Category Archives: Poetry

Always the bad cop

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Bad Cop
No one wants to grasp the nettle.
No one wants to upset the apple cart.
We fear the tears of those we love
In case it means we’re not liked.
We dance around the subject like
Jesters pretending that all is fine,
When in our hearts we know
What we know, and we know that
What we see isn’t right. And yet,
If we truly loved one another,
And truly sought the best for those
We love then we would know
And live in the truth that
“Faithful are the wounds of a friend”.
But instead we stand by, subtly and
Gently hinting them along the path
Of pain, loss, heartbreak and regret,
Because we want to be the
Good cop and never the bad cop.

I am tired of always being the bad cop.
This kind of loving is too costly.
I lay down my popularity and risk
My friendships because of a deeper love
Which is so safe you can stare into the
Abyss and fear no evil; you can be stung
By the nettles but go beyond to the
Rolling meadows that lie beyond.
I long for more of that love, and for
Stronger passions in those who love me,
So that they would rather break my arm
To save me from a broken heart;
To risk my love by telling me the truth of me
To find that my love for them only grows.

I am tired of being the bad cop, because
It is not I who is the bad cop.

Daffodil

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Daffodil in pastels, Van Gogh style

Daffodil

Although she be plucked
From the world she knows,
And yet she be removed
From her nourishing roots,
Yet her splendour remains
In the appreciation of her
Humble beauty and her
Vibrant sunshine yellow
Which persists beyond
The life she knew into the
Life she now knows.

In memory of mum

[simple pastel sketch, Van Gogh style]

Unimportant

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Who celebrated the day of my birth?
Was it like I was the only child,
Or was I just another one?
As I shared my life with brothers
Who had already taken their place,
Was there a place for me?
Was I ever going to make my mark
Or did my arrival go largely unnoticed?

I saw you from the start.
When two tiny cells first joined
And began a chain reaction of life,
I was there.
Your unformed body, your unthought
Thoughts, your unconscious awareness:
I was present and you knew me there.
As you grew I breathed my life-giving
Breath into you and knitted each strand
Of your DNA together until you were
Uniquely you; flesh of your parents’ flesh
And bone of their bone, but still you.
I watched you and I loved you and
I saw to it that you were safely held
Until the day you would be birthed.
On that day I sang over you and
There was joy throughout the cosmos.
I held you in those moments when
Your mother laid you down so that
You were never not held,
And my presence always with you.

How long?

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How long?
How looong?
Until you act?
Until you step in
Decisively and
Definitively?
Until you turn
This world on
Its head?
Until your kingdom
Comes, and your
Will is done
On earth as it is
In heaven?
Until the swords
Become ploughshares
And spears become
Pruning hooks?
Until the lion eats
The ox’s fodder
And the wolf lies
With the lamb and
No longer seeks to
Dress in its clothing?
Until doing the
Right thing becomes
Currency and outdoing
Each other in generosity
Becomes our profit?
Until root and branch
Of this world are
Made new and
Heaven and earth
Become as one
As YOU tabernacle
With your people
Forever?
How long?
Maranatha,
Our Lord come!

Bethlehem bustled on

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This small village is full.
No room for you and the
One carrying you.
This is the place you were
Destined to be born; the
Humble beginnings foretold
In humble, mumbled words
Of a small-time prophet
Singing out of tune with the
Popular song of his people.
And yet as you come to your
People there is no space
Or place, or time for you as
Bethlehem bustled on.

Trees adorned and homes with
Heightened sense of Christmas
Festivities, family and fun
Make space, place and time
For turkey and trimmings,
Wrapped gifts and the extra-thick
Televisual feast for gorging on
Whilst many out there in
Today’s Bethlehems go without.

This house if full.
No room for you and the
Ones seeking to carry you.
This is the place you
Desire to be born; the
Humble hearts awakened
In humble, mumbled prayers
Of small-time saints
Singing out of tune with the
Popular songs of our culture.
And yet as you come to your
People there is no space
Or place, or time for you as
Christmas bustles on.

Baptise me

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May the dry clay go under.
May the cracks be filled with water.
May the outer deadness give way
To the inner life which has been reborn,
And is is being reborn;
Renewed, and is being renewed.
Baptise me as that outer sign
To which inwardly my heart says “yes”,
But let that fragile, hope-filled “yes”
Be re-baptised again and again.
May I die with Christ daily
As I take up my cross daily and follow.
May I live the eternal life daily
As the risen Jesus lives in me.
May it be that as my body passes
Through the waters – death to life –
That my mind, my intellect, preconceptions
And prejudices also pass through
The baptismal Red sea; my Jordan river.
Baptise me back then and baptise me
Again Lord, so that the seed of me may
Be planted into the ground in faith-filled
Hope, and may resurrect with you
In fruitful righteousness to a life where
Repentance leads to reconciliation,
Reconciliation leads to witness,
And witness leads to power.

American Dream

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There once was a dream
Of fraternal freedom and
Liberty of thought and faith,
Where the shackles of
Taxation and empire control
Were thrown off with
Patriotic fervour; where
Alms became arms, and
Pulpits political platforms.
The dream of freedom
Became the cotton and
Tobacco colonial constitution
Where the white men with
Their deist sensibilities raised
Their flag for all the Europeans
To see, whilst the negro and
The redskin, under force of arms,
Saluted their new masters
As they sang along to the
Piccolo orchestra of the
Military marching band.

Back then the dreams of empire
Were dreams of the enemy,
And who would have thought
That one day the empire spirit
Which had been breathed in
And woven into the fabric of
This new nation state would
One day incarnate in all its
Neo-liberal inglory?
Who would believe that dreams
Of freedom would be watered
Down by water canon in the
Southern heat on Southern streets
Whilst a million men marched,
In peace, just to be seen as
Human by inhuman klansmen?

How this land has changed from
The redskins of the Appalachia
To the rednecks of Alabama,
Where the stomping elephant
And the braying donkey –
Circus beasts both – continue
The pantomime of the
American dogma of the
American dream of Presidents
In the January snow pledging
Allegiance to the constitution
Whilst the world cowers from the
Droning senators, with their
Regime-change rhetoric, and the
Drones that bomb their homes
And freedom dreams whilst
The computer game is played by
Traumatised teenagers fatigued
In their military fatigues.

There once was a dream that
Has since become a nightmare
From which the rest of us are
Waiting to be woken from, and
Only the lessons from history
Keep us sane in the safe knowledge
That every empire’s sunrise
Has its sunset, and in the night
Which follows may we all
Dream sweetly of real freedom,
Uncomplicated by the military complex,
Where arms return to alms
And freedom is indeed free.

Alive

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He’s alive!
What kind of life is this that dies but won’t stay dead?
What kind of life is this that won’t be governed by the rules of this world and universe?
What kind of life is this that declares, “I died, and behold I am alive forevermore”?
What kind of life is this that can be lain down and planted into the ground like a seed?
What kind of life is this that having been lain down can be taken up again of its own accord?
What kind of life is this that is broken apart so it can be shared amongst many?
What kind of life is this that is offered to you and me to live likewise?
What kind of life is this that requires me to die so I can fully live?
What kind of life is this that has already begun and will live on beyond this life’s passing?
This life is life itself.
This life holds all things in being.
This life loves life and has removed death’s sting.
This life is a person who has died to death and now lives to life.
This life demands a response from each one of us
Because He’s alive!

You

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You.
All I am is shaped
In you, with you, for you.
As I lift up my soul
And orient its flow
Upwards to you
I find that the flow
Of my life in you
Is endless, and
The more I lift my
Heart of love and
Worship to you,
The more I discover
There is of me;
The more I know
Who I am, because
Only in you do I
Fully exist.
Only in you do I
Fully know, just
As I am fully known.
Only in you is my heart
Fully loving and loved.
May my life always be
A song joyfully raised
Higher and higher
In worship of
You.