Losing the battle

It has happened. Already.

The caustic has become run of the mill. Normal. Acceptable.

I had a hunch this would happen.


Paris.

Beirut.

And a hundred places I don't even know about.

The numbers too dense to bother noticing.

Because I no longer care.

I have become immune to the brutal deaths.



Sacrifice is not always a good thing.

A man sacrifices himself to kill others.

I sacrifice my grief and despair for a clammy mind.

I sacrifice love for indifference.


Brussels.

31 dead. At least.

I barely flinch.

Be careful now.

This means they are winning.

Mysterious Glimmer 3ww

He ignored the mysterious glimmer, and instead took the fatal and well trodden path of the impartial man.

What if these tears are not enough?

It's happened again!
The black cloud of terror,
on the news at ten.
This time it's artists,
Of a creative nature
Drawing pictures that make
some say 'I hate ya!'
Twelve more lost
in this futile war
where only hate wins
each day more and more.
I keep trying to love,
trying to say,
STOP! this killing,
hate cannot pay,
but I'm shouting at stones,
hitting a brick wall,
what I have to say
makes no difference at all.
So instead I cry tears,
they run down my cheek,
I cannot help thinking,
the future is bleak.
So the tears will still fall,
wetting the page,
and love shivers in me,
an inescapable cage.
I want to roar at the sun,
beat the earth to the ground,
but my feeble attempts
are ignored all round.
God's abandoned us here,
here with this stuff,
this hate and this fear,
can these tears be enough?
They're an expression of grief,
and therefore of care,
without these tears,
love isn't there,
so I will cry at this wrong,
I will cry at this hate,
for while tears fall,
it is not too late.
By this they will know you,
that you love and still love
when you are abandoned
and there's no heaven above.
It is in moments like these,
when hate seems to have won
when the tears are falling
and love is undone
that hope remembers,
that faith still lives on,
so we can keep going,
we can still cling on.

Love not just yet

It is of course made up on the spot, this poem, not these feelings.

These feelings that writhe in an agony of hope,
painful in their potential joy,
hazardous to the heart and risky to a relationship,

Torn in two I am,
broken by indecision and unsurety,
not knowing how and who to talk with,
screaming for help in a silent plea for love,

Crying myself to sleep for what seems an impossibility but is just possible enough not to ignore

So take your shallowness,
your fondness for being appropriate,
 and shove them up your

Asked I wish I was,
but ask it seems I must.
But I can't.
Not just yet.



Did you spot this week's three word Wednesday words: bribery, clobber, sceptical ?

Honour isn't easy 3ww

The honourable way is fraught with nocturnal terrors, creeping up in the night, doubt seeping into the soul, weeping misery in the storm, sweeping away the wonder of the stars with reckless disdain.

Humanity Eliminated

It is with rage
this uncontrolled violence
diminishes humanity

love has been crushed
joy extinguished
terror seeps into the soul

Desire degrading, destroying, denying
Fermenting pain
weeping of the mind

An endless cycle
ever darkening
ever tightening
vicious grip

Despairing. Lost. Empty.

Humanity eliminated.

Love Wins

Greatness aspires to humility

In the eyes of the wise,

Yet foolishly we seek not to love, but to be loved.

Our yearning, power hungry minds cannot capture that the meek will inherit the earth.

So we stride ahead, rather than hobbling with the broken,

Ever demanding, ever wanting, never satisfied.

Confusion follows as we look behind, and see those at the back of the line,

Laughing, dirty but smiling.

Envious we frown our disapproval. Happiness is not allowed without power, without possessions, without promotion!

Understanding how the weak could ever be made strong, pah! Ridiculous.

The cycle goes on, always seeking riches, never realising we have them in our hearts.

Perhaps one day we’ll realise, perhaps one day we’ll see, perhaps one day we’ll get it.

Love wins.

Paradox of loving

Love has grown ever fonder, broader, wider

Shouting in agony from the rooftops,

The terror of life.

Solitary confinement on a pavement full of people,

Walking by in a hurry, desperate to finish without thinking what’s at the finish line.

Body slightly broken, Pain stops mobility,

Horizons seems further than it’s ever been before,

But the birds are singing,

The rain is falling and I can’t help but dance in joy.

For love has grown ever fonder, broader, wider

Though it makes the solitary confinement longer, sadder, lonely

And the agony pronounced

The terror and wonder of life.

Living today

I came across these poems this evening and thought I would share them here.

The Summer Day

Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?



I like the slow dance poem

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round, or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight, or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down, don't dance so fast, Time is short, the music won't last.

Do you run through each day on the fly, when they ask "How are you?", do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed, with the next hundred chores running through your head?
You better slow down, don't dance so fast, time is short, the music won't last.

Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow, and in your haste, not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, let a friendship die, 'Coz you never had time to call and say 'Hi'?
You better slow down, don't dance so fast, Time is short, the music won't last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere, you miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day, it's like an unopened gift thrown away.
Life is not a race, do take it slower, hear its music before the song is over.

Murder on the Thames

Behold!

Cry below on the misty river,
Phantom in the dark,
So quick and agile,
that reddened knife,
 that ended life,
and made the body flaccid.

I must be less, He must be greater

Praise God!

Sing his name, let all around glorify,
lift him high, higher than I,

Bow down now, let all around glorify,
lift him high, higher than I,

Shout out now, let all around glorify,
lift him high, higher than I,

Adore the Lord, let all around glorify,
lift him high, higher than I,

Praise his name, let all around glorify,
lift him high, higher than I.

Out of this ugly mess

Out of this ugly mess,

this attitude of 'I'm the best',

no time, no rest,

just test after test

forgetting each other,

sister and brother,

a tool of a lover,

lies should cover,

our cries,

our ties,

our sighs,

our good byes,

which we deny,

we buy,

time, time, 

time magazine,

hoping it does not end,

that death isn't just around the bend,

that God his angel will not send,

that our life will not blend

in with the host of others

the time gone past

fast fast fast

behind us now

deeds of which we are proud

deeds we sing about loud

and those we ignore

those which bore

into our hearts' core

defying hope,

defying joy,

defying love,

defying God

comes

light.

Whispers of a new life

Hearing the whispers of a new life.

A life where it can be different, where I can be free. Letting go of the chains which sink me, those thoughts which cycle round, holding me down.

A flower blooms in the first sun of spring, as hope blossoms afresh once more.

Discarded dreams, shattered shopping trolley.

The litter blown along the road by gusts of wind, caught in a hand which places it where it should be. The rubbish bin. To be removed, to no longer be in the way, ruining precious beauty.

Hearing the whispers of a new life.

Praise God! My own Psalmist Praise

Praise God! Exalt him to the ends of the earth,




His works are never ending,

his wonders never cease,

his works displayed for all to see,

the captured are released,



mysteries revealing,

his infinite majesty,

seeking first his kingdom,

bowing at the knee.



Behold the Lamb of God,

born in squalor, born in pain,

living, breathing, dying,

for our greatest gain,



Praise him all you people,

praise him ever more,

look for him each day,

the Temple Curtain tore,



God is ever with us,

disciplined to see,

God is greater than my all,

than both you and me.



Praise God all you people,

praise God ever more.



Praise God! Exalt him to the ends of the earth!

Lives and Saves

Love
In
Vibrant
Ecstasy

Sure
Amazing

Neverending
Delight

Saturated
Alive

Verified
Exuberant
Saviour

Hold my hand

A couple of weeks ago I took part in a reflection on the cross. Part of the reflection could revolve around Christ in the midst of our suffering. We were in a Church, but the day was beautiful so I took the opportunity to explore. As you walked out the side door of the Church you could see about four rows of twenty or thirty gravestones. Only one, in the furthest corner, was in the shape of a cross. I headed towards it, and as I walked I could see that there were more crosses in the graveyard, but this particular one drew me on.

Still thinking about the suffering of Christ, I read the inscription.

Name
Died 1983
1 hour old

I wept. As I wept I saw a butterfly land gently on the grave; a dog whined. I wrote a poem to try to describe that sacred moment.

Hold my hand

Hold my hand
O precious Christ

The butterfly kisses where the baby lies

Hold my hand
O precious Christ

The dog howls its lonesome cry

Hold my hand
O precious Christ

Ignorant traffic rumbles by

Hold my hand
O precious Christ

This baby died but an hour old

Hold my hand
O precious Christ

Alongside my pain

O precious Christ
Hold my hand.

Found in a ditch

Grace found me in a ditch, left out to die
Warping myself, hung out to dry
Grace took me and fed me
Grace clothed me and held me

For a broken man was I

All alone, wanting to die
Scarred by life, desperate to cry

Grace found me embroiled in dirt
Grace found me while I still hurt
Grace lifted me and washed me
Grace kissed me and loved me

For a broken man am I

Christ’s alone, trying to bring
A precious life, a grace filled thing.