Jesus

Dragon-slaying for beginners

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(Audio poem for St George’s day, 23rd April)

Red cross on white, it’s St George’s Day
What, that’s not yet been said, can I say?
Of several nations the proud patron saint
What kind of picture-poem will I here paint?
One thing for starters it seems made him brave:
Faith in the fella who rose from the grave
That surely helped him not faint from the shock
Of facing a Roman executioner’s block
Then there’s the legend: a dragon, breathing fire
Slaying that monster? That’s got to inspire
(It’s not every day a bloke gets out of bed
And takes on a beast, that by close of play’s dead)
Makes me think, little old me, here today
What kind of dragons, am I going to slay?
Above all the noise and furore and din
Of life in the world, I’m looking within
For dragons… That bad thing that haunts me with fear?
Can’t beat God’s presence for bringing peace near
Plagued by some monsters of cruel guilt and shame?
Promise of Jesus: you won’t be the same
Nothing’s as strong as his power to assuage
Demons of anger and envy and rage
When the fierce fire of those dragons is spent
You can rest, you’ll be blessed – at peace, and content

For BBC local radio.

Image by Dimitris Vetsikas from Pixabay

Putin & Paddington poem

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I wonder what makes you get right hopping mad
What stirs up a bee in your bonnet
What tempts you to use certain words that are bad
Not easily put in a sonnet.

Well I’ll tell you mine, though it’s hardly great fun
Not naturally conducive to laughter
So, if that bothers you, well wait till I’m done
And huff and harangue me, well, after.

I read Mr Putin is moved to compare
Himself to one Peter the Great
Inclines me to give him a Paddington stare
And kindly suggest, “Not you, mate”.

You may think you’re hard, Mr Poots, like ol’ Clint
Who looked good in shades and short stubble
But I think by now you need more than a hint:
It’s not cool sinking countries to rubble.

Not clever your delicate ego to stroke
To big up the ‘great Russian nation’
If that means another place goes up in smoke
And faces a dire decimation.

You might want to ponder one greater than you
Who didn’t with crime share a bed
Nor cook such a foul toxic odious stew
But gave up his own life instead.

Image by Andrew Martin from Pixabay

New year poem

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We’re now a whole fortnight into twenty twenty two, I’ve frankly no-idea how that happened, do you?
Wasn’t so long ago I had mince pies and cake, I’m up to my neck now in work, for pity’s sake
What about you? How are you feeling? Tip top, or just like a house whose paint’s peeling?
I really wouldn’t blame you, I’d quite understand, if you felt out of sorts, unmoored or unmanned
It’s tough that back then it was angels and ‘Hark!’, and now all you’ve got is some bills, and it’s dark
The blackest and bleakest time of the year, that’s a-design-fault and a half, t’would appear
It stretches ahead, a whole year spanking new, but that’s not so helpful, when your head feels like stew
So here’s a little thought that might shed some hope, at a time when some of us, well, struggle to cope
If it’s gloomy outside, then it strikes me as clever, to find light within, well never say never
To grab the year by the horns, and put on it your stamp, try seeking light for your own inner lamp
The brilliant thing is, it’s not just down to you, there’s someone who tells us he’ll help us out too
Did you ever hear that Jesus is called the ‘light of the world’? It’s a special thought I reckon, in fact it’s a pearl
If he can help me out here, light me up from inside, well you know what? I might just be up for the ride.

Advent poem

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In the deepening twilight, of a waning year
Hopeful yet mysterious, ‘Advent’ now appears
See the hurried shoppers, in the settling gloom
Of a dark December, tell me is there room
In our imaginations, at the very least
To see behind the bustle, a different kind of feast
Shops a little sparser now, usually overflowing
Still our souls are thirsting, yearning, little knowing
In the midst of credit cards, and debt, and money spent
Where the true source lies of peace and joy and deep content
December now grows pregnant, rising expectation
Dreams, desires and fragile hopes, permeate a nation
Yet behind the gaudy mess, a different hope prevails
A light that breaks upon the heart, a joy that never fails
Could it be, that birth long buried in the mists of time
Still retains its power to captivate your heart and mine?
What would happen if we paused, a moment stilled our thoughts
Might this child yet prove to be, the treasure that we sought?

Broadcast on BBC Radio Leeds, Guernsey & Sussex/Surrey, and Premier Christian Radio

Diwali & ‘Light of the World’

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Diwali, festival of lights, warm traditions, customs bright
Rangoli, pretty coloured rice, family joy and pungent spice
See the lamplight glowing there, firework whistle, crisp night air,
Tasty food in ‘thali’ dish, neighbour’s greeting, loving wish
Yet, can any lamp or spark, chase away an inner dark?
Secret things I wish to hide, what on them can turn the tide?
Is there lasting light to shine, in this troubled heart of mine?
I heard a rumour, precious pearl, one known as ‘Light of the World’
Now I seek this inner light, and long to see, with purer sight.

November gloom, autumnal air
Marks festivity bright and rare
Ambient scenes, exquisite sights
Diwali, festival of lights.

Flickering candle, lamplight glow
Cosy homely warm tableau
Tasty food in ‘thali’ dish
Family greeting, loving wish.

What could be more apt and right
Than such a reverie of light?
Still, is there yet richer art
A balm to soothe a troubled heart?

Every lamp and firework spark
Soon will be snuffed out, go dark
Show me light that will not cease
To this frayed cracked heart bring peace.

Blind, I seek some inner light
Fumbling, crave a greater sight
Jesus, teacher, ‘Light of the world’
Let light be in me unfurled.   

(produced with Christopher Singh)

Image by bhupendra Singh from Pixabay