That they might have death
And have it more immediately.
Assisted dying
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Monthly Archives: September 2015
Vanishing Point
He said:
“God is dead.
So religion becomes the toolkit
For experimenting with selfhood.
Surrender to your Eye of ‘God’;
Contemplate the Blissful Void;
Radiate with Solar Living.”
But what if ……?
Multiple choice
The full meaning of ‘lr’ is NOT:
- Lover
- Lexicographer
- Loser
- Loner
- Lepper
Who am I?
Malfunctioning metaphysical materialisation?
Deviant D.N.A.?
God’s Gaff?
Yours?
Caught on the Wing
(for the parents of a pupil who died tragically.)
“Fly high, my son, fly high
To where your song began”.
That precious grain of wheat
Sown now so very deep
In that mysterious field
Will yet its secret harvest yield.
“Your love, my darling boy,
Your life, your brimming cup of joy,
Up many a rugged steep
Will speed our quickened feet
To where all songs began
And where they never die”.
The Spring or Breakfast in the Wilderness
We meet –
Eyes walled, tongues tied, hands bound.
Is warm, crusty bread on offer this morning?
Again we will chose the safer stone.
A glance, a word, a touch,
And the table would be spread.
Mother
Who with her tender love
Wrapped all our peaceful days
Whose trust in God secured our darkest nights
And all our fears with hope dispelled.
True virtue, purest innocence and faith,
For all that folly had its little place,
Our every moment filled with energy and hope,
Catching the vision of those higher realms of joy,
As yet unseen – yet truly to be found.
.
All her lights burned bright
Against the gloom in every place –
Corners, sought out by envy and deceit,
Yielded to the floodtide of her benison
That shrunk their weapons to mere trinkets
Too worthless to be held.
.
One whole summer’s warmth
Lay in her one embrace
And as unclouded as its sky
The pledged devotion of her gaze.
Nor did that heart deny one pulse of love
Those hands one comforting caress.
All poured forth – the purest stream
Of inexhaustible delight in us.
.
How much laughter – how much mirth!
Unspoiled by hurt or hate –
For every motion of her being was to bless
And bless again
She did not bear us only in her womb
But all her days.
We were her chief delight
As she was ours.
Ford revisited
Junk is the peal of an apple
The spokeless remains of a wheel
The derelict calvinist chapel
A shoe with a hole and no heal.
The future gleams like a jewel
And history is junk – but its real.
On being a teacher
As I sit here, confused by their flamboyant confidence,
Their bright independent bravado and devil-may-care,
I have only the memory of such liberty to court and counter
with
And they view me with the amused regard they would reserve
For the alien grotesqueness of a baboon at the zoo.
A few are cruel and arrogant, others – mere mimics of those
Whose example they dare not ignore.
Most are what I once was – foolish, happy, lucky
And alive.
Perhaps
Let hell be frozen over
Till the moon mutate to blue
And pigs take wings and hover
Over Jumbos pink in hue.
Let stars fall from the ether
Leopards erasure try,
Yet shall our hearts together
Bind – no rhyme nor reason why.