Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
(Hebrews 12.2 – expanded version)

"…looking to Jesus,
the founder and perfecter of our faith,
who for the joy that was set before him...

For the JOY of following his father's will
For the JOY of offering us salvation

For the JOY of putting an end to death
For the JOY of his promised resurrection

For the JOY of ascending to his Father
For the JOY of sending the Spirit of truth

For the JOY of commissioning disciple makers
For the JOY of preparing many rooms

For the JOY of planning his wedding feast
For the JOY of coming for his bride

For the JOY of gifting the water of life
For the JOY of drinking kingdom wine

For all these JOYS set before him,

…Jesus endured the cross,
despising the shame,
and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God."

where nothing will rob him of these JOYS.
A poem for Good Friday
We’re all called to be sheep
watching the staff
held by the shepherd
led by his laughs.

We’re all called to be sheep
some lambs, some rams
the flock flows together
bearing God’s brand.

We’re all called to be sheep
some to be shepherds
I’m a little of both
both serving and served.
Credit to Kevin, Stephan and the rest of the meet up at the Hub these past few weeks.
Our biscuits were in tupperware
Sealed tight but not tight enough
Digestives and custard creams
Slowly got stale and soft.

Our biscuits were in tupperware
Bought in bulk, a cheap job lot
Garibaldis and dry rich teas
Tea-dunked to hit the spot.

Our biscuits were in tupperware
Mum was a tupperware lady
Biscuits, cakes and crackers
Stored to last til pay day.
Happy childhood
Steve Page Mar 9
I see you there, looking for me.
I see you; do you see me?
I see you distrusting yourself.
I see you and all your doubt.

I see you much better than you do.
I see through the you in the rearview.
I see you there out in the desert.
I see you and your trembling heart.

I see true and love you still.
I see you and always will.
I love you more than anyone else.
I love you more than you love yourself.  

I see you.
I see through.
I see true.
I love you.
Genesis 16.13
Steve Page Mar 9
Pallet is just a trick of the light
Echo a deceit
All we have is reflected
- for all that
it's no less sweet
I heard a radio interview where someone referred to the colour of a birds plumes as a trick of the light.  I shouted at the radio at that point.
Steve Page Mar 8
Your warm armour enfolds me, equips me for loving battle.

Your warm sword stabs the cold, severs frostbite's grip.

Your warm shield shelters me,
shoulders the weight of attack.

Your warm tears flow artery deep, steel me for winter battle.

You're my warm core,
warm to my touch.

You're my warmth.
It started with warm armour.
Steve Page Mar 2
as he sat soft beside me.
“Sure,” I said, with ill feeling.
My instinct was not to cross my friend,
I had too few left.

I nodded to the Ape behind the bar and he obliged
with one lemon & ginger and one green tea.
He knows his regulars well
and we know we’d need to wait til later for anything stronger.

“Look,” he said, and I turned to see
a gap and I counted the two teeth that were missing -
no, not missing - he opened his hand
and there they were, both accounted for,
safe and secure in his grey leathery palm.

“Look,” he repeated, (a little slurred this time)
and turned his fist so I could see
the missing skin and the bruises
that gave testimony to his amateur status.  

His ****** grin and wet laughter
shook the silverback back into action
and we got a plate of malted milks.
Like I say, he knows his regulars well
and he’d listened when I told him
where he could get a regular supply,
direct from Staffordshire, in the UK.

“Lo-ok,” he said (more hesitant this time)
and lifted his shirt a little to reveal the knife wound,
replete with knife, buried to the hilt.

“Loo-,“ he started to say, as he slid off the bar stool
taking his tea with him, the porcelain shattering on the stone floor.

I winced – the cups had been a gift
to the Ape from my mother.
‘Why should the chimps get all the best crockery?’ she’d explained.

“I’ll pay for the breakage,” I said
and the Ape nodded his furrowed brow
as he swung round to grab the dustpan and mop.

I drank my tea,
counting off the friends that remained.
Inspired by the vibe in Dave Newman's collection, The Poem Pactory, published by White Gorilla Press.
Next page