standing
at an inn or border crossing
waiting, always waiting, for
relief
shunned or hounded by oppression,
bowed beneath the
heavy load of grief.
But still we’re on the doorstep of
tomorrow
still a hope, still a reason why,
still a light beyond
our darkness
an answer to the prayers we cry.
Standing
on the threshold of this season,
singing songs of angels and of
kings
singing, always singing, for a future,
singing for the
joy that singing brings.
And the song began way, way back, in
glory
before the world and all created things
when the spirit
sang above the waters
and the tune, like feathers, formed his
wings.
Saturday
the waiting time
No-one celebrates this day.
This is the waiting time,
the coin has been tossed
and beyond human intervention.
The faces of anxiety and jubilation
compete
as the spin continues
and the world turns
its daily course.
No-one celebrates this day.
This is the between day,
the Sabbath day of no existence
when nothing can be done
yet all is being done.
No-one celebrates this day.
Preparation day:
in a cloak of invisibility,
some form of eternity
is at work.
No-one celebrates this day.
Mourning day:
when tears abound
and the future,
suddenly unmapped,
lies broken in a dark tomb
with a sentry of stone.
No-one celebrates this day.
