Am I still me?
Am I still m
Am I still
Am I stil
Am I sti
Am I st
Am I s
Am I
Am
A
Am
Am I
Am I s
Am I st
Am I sti
Am I stil
Am I still
Am I still r
Am I still re
Am I still rem
Am I still reme
Am I still remem
Am I still rememb
Am I still remembe
Am I still remember
Am I still remembere
Am I still remembered?

Give a man a round tuit,
so round he can't get out of it.
Give a man a round tuit,
they'll be nothing he can't do with it.
Give a man a round tuit
with no reason for him to lounge or sit,
cos once he's got around to it
it'll be done, and that'll be it.

The full, ****** moon
didn't feel that super.
It's powers of persuasion,
the pull of its personality
had ebbed to an all time low.
Oh, how it ached to make
its return journey,
to head back to the light,
to resist the draw
of this lesser sphere
and to answer
the greater solar call.
Each crator craved
to add that greater gravity
to its own
and together give rise
to the highest tides,
to monster surfs
that would daunt
the most arrogant of Canutes.
No amount of talk of waning
would deny this moon
it's rightful place,
turning it's far, dark side
to face the warmth of the sun,
and orbiting on,
into a crescent
of nocturnal renewal.

I gazed through the window
of missed opportunity,
considering the colour
of the grass,
remaining undecided
-  as ever.
But determined all the same.

There's no app
for job satisfaction.
No app for quicker
self-realisation.
No app for joy
and love of life.
No app to avoid
struggle or strife.
No app for meaningful
inter-relation,
for self-esteem
or bond formation

These each take time -
with patient dedication,
a repeated test
of your true determination.
These take quiet
contemplation
and louder considered
conversation.
A real-time flesh
interaction,
with authentic, humble
co-operation.
I'm meaning a dangerously
high contagion
with the risk of personal dissatisfaction.
These take sustained
concentration,
a firm hand on the neck
of your current situation.
These take more
than a one day binge;
you'll need to commit
to more than a fling.
More than a lazy
swipe to your right,
more than a stand
for just one night.
These take guts
and sweat and tears,
you might even find
that some take years.
But this is life
beyond the screen,
this is how
it's always been.
So lift your head
and take a breath,
we'll stand right here
and lend our strength.
All I can promise
are tears
and laughter
and friends who'll stand
closer thereafter.

I passed a small boy named Solomon Woods
deep in thought with a book
He licked a finger, turned a page
too engrossed to give me a look

I met a young lad named Solomon Woods
humming a gentle tune
He smiled and waved, shook my hand
and wished me a good afternoon

I danced with a friend named Solomon Woods
while he sang me one of his songs
What he lacked in skill he offset with zeal
and insisted I sang along

I sat with a man named Solomon Woods
glad of his still, gentle manner
His reliable smile and kind wise words
drowned out the usual clamour

I walked with a gent named Solomon Woods
glad of his confident stride
I knew for sure he faced the world
trusting God as his strength and guide

If you meet a man named Solomon Woods
he'll certainly stop for a while
If you have the time, he'll sing you a song
and leave you with a smile

Solomon smiled,
chanced a stretch and blew
the obligatory bubble
to the captive audience.

Solomon smiled
and formed his first proverb
of the day
concerning the foolishness
of worrying about anything.

Solomon smiled,
and after some deep,
wet-fingered thoughts
concluded that both love
and money
are best held on an open hand.

Solomon smiled,
and nodded along to songs
that he'd someday pen,
content for now to test his grip
on an offered finger.

Solomon smiled,
and settled into the joy of a hug,
in the warmth of a cuddle
and promised to anyone listening
that he'd live in the moment,
so long as it was a moment
such as this.

Father God smiled,
endorsed every thought,
every word
and promised Solomon
more of the same.

The last flag flying
over the last lady singing.
The last dance ending
after a last minute warning.
The last laugh fading
from the last man standing,
at long last seeing
that it's over bar the weeping.

You don't have much time.
No one does.
Time has never been
willing to be had,
to be spent,
- squandered.

It is
and it was
and it will fully be.
While it is the dance of your heart
that is finite.
It is your breath that will one day
be spent.
And you will discover
the depth of your squander,
the extent of your last deficit,
while time will continue on
to its appointed complicity
with eternity.
And in that apt company
time will run
at the speed of the last light,
remaining exempt
from any desperate attempt
to hold it in check.

But in your allotted splinter of time
relish its flight
and the oh so magnificent sights
that life hands you
for simple delights.
And rather than raging
against the inevitable last night
you might find at last
it's alright
to let the last grains
trickle through
with a life-long, contented sigh
having found time
for each gifted
timely good-night.

The past meanders before me, each bend bearing my scrapes, my indecisions, just as I bear the bruises of long gone twists and turns.

The present continues to whistle by, blinkering me from any hope of reflection, of consideration before I'm blindsided by flashes of my maybe futures.

I try not to stumble, to stay in the present and steady myself, ready for the next silent bend, trusting intuition and an all-seeing grace as life roars past me.

The past meanders before me, each bend bearing my scrapes.....

Proper good
Plenty loud
Mighty big
Deeply proud

Mega fine
Shiny bright
Scary close
Family tight

I love a portrait,
how it contains a moment.
- So many layers,
of the one sitting.

I love a song,
how it resonates with each voice.
- So much eloquence,
captured within a refrain.

I love a cloud,
how it moves with such grace.
- So majestic,
weather permitting.

I love the sea,
how it takes no prisoners.
- So wild and untamed,
tethered to the moon.

I love your eyes,
how they dance with mine.
- So revealing,
laden with secrets.

I love a window,
how it changes.
- So full of life,
so far away.

Taking simple pleasures
drawn from simple things
Making simple treasures
from all that life may bring
Taking simple measures
to make me a little slim
And through whatever weather
I'll find just cause to sing

She closed her eyes
serene in her anticipation of There,
in her unshakable hope for Then.
And blind, she sat
unaware of the joy of the Here,
closed to the pleasure of the Now
- both within an arms reach of her dreaming.

She opened her eyes
smiling at the memory of what was
laughing at what had been
looking back with thanks.
And thankful, she sang
And thankful, she shouted
with echoes of healing,
of growing,
of climbing -
to the Here,
to the Now,
ready for the Next,
anticipating the Not Yet
and prepared for all that is promised.

But for now
she looked back
with thanks
and she - just - sang!

She closed her eyes
serene in her anticipation of There,
in her unshakable hope for Then.
And blind, she sat
unaware of the joy of the Here,
closed to the pleasure of the Now
- both within an arms reach of her dreaming.

The winter miracle of having enough settled with a smile next to the ample blessing of sufficiency and the happy gift of needs met. They chatted contentedly under their tailored shelter as they watched the prize of satisfaction coming up to meet them, bringing with her the familiar rumour of future plenty.
Oh, how they laughed.

Camels and kings
shepherds and sheep
come round the crib
to get a clear peep

each would recall
the smells and the sight
of God made a child
and donkey *****.

I miss his deep bellow
 from the front hall as he went out the door.
It wasn't loneliness.  It was a familiar emptiness
and he always came back.

I miss the dark grease
 on his clothes in the wash. 
It wasn't an imposition.  It was part of the routine
and it usually came out. 

I miss the dank stench
 he brought with him at the end of shift.
It wasn't much different to dad's.  It felt  right
and it didn't fill the house for long.

I miss the certainty
 that he brought with him.
But it's hardly sad. 
It's simply the end of something.
He's gone.

The corner story-yeller
held her eye to eye
and told her with a cry
"If it's worth telling,
then it's worth yelling

and if it's worth yelling,
then it's worth having
a listen.
So listen, why don't yer!
This is the moral of life:

If yer don't look after yer feet
then yer feet won't look after yoo."

And with a throaty 'harumph'
the story-yeller limped away
dismissing her audience
with a spit and a sigh
ready to launch
at the next passerby.

Make your unwanted advances
- on the ****** predators.
Place an uninvited unmistakable hand
on the casual grazers
the brokers
traders
*** negotiators
anyone who assumes
his entitlement
to sate his primal appetite
by right
anyone who
coaxes
cajoles
coerces
controls
in order to pick away
at a vulnerable soul.
Now's the time to shout
to call him out
and expose him
to unforgiving light
reversing the shame
in bare plain sight.
And there you'll find
you don't have to fight alone.
No, he'll be shown that
you were never on your own
and together
we can show society
that we stand defiantly
claiming the right
for all to live beautifully
free of each and every
pathetic
*** starved bully.
Come out now
and claim your life
and live it truely fully.

Oh I see.
The real person living
is the person that I see.
The real person living
is the friend that I need.
The real person living
is the one who pays heed
to the real person here
who's ready to believe.

May the seasoning of the season
stuff you full of all that's holy,
all that's holly
and all that's homely.
May your sudden new year
surprise you with a new sense
of living fully,
resolutely
and purposely.
And may the Christ of Christmas be present meaningfully daily.

Lost and confused,
like the first snowflake:
uncertain, but unknowingly
the harbinger of a knee deep, silent night,
the herald of a new carpet, crisp and white,
not destined for alone-ness,
but, in concert, ready to reflect
a glorious night of moonlight.

Like the first snowflake
you're destined
for something
glorious.

May you live in interesting times
May you lounge in sunnier climes
May your roads be thrilling and clear
May you always find froth on your beer
May your friends be faithful and honest
May you fulfil most your promise
May you always be singing new songs
And may you truely know you belong

A dab of rhythm
and a splash of rhyme
over a stretched canvas
of childhood
bring to mind
daffodils on clouds
and tygers burning their way
through forests
while the dying jaberwocky smiles
through fearsome jaws
bemused by the man waving
too far from shore.

And to one side a walrus
unconsolably weeps
having consumed
one too many oysters
unwittingly adding
to the commercial value
of the sea shells on the sea shore.

In the corner
a patient spider
chats to a passing fly,
oblivious of the forecast
of torrential rain,
which proves resistant
to any admonishments
to go away until another day.

Down comes the rain
and a hoard of children
pile into an old shoe
ignorant
of the empty food cupboard
thanks to their gluttonous dog.

And surveying the whole scene
is a benevolent coal stained king
smoking through a managerie of a beard,
wondering where his second shoe has gone to...

I sigh, put the kettle on
and whitewash the whole canvas
to start afresh.

Not too old to dance
Not too big to rumba
Not passing up the chance
To feel a little younger

Learning brand new steps
Hearing brand new beats
Sensing strange new rhythms
Finding both my feet

Using unused muscles
Controlling my meander
Feeling a new freedom
To release the inner dancer

Old friends say they knew
The dancer sleeping there
They recognised the steps
From long forgotten years

So whilst I can't regret
The years I waltzed around
I'm pleased to take these steps
And retake my long lost ground.

I believe baubles have way too much glitter,
That another new year won't make it all better.

I believe turkey tastes bland without stuffing,
That my secret santa was better than nothing.

That rich Christmas pud needs plenty of cream,
That thin paper hats are as cheap as they seem.

I believe parties can get out of hand,
That still silent nights need to be planned.

I believe Christmas can bring people down,
That relentless fake smiles hide many a frown.

That without the real Jesus it's a real waste of time,
That if He was here He'd call it a crime:

The way we ignore those under our feet,
The times we brush past the poor on the street.

Jesus just cries to see our behaviour,
So far from the path He set as our Saviour.

So this Christmas ask Jesus to soften your heart
He'll give you forgiveness and bring a fresh start.

You can live with new hope and sing with new meaning,
Dont waste any more time with any more dreaming.

Happy Christmas to all and to all my best wishes,
May your Christmas be more than merry wet kisses.

May the Christ of this Christmas visit this year
And give you good reason to be of good cheer.

Michael said to Gabriel
"You know the Old Man's tetchy,
have you got your **** together?
Have you got your choir ready?"

Gabriel said, "Just **** out,
have you got that star in place?
I don't see it in the sky yet, 
have you booked the allotted space?

"By the time the magi notice 
and start their journey west
the party will be over,
so I think it would be best
if you tell Him they'll come later,
that the vibe will work far better
if we go ahead with the shepherds 
and then have the kings come later."

Mickey was a little miffed,
but he knew that Gabe was right.
He'd been distracted with the detail
to ensure the star was bright.

So Mickey went and told the Boss,
"It really makes more sense,
cos once Jesus is a toddler
he'll enjoy the frankincense."

Peace broke out
with a rash of shepherds
Peace broke in
while most were asleep
Peace broke out
with a choir of angels
Peace broke in
with the bleat of sheep

Peace broke out
in a backyard stable
Peace broke in
and beggared belief
Peace broke out
in the stink of a manger
Peace broke in
with a cry of release

Peace broke out
to a child breast feeding
Peace broke in
to a mothers relief
Peace broke out
in the hearts of believers
Peace broke in
to the middle east

Peace breaks out
to those who believe him
Peace breaks in
to the hearts of the meek
Peace breaks out
here in Ealing
Jesus breaks in
as the Prince of true Peace

Like an urgent *** on a winter's day
Like an expelled guffaw as I turn away
Like a released church **** as I say the amen
Like a line of poetry as I reach for a pen
Like the first slice of steak from a full warm plate
Like a longed for kiss at the close of our date.

That's the pleasure I feel with you on the phone:
The hope, the promise, of soon being home.

No cavalry
No rescue
No care
No balm
No dressing
Just an open sore.
And salt
- lots of salt.
Where can I find refuge?
Where does my comfort lie?
Oh Father,
My shield
My strength
It's only you.

Goodwill to all
Men
Women
Children
Family
Neighbours
Those kids on the corner
Fellow commuters
That bloke
who takes my parking space
Workmates
My boss
Competing shoppers
Nodding acquaintances
The woman down the road
with the 6 dogs
Complete strangers I see each day
The family who just moved in
over the way
Refugees
wherever they are
whoever they are
whatever their origin
- to all human kind
Heaven-sent goodwill
and God's grace
to you all
by my hand
and by my voice
Raised in greeting
Raised in support
Raised in defence
All year round
and never tiring
- Merry Christmas.

Not too big to weep: A poetry anthology https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1549894706/ref=cmswremapa_8MWfAb6PF8Z0F

Oh, grant me a new song.
A start again afresh with no regrets song.
One with a bridge to a new accord,
a song with which I can get on board.
Something that strikes a stronger chord
with those who like me
long to be
fully
factory
restored.

A song with a fresher melody
(and I definitely need a different harmony),
something that's part of a wider symphony
maybe with an occasional solo part 
for me.

A song that I get to sing with gusto,
maybe to a slightly quicker tempo,
a step up from my imposed Adagio,
closer to a brisker Allegretto.

Oh Lord,
you see me.
You see that I long to sing.
Can you please
wipe me clean
and write a new song with me.

Simple isn't the same as easy.

Waiting isn't the same as staying
 awake
Hearing isn't the same as heeding
 commands
Walking isn't the same as staying
 dry
Shooting isn't the same as hitting
 your target
Advancing and isn't the same as dodging
 the bullets
Fighting isn't the same as killing
 men.

Simple isn't the same as easy.
Living isn't the same as living
 with your memories.
Dog, Easy, Fox;
an uneasy company of brothers.

Here's a favourite poem of mine:
https://m.poemhunter.com/poem/chocolate-cake/

And here's s poem of mine that it influenced:
 https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2174519/the-love-of-money/

See how the colours shift -
with each fractional adjustment
I'm met with a 360 revolution
emblazoned horizon to horizon
a panchromatic world of beauty
in a constant state of flux,
with variations,
both major and minor,
circling round 
with each marginal movement
of my creator's hand.

-  I have some questions.
We have a written guide.
- I'd prefer a conversation.
I'd like that too.
- so I guess my first question is Why?
Simply because it gave me great pleasure.
- And How?
With a few tears, much love and a lot of imagination.
- What am I here for?
To be with me.
- Just that?
(a smile)
- For how long?
However long you wish to stay.
- Are you sure?
I've never been surer. 
Now, take my hand and let's begin.

When you make
a memory
use the very best
materials available,
select the ingredients
carefully,
mix them
patiently,
take your time
and over time,
as you hone your craft,
you will make less mistakes
and create something
perfect.

When you make a memory take each opportunity as it arises, don't hesitate, but be ready to grasp each moment, each nettle, whatever's to hand and to celebrate the here and the now - don't be tempted to wait for that perfect moment,
because it's here.

Don't push to take off the poppies
Don't rush to remove the wreaths
I know you long for Christmas cheer
But take time to give thanks and to grieve.

Psalms 23
1 The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3 he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
for his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.

In the presence of my enemies...

IN THEIR FACE!
Right there in full view,
where they can't ignore it -
You lavish your favour.
You flourish extravagance.
You banish restraint.
You shout exuberance.
At the prepared table
we feast together -
a glass sloshing,
chin dripping,
teeth staining,
finger licking,
shirt smearing,
belt loosening,
belch competing,
mouth spilling,
song inducing,
mum tutting
FEAST!
- right there
before my dumbfounded enemies
and in your glorious presence.

You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Amen.

Uncle Christmas
was mucking out
happily mucking in
and wondering
what might have been
had his twin not been sneakier
and the first to emerge
to claim the Father moniker.

Uncle found to his surprise
he was quite content to be
the deputy
and not have the pressure
at the top of the Christmas hierarchy.

Rather he was happier
working with the reindeer,
being grubbier, a little smellier,
leaving his brother
to bear the mantle that was heavier.
However at each and every Christmas dinner
when the family all got together 
Uncle still insisted with a jocular grin
that compared to his twin
he was far better looking
and definitely
relatively
slim.

Blessed are you frustrated

Blessed are you frustrated
For you know this life is defective.
Blessed are you who resist
For you know that you await a liberator.
Blessed are you impatient
For you have your sights on freedom.
Blessed are you who live in hope
For you will not be thwarted.
Blessed are you dissatisfied
For you know this is but a pale reflection.
And blessed are you who
Despite the fight on your hands,
Despite the yearning on your lips,
Despite the ache in your hearts,
You reach out in love,
You speak in peace,
You bring hope to others;
For with such as you God's Spirit rests.

--------------------------

1 Corinthians 13:12
12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

See Romans 8:19-23
19 For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed.
20 For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope
21 that the creation itself will be liberated from its ******* to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.
22 We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.
23 Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies.

Ed the saint lost his head
and opened his house to the arts
artists and poets
came and amazed us
and touched our heads and our hearts

It was a long long way
through dark days
and dank nights
taking dark sides
against the other
against the distant
against the odds.
Trusting the relay of work horses
to drag our destruction
to haul our backsides
to dredge our pain
to our hollow -
to some kind of victory
that I'll never speak of again
outside of my nightmare prayers
for some kind of forgiveness.

-----------------

Blessed are you, who are conscripted ,  when you are dragged into wars not of your choosing -
For you will be remembered.

The Last Priest
smiled his blessings
indiscriminately
bridging
seeding
building
a new priesthood

beyond borders
across tribes
ignoring gender
discounting class
blind to race
snubbing rank
denying privilege

and preferring
a new holy nationality
for refugees
for stateless souls
like mine
- like ours

Silence
like morning fog
over a late sunrise.
Like a discarded novel
beside half finished tea
and cold buttered toast.
Like a last breath,
a released hand,
and my unfinished prayer
beside dad's bed.

The joy of early,
the smile
of taking the moral high ground,
never giving it up
to the jonny-come-latelys.
Giving me time
to sit,
time to ruthlessly ****
with my own bare hands,
striking each minute
into submission.
Never running.
Never running late,
but standing in stillness,
letting the time on my hands
run through my fingers
and pool at my feet
as I wait here
taking my own time.

https://thisfragiletent.com/2017/09/18/world-turned-upside-down-event/