Sometimes I think he’d prefer something
well dressed, with a cut glass accent,
emerging from a smokey platform perhaps.
Yes - at the close of the summer term,
with families reunited,
plans for coastal trips and picnics
with a loyal hound in tow

Sometimes I think he’d prefer life
to be slower, the roads clearer,
with a simpler dashboard
and less choice of radio stations
and for his favourite tunes to be mono,
accented by crackles and plagued
by fades under bridges

Sometimes I know he’d prefer
more time with a paintbrush,
followed by books and discourse
around a wide family table
and the pleasure of sharing slow food
and mellow music with those who matter,
those with whom he’d like to grow older

Sometimes plans and friends
come together, designed for us to remember -
that at all times we need to try harder
to make the sometimes happen.

After Do Not Be Ashamed by Wendell Berry

Unashamed

You can mute yourself at will
Or find you've hit mute in error.

On ocassion you might find
someone has muted you.

You can go off camera.
Observe and listen.
Unseen, unheard.
Ocassionally waving in the hope
that you will be called upon
to contribute
to comment
on the wisdom of others.

And after a while, on realising that
you've gone unnoticed, unneeded,
you give yourself permission
to walk away,
to simply listen in
while making a cup of tea.

And after a while, you walk out,
to test your necessity
and you won't be surprised
to find it wanting.

But then
as you return.
as you choose candour,
bear your inward clarity
raise your yellow hand,
as you select unmute, unashamed
click camera, unashamed
and find room, find voice -
then a sure screen will rise
from the margins and their eyes
will seek you out
and the mic is yours.

The truth of a person
cannot be fully known
without attention,
without conversation.

The truth of someone
cannot be quickly known
for their self-revelation
will be rightly rationed.

The truth won't just happen
will not be easily known
or take the direction
that you might imagine.

The truth will depend on
the wisdom in the question
and the greater wisdom
in the reflection.

I can still taste the toothpaste,
my ears hold a dampness
from the flannel,
my pants give rise
to the airer’s freshness
and I’m yet to lose
the stiffness of my bed -

and yet
I remain hopeful of the day,
that it will weigh heavier,
grow mustier,
yield an aroma
I can relate to.

Hope can hurt
all the more the longer
it stays misplaced

and as it stays,
it deteriorates,
degrades, decays,

it despairs into a fainter shade
of hopeless surrender

until, against all hope,
it leaves
hurt.

“Here is the man!” said Pilate. And then,
“Here is your king!” said Pilate again,
thinking that keeping open all options
usually paid ample dividends.

But not this time, learnt Pilate:
when politics fail, mob rule succeeds
he thought ‘I need to nail my colours
and someone other than me

has to die for the lie
that I’m the innocent one.
That’s when I missed my one chance.
to hail God’s one Son.

I had my one chance
to accept the true Truth,
but opted instead
to make an excuse.

Don’t do as I did.
Don’t pass up the offer
to worship this Jesus,
true Son of the Father.

I got just one thing right:
He’s the King of the Jews
But don’t kid yourself,
cos He’s your King too.

Roses can be White
Yellow or shades of Pink
But the Red are more expensive
Or so florists like to think

The seeds look very similar
Whenever you plant your borders
But once they show their truer form
It's too late to change your order