‘Clock face made by convicts – hospital for the insane’ Willow Court New Norfolk, Tasmania.
It’s the things that aren’t said that hurt the most.
I can hear the tower clock chime from my pillow
It is the only constant I hear.
But even this clock;
I envy the care and attention
it receives for its restoration.
I hope to have its constancy at heart.
‘O Holy Spirit, as the sun is full of light, the ocean full of water,
Heaven full of glory, so may my heart be full of thee.’
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
Image source: ‘Looking through the trees to the stream’ by John Groves
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
It is not a situation where
what you emanate
reaches me unchanged,
to reflect what you radiate.
It is the essence of my being
to take in and absorb
the streams of mercy
that flow out from your source;
feed me and make me whole,
make me grow beyond my limits –
strong, broad, I tower over all.
You give your all to me,
I soak up your energy
preoccupied with you
Until the fall..
keep yourself from feeling
resentment at my leaving you
here, my dearest.
It is joyous to depart,
do not let sadness taint
the inevitable start
to a “new” day.
Do not hold it against Him,
let comfort cover you
and soften the impact
you feel after free-fall.
It will save you, bruised not broken.
I am nothing but
a haunted house
occupied by a Ghost
that keeps all others out.
I fear it not, for it dispels all fears
– the hate and the fight –
it lets in the light through darkened shutters,
breaks down inhabitable disguise.
I stare into your face
no mask, of self – a trace,
an empty broken shell
awaiting to be whole
and filled with life anew.
No cold, hard, barren ground,
broken fossils incomplete
no slowly sinking mound
weathered turf, carved concrete,
chiselled words standing proud.
Within one heart rests humanity, whole –
my only other hope is you are there
once you too, are grown and old.
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
‘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.