Frost that stretched your skin
made you gasp
And blew clouds through your hands

Fire that flushed your cheeks
made you sleep
Yet danced wild in the glass

Jazz that gathered words
Made you calm
And breath ever so gently outwards

Tumbleweed
Ted Old
John Merchant,
Joan Harling
Edith Smith
David Wilkinson,
Mike Waldron
Marie Ainsworth
Ruth Bell,
Lucy Ritchie

A list undignified by death
In an instant deflated, unwound
Vibrant yet now not a breath
Missing, lost, not found

I mourn every one of their names
And all that each one implied
Merely a lifetime ago
They came, they lived, they died.

The bluntness has ruined my mood
With the arrogant stealing of life
It demanded all my attention
Then cynically wielded the knife

I'm trying but their voices are fading
As my brain's recordings wear out
And the clarity of all their faces
Is blurred with the pallor of doubt

So all I have now are some photos
Flat caricatures of their lives
Each one replacing my memory
With a past that cannot be revived

Relentless my list will grow longer
Crushing for each name a line
And my heart will grow ever more heavy
Till the last name that's added,
is mine.

The man in the black trench coat
holds a sign
'The end of the world is near'
It isn't.
Its closer than that.
It sits on our shoulders
Mocking our futility
It's breath on our ears
Like a man playing cards
on the body of another.

The man in the camel-hair coat
Is a sign
'the kingdom of God is near'
It is
Come close he implores
And rest on his shoulder
Give up your futility
And hear if you've ears
For you can have life
On the body of another

I want to happen with you
To occupy space
And time
Hand in hand
Arm in arm and
For the bed to be warm 
Because there are two

I want to wear your possession
Like a title
An honour
Hand in hand
Arm in arm and
For the days recounting
To light our procession

I want to be your heart's mender
Of the cuts
Of words
Hand in hand
Arm in arm and
To point out the sunset
And cover black with splendour 

I want to choose you again
From the crowd
Of the world 
Hand in hand
Arm in arm and
To to turn the page
And keep writing your name

The tobacco smell of your coffee
Enveloped me into the house
But the lazy gate of the light pull
Was taunting my late awakening

I listened to where your shoes passed
As you wrestled them onto your feet
And the crumbed remains of your lunch
Scattered by milk-tipped spoons

A house not a home set before me
The detritus of morning routine
An uneasy truce had been called
Now activity distilled into peace

Could I hear your echoed instructions
That swept children out to the car?
Or was my mind still wrapped up for transit
Through a night that ended too fast?

Oh the faces of the bored
Frozen blankly sleep is fought
Staring vaguely at the front
But dreaming soporific thought

Twenty minutes 'til the coffee
A bourbon or a custard cream
That's if the kids don't grab them first
And so we all daydream

Mavis peers at her watch
She nudges Joan and glances
The twenty minutes now have past
And forty people sit in trances

But suddenly a head is raised
Is this the application?
That 30 second indicator
We all regain sensation.

To smile at the unlovely
To duet with undue harmony
To run when a walk would do

To lift the face of the broken
To put aside the important
To concentrate completely

To take interest in the dull
To laugh with the miserable
To see past the tough exterior

To crawl with those that crawl
To walk with the unrighteous
To sprint for those that cannot stop

To stop
To listen
To keep silent
To hold

To do all this
And not ask, or boast, or criticise

The carpet was tacky, in more ways than one
As I fed the machine to see if I'd won
I inserted my life in its ravenous slot
Thoughts, motivations, actions, the lot
I pulled the lever and to my surprise
Metallic applause announced a big prize

Under glittering lights I fumbled around
I felt for the riches I had heard abound
But my winnings were not a fortune in gold
Just three long nails. Hard. Rough. Cold
I shuddered and turned to walk away
But a voice behind me bid me to stay

An attendant, dressed fully in brilliant white
Appeared from nowhere and stood to my right
"Can I help" he asked gently as he saw into my eyes
I showed him the nails and exclaimed my surprise
"It happens to everyone" he quietly said
"This is always the prize for those who are dead."

My blood froze and I started to stammer
For as he reached out he was gripping a hammer
And over his shoulder, through the open door
I saw another man crouched and bruised on the floor
The man in white pulled him up to his feet
And I saw that his face was pale as a sheet

I knew then the purpose of my cold metal prize
As a dad killed his son for this lord of the flies
Eternal justice said the ****** was my place
But I was forgiven by astonishing grace.

So what of the dad and the son that was killed?
A spirit raised him in promise fulfilled
Oh the father, the son and the holy ghost planned it
To offer salvation from life's one armed bandit

Written in respose to 'The Garden' by John W. **** on hellopoetry.


Paradise is lost
Who can restore it's splendour?
Who is worthy?

In frantic despair he stared
A myriad faces stared back
No muscle flinched
No eyelid flickered
Like the silence before the scream
Eyes fought to make out
Even the tiniest of movements

Despite the massed numbers
Above, below and all around
The stillness was gigantic
And he knew then, the end of hope
The final appeal had been dismissed
And cold horror wrung out the air

Until the grainy finger of an old man
Pointed, resolutely to the right.
To a lion whose muscular frame
bore a victor's wreath of torn briars;
whose eyes spoke judgement and mercy.
'Ecce ****' declared the old man.

The reflection of me in your eyes
was of me laughing
But the mirror ran down your face,
I knew in an instant 
I was wrong as I was irrelevant
And you,
You were you
And that was enough.

What brilliant baize of summer grasses
Sprung from the ochre sun-bleached passes
Imperial blades brushing and heaving
Glistening clustered fresh bright weaving
Pungent message, each leaf speaking
'Somewhere below, your drains are leaking'

_________________­__


Inspired by a real patch of grass that was growing remarkably well in the middle of a drought because it was being fertilised by the leaking drains in the soil below!

So life carries on as it used to
Before the elephant came into the room
Triviality demands my attention
For the hours it desires to consume

The world shows not sign of implosion
the radio keeps blaring its sound
But though not a sentence is spoken
a sinister weight drags us down

At 8 I'm a father of two kids
At 10 I'm a leader of men
At 5 I'm the husband of one wife
All this, from inside my pen

The software of life has a glitch
Despite compartmentalisation
An elephant speaks without speaking
My deep deep need for salvation

I long for a life without cracks
Somewhere joy doesn't feel quite so wrong
I long for the walls to come down
So the whole can refind its song.

I cannot write for all is lost
The game is up, the end
And all familiarity is gone
My world is inside out

My colour memories bleached
Remembrance scoffs at me 
For yesterday is out of reach
Tomorrow lurks unknown.

_________________

­'Be to me a rock of refuge,
to which I may continually come;
you have given the command to save me,
for you are my rock and my fortress.'
Psalm 71:3

Sit stand drive spin
Hop walk run faster
Think big think small
Study ask learn master

Coffee

Scan read type fury
Print copy paste quicker
Think big think small
Open close save slicker

Lunch

Scribble scrabble pick it up
This that the other lurch
Think big think small
Dial ring number search

Coffee

Judge decide discern lightly
Next and next and next and
Think big think small
Time pours out the grains of sand

Home

I will not attribute honor

To easy principles and claims

That war is just a plaything

Of the murderous insane

For the Jews of Amsterdam

For the outcasts and the lame

The hard won liberation

For honor lays good claim


Let’s not attribute honour

Or repudiate the same

Without examination

Of the motives in the frame

Behind each complex battle

To bring calm or to inflame

Ten thousand tiny choices

One for honor, one for shame.

The space ship that I bought today
Is genuine ex-Milky Way
Titanium panels, gleaming white
Slighly warped by galactic flight
Ten zillion miles on the clock
But brand new dials and air lock
It'll see me good for a squillion more
So, lever down, I shut the door
And press some buttons blue then red
A mighty rumble frightens Ted
My copilot pressed into his seat
As jet fuel and ignition meet
I grip Ted's arm, the countdown starts
I'm glad I brought the ship's spare parts
Then all at once the radio cracks
I turn the volume up to max
What halts the progress of my ship?
"That cardboard box is for the tip.
Now come on out it's time for tea."
...Why does dad rule this galaxy?

How long the rumbling chord ebbs on
irregular in dull augment
of endless streaming green and brown
An audience to long ­hours spent

The soperific drone plays for  
a tired dance of ****­fting limbs
What contrast with the streaming track
That blurred m­etalic weaving score

Then all at once the score divides
The cond­uctor's signal brass  
The final movement slows and so
the blur t­akes form of brick and grass

The orchestra all rise as one
and b­ow below the luggage racks
A final clunk, the doors release,
the ­journey ends and life unpacks.

For you the world is counting down
through shards of vibrant memo­ries.
Thirty thousand days of chasing 
waiting, playing, working,­ sleeping

I wish I saw the youthful you,
with effervescent aspir­ation
And not this baggy rack of skin;
A worn motif of ending age­

Eternity, our moments pass,
more urgent than I recognise
A continuity mirage
conceals the pain to come

I do not know how far, how many,
how long the hours left to you;
How much I'll long to talk with you
When you were once, but I am still

I am the void left by hope.
I am the frantic scrabble,
the gasp f­or a mirage.
I am the empty box,
the joke with no punchline.
I am the end of the road.
 
I am the face you thoug­ht you knew,
the parcel for someone else.
the missing last page.
­I am the second, 
after the second,
that you knew it was over.   ­

I am the coup leader 
shot at dawn
I am redundancy
bankruptcy, ­lonely
I am the king
with blood on my arms
From the nails
 
I am ­the logo on the trainers 
on the heels 
of the one in front 
I am­ the vibrating molecules
Of the sound
Of the door closing
I am th­e dawning realisation
That you are not
as good as you thought you­ were.

I am disappointment.

I am the sun reflected
The gleam of­ polished brass
I am the lace of frost on leaves
I am the newborn­ laugh
The vibrant flowerbed
I am the happy child 
chasing the ra­inbow
of a bubble on the breeze

I am more than the sum
of the ga­ps between dreams
I am the strength
In the arms
That hold you
I a­m the other side
where mysteries are plain

I am the miracle 
the­ rank outsider,
the last to be picked,
who scored the winner,
I a­m fresh hope.
I am unwavering joy.
I am the rock.
 
I am.

And I ­choose you.

[an imagined monologue of an elderly lady]

It's taken me a while to think
To think what I wanted to ­say
Did you put the note out for the milkman?
I'm sorry. It's jus­t, I need to pay
You know how it is, the way 
some people just wa­nt me to go 
You know, you've got your own life, so
Don't feel yo­u have to stay
I think I'm just in the way
Perhaps it'd be better­ if I just...
Is that the milkman? I need to pay
Is it Thursday o­r Friday today?
Dear they all seem the same 
What was I saying? 
­Oh nevermind. Pass my my purse, dear
have I got the money for Ray­?
I think I'll just be going, now
There's no reason really to sta­y
That's it. Put it back on the tray, dear
So I was saying, what ­I wanted to say
Oh it's taken me a while to think
To think what I­ wanted to say
Do you think that God will accept me?
I still some­times kneel to pray
But then I cannot get up, dear
If my stick's ­left too far away
There's not enough money you say?
Oh, then how ­will I pay?
Oh, then how will I pay?
That's what I wanted to say
­

For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God 
is et­ernal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 6:23

You believe your truth 
and I'll believe mine
But don't you dare tell me how to live, 
I'm getting on just fine
So long as you don't hurt some­one 
and it's in your own time
Then you believe your truth 
and I­'ll believe mine.

You believe your truth 
and I'll believe mine.­
The cancer of the lie 
is malignant not benign
So how is it that­ clever people 
can be so asinine?
For the dictatorship of relati­vism 
has crossed it's only line

When I am gone and one, or two
Are huddled on a funeral pew
Then ­this one thing I ask of you
Don't lie about the man you knew

For­ by the bloating of my name
You'll nullify the one who came
Who b­ore the fullness of my blame
And died in such disgraceful shame

­Know that every sin which you recall
Those times I drove you up t­he wall
My secret sins made these look small
Their evil horror wo­uld appal

Yet every crime against my king
Was matched by grace a­stonishing
Every joy a gift releasing
Freedom from my sin convict­ing

For long before the world began 
My God had forged a stunnin­g plan
Despite the dirt of my life's span
The great God loved thi­s sinful man

So mourn or shrug as you feel right
But do not fret­ about your plight
My God will keep you in his sight
A glorious h­elp in darkest night

When I am gone and one or two
Are huddled o­n a funeral pew
Lift up your eyes and look anew
For Jesus Christ ­is calling you

Labour are red
Tories are blue
Both need the Liberals
Their votes were too few

We want, we all said
A hung parliament coup
Carelessly wished for
Now all coming true

There's economic dread
So what shall we do
We can't decide which we like
Yellow, red or blue 

Campaigning not bed
A decision to rue
More sleep is postponed
So Clegg they can woo

The rivals must wed
A coalition stew
Strong stable unity
Or chimps in a zoo?

Some policies now dead 
Others they'll pursue
The only thing certain
Is that cuts are in view

So raise up your head
And herald the new
And if someone's in charge
Please tell me who.

No-one tells me what to be
I'm master of my destiny
And when I wi­n the lottery
The adverts I watch on tv
The magazines I like to s­ee
Will all confirm it is life's key
To buy it all, and I'll ag­ree
And then I will be really free
And you can all look up to m­e
A fool heading for misery

Whenever all is said
and done,
So much more is said
than done.

Collected around the cafe  tables
The normal folk of many labels:
Emily is a district nurse
getting 10p from her purse;
Steve, a school inspector
is worrying about the public sector;
Javed, a curry house chef
is annoyed at last night's football ref;
Karen just made head of service
Truth be told she's pretty nervous;
Imogen's fork falls on the floor
Her teeth are  splintered from her jaw
Dust, the silent din
Flying hurtling lances
Punctured skin
Alarm light dances
Life caves in
Misfortune chances
Explosive sin
A coward glances

Emily was my district nurse.

How many were going to St Ives? 
Were the cats in sacks alive?
Who cares if every one arrived?
For the greatest riddle I derive
Is how on earth, do you surmise,
that poor man coped with seven wives?

Under 'military history'
I found a tome of irony
A text once penn­ed in heat of passion
Of hope and war and lover's ration
No embos­sed title, No woven spine
But still an epic, still so fine   
While men lay squ­alid in their trenches
Someone perched upon these benches
A happy­ author with pocket knife 
Whose words outlived his cut down life­
Two fleeted lovers in this place
Recorded war's old tragic face ­
And carved there by 'The First World War'
'John loves Mary 1944.­'

The digital glow of the clock in the hall
Announces a time that means nothing at all
On the doormat a spider crawls over the heap
of papers and letters a score or more deep
The air is cold but thick and damp
There's mould on top of the mug by the lamp
It no-longer matters that the carpet is worn 
The drip in the kitchen, the tangled lawn
Utility sideboard with spare this and that
Now spare for ever like the grey felt hat
It's the end of the world, in beige
No nuclear holocaust rage
No war, no famine. No drought, no flood
Nothing at all but a faint smell of blood
From the place where it happened alone in the dark
Now only an indent, a faded brown mark     
And the fifty-year bed is cold and still
On the plate on the table a blue and white pill
To help with the sleep, you understand
But the top of the hourglass has emptied of sand
So stand with me now and think of him still
Close your eyes and listen and hear what is gone
His world has ended. The invincible con
Just stopped. . . .
And the digital glow of clock in the hall
announces a time that means nothing at all.

The wooden cross, the cruel nails
The 'King of Kings' hangs tired and pale
They lift you up for all to see
I scoffed as you looked down at me

God turned away. He could not look
His own dear son hung, as a crook
Alone you bore my penalty
I sneered as you looked down at me

But he was raised, from death set free
He broke the chains reserved for me
And then you called through history
My spirit wept as you called me

I saw my sin that held you there
My selfish life that didn't care
You whispered quietly to me
So I will sing because I'm free

The darkness is gleaming with the polish of rain
Crinkled copies of streetlights on warm window pane
Men hide their faces and scuttle and dash
As black whooshing cars threaten to splash

The river's alive with a furious dance
From her bed she is writhing in watery trance
Then all is quiet for a moment, an hour
Nothing is moving save hammering shower

But sudden bolt brilliance fixed on my eyes
A momentary spotlight on house and high rise
When the storm heard me counting the seconds go by
He roared with a rage that tore open the sky

Yet in his fury he seemed tired of the game
He gave up the fight, quick as he came
I heard him retreating, a grumbling haze
And nothing was left but a clear, damp haze

No space to think
To sit in my tree
To stand and wonder
To laugh and be free

No time to decide
To stop and ponder
In 5 minutes time
I'll be 40 years older

I'm sitting on your bench and thinking
about the times that used to be
How we played in your glorious garden
from breakfast time 'till tea
Croquet games upon the lawn
Or pirates swinging in a tree
We sat and watched the goldfish
Or dressed in clothes you got for free
Now I've bought my own house
I'm married and age thirty three
And I'm sitting on your bench
And thinking 'bout when 'I' was 'we'

Lord I hang my head in shame
How silently you took the blame
How you cried with anguished voice
Rejected and in pain

And Lord I ask that my life's theme
May not be sinful and obscene
But rather as your Spirit leads
Be that of sinner washing clean

I look around at friends and peers
With trivia they dull their feers
And ask that they would know that love
That calls them still with passion dear

I am afraid, and weak, and poor
But I will look to you the more
For you O Lord are all I need
And where I go, you go before

Keep me Lord 'till we shall meet
'Till I can worship at your feet
You're all I am and have and need
Your salvation, sin's defeat

You gave your splendour
I watched TV
You gave your nobility
I fought for me
You gave your honour
I bought my pride
You gave your majesty
I lied

You gave your power
I failed to speak
You gave your glory
I called you a freak
You gave your dignity
I walked by
You gave your all
I gave nothing
Nothing at all.

Pink, that was the sky tonight
Pink and grey in the dying daylight
Wiped over the view from ear to ear
Makes them all naked but warm and clear
Those embroidered old men that watch the shores
Proud but lazy they gently bide their time
For soon will be night and false flattering glare
That hides their wrinkles from all who pass there
Will hold them for hours without critical eye
Still now for a moment they hold their breath
While day boasts its last
In triumphant pink

I know how God wants me to live
and in my mind, my all I give
But my intentions through the day
Are countered by a call to stray

Faced with sugar-coated sin
My feeble will it soon caves in
My concience dulled, I do not see
The man who hung upon a tree

I blindly walk into the flame
Until at last he calls my name
Arrested by the words he taught
I'm taken to the highest court

Before the judge my crimes are laid
But 'cross the top is written 'PAID'
The judge is looking straight at me
'Your debt is paid. You are now free.'

He offers clothes of perfect white
But I'm not sure I heard him right
'I can't be free. I've failed too much'
Subbon I ignore his touch

And insisting that my cause is lost
I leave to build myself a cross.

By the thoughts of other's deliberations
By relaxed smile in black torment
By my song in hearts set free to fly
By blind sacrifice in a land of pride
By patient consistence in the dry place
By your dance of joy I watched, and cried
By gritted teath of courage and hope
By every step on the path of truth
By justice and grace when others turned
By heart and will of truth and love
By secret honesty and quiet confession
By invisible watermark on a paper world
By a life spent getting up again
By my life I saw in you

Beckham's kick and Lampard's head
A whole hour we had lead

Now terraced grief sits swathed in red
England's win, swiftly dead

The mourners gather hearts of lead
Hopes of glory now are fled

No more the hallowed turf to tred
Englands players - early bed

First you said you loved me
Now you're not so sure
My happy jolly feelings
Just fell right through the floor

I was thinking plural
but we were 'we' no more
And everyone advises
And on and on they bore

I want to stop and tell them
My heart is really sore
Perhaps I'll sit for hours
Or scream and shout and roar

Perhaps I'll do a smelly poo
And pop it through your door
I think then I'll be over you
What was your name again?

Such exquisite anesthetic the 
notes that decree the seconds
Shal­l never more be known, 
their remembrence like a flickering,
gent­le soothing, yearning that 
matches pleasure for sorrow
in such p­atient terms that each 
moment stands, breathes and 
steps slowly­ without a glance
t'ward another time when
unknown tears and smil­es
shall crown more glimpses
of the relentless serenade

The singer sat in silence
The drummer ceased to drum
Keyboard fingers played no more
Musician faces glum
Tired bass player hangs his head
The vocalists are dumb
Art and Lutherie is dead
Only harmony now heard
Blind feedback in my head.

I told you my concerns
In urgent trembling
I said you should list­en
I said you should change
I pointed my finger
Pointed out your ­faults
I jabbed at your blankness
Your stubborn delusion
Your cal­lous refusals
Your anger, confusion
You took all my words
You bun­dled them up
You set them in stone
And you threw them
All, twisted around
My wisdom was lost
Within your wisdom
Because you did not ­listen 
To me not listening

Tell me about the grain that fell from the boards above;
And dust­ed my strewn desk with gritty powder.
Let me hear the voices of f­riends 'in this together';
Of their grist and grind on keyboard, ­mouse, mind.
I want to catch the spent emotion of decisions hard ­fought;
To see the happy simple days of summer labour short,
Plea­se, and feel the lost cheery smile of Ruth and Mike;
Preserved only by the resonance of giant timber beams.
I never thought about the end of useful uses lost;
But now­ your eyes and mouth are boarded, silent, shut;
Your industry suspended, 
we mostly carried on.

Gleam, bright breathless branches
Laced, white web of winter
Cold­, light, lifted landscape
Joyful sight, sings splendid
Metallic t­ight my toes tread
Heart, flight with freedom fly
Frozen plight, ­painted perfect
Snow snow snow

Regular as clockwork
the spotters gather there
binoculars and notebooks
as up the track they stare

assembled on the platform
with all the day to spare
they put the world to rights
and wait without a care

clad in finest anorak
tweed caps are in this year
their fleecy inners covering
heads once thick with hair

Every day I see them
sometimes just a pair
shuffling on the concrete
sometimes with a chair

Pensions less than peanuts
Blame young Tony Blair
But everything forgotten
at sight of one thats rare

Life is breathed to tired legs
nostrils start to flare
sweaty palms note hastily
with eager thank you prayer

And oh the day the Queen came
They stood in open air
and cheered to see that engine
sweep in with royal flare

I'll not be hear to watch you
From comfy office chair
From now on I'll be missing
But I know you'll still be there

It seems easy to walk away, like nothing had happened
To turn on the heel, to pick up where we left off
Forget, carry on, busy in the task of life
To be unmoved in the face of such stupendous grace.

No, the bundle upstairs demands more than this
Her tiny frame cries out demanding
That we burst with praise with all power and might
For the miracle of birth, the dawn of new life

So it seems to be over
The danger is past
The scans and the tests
Are normal at last

The skies royal blue
Where once overcast
Instant black fear
In a word gone so fast

We crash through the moment
Can it be real
Deflated anxiety
Is all that we feel

The waters are calm
The day again new
We don't understand
But God's mercy is true

another week
another doctor
It could be nothing
It could be everything
You could have a test
You could stop it now
But in grey ultrasound
We gazed at your face
A wriggled shift
To a comfier place
There's no going back
No not now
Your a child of us both
And we'll love you somehow

A head a brain
Two legs two arms
Feet and toes
Hands and fingers
Mouth eyes nose
Present and normal
Alive and real
But there is something
Fluid just here
Round the abdomen
I'm not too clear
A second opinion
A third
It's not right
We don't know why
We'll do tests
No need to worry
Yet


"You are fearfully and wonderfully made"
I feel the wonder
I feel the fear
"I knitted you together in your mother's womb"
I see the knitting
But has the pattern gone wrong?
Can I forgive if you are distorted?
Can this be changed?
Can it be halted?
Safe in God's hands
I know he is watching
And knitting and making
And not forsaking
So I must have faith
And learn to rely
And you will be his
If you live or you fly