My Poetry

Christmas time,
Mistletoe and wine,
People trying hard to have a good time.
But the turkey was burnt.
And the children have learnt,
To shout for more, please,
They’ve not had enough.
Binge watching the telly
And all of that stuff.
And the crisis round the Christmas tree,
As the presents are given out,

“These parcel’s not labelled.”
But very much claimed.
So who do they go to?
“They’re all for me!” the grasping grab.
For any gifts that are lacking a tag.
“For me.” “For me.” “For me.”
Yet high up above them,
Where their eyes cannot see.
Beyond the fairy on the top of the tree,
Is the God who gives, generously.

Strangers are the strangest people.
More strange than anyone I know.
Where did they come from?
Where do they go?
And, do I have to say, “Hello”?
“Can’t I just ignore them, please?”
My introversion screams.
After all, they’ll soon be gone away.
And I’ll go back to my cloudy day.
And think my thoughts, quite undisturbed,
By conversations I have curbed.
That might have asked something of me.

Or made me laugh, much too loudly.
Or questioned something I believed.
Or told me things I’d not conceived.
Or warned me of troubles ahead.
Which turned us into friends instead.
But now they are strangers only.
And deep inside I’m strangely lonely.
And so I do speak out, “Hello”.
And see if they’ve something to say.
Or faintly smile and turn away.
In which case they’ll forever be,
The strangest stranger, strange to me.

Parky is a little monster, light as a feather.
A very low energy, slurred talking,
Wobbles when he’s walking, little fella.

He’s lazy and maleficent, and rides upon your back,
And takes whatever he needs from you,
And never gives it back.

He’ll steal away your energy until it’s all but gone.
He’ll take away your voice so others cannot hear your song.
He’ll push you off your balance so you tumble on the floor.
He’s a nasty little parasite who keeps on taking more.

So, a big shout out for Parky,
His friends call him PD.
Though he’s not a very happy soul, who rides on top of me.

He’s with me every waking hour,
And cares not that I see,
That naughty little monster who will be the end of me.

My Christ Church, tis of thee,
Host of our church family.
To it my spiritual journey lies.
For which, on Sunday morning, I arise, (and shine,
And give God the Glory, Glory.)
Yet take my time.
No need to hurry.
I’ll tell you for why.
It’s the sabbath day of rest, and so I
Walk, with my big black Bible under my arm.
It is not far.
No. In reality, I take the car,
And listen to Smooth Radio on the way.
And park the car in the marked out bay.
(Now this is not an exciting bit
so I will linger no longer with it.

Except to say it’s a bit of a squeeze, when parking,
trying to miss the trees.)
And so I arrive at church, along with many
And am greeted by such friendly folk as Kenny.
A firm handshake here and a knowing wink there,
Then I’m on a mission to choose my chair for the morning.
Only to be encouraged to move forward,
Not too far forward, Stephen, thank you!
Then, with cup of tea in hand,
The one minute countdown begins, and,
Let us all go to our places,
As familiar faces.
Tom and Claire, Ryan and Andy,
Along with Messrs fair and dandy,
Unleash Christ Church,
Through the YouTube,

Onto an unsuspecting world.
Well, YouTube if you want to, say I,
The decision is yours.
I like to make an appearance inside these walls.
Though truth be told,
In the interest of transparency,
When Covid arrived,
And the lockdown ensued,
And we weren’t meant to drive,
In our homes we were glued,
Unable to enjoy,
The company of friends,
There we would be,
My family and me,
Sat on the settee,
Eating our egg and bacon sarnie.
Mmmm, I miss those.

What does it mean?
I heard the phrase,
Whilst sat in my car.
The engine turning over.
Waiting to move.
I was in a queue
For petrol.
And the sky grew dark.
And the blue faded.
Colour, lost in the absence of light.
Thoughts running over
My life.
It used to be sunny weather
In the Summer.
I remember.
We feared the heat from missiles and bombs.
But now we just fear heat.
In the Summer,
In the Winter.

We’re planting trees to put things right.
Trying to mend what we have broken.
The rich keep cool
In their outdoor pool.
The sound of splashing water
Makes the poorer go mad.
Hold onto your hats, honey,
This could be a bumpy ride.
In the SUV,
With its two big exhaust pipes.
But I’ve only got one.
So, I’m taking it seriously.
Given up beef for the year.
That should do it.
Every little helps.
The sound of the commercial.
Telling us to buy more.
And so I spin in my bed,
With these fears in my head.

It’s outside my control.
Whatever I do,
It’s not enough.
To stop the smell
Of burning beef,
On the barbeques,
And in the air.
No, it’s not the beef.
It’s the trees.
They were alive,
And now they’re dead.
And the smoke rising
Up from the forest
Is the warning.
It’s coming to a place near you.
And it will sweep all before it.
Has anyone told Jesus?
Yes, he knows what’s going on.
He lit a fire at Pentecost.
Two thousand years ago.

1. It will be a strange day indeed.
That day when everyone who has ever lived will awaken from their sleep
And find themselves transported to a vast plain.
A sea of humanity.
Millions and millions and millions.
Gathering. Confused. Silent.
It will be a strange day indeed.

2. It will be a strange day indeed.
It will be the last day, but also the first.
It will be the end, but also the beginning.
And so the people are gathered and wait.
Some growing anxious.
Others feeling the grip of excitement.
It will be a strange day indeed.

3. It will be a strange day indeed.
When the wind stops blowing,
And all noise will cease as the people gaze on the angels
Flying here and there across the sky.
The people wait for something yet to come.
Someone of consequence for every one of them.
It will be a strange day indeed.

4. It will be a strange day indeed.
When a small light, like a star, appears in the sky.
The light grows larger as it draws nearer.
The angels become increasingly excited.
They soar through the clouds to take up their places.
As a name rises up through countless whispers. Jesus!
It will be a strange day indeed.

5. It will be a strange day indeed.
As in the midst of the light a man can be seen.
The ‘Son of Man’, come to welcome his friends into new life.
The one who sees your heart,
and knows the choice you have made.
The one who brings everything into fulfillment.
It will be a strange day indeed.

6. It will be a strange day indeed.
As the singing and the wailing begins.
The joy and the anger. The bliss and the ugliness,
The weight of God’s presence is felt in different ways.
And, so, at first almost imperceptibly, the billions of people move.
Some to one side of the plain, and some to the other.
Yes, it will be a strange day indeed.

1. Tears rolled down your pretty face when mum and Papa died.
Then you moved into the home of Cousin Mordecai.
He held you in a warm embrace and sat you on his knee.
And he told you, you were beautiful.
Did you feel it?

2. Strangers came into the house. They looked at you and whispered.
Cousin Mordecai protested but they still took you away.
Frightened little Esther in a world of frozen glances.
For they thought that you were beautiful.
Did you feel it?

3. They took your little body and they fed it and prepared it.
You were the roasted turkey ready for the King’s consumption.
Do not cry little Esther you must smile to please your master.
So they strove to make you beautiful.
Did you feel it?

4. Alone you stood in robes of gold awaiting consummation.
The stranger King who knew you not, yet knowing what he wanted.
He took you there and then, and when the violence subsided,
He said that you were beautiful.
Did you feel it?

5. They placed you on a throne and gave you homage as their Queen.
But they wouldn’t let you leave the gilded prison you were in.
And in a while the King would deign to summon you again.
And they honoured you as beautiful.
Did you feel it?

6. That day when food was ready and the King and Haman came,
You watched them as they feasted on the wonders you’d prepared.
Not knowing what was on your mind, they laughed and sang your praises.
And they toasted you as beautiful,
Did you feel it?

7. When you told the King your news and watched him fly into a rage.
And you saw deaths dreary shadow fall across old Haman’s face.
When he fell before you, begging you to save his wretched life.
You stood there, silent, beautiful.
Did you feel it?

8. In the silence of the harem as the days and years went by,
Imprisoned by the four walls of your master’s lust and greed,
Now discarded by the King, for younger women please his eye,
Still, God’s people say you’re beautiful.
Do you feel it?

I went one day a-sharking,
My fin up in the air.
I threw a net so long and broad,
And caught a mermaid there.
She smiled at me and flashed her eyes,
And said with voice so sweet,
“Be gentle with me mister shark,
I haven’t any feet.”
I placed her on a chair, and there,
I gazed upon her face.
But I couldn’t help agree
Perhaps her feet were out of place.

Her beauty and her radiance
Were plain for all to see.
But I needed someone who could walk
Not swim around the sea.
As a shark I have to tell you,
That I feel misunderstood.
All I’m seeking is perfection,
Just as anybody would.
So I said, “I’m sorry mermaid,
But you’re not the one for me.”
Then I took her in my arms
And dropped her back into the sea.