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.

It's about GROWTH.
It's about what type of fruit
inevitability grows.
But you don't get to pick and choose,
you don't get to specialise -
You can't specify your choice of variety,
no, it's a job-lot, in its entirety.
But don't get stressed,
it's not about yield or performance,
it's not a contest.
It's about the kind of person you express,
the flavour of person folk taste
when you're most hard pressed.
It's about the fruit of God's Spirit,
the overflowing character of Jesus.
But don't fret,
don't boast -
it's about
GROWTH.

I long to taste a sugar plum off the ****** tree,
walk in the field of golden grass just to feel.
I want to feel the sugar plum tree, high at stake and bright with sweet bumble nests.
We all talk about apple trees, but why not the plum tree?
Gracefully swaying it's branches in the summers light.
I long to taste a sugar plum, laced in sweet white crystals.
The juice flows through our mouths, fresh, cold, and sweet.
Deep colors from it's roots to it's leaves, we have brown, light purple to dark purple, which we call plum, green delight how beautiful it is in my sight. I want a sugar plum, to bite into it's fruitful dismay and lay on natures green bed, so soft, so gentle. Stare into the clouds watching them gently float by, a cool breeze of sweet air swishes amongst my earthly face as i fall asleep under the sugar plum tree.

Ignore the lyrics.

You can't pursue love. You don't find love.
Love's not a thing to be kept or to be had -
it's a doing word
that you just have to work at.

Love is a language expressed in deeds
and sometimes needs to get ****** to best succeed,
with a focus on what is needed whatever the cost
it’s a no-greater-love
that a friend gives on the way to the cross.

It’s a by-this-they-shall-know-you love
A lake-side more-than-these love
A one-another-as-I-have love.
A recognition of our debt of love,

So live relaying a reaffirming love,
Fulfill the greatest command of love,
Greet each other with a holy kiss of love
Build each other up with a that much stronger love.

Bear the heavy fruit of love
until it ripens into a truer love
that resembles in some small way
the seed that was that original
no-greater-love,

cos without love,
well, bruv
you and I,
no matter how loud we sing,
our branches are bear,

and we are nothing.

Fruit goes off.
It gets mushy and smelly,
losing its colour and beauty - losing its taste,
eventually drying out,
losing all resemblance of what it once was,
only good for waste.

But fruit nurtured by a master grower,
a seasoned gardener,
fruit watched and watered til ripe and at its peak,
this fruit is harvested, fermented,
blended til building to a fuller physique,
brought to full maturity til ready for the table
and the banquet where no one's poor
and no-one is able to maintain a semblance of meek.

- where the gardener and the wine maker,
sit at the top seats smiling their blessing.
And the table branches out
giving room enough for the whole family gathering.

And the feast to end all feasts begins.

Dates, are either wrinkly
                          or juicy...

Mine wasn't that good as
             I spat out his tongue.

Dam, I only said Hi...….

Ties that bind are not easily broken.
What did you inherit in your bloodline?
For the fruit is a product of the vine.
We are the consequences of words spoken.
Our Ancestors sin is not forgotten,
planting seeds that grew into bitter wine.
They may have passed but we still pay the fines.
Their silence left us nothing but tokens.

The curses may last four generations,
but the blessings endure for a thousand.
We want to leave a good inheritance.
Elders to fight we need your confessions.
To dig and allow the cycle to end,
in order to give the next ones a chance.

In the center of the strawberry is  
hollow

in your ears echoes
the budding want licks

sweet from her tongue