Terra Firma

twig-bench-lavendar

Down well-trodden trail
a chasm opens beneath
gazing down dreamily
the worlds of ancients meet
look down at all the hours and days
the rhymes, signs and verses
words and tokens exchanged
between us
The earth envelopes it
cast down to what lies beneath
all those endless numbered days
those staunch and bending ways
Now only soft firm ground lies
sighs gingerly between my feet
abundance of life groans
all around me
but yet I am still and quiet
longing for tomorrow once more

 

Featured image: Twig Bench by Alexia Wedding on Pinterest

Season of singing

I love all the unseen things about you

I wait for them to make themselves known

a word, a look, a gesture, a smile

a gift of Love – one treasure I own.

 

When I stand before the body, in the flesh

I am confused. It’s You that I miss.

I respond in words I don’t understand

I lose part of myself in this.

 

Waiting for the unseen,

the centre of our being

to come forward again

In the Spring.

 

When you play, your work, your dream

it is there – the unseen

making music in my ears

as sweet as a song of songs.

 

Sweet fruit. Spring flush

Eat, dear friends, and drink your fill of love¹

The days were Made for this.

The season of singing has come.²

 

Love stronger than death

burns like a Mighty fire

Many waters cannot quench

Nor rivers sweep it away.³

 

By day the Lord directs his love,
    at night his song is with me—
    a prayer to the God of my life. –Psalm 42:8

buds over the stream


¹Song of Songs 5:1

²Song of Songs 2:12

³Song of Songs 8:6-7

Image source: ‘Looking through the trees to the stream’ by John Groves

Soundings

 

Barstools, beers and lonely cheers

Sideways glances, sound and fears

Top of the loft, corner of the street

Just dropping off, by chance again we meet

 

Perched high above on a leather bus seat

Looking down on you as sun and horizon meet

Living through pictures on your wall

Passing on paper cranes, love and all

 

Resonating strings and sings around

Searching for words unspoken sound

Fathom feeling depths unknown

Silence falls like shell shock tone

 

Rivers of lyrical, satirical rhymes

Flood down the mount of eternal time

A single vase of living water, blooms

Tapped from the source in our living rooms

 

 

 

 

All may enter

I came upon a midnight clear,

following a star,

traveled over dark terrain

not measuring how far.

Finally I came near

to where the Saviour lay,

peering in I caught a glimpse,

a baby in the hay.

Though many were drawing near

I stealthily kept pace.

At the entrance to the room

I saw a hardened face.

“Can I come in?” I humbly asked.

“I’ve no incense, oil or gold

I bring myself to worship him”

The One whose birth foretold.

The keeper of the entrance

Looking down on me, grim

Took in my appearance, said

“I cannot let you in,

you’re not a king, bearing gold

and oil is for the dead!

Your incense is not pleasant

perhaps you’d bring a ram instead?”

I fled away to distant land

and waited for the time

to meet him when he grew

to know this Saviour is mine.

I heard every Word He said

from his birth to the tomb

in the streets, or temple court

sitting in the outer room.

When finally His breathing stopped

My heart nearly did too

I waited near and mourned the day

Not knowing what to do.

When he arose he conquered death

His grace had found a way

to make my gift acceptable

Now I await the day,

When I can see Him come again

I need not touch His wounds.

I have felt them for myself

and long for His coming soon.

 

——————————–Earth image source

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ego

thistle balls

‘Tis a weed in the garden

Do nothing to make it grow

Some think it’s just a flower

Daring where it shouldn’t go

Through many will multiply

And choke the others dry

Some, worse are hurtful

Prick your fingers till you cry

Just to show how incessant

cursed ground, set apart, they are

I plucked out a whole garden full

here, you see my scars.

 

 

To my girl

girlHaving friends like these
Makes it good to be alive

Once a loved one burdened
Me with my life

Ever since I doubted
Was I made for strife?

My worth upon this earth
Is not mother or a wife

A helper and completer
For those grafted to the vine

All these inner longings
Are a gift from God divine

Now my little angel, rest
Until the day is fine

All your gifts and hugs to give
I’ll gladly take as mine

—————————-Photo by Alexander Shustov