All poems on this page are copyright to the author.
Writers featured:
Dee Carpenter
Diane Wylie
Selwyn Veater
Patricia Rennie
Geoff Hirst
Lynda Alsford
Patricia Edwards
Victoria Stokes
Eileen Gibson
Attracta McGrath
Dee Carpenter.
Reflections
The quest
these days
is for total knowledge.
microwave technology,
not for tomorrow
or later
but now,
directly.
Information gobbled,
partly digested,
regurgitated
as streams of data,
‘How to be perfect
In Ten Easy Steps’.
In the beginning
it was different,
simple confidence,
A higher Authority.
Creator and created
hand in hand,
face to face,
heart to heart.
The complete picture:
below reflecting above.
A moment’s diversion,
a loss of focus,
a stone tossed lightly
into the depths.
The mirrored image
rumpled,
refracted,
ruined.
Faces turned away
eyes blinded,
seeing only shattered pieces.
Ripples spiralling outwards.
The winds of change
blowing
this way
and that,
but mostly away
from the centre
which is indistinct
because of the waves.
‘Be still
And know…’
A glimpse,
a vision of that mislaid
loveliness,
too bright
in any more than the
tiniest fragment,
but present.
A growing reality
with a name that
never fails
to provoke
a response.
Stirrings,
sightings,
supernatural events.
The ebb and flow
of mercy,
grace
freely extended.
Oil on troubled waters,
upsetting
the status quo.
Cleansing
challenging
calling.
A face
caught in a mirror.
A voice calling
my name?
Stopped in my tracks.
Surely
someone just
traced a connection,
made some sense
out of the muddle.
A loving touch
on my shoulder,
a hand slipped
into mine.
So gentle,
momentary,
elusive,
but real.
A hint of
Future Glory.
Diane Wylie
Each Morning is New
Each morning is new
because you are here, Lord.
The blessings of rest and sleep
give us reasoning renewed.
Each day we live is unique
because you are here, Lord.
New facts, new figures, new friendships
give us hope renewed.
Each evening lovely memories come
because you are here, Lord.
You have been our daily guide
and opened our eyes wide.
Each night we bring our prayers
because you are here, Lord.
They are brought for cares relieved
and gratitude for love released.
From Each Returning Day, Methodist Prayer Handbook 2009/2010
ADVENT PRAYER
We praise you Lord God that
Because of your Incarnate Act
The Baby in the manger
Is our Eternal Saviour.
We look forward and pray
For that wonderful Day
When Jesus returns again
The King of Glory to reign.
AMEN.
A Man’s Work
By Selwyn Veater
8am. My bus wakes up whole streets
as I travel to work, with ineffectual
memories of you, my grandfather.
You never wondered what you might have been,
ambition, a career, weren’t allowed.
And no CV. It could have been this way.
Welsh miner from the Rhondda Valley
with an eager brain, free spoken steward
of the NUM. Blunt, even with your mates,
never eased into the idea of ownership,
a sepsis in your rugged socialist panaceas.
“The bosses made the Unions”, you said.
Beliefs deeper than the pneumoconiosis
that you got in the end. Those narrow streets
and terraced houses where you bred,
compressed you into powerful friendships.
So no-one moved your tin bath when you died.
It hung on the outside wall for eighteen months.
Brass Rectangles
By Selwyn Veater
Swanage faces East, it
attracts the dawn
between silhouettes of
Purbeck stone and its boats disclose
the tides’ equivocation in the bay.
We came here to relax in
drifts
of blue-green light. It was
easierto leave decisions on its shelving beach,
problems dissolved in watery sun.
Here we could be still as moonlight,
sleep in days shadowless as sea.
You'd worn the blue dress you knew I'd like,
I'd bought the pendant with nine purple shapes,
And though we’d been here, off and on, for years,
we chose this time to have our names engraved
in a brass rectangle on its old pier,
above the endless white splashes.
But language couldn't define
what we'd been. Things hardly
rememberedlie on a landing-stage, unnoticed,
a rectangle of brass on Swanage pier.
Patricia Rennie started
writing poetry in the 70’s and has written over 600. She loves writing about
nature, “because modern life eradicates any reference to it”, and she feels
very ill at ease in a great city. Writing poetry keeps her sense of identity
intact. After two bereavements, she has found it immensely helpful to write
poems in order to cope with painful feelings. She is also a diarist and an
artist.
Swallows
By Patricia Rennie
Each year,By Patricia Rennie
compelled by inner urge
to travel north,
and leave the sun,
you fly day and night,
stars guiding you,
over deserts,
mountains, seas,
and men with guns,
who wait to mow you down.
Helpless,
we, who love you,
know the perils
of your journey home…
Our joy is full,
to see you again,
as you float and dip
on English skies,
wings shining blue
while you cut the warm air
like scythes,
or dive unerringly
to remembered nests
beneath the eaves…
Craving freedom,
space, infinity,
courageous birds,
how many more summers
will you come?
Forgotten
By Patricia Rennie.
In winter,
trees become my friends;
tall, silent, alone,
they stand
forgotten in the wood.
Stripped bare of leaves,
they have a winter beauty
few can see,
who love them only for their green;
so the wood is empty,
save for the birds
and me…
The Highlight of 2004.
By Geoff Hirst
With apologies to the great and good,
and all that seems to matter.
The highlight of 2004 was the
gift of a stranger.
Often we receive gifts from relatives
and friends.
But when, oh when, have you had
a gift from a stranger?
What a stranger! What a gift!
On a walk, I was
caught up short.
The man in front had passed
and ignored your gift.
Undeterred, you proffered it to
me, smilingly.
I accepted with alacrity.
A small white flower from
the paw of a happy toddler.
What a moment! What a joy!
That highlight of 2004.
What was he?
By Geoff Hirst
Somebody’s brother, somebody’s son,
taken for granted until he was gone.
A person under a skin
round the flesh his heart was in.
That heart, not beating now,
a piece of meat, cold.
What was this person, this friend?
Just a load of meat under a skin?
I don’t think so, I really don’t think so.
He was more than the sum of his parts.
More than body with heart.
What was he?
A glow in the eyes?
A warmth in the hand?
A word kindly spoken maketh a man.
But that man’s not here.
What was he?
Lynda
Alsford is an evangelist who has been writing poetry and
prose for some years. She has also written a book entitled “He Never Let Go”,
which tells the story of how she dealt with a crisis of faith that she
experienced whilst working as the Parish Evangelist in a West London Church.
This book is available on Amazon.
The Joy of waiting
by Lynda Alsford
So much in me has changed Lord
For you are now number one LordMy desires no longer what they were
Seeking your face I now prefer
The promises you made I still hold dear
Though at times come doubt and fearBut now the waiting’s no longer in vain
A closer relationship with you is what I gain.
Doubts
by Lynda Alsford
Thick and fast they come
One up on the otherGiving no time to come up for air
Lord I need your help
I can’t face these doubts alone
Help me Sweet Lord Jesus
For without you I’ll sink
But give me your strength
And I will swim.
By Patricia Edwards
Dear St. Peter! Comfort sure!
Some of the Saints are such a bore!
Their halos shine from babyhood. They are invariably good!
And though their sins they all confess,
their faults are trivial, none the less.
(Small comfort to poor souls like me, who strive towards eternity
).
But Peter – Bless the man! He had a fault or two distinctly bad!
Erratic temperamental Jew, undisciplined, though loving too.
A generous but impetuous bloke. He never thought before he spoke!
He told his Master off one day, which caused his loving Lord to say
‘Away you Satan! Go away!’
He always jumped into the deep. He did not ‘look’ before the ‘leap’!
He acted so impulsively. He tried to walk upon the sea!
And when his Lord was being betrayed, he upped his sword, quite
unafraid – and fiercely slashed the soldiers ear!
(a case of G.B.H. we fear, that could have earned a two year stretch
in ‘Scrubs’ – for maiming the poor wretch!)
Then finally, he came a cropper! Dear God! His crime – it was a whopper!
A servant said, ‘But you were there!’ And coward Peter – he did swear.
She said twice more – ‘Yes. It was you!’ He cursed and swore
till the cock crew!
The Lord had warned him what could be –
But ‘Big-head said – No Lord, not me.
The rest perhaps, but never me. Deny you? Never. No, not me!’
(But on that day, from his deep sorrow, was born the great Saint of the morrow. For when we know our weaknesses, then Christ is free to work in us).
Dear Peter, after Pentecost, your human frailty you lost.
Fearless, wise and forceful, you did preach his word,
as he’d told you to. Strong and loving and dedicated.
You fed his lambs, as he’d indicated.
Prison and hardship meant nothing to you,
for the love of your Master constantly grew.
Then on a cross, you died for him,
whose very death absolved your sin!
Our thanks great Saint, for being ‘you’!
Help us poor weaklings in all we do.
by Victoria Stokes
Listen to the
swishing leaves
Hear the
sound and what it bringsUnseen power moving in
To claim the land and all within
Sweeping away
the debris of life
All becomes
exposed in light
Nowhere to
run, it is revealed
All that we
are, that what we feel
Can we stand
firm in who we are?
Flow with the
wind, raise the bar?
I am undone,
and I submit
My life is
real when the wind hits
Pushing me
forward into destiny’s path
Exhilarating
power in which I laugh
I will go
where the wind blows
It’s time for
the truth to be exposed
To the
multitudes that stand tall and strong
Secure in the
ground, but rooted in that which is wrong
The wind is
coming, the winds of change
To some it
refreshes, to others brings pain
It will not relent,
only consume
And leave a
remnant secure in the truth.
Prepare your
hearts, prepare your lives!
He returns,
the One higher than I.Holy Spirit
By Eileen Gibson
Holy Spirit
enter my heart.
Never again
from me depart.
Come to me this
very hour.
And fill me with
your Holy Power.
To let me feel
your strength within.
Keeping me whole
and free from sin.
Stay by my side
with me alway.
Then I will know
you’re there each day.
Be my voice to
speak your wisdom.
To show the world
Divine Kingdom.
Reflections of the Source
by Attracta McGrath
I sat reflecting on angry words and dark expressions,
and a great sadness filled my heart.
But
then – light flooded –
there
to that lovely worlddid I depart. The scent of beautiful blossoms
filled my nostrils, my eyes coursing over the multitude
of dewy covered buds – green and luscious, precious in
a thousand lovely ways.
My feet barely touching the mossy footways.
My heart enraptured, as it captured the intricate perfection.
Snuggling in the close up study of each flowers unique glory
telling a wonderful story of how God has given us
a joyous earth, full of the bounty and wonder of his majesty.
“Consider the lilies of the field”
Give
vent to praise, O my heart!
There
is no space now for dark moments.Capture the glory and let it fill your soul.
Rise on the crest of joy – in the song expressed in each
Bird’s note –
that glorious music which cannot be suppressed.
Think! Of the face of the earth, filled with his bounty everywhere.
The music tumbles in the song of a thousand streams –
thundering praise. Here the angels sing!
My shepherd is alive – He is spring! He is summer!
‘My God loves me’, is echoed to the very sea.
Observe
the magnificent rainbow, arching in splendour.
Reminding
me of his ancient promise – immediate, ever new.He has given me a beautiful earth and my eyes
are set on his garden in heaven – radiating sunshine,
where every flower is kissed by his love
and I too grow and am one of his flowers.
He knows me, I am here! Cheer! Shout for joy!
Today He walks with me on my way.
