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.

It only takes a small cut
  It only takes a soft word
in the right spot
  in the right ear
to sink deep
  to sink in
and scar for good.
  and bring healing.

Child’s play is a serious business.
You can tell by the furrow and
the earnest tongue -
how it protrudes for extra concentration.

And when it suddenly shifts
from one side to the other -
Brace yourselves,
you’re in for something very special;
possibly involving a necklace
of painted pasta shells.

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.

Jack of all trades,
master of none,
but oftentimes better
than master of one.

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.

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

The men of God met together
early in the morning
Would 4 dozen eggs stretch?

The men of God cooked together
early in the morning
Would Pyrex or Crackpot be best?

The men of God planned together
early in the morning
Would Barney remember the chives?

The men of God sat together
early in the morning
Would Logan allow open fires?

The men of God prayed together
early in the morning.
Would Jesus prefer bread and fish?

The men of God laughed together
early in the morning
Could anything ever beat this?

"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.

What goes around
will come around.
Usually,
to bite you.
Invariably
in the ****
and always
overdue.

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.

It was the first minutes of the morning after.  
The feast of Stephen boldly trod across the threshold
and waded through the leftovers
of Christmas delights and indulgences,
the echoes of family festivities,
and the discarded wrapping
still clinging to twists of Sellotape.  

The delights repeated,
the echoes faded
and all the discarded
lay deep and crisp and uneven,
even as we followed the heat
of the good King's steps,
into the cruel cold,
seeking the blessing of fresh fuel
for the wider feast ahead.

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.

Shadows don’t get deeper
when they overlap.
They don't get darker
under a brighter sun.

Dragonflies out in the sun
They know what I mean

We share the same
filtered sun.
We share the same
moving shadows.

And we are all the stronger for the sharing.

Back when Tigers smoked and Cranes
played fiddle late in the night,
back when men left the forests
for fear of the Moon Bears’ songs,
back when women were revered
for their surging red moon dance,
I remember less warfare,
more reason to feast and sing,
I recall my beginning
as father took mother’s hand
and bathed her in the river
in the late Korean Spring.

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.

Your songs sweeten this bitter passing
Rudder me through to calmer waters.

Your words secure my departing
Restore my shredded sails
For this last crossing.

But first let me stay a story longer,
Tell me a tale from our voyages together:
Of past storms soothed,
Of old foes bested.

And so ready me to weather this course
To its end.

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.