When I am seen, I flinch within.
My self makes a choice
between fight or flight
and I'm no fighter
and flight is a risk
that I'm not in a fit state for taking
so I freeze in place,
hoping the sight of me
won't cause offence
or, worse still, curiosity
and, worse case, sympathy.

Just pass by me.
Nothing to see here.

I realised with momentary surprise
  that my mirror was stuck back
  in 1985
back when I knew I knew how to smile
  and believed in my peculiar sense of style
back when my lower back was furthest from my thoughts
  and I thought my hair was the peak of good looks.

My now flipped face frowned at the trick of time
and at my lesser hair’s climb
  down,
bringing myself back to my present face
  and to continue with my routine head shave.

The best poems avoid eye contact.

Just before you find their rhythm,
catch their direction,
they dance away,
and you watch their beauty,
leaving

you full of wanting
wishing
you knew the steps
hoping
you might keep up
wondering
where they led
leaving
you to tap your feet,
missing
every third or fourth beat,
kidding
yourself that you too
could be sliding, shuffling
and maybe grasping the sway,

but they dance away,
and you stay,
while your eyes follow.

I never chose my chromosomes
I never chose my genes
I never chose my race
I never chose my skin

I never chose my name
nor any of my family
I never chose my native tongue
nor my nationality

I never chose very much about me

But I chose the ones I love
I chose you for me

"And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile"

So let's not reduce him to metaphor
Let's not make allegories of the resurrection

If he was not tortured
If he did not hang
If he did not die bloodily and tearfully
If he was not buried in darkness

If he did not physically rise,
with a 2 ton rock rolled away to reveal the truth,
with 2 full size, hard-to-miss Angels
to angel-splain what the disciples saw,

If he did not reveal himself and walk and touch
and eat and speak with them,
If he did not ascend
as they watched open mouthed
If he is not now sitting with the Father,

"we are of all people most to be pitied...
"but Christ has indeed been raised from the dead.
"Thanks be to God! He gives us the victory."

The truth and power
of our faith
hangs on the cross,
on the height of sacrifice
on the lengths and depths
Christ was willing to go
from holy conception
to physical resurrection
from passover supper
to Emmaus meal
to fish on the beach
to the promise of a feast
at his Father's high table.

The truth on which we stand
hangs on God made man
and on us made new
all due to our LORD Jesus Christ,
God's Son, our Saviour,
our once and for all time
holy, acceptable sacrifice.

The truth and power
of our faith
hangs on His cross.

Extremists
tend to regard themselves
through a prism,
one of their own making,
faking exceptional,
answerable only
to their own scope for irrational
through which they see crystal clear
and consequently do not require
the inconvenience of relational,
the distraction of negotiational,
or those blind to their unique brand
of remarkable.

And occasionally, sadly,
they can sufficiently
fake credible to become
President
(which is not the same
as presidential).