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.

I took a breath
and I dived
deeper.
I pushed down til I saw the dark.
I reached down
dusted off my sea bed
and took hold of my bedrock.

I embraced to my chest
what lie there,
and pushed up,
retrieving, reclaiming,
bringing it to the surface light,

and once scraped free of neglect
it was seen
and noone would again wonder
what lay beneath.

I dived deep.
What choice did I have?

Ignore the lyrics:
You can't pursue love.
You don't find love.
Love's not a thing to be kept or had;
it's a doing word that you both have to work at.
Love is a language expressed in deeds
and so clear expression of your love best succeeds when you both discover what the other most dearly needs.
So spend time planting daily deeds of love, every one a fragile seed.

Continue to listen day and night
and learn what each other prefers and what you both like.
And then, when you get it right
you'll be answered by a unmistakable light in their wide glistening eyes.
-
Do it on a date.
Do it with your mates.
Do it when you're tired and it's heavy eyed late.
Do it in the everyday mundane way
you pair your own socks
and clear away last night's takeaway.
-
Laugh often and have fun
especially when you feel life has you on the run
and be sure to surprise each other both regularly and often
Maybe even invest
in a pair of water guns.
-
Share the fragile thoughts
you find at the forefront of your mind.
Reveal your vulnerability, the hurt you feel when life's been unkind.
-
And in response to that revealed insecurity, ensure you tread carefully  until you see the healing that comes from interlacing lovingly.
-
Speak your love every day.
Articulate it come what may.
And that way you'll ensure that it stays
at the forefront of each of your todays,
on the tip of your tongues
so when you inevitably take a step wrong
you'll both recall why you're together
and why it's worth the endeavour that it takes to push through that unexpected foul weather.
Love one another through that gale
and sail on to meet the adventure
that's yours to discover:
Through the miles of your wherevers,
for the duration of your whenevers,
strong enough for your whatevers,
standing together,
forever relentlessly loving each other.
-
So may the Lord of your tomorrows bless you together.
May the Lord keep you smiling whatever.
May his face shine on you in all kinds of weather.
And may He give you peace
that will never cease to give you pause to thank Him for his grace
forever.
-
And all the assembled people said
AMEN.

I dwell in possibility.
- Emily Dickinson

I dwell in the possibilities birthed by the daily Immanuel
I dwell in the possibilities whispered by the wonderful Counsellor
I dwell in the possibilities wrought by the almightiest God
I dwell in the possibilities perpetuated by the everlasting Father
I dwell in the possibilities secured by the Prince of all peace makers
And I dwell with Him where all things have possibilities

It's so easy to drift into a slow 'if only' and wander again through a past possibility that didn't blossom into an anticipated actuality leading you away from activities that hold greater profitabilities while smothering you with unhelpful wistfullies and miseries that blind you from embracing future feasibilities and your Father's generosities that will exceed our feeble fantasies.

If she says it is
then it is
poetry
and don't try to tell her
any different
cos that would be your lie
against her truth
and we've all seen
where that boot leads
- art reduced down
to out of 5 stars reviews
and the boo's of the many
smothering the true of the few
and that dilutes truth
for us all, including you.
So, if she says it is
then it is
poetry
and true.

If this wall could talk
If those eyes could see
If those tears could fall
would they fall for me?

If this face could smile
If those lips could part
If those cheeks could blush
would they claim my heart?

If you must breathe
Do it deeply

If you must cry
Do it openly

If you must laugh
Do it heartily

If you must run
Run with me

If you must hide
Hide in me

If you must believe
Believe in me

If you must,
And you must,
Do so now.

"If you want to change the world, pick up your pen and write...." ( and pin it up where it can be read)
Martin Luther.

I identify as a poet,
a writer-poet
with a bent towards rhythms and patterns that are pleasing to the tongue
and to the ear.
On paper, the words are captured
with clear order and definite lines.
Spoken, the sounds wrap around and seep into ear canals,
flowing with less order, with greater freedom.

I identify as an artist,
a sound-artist,
with a bent towards the human voice, using words that worm their way into the human consciousness,
lodging there to make a new home,
free to morph into new installations with an art of their own making.

I identify as a poet.

...and each one was right.

I lift my pen at the scent of the coming rain.
The wind rises, and I sense the pain gathering strength
and after a beat or two, the drizzle scouts my face
- but I smile.

I have my compass, the North Star
and the maps I made before.
I can still climb this new stanza
navigate past the memorials,
through to the meadows beyond
and I can rest there, refill my pen with the rain
and write again.

Once in a while take a rest
from pursuing well-being
and practice your ill-being,
a time for holding your heart
in its sadness.

Then, when next grief springs up from the darkness,
you may be better equipped to bear the weight
and to use the now more familiar tools to shape,
to form your pain into something that includes a hand hold.

You will then have something that maybe slows the unfolding,
the unravelling that would come with uncontrolled mourning,
something that allows you to carry it with less stagger
as you walk through your trauma, and, while you're no less sadder,
you may have greater access to that part of your heart,
that side of your grey matter that allows more focus
on where, in time, to lay that burden down.

Once in a while take a rest from persuing well-being and practice your ill-being,  prepare your heart for sadness, so that once grief springs up from the darkness you will be better equipped to bear the weight and to use the now familiar tools to shape, to form your pain into something that includes a hand hold, something that maybe slows the unfolding, the unravelling that comes with that uncontrolled mourning, something that allows you to carry it with less stagger and while you're no less sadder, you may reduce your tauma and may have greater access to that part of your grey matter that allows more focus on where, in time, to lay that burden down.

Godzilla went walking in the woods
And wondered where Bambi had gone
He wanted to spend more time with her
He found her a lovely fun fawn

He didn't see that last time they met
When he thought they were having such fun
His oversized feet weren't that discrete
And Bambi has now been expunged.

I'm a Believer.
A by-faith walker.
One foot placed
in front of the other.
A member of the worldwide
inter-generational ancestral
family of Believers.
Proudly considered
to be God-botherers
on account of us being
persistent in prayer
on all ocassions.

I'm a Believer.
I'm a disciple-maker.
I'm a get-fully-wet baptiser.
I'm a church planter.
I'm an "in spirit and in truth"
God-of-Jacob worshiper.
A not bow to caesar.
A faith keeper.
A some-might-call-me dreamer.
A vision se-er.

A full-armour take-a-stand-er.
A full alert perseverer.
A last to leave-er
when things get tougher.
An endure-er of oppressors.
A refuser to fear.
A hunger-er and thirster.
A kingdom builder.

I'm a Believer.
A seeker of truth.
A keeper of peace.
I'm with my brothers and sisters,
followers of Jesus,
who for the joy set before him
pioneered blood, sweat and tears
with a faithful to the very end
belief in the Father,
raised full of life, and ascended,
to be our heavenly interceder.

I'm a blessed Believer
in Jesus, our Messiah.,
He is my Lord and Saviour.
Amen.

How relaxed are you with the prospect
of the quiet that heralds her coming?
How comfortable are you
in her subtle company?
How much do you give her time,
make space for her conversation?
How slowed are you in her presence?
How attentive to her movements?
How attuned to her voice?
How empathetic are you
to her wanton sisters:
intuition and instinct and expansion?
If you are wise
you won't refuse them.

Sunshine on an autumn day, then wet and windy
The smiles of a new born babe, and the clock strikes three
The comfort of fresh baked bread,  but fresh out of cheese
Melodies holding beauty, until tambourines

I'm old
and I know things
but I don't know you
(but you know that)

I am
shoved down, safe in the dark
waiting until I’m needed, wanted

I know
I’ll be looked after
- in a pocket
- in a wallet
- in a drawer

in a sock drawer, where it’s soft
and warm
and dark
until I’m needed, wanted

I know
I’m valued

I want, you want, they want,
in want,
sludging through want,
wading shin-thigh-waist deep,
as we sink-or-swim
this ******* swamp,
with a raised chin
just above this slow loss
of living want.

I want, you want, they want
in a new normal
right state of want.

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

I never loved
Til I did
I never loved again
Til when I did
And then I never did again
Until maybe now
I might

It won’t be a surprise, you know what I'm saying?
I - just - love –Ealing, whether working or playing.
I've been on my travels, I've been here, I've been there
I've followed my Jesus, ‘til He led me here.

And now I can't help it, I love every street
and as I turn 50, people ask, 'Pete,
why are you stirred to serve this old city
with Isaac and Josh, with Lois and Nicky?'

'Oh, golly', I say, 'Isn't it clear?
It's the call of Jesus each day that I hear.'
But, hand - on - my – heart, it's a challenge - isn't it?
How do I serve, when I'm five foot six?

Now I love a good quote. I know you don’t judge,
but some people say I love them too much.
I love a great movie, but sit at the rear
so people around me won't notice my tears.
[I'm just being honest with you.]

I love a good read, I've got books wall to wall
and I love the Arsenal when they're on the ball.
I was in the Olympics, did I tell you that?
If you look real closely you might see my cap.

I love Redeemer, the believers who gather,
how they will turn up to worship no matter.
I love just how creative some of them are,
the wannabe poets, the guys on guitar.

Now I mustn't embarrass anyone here,
but I love my dear wife, just so that's clear.
I love my three kids in no special order;
as they keep on growing I’ll cheer ever louder.

And each day I go walking, I might even run,
cos by living with passion I might serve the Son.
I - just - love – Ealing.  Do I hear an Amen?
Let's stride out together!  Redeemer-London!

I watched my name
emerge from my pen.
It seemed strange
that there was so much ink
left at the end
of my letter.  

I watched my name
emerge from my pen.
So much ink
left at the end.

My name emerged.
So much ink
left at the end.

My name emerged.
So much ink.

Sometimes I close my eyes tighter
Sometimes I hold that breath longer
Sometimes I lose count
before I can release
and breath again.

Sometimes I close my eyes
and take my time in my darkness
and I go anywhere but here.

Sometimes,
on days like today,
I have my eyes open,
my vision light bright
my arms friend heavy,
my memories fresh made
and saved for future reference.
And I stay right here.

I leave myself all over the place
then retrace my steps
and while I try to collect myself
there's pieces I forget

I’m getting closer to someone I used to know
I’m getting within an uneasy grasp of his shadow
a recognition of him beneath the scars
trusting the healing, the tender tissue
letting me feel beyond first sight and fading sound
reaching deep down to what has always been
inside

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/

The bass bassoon is poised
And the penny whistle too
And when the families converge
You hear under the hullabaloo
The sweetest harmony
Absent of cacophony
Because you see
There's one thing that we rely upon
Everyone of us has an eye on
The front man who bears the baton
As he grips our attention
For no matter how long
Directing us as instruments
Of righteous passion.
This is his signature song,
So lead on dear maestro,
Lead on!

"Remember your eights,"
He grandly announced,
Intently surveying his interns.
"If your work appears beyond you
Negotiate,
Delegate
Or work late."

I stared rabbit-eyed,
Stunned by his smug, well-worn rhyme,
As I saw my evenings fade away
Knowing which of my numbers was up.

So where is your peace?

Where is your place
where you face-to-face yourself
and greet your peace?

It may be found in solitude
or within stories spread long
with long-standing friends.  

It can be seated in the quiet
or threaded in your deep tread
through the roar of the pier's end.  

So, tell me, where is your peace?
And where did you last know its company?

Where do I dance?
I dance in the margins
within my boundaries
where I left myself space
to choose my partners with care.

Where do I dance?
I dance in your arms.

In the Spring, when kings go off to war,
when last year's battles are rejoined
and daughters lose their fathers to the egos of man

In the Spring, when dormant vegetation raises its head,
when bulbs reveal the colour within
and pollination can work its propagating wonders

In the Spring when frost gives way to dew
and the air warms in the sun,

- it is in the Spring that I renew my allegiance to my creator God
and look to him, and to his Son, for my path.

Intimacy is not physicality.
Intimacy takes heartfuls of risky honesty.
Its essence is vulnerability -
an ability to offer the key to deep dignity
and entrust it by degree or in its entirety.

And listen carefully:
It's not limited to matrimony.
It's a delicacy available to anybody
and without it friendship is hollow
and fully half empty.

You will come to [hope] in time
You will come to [trust] in time

You will come to [fall] in time
You will come to [jump] in time

You will come to [dance] in time
You will come to [march] in time

You will come to [believe] in time
You will come to [doubt] in time

You will come to [forgive] in time
You will come to [forget] in time

You will come to [keep] in time
You will come to [stay] in time

You will come to me

Grandma's girlish giggle
A wink from grinning grandpa
And a burst of farts from the sleeping dog -
These raise a much needed smile
To brighten the close of my bone weary day.

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

I see Beauty
Brighter when clouded,
Bolder when challenged,
Brilliant when questioned.
I see Beauty
Burnished by affliction
Blossomed with age.
I see Beauty
In you.

I see you there, looking for me.
I see you; do you see me?
I see you distrusting yourself.
I see you and all your doubt.

I see you much better than you do.
I see through the you in the rearview.
I see you there out in the desert.
I see you and your trembling heart.

I see true and love you still.
I see you and always will.
I love you more than anyone else.
I love you more than you love yourself.  

I see you.
I see through.
I see true.
I love you.

Everything
you've heard about me
is true.
- Apart from that thing with L3.
We were just friends.
Honest.

I speak colour, I smell light
I see at speeds that are out of sight

I speak Blue, I shout Green
I sing Yellow, and Lime in-between

I hear Redder, I taste Whiter
I dance Lilac, I climb Amber

I run Orange, I walk Silver
Saffron, Fuchsia, Turquoise, Magenta

I speak colour, I whisper flavour
I sleep in spectrum, I dream wider

Take a colour, chose a shade
See each light from which you're made.

I spent my day breathing life into my memories.

I often walk or sit with 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.

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.

One click of a radio button and I’m back

in the back of dad’s Hillman Minx estate,
to journeys once forgotten
DB5 in my right hand, Lady Penelope’s Rolls in the left
- both harbouring hidden missiles and secret missions,
racing to grandma’s baked cherry biscuits
deep in darkest green Tonbridge.

Now give me the right Junior Choice tune and I’m back,
staring at the back of my dad’s Brylcreemed hair,
breathing in his rationed St. Bruno flakes,
while keeping a careful eye on Jenny’s
wicked swinging skin-breaker buckles.

I’m nose deep in my latest I Spy, ticking off far more
than I see, in a race to complete the list
before we leave the A23,
while nodding to the rhythm of mum’s
monochrome, high speed knitting.

2 minutes 20 later the song closes
and I’m back from my 60’s jaunt, back in my 50’s,
with part of me still back there,
one back seat song away from long family car trips,
back where a large part of me still belongs.

I stepped onto the wind
not knowing (well not certain)
of where it would take me

I was happy to walk on the wind
as the storm was becoming too predictable
a path

I stepped onto a breeze
(less predictable than the wind I find)
guessing where it would take me

My third step took me
at last
onto a faint resonance
of song
- it took me to the bridge

and I danced

(With a nod to Forrest Gump.)

Sometimes there weren't enough rocks.
Sometimes nowhere near enough tears.
Sometimes no matter how far I ran,
I was slowed by too many years.

Then once in a while the rain would stop
and the clouds would thin just a little,
long enough to show me the stars,
enough to shed light on life's riddle.

Is life just a box of chocolates?
Or can we choose whatever we please?
Are each of us here with a purpose?
Or are we feathers on a breeze?

Can our choices make a real difference?
Can we navigate the storms that we face?
In the end is it down to old father fate,
Or is there an offer of grace?

I think in 3D
I need real depth you see
I need more than one surface
to do my thoughts justice

I need three perspectives
to avoid a disservice
to any ideas that swim their way
to the disturbed sunlit surface

I'm not saying my thoughts are wordless
just that the words are surplus
to the primary purpose
of the thoughts that win
that struggle and that finally
find a thoughtful purchase
to become rooted
to bear fruit
and so to fulfil
their true purpose.

I think in IMAX 3D
- sit back and see.

I want to live right up to when I die
and through, beyond the finish line.
Not with a gasp and an ugly stumble,
but run straight on, strong and triumphal.

I want to live right up to when I die
with au revoir and not goodbye.
I want to live with real expectation
and run on into the new creation.

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.