Her Mothers Eyes (for Rachel on her wedding day)

Your big blue eyes, were as open as the sky,

I remember your open hearted enthusiasm,

for everything you tried,

you have your mothers eyes,

I remember curling photos of sunny summer days,

Paddling pools and lady birds and all within her gaze,

She is watching you,

In everything you try,

You have your mothers eye

And onward through your childhood, through scraped knees and broken hearts,

Mopping tears and calming fears, with the wisdom she imparts,

She is watching out for you,

As you try life on for size,

You have your mothers eyes,

And into adolescence, with all its changes and frustrations,

The late night calls and arguments with their vivid illustrations,

She was watching out for you,

Beyond the tantrums and the lies,

What ever you say, She knows that you belong to her,

You have your mothers eyes,

And into calmer seas of womanhood, on a footing that's more equal,

Through car crash after car crash, and then again through every sequel,

She smiles and she sighs,

When all is said and done,

You have your mothers eyes,

And suddenly a crushing absence, a void is forced into our lives,

And in her last moments you were the last to see her eyes,

But the last eyes that she saw,

Were Her daughters eyes,

You always caught her eye,

And onwards in her absence, looking on from heavens skies

Your daughter is born,

And she has her mothers eyes,

Some don’t believe in heaven, but as you know I do,

And somewhere in that cloud of witnesses,

She is the one that's watching you,

In everything you try,

You have your mothers eyes

And I know, in a sense, she is here with us, on this November day,

And I have a feeling there's a few things that she would like to say,

She'd say that you look beautiful, but then you always do.

She'd say that she was really proud of you, that your inner beauty is shining through,

She's say don’t forget to make God the centre of your life,

She'd say that you're a fantastic mum and you'll make a fantastic wife,

She's say that she couldn’t love you more, Keep your eyes upon the prize,

She'd say 'lay down your life for love, because true love never dies',

And most of all she'd say, where ever you go, what ever you do, as you try life on for size

She'd say that you will always,

Have your mothers eyes.

Wreck

Wreck me,
Undo me,
Unravel my soul,
Spill my heart on your altar,
Finish the job,
I asked you to start,
Before walking away,

I want to fall on this rock,
Be broken on it,
Like a thrushes anvil,
Smash me open,
Pick out the meat,
Spit out the shell,
My defenses are killing me,
This fortress is my prison,
Bust me out,
Break me up,
Let me fall
On this rock,
Like I will fall at your feet
Abandoning all hope
There is no escape
There are no escapes

Fall On the founding stone
Before it caps me

Wreck me
Ruin me
Rule me
Ravage me

Because of your Kindness
Because of my blindness

Wreck me
With your love
Ruin me
With your grace
Spoil me
So no other will lure my heart

Wreck me
Lead me to repentance
With your kindness

I see the saviours face
Drenched in my spit
And my mouth has run dry

I see the saviours cheeks 
Bruised from my repeated blows
Turning
Is the only option
For he and I
I saw myself
In the mirror of his eye
And he wrecked me

My hand
Unclenches
And I can hit no more

I am finished
So finish me
I pray

Foundations

Before the foundation of the world,
Three foundless foundations
Were laid,

The Father;
who saw all, in his infinite love,
And in his unflinching wisdom and kindness, called it good,
And chose us, In love

The Spirit of Holiness;
Who brooded over the face of it all,
Who brewed with wild, dangerous and playful creativity,
And in the making, reached from one side of eternity to the other in his comforting embrace.

The Son;
The lamb laid down before a single brick of the universe ,
The laid bare arm of God, The sleeve rolled up; the offering,
The cornerstone.

Now build with us,
Says Love,
What will remain

Let Down

Let down,
Left to drown,
Left at the altar in your wedding gown,
Left looking up on the long way down,
You looked long for a smile in sea of strange faces,
But you only saw a frown,
That boat never came and no one saw you drown,
Floating like a bedraggled angel in your ivory gown,
Left to drown,
Let down.

I am Grateful

For the times when time is still as a rock

For the times when I stop clocking the watch,

Or watching the clock,

For the times when I am the boat,

And time is the dock,

For the stillness,

I am grateful,

For the relief that comes after pain,

And for the pain,

They're one and the same,

Two roads converging to run as one lane,

And for the Journey,
I am grateful,

For loyalties and abuses of trust,

Betrayals and friendships are just,

A refining of gold from dust,

The sifting process does what it must,

For the lessons in true value,

I am grateful,

For all the saints that have gone before,

For all the teachers who held open the door,

For those who have scraped my remains from the floor,

I'd be nothing without you, I am utterly sure,

For the comfort of unaware Angels,

I thank you

For the divine and loving thread

From before conception, till long after I'm dead,

To that bridegroom eternally wed,

When mountains have sunk let it be said

We bled,

Together.

For you,

I'm eternally grateful

The death of a poet

Listening to the lady on Radio four,
The continuity announcer,
Announcing a discontinuity,
Seamus Heaney, she said,
'Who recently died'.

Something in the way she spoke those words,
The stress and emphasis, slightly obtuse,
Made it sound,
Like yet another achievement,
For the great man of words,
Like He had picked up,
Yet another award,
Yet another prize winning poem.
Like it was simply the last thing to do,
On his to do list.

And it strikes me that this, in itself, is inherently poetic,
Leaving them hanging, like that.
That death, for a poet, is a stepping off,
Of the final page,
A dot, dot, dot,
If you will.
footprints trail,
Just occasionally it is a precise and full, stop.

I heard a man once say,
In a church building,
stripped of images,
and full of words,
That we are Gods poem.

Words into flesh,
and back to words
I like to think, Dear Seamus,
that he had just finished a verse...

The unbearable lightness of being fat

Heavy handed and heavy set,

With a lightness of touch, you've not seen yet,

Heavy set and Heavy handed,

If you're lying on the mattress, you'll know when I've landed.

Middle aged like middle earth,

Middle aged spread around my girth,

On the take and on the fiddle,

However you throw something in my direction,

Trust me, I'm so fat, you'll hit the middle,

But I walk with my chins held high,

And for some reason the girls just sigh.

It's a huge responsibility,

When you are so large that,

You generate your own gravity,

But I bear the weight of it well,

Not so anyone could tell,

I transcend all kinds of restraint,

You may be skinny and miserable,

But I sure as hell ain't,

It may give me a heart attack,

But at least while I am alive, I live,

and fats a fact,

It's a kind of a mystic Zen type thing,

The peace of mind,

That comes from having your own,

Rubber ring,

I call it a blubber ring,

If I'm dropped in the ocean,

I wont need to swim,

To stretch-mark the metaphor

I float above it all,

The wreck of Titanic,

The belles of the ball,

Their skinny bones lie on the sea bed,

So don't even think of asking me to shed,

A few pounds,

I've seen many lighter folk drown,

In a sea of misery,

Beneath the waters of drudgery,

No I'm far too spiritual for that,

I guess I'll just live,

With the unbearable lightness,

Of being fat.

The glove box.

So she is gone,
So the moment is over,
Our faces, sewn up,
As stitched as our words,
As tailored with patches,
That conceal rips,
Rips that will eventually,
Stretch the new borders of their searching extremities,
Hidden rips,
We stand about, heads low,
Hog-tied hands on our hips,
In forced conversation,
Which keeps struggling back to the surface,
For air.

This car, we surround, is the last nail in the coffin,
The final purge,
My father's finally cleansed his house,
All visual representations,
Of her,
Are gone,
Or at least they will be,
When my sister drives off in it.

It will no longer be,
The marble that tips,
the see-saw,
Grief sits alone,
Weighing twenty stone,
But will not pick its ass off the floor.
Not if he can help it.

And just when it seems you are gone,
When we are pretending,
That the reason we are there,
Is actually this car,
And not your death,
Not his unfaceable grief,

An afterthought,
A by the way,
He leans in,
And flips the catch,
On the glove box,

And out tumbles,
Comically spring loaded,
Your fur trimmed hat,
Your scarf,
Your gloves,

We gasp,

And though the emotion,
Is stamped on, reclaimed,
Stuffed back, hurriedly,
Like a child clamps its hand on its mouth,
After the forbidden words have escaped,
It can not be anything but acknowledged,

And though it is not referred to,
And it it's heartbreaking to see my fathers face so nearly crack,

Like a fart in a lift,
An elephant in a room,
We all know,
That you've been there,
And though my family are reined,
And though the tears were restrained,
The smallest trace
 Of a smile on my face,
 Is not.

I love this fragile painful truth.
Like a daisy breaking the pavement.
You wont be denied.

Greenbelly

A Greenbelt for my greenbelly,
Allow it to ripen, cant eat no greenberry,
12 months to wait till I can get greensmelly,
Greensmelt and greenmerry,
I can use my greenbelt, to whip into them,
How I greenfelt, I was green, keen and greendealt,
The perfect hand,
At Greenbelt

Till then I'll just have tighten my,
Greenbelt.

Piggy Torch (An ode to Claires torch)

Piggy torch, O piggy torch,

There's no need to feel inferior,
Even though you couldn't light,
The smallest tent interior,


Piggy torch, O piggy torch,
You have such great responsibility,
To shed the light of truth,
Onto a dim point of utility,


Piggy torch, O piggy torch,
You're not to blame, what can I say?
Night is not your medium,
You work better in the day,


And besides, O pretty pink piggy torch,
You've much to deal with, caught in the middle,
Between such a daunting task,
And a woman who likes a fiddle,
A shameless piggy fiddle.

Ministry

Your ministry is not chemistry,
Nor alchemy or sorcery,
It is not fakery nor forgery,
Not trickery nor mimicry,

It's not intelligence,
Nor is it your 50 cents,
Not your pound of flesh,
Not indulgence for your interests.

Not a means of gaining praise,
Not a passing phase, to fill some days,
It is not for you to fill your pockets as you tread the grain,
I'ts not for you, I will say it again,

It is not,
For you.

Your ministry,
Is service.
All the rest,
Is worthless.

My Catalan Angels

My Catalan Angels are broken,
As is my love with the only one,
Who would get this love token,
Referred to, as the golden paint's gone,
The words of the song are not sung,
Nor spoken.
Honeymoon Souvenirs
From when my love had just awoken,
Plaster of Paris from the plastered in Barca,

They hung on walls of our habitations,
In the first flat, as concession, the pride of place,
Over the years, they were relegated from walls to corners,
And then finally drowned in the other ornamentation on the book case,

When I left,
I half expected you to fight me for them,
But I had not read enough into their slow decline from favour,
Had not realised that I had projected our shared love,
Onto the Cherubs,
Their child like naivety and joyous expressions,
Like my own simple trusting nature,
Were just begging to be slapped.

When I asked If you minded if I took them,
I don't even think they merited a shrug,

And now their decapitated, crumbled remains,
Legs gone, Wings clipped,
Plaster exposed and gold paint chipped,
Hang like a grotesque trophy on my walls,
Of a love that's fallen asleep,
And will never cease from counting sheep,
And I am still attached,
To a choice of purchase,
I convinced myself we had both made.

simple faith

I want to be clever,
To work this out,
To arrive at the answer,
To irradicate doubt,

I want to get it right,
To tick all the boxes,
But my tick wont fit,
And that's what the shock is.

The 't' wont be crossed,
The 'i' wont stay dotted,
The ink like blood has spilt,
My mental page is blotted.

I cant unsee what,
I've seen from a boy,
I cant ignore the feelings,
I chose to employ,

The twin hounds of faith,
And doubt, have grabbed one leg each,
They're tearing my trousers,
With razor sharp teeth,

And as they pull,
And fight for my jeans,
It seems what's neglected,
Is the Man underneath.
And I come to realise,
That it's not faith but beliefs,
That I can shed these trousers,
And walk off in my briefs,

Hand in hand with my saviour.


This simple act of faith,
Is a complex act of trust,
A resigning of self,
But an all-essential must.

Judah

Look at me,

Walking along,

With a king size Poop a scoop,

And a Lion on a lead.

 

I think I have him under control,

I've been training him for many years,

Rewarding him with bits of meat,

And tickling his ears.

 

He even does the odd trick for me,

(though he wont perform for strangers),

They think us a little bit insane,

And, if I'm honest, rather dangerous,

 

So I put bunches in his mane,

And pink ribbons on his tail,

To make him more acceptable,

(And to keep me out of jail!)

 

I some times want to introduce him,

To the people that I meet,

But for some unfathomable reason,

They just run off down the street.

 

Sometimes when I have new company,

I keep him in the room next door,

And make up my excuses,

If they hear him roar,

 

I love my Lion very much,

But I have my pride,

What would the new neighbours think,

On seeing I've a lion inside.

 

On the odd occasion,

When we're out and about,

I wonder if the lead I've got him on,

Is really all that stout,

 

But I am pretty sure,

That it's me that's in control,

Of this Lion called Judah,

On our gentle stroll.

Justified

I concede,

We all need,

To feel we are Justified,
It's just, I lied

I'm just the same,
Just as bad,
Just as lame,

But just as glad I came,

Leaping out from,

Just beyond the frame
Just as if,
I made this game,
I just wanted you,
To know my name,

So I'm Justified,

And not to blame.

Tree-hugger

The solution sprang from the soil,
The soul of the soil,
The life of the earth,
At first trees muddy birth,
As sinews snaked from seed,
And belly crawled towards the light,
For more of the warmth that hugged the brown earth,
That stirred it so,
That raised its sap,
To start with.

The light welcomed its emergence with enthusiasm,
Caressed its budding leaves with its soft yellow rays,
The tree had knowledge,
The tree knew the garden,
For the first time,
Before the gardener began,
And it was good.
Before man,

It was abuse of the tree,
The wrongful use,
Of right, ripe fruit,
That gave way,
To the gateway,
For great decay,
The garden gives up its guardians,
As rotten to the core,
The trees sway a farewell,
As they gaze on the heel of Adam,
As it disappears on the horizon.

And the solution came from the soil
The healing was in the tree,
The tree cleansed the very air,
That gave wind to man's lies,
The tree lent its support,
To the wait of the saviour,
Bore him,
For just a little longer,
As Christ clung,
The Tree's embrace lifted him,
Crimson and Glorified,
Like a mid-wife's hand presents the baby,
To the waiting world.

The solution sprung from the soil,
As the sap, sent down, revived it,
The sap of the righteous tree,
Whose oaky sap was shed for me,

That all men shall be saved,
When they embrace the tree.

 

 

One last flourish

A final year like Keats',
Poem-strewn floor,
Like flowers at my feet,
As the wedding arrives,
After 52 weeks,
And lasts but a day in the sun,
And for a few more years the marriage continues to run,
Or limp on,
A blossoming climax in the  summer sun,

After a life time of being buried,
The seeds journey is done,
The cycle complete,
The circle's become,
Full,
And fat,
And rotund,
And now that it's gone
Now I've drained the fund,
The suffering is worth what has become,
A life spent in dirt,
For my moment of Sun,

To stretch out the petals and unfurl,
To silence the voices,
To show the girl,
What she's lost,

For a moment like that,
It's worth all the cost,

One aggressive, defiant last charge at life's gate,
One lightbrigade shout,
One Samson style take,
The pillars out that support their mistake,
To think that they've got you down,

Burn out and shine in the heat,
Or slowly drown.

For one last year like Keats,
Poem-strewn life,
Like flowers at my feet.

Home

A home,
A nest,
A place near you altar,
A lasting rest,

I lay this sleeping-bag-body down,
I lay my home,
Where ever your heart is,

It's were the start was,
It's where the end is,
That's my home.

It has a door,
That's open to strangers.
Closed to the dangers,
A welcome, cosy fortress,
My mattress,
Is in you.

When I sleep.
When I wake.
I am with you.

When I sleep.
If I make,
My bed on the far side of the sea,
When I wake.
You're with me.

My home,
My home,
My home.

seeds

Within the shell of the girl,
The seed of her,
Within its translucent crust,
The small and hardened husk,
The seed thought,
The essence,
The key,
To all she will ever be,

The flowers and thorns,
There combine,
Encoded in genetics,
Hidden from time,

But their advance is unflinchingly assured,
This seed could push up though obscured,
Through all concrete,
High heels on high street,
Though you once danced to another beat.

All that you are now,
Was there then,
All I was then,
Is gone.
An empty shell,
By the feet of the boy,
But you once bought me,
So much Joy,
And pain.
Now you're out of your shell,
I'm vulnerable,
And you are tougher,
Tough as hell.

Meandering prayer

May the path, from which I stray,
Be narrow,
But may my route,
My openness of heart
And my capacity for love,
Be broad,

May my meanderings,
Always take me to preordained places,
Sights I needed to take in,
Travellers who change my outlook,
May my map book be all the sweeter to me,
For all my wonderings,

May my returns to the way,
Be frequent,
And joyful
And may my destination,
Never change,
In all my roaming,
And dreams.
Back to the heart.

Pearls

They said, Get over it!
Not knowing you are the piece of grit,
That has formed a thousand poem pearls,
Whoever I've loved,
All the girls,

That irritation was the one,
That would last me a lifetime long,
The sorrow that you're gone,
How many times can you give a pure heart?
It turns out,
For me,
Just the one.

All that's come since has been stained,
Stained by mistrust and remembered pain.
Just once could I love like that,
I loved you. You loved me.
I held nothing back.

I believed you were the one,
I believed I'd found shelter from the storm,
When I came across your door,
I didnt realise it lead to the cellar,
(I was such a naive fella)
Where I'd spend the next twenty years,
Writing poetry pearls from the source of the tears.

I'd take all those pearls now,
And happily cast them at the feet of the sow,
Or the feet of the swine,
That took you from me,
Back when you Were mine,

I'm still doing time in that cellar,
Trying to find a way to tell her,
Through poems she never will read,
Through pearls strewn round her imaginary feet,

I'm lost to the cause, yeah, I know.
Stuck in a moment, like emotional snow,
I can't even lift one of my shoes,
To take even the first step away,
From this memory of you.

You loved another man too,
How did that work out for you?
Do you write poems....?
Look out the window,
It's never stopped snowin'

I got lost in the asking

I stopped along the way,
To ask a stranger grey,
For directions to the day,
When I could finally say,
Who I am.

And I got lost in the asking.

The roads on which I ran,
Were carved out by another man,
The detour another distraction,
From the milestones of the land,
Guided by a controlling hand,
Losing time like falling sand,
The rock on which I stand,
Was crumbling all along.

And I got lost in the asking.

They told me it was a sin,
To search for truth within,
They told me to be like them,
And so my soul went in,
To the production line,
Of Church
And state.

And I got lost in the asking.

There is a hill,
Where saviours still,
Welcome thieves with dying will,
No conditions to fulfil,
Outstretched arms appeal,
Come in, Come in,
Just as you are,
However you feel,
Just as you will.

Oh Father,
I got lost in the asking.

As I am, with but one plea,
That thy blood was shed for me.
I just thank you father,
For making me,
Me.

Notification

Looking all day for the little red box,
Scanning my phone to find out what's what,
A reply, a like, a post from a "close friend",
My mind on my facebook,
When does it end?
Notify me,
I have to see.

Real life events on a real timeline are passing me by,
My wife up and left me, I never asked why,
I commented on her relationship status,
"It's complicated" actually means she hates us.
Notify me,
I can hardly see.

All day long the ancient of days,
Holds out his hands, shows us his face,
But the notification doesn't come on my phone
So sadly I miss the alert when it's shown,
God, notify me.
I need to see.

The vibration setting of a tuned in spirit,
The alert of nature can cause you to hear it,
The love of real friends can give you a taste,
Of the eternal love in the book of the face, of the king,
Incoming,
"He loves you,
You're wanted",
Ping.

Notification, every minute, every day,
Father cares is what The Son says.
This is the notification,
Of your salvation.
O Lord,
Notify me,
I want to see.

My Soul: Listed on eBay

For a three way,
and a cheap stay,
I sold my soul,
On eBay,

He pays,
When she says,
It's a neat phrase,
"I sold my soul,
On eBay",

The free phase,
Was a freak craze,
A weak gaze,
At chic ways,
"He sold his soul,
On eBay"

The key lays,
Beneath ways,
Of THE maze,
Where he prays,
For free grace,
To repay,
The price of his soul on eBay,

A knee graze.
Stung in sea spray,
We pay,
For our cheap stay,
We flee away,
From our D Day,
The free play,
In the freeway,

While the sheep lay,
In the deep hay,
They sleep-pray,
Not weep, fey,
The fee's waved,
Like he says,
A second chance offer,
My Soul redeemed,
On eBay.

November snowflakes on a February Morning

It's late in the morning,
And late in the day,
The snowflakes fall,
In silence they play,

They dance now before me,
In the midst of my life,
Then lie there amelting,
In the eve of this strife,

This son or this daughter,
Their journey to earth,
The recycle of water,
On the way to rebirth,

In not-quite blizzard before me,
The ground unchanged,
Save a little damper in absence,
Nothing's remained,

How perfect and short,
This white snowfall is,
The end in the middle,
The never-was kiss.

I turn to the side now,
And look in the book,
The half-thumbed pages,
Of an ageless hook,
The hook of the highlife,
The hook of the hook,
Now hidden in lowlights,
With the peace that it took,

For falling and melting and absorbing can be,
Draining like life on its return to the sea.

I sit here in cold and shiver a little,
At the full life that ended somewhere in the middle,

It was over before it began,
And the snowflakes danced,
And the children ran.

apathetic accounting

If the wages of sin are death,
And the godless are godless still
as they spend their dying breath,
Their earthly credit has expired,
Now they give their account,
draw on their damn pension, once retired,
Who are we saving from the fires?

Do we sit on our nest egg
Whilst they are forced to beg?

When weighing up the cost,
Of reaching out to the lost,
Do we charge it to you or I?

Lets split the indifference.

Clever little fish (The Wisdom of Goldfish)

We are Such very clever goldfish,
We know almost all the bowl,
From one glass side to the other,
Partial knowledge fills the whole.
We can even see out beyond the glass,
To blurred images of the gods,
That send down precious flakes from heaven,
That falls most every morning,
No matter what the odds,
We speculate about what we see and where they go,
When they go out the door,
The outer reaches of the universe,
Our top scientists are pretty sure.
We are such clever fish,
We've come to this conclusion,
That the first fish in the bowl arrived here from a piece of algae,
By the process of evolution.
We can rest assured now,
That we know most everything,
And if there's a flaw in our logic ,
Well, ignorance is king.

Poem for no-one

This is a nothing poem,
A nobody verse,
There's no-one known,
There's nothing worse,
No sigh more alone,
Than a corpse in a hearse,
Than an unanswered phone,
In the home of the cursed,
An echoing drone,
In search of reverse,

The poem of a dead man
The knowing of his dead-pan plan.
Like the sonar of a bat like man,
Feeling his way,
Through the echo of the ricochet.

HELLO, hello, hello,
Is there anybody out there?
Just scream,
If,
You,
Can,
Hear,
Me.

The poem of a dead poet
Who's  a dead man,
But,
Doesn't,
Yet,
Know it.

He is still brooding

I can still feel his presence now,
He is still brooding over me
Like the dissolving foot impression on the wet sand,
Waits for the kiss of the Sea,
To be absorbed by the touch of the Sea,

Long I looked for him,

On horizons far away,
As the ships came and went and disappeared from view,
I stared from the shore, unsure if I should stay,
but I stayed for another day,


I saw gulls following trawlers, all signs of life,
Heard winds and rumours of squall,
Heard children cry and mariners tales,
But nothing of the all in all,
Not a note from the one who calls,


I bought binoculars and telescopes,
Sat navs and scoured images of google earth,
But the images were as dead, as dead as My mother,
As dead as my source of birth,
As dead as my sense of worth,

Where have you gone? I shout to the sky,
Where are you? I challenge the waves,
Where is the touch that I first felt,
When I reached out to the one that saves,
The one who hoodwinked the grave.

Why did you go?

 I deserve to know,

I've waiting here so long,
Seen all life and all seasons pass,
Where did I go wrong?
Perhaps your love wasn't so strong?

And then a paradigm shift

caused me to lift,

the binoculars from my eyes,

my ear tuned in to the wind,

“Just once more before you die,
trust me again,
trust is the train,
Without it your just stood at the station...
Trust me for the duration...”


I looked down at last , not up or long,
And saw where I'd been standing,
Where the land meets the seas,
I'd been in up to my knees,
Ugly and demanding,
In lack of understanding....

twice a day the sea came to me,

unsung and unnoticed
all the day he came to me,
because he never left me
I’ve been standing by the waters

the tide has turned,

the boat has sailed,
The train is pulling away,
If I run now,
I can jump the bow,
make the train,
If I just pray,

Do with me what you will