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Southampton, Hampshire.
I'm a 51 year old nurse, with a passion for poetry. I try to write at least once daily, but often write more. I have …
In the minds of believers
I'm here for the verbs
17/M/United Kingdom
I have measured out my life in coffee spoons…
Poems
Phil Lindsey
Apr 2015
The new built church was filling up
For its very first Christmas Eve.
It was finished in October
On a piece of vacant land, and
Reverend James had joined the greeters,
At its entrance shaking hands.
From seeming out of nowhere
A stranger just appeared
He was hunched a bit, and limping
With a longer gray-white beard.
His suit was black and dusty,
Like it hadn’t been used in years,
And his eyes were red and misty
Like he’d been shedding countless tears.
The Reverend grabbed his hand and said,
“Welcome! Welcome, come right in!!
You’re a stranger to these parts I guess,
But we’re mighty glad you came.
And if it’s all the same to you,
We’d like to know your name.”
“Name’s Everett. Everett Kent,” he said.
“Been alookin’ for this church.
Knowed some day you’d build it here.
Now I can end my search.”
The stranger loosed the Reverend’s grip,
Limped in and settled down,
At the far left end of the far back pew;
Where no one was around.
He sat through prayers and sermon,
Through a couple hymns as well
And when they got to ‘Silent Night’
He appeared to know it well.
Silently, he closed his eyes,
The words were his release
“Round yon ******, Mother and Child,”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”
As the song went to the second verse,
The bearded stranger, dressed in black
Vanished into silent night,
Not once looking back.
The next day - Christmas Morning,
The ushers found a curious thing
A parchment in the offering plate
******* with a string.
When they untied the string they found
Much to their surprise,
A stack of Hundred Dollar bills
Of a slightly larger size.
They were from a different era,
Was this some kind of a joke?
A heartless cruel trick to play
At the expense of righteous folk.
On the inside of the parchment
In an antique writing style
Was a poem, (or a riddle?)
Now they couldn’t help but smile.
“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”
The Reverend and the Deacons counted 15 Grand
The Reverend and the Deacons, together made a plan
Early the next morning of the very next business day,
They found a numismatist
To see what he would say.
He said,
“As currency it’s worthless
But a collector will pay well
These notes are rare and valuable
As far as I can tell.
You’ll get thirty / forty times the face
Look at the condition that they’re in!!
Where the Hell did they come from?”
And, where the Hell have they been?”
Reverend James contradicted
Remembering Everett Kent,
“Sir, it wasn’t Hell they’ve come from.
These notes were Heaven sent.
A stranger came on Christmas Eve
And left them on the pew.
All we did was count them,
And bring them straight to you.”
On the way home, Reverend James perplexed
Reviewed the strange events
Prayed that God would grant him wisdom
So he’d know what to do next
Surely the stranger didn’t know
The value of the notes
He mentioned only Fifteen Thousand
In the poem that he wrote.
A lawyer was a member
Of the Richland Christian Church
So Reverend James implored him
To do a legal search
He vowed to find the stranger Kent
To make known the real worth,
And inform him of the value
Of the bills he left at church.
Three days later, four o’clock
The Reverend heard a frantic knock
“I’ve found something that’ll interest you,
From 23 December, Eighteen Seven Two.
Richland Herald, December 31, 1872
The First National Bank of Richland was robbed last week, on December 23rd, by a man who, holding the tellers at bay with a pistol, demanded that they surrender all the money in the vault, without protest so that none would be harmed. The thief escaped on horseback, though the Sheriff’s department was duly informed, and the Sheriff and two newly appointed deputies immediately gave chase.
On or about 4 pm the following day, a man matching the thief’s description was said to have been seen at the stage stop, run by Everett Kent, and his wife Mary, two fine people known about these parts for their hospitality and generosity. As a testament to this fact, an itinerant preacher (known only as Reverend Jim) had been staying at the house for some time and conducting meetings at the stop whenever possible. It should be mentioned as well that the Kent’s have a young son David, who, taking a liking to the eloquent Reverend Jim, had decided to also preach the Gospel and had taken the his first steps in that Almighty Direction.
As the posse surrounded the house, the thief, perhaps knowing that he could not escape, endeavored to bargain his way out of the situation by taking hostages and thereby securing his own safety. Everett Kent, pleading for some shred of decency from the villain, asked that his wife and child and Reverend Jim be released, and that he, alone would serve in that capacity. The thief relented (maybe the only time in his villainous life that he concluded a decent act.) Mary and David ran from the building and were quickly placed out of harm’s way by the sheriff and his men.
What happened next will never be known to any but those in the building and the Lord God Himself. What is known, is that yelling and commotion came from the house, and three shots were fired. Perhaps upon being released, instead of removing himself to safety, Reverend Jim, attacked the villain and a scuffle ensued. In the process, a kerosene lamp was broken, and the building caught fire. Although Mary implored the sheriff to rescue her husband who had been tied to a chair, the Sheriff exercising judgment, if not valor, determined that it was already too late.
The thief (identity forever unknown), the valiant Reverend Jim and the pious and unfortunate Everett Kent all perished in the fire. When the house had burned to the ground and the bodies could be examined, it was determined that the thief was shot through the heart and Reverend Jim also had received a mortal wound. Everett Kent, though tied to a chair, had somehow procured a bullet wound to his right leg.
The spoils of the robbery, according to the First National Bank, $15,000 in uncirculated $100 bank notes, were never found, and presumed burned to ashes in the fire.
Reverend James felt faint
His knees and legs were weak
He sat down at his desk, and
Heard the lawyer speak.
Reverend James, there’s something more
That you have a right to know.
The stage stop never was rebuilt.
The widow moved away
And raised her son in another town
Very far away.
The son became a preacher
And later changed his name
In honor of the Reverend Jim,
Called himself David James.
You are David’s GG Grandson
You descend from Everett too.
The land where you just built the church?
Left so long ago to you?
Was once the home of Everett Kent
I found that in my search.
The widow left it to her son
And he thus passed it down.
And now you’ve built your brand new church
On that very ground.
You’ll never find the stranger
The notes are yours to spend
And the Christmas Eve Tale of Everett Kent
Has finally reached its end.
“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”
Reverend David James III, recounted to Philip W. Lindsey on 4/13/2015
For its very first Christmas Eve.
It was finished in October
On a piece of vacant land, and
Reverend James had joined the greeters,
At its entrance shaking hands.
From seeming out of nowhere
A stranger just appeared
He was hunched a bit, and limping
With a longer gray-white beard.
His suit was black and dusty,
Like it hadn’t been used in years,
And his eyes were red and misty
Like he’d been shedding countless tears.
The Reverend grabbed his hand and said,
“Welcome! Welcome, come right in!!
You’re a stranger to these parts I guess,
But we’re mighty glad you came.
And if it’s all the same to you,
We’d like to know your name.”
“Name’s Everett. Everett Kent,” he said.
“Been alookin’ for this church.
Knowed some day you’d build it here.
Now I can end my search.”
The stranger loosed the Reverend’s grip,
Limped in and settled down,
At the far left end of the far back pew;
Where no one was around.
He sat through prayers and sermon,
Through a couple hymns as well
And when they got to ‘Silent Night’
He appeared to know it well.
Silently, he closed his eyes,
The words were his release
“Round yon ******, Mother and Child,”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”
As the song went to the second verse,
The bearded stranger, dressed in black
Vanished into silent night,
Not once looking back.
The next day - Christmas Morning,
The ushers found a curious thing
A parchment in the offering plate
******* with a string.
When they untied the string they found
Much to their surprise,
A stack of Hundred Dollar bills
Of a slightly larger size.
They were from a different era,
Was this some kind of a joke?
A heartless cruel trick to play
At the expense of righteous folk.
On the inside of the parchment
In an antique writing style
Was a poem, (or a riddle?)
Now they couldn’t help but smile.
“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”
The Reverend and the Deacons counted 15 Grand
The Reverend and the Deacons, together made a plan
Early the next morning of the very next business day,
They found a numismatist
To see what he would say.
He said,
“As currency it’s worthless
But a collector will pay well
These notes are rare and valuable
As far as I can tell.
You’ll get thirty / forty times the face
Look at the condition that they’re in!!
Where the Hell did they come from?”
And, where the Hell have they been?”
Reverend James contradicted
Remembering Everett Kent,
“Sir, it wasn’t Hell they’ve come from.
These notes were Heaven sent.
A stranger came on Christmas Eve
And left them on the pew.
All we did was count them,
And bring them straight to you.”
On the way home, Reverend James perplexed
Reviewed the strange events
Prayed that God would grant him wisdom
So he’d know what to do next
Surely the stranger didn’t know
The value of the notes
He mentioned only Fifteen Thousand
In the poem that he wrote.
A lawyer was a member
Of the Richland Christian Church
So Reverend James implored him
To do a legal search
He vowed to find the stranger Kent
To make known the real worth,
And inform him of the value
Of the bills he left at church.
Three days later, four o’clock
The Reverend heard a frantic knock
“I’ve found something that’ll interest you,
From 23 December, Eighteen Seven Two.
Richland Herald, December 31, 1872
The First National Bank of Richland was robbed last week, on December 23rd, by a man who, holding the tellers at bay with a pistol, demanded that they surrender all the money in the vault, without protest so that none would be harmed. The thief escaped on horseback, though the Sheriff’s department was duly informed, and the Sheriff and two newly appointed deputies immediately gave chase.
On or about 4 pm the following day, a man matching the thief’s description was said to have been seen at the stage stop, run by Everett Kent, and his wife Mary, two fine people known about these parts for their hospitality and generosity. As a testament to this fact, an itinerant preacher (known only as Reverend Jim) had been staying at the house for some time and conducting meetings at the stop whenever possible. It should be mentioned as well that the Kent’s have a young son David, who, taking a liking to the eloquent Reverend Jim, had decided to also preach the Gospel and had taken the his first steps in that Almighty Direction.
As the posse surrounded the house, the thief, perhaps knowing that he could not escape, endeavored to bargain his way out of the situation by taking hostages and thereby securing his own safety. Everett Kent, pleading for some shred of decency from the villain, asked that his wife and child and Reverend Jim be released, and that he, alone would serve in that capacity. The thief relented (maybe the only time in his villainous life that he concluded a decent act.) Mary and David ran from the building and were quickly placed out of harm’s way by the sheriff and his men.
What happened next will never be known to any but those in the building and the Lord God Himself. What is known, is that yelling and commotion came from the house, and three shots were fired. Perhaps upon being released, instead of removing himself to safety, Reverend Jim, attacked the villain and a scuffle ensued. In the process, a kerosene lamp was broken, and the building caught fire. Although Mary implored the sheriff to rescue her husband who had been tied to a chair, the Sheriff exercising judgment, if not valor, determined that it was already too late.
The thief (identity forever unknown), the valiant Reverend Jim and the pious and unfortunate Everett Kent all perished in the fire. When the house had burned to the ground and the bodies could be examined, it was determined that the thief was shot through the heart and Reverend Jim also had received a mortal wound. Everett Kent, though tied to a chair, had somehow procured a bullet wound to his right leg.
The spoils of the robbery, according to the First National Bank, $15,000 in uncirculated $100 bank notes, were never found, and presumed burned to ashes in the fire.
Reverend James felt faint
His knees and legs were weak
He sat down at his desk, and
Heard the lawyer speak.
Reverend James, there’s something more
That you have a right to know.
The stage stop never was rebuilt.
The widow moved away
And raised her son in another town
Very far away.
The son became a preacher
And later changed his name
In honor of the Reverend Jim,
Called himself David James.
You are David’s GG Grandson
You descend from Everett too.
The land where you just built the church?
Left so long ago to you?
Was once the home of Everett Kent
I found that in my search.
The widow left it to her son
And he thus passed it down.
And now you’ve built your brand new church
On that very ground.
You’ll never find the stranger
The notes are yours to spend
And the Christmas Eve Tale of Everett Kent
Has finally reached its end.
“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”
Reverend David James III, recounted to Philip W. Lindsey on 4/13/2015
Olivia Kent Oct 2015
GORGON
Olivia Kent
Oct 2015
Venom be spat from the tongue that blinds.
Twixt the lovers.
Whose hearts, no longer entwined.
Words tied and tangled.
Twisted and lost.
Love becomes mangled.
Crumbled to dust.
No words dare be spoken.
The lovers that were.
Invoked the monster of Lady Medusa.
Screeching siren.
Lady's on fire.
Don't dare put her out.
Her eyes surely saved for you.
Muted sounds.
Exploding fear.
Hearing her dear.
Utters last squeak.
Unable to speak.
Bit his own tongue.
As she turns him to stone.
With eyes that don't see.
(c)LIVVI
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Comments
Olivia Kent
Write a comment...
..
Olivia Kent
9 hrs · Daily Mail Online ·
.
I rarely use Costa, I will be working back at Winchester hospital shortly.
I will use their canteen, the food is generally very nice x
Revealed: The squalor inside Costa coffee shops
A total of 23 Costas got two or less stars in their most recent inspections, including a hospital branch which had paninis at risk of contamination with bacteria which can cause paralysis and death.
dailymail.co.uk
..
Like Comment Share
مستر صلاح السعيطي likes this.
.
Comments
View 3 more comments
.
Olivia Kent
Olivia Kent Ward , starting Monday x
Like · Reply · 8 hrs
..
Philip McCarthy
Philip McCarthy Good luck with the job Olivia, But Im a bit of a coffee freak but will never use Costa it alwaysgives me bad guts ache afterwards.
Like · Reply · 7 hrs
..
Olivia Kent
Olivia Kent Thank you Philip **
Like · Reply · 6 hrs
..
Philip McCarthy
Philip McCarthy Hey I'm at the Cafe Reflections for the first time. It's good here x Photos to follow
Like · Reply · 23 mins
..
Olivia Kent
Write a comment...
..
.
See more recent stories
.
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.
10 Pending Items
.
Edit bioAdd a short bio
Studied The use of metaphoric images and a few dark words x at Poetry
.
Lives in Southampton
.
From Dorchester, Dorset
.
Followed by 41 people
.
Add featured photos
.
Friends
· 629
Waritsara Karlberg
Haydn Swan
Richard Papworth
Charlie Giardino
Manoj John Rajadyn
Bradley ***
Elly Horne
Zack Fisher
David Dj-hammy Hamilton
.
Photos
· 209
"Super cool."
"My boy"
Jade Xuereb's photo.
"A big shout out to everyone at the Amy Winehouse Foundation gig last night! Did two sets, first just me and the second backing."
Gray Ian's photo.
Waritsara Karlberg's photo.
"Storm Journey * unbreaking stone the key that unlocks the sky, and something races lionlike from beyond he thunderclap and the forest thrashes and waves like the choir in a Pentecostal church "yes, Jesus! Thankya, Lawwwd!" yes, there will be water if God wills it, so 'tis said. i read something in the living strokes of skyfire, the dance of something both benevolent and dangerous, and i can taste it like wine on the breath of the onrushing storm. it tastes like life, pouring into my lungs so fiercely i feel like i might be consumed by an overabundance of vitality. i can see that vitality all around me, the fecundity of Summer, relentless in its upward-thrusting, blossoming, breaking from the loam, bursting from the chrysalis, defying the arid winterlock that held the ground mere months ago. i walk from miracle into miracle, from myth into myth, the Universe enlarging with each step, until i'm carried like an infant in the arms of a loving storm."
Angie Colvin's photo.
Sean Creed's photo.
.
..
..
Chat with friends
Laura J Kent
Ken Philo
Bettie Davis
Karen Wilmott
Twixt the lovers.
Whose hearts, no longer entwined.
Words tied and tangled.
Twisted and lost.
Love becomes mangled.
Crumbled to dust.
No words dare be spoken.
The lovers that were.
Invoked the monster of Lady Medusa.
Screeching siren.
Lady's on fire.
Don't dare put her out.
Her eyes surely saved for you.
Muted sounds.
Exploding fear.
Hearing her dear.
Utters last squeak.
Unable to speak.
Bit his own tongue.
As she turns him to stone.
With eyes that don't see.
(c)LIVVI
Like Comment Share
Comments
Olivia Kent
Write a comment...
..
Olivia Kent
9 hrs · Daily Mail Online ·
.
I rarely use Costa, I will be working back at Winchester hospital shortly.
I will use their canteen, the food is generally very nice x
Revealed: The squalor inside Costa coffee shops
A total of 23 Costas got two or less stars in their most recent inspections, including a hospital branch which had paninis at risk of contamination with bacteria which can cause paralysis and death.
dailymail.co.uk
..
Like Comment Share
مستر صلاح السعيطي likes this.
.
Comments
View 3 more comments
.
Olivia Kent
Olivia Kent Ward , starting Monday x
Like · Reply · 8 hrs
..
Philip McCarthy
Philip McCarthy Good luck with the job Olivia, But Im a bit of a coffee freak but will never use Costa it alwaysgives me bad guts ache afterwards.
Like · Reply · 7 hrs
..
Olivia Kent
Olivia Kent Thank you Philip **
Like · Reply · 6 hrs
..
Philip McCarthy
Philip McCarthy Hey I'm at the Cafe Reflections for the first time. It's good here x Photos to follow
Like · Reply · 23 mins
..
Olivia Kent
Write a comment...
..
.
See more recent stories
.
Where have you worked in the past?
.
10 Pending Items
.
Edit bioAdd a short bio
Studied The use of metaphoric images and a few dark words x at Poetry
.
Lives in Southampton
.
From Dorchester, Dorset
.
Followed by 41 people
.
Add featured photos
.
Friends
· 629
Waritsara Karlberg
Haydn Swan
Richard Papworth
Charlie Giardino
Manoj John Rajadyn
Bradley ***
Elly Horne
Zack Fisher
David Dj-hammy Hamilton
.
Photos
· 209
"Super cool."
"My boy"
Jade Xuereb's photo.
"A big shout out to everyone at the Amy Winehouse Foundation gig last night! Did two sets, first just me and the second backing."
Gray Ian's photo.
Waritsara Karlberg's photo.
"Storm Journey * unbreaking stone the key that unlocks the sky, and something races lionlike from beyond he thunderclap and the forest thrashes and waves like the choir in a Pentecostal church "yes, Jesus! Thankya, Lawwwd!" yes, there will be water if God wills it, so 'tis said. i read something in the living strokes of skyfire, the dance of something both benevolent and dangerous, and i can taste it like wine on the breath of the onrushing storm. it tastes like life, pouring into my lungs so fiercely i feel like i might be consumed by an overabundance of vitality. i can see that vitality all around me, the fecundity of Summer, relentless in its upward-thrusting, blossoming, breaking from the loam, bursting from the chrysalis, defying the arid winterlock that held the ground mere months ago. i walk from miracle into miracle, from myth into myth, the Universe enlarging with each step, until i'm carried like an infant in the arms of a loving storm."
Angie Colvin's photo.
Sean Creed's photo.
.
..
..
Chat with friends
Laura J Kent
Ken Philo
Bettie Davis
Karen Wilmott