Paul Tillich

Posted on November 19, 2025 by ashyvicar

the premier theologian for existential angst
led me on a long pursuit
around second-hand bookshops
hunting for sermons that shook the foundations
that spoke of an earth split in pieces
of nature’s hidden voices
its tragic melodies
its songs of hope.

Declining offers of coffee
in a world where Amazon
was just a glint in Jeff’s eye
I doubted their very existence
wandering numerous cramped aisles of possibility
but yielding no results.

Then perseverance reaped her rewards
when in a bookshop now lost to memory
I purchased “The Shaking of the Foundations”
an unassuming volume in pelican blue
for thirty pence

But my pride and joy
were balloons to be quickly burst
reminders of the ugliness in all of humanity
when just like buses
I soon found three more

Cuckoo

Posted on July 24, 2025 by ashyvicar

Surprised by the sound of a cuckoo
Out on the Waskerley Way
I contemplated
Why the call of this parasitic bird
Engendered so much joy
Within me.

Could it be the recollection of much earlier walks
In calmer times
Along the Cromford Canal
Where the smell of wild garlic
And an invisible cow
Cured me of hiccups?

We always heard them back then
Heralding the arrival of spring
Playing the game of who would hear
That year’s first one
Whilst they lived lives on the wing
In favour of thievery and death

But as I pause
Hoping to hear that sound again
Joy is tinged with melancholia
Not for the meadow pipits
Dunnocks
Or reed warblers
Whose nests they requestion
But with the fear
Of how spring would become so diminished
Living in a world
Where I could never hear the call
Of those angels of knavery again

Cowboys and Indians

Posted on March 19, 2025 by ashyvicar

It was always death that caused the controversy
As we ran through the playground
Armed with imaginary pistols and bows.

“Shields can’t stop bullets”
“Your arrow whistled passed my ear”
“You weren’t firing high enough”

For those who lost this war of words
Resurrection was just a hand touch away
As the lifeless crawled without sound looking for a friend

Just one tap on the arm
and battle was re-commenced
Until the bell sounded for the end of play

Today the debate I contemplate
is not death
nor whether a shield can deflect the flight of a bullet

Native American, Indigenous American,
First American, First Nation,
Whatever name I use perpetuates a grave injustice,

Bolsters those wild west myths
Leaves their land cold, stolen, a playing field
polluted by the white and the rich

This is no war for words that can be lost
To simply denigrate as some woke infested fury
For it is all that there is and more

It is life and death.

The Motorbike Queen

Posted on October 23, 2024 by ashyvicar

We watched “The bird man of Alcatraz”
together
on a sofa
eating ice-cream
just me
and the motorbike queen

Suzuki, Honda, Kawasaki, Yamaha
were top of the league
back in the day
when she rode to work
in red striped helmet
and leathers

Rostered together
we worked well
a good team I thought
as we dusted and hoovered
cooked the tea
put residents to bed

She fell asleep as the credits rolled
past the midnight hour
and I wondered
if should I wake her?
Perhaps a gentle touch
on the cheek and

She would fall into my arms.
But her cheek
was not mine to touch
so, like the birdman
refusing the chance of escape
I stayed my hand.

Biking skills?
I had none
unless you count a frantic pedalling
up and down hills
when choosing bicycle over bus
to get to work

So, like Burt Lancaster
surfing the crest
of poetic licence
I will say I rode pillion
round Somerset twisties
with the motorbike queen.

Power of the Pen

Posted on June 7, 2024 by ashyvicar

take up a pen
write some poetry
bathe it
swathe it
in luxuriant imagery
create words
that gnaw at the heartstrings
that open up minds
illicit lost feelings

make subtle illusions
to the darker side of life
with intelligent intense
paint the true state of the world
providing a fuel
by which
dreamers can survive
when witnessing violence
the loss of innocent lives.

build patterns that entice
inform, but still entertain
point out lessons of history
where it was said
never again
re-igniting
the power of the pen
over the swords of bloody despots
embracing Armageddon

Coventry

Posted on May 31, 2024 by ashyvicar

night-time
Coventry
January 91
not out of choice
I hunkered down
locked out of my lodgings
with a door key that wouldn’t work
ticking off seconds
minutes
hours
yearning for a rising sun
frost on breath

I played ghost
not wanting to be mistaken
by the unseen insomniacs of the night
for a prowler out on manoeuvrers
whilst my dog-collared host slept soundly
in his celestial bed.

I could have raised the dead from their slumber
I could have banged on the Vicarage door
but as a lost poet once said
shyness is nice……
cowering on the porch
I assessed my options
resolving to catch the morning’s first bus
buy a bacon bun for breakfast
try and get warm

In the strictest sense
I was not
hopeless and homeless
but accepting an open invitation
to mix and mingle with others
forced to live in a coventry like state
hiding their love in secret
had put me out on the street

drowning in the stimulating hubbub
of others’ conversations
I re-emerged
from my silent observations
well past the time
when all good Vicars
go to bed
but I had lived
and I had learned
in ways unanticipated
by theological educators
from a placement in Coventry.

Holy Week 1989

Posted on November 30, 2023 by ashyvicar

expecting the truncheons
of the boys in blue
the disrupters in chief
we ambled on

a country lane
seemed worlds away
from the venom
the fury
of impending
nuclear armageddon

the element of surprise
to arrive
unannounced
and say prayers
circling a crucifer
a monk
clad in ash
at a backwoods gate

a walk to end all wars?
all crucifixions?

helpless
powerless
without venom
without fury
without nuclear armageddon
we ambled on

of course
they came
they always do
with their all-seeing eyes
then
rather limply
cross between our legs
we were escorted back
to a waiting van
and bundled in

Brize Norton
holy week
1989

Introversion

Posted on September 10, 2022 by ashyvicar

to articulate a thought
takes time

a degree of inspiration
and a first in self-confidence is required

so much so
that by the time I summon the courage to speak
the world has already moved on

SONG 3

Posted on July 2, 2022 by ashyvicar

Softly I approach
though the writings on the wall
There’s no hope for the future
the past has taken it all
and drained me
drained my dry

I’m not the man I was
and I’m not the man I could be
I just take what comes
and don’t let them use me
It’s hard when you’re down
It’s hard when you’re down

I read all the signs
and all the signs read sorrow
The world barely moves
I can’t wait for tomorrow
It must be yesterday
today is to late

copyright ashyvicar 2022 (but originally written some years ago when I had singer songwriter pretensions!)

Johnson

Posted on April 19, 2022 by ashyvicar

there’s a criminal
living in downing street
a man who has broken the law
everything bluff and bluster
let the rain stop play
for these Eton rifles

there’s a criminal
living in downing street
a man who has broken the law
risible
in the face of tears
jumping on graves

there’s a criminal
living in downing street
a man who has broken the law
shameless
nefarious
pies full of lies

where’s the poetry?
but this is no summertime
for beautiful words
livin’ ain’t easy
and dancing to the rhythm
it gets harder sings Lana

so in muted tones
laced with ire
I make no apolgies
“Johnson! In the name of God go!”

ashyvicar

People, places, things……. in poetry

Category Archives: ramblings of a theological and cultural nature