Open both eyes
put on your slippers
and carry on

Take a bowl
lift down the cereal
and carry on

Angle the mirror
pull a face
and carry on

Choose a tie
polish your shoes
and carry on

Walk to the corner
buy a paper
and carry on

Return home
sit alone
and quietly carry on

This is what I have observed.
This I have seen to be true -
You are not responsible
for their unhappiness,
nor for their disappointment.
These are their's.
These are from older seeds.
This is the greatest lesson.

The next is like it.
You cannot control
whether they are happy
whether they are content
with the resolution.

So what can you do,
but what you know to be right,
what is said to be fair?
Do not test this
by their response.

This too is wisdom.
This too is a sadness.

Too little of this is false
Too much of this is true
I'd love to dismiss all of this mess
as just some more fake news

Lichtenstein crashed into Monet's garden under the mistaken impression that a pulse of pop would compliment the oil on water, but instead his WHAAM missed its target and his POW wept hot, bleaching the aqua white with noise and ripping the lilies to shreds.
'Oh, Claude,' he cried, 'it's a masterpiece!'

He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses ****** out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she ******
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains

Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was

Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall

Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop

In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage

In the morning they wore each other's face

by Ted Hughes

Movies are
at their bested
tightly scripted
bravely casted
boldly dramacted
richly promoted
highly rated
Poetry

Don't be quick
to stop and search.
Do slow and speak.
Do stop at the curb.
Do sit.
Do commit to shape
a future city nation
where more space is given
to a wider conversation
with a newer translation
that's truer in comparison
than any black and blue
blunt force confrontation.
Stop.

The apple sits
helpless
and waits
and once its mates
have given it up as past it's best
once the rot sets in
and it starts to lose its ripeness
that's when the aroma rises
the fruit flies arrive in droves
and they feast on what's left
as the apple dreams
of pressed cider sisters
as the flies persist
in their feast
and it sits
at its core oblivious
of the fermenting opportunity missed

They were a common or garden,
run-of-the-mill variety
of right weird bleeders.
Individually, nothing I'd not seen before.
But oh boy, together -
it was like the circus had passed through and their apprentice scheme had got left behind.
Mind you,
you could see what they were attempting,
and give them a few years
I'm sure they would figure out a style
and colour scheme
that worked.
For now,
well like I say
- right weird bleeders.

Settle down please.
Today you will be trained in Level 1 crucifixion.

First, the nail. Please pass the bag along once you have taken one nail each.

You can rely on these nails.
Each one is forged by hand, hammered out and shaped with skill.
'You can nail it with one nail,' as they say.

Nails can be used to fasten almost anything to wood. Choosing the right nail for the job can make a big difference in hold power. As there is no need to conceal the nail head and we require maximum holding power, we have chosen common nails for the job. When the nail is temporary and will be pulled out again, as with crucifixion work, we have found that a double-headed or duplex nail is the best choice. However, due to cut backs, we have reverted to the common flat headed nail.

Experience and common practice calls for driving the nail through the thinner limb into the thicker timber. For maximum holding power, the length of the nail is such that it passes almost, but not quite, through the thicker timber. 

Take a careful look at the illustrations provided. As depicted, for best results lay the condemned on the crossbeam and bind the arms in place on the timber before nailing. I refer you to your ropes and knots training last week.

One nail is sufficient for each upper limb if placed between the forearm bones above the wrist. You will find that some limbs will have been subject to a break beforehand. If this is the case, we advise that you use additional rope to bind the limb to the cross beam and that you select a site for the nail further up the arm if necessary.

Now you are ready to secure the feet. Place the feet together one over the other. Hold them in place while a colleague drives one nail through both feet. Please hold them steady and resist any attempt by the condemned to frustrate your task. Keep steady pressure on the feet while your colleague hammers the nail home.

Before lifting the crixiform into the hollow, ensure each nail has been driven in securely. Once you and your supervisor are satisfied, lift the cruciform in one swift movement ensuring the base slides neatly into the hollow. Two or possibly three of you are needed for this.

This is the greatest test for your handiwork. The impact of the timber landing at the base of the hollow will cause the body to jar under its own weight and place additional strain on the nail. In the event that a nail comes lose, you are advised to lift the cruxiform out and to use a second nail on the unsecured limb.

In most cases this will not be necessary and the condemned will hang securely long enough to allow the body to die, even if this takes several days.

Once death has been confirmed using the accepted method, lift the cruxiform down, remove the nails and inspect them for damage. If deemed reusable, rinse and dry them before storage.

If there are no questions you will now each be assigned to an experienced colleague to assist with a crucifixion. If at any time you feel that you are likely to *****, please use the bucket provided. There's no shame in this, the first time can be quite shocking; there is usually more blood flow than you initially expect. However, you will soon learn how to complete the exercise with skill and professionalism. I have complete faith in you.

Please keep your nail, you'll need it later.

I find humans fascinating.
Confusing, frustrating - yes,
but fascinating.
Take a look next time you're out.
Watch them carefully.
They are
- fascinating.

I work with a lady named Nicole
Who thought it ever so droll
To switch off her phone
When resting at home
So she never heard from a soul.

God writes straight with crooked lines.

He zigs and zags out of compassion,
out of recognition of our fragility,
our inability to walk aligned to the sun,
our preference to shun the glare of the bright
and to tolerate that light only from the gloom,
but God makes room to write straight with His crooked lines

and so He completes His story.

It's not the scale it's the detail.
It's not the breath it's the depth.
It's not about how much you gave.
It's more about how much you kept.

Did you give when you had too little to share?
Did you stop when you had no moment to spare?
Did you feel the difference to your rainyday fund?
Or did you budget to ensure there's enough to go round?

When you gave this month, did it cause you to pause?
When you stop to do more, do the angels applaud?
Have you learnt the habit of living on less?
And fostered the gift to give to excess?

All I'm suggesting is a little more thought.
Look at your spending, at what you afford.
Is there more room for a little adjustment?
Would your life be the richer with greater investment?

Next time you stop
next time you give,
is there room for some change
in the way that you live?

The lies sleep in shadows.
The lies sleep in those out the way places.
The lies sleep fitfully, studiously forgotten.
The lies sleep
lightly.

And once they stir,
twice they rise,
they yawn from beneath the bedding
and in one swift movement
they swing both feet out
onto the cold wood floor.

They refuse the hurried attempt
to bundle them back under the covers,
and they emerge from the 15.0 togged duvet
limb by long limb.
They stand, uncovered and,
keen to catch the morning light,
they pick up their waiting palette.

Undaunted by the challenge before them,
they face the twelve by twelve canvas
and with confident, sweeping arcs
create a vivid pain-scape,

their striking detail draws attention
to each scar,
to each blemish
which for so long hid, masked
by a thin white wash.

And as the lies paint their picture,
they sing.
They sing a ballad filled with beauty,
with sadness
and hope.
And, once heard, every word
becomes absorbed into each brush ******,
bringing new depth to the colours.

As the lies paint and sing
they appear to radiate a warmth,
inexcusibly bringing new light to bear
on our carefully composed story,
a story once tailored to cover our shame,
but ill-fitting now.

As the lies paint and sing,
with an unexpected grace
their ***** truth stands,
brush and palette in hand
ready for a fresh canvas.

And overwhelmed
their father walks away
looking for a fresh shadow.

I'm pottering and napping
with no space for snap chatting
I'm reading and snoozing
with no online browsing
I'm just taking downtime
some space for just me time
I'll see you tomorrow
when I emerge from my burrow

The Son of Man came to seek
and to save the lost
to touch and to heal the hurt regardless of His personal cost

The Son of Man came to embrace
the human condition
without hesitation
He sat down in poverty
with those used to exclusion

He walked with the weak
and spoke with the ignorant,
putting up with derision,
He shared His wisdom
in the face of indifference.

The Son of Man came
to live and to give,
to love and to grieve,
to walk in scuffed sandles
to suffer blood blisters,
cuts and calluses.

The Son of Man suffered much
though He lived without fault,
He was a man well acquainted
with aches, tears, and snot,

with breaks and blood
and not a few bruises
and still He asked
with a death rattle gasp,

'Father, forgive my accusers.'

I can't see above the frosted glass,
but I can see the dark smokey light.
I can feel the music
beneath the rumble of generations
and I swing one foot out of time.

Once in a while the doors thud open,
with a roar of wreaking-ball laughter
and I grip my lemonade a little tighter,
happier as an outsider.

The frosted glass remains,
but it looks cleaner now.
I push the door, the same dark red,
much lighter now.

The whole place seems smaller,
less of a mystery.
I order a lemonade shady,
feeling like I don't belong,
knowing I never wanted to really.

My By Day or my By Night -
which secret me do you like?
Whichever you dream of, it's fine by me,
my By My Self is where I'll be.

'Though one may be overpowered,
two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.'

Though one runner may stumble,
two can steady themselves.
A team of three athletes is not easily overtaken.

Though a single note may fade,
two can harmonise in concert.
A song of three chords is not quickly forgotten.

Though a regent may lose his way,
two can guide one another.
A caravan of three kings is not easily distracted.

Though a child may feel alone,
two will laugh with mischief.
A gang of three children is not quickly bored.

Though one musketeer may fall,
two can stand together.
A band of three inseparables is not easily defeated.

Though one disciple may tire,
two can support one another.
A prayer triplet is not quickly discouraged.

The authorities in Jerusalem are appealing for the public's help in locating a missing boy from Nazareth (Galilee).

Jesus bar Joseph, 12, was last seen near the Susa Gate 5 days ago. We are concerned for his welfare.
Jesus who is described as a serious boy and mature for his age, is olive skinned, 4' 8" tall, of slim to medium build with shoulder length black hair.

He is understood to be wearing a brown and tan tunic and black saddles, carrying a small satchel.
Jesus is familiar with the area around the temple mount and with the mount of olives.

His mother, Mary, says, "Jesus, if you read this, please contact us. We are not angry with you, just very anxious."

Jesus also uses the name 'Son of Man'.

getting what they think you deserve
settling for less than what's due
becoming the person you're pretending to be
rather than just being you.

making the same mistakes as me
not stopping to figure it out
not considering who you could truely be
living with much too much doubt

perhaps these words seem familiar
do you get most of my meaning?
maybe it's time to take a fresh look
and live the life you've been dreaming

Busy with colour, the fast night shouted her down and refused to listen to her protests. Still she screamed across the square, but each syllable of her pain was immediately swept away and all that the tourists noticed was a mute nightingale cruelly pigeonholed by a half forgotton song.
And still she screamed.

A TEAM SPORT

[In the voice of your favourite over-excited rugby commentator.]

We're inside the final quarter. We've seen a bone-cruncher of a contest today and there's no sign of a let up, the prayers gather for the next engagement, positioning themselves with practiced confidence, skillfully supporting each other, ready for the push.  You can see every knee and each hand bears the marks from this long muddied pray, red and brown staining every inch of their entwined limbs; - arms and hands holding fast.

Front row.
Second row.
Back row.
Digging in for the big push.

The opposition has played an intelligent game, taking advantage of any lapse in concentration, any sign of tiredness, looking for any weakness to exploit.  The prayers know they can't afford any slips now, they need to keep up the pressure, maintain their advance deep in the opposition's half.  Every yard of gained ground needs to be defended.

The prayers' Coach looks on - look at his smile! You can see the pride he has for his team, he's schooled them on every tactic of the opposition and now that training, that practice has paid dividends. This is a team of prayers that so clearly know each other well, supporting each other every step of the way. You can see their co-ordinated pray, their sustained effort and the sheer pleasure they feel when they are praying together.

The prayers drive on.  The sound of their groans and deep breaths merge into one. There's a rhythm to it, a cadence as together they push and PUSH. 

The opposition's footing is slipping, the prayers' momentum gains pace and, YES! the resistance collapses.  Oh, that must have hurt!

But there's no time for complacency, the prayers re-form their line looking for the next opening, the next opportunity to push forward.

This is a joy to see.  The Coach shouts his encouragement - this was never going to be an easy struggle; you can't dismiss the opposition - they are a seasoned though sometimes disorganised team and they can take you by surprise.  But as we've seen here today, the Coach knows that if his team of prayers keep to the plan and pray to their strengths, the opposition are surely in for a hiding. The prayers will triumph and they will take the winners' crown.
- Back to you in the studio.

KNOCK

And when you pray
- ask from your heart.

And when you pray
- seek from your soul.

And when you pray
- sniff around without ceasing 
through your tears
to find the doors
to brand new frontiers
that He has prepared 
for you, His pioneers.

And then
you're ready
to knock.

Sometimes reality is just too much and I pop out for a while.
I step into a story.
I make it my own.
A space shaped just for me.

Then I expand my space to accommodate my latest imaginings.
I push, stretch, build and take new ground with every new thought, with every fresh fruit of each branch of each path.
And once I've created sufficient space, I invite my friends, my close friends, my network family to join me and to join my story and so to enjoy the strange fruit of my imaginings.

The truth is better spoken,
that's how it becomes the truth.
It's when you form the words and speak
that truth will be true to you.

Your love is better given,
that's how it shows its worth.
It's when you find someone to love
that true love will emerge.

Your life is better lived out loud,
that's how it is fulfilled.
Its when you truly live your life
that your life becomes truly real.

Lord, make everyone 6 years old
and while I'm being unusually bold
fill them with 6 year old wonder
and a 6 year old's hunger,
with 6 year curiosity
and a 6 year old's honesty.
Give them 6 year tenacity
and a 6 year old's capacity
for a 6 year old's need
at live at half-speed,
content to let life
be their daily delight.
Oh Lord, I ask that each of us might
keep a 6 year old's insight
and live this life
6 year old childlike.

ordinary is arbitrary
different is normal
fitting in means invisible
so avoid the conformal

distinct gets you noticed
so who wants to be equal
I'd rather be original
than anybody's sequel

you are of more value
when socially unacceptable
blending in is deadly
out of step is pref'rable

so when stuck in a crowd
decide what's more valuable
will you run with the herd
or dance to the eternal

Only 24 easy payments.
Well, actually
- 1 easy.
23 increasingly ****** difficult.

it takes an uncommon mind
an ability to think at an angle
someone who's not been a stranger
to an occasional maniacal giggle

a willingness to set your own pace
a relaxed approach to normality
if you can embrace all of this
count yourself part of the family

Forgotton memories stomped in like strangers at a funeral, uninvited and unwanted, smiling like they belonged, but no one recognised their songs. As they talked, as they drank and sang, as they told their stories they became more strangely familiar. We found their smiles infectious despite our resistance and started to recognise some of their tunes at their insistence. Faint but familiar laughter echoed from fathoms below and slowly our mourning began to losen its wet hold. Our sadness became tinged with a happiness long forgotton and scenes from years long gone rose from the bottom of our dark well of emotion, lifting our faces to the surface, giving us a glimpse of a greater hope and clearer purpose, to tell our stories, with laughs and tears finding an uncomfortable coexistence as we danced and shared this messy remembrance.

my mother has beautiful thick hair

she has dry still lips
and her chin is raised as if reaching
for that last drop of life
from an unseen glass

she has beautiful rich hair

her colours swiftly drain to grey
and to a colder pigment
but this does nothing
to dim her motherhood

my mother has beautiful thick hair
- that hasn't changed

Grateful, without a fight,
just a gentle sigh
and an answered prayer,
she stepped forward
and took the hand offered.

Go gentle, dear mother.
After your rage, after your fierce tears,
- go gentle, into that greater light.

The right way to say something
something important, something of emotion
is a gift and a craft.

The right way to tell your story
is your's to decide.

So decide.

It was a busy night with room only for small talk around the dark stained table.  She sat in half shadow, as still as bambi after the gunshot and just as alone. And they talked.

At her finger tips her glass brooded, part full of a rich emptiness and part of potential, the combination reeking of a love unexplored with a whiff of harboured regret.  They talked knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder, all smiles and pork scratchings.

She sat and left her past week buried like old sorrow, glad to listen to those with less to say while despair trickled down her left cheek, unnoticed.   They talked, voices lost in the clamour of glasses and the void of wet laughter.

"You're quiet tonight, Silvi. Your Tom not around this week?"
"No, not this week."

She sat and they talked, knee to knee and miles apart.

You may know
cruise control is of no use off-road.

You need both hands
all four by four wheels
and good independent suspension
especially in your posterior region.

Cruise control is useful I suppose
when the road ahead is predictable
and you don't expect the unexpected.

It's not an option
that I've had cause to opt for,

but it's good to know it's there.

I sat, gripped
as my tears fought to tear free
from her vice-like stare
and her mother-strong hold,
each knuckle white with intent
and scabbed with rage.

I tried to prise her grip away
scared by the strength of her frail frame
but she bore down all the same
and her nails inscribed one indelible plea
for me
to stay.

Not everyone flies.
You land hard a lot.
Then just as you think
it's time for a new direction,
just as you think
it's not worth another stumble,
a fresh fall onto your knees,
you launch and take flight.

An updraft catches your wings
and you're airborne.
And when you eventually land
you see that you've got
somewhere new,
a whole new perspective.
That's when you know you're a flyer.

Not every line flies.
You land hard a lot.
Then just as you think
it's time for a new direction,
just as you think
it's not worth another stumble,
a fresh fall,
your thoughts take flight.

An updraft catches your wings
and you're airborne.
And when you eventually land
you see that you've got
somewhere new,
a whole new perspective.
That's when you know you're a poet.

Not every prayer flies.
You land hard a lot.
Then just as you think
it's time for a new direction,
just as you think
it's not worth another stumble,
a fresh fall onto your knees,
your prayer takes flight.

Your spirit resonates with His
and you see His face.
And when you get to your 'Amen',
you see that you've got 
somewhere new,
a whole new perspective.
That's when you know you're a pray-er.

By Steve Turner.

Christmas is really 
for the children. 
Especially for children 
who like animals, stables, 
stars and babies wrapped 
in swaddling clothes. 
Then there are wise men, 
kings in fine robes, 
humble shepherds and a 
hint of rich perfume. 

Easter is not really 
for the children 
unless accompanied by 
a cream filled egg. 
It has whips, blood, nails, 
a spear and allegations 
of body snatching. 
It involves politics, God 
and the sins of the world. 
It is not good for people 
of a nervous disposition. 
They would do better to 
think on rabbits, chickens 
and the first snowdrop 
of spring. 

Or they'd do better to 
wait for a re-run of 
Christmas without asking 
too many questions about 
what Jesus did when he grew up 
or whether there's any connection

you can't go far wrong with chutney.
a large pickle jar,
gold topped
with a seasonal trim around the rim,
made with patience and love.
- just add a strong grip
with stronger cheese
and a selection of savoury crackers
- and there you have Christmas.

Sitting in darkness
Waiting for the light to come
Refrigerator

The prosecco waits
Lying still, cold and alone
Refrigerator

A gentle humming
The blue cheese fragrance escapes
Refrigerator

The door opens wide
The light shines in the darkness
Refrigerator

....

The turkey won't keep
Between Christmas and New Year
Refrigerator

Know this - I am.
Know this - I can.
Know this - I will
and know this - I will, with you.
And yes, that's a promise,
about which I am serious.
You can be sure of my presence,
confident of my grace.
Come and together let's change this place for the better.

I'm not so very special
I'm no way near essential
The world can cope without me
Blink and you just may miss me

I'm not a key ingredient
I'm pretty much redundant
It continues to amaze me
that God can bother with me

I find He always has the knack
to dig deep way down in the sack
and lift up what he finds there
to a place He has made where

no matter how far you've fallen
how far lost you have become
He clearly still remembers you
the uniqueness that He placed in you

So don't listen to the hecklers
don't dare settle for any less
Tune in only to His voice
and know this: you are His choice

I tell ya.
Angels
are not as much of a flight risk
as you first may think.
The cherubim however
are flighty
and way more likely to fly off
at the baby's first cry
Like they've got somewhere else to be.
Just try. You'll see.
Not even a bye-bye.

But angels, oh man.
Angels -
I'm a fan.

You can set your Sat Nav
on an Angel.
Dreamtime or lunchtime,
they'll be your guide.
- Sublime.

Me and Mary
were fans.

- Jesus!
Put those nails down.
If your mum catches you with those, she'll go spare.

Let me see beneath your perfection,
and look behind your Sunday best.
I want to see if you're super human
or if you're more like the rest of us.

I want to test your holier than thou,
your upfront semblance of flawless.
I want to check that you're all that we see
or if there's less beneath the surface.

If you think you have no cracks or dents,
if you have no room for improvement,
I'd really like you to meet my friends -
as we need a new source of amusement.

Reuben's got his friends.
Reuben's got a tribe.
Reuben now knows where he belongs.
Reuben's standing straight.
Reuben's walking tall.
Reuben will recall where he is from.

And now
he knows
he's loved.

Reuben's word is true.
Reuben's word is strong.
Reuben's word is wise beyond his years.
Reuben's speaking loud.
Reuben's teaching truth.
Reuben will be heard beyond his peers.

And now
he knows
he's loved.

Reuben's got his friends.
Reuben's got a tribe.
Reuben now knows who he'll become.
Reuben's standing straight.
Reuben's walking tall.
Reuben knows he'll dance to heaven's drum.

And now
he knows
he's loved.

More than one previous careful
Much more than moderate use
Less than unreasonably hoped for
Subjected to excessive abuse

Above your typical mileage
Much rusted under the sills
Worn patches in the fabric
Stains from occasional spills

Go faster stripes have been added
The rear windows now have a tint
Extra headlights recently fitted
A perfect first car, don't you think?

life's not a race, it's more of a dance
and some choose to dance in formation,
others pair up, even more dance alone
while some spin a DJ vocation