Bare clean carpets
Make for a lonely house
But big boot prints
Means Santa Klaus

Somehow has delivered
To every household
His bones they creak
But don't feel the cold

He dresses in red
With a bottomless sack
He has quick feet
And a broad strong back

He works his magic
Year after year
Then races home
For a well earned beer

He guards our dreams
For a kinder world
Saint Nick he delivers
He never gets old 

So this Christmas
Open your mind
Stand with Santa
And break out the Kind.

The shorts I wear to bed
have a back pocket.
When I chose to buy them
in a twin pack with a tee shirt,
the pocket was not
a deciding feature.
However, I acknowledged
that it was there by design.

For months I gave it no further thought.
For months it was as redundant
as a breast pocket in pyjamas.

Then one morning,
as I was juggling
with a cereal bowl
and clothes from the dryer,
I slipped my phone,
still playing a pod cast,
into my back pocket.

And for a moment,
as the conversation followed me upstairs back to the bedroom,
I smiled at the foresight of M&S.
I should have realised:
they know their stuff.

Believe in more than
you can imagine
Believe in more than
you ask to happen
Believe in more than
what you have seen
Believe in more than
what you have been
Believe in more than
your faded label
Believe in more cos
your God is able.

Immeasurably more than
all we ask
Immeasurably more than
all we imagine
Immeasurably more than
what we deserve
Immeasurably more than
mere human passions

Immeasurably wider
Immeasurably longer
Immeasurably higher
Immeasurably deeper
Immeasurably more
full to the brim
Immeasurable love
to the fulness of Him

I will take joy in my sadness
I will make praise in my complaint
I will walk tall as I stumble
And stand firm even as I faint

I see death rise around me
sickness renews its attack
But while you remain my saviour
There’s nothing that I lack

You're the light in my cold darkness
You're the song in my despair
You're the peace in this chaos
You're the answer to my prayer

So I’ll confess my allegiance
I will shout your name with pride
I will take joy in my salvation
and climb with you, my guide

You have memories
to look back on,
on-this-day ago
one year, three years, five years
ago, all-your-yesterdays

fade, perhaps repressed
or once carved with care
to exhibit the best
to omit the stuff you'd rather forget
and so the sculptor shaved

keeping with the grain
until the rather-not-dwell-ons
fell before the sweep of grace,
each scrape joining
other eliminations
to be gathered up
and cast into the fireplace.

The sculptor sanded, polished
and revealed the much loved
gargoyle within
proving once again
the effectiveness
of shaving away the best
forgotten.

You might be
blogging or podding,
Googling, Yahoo-ing,
Texting, Twittering,
Instagraming, Messaging
Snapchating, WhatsApping,
or good old fashioned
rambling Tumblring -
whatever you're casting
your thumbs will be moving
like proverbial lightning
- proving again and again
the might of your words
over any old persitent swords.
Words of love over words of hate.
That's right - words that reconciliate.
Ignore the can'ts, hear the cans
Hash-tag: 'wordsaremightierthan'.
Facing those fears,
shouting through tears.
Redeeming the years
thought lost in arrears.
Letting them know
you're letting them go
and no longer able
to live with old labels.
Finding the roar
to voice who you are.
Finding the words
to blunt those old swords.
Thumbs at the ready,
hands nice and steady.
You're free men and women,
with a brand new beginning.

Behind the lacerated curtain
Assembled in triumph
We gorge on holy manna
Left by those who went before,
Behind the fire and the cloud.

We know one another
By the stone, pure and white,
More precious than any discarded crowns.
And we laugh loud with full mouths
At the names scribed by our Father,
While the angels just shake their heads and smile.

My street was full of aunties
and full of uncles too.
They weren't the same as family,
but grown-ups who we knew
- parents of my mates,
friends of mum and dad,
people I could trust to share
what it was they had.
- winter parties, summer trips
and massive paddling pools,
loads of music, lots of love
and laughter while we grew.
- common homes and gardens,
a street that was open plan,
family in every neighbour,
one big,
street-long
clan.

She put on her good bra
and braced herself
for a heavy day ahead

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).

It’s early – the dominant sun rises, giving
a growing warmth as the urgent seeds dive deep
and the faithful sower dips his head,
dips his hand on repeat and sweeps his graceful arm
away from his small stomach, from his shrinking satchel,
trusting the seed to the sun
and working his way back to the feast.

(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.

The morning rained.
Down in the basement he lay flattened by bad luck and worse judgement.
The morning rained.
Despair seeped under the broken sill as his drained accounts stared back blankly and forcasted worse to come.
The morning rained.
Grey skies cut off the last hint of a silver lining.
The morning rained.
And he cried floods.

Give me a grain
of gravity, in a moment
of space time, tied to a thread
of string theory,  soaked
in one long figment
of my fantasy

and I will give you
a multi-verse.

The parent said to the child,
"Just you listen to me -
"Do as you're told, you'll be fine;
you need to wait and see."

The child smiled at the parent,
relieved to have someone in charge.
Their worry had been overwhelming
with much that couldn't be grasped.

The adults looked on, both curious
at the exchange that they'd observed.
They continued on their journey,
sharing all that they had learned.

His name is Magic -
not because of the wand,
the battered pointed hat,
or his habit of not letting dragons pass,
but because, time and time again,
he was there when needed
and did what was required
to make life go a little smoother.
- Magic.

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 world doesn’t know how much it needs
me how much it would miss
me how much it depends on my
little choices
my small voices drowning
out the others and nudging
me to stay away.

The world doesn’t know how much
we depend on a little lack of leadership.
How much more devastated the world would
be with a little more co-ordinated lawlessness.

Little do they appreciate me,
appreciate that random acts of disfunction
are preferable by far
than my hordes of regimented devastation.

The world doesn’t know how much it needs
me to stay here
and not get involved.

The world doesn’t know how much
it needs me.

confident embracing failure
comfortable with self-doubt
curious about bumps and scrapes
convinced I've found what counts

balancing needs with desires
encountering more than I sought
wondering if it's really about
leaving with more than I brought

climbing beyond the summit
flying above the clouds
reaching where I aimed to be
least there or thereabouts

There’s something pure in the dawning light
A hint of a greater, holy light
That flames and warms,
Particularly when reflected in a daughter’s eyes
Shining with perfection, reflecting
The warmth and the beauty
Found only in God’s resplendence.

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.

He steps in and our expectations ascend above the deep frustration, the anticipation felt by all creation as we bound into our liberation.

He steps in and we step out of age old bonds into endowed freedom, responding to the answer to our tears and groans and tears with redemption born of our adoption as children into a family kingdom.

He steps in and our patient hope is emboldened by Spirit-inspired words beyond words reaching deepest down, heart from heart to the throne of thrones.

He steps in and so we stand with purpose in the divine presence, secure beside divine  representation.

He steps in and choses us for gracious generosity with ultimate justification against all criticism, against all condemnation.

We step up in his image, secured in love beyond separation.

We step up, more than conquerors.

Steve Page the elder
Sat with real pleasure
Eating his birthday cake
He took a large bite
And got a great fright
He'd swallowed his tongue by mistake.

To walk can be fine,
to run takes you further
I know that when I'm skipping
my heart will grow much stronger.

I have walked many paths.
I have made my amends.
I have run far enough.
Now I'm skipping with my friends.

My quick lie offered me
a knock-off respite, obviously overpriced and inevitably shoddy, but real and present and there for me even while it was dropping away like a slow knife, falling beyond my desperate dive towards the inevitable piecing of my carefully structured delusion, counting the cost of those few moments of delayed capitulation.
My quick lie lied to me.

There was a young woman from Richmond
Who dreamt of playing James Bond
She posed in her mirror
With the look of a killer
While her baby just giggled and yawned

The red folk and the purple people were distinctive in their hue.  In contrast, the Set Up bunch were chameleon, and to the casual observer they could pass for members of the congregation. That was by design, to be known only by their levite nature, their early arrival and late departure and (if you looked closely) by their hands.
The early bunch had remarkable hands. They were strikingly ready and willing, and could be turned to a wide variety of tasks.
They could never be described as specialist, and would never wish to be.  Their true specialty, if they have one, is only to be quick to serve and never draw attention to themselves.  
If they were ever persuaded to wear team tee shirts, they would have 'Ninja' brazoned across the back.  And that would be kinda cool.

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.

One step at a time
One punch at a time
One round at a time
One fight at a time

And when life throws
all it has at you,
all at one time, then
every step
every punch
every round
every fight
that leaves you standing
is a win

and every time
you hit the ground
only to rise again
that is a victory
that is worthy
of the champion that you are.

We're all disciples here
We're all disciple makers
We're all apprentices
We're all apprentice takers

Whether you know it or not
There're those who look to you
Give them something worth seeing
Something honest and true

All of us carry our scars
Some costly, all hard earned
Don't waste the sweat and tears
Share the lessons you've learned.

We've all got younger brothers
We've all got younger sisters
Take some time to walk with them
Shake off the doubt that hinders

We're all disciples here
We're all disciple makers
We're all apprentices
We're all apprentice takers

I live by daily participating
and not by distant gesticulating.

I live by putting love into action,
not by singing for holy intervention.

I live by getting both hands soiled,
not sanitised and kept unspoiled.

If you want to follow the Nazarene
you can't keep your hands wet wipe clean.

This is life as he envisaged -
living like we're one big village.

Roll up your sleeves to each elbow,
let's serve together and not alone.

This is life as Jesus did it -
all hands-on, with dirt and spit!

Her curiosity slipped in,
in silence, viewing
the clear, clean canal, exploring
the slow passings of time,
the wear and tears of years
of rough passage, ready to excise
any hint of a foreign body.

And his body lay, foetal,
while the nurse stroked his hand
assuring him the end was in sight,
but he kept still, his eyes tight shut
until she re-emerged,
and he could blink back into the light.

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.

Diverted, never Defeated

rushing like water into its misted future
crawling like moss in a camouflage of the past
giving lie to our tiny present

a passing shadow of day-creatures
flit for their designated eight minutes
failing to fully grasp their moment

while the trees stand watch -
still present, pointing to a future only they see

Diverted, but never Defeated

A lack of foresight with
A limitation of imagination.
An aptitude for apathy and
An inability to emote.
An incapacity for chat as well as
An impatience for punchlines.
A distrust of discordance shackled with
A flair for unforeseen offence.

Alone
And a knack for nothing else.
Here I can relax.

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!'

Spring is a doing word
- quietly, softly, resolutely
repeatedly springing up
through the heavy clay
springing forward
past these ground hog days
offering an initiation rite
of colour, warmth and new light.

Spring is a doing word
- so do it right.

Fear steps in,
into that gap between hearing and believing, seeking to fill that space, undermining belief until believing is turned away and faces fearing the worse and settling for less as the truth fades into the distance.

Jesus steps in
into that gap between fear and hope, and smothers the fear with an over abundance of reasons to believe in this offer to receive a power-over-death level of life that drowns out the crowd of unbelieving commotion until he sees resurrected hope get up on her own two feet and step into your grateful arms.

Jesus steps in and fear finds it has no place here.

my rosie
leaves, moves through pallets,
rises through the afternoon quiet,
strengthens, peaks,
reaches a crescendo,
a swallow of poured
perfection
and tells me
she is sweet enough

I left time at the door
with my shoes and my plans
and I let go of expectation.
I settled down with my mug
of concentrated calm
and I centred myself
on my mother's withered world,
while she continued to rage within.

His still, small whispers melt into my mind
Like hot chocolate at dusk
Like a welcoming morning mocha aroma,
With an embrace louder than dawning fears;

Not demanding, but offering healing,
Inspiring and revealing -
Like a balm to my bruises
Like a brace to my body.

And so trembling, I wrap the echo of his words
Around my weary soul
But my weak heart
Cannot hold his words
As I bump and brush
Against other fragile hearts.

But still I sit in his serene shade
And he breaths these enveloping words:
"I understand."
And so I rest in his soft strong arms.

Shielded in Met. blue
I shoulder my silver numbers:
a Papa-Lima protector
on south-east London streets.
Riding shotgun and
fueled by adolescent adrenaline,
I scan the A-to-Z grids
for grateful victims,  
and bury my delinquent doubt
beneath the cool blue strobe.
-
I'm a juvenile constable,
thoughtlessly abandoned
to law's sanction
to bully, to bruise,
and perhaps to scar
for good.

Confine your creativity
Limit originality
Dare to be different
But don't dispute authority

Blue sky thinking
With a few scattered brainstorms
Is no substitution
For you sticking to the norm

We do value change here
In its right place
Just so long as you ensure
It doesn't leave a trace.

I haven't got to where I am
Without these simple laws
Now that's enough chat
Let's get on and wash the floors.

The boys are all about the cheeses,
the platter, the crackers.
The girls are all about double cream.
The thicker the better.

The boys select the cheeses
that are bluer and smellier.
The girls stick with tiramisu
with a coffee chaser.

It makes no difference to the bill
which each year gets pricier.
They add a charge for the ambiance,
no matter what we order.

Sometimes
I wish for a smaller heart,
single chambered,
with no excess capacity,
efficiently run, solitary,
tailored for one, outfitted perfectly,
with no room for give,
nothing wasted, unforgiving.

Sometimes
I wish for lower mileage,
less wear and tear,
a more careful owner,
not given over to road trips
to the beach,
to late night romance,
like in the movies.

Sometimes
preloved is prone to hurt.
Sometimes
I wish for less capacity
for love.

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.

I sit in the light of my phone,
with memes numbing my mind
I search the fields for answers
I don’t expect to find
I don’t find very much of use
amongst the scrolling screens
They lead me down rabbit holes
where I’ve already been

I ask for better light by which
to see the greater truth
by which I might find something
to push away the gloom
and the answer comes from above
in the silence of the night
a sign drawn by the flight path
of a west bound starry light

And the star delivers a summons
to shepherds and kings alike
to Come and Behold a greater king,
timing it just right,
bringing east and west together,
offering peace on earth
- a peace in the light of a greater truth,
enlightening the world

This light’s an invitation to you
to come and behold a child
But I think I better warn you,
he’s no longer meek and mild
Baby Jesus is now a Risen King,
and no better light you’ll find
to set a brighter truer path,
for you and humankind

Treasure the unknown, the unseen
for there you have untold story,
unsung song and unimagined vistas
waiting to greet us.
And, yes, some of the paths are long,
the climbs hard,
the adventures testing,
but we have good counsel,
and good company
and they will take us
through the deep story to the high chorus
where the harmony will be sweet.

the colour of the place
is what I remember
the scent of the laughter
the echo of the sweet wine
on the green
on your breath
in that long moment in time
and whilst I expect I have that photo
somewhere
you rise like a mist
unbidden
unexpected
as vivid
as strong
as clear
as that summer

The choral fraternity
breathed coordinately,
perfectly quietly,
and (crucially) sequentially,
so that the consequent silences
went largely unnoticed,
fortunately.