Trees breaking free from protective collars

Although poems may follow, these need no words.

Scars don't stop us soaring

At some point
In this tree's young life
Some surgeon pruned
With saw as a knife
And hacked off limbs
Like divorcing a wife


And left nothing,
but sappy stumps
In greenery's absence
Knots, bumps and lumps
All that remained 
Were bark, roots and trunk
But you resolutely refused
To slip into a funk


All creatures that had made
Your branches their nest
Had crawled, flown and leapt
To some security and rest
In another's limbs
They make their request

And you,
Barren, fruitless
Bereft,
Stare at the stark sky
Crane to it's behest
Their is nothing for it,
Nothing else left


And you draw from your roots
Despite any pain
And, climbing, you rise
Skyward again
With no attachment
To divert your strength
You grow through the scars
You go to great lengths


And heights await you
Above canopies
And growing more still
You pass other trees
You leave them behind
Till they stand, tipped-toes at your knees


And ugly and scarred
It is you that stands stout
Stands beautiful beyond others
As your branches stretch out
Yes when the bough broke
And cradel fell
You grew through the pain
You conquered it well

The heavenly summoning
The eagles cries
The call of the sun
And the heights
And the skies
Was greater than pity
And so
Upwards we rise

Modern woes

I tell you woe to people like these,

They wont shake your hand

In case they catch some disease,

Yet where ever they go

They continually sneeze,

They'll give you discomfort

So they feel at ease,

They delouse your cat,

Yet they're covered in fleas,

I tell you woe, to people like these.

I tell you woe to people like these,

They wont help you out,

Because they're on their knees,

Praying for you

While you swing in the breeze,

Give you a dustpan,

While you stand in debris

from your recently imploded life,

They say “please...

I think you missed a bit...”

I tell you woe to people like these

I tell you woe to people like this,

Nice to your face

But to your back, it's a diss,

Their loving words are as kind

As Judas' last Kiss

I tell you woe to people like this.

I tell you woe to people like this.

They think they're all that,

But they're less hit, more miss,

Living the life-style,

Blowing the kiss,

Looking down on the poor

While in debt to the rich,

I tell you woe to people like this,

They've had they're reward,

All they clenched in their fist,

A hand full of fairy dust,

That disappears like the mist,

In the first light of day,

Like loves latest tryst,

The bed is all empty,

You wont be missed,

I tell you woe to people like this.

I tell you woe to people like those,

Who cried 'help the homeless,

Lets give them warm clothes',

But when crossing them, huddled

In the door of Waitrose,

Last December, they rather conveniently

Froze,

inactive and glued to the spot,

by their toes

I tell you woe, to people like those,

 

I tell you woe to people like you,

Who think that you're clean

In all that you do.

Outside; all porcelain,

Inside; all Loo,

Making a show,

If only they knew,

You think you've arrived

When really you're through,

Your body is old,

But your facelift is new,

You're fooling no-one,

Least of all, you

Woe to people like you

Woe to the whitewashed tombs

Woe to the face of it,

Woe to perfume,

That covers the scent

Which comes from the gloom

the rotting bones,

Stored in your room,

The skeleton closet,

Closest to discovery soon,

Woe to white house and woe to the room

Woe to the white picket fence,

Woe to the chintz

And to the pretence,

Woe to the death that it marks

Death by degrees,

Died in the dark

While outside is all sweetness and light,

The tomb dressed for Sunday,

In the brightest of white,

Time to get clean from within,

Break open the tomb,

Dig up the sin,

Pour it all out on display,

And pray for the waters to wash it away.

Her Children Shall Rise up

There was a time,
When the heart of your husband,
was glad in you,
There was a time,
When your watchful love
Was red ruby precious,

Red like the long apple peel,
That cascaded, helter-skelter,
From the knife in your hand,
Onto the tongue in my mouth,
And your smile at this stolen pleasure,
This shared moment,
Made my apish turn-up lips,
Imitate your impish ones,

Even your scraps were sweet,
Discreet,
A moment for me, alone,
And you made us all feel like that,
In the generosity of
Your selective, selfless love,


And,
Intoxicated with the intimate,
Intricate sweet-sour memories,

Your children Shall rise up,
And call you blessed

There was a time,
When you opened your arms to the needy,
When Your deeds declared,
Your heart-held hopes,
Of love for all,
The lamp of it,
Burned a deep, luminous cavern,
Seared into the hours of the night,
A hollow of light,
Within the darkened fog
Of my sunken expectations,
Your deeds raised the game,
And I praise your name,

And,
Upheld by hopeful crutches,
Inspired by your deeds,
Heavy with light touches,

Your Children Shall Rise up,
And call you blessed,


There was a time,
When, though fear could be said,
In part,
To define you,
Your frightless love,
Laughed without fear of the future,
And the summer of my youth,
Held no fear of winter,
For the faith-full sun,
Could not be diminished by,
Deepest chill, then
Nor death now,

And,
Though fear sometimes defines them,
As love  revives and faith refines them,

Your Children shall Rise up,
And call you blessed,


There was a time,
When your words of wisdom
Soared heights over head,
And, now you are dead,
I wish I could recall them,
Like loves ashes fell,
You had sashes to sell,
But I would not buy them,
I could have been like you,
Clothed in strength,
Dignified in all seasons,
Though tempest comes
And drought depletes,
Energetic and strong,

We rise in the streets
And call you blessed

Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last,
But a woman who fears the Lord ,
Will be greatly praised,

And so we rise up,
And call you blessed.



(Proverbs 31:10-31)