out in the garden
on a bright summer’s day
blowing bubbles
and we watch in hope
that one will make it
all the way to the moon
over the wall it goes
sailing past the church
every moment one more than we expect
our eyes are straining
reaching to the very edge
of vision
and then….
we blow more bubbles
hoping to re-create that
moment
a moment we did not want to end
a moment when hearts were joined
invisibly
a moment
only perceived
intangibly
I saw her once
in Sheffield
carrying drinks for the band
whilst I stared at my shoes
Flame red
short skirt
standing on stage
with her best friend
It was lush
Thirty yards
maybe less
maybe more
was all that separated us
as she moseyed through the crowd
But distance was
like an ever expanding universe
for someone gazing at their shoes
I prayed for a miracle
to the fruit machine god
But my introversion
was not cured
so I gazed at my shoes
And that is why
I never featured in song
no ladykiller
Just a shy vicar who
went to gigs alone
to gaze at shoes
they let me stay up.
hidden behind a curtain
motionless but breathing
my sister returning to bed
perplexed
by an unexplained absence
it happened at Kate’s cottage
Husthwaite
Yorkshire
God’s own country
God’s own world
as good, bad and ugly
adorned a black and white screen.
I will not forget
staying up
secretly watching
Clint, Eli and Lee Van
acting out a tale
operatic in its proportions
To recall that moment –
when years ago
I was thought almost grown
to watch
the suffering of war
to hear music I instantly loved
love now
much as way back when
a score to a brutal violence
that bruised a spaghetti wilderness
where good, bad and ugly
lived cheek by jowl
in the heart of each one
without a devil in sight
– makes me yearn to live it again
exactly as it was
perfect
a boys own adventure
where a twelve year old
experienced a kind of heaven
Eli was my favourite
Clint didn’t seem
– good
not in a way twelve years on earth
understood
older and maybe wiser
I understand
I think
the irony
Eli hurtling around a cemetery
a strange
desperate dance to music
looking for a grave
singled out
for the showdown to come
between good
bad and ugly
in each one
no devil in sight
and there they stood
those three
looking death straight in the face
I thought
but Clint wasn’t playing
chess
I caught a glimpse of heaven today
on a glasgow city street
for the angels were out
busking
I passed them
family in tow
with hopes high of a holy grail
in some entertainment exchange
at the end of the row
they looked like human beings
those angels
their faces a halo
of scrumptious
luscious
mouth-watering
ingenuity
playing guitars
their faces shone so
two young women
singing of love
and loves lost
in harmony
outside the shopping precinct
and standing in mid-air
as still as still
an angel without wings
hovering
he had the shoppers on the go
whipping their hands
underneath
beneath
below his boots
as white as snow
hoping to catch hold of
angelic secrets
as wingless
he air-stood
motionless
emotionless
alone
I caught a glimpse of heaven today
on a glasgow city street
some angels
without heads
it perturbed my daughter so
no beatific smile
purely empty air
no sparkling blue eyes
just glassless glasses
underneath pitch black bowler hat
with white gloved hand
offering out God’s peace
I caught a glimpse of hell today
on a glasgow city street
a desperate preacher man
ranting in the round
of death and destruction
ten to the pound
but “jesus saves us from aliens”
went unnoticed
for the angels had done their work
on that glorious meritorious day
and no devil of a preacher man
could take heaven away
RICHARDUS TREVOR
dressed in white marble
ingrained with dust
resplendent on episcopal throne
gestures us look
at the book
of blank pages
RICHARDUS TREVOR
his achievements
carved in some alien tongue
nestle under his feet
lest I forget
what he wants me to think
that he was
that he is
and ever shall be
RICHARDUS TREVOR
he’s not some Georgian navvy
tossed in an unmarked grave
whose story untold is all mystery
whose space
in the cosmic unfurling
has no chapter
no page reference
no name
but in that enforced embrace
which no statue of marble records
where the grass now lies undisturbed
where the trees dance in time to the wind
I sense all mystery matters
regret a history unseen
feel distaste at bishops
with blank pages
demanding honour
importance
immortality
we walked to Northumberland’s Avalon
to the ruins of the Joyous Garde
a rival to Mallory’s Bamburgh
a poem now battered and scarred
once dressed in redolent beauty
had lost all Arthurian sheen
now a bare husk on the headland
poignant still, but with a different mien
we walked past wind hardened sheep
by the rocks that they call Cushat Stiel
up the slope to a heritage gatehouse
to discover if ruins still feel
we were not alone in our wandering
the fields were crowded that day
with fathers, mothers,
sisters, brothers
uncles, aunts,
friends and lovers
babes in arms
dogs wearing muzzles
searching for a quality of time
amid work-life balance insecurity
I gazed upon the ruins
this once great poem in stone
that declared its faith in King Arthur
that Earl Thomas was Arthur come home
but time rips our words and worlds apart
like a wild north-east autumn sea
beats and bruises them
pommels and pummels them
drenches and drowns them
wears them down until
only vestiges are left
amidst autumns of wistful rambles
by the rocks they call Cushat Stiel
with aunts and uncles,
fathers, mothers
dogs on leads
and missing lovers
with just one click
I have joined the protest
with just one click
I have signed up today
with just one click
I have joined the rebels
with just one click
with just one click
I don’t need to march
with just one click
on a cold, dark winter’s day
with just one click
i’ve saved myself a beating
with just one click
with just one click
david milliband will thank me
with just one click
he’ll send an e-mail my way
with just one click
with just one click
I don’t need to move a muscle
with just one click
I can still watch the wire all day
with just one click
with just one click
I can drive my daughter to school
with just one click
I can put the guinea pigs away
with just one click
with just one click
dissent seems so easy
with just one click
via an internet connection
with just one click
with just one click
occupation becomes so unnecessary
with just one click
handcuffs and railings are yesterday
with just one click
with just one click
the powers that be get off lightly
with just one click
I can walk away
with just one click
life can carries on as usual
with just one click
with just one click
I should feel better
with just one click
I think I let evil get its way
with just one click
my valueless virtual signitaure
with just one click
with just one click
protest in the 21st century
the wine intoxicates
but the juices flow
the glass is empty
but I want more
the fruit of the vine
the heavenly grape
the senses and smells must satiate
considered wine taster?
that I am not…
a pleasure drinker
just a drinker of pleasures
I am the vine
you are the branches
are the supposed words you said
did you comprehend
understand
how the fruit of the vine
when fermented –
goes straight to your head?
I suspect you did
I suspect you knew
as you slumped on the party floor
Mary Magdelene’s head on your lap
as she dreamed and hoped of more
but we have turned one quick fire quip
into a way of settling scores
only happy when shouting “we’re the best!”
branches of other lives
– not ours
pruned and strewn across the floor
so as I drink another glass
shortening my life’s brief span
I take solace in the knowledge
that wine flows freely in the promised land.
longshanks stood here
or so I’m told
dropping buttons on a plate
currying divine favour
feeding on holy bread
sacramentally blessed
now I stand here
priest of this fold
the hill of the worm plainly in my sight
past visions looming large
resounding inside my head
of sword,
of steel,
of blood,
of death.
this church stands here
or so I’m told
linking his past
with my present
all virtue and vice
all virtue and vice
the walls drip with prayer
or so I’m told
prayers for what?
a field of dead scots?
wallace in a grave?
praises to an english god?
weathered and worn
or so i’m told
by thousand year fight with elemental forces
shearing stone from stone
layer by layer
strip by strip
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
back to the bone
like tears the stone dust falls
tears for the guilt of silence
tears for the plaintive wind of a thousand cries unheard and unanswered
tears from the stones that did not sing
that shouted no protest in the face of priests and kings
drunk on power
on a wrathful god
on a divine right to rule
longshanks stood here
or so I’m told
girding his loins
for the march ahead
praying for deliverance
praying for blood
sacramentally blessed
such deathly piety –
I feel it on the wind even now
infused within these walls that I touch – perhaps
a cold waiting to be caught
turning sensible souls into preachers of hate
graves mark the victims
their silence speaks
humans all
spread-eagled
cross-like
dead
hung on the nails of battlefields blessed with prayer
longshanks stood here
or so I’m told
I can stand no more
as one homophobic bishop said to another
it’s the truth we hate
prejudice we must defend at all costs
human life means nothing
death is nothing at all
after all
as one homophobic bishop said to another
crazy crazy world
crazy crazy times
god has thrown the chairs into the fireplace
we cannot let him
we must stop him
as one homophobic bishop said to another
all is lost
we cannot exist
if we cannot condemn
it’s the end of the world as we know it
and we don’t feel fine.
as one homophobic bishop said to another
let’s talk about other things
my dreams disturb me
and where the spirit leads
I will not follow
I cannot blow where it wills
as one homophobic bishop said to another
it was so much simpler when we were feared
and god was restrained
in chains of our making
people cowered before us
their entrails on the floor
as one homophobic bishop said to another
real reformation has begun
unless we stop it
the love of God will win
open your bible
leviticus will do
ashyvicar 