Poetry

In March 2015 I had a new book of poems published called ‘Questioned Christian.’ To buy the e-book for your kindle or as an iBook for £1.99 click on the book cover below:

 

My first book of poems

Here are three of the poems that feature in the book:

The Stress Flower

Stress creeps in
Keeps self important close to heart
And begins it’s strangle hold
First constricting my mind
I become self impotent
Fruitless of joy and abandonment
Creativity locked away behind coils of urgent and to do.

The stress creeper looks good

I behold its beautiful flowers and charm

Of business and success

Of reputation and preoccupation of whether I’m known and liked or not

Then the poisonous leaves irritate

The pollen causes an allergy of no-time and routine becomes burdensome and my work and
home irritable and at the forefront for all to notice

Whether they want to see or not

The roots start to establish themselves in the artery of my capabilities and my dance has soon
gone

My song barely audible
It’s energy sapped by the pressure of things
So many things, things on top of things making a pile of stuff
There’s no Saint PA who can vanquish this lot
It’s a mountain
This is not the abundance I was promised
Not the lavishness I signed up to
This is not the follow me in blissful slipstream
This is not me
Get away stress flower
You are not mine to carry

 

My name is saviour

My name is saviour

You see, that’s what I do,

I scoop up, brush down, get in, get out

And make all things kinda’ new.

My name is saviour,

It’s my role, my very being,

I change the foul to the fresh,

Place healing balm into wounds,

And those blind into seeing.

 

My name is saviour,

It’s the name anyone who desires sorting, will unashamedly call,

It’s in my heart to save,

Rescue those whose names are ‘no one’

Fragile, laughed at, placing clean royal garments on all

My name is saviour,

Not a bits and bobs kind of one,

Saviour of the cosmos, whole flippin’ lot,

Through me, because of me, in me,

I save, for that is who I am.

 

———————————————-

Brave

I don’t want to behave,

I’m tired. Sick of stingy conforming,

Performing inside when outside Spirit is pouring

I want to be a child who is brave.

 

I don’t want to behave,

To blend in, melt in with the crowd,

It is rooftops I’m called, to announce aloud,

I long to be a dancer who is brave.

 

I don’t want to behave,

To hide away with nothing to say,

To boredom, mud stuck mind I shout, go away!

I long to be a follower of the brave.

 

I don’t want to behave,

To tight fisted heartedness, away from generous bliss,

To go, kingdom stretching, it is this

That I am wooed to do, to be a soldier who is brave.

I don’t want to behave.

I will be brave.

2 thoughts on “Poetry

  1. All

    Everyone one, everywhere, all places, personalities, all people.
    Whether grasping walking stick or walker, seated upon executive leather thrones or squatted in squalor.

    Begging, grafting, building, weeping, creating, laughing, being. God knows- all. He has released the ransom for the right to know the depth and heart of good Fatherly fathoms, fathoming forgiveness without puddles of shame, suspicion or runaway promises.

    This is for all. Without exception. Everyone one, everywhere, all places, personalities, all people.

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