I loved Daddy so

There were three of us on this motorbike,
Father Dan with me,
And he had Jesus in his bag.
That makes the total three.

Transubstantiation, oh my Lord
I looked  at his black  bag.
Is Jesus inside there, I thought?
Should it have a tag?

It’s a secret  never told
But Father Dan gave it me to hold.
So I had Jesus in my lap,
No wonder there’s a hole, a gap.

We zoomed off up an unmade road
As fast as Dan could go.
I felt bewildered and bemused,
I loved my Daddy so.

Father Dan took back his bag,
And went inside our house.
I got my marbles out to roll,
And I ate a chocolate mouse.

So Three of had taken a ride
And after that my Dad had died.
Father Dan said Mass  today
With holy Jesus,so I cried.

See both sides

 

 

 

 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAB
By Mike  Flemming

 

 

 

Though the News is very bad and we are governed by people who see, unfit to be in their positions,I think of the people I’ve met here in  the last  8  years and their kindness, their hopes, their goodness and their humour and I feel honoured to  meet you all.Thank you to each person for being  the person you are and I hope you will   be successful not in money but in using your talents and  in your humian relationship and in enjoying this beautiful  universe with all its promise and  danger, too

Let’s hope we can make a difference by using our talents and caring for our neighnours during and after Lockdown
What we learn now will help the next generation

W B Yeats:the second coming

photo of lake under cloudy sky
Photo by Steven Hylands on Pexels.com

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?