Prayer on the Front Line.

I pray for Ukraine,

that each blade of grass,

flowers, bees and beetles,

birds and butterflies .

—-

I pray for their protection

against the avalanche

of violence and vile

destruction.

—–

I pray for each small child,

girl or boy, their school,

hospital, park and their

climbing tree.

——-

I pray for their safety,

in the minds, bodies,

and, cast away from families,

to be safe from harm.

——

I pray for the mothers, who

wait by the phone,

fathers, changing a job

for tanks, missiles and a gun.

——-

I pray for their hearts

that they don’t break,

that the abusive powers

relent – speaking words of peace.

—–

I pray for the medics, 

short of supplies,

for the vets who cannot

save bomb blasted pets.

I pray that they’ve

healing hands, their touch

to be as Christ, – in the absence 

of enough of everything.

—–

I pray for the governments,

choices they are making,

to save a people or

bury them in ash.

——

I pray for them to see with

a frightened child’s eyes,

to hear the cries with a

shattered mother’s heart.

——

I pray for the world powers,

to put aside their quarrels,

to open negotiations,

and work solely for peace.

——

Prayer is a voice in the wilderness,

a light in the darkness

and always on the front line

of any battle for any life.

A Sacred Moment

The cloud had darkened, and the lane lengthened,

as my dragging feet walked the dusty way home.

My fears were growing and the worry charging

me with the cost of my acuity. The news was bad.

——

Travelling slowly, saddened and searching, I heard

nearby in a green, thorny thicket a few grams of

feathers, bones and flesh rustled and fluffed, then

interrupted my daydream with a loud, clear call.

—–

A wren, with his hoisted tail, blew my sad and 

gloomy thoughts away as he swelled and music

trebled from his tiny throstle, thrilling me and

retuning me to life in that sacred hopeful place.

—–

Somewhere else a bird sang to his love with

zees and another performed an aria, atop a tree.

They are bastions of creation, holding in their

prayerful songs of praise the glory of their God.

A Cracked Pot

The pottery wheel brings the writhing clay to life,

its whirring pulses through the hands, moulding 

the sticky gooey mess, growing its potential and

finding its nature through touching, loving and

caressing the dirty lump until it reveals 

its hidden glory.

Steadily the rhythm grows and a shape is formed,

a vessel glad to be created, as the potter boldly

pulls and pursues the pleasure of sensing their

own power flowing into the clay, carefully seeing

beauty materialising with a sense of pride in 

its inner glory.

Decorated and fired the fluted vase stands, and

accepts admiration and the echoes of desire

to fulfil its purpose. But, the proud purchaser will 

decide.  Will it live out its lifeless life overflowing 

with tulips, lilies, lupins or empty as Art revealing

its outer glory?

What am I? 

The vase on show?

The cup to carry water to the thirsty?

The vase overflowing with beautiful flowers?

The squat pot full of plants that poison or pollute?

I know I am cracked broken by the pitfalls of living?

Did I resist the creator as divine love shaped my calling?

Or, will that passion of re-generation in the welcomed Spirit 

reveal through my cracks love’s amazing light, glory and grace?

Social Media Hatred

The gif spread slowly across my screen Opinionated, detonated, created, calculated.
Cold and cruel, treating me to someone’s 
unhappy heart turned on me in spite, a bite
Of hate.

——/
Her photo stolen from her life, haunting her
as they passed it along its invisible trip wire.
Seeking fame by defaming, hoping for shares,
and done despairs, violated, cries to be heard.
In vain.

—/
He knew the perpetrator who’d sold their soul to the ancient devil of betrayal for a joke they’d said.
A knowing Dad, noticed his darkened demeanour,
wrestled the walled silence of shame, in the hope.
Of rescue.

——
The suicide note said it succinctly, shouted the ——-
scream, a soul too stretched by media malice,
pushed to the perimeter of a life once played.
New fears of furious parents are charged with 
Their tears. 

——
Media moguls sit in their silks and silver service,
ignoring the strain, the pain, the chains that bind,
And grind down the hope of tomorrow, backs to the misery and missed chances to save lives lost to.
Their Greed.

The walls of Hate.

It was lost before it started,

as the sun rose over the horizon

and the cloud of the dust of centuries

of believing that this is right and that

is so very, very wrong.

==========================

No-one saw the stain in the beginning

but stood and broadcast their right, to

murder, malign, maim over a message

that you, my friend, my neighbour I hate.

====================================

Years roll past and the violence and vehemence

gather strength to make walls and wounds that 

fester making all the yesterdays crucified to

a cause that has no foundation, but falsehood.

=====================================

History repeats and murders by memory,

while children whisper learned hatred,

and bully the difference in themselves

and others, making life a deliberate

nightmare of separatists and strident

speaking of truth – that is no truth at all.

===============================

Our roots are bound to others, but brokenly

we refuse to build our lives to root in goodness,

reconciliation and tolerance, still we 

suffer in large numbers and reject

the words of the murdered one, for saying

Love your neighbour as your selves.

The Prisoner

The Prisoner

She looks through the bars,

her intelligence

dulled by repetition

of the daily chores

and cheerlessness.

Tears fall

as tortured

thoughts

of her child

growing without

her loving touch.

A glimpse now and again,

never enough

as someone

else

charts her child’s

precious years.

Politicians mutter,

What can her family do

against prejudice

injustice

and perfidy

like this,

taking a woman from her

family,

from her freedom

and framing her,

mercilessly

destroying the fragile

bond, that holds

body and soul

together.

Lord, that she may be free

Amen.

Super Wealth and Destructive Politics.

Curling leaves and cruel heat scorching the thirsty fruit,

smoke covered faces and sweat soaked uniforms,

telling the cost of carbon fuels.

Fires rage and ground cracks as the power of the few

imagines that they control the climate for the  wealthy

who vainly want their profits.

===

Children with their empty tummies rumbling and their

grumbling parents, who face starvation and the rich 

 – charge the poor for their banquets.

——-

Justice and mercy do not meet in our democracy now

for the few they have what they want and destroy lives;

but God will not be mocked.

—-

Silently, the power of the few has broken ranks and

slowly they will drift apart until their raft will sink

and will we throw them a life belt?

—-

History happened ,but will it come again?? that power

has been taken and nature enslaved to the ranks 

and bank of the oppressors.

Climate change brings a levelling up and a crisis

that we cannot imagine. And, like ants in water to

survive the whole must strive.

—-

They blink their eyes and shout on the biassed 

broadcast but the earth fills with the rising seas

and mountains become hills.

Some think three homes and billions of pounds

will keep them afloat but the naked truth does

not lie – we are destroying the gift

—–

of a planet, blue and green with polar caps

all for the sake of carbon fuels and motor

on as creation and people die.

May God help us!

Ruinous Governments

Its a war on words and ideas that are just,

they make a pact and renegade on the fact 

that you agreed their wielded written word’s;

scorn you and laugh at your confusion and plot

your demise, descending hope falls broken,

and to cope is through tears, heartbreak

and blood shed on your doorstep.

——-

Armies muster their support with guns,

governments insist on their inalienable 

rights over your right to free speech, and

the freedom to care for your famished

family, by pushing up profits for profiteers

and making your income shrink as the

companies raise prices but pay petty tax.

——

There is a whisper that things might be

improving, so that we accept their disdain

and even tolerate their lie infested talk,

We walk an ever decreasing circle of

fascist dictatorships and the liberal loss

of our democracies, having  ignored

the prophets with their scary prophecies.

Cruelty in Politics

The knives are out and the dissection started,

Each knowing and set their direction signalled..

Tax cuts or higher tax to quell the over wealthy

as they lean in and offer or finger their purses.

Each one turning the tory vice on their victims:

a family, school children, refugees and workers,

the struggling overwhelmed by rising prices and

now the neglected climate heats oppresses so.

—–

Meddlesome politicians, manipulating tories,

baking the populace while they turn their backs,

letting strings be pulled by influencing hacks, who

push the line that all is fine when many will die,

because experts are marginalised and lies 

carpet the halls where ignorance is encouraged

as long as the money is kept going into  their off

shore accounts and the founts of wisdom dry up.

——-

They laugh at us while babies and children die,

and the power of a few is consider wisdom,

and its wielded incoherently, and the many

have yet to ‘awaken the dawn’ and become 

a force for change and a flaming torch for

justice, equality, the common good and a

wonderful welcome for wanderers on the shore.

——

They come to our shores desperate, fleeing 

terrible things only to be sent away to an

evil regime that rules by terror and so they

travel worn, war torn, cry in their pillows 

where there are no rights. but another 

Tory ally who sheds blood, greedily rakes

in the cash and buys shameful sorrows.

——

Stand up, do not fear for we are of saving

the lives and opposing those who shackles 

the prisoner rather than freeing them from 

a despot’s chains. who blinds the seeing 

with blatant untruths and deafens the hearing 

with insistent noise, with words without meaning, 

sounds that continually violate hoping we will

grow numb, turn away and crave inaction.

I didn’t know that Cobbles were real!

She wobbled on the verge of the cobbles,

which appeared as if by surprise. Giggling 

she walked across the bumpy terrain

and balanced on her toes.

—–

Looking up, she laughed to her Dada,

‘Cobbles!’ she laughed,’ not in a book

or on a film nor in Minecraft.

Cobbles!’ she shouted and tripping lightly, fell.

——-

Collapsed on the unforgiving cobbles, tears of rage,

turning to sobs, as strong arms encircled

the grieving body, that had not bounced,

instead on those cobbles was bruised.

——–

Restored confidence, by loves tender hugging,

she sprightly strode over the rounded lumps

and holding a hand lightly, advanced to 

the tightly packed tarmac.

——-

Thinking herself safe she tried to let go

even as cars hurried by, grabbing but gently,

his voice called her, hands locked, 

his daughter safe from their threat.

——-

Ambling on they came to the doors,

a place of  cheery fun , with slides

and cushioned ways, lights and ladders

child friendly and Dada relaxes.

—–

There were tears and even bumps,

although softened surfaces and padded falls

there were slips but playing with balls and slides

tears dry fast amidst the fun.

——-

Too soon going home she pouts and protests

and is reminded of the cobbles waiting;

and looking at them sees fun and smiles

at those lumpy forgiven cobbles.

The Blue Way

Slowly, shifting our stumbling minds

they open Pandora’s box, letting their

principles die, their seeming petty crimes

bloat their egos and blind the people to

their continued gaffes, grim groping and

giving lies instead of truths in quantities,

too many to number hoping to confuse,

discombobulate, muddle and distract,

thinking the populace too thick to know

just what their plotting and ploys are.

Tax breaks for those living tough lives

which pay the rich as the debts pile up,

breaking news of great things they’ll do

and laugh out loud when nothings to

be seen and investigations reveal their

lying, cheating, guilty ways as they 

decide to divide party and people and 

ply their sickening politics of genocide.

painting the saviours as inept or red

when they’re the ones sharing that bed.

The Eternal Pilgrimage

I’ve walked the ways of curlews and grasshoppers,

through meadows and pine trees, muddy lanes, 

valleys of mists and cliffs where choughs called

to my soul and saw sun gilded branches and

great ocean waves holding the glory of gold.

===

I’ve walked hospital corridors, shared shed tears,

watched the light go from a sick man’s eyes

and known the weight of human compassion,

following down  the church behind the coffin 

holding love and sore grief heavy with hope.

=====

I’ve walked in the footsteps of sacrificial saints,

along stained streets, across once pretty parks,

and church yards where spent dirty  needles

tell the sadness and pain of dreams hard won

being lost in a haze of poverty and violence.

====

I’ve walked in the halls of wealth and fame, 

where stalk the fears that the mask will fail

and falling reveal the fresh face of failure,

and money bites into the soul and extracts

like a drug the will to be free of its chains.

=====

Head bent pressing forward, pushing for

a place to rest, a place of peace a place

where footprints in the sand are not mind

but the one who carries me, the one who

caring for all our troubles with his life.

The Seeking Pilgrim

Was ever thus, 

when the pilgrim came from

the sea,

fearing the return.

—-

They stayed in a 

still small island

listening for the

thin place and

finding only birds

and the rolling waves,

filling the air

with music,

when they looked for 

God. In the waiting 

they smile at flowers

nodding in the bee breezes

and glower at the dark clouded horizon.

——

Slowly time slipped by and the shore

filled and emptied to a rhythm 

set by the Spirit,

and the pilgrim 

picks driftwood  

as a memory.

Waiting in the Night

Twas evening, when the fishermen sail,

the sun shifting to shine on other seas,

Faintly glowing the far off stars

herald the approaching night.

——

the light slowly recedes from the shore,

as somewhere a wise owl calls from 

a wooded glade, where rested roosting 

birds ready to wake the dawn.

——–

The silken skin of the placid sea

moves in time to a hidden melody

while slowly a sliver of gold rises

silvering the darkling sky.

———–

Nearby human quieten, homes darken

and the moon bright sea shimmers.

and within the ripples dancing is

blue phosphorus blooming.

——–

A sole person communes from the shore,

lost in Neptune’s glorious palette,

he meditates on the swell’s rise

and fall, the salt in his tears.

——–

and the sea watching the lone figure,

hears his eternal heart’s brokenness, 

and in its wisdom contemplates the

mystery of human mortality.

The empty House

The For Sale sign hung expectantly for weeks,

til the joyful hurrying agent slapped ‘Sold’ on

and had ages of paperwork work through while

a loving couple who lived there were truly gone.

—-

It was their cosy home and garden, built in peace

around their chattering children now moved on,

loving hands that cleaned and weeded, partied

and carefully fashioned a flower bestrewed oasis.

—-

Now their spirits have left and its place will 

know them more. Caring neighbours teared up,

and far off family felt the pain of new loss; 

as their growing up place will become another’s – 

—–

and so our lifecycle goes around over the lands 

for rich and poor alike. But grace reveals that we

feel the bitter change, are sorry for it and grieve

the loss of friends who shared in our community.

Guantanamo Fear or Victims

——

He hides face in his arms as they grabbed him,

twisting, hurting his already rope burned skin,

innocently he had travelled to aged Afghanistan,

guilty by colour and creed he was violently taken,

not arrested, nor accused like hundreds of others.

——

Guantanamo Bay, a cruel place of tried and tested

torture criminalising good men,

treating them with contempt 

and evil won the day.

——

Lives broken, loving men lost to their families

forced to live now in isolation,

their punishment continues,

plagued by secrecy and doubt.

——

Evil’s at its best when rabid racism enters

the eyes of the kind hearted,

and fearfully trains hearts to a fear

based on the thought police.

——-

Men who would be our friends have been lost,

peaceable lives tragically torn,

and now will justice come? Or,

like the dew or go early away?