Blip

These feelings
These thoughts

A Blip

This regret
Those oughts'

A Blip

This acceptance
That rejection

A Blip

This loss
This projection

A Blip

This separation
This Isolation

A Blip

This wilderness
This desolation

A Blip

This Pain
This undoing

A Blip

This brick wall
And the ensuing

A Blip

This Long dark night
This sorrows endurance

A Blip

This wait till the Joy of morning
This wait for reassurance

A Blip

These light and momentary troubles
These years on eternity's line of time

A Blip

A blip in time, in the light
Of the eternal weight of Glory's shine

A Blip.

Hold on.

Just a blip.

The power of deepening Memory

A bull Elephant,
I have heard it said,
Can be chained,
By a single peg,
The size and the depth,
Of the one that chained it,
as a calf.

The peg's roots,
Comparatively shallow,
Have deeper roots in the memory,
They mature with the calf,
Ever deepening,
Submerging within the skin of its brain,
Burrowing like a splinter,
Until it's spirit is infected.

Like the fabled 1st burn of the fire grate,
The child that is slapped,
Never relinquishes,
The first sting of it,
He wont easily return,
To the seared skin,
Of the primal burn,
And fear
Shall be his rod.

And once rejected
A child form within its peers
Shall retreat through all the years,
Recoiling like a hand from the flames,

And through the prisms
Of such mental prisons
All that is unseen
Is seen,

And the recording
I was just listening to
Now digital,
Now new,
No longer contains the jump,
But I still hear it,
And I always will,

And my mother still calls to me
Through a record scratch
That changed the words,
'So Cool'
Into 'Matthew'.

180814

The promise
Flows downstream,
The faithfulness
Trickles down the generations,

From Father
to Son,
It goes on,
The unfinished
Unbroken line
The faith that was his
Has also become mine
Your God
Is my God
Where you lie
I will lie,
I will go with you
And with you I will die.

Through years
From ancient days
The river flows
And winds its ways
And captures us
In rapturous praise.

The Faith that I had
Is now also yours,
And our God goes with you
Where ever the rivers course,

His faithfulness will never leave you
He wont die, like me
He is our Father in Heaven
And our home, eternally.

I'll meet you at the gates
Of that Mansion, by and by,
And we'll walk side by side
My sons, you and I.

And my Father
And his Father too,
And his Father before him
And the whole ramshackle crew,

Fathers and Sons, all brothers
All lost in Gods Great grace
True sons of the True father,
Caught up in love and praise

The faithfulness goes on
Unbroken in our line
Of broken bruised believers
From all corners of time,

A covenant of Love
The love that you were offering
A God to me, forever
And to my Offspring.

Hallelujah

Overflow

The overflow
Of a forgiven soul;

Forbids stagnation
Defies containment
Cascades love
Replenishes mercy
Refreshes wasteland
Quenches loneliness
Washes weariness
Lavishes hope.

Filled to the brim
And overflowing
Wave after wave
After wave.

Walls cannot keep us
Fear cannot gag us

In silence
Our hearts cannot stay.

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.