Cup of Contradiction

They might mistake me,

For a football thug,

But I'm drinking herbal tea,

From this Hotspur mug,

They might mistake me,

for a girly boy,

But I'm using vipers blood,

To stir fry Pak Choi,

They might mistake me,

For a hardened biker,

But my beard is trimmed  and groomed,

Like Captain Riker,

I'm looking angry,

But I need a hug,

I'm drinking herbal tea,

From my Hotspur mug,

I'm wearing pink bow ribbons,

In my fat dreadlocks,

I'm wearing steel toe caps,

With my bobby socks,

I'm wearing a muscle vest 

Declaring anarchy,

But my favourite thing,

Is a herbal tea,

I'm dangerous, I tell you,

I'm a bit crazy, me.

I sometimes cheat,

At monopoly,

I'm cutting lose, 

And I don't know what for,

But I would never, EVER,

Break the law.

I'm looking angry,

But I want a hug,

I'm drinking herbal tea,

From my Tottenham mug,

You better watch out,

Cos I'm on drugs,

I'm drinking cold Lemsip,

From my Hotspur mug

I'm unpredictable,

I'm anomaly,

First name: Tyson

Middle name: Emily

I'm an enigma, a delight,

Yeah and an anathema,

I start every day,

With an Elderflower enema,

I'm looking vulnerable

But I don't need a hug,

I'm drinking Jack Daniels

From a Tommy Tippee cup,

Just kidding,

I don't care, I'll stand and shrug.

I'm drinking herbal tea,

From my hotspur mug.

Brief

You mope around, you mope around,

You wallow in your sin and sorrow,

But wallowing in remorse, of course,

Will only ever rob you of tomorrow,

I'll keep it brief, I'll keep it brief,

I'll type it in a single sentence,

It's my belief, that Godly grief,

Leads productively to repentance.

What Victory Looks Like

'Have you got a poem, something Triumphant?'

I was asked,

'For Easter Sunday'

And what right now,

I asked myself, 

Does triumph look like

On any given Monday?

A victory can be

That this morning I got out of bed,

Keith Green, take note,

This is why Jesus rose from the dead,

Ok, Ok , there's the triumphal procession,

Making, by the cross a spectacle of sin,

But by God's grace this morning, I rose from the bed,

And by his power, later I'll bring the washing in.

The Fist

 The Fist 07.08.08

The day I first doubted,

My open hand,

Closed tight around,

In white knuckled panic,

The idea of you,

And all you meant to me,

My newly clenched fist,

And my closed heart,

Were not open to receive the gift of you,

And only an open palm,

Can hold another's hand,

Firm and gentle,

In tenderness,

Anne-Marie,

And I lost myself in the grasping,

 

And you too, Jesus,

Once I grasped the idea of you,

I would not let go for the fear of the loss of meaning,

And of purpose,

And I resisted the nail,

And in so doing I resisted the love,

And I can never picture you with anything but,

Open hands,

 

Open in surrender, father forgive,

Open in invitation, place your fingers in the holes,

And so far,

I have resisted what I sought to hold onto,

And who among us knows,

That you cannot consume,

A sweet that is shielded from the other children,

In a closed hand,

 

So, you two,

I confess to this;

I made a fist and,

Missed the gift,

 

Speak to me and say,

You don't have to stay this way,

That I can finally start hoping,

And finally get starting to get open

Let Me In

 Let Me In

I don't stand at the door and knock,
It's not that my calls on the phone go unanswered,
It's not that you forget to reply to my e-mails sent from a far off land,
But,
It is that I am standing beside you,
And my breath is in your lungs,

It is my gentle hand,
Placed warmly on your shoulder,
And my whisper in your ear,
That goes unnoticed,
Unheeded,

While the light from the monitor,
Flickers about the features I formed,
In the womb,
The apple of my eye,
Let me in

Let me in,
Let scales fall from your tired eyes,
Take off the blinkers,
Lift your chin,
Your noble (yes, noble) head,

Let your vision expand,
you see,
you see,
I am there,
All about you

You do not need to lift them to the hills
For my help does not come from there,
I am beside you,
In your home,
In my home,
Your heart,

Expand your vision,
And let me in

Sun 6th June (Prophetic poem written in Ridgeways evening outpouring meeting)