Rules of Life - 2002

one of many poems commenting on life

Explore all
Live the life
That is given
Come awake from time
Old are we
Out like the young
An angel’s hand
Gives us easy days

Life is around
Each one of us
Don’t let it die
For we are the offspring of love
Don’t hide your feelings
They’re not yours to hide

Follow your dreams
Don’t let them fade
Life is special
Don’t waste it
Following unwanted things
Life is hard

True love is hard to find
In a world so bitter
And filled with hate
Their desires are not true
To the life that was given

To them in a world of love
In which God
Has put us to serve Him
In any way possible

Treasure the love you are given
Cherish it
And give double back
For love should be given Not taken

Those people
With no love
Are filled with hate
And greed
In such a fragile body
Don’t harm it

Friends are like angels
Who help us fly when our
Wings have forgotten
How to fly
Love those
Who love you
And those who don’t
As this world is filled
With unsaved souls

What Makes a Man? - 2002

One of many poems commenting on life

What makes a man, is it the power in his hands, is it his quest for glory?
Give it all you’ve got, to fight to the top, so we can know your story.
What makes a man, is it the woman in his arms, or his struggle for survival?
Reach for the gold, find your strong hold, so you can beat your rival.
What makes a man, is it the strength in his mind, to overcome his weakness?
To keep running the race, hide the pain in his face, to show your greatness.
What makes a man, is it the life in his soul, burning strong and fiery?
Or is it the way, he fights everyday, pushing for the victory.

Always a Friend - 2002

One of many poems about love

Always a friend and nothing more
You never coming knocking on my door
Always near but never close
That’s where I’ll stay, a good friend to most
Outside the circle looking in on the rest
Wish I could be more than a hidden guest
I wait for a chance to say “hello”
Am I just a part of some puppet show?
Standing there, you just look through
You walking right by, what can I do?
Never knowing how to impress
Is that what I want? Or do I obsess?

Awoken

One of many poems about sleep.

Awoken one morning to misty ground
January’s month has come around

The frost on the grass a beautiful sight
I look at Nature’s ceiling, it’s pure white

Beams of light break through the cloud
Shimmers and sparkles on the ground

A song from a bird, a laugh from a drake
A shout for breakfast, I’m running late.

L.I.P

As I made my way home from a Poetry Open Mic night, I drove past the ruins of Leeds International Pool and I suddenly felt moved to write a poem about it.

Built in ‘67, the pool was 1 inch too short to be of Olympic standard, and thus, never held any meaningful competitions.  It fell into disrepair in 07, eventually being demolished in ‘09… The rest, as they say, is a poem…   Hope you enjoy it M

we all have a purpose

a direction, a calling

but you never found yours

perhaps one day you will

you appeared, clean, new,

born unto a city

with promise to fulfill

perhaps one day you will

although you were used, talked to

you were never invited to the parties

“I can change, i can do it” you thought,

perhaps one day you will

Your foundations, laden with sadness

Bore the weight of your mistakes

Your frustration, your angst, fit to burst

Perhaps one day you will

You were made for glory

To bring joy, attainment, victory

You didn’t do that here

Perhaps one day you will

As we shake your remains from our soles

And remember to forget you

I hope you find peace at last

Perhaps one day you will

Make Me Thy Fuel

Amy Carmichael wrote this. What a legend.

From prayer that asks that I may be
Sheltered from winds that beat on Thee
From fearing when I should aspire,
From faltering when i should climb higher.
From silken self, O Captain, free
Thy soldier who would follow Thee.

From subtle love of softening things,
From easy choices, weakenings,
Not thus are spirits fortified,
Not this way went the crucified.
From all that dims Thy Calvary,
O Lamb of God, deliver me.

Give me the love that leads the way,
The faith that nothing can dismay,
The hope no disappointments tire,
The passion that will burn like fire.
Let me not sink to be a clod:
Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God.

Intermission

A reflection after a busy shift at work.

I had forgotten I was on stage. The lights had obscured all but this brightly lit enclosure,  forces pushing and pulling me into action, the present drama all there was.

Intermission.

I remember. Improv over now, I walk to a chair in the wings, memories of the outside life floating to the surface;  lumpen things chained to corks, breaking the surface of the calming water.

Another.

Who is out there? My eyes have yet to adjust. I remember a conversation, a pain, a feeling. On the stage when that’s all there seemed to be, these ‘wings’ abandoned. It means more to me now than it did then. There was purpose.

Theme. Story.

I feel the presence from beyond the lights, I know the Author is watching. He has called this intermission, I remember that now; I am under his care. About this story, he cares deeply, I remember that too.

I kneel before him, the character he has created for the story, but more, now a friend of the great Author. He has allowed me to know that there is more than the story, shadow is given substance. What kind of writer could do such a thing? Here now: in the puzzlement of the character who has assumed being held up by his own conscious activity. A stab of defiant pride.

But no.

I bow, enjoying the enjoyment I feel as I let him be Author now. That is the answer. A strange connection, between author and character.  Another thought breaks surface. What if he has written himself into the story? I remember.
He is still writing.

What if I forget?

I know I will, soon the heat and the brightness, and the waters once again disturbed, for the story still requires me. He will uphold me. He will not forget, and he will remind me. He will call intermission, once again he will lead me, and I will remember.

Imperfections

A poem I wrote in November 2008 in Otley while meditating on Song of Songs

I am so aware of the imperfections of my love,
The weaknesses of my desire,
The frailties of my yearnings,
I know you delight in the utterances of my heart,
Yet they are wavering and inconsistent,
And my frustration grows.

Yet my relief comes at a glorious revelation,
That this is about your love not mine,
Your love, my Lord, has not a hint of lacking,
But is eternal, overtaking, never to be revoked.
Your love, my King, has captured me,
I cannot resist, I cannot escape your gaze.

So enduring is your love that it cost you everything,
And as you paid that ransom, your heart was burning for me,
Even though I was far from you, and rejected you,
You knew that your love would not fail,
You knew you would have me,
And, my Lord, you were right, for I am yours always.

You have romanced me with wine,
You have called me your own,
I am no longer mine,
So Jesus, please take me home.