His stillent, smally whispers ooze into my mindconscious like a dusk-sweet hotchoc,
like a mocha sunrise welcoming wide with embracements louder than fearage, not instructioning, but come in mending,
pushing enlightenmentations, praisements and incouragabilities that I inseep onto my naked black and bruises. 
I tremble-wrap his echo within my born-worn soul but he stainleaks through my weak cardio when I bumpbrush against heartbeatings as fraggi-brittle as mine also.
His hushed shade cools and breaths an enveloping:
"I understand."
And so I restilax in his softly stronging arms.

If we conceive of a presence
captured perfectly
within our trim theology,
we forget ourselves.

He's true to his word,
but too big for a book
that fits in our human hands.

When tested with power how do you fare?
Does dialogue fade by decree?
When given the chance, does your heart say, "share"?
Or prompt inadequacy?

Do you run to your fall, pride staining each step?
Or do you season your words with good grace?
Do you pray for each soul you're able to serve?
Or do you treat the whole thing as a race?

Will you grasp for the comfort that comes with position?
Or like Jesus see it your call
To forfeit self interest, preferring others,
So to serve them first above all?

God stood
On the edge of uncertainty,
On the brink of creativity, ready
To step off and risk his reputation
On a venture that would be his signature dish.
A world stuffed full of flavours,
A realm ripe with potential
For life, for growth,
...For relationships.
But like all relationships, not without risk.
And so, with a smile of anticipation,
He took a deep breath...
And the rest is history.

You see,
Though unseen, soon
The infection of heaven's rebellion
Snaked it's way in through the gate,
Made friends and prompted a short debate
So subtle that man was tempted to partake
Of an apple that caused trust to crumble
So humankind would from then on struggle
And toil to survive outside that paradise lost
Til Christ stepped up and paid the cost
Of the curse we deserve...

But as a foretaste
Of that greatest sacrifice
God was pleased to accept
Flame grilled substitutes,
Instituting a family repast
With crisp, pleasing aromas
Of juices that provisionally provided
Undeserved forgiveness
And tasted of promise
That the Lord will provide
For a new world
With his own lifeblood.

Samarian oil
Samarian wine
On open Judean wounds
Bound by a Samaritan's hands
Never felt so good,
A salve to the national shame
Burning through the traveler's head.

As I close down, switch off and give you time,

- I hear you.

As I reflect without assumptions, close my lips and focus on your voice,

- I hear your still, quiet authority over my life.

As I close my eyes to the tears,

- I see with greater clarity who you are and I call you:
Most High;
Sovereign Lord;
Eternal God.

As I acknowledge you and accept your provision, your protection, your prompting,

- I become less and you take your place at the top of my start up menu.

Dear Father - I am ready to meet with you.

This year,
although I know
that you're keen
to set up that nativity scene,
I'm advocating an alternative means,
a change in priorities
for your generosities.

I'm annointing a reversal,
suggesting you parcel
a hamper of staples
and so turn the tables
on advent doors
that ignore the poor. 

I'm asking that you choose
to proclaim the good news
beyond the pews,
to pursue a change of people's views
of what they thought they knew this meant.
Yes, let's reverse this advent
and make something heaven-sent.

(spot the Carol)

These three kings of orient are  
unfairly competing with one little drummer boy,  
all dashing through the snow for the last boughs of holly  
to lay them before the King.

Meanwhile three ships come sailing in  
and certain poor shepherds leave their hot chestnuts,
each keen to hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace.  

Later,
in Royal David’s city,  
there are ladies leaping, pipers piping
and drummers …
drumming,  apparently.  
The restless cattle are lowing big-time;  
no wonder the baby’s awake.

All have come to proclaim the Messiah’s birth;  
the king-of-angels  baby who out-shines any wondrous star.  
A child born of Mary, on this most holy of nights;  
born to give us second birth:  
This is the Saviour who is Christ the Lord,  
come to redeem us all.

‘Come – receive – your - king.’

Merry Christmas.

As brave as a poet who knows
That this is too important for prose,
Willing to reveal his inner becoming
And patient enough to show
Not tell what He's telling,
Nor too intent on bringing
The thought down to land,
Happy to leave it hovering
Leaving us to understand
That the truth is more often
Found in the hearing
And not available on demand.
So whoever has ears to hear,
Let them hear this Son of Man.

The new front ears
Are eager to hear
All that the Spirit proclaims,
Giving a scare
To the old deaf ears
Secure in their waxy domain.

The passage is cleared
Good news can be shared
The word of the Father is heard.
It clears the dull heads
Of all the misled
With a cry that can't be ignored.

Whoever has ears
Let them each hear
The words of the Son of Man.
They cut like a knife
But bring you new life
Come hear the man with the plan.

It's advent:
Angels invite you to
Adventures in worship in your
Annual observation in
Anticipation of the divine,
Awaiting, acclaiming the King.

The red coats are coming,
The red coats are coming
(but don't let them distract you).

Christmas can be a time
when families get together:
Young children scream, wine glasses gleam,
both ready for M&S dinner.

TV's in the corner
rerunning Home Alone,
Heart radio's in the kitchen,
Chris Rea's driving home,
again.

Toddlers find the wrapping
more engaging than the Duplo
Teen couples find the company
less of interest than their own.

The dog's confused and excited
with so many different sources
of scratches and pats, he can't relax,
his whining is remorseless.

Christmas can be a time
when families are missed,
the parcel made last post
winging off to little sis.

Zoom will come in handy
to laugh across the miles,
the screen will mask the tears
and focus on the smiles.

Gran will talk of Christmas past
when everyone was home
'Cept in Gulf War 1 when Uncle John
went away, ....

Christmas can be a time
when budgets get stretched tight,
cash pressures get to breaking point
and prompt senseless fights.

Some focus on opportunity
to spend some gilt-free money,
the only prayers are for extra hours
and a faster tesco trolley.

For others it's simply ' Yuletide'
an excessive celebration,
a winter feast, all you can eat,
give in to all temptation.

Most focus on the family,
even more on the gifts;
there's little time for Jesus
assigned amongst the myths.

Some do remember Jesus
from half forgotten carols,
they know there's something more
than donkeys and angel heralds.

For there He is in the middle,
noticed once in a while;
it's His birthday, but all He's getting
is a half-hearted song and a smile.

He's no longer a babe in a manger,
He's now a resurrected King,
waiting for those who would worship
to stand and welcome Him in.

Whatever your experience of Christmas
you can come just as you are,
His love is unconditional
He'll accept you warts and all.

So come on!
It’s a season to celebrate!
To dance, to sing and to shout!
Your Saviour invites you to join Him,
so when you sing this Christmas, make it count.

Behind the lacerated curtain
Assembled in triumph
We gorge on holy manna
Left by those who went before,
Behind the fire and the cloud.

We know one another
By the stone, pure and white,
More precious than any discarded crowns.
And we laugh loud with full mouths
At the names scribed by our Father,
While the angels just shake their heads and smile.