Poetry from May to August '96
Poetry from May to August '968/5/96
"For there is more sin in my mind,
than in anyone else I can find."
"Then why are you so kind and strong?"
He asked, and she replied, "Because of
Jesus, in whose arms we all belong."
When I look within and focus on me,
I’m shocked and depressed by what I see.
The things I do are selfish,
And so are the words I say.
Even if it doesn’t always seem that way.
I fall and fail, I cheat and lie.
I hurt and maim and make things dies.
When I look out and focus on Jesus,
I rejoice to see one so righteous.
The things he does are selfless,
And so are the words he speaks
He makes me strong when I feel weak.
He guards and guides, He cares and gives.
He helps and heals and makes things live.
If I look in, I curl up and cry.
But when I look our, I take wing and fly.
And I would never wish,
To trap it on this page,
And tame its vatic power,
Like an eagle in a cage.
But truly in a simple name,
Exists the being whole.
Since Earth alone won’t hold you,
My pen can’t catch your soul.
My little boat is far offshore,
Struggling as I heave upon the oars.
Goaded on by cliffs of brilliant white,
I battle the sea in fading light.
Oh that I could reach that distant lea!
The home of Troy and gold Mycenae.
Where Beowulf ever Grendel fights,
And Ovid eagle-like alights.
Here Virgil is at last at peace,
And Wordsworth finds his true release.
Here would I tread with reverent gaze,
Lost forever in a poet’s maze.
Who is lovely
Who is radiant
Who is beauty
But our God.
Who is gentle
Who is patient
Who is loving
But our God
Who is tearful
Who is suffering
Who is dying
None but our God.
If we were thirsty,
Would I give you my cup?
If we were drowning,
Would I hold you up?
If we were freezing,
Would my cloak be yours?
If danger threatened you,
Would I pause?
The morning sun sets the land ablaze with gold,
And drives away the chill of the long winter night.
So make my dark form radiant!
The setting sun bathes the sky in warm pastels,
And makes the clouds in the east glow like mountains.
So permeate my whole being!
That all I speak and think and do,
May be for you!
This silent sill once echoed
With the sound of skilled masons.
Hadrian carved his name in stone,
Eighty miles long.
Here Brigantine youths grew old,
The wall their home and workplace.
They died in obscurity,
Smoothened stones their only legacy.
Here geography spoiled a tidy plan,
Drawn up in a distant land.
A milecastle sits out of position,
An extra turret guards a blind spot.
The ragged auxiliaries stood watch,
Gazing over the crag and water.
All they saw, as I do,
Was this unbroken horizon.
A single flash of purple,
Breaks the endless greens and greys.
An alien petal hovers before me,
Then plunges down, down to Crag Lough.
I creep to the cliff edge,
Where nestles the mysterious source.
Flowers so vibrant in this wilderness,
Yet cut dead at the stem.
A stone holds them in place,
And alongside a paper note.
Dew smudged letters speak plain,
"I’m still missing you my son."
Who wrote these words?
I need not ask why.
What cruel injury broke the solitude?
What bitter cries shattered the silence?
No tears could fill this emptiness,
Yet somehow these few flowers do.
Here at the edge of barbarica,
Is a memorial more striking than Hadrian’s.
But when I next return,
The flowers will be gone.
Assaulted by the wind and rain,
And consumed in the marsh below.
Perhaps no fresh ones will replace them;
Then one day the father will die.
As with the ancient wall garrison,
Only the smoothened stones will commemorate.
I stand where many have stood.
On the threshold of a nameless portal.
To reach this point my namesake had to kill,
A boar - or was it man.
But I am Alexander the Unimportant.
I need not bloody my Macedonian hands.
I just wait helplessly,
While the unerring clock dictates.
Clock Tower is striking.
Twelve even chimes.
The coming of age has come,
I am now a man.
A man to men.
A child to God.
A child of God,
Make this boy a man!
"Play ruthless and dirty
For a few more hours.
No one will notice,
And the cup will be ours!"
But the crown of glory fades away.
It may fit for the moment,
But never stays.
‘The hand of God’ his kudos slays.
New heroes rise and the old are forgotten,
And so worthless see victories misbegotten.
The ruthless player has nothing left,
Of lasting riches he is bereft.
But the honest player passes his crown with joy.
His skill and honour he will always hold.
More precious than any earthly gold.
The Game is his pleasure and his reward,
And to him the Game, itself, applauds!
[entered for the Snickers / Euro’96 campaign for fair play competition
- I didn’t win (a years supply of chocolate)!]
Am I angry at you,
Or angry at me.
Or angry at the world,
I just can’t see.
Where do I stand?
Why don’t I fall?
I can’t find the sense,
To make sense of it all.
What do you promise?
Does it come true?
My hope’s running out,
Can I still trust you?
I’ve found a peace,
But it brings turmoil too.
I want all to know,
But what can I do?
Everything I say,
Seems to guff things up.
I haven’t got what it takes
To drink this cup.
I ask for help.
I ask for a sign.
I pray for us all,
Oh hear my whine.
Fill the sky with lightning,
The earth with rain.
Unexpected and unimagined
Wonders once again!
Now I’m calm.
My storm has gone.
But thick clouds remain,
And linger on.
Acting wrong but
Thinking it’s right.
Mind on fire
Can’t sleep at night.
Kidding myself
To hide the light.
Knowing it won’t
Hoping it might.
Grim reality
Stops short the flight.
Leave my head
I need my sight.
You can’t grow them,
You can’t buy them,
You can’t wrestle out each thought.
You may call them,
You may summon,
But they really can’t be sought.
So rest your mind from frenzied fight,
Humble your awesome mental might.
Wait on rhythm,
Sit still for rhyme.
Cast out an ethereal spider line;
And gently, softly, let it drift in time.
Sooner than expected comes a bite.
Reel in and play the Muse-sent sprite.
Each tug and jink unerring write,
‘Till it emerges, glorious, into light.
Ungrown.
Unforced.
Unsummoned.
Unsought.
You’ll be surprised at what you’ve caught.
But all my being longs for home,
It strains and longs for you,
As dry earth for crystal morning dew.
You are always my magnetic north,
My needle love points true,
And my swallow soul would fly to you.
As a man I am told
That I should be much more bold,
For they are fiction and idle talk.
Yet in my dreams they live and walk.
So why do human minds inspire
Lycathropes and dread vampires?
Why do we express ourselves
With undead, hobgoblins and evil elves?
Do we need inhuman fears,
When sadly it is all too clear
How fellow men treat one another:
They hate and torture and kill their brothers.
But no matter how I try,
My mind silts up near you,
My speech is broken, empty and dry.
I just don’t know why this should be,
I know that I’m useless and nothing,
But why can’t I be the normal me.
In my dreams my mind is free,
From the nameless chains that bind it,
Nothing to push apart you and me.
We sit and talk for countless hours,
About things of no import,
The weather, countryside and flowers.
All the while your eyes are bright,
I see them and nothing else,
Beautiful beacons in the soul’s night.
Each night I know what to do,
If we should meet in lucid dream,
In sleep at least to say I love you.
But you had the welly to handle them,
And win there friendship as well.
So now we all know that it’s true,
You’re a Kula Shaker gel.
You sing and dance like a beautiful dryad,
(Even when you’re drunk!)
And we’re more complete for knowing you,
You crazy superfunk.
Stevo’s a name that suits you well,
We say it but in jest,
For you are fiery like your hair,
And your life is full of zest.
So this is the poem I said I’d write,
To say that you are special.
God bless you now and evermore,
And in his strong arms nestle.
No words could do you justice,
No picture, song or ode.
So mind the beer monkeys, Libby,
And know we love you loads.
Whisky’s all that stopped me from slitting my wrist,
And when I want to have fun I get totally pissed.
If I need inspiration to write or paint,
A nice juicy ‘shroom makes reality faint.
I’m sorted with an E to dance the night away,
When I’m bored and undersexed chocolate brightens the day.
The doctor gives me something when I feel unwell,
But there’s nothing I can take to fill this mortal shell.
Even with close friends we wear masks,
Our true identities unknown.
Around our souls the thickest ivy has grown,
And so true self knowledge is ours alone.
Only two can penetrate our mortal cask,
For God of course knows all.
He sees our faults and stops us fall,
He feels our pain and hears our calls.
The other is the greatest gift of God,
More precious than all ethereal wealth.
Someone with whom you can be yourself,
Both in harvest and bad health.
Someone who understands each smile and nod,
Who loves every peculiarity.
You can drop your masks and with vulnerability,
Rejoice in new-found unity.
I have lain dormant for an era,
From times long lost to your forgetful race.
Now I feel the ice thawing.
The climate is right at last:
So you are aware of me little one,
And soon I shall come forth -
Forth into the greens and blues of the upper world.
I remember the wind under me,
The sun on my hide,
And the taste:
The blood of cattle and of men.
Do not think you can understand me.
You are too fleeting for such knowledge.
You try to grasp what you sense inside,
But feeling is insubstantial as the wind.
Even if I revealed myself in full,
You would not understand.
You see the water, tides and wave,
You hear breakers pound the coast,
You taste the salty air,
But you miss the Spirit, the Ocean.
You look up and see the stars,
But they are beyond your reach.
Likewise am I beyond.
Perhaps you want to kill me,
To purge yourself of my stain.
You cannot.
Others before have thought such things.
So foolish.
You cannot take life from that which has none.
Do you really think The One would have given life
to such as I?
I am uncreate,
I have no life of my own,
Only what I steal.
You understand none of this.
Well, that is of no import.
I hear the drip, drip of icemelt.
Soon the time will be upon us,
Then you will understand,
And We will feast.