When fighting monsters
- watch yourself
less you become monstrous.

When fighting monsters
- watch yourself
and arm yourself with truth.

When fighting monsters
- watch yourself
and shield your deep innocence.

When fighting monsters
(and you must fight your monsters no matter the depth of the abyss)
- watch yourself
and let your whole self stand.

Nicodemus is a mate of mine
Known as Nick to his friends
He’s always on his laptop
But you know it can depend

On whether he's got wifi
Or maybe just 5 G
On some nights he's got neither
That’s when he goes to see

That Jesus, the new teacher
Who’s wiser than the rest
They have these late night sit-downs
When he gets stuff off his chest

Like why he needs to start from scratch
Why be born anew
When he’s spent a life-long lifetime
Learning what's truly true

But all his wifi’d searches
All his 5 G chat
Can’t teach Nick what’s important
More than just the facts

More than what he’s learned from books
More than simple knowledge
More like child meets Father
Not student at a college

So now Nick don’t need wifi
He’s fine without 5 G
Cos he’s found what’s more important
And spends nights on his knees

She called me her curved love handle
Always there to hold
A perfect fit for her loving hands
As we lovingly enfold

She called me her gentle spoon rest
A constant solid comfort
Shaped to scoop her perfectly
As we both dozed and slumbered

She called me her hot water bottle
Filled to the brim with warmth
Easily raising heat by degrees
Against advancing cold fronts

She called me to say her goodbyes
She said it wasn't working
She'd found a man less domesticated
And one far less demanding

Our Lord of life gave life
to the winds, the waters, the flames.
Our maker birthed them into being.

What hands have gathered up the winds?
What arms have wrapped the waters in a blanket?
Whose feet have walked these flames?
Only the Lord’s.

But when we look around, we wonder,
what’s going on?

We harnessed the winds and harvested the whirlwinds.
We dammed the waters and stopped the streams.
We burned the forests and they kept on burning.
What’s going on?

You breathed the winds, but not like these.
You sent a flood but said never again.
You lit the way, but this fire’s unchecked.
Lord, what’s going on?

You rebuked the wind – can you do that again?
You calmed the waves – can you speak once more?
You baptised with flames – can you tame them now?
Lord, what’s going on?

God of sun and hail, of arid plain and blizzard
Lord, come like thunder and earthquake,
Lord, roar like windstorm and tempest.
Lord, spread wide like a devouring fire.
Come, Lord, come.

Come on.
The Spirit of God has sown in our hearts
the beauty of this gifted world.
He fans the spark that remains of our desire
to care, to build and not destroy.
He refreshes our souls even as we grow weary.
He watches.
He watches.
Let’s go on going on.
Come on.

Writing my autobiography
under a pseudonym

Casting my cares,
but not on Him.
Casting down river -
holding the rod,
keeping watch on the reel,
on the bob of the line.
Angling to reel it in when needed.

I'm not letting go,
not for a second.

We're all born screaming
While screams echo back
And one day we learn
To hold our screams in check

But the world keeps on screaming
Its groans ignore our reluctance
Tearing through our dreams
Persistently confronting us

The only source of peace for us
Are Jesus' gentle whispers
They serve as a quiet respite
For those who are able to listen
 
And soon the whispers clarify
The groans from the world around
These aren't cries of anger
But pleas to be unbound

Creation itself cries out
For rescue by its maker
To be allowed to at last fulfil
The purpose it was made for

And so our eyes are opened
To the reason for our screams
We cry with all creation
For a full and final release

And Jesus hears our cries
He's not deaf to our prayers
He'll come again in his glory
With earthshaking fanfares

Our cries will turn to song
Secure in a brand new earth
Creator and creation in harmony
Echoing glad cries of new birth

So a new born baby's screams
Shouldn't come as any surprise
They are simply giving echo
To creation's longing sighs.

Hiding prolongs the pain
Running extends the fear
But when you kneel and pray
He who loves comes near

She played music -
music you’d leave your windows open for.
She rolled into rooms you’d forgotten
and soaked into your cellar until your childhood
floated right up to today and stayed for your tomorrows.

She was like that – building new foundations,
or maybe bridges
between now and then,
leaving pathways your feet could find even
once the last note has finished for the day.

She made music that stayed and stained,
leaving her trace, so you could find her again,
like when you returned from years away.
She had an authentic taste, softly unique
and hard to forget.

I remember one song that ran high,
almost out of reach,
then reaching down into my outstretched eyes,
filling them to overflowing and blurring
the pain for a while.

She played music -
music you’d leave both eyes open for.

Action without validation
without comparison by Instagram.
Experience not shared
not shown to those in the stands.
These events have value
even when not shared by you.
Secret acts are potent
so relish these moments
without posts.

Dan was a vegetarian-wiseman
A three square prayers a day man.
So deep in the den Dan stuck to the plan
And ended the night as he began
With ALL his limbs no less than
Before the lion became his new best fan.

Now the king saw Dan was no mere stunt man
So he sent out an urgent all points telegram
And overturned his ill-concieved prayer ban
(Which was previously proposed by a bunch of conmen)
And he told the people of EVERY clan:
"We must ALL fear the God of fearless Dan".

I felt my self mix and fold
equal portions of opposing selves,
a mix and fold of savoury and sweet
dark and light, crunchy and smooth
intrigue and delight
until the sweet hit of my self doubt
eventually cloaked the savoury of self knowledge
creating a disturbing after taste, which blurted out:
"Surely not me, Lord?"
And he handed the bread and the wine to me.

The exchange of smiles
The greeting nodded
We return to our papers
No words needed

Joy has a name
Whispered in awe,
Shouted in triumph and
Partied abroad.

Joy out-runs
Mourning and tears,
Drowns out hatred and
Drives out fears.

Joy brings peace
And laughter soon after,
Joy gives release and
Heals much faster.

Joy has a name
Above all others
His name is Jesus
Joy of many colours.

I spent my day breathing life into my memories.

I often walk or sit among them.
I give them
the attention they ask for
to maintain their roots.

I administer
the moisture they desire
to retain their colour
their scent.

I know they aren't
what they used to be
but they grow with me
and give me hope
for more
more beauty
more life
and more to live for.

I spent my day with my memories.

To make a long story short
Is to make a poem

Lord, keep us dreaming
Remembering your faithfulness
Believing, looking for more
Keep us singing
Ready to soar

Triumph with diversity.
Not knee deep in
Not wading
despite the extra gravity.
But with - taking it with me
on my journey making me
who I am building, i.e.
a stronger, fuller me
triumphing in the company
of those who walk ahead of me
who know what it will take me
to more fully glory
in my whole me.
Come with me.
Let's triumph with diversity.

A sycamore speaks
with its unique semaphore
giving voice to air and sky
while giving little away

A sycamore shouts its story on repeat
giving unasked for directions
to the climbers above, the writers beneath
urging them to walk down circuitous routes
with no hint of the true path it found
knowing we have to find our own.

A blackbird sings and a kestrel sighs
both telling their sister to hush
exhorting us to watch their greater eloquence
and to listen to a higher voice.

These are not ***** words,

Accord
Concord
Detente
Engage

These are European words.

Joseph is a bit of a dreamer,
you might say a wayward thinker,
but that's not the lot
of all that's he's got: -
He's the son of the great Creator.

So dreams wake up as passions,
passions bear fruit in actions
and soon you see
what only he dreamed:
God-made-man creations.

I've just gone past my best before,
but I'm still before my sell by;
I may well suit a daring soul
who'll give a Russet a try.

I'm not as smooth my brothers
and not easy to describe,
but if you like it warm and spiced
I may be just your type.

You may detect the odd small wart,
but please - don't be put off;
you'll be surprised how good I look
after a thorough wash.

So take a chance, take me home
and take a slice with cheese;
you'll find from the taste that flows
I'm far more than what you see.

Beauty matters
and matters more
amongst the monstrous.

Remember that the monstrous
will always be with us
and so will beauty, just so long
as you continue to see it
and, seeing it, you recreate it
carefully, beautifully,
because you know it matters.

I lay staring,
Still against the quiet groaning of a heart
Which weeps way beyond my reach,
Sighing beyond the shallows
Where I hide.

We share the pleasure of a shared joke based on shared experience in shared lives, with no target to speak of, but with a simple open mockery of the value we place on our own shared past, whether unique to us or shared wider with our middle aging generation or perhaps universal to all humankind - a past we hold close but hold lightly lest it slip away from too much introspection and over-close scrutiny, but still a past that bears the shared weight of hearty family laughter, full of love and belonging.
Quaking, I finish with the gravy jug, catch the hesitant drip with my forefinger and pass it on, enjoying the richness of this moment.

Immediate or infinite.
A different perspective as I look down at my feet and then up to the next bend in the road, if not out to the distant horizon.

Immediate and infinite.
I hold both in my hands and in my heart. Both guide my path.

Immediate and infinite.
My God has made them beautiful and is Lord of both.

As I close down, switch off and give you time,

- I hear you.

As I reflect without assumptions, close my lips and focus on your voice,

- I hear your still, quiet authority over my life.

As I close my eyes to the tears,

- I see with greater clarity who you are and I call you:
Most High;
Sovereign Lord;
Eternal God.

As I acknowledge you and accept your provision, your protection, your prompting,

- I become less and you take your place at the top of my start up menu.

Dear Father - I am ready to meet with you.

Stand at Eleven
On Eleven Eleven:
When we recall the men
And all of the women
Who fell defending
Family and country.

We mourn
In the silence,
Resolving once again,

To do better.
      To honour the past with peace
And to stand with the makers
And the keepers of peace,
Together living and dying
As brothers and sisters
Of the Prince of Peace,
And as children of God.

I wrote a story today
start, middle and end
a tale with a moral
brim full of suspense

I wrote a story today
with purpose and drive
nothing like real life
- the hero survives

You’ve got lost all over again
You need to just face it
You thought you were lost before
but now you know you are
You know you’re right about something and it’s this
You just need it to happen one more time
and then you’ll see the pattern
then you’ll find the key, the clue that’ll unlock the map
That way when the day ends you’ll no longer be lost
and you will have found that the day can end well after all
You know, like it’s supposed to
And then you’ll find it, right there, at the end, where it’s supposed to be
where it was all along
See?
Told ya.
4 dimensions work better.

My memory – a thing of yesterday
My memory – repeat if necessary
My memory – not always trustworthy
My memory – I miss your company

God given songs to angelic tunes
Holier anthems for reflective moods
Soul searching music with eternal themes
Songs from our hearts that harbour old dreams
Movements in light, emerging from dark
Sunrising symphonies, the thrush and the lark
I welcome the chorus here at my dawn
I rise and I stretch and then I press on

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 stroke,
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 naked truth stands,
brush and palette in hand
ready for a fresh canvas.

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

I see behind the wheelie bins
  that they've dropped a little parcel
It's only slightly soggy
  and the label looks still legible
I can see it's not for me
  (they should really be more careful)
So I drop it in the bin
  that's marked only for recycle.

I should have
sought your hand as we walked,
slowed and not swallowed
my next question

I should have
asked you for one slow dance,
danced instead of imagined
decades on

I should have, could have,
perhaps would have
had we slowed
and given ourselves time

How I wish to disappear
completely, to unplug fully,
til I shut down-deep-withdrawn
and there focus on something
that's more internal
and less commercial,
less self-evidently marketable -
something less brand
and more a brand new venture,
out of sight, of mind
and of a sense of duty
to myself,
to the me I left behind -
somewhere less,
somewhere small,
where the music inside
was clearer
and nearer
to the first bars
of the first song
when I first sang along.
Oh, how can I disappear
completely and get myself ready
for my next swan song?

What's up, Xavi?
What do you see?
Where're you going
when you're running past me?

Why're you so happy?
Why the big grin?
Why don't you care
when your brothers crash in?

What's it you're seeing
when you're flat on your back?
Why're you relaxed
when your head gets a crack?

It's cos that deep down
you know that you're loved
by billy goat brothers
who love with a shove!

The next wave will be better.
If I just wait,
if I resist the bait
to join the others,
if I deny the impulse
to jump into right now,
then I know there's a better wave
beyond the horizon...
The next wave will be better.

Colour me optimistic
But I think I'm gonna make it
Gonna take that ridge
And prove to the fatalistics
That nothing's out of reach
If you stick at it
- And you're a little opportunistic.

You say it's not much
But it's all relativistic
So please don't begrudge me
My uncharacteristic
Success this last week:
I did loose a little
weight.

I sat in front of the mirror and reflected on age and plans and paths and happenstance. And as I reflected, my reflection faded and I looked inward and found a new road, a narrower path and an older way, leading me to my paths-maker rather than to my path-dictator and to my next choice on the adventure that my maker had made free and had made ordained, one and the same.
And as I looked, the dark fell and the light rose and reflected well on our choice. And so I too rose, and we walked on.

There's only one kinda respect
that matters
That's self-respect,
respect from you.
It don't matter how it looks
to others -
what matters is how it looks
to you.

So take a moment,
make your choice
and no matter what they say
make sure your choice
is true to self
and that you don't betray
your inner self, that heart of self
that's waiting in the basement
the self you hid, but can't deny
that it's up for reappraisement.

Your basement self is restless
it's hungry for the fight
so feed your self
some self respect
and step into the light.

God stood
On the edge of uncertainty,
On the brink of creativity, ready
To step off and risk his reputation
On a venture that would be his signature dish.
A world stuffed full of flavours,
A realm ripe with potential
For life, for growth,
...For relationships.
But like all relationships, not without risk.
And so, with a smile of anticipation,
He took a deep breath...
And the rest is history.

You see,
Though unseen, soon
The infection of heaven's rebellion
Snaked it's way in through the gate,
Made friends and prompted a short debate
So subtle that man was tempted to partake
Of an apple that caused trust to crumble
So humankind would from then on struggle
And toil to survive outside that paradise lost
Til Christ stepped up and paid the cost
Of the curse we deserve...

But as a foretaste
Of that greatest sacrifice
God was pleased to accept
Flame grilled substitutes,
Instituting a family repast
With crisp, pleasing aromas
Of juices that provisionally provided
Undeserved forgiveness
And tasted of promise
That the Lord will provide
For a new world
With his own lifeblood.

The Red-Folk are well known to some, but less well known to others.  You see, the Red-Folk do their reddy-ness in the background with the smallest folk.  This means that bigger folk will only notice them if they have small folk friends.
The Red-Folk are quite distinct; I don’t mean their tomato redness, I mean their ability to fold themselves small.
Now, you may know that small folk are very used to legs and knees and big feet and are they are very, very good at winding their way through a forest of trousers and skirts to get to where they need to go.  But this can be tiring, and sometimes small folk misjudge the sway of a leg or a knee and bounce off them, falling back onto their bottoms.  This can sometimes be funny, but it is often painful and can spark small folk tears.  
So, when small folk find that the Red-Folk just love to fold their legs and knees away and come down to small folk level, you can imagine the sheer joy the small folk feel.
Some Red-Folk don’t last long because their legs and knees begin to ache and the small folk noise becomes too loud and the Red-Folk miss ‘Big Conversation.’  But there are some Red-Folk who are excellent at folding their legs and knees away and who love nothing better than small conversations with small folk.  You see they have discovered that this is where small and precious truths are first planted to later become stronger big truths and they have seen that this is also where small folk plant big love in the Red-Folk’s big hearts.
So, if you are looking for the Red-Folk, you need to look down to where the small important conversations are taking place with the small important folk.

Like buying Irish tea bags in the 'World Food' aisle
I like to take my jeopardy close to my native Isles

I do buy silky underwear, but only M&S
- trying something sexier will only cause me stress

I stick to experiments with familiar ingredients
You'll never mistaken me for some sort of deviant

I like to take my journeys only slightly off track
I like it when the menu includes a Big Mac

Don't judge me for my caution,
you've no idea what it's like
when my mother keeps on telling me,
cosmopolitan is hype

Some of my heroes wear
a cowl or a cape,
they might wield a shield,
swing from a web
or swing a big hammer.

Some of my heroes wear
a smile in the face
of foaming anger
and throw a mean hug
that will make you stagger.

I know who I'd rather
be my first responder.

Hush.
Quiet your hands.
Lay still for a moment.
Right now, just the scent of you,
Just your touch
Is overwhelming.

His talking faster now for he knows his time is shorter than before. He flies from the Law to fresh words of grace and I struggle to keep pace with his passion that threatens to overwhelm his frail, well-travelled frame. Words that inspire, even as they are inspired, fired thick and fast, finding their target, embeded in my inscription as I seek the gift of accurate Word-made-flesh-made-word on paper transcription.
And now as I sit with fingers quivering, taking time out while I can while he's sleeping, I pray that the inspiration for the words that he's speaking will be equalled by my quick ears and matched by my quicker scrawling so that the church will hear just what the Lord is saying and can read the truth that is their's for the believing.

When I pray, I say too much
and he forgives so much
as his restoring touch
seeps marrow deep
lifting my sorrow
inviting me to rest a while
on both knees

Maybe you’ve gone with Moss Bros
Or you’ve stuck to trusty M&S
But I can point to a surer way
to ensure you’re dressed for success

No matter how long you’ve spent
Adjusting your silks and laces
No matter how hard it was
to talk him out of his lairy braces

Whether you selected a Windsor knot
Or your favourite velvet bow tie
[A bold choice, Toby.]
I can share some well-worn wisdom
By which you should always abide

I know a dress code tested by time
Simple words to which we should hold
Simple but essential for all of us here
So let’s check we’re all properly clothed

Next time you’re walking down the red carpet
And they ask, ‘Who are you wearing?’
There's no need to look for the neckline label
Don’t waste your time with checking

Every day you both put on Christ
You kit yourselves out with the King
Knowing this is all that you’ll need
For whatever the day will bring

But like royal robes or battle armour
His garments come in layers
Put them on in careful sequence
Buttoned up with tailored prayers

You begin with feather-lite Compassion
Laced with silken Kindness
It’s followed by soft Humility
A garment that’s forever timeless

You add to this tough Gentleness
That’s core to the Saviour’s style
With a lining of weighty Patience
So you can each stay versatile

You ensure the ensemble’s been well steamed
With a fierce, cleansing Forgiveness
You set the dial high enough
To remove past creases of grievance

Now, some might think this will be enough
That that is ample fussing
But there’s one remaining layer
That you know isn’t worth you rushing

Over each of these rich garments
to keep them all in place
you put on the strong bond of Love
like a long full-body embrace

Then whatever the weather or season
on each and every occasion
You can both enjoy the Peace of knowing
You’ll never need alterations
*
You may have heard it said
And with Thanks we can affirm
Some fashions do remain timeless
And this one's designed for long term

His complex plurality of unity has been worshipped with a scarcity of uniformity, with a variety of melodies across humanity's long history and He has responded with reliable proactivity, speaking with consistency through a variety of agencies and always with generosity, ushering His family into his eternal city where at last we will no longer see Him as if through a glass darkly, but instead see Him in His full and unending glory.