One lyrical, one a little more comical…
Lent & Valentine’s Day poems
Water to wine poems
Three versions, based on the famous ‘wedding in Cana’ Bible passage, John 2:1-11, drawing out wine’s symbolism of divine power & presence.
As miracles go, a good one Lord.
Water into wine. I bet they took a shine.
Not just any wine – the best. You rode a wave, and hit a crest.
Still you beckon, “taste and see”
Your liquid presence, wild and free.
An epiphany
Inspired by the Church of England’s reading for the 2nd Sunday of Epiphany, about Nathanael’s encounter with Jesus, in John 1:43-51.
Glint of grace
A hopeful poem for the new year
Orphaned spirit
A poem about the fascination of science, and its limits for satisfying our spirit – and where we might find help
Into the wardrobe
The resonance of Christmas, sparks annual reflection
It’s not just bling, a shiny thing, a plateful of confection
It used to be like that for me, quite flat and void before
Its meaning hid, just like a sturdy bolted wardrobe door
Took something unexpected, this sceptic mind to catch
To prompt me then to ditch the pride, step out and lift the latch
When I managed finally, my doubting thoughts to park
I took a step, quite gingerly, like Lucy, in the dark
At first I was still lost in qualms and questions, all a blur
No line of sight, like being hemmed in – on four sides – by fur
Bit by bit, some shards of Christmas truth began to glow
Like suddenly discovering, a world soft-cloaked in snow
A sudden thrill, like shepherds on a hill, a heavenly choir
A revelation, oh there’s something more, the heart on fire
A journey to be taken, far off, yet within sight
A promised treasure, like the gas-lamp’s glowing pool of light
Or like the shepherds’ race to Bethlehem, a baby found
A present quite unfathomed, casting radiance all around
Emmanuel, God with us, gift we could not guess or know
Like Mr Tumnus’ parcels tumbling headlong in the snow…
(presented last night at Reach Beyond UK’s Christmas celebration at Fountain’s Church, Bradford)
Advent poems
Marking the 60th anniversary of CS Lewis’s death, and the beginning of Advent in a troubled world
Through the wardrobe
As a child I wandered freely
Through the lamp-lit wood in awe
Meeting faun and white witch cruel
Stepping through the wardrobe door
As an adult, still the wolf, and satyr
Through my night dreams prowled
Homeless though in spirit
As the winds of desolation howled
Long the wardrobe door stayed shut
But lately it’s been left ajar
Hopeful maybe that some chink
Of light might reach me from afar
Could it be the frosty gas-lamp
Still retains its strange allure
Hints that I may catch a glimpse
Of Aslan on the move once more?
For the 60th anniversary of CS Lewis’s death today – hopefully resonating a little with modern spiritual restlessness.
A shadow in Gaza
Young and old alike cut down, while
Horror stalks the babe who sleeps
Innocence is bludgeoned, butchered
Blood-soaked earth recoils and weeps
A giant stirs, a fury kindled
Bomb-blasts split the night air hushed
Bolts of dragon fire rain down
And fragile lives ten-fold are crushed
A troubled history, ancient hatred
Roiling, raging sea of pain
Dark path with no lamp to light it
On our conscience all, a stain
Who can from this trauma save us
What may lift the ancient curse?
Who will hear the cries for justice
What assuage the fiery thirst?
“Love your enemies” he told us
Will I heed the siren call
Of the One who let the monstrous
Blows and brickbats, on him fall?
Image by hosny salah from Pixabay
Brambling for beginners
The topic and the substance, of this poetic amble
Is my not so long forgotten blitz of picking brambles
I can tell you, hand on heart, there’s ‘nowt makes me so merry
As the late consumption of a summer-picked blackberry
I donned a worn white T-shirt, and jeans I use for painting
A wide broad-brimmed sunhat that kept me cool and stopped me fainting
I live in BD3; my favourite spot to catch a berry
Is in the local park or in the nearby cemetery
I have become an expert, at spying out a clump
Of fine and prime blackberry specimens, so choice and plump
I’d spot that glint of shiny luscious fruit, the choicest patches
Then pick my way towards it, gingerly avoiding scratches
Sometimes this blackberry endeavour sorely tests my mettle
Frequently I faced my nemesis, the stinging nettle
Like Indiana Jones, through ragged undergrowth I’d hack
Venturing to snatch that prize blackberry – at the back
Where on earth to store all these fine berries, that’s the teaser
I can tell you, half the fridge is filled – and all the freezer
If there are some brambles left from all my dogged labour
I’m not short of one or two blackberry-loving neighbours
I’ve no skills to turn them into jam or into crumble
In the kitchen I’m a clod (I’ve said it, I’ve been rumbled)
Still, consuming blackberries, no need to be too choosy
Eat them with your yoghurt, ice cream, or some fruity muesli
There you have it, berry-picking, it’s my latest hobby
If I could, I’d instigate a fan club, yes I’d lobby
There is nothing suits me more in August and September
If there is a bramble-picking club – make me a member
A Bruce moment 