How could a culture
Built on Nero’s ruined Rome
Be kind to strangers?
How could Yeshua
Be rehomed in the Vatican
And remain unchanged?
Yeshua’s people?
Shall these bones live ,shall they die?
It is cast,They’re gone.
A butterfly’s wing
Suffered a small detachment
And changed history.
The man made of wood
Grew branches, twigs and leaves
Will he come to bud?
She did not notice
Treated him like a real man
They were well rooted.
She bore him a child
Fertilised by his flowers
The child was human.
A canopy hung
From branch to branch making safe
A home and shelter.
Later he appeared
In the Middle East and was
Hung from his father.
Torture was sacred
And his father was defiled.
He began to burn.
A red flame shrieked .
A child drew butterflies.
They are in Prague now.
The little children
Their huge eyes and anxious trust
Oh, mother,father.
All burn evermore
In the black mind of Europe
The height of culture.
Their eyes,close their eyes.
Let them not look out at us
From the photographs
When we celebrate
We deck the halls with holly
The Museum shuts.
As the lights go out
Remember, men like to fight.
And holly draws blood
No man can woo her or bestow a kiss Nor even help her opening the door. For with her cruel tongue she ne’er can miss. Her epithets will knock him to the floor. No man caresses her in warmth of night Nor brings her tea and comfort when she’s sick. She puts them off by always being right And giving answers far too sly and quick. No man can puzzle out what he’s done wrong No man can cut the wire that binds her heart. Yet now and then they hear a wistful song… And think they see black demons swift depart.. Beware such women as they are accursed… For never by Love’s touch have they been blessed
They lay down in awe and fear, Of what their love was bringing near. They gazed into each other’s eyes And so did rhapsodise. They lay down to gaze into the eyes and soul and heart so true. They gazed until,when overcome, They were united into one. Their souls and bodies were conjoined, And thus their hearts were well entwined; As honeysuckle on the walls, In joy’s sweet arbours does grow tall. Their loving lips and eyes and hands Gave pause to time’s soft flowing sands; And while they touched and gazed so long, The birds sang out in glorious songs. The eyes are mirrors to the soul, and love will make us grow more whole. Gaze lovingly on humankind.. And hold care in your mind.
Cracks in the pavement Look like rivers approaching an estuary. Natural beauty, the shapes and forms wandering, sanctifies the road. Cherry trees branches, A wide canopy of leaves, Blossom blows away Sung geometry, held still and made eternal, Catches at my throat.
No words of mine can potently display the anguish and the joy that touch our lives; yet all our ghostly forebears went this way where words may pierce our hearts like sharpened knives. No sentient being willingly at first Accepts the pain that true perception brings. Yet we must not take hearts to be a curse; we need not flee from knowledge,though it stings. Each day demands our thoughtfulness and love from which all better action justly comes each day the grace we have is just enough as through the meta narratives we roam For life' s but a true story we invent, with passion and with purified intent
When tensions in our minds then harm our souls And into stranger's ears we pour our woes.. When grief and sorrow shudder through our walls. And whether all is lost we cannot know When what is in or out we cannot tell When fantasy and dream become confused. When spears of agony are felt to maim each cell. When sensibility is utterly bemused. . He in whom we trusted wills us fail For what he said was love was mere desire. Now pain and disappointment make us frail; With torment know this lover was a liar. Then, having lost all other means to live, We turn to darkness where our consolation is.
As I walk slowly through the quiet wood I feel the need to kneel and say a prayer. The sacredness of trees is understood For symbol and its meaning coalesce here The canopy on high is bathed in sun and birdsong is so lovely to my ears. The noise of city traffic I now shun And natural meditation calms my fears. The trees were bare and elegant last week Today the leaves have opened sweet and green I hope no thunderstorm will wreak Its havoc on the new world I have seen. For nothing on this earth will last for long So commemorate each Spring with a new song
How my heart sings 