I lie awake An ache like toothache Will not go away. Nothing feels as empty as a double bed With a single sleeper. Nothing as empty as a solitary life Where once there had been two. I rise, dress, prepare to meet the blank day Automatically I set two places for breakfast.
Sounds good. (I knew it would!) My muse is dead, that’s what I said. I’ve lost the urge to splurge on verse and, worse than that, my prose is flat, dull as a lake. No breeze to shake the surface stillness. Is this an illness that I can shake off like a sneeze or a cough or final and fatal and from this date I’ll write no more, write but to bore? I won’t entertain it, can’t explain it, But I just know It can’t be so!
I’ve time to spare. to do and dare I’ve time to share With friends.
I brush my hair What shall I wear? the forecast’s fair “Begone dull care” The Bard once said. Depends if weight of care can bring despair so I don’t dare to leave my lair or climb the stair to reach the rainbow’s end.
I yearn to be I’ll learn to be Completely totally CAREFREE!
Water of life, water alive, Gentle drops fall Making circles in the lake, Widening, rippling, stippling the surface Sinking softly onto soil, Soaking into earth, Sending message of renewal, Regrowth, resurrection.
A gentle baptism of water and spirit, Cleansing, healing, Washes away darkness Sin, disease and decay, Arousing new hope in all it reaches.
But water can also bring Deluge of death, Tsunami shattering Trees, buildings, lives, Brings chaos, confusion, Dead bodies in putrefying piles.
How then can we find consolation In the Lord’s promise of Living Water?
Open your eyes Open your ears Open your mind To new ideas. Open your eyes To the sounds of speech Open your ears To the colour of words.
Open the door Open the box Take out the key Undo the locks. Open your arms Open your hands Open your heart To understand.
Open your mouth Let the words come Find your own voice Loosen your tongue.
Open eyes tight shut against the light against the dawn fear of new sights keeping them closed brave the brave new world, take off the bandages, tear down the shutters Open the window pull down the pull-down menu and choose.
I am one of those people without any musical appreciation. The idea of spending eternity playing music on a harp and singing hymns chimes well with my notion of hell! I wrote this verse some time ago. It owes something to G. K. Chesterton’s poem “The Donkey” and the idea that in God’s plan there is a role for everyone however lowly.
If I get to heaven Will I have to take a test To see if I can sing the hymns And keep time with the rest? I never made it to the choir I couldn’t sing in tune Instead I tried to mime the words They spotted me quite soon. Does Peter at the pearly gates When counting good and sin Ask simply “you can play the harp?” And if you can, you’re in!
God smiled “My child, there’s something You really ought to know; I made the tuneful nightingale, I also made the crow. The peacock with its gorgeous tail Its harsh and jarring cry, The braying ass, the croaking frog, Who made them all but I?”
“All animals – all humans too Have their own worth for me. Don’t fret because you cannot sing Come in and brew the tea!”