Seed and soil
Water and light
Toil included  
Day and night

Time and patience
Rise and repeat
Hope is planted
And Hope is reaped

What’s the rush, Joash?
Why’d you arrive so early?
Not that we’re complaining,
you know we love you dearly.

Why the rush, Joash?
Why’re you so eager
to join the clan Hamilton,
for us to get to see yer?

Why the rush Joash?
There’s truly plenty of time
for you and Reuben, Mum & Dad
to find your rhythm and rhyme.

Why the rush, Joash?
Just rest and feel the beat
of four lives loving in unison,
a quartet truly complete.

My kids, they prophecy daily,
young men recount their visions,
pensioners dream their dreams,
fired up for holy mission.

I wonder about those like me
caught in our middle ages.
What did Joel have in mind
for men in mid-life crises?

God tells me I'm still chosen,
I still do qualify
to bear ripe fruit, to share good gifts,
to live without compromise.

So as the last days come much nearer,
as our mission nears completion,
you'll find I pray more readily
to herald his coming kingdom.

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.

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.

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.

Where's your joy?
Where have you found it?
If it's not there before you
turn your face to it.

Where's your joy?
Are you able to grasp it?
If it's not within reach
take steps towards it.

Where's your joy?
And are you enjoying it?
Life's worth the effort
for the joy found within it.

(Judges 1. 1-3)

Judah shall go first
Judah shall go up
Judah takes the lead
With thanksgiving in his heart

Judah shows his brothers
Leading by example
How to take new ground
Knowing God is able

Praising God in prayer
Praising God in dance
Praising God with singing
Letting God advance

'Cos Judah is a fighter
Judah lifts God's banner
Judah is a front man
Worshipper and warrior

"Didn't He tell you
Wasn't it clear
Did you not realise
Did you not hear?

He is now risen
He is not here
He's gone on ahead
Please hold back your tears.

We won't need your spices
Don't look so amazed
Go tell everybody
His body's been raised."

So shocked and bewildered
They left the cold tomb
And ran to the others
Who hid in a room,

"Jesus has risen
He's body's not there
Let's go now and meet him
In Galilee where

He'll explain it all to us
Make clear what He said
Please don't look so worried
No need to be scared.

Jesus has risen
I tell you it's true
Let's go now and meet Him
Let's start life renewed."

Just like that
they were taken.
No warning.
No explanation.
A quiet night raven.

And what happened next
was yet
was not yet
and yet it was
touched by old regrets
like that

Shielded behind Met. blue
I shoulder my silver numbers:
A Papa-Lima protector
On south-east London streets.

Riding shotgun all night
Dripping with closing time doner
Adolescent adrenaline
Fueling my every move.

I scan the heavy streets
On the prowl for grateful victims, 
Burying old delinquent doubt
Beneath my cool, blue strobe.
-
A wet behind the ears
Raring juvenile constable,
Abandoned and sanctioned
To bully and to bruise,
And then perhaps to scar
For good.

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.

God creator, God enthroned,
God in heaven, juxtaposed
with a green hill
not so far away,
but still a long way
from a throne room,
and just a day's walk
from Bethlehem,

a God walk beside us
a God walk with us,
a God walk like ours,
and now enthroned,
- still with us.

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.

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

The kinetic energy
contained in this resting pencil
will soon be let out
in accelerated shouts and whispers
and the odd word of wisdom.
Just wait.
You'll see.

Kindness is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest

‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss her
lest she attract your notice
lest she presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence

Kindness is not like that –

Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption

Kindness defies convention

Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Kindness perseveres all the love-long day

Kindness doesn’t delay

Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts

Kindness confronts

Courage is her currency, boldness her language,
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms

Kindness transforms

Kindness weakens all defenses
and challenges all camouflaged pretenses
Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms

Kindness is not 'nice'  
Kindness isn’t in this for the likes
Kindness bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Kindness never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight

Kindness is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
This Kindness is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble,
End-Game-level
monumental

Kindness is not 'nice'.

Kindness is loving awe-ful.

Kindness is not nice.

Nice is soft and inoffensive.
Nice is easy and effects no change, it's cotton wool - not stuffed tight, but just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or trodden into a muddy disinterest. Nice is a damp whisper, a mouse cowering in the corner, taking up as little space as possible, lest it be noticed, lest it presume too much and cause a whisker of offence.

Kindness isn't like that -

Kindness pushes in, claws out, quick and heavy, uninvited, unexpected, taking pleasure in disturbance, in leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in its pursuit of creating a disruption of difference. Kindness counts everyone a target, anybody a likely candidate for a three act matinee and evening performance of loud Kindness. Surprise is its currency, smiles its language, common humankindness its passport to lands yet to be explored, to vast red territories with drumbeats of gratefulness for the opportunity to march in with regiments of compassion and to leave a signature devastation of brutal Kindness.

Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.

don’t look at me like I don’t belong,
like me and my kind arn’t welcome
I’m no immigrant, I’m Kingdom-born
with equal grace-rights, a citizen

I've got God’s eternal leave to remain
so it don’t matter where I’m from
I’m access all areas, V-I-P,
unaffected by any referendum

you and me, we’re blood family
and He’s declared we’re all welcome

When we prefer the narrow gate
And tire of busy highways
We see the Kingdom come

When the master is the servant
And kneels to wash our feet
We see the Kingdom come

When the straggler is given preference
And the first steps to the back
We see the Kingdom come

When we serve the poor, the hungry
And take the stranger in
We see the Kingdom come.

When children are given pride of place
And followed as an example
We see the Kingdom come

When brother and sister are reconciled
While our offering is left to wait
We see the Kingdom come

When the temples are cleared of commerce
And prayer takes it rightful place
We see the Kingdom come

When the Sabbath serves the worshipper
Not the worshipper the Sabbath
We see the Kingdom come

When fragrant extravagance is applauded
And noses put out if joint
We see the Kingdom come

When the Creator's light is lifted up
And the Son is no longer hidden
We see the Kingdom come

don’t look at me like I don’t belong,
like me and my kind ain’t full welcome

We're all immigrants, no-one's born in this kingdom,
We’ve got the same grace-rights, as full-fledged citizens

We've each got eternal leave to remain
and have done since the day we came

We have full access, we're all V-I-Ps,
us and the King, we’re real family

me and mine are all around His manor,
if you don’t like it, take it to Father.

Every path has a bend
Each conversation an end
Every hug a releasing
Each kiss a sweet parting
Every friendship incurs bruises
some out-of-joint noses
Each love song will fade
to silence - or refrain
There are no guarantees
of a life without tears,
but be clear about this -
you'll remember that kiss

I hate knees
Knees hurt on the way down
the stairs to breakfast.
Knees hurt on impact
when I pray in earnest.
Knees transmit pain
signals to my brain relentless.
I hate knees.
Whether on necks
or where they belong,
on the ground.
I hate knees.

You created my inmost being; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I was woven together in the depths of the earth; from the first stitch your eyes saw my unformed body.  Before you completed that first row all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

You selected the yarn by colour, by weight, choosing the texture with utmost care. You picked out the ideal needles, counted the ***** of wool and with a smile settled down to cast on that first stitch.

Your fingers blurred into action as you chatted with family, confident of the pattern you yourself designed  -

With a knit and a pearl the stitches increased and decreased to ensure the desired shape, maintaining a consistent gauge stitch after stitch, row after row.

And after hours of knitting and chatting, with a satisfied sigh you cast off and held up the result of your handy work to the light for all to admire.

How precious you are to me. How I wonder at this body knitted together with such love and with such great skill.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully knitted.

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 drank in the portrait
of the lady on fire
wondering how
the master kept his eyes focused
and his heart unmoved
as he captured the moving anguish of her beauty.

May the Lord embrace you
And keep you close
May His kisses rest on your face
And give you assurance of his Grace
That will never cease
To lay down with you
And push away your aloneness
So that His Peace can increase
Until life gives you release
Into His everlasting presence.
Amen.

On your last day,
at your leaving speech
you let your real self show
(just a little)
and then I saw you
stop yourself
just before you got interesting.

I serve with a woman called Lois;
having her here is a bonus;
you know she is near
whenever you hear
laughter, loud and in chorus.

When I think of my dad
I think of a smile
and full-body-laughter.

I think of piles of library books
and reliable pedal bikes,
cigars and pipe smoke,
holidays in tents
and long family treks.

I recall his choice of grey,
brown
and karki
and his superstition of green.

I think of stubble,
big crossed arms
and early morning mugs
of strong tea.

I think of an only son
not matching expectations.
Quick tempers.
Rationed phone calls.
Enforced lights out.

I think of that time
he forced the door -

and of mum's white
'best not tell your dad' lies,
and the lesson taken into my own marriage,
for better, for worse,
that the truth was worse.

When I think of my dad
I think of his smile
and his laughter.

I know a young woman named Lauren
Who seems to be wearing a sporran
Oh no she's not
It's a bottle that's hot
Its offsetting the artic aircon

Stones and Seeds -
Whatever you hold,
lay them down
and unfold your empty hands

leave to remain
stay to move on
tear down to build
some space to call home

make new reminders
keep a fresh store
full of faint memories
with room for much more

drink to old allies
drink to forget
laugh with new friends
shake off your regret

this is tomorrow
a brand new today
this is fresh start
you're welcome to stay

He left me with a London Kiss
along the length of my body
deep enough to cost me
long enough to teach me to be careful
whenever I left myself exposed
and chose to be vulnerable
in this city of disputed space
and contested dreams.

He left me
poorer, but wiser.

Speed is cold.
Speed is cruel.
Speed is merciless.

Speed is a smile, at speed.
Blink and it's gone.

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.

The first lesson is to be still
the next is to wait
while you look long
and listen deep
that you might love all the more.

Take your place amongst the brave ones
The take-a-chance ones
The get-up-despite
and try-it-again ones.

Take your place amongst the daughters and sons
living post-lockdown
and let's run.

Let there be colour
Let there be shape
Let the air be filled
with sound and scent

Let colours and shapes
Let sounds and scents
be blended together
with roaring intent

Go soak in the sights
and relish the shapes
go embrace the new
come and escape

Life is a workshop
and you are the project.
Listen to the tutor,
collaborate,
expect messy
and have fun.

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

Each dent should lessen the value,
but curiously deepens character.

A life can be told from different angles
A different moral every time
A fresh perspective from greater distance
Puts the truth to familiar lies

All heaven screams its electric hues
The sun explodes in chroma anger
The clouds reach wide to embrace the view
And the sea gives up reflected grandeur

My eyelids filter this grace of lights
My tears rejoice at sunlight's candour
My breath gives up its futile fight
And my face absorbs this heaven's splendour

When the sun shines through my hand,
red and pink through my fingers,
the inside out.

When the sun makes shadows of my hand,
shade to my fingers,
darkness across my page.

When the sun shines, I climb line after line
from one rhyme to the next
unchecked from the deep,
to new depths, from newer heights!
To greater red and dark lights!

Sometimes I feel like a cactus.
A cactus in the desert
flowering, soaking up
every last drop of moisture
testifying to all who care to hear
that here there is life
there is hope
there is growth
here in the desert
here where I was planted
with purpose
with reason
with intent to thrive
here in this desert.

Sometimes I feel like a cactus 🌵
tenacious
tireless
persistent
just as my maker intended.

He sits in your downstream
and, despite a list of jobs
sitting in his back pocket,
he sits and as you talk at him
in his second or maybe third language
he shouts back his still focus
on your dignity rather than your tears
while the weight of his hand on your shoulder
and the intensity of his eyes on your face
ensures he doesn't miss one sob.

Keep to your own lines,
the interwoven, layered,
stood-the-test-of-time,
true-to-the-character lines.

Friend. Father.
Englander. Londoner. 
Hero. Hugger.
Reliable understudier.

Place your toes on the bottom line,
and take a look and take in a breath,
take inspiration drawn in from the borrowed,
from the passing,
from the whatever-passes-for-solomon.
And redefine yourself, for yourself,
once again.

But don't stray over those well-rehearsed lines.
Don't ever improvise.

You're safe if you keep to your lines.

The blue lion applied reasonable force down on the black zebra's neck, his lazy authority reinforced with each passing minute.
And the world looked on.

The black zebra signaled his compliance with a little blood and by changing colour to a curious shade of purple.
And the world looked on.

His black herd cried, but kept their distance lest the blue pride took an unhealthy interest in them too.
And the world looked on.

The para lion checked for signs of death, unhurried under the just restraint of the blue law.
And the world looked on.

Eventually the carcass was rolled aside, deflated, unfortunately losing some of its colour.
And the world looked on.

Then later the black herd stampeded, making a wider spectrum of noise that couldn't be ignored.
And the world looked up, asking for the blue lions to do their job, and corrale the black zebras lest they frighten the white cubs.

And the world looked away.