Tag Archives: poetry

In Auckland Castle Chapel

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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

Dunstanburgh

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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

protest in the 21st century

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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

Longshanks

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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 bishop said to another

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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

There’ll be ice-cream….

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there’ll be ice-cream in the kingdom of god
the angels got thrown out
with their tuneless harps
singing in parts –
does god need such noise about?

there’ll be ice-cream in the kingdom of god
the angels ask to re-skill
“we’ll put down our halos
take up italiano
make rum ‘n’ raisin for the soul”

does god need all that praise and thanksgiving?
big-heads and dictators demand that…
ice-cream
a sign for the living
is where god’s kingdom is at.

– so in the ice-cream cafe
what dare I choose?
do I play safe with flavour?
what is there to loose
if I stretch my tongue tentatively around new knowledge?
if I let my taste buds off their noose?
if I celebrate the creative?
if I understand what I have understood
is not truth
but a jumped up lack of imagination
afraid of an ice-cream scoop?

but whilst in deliberation
I see a big smile on your face
unfreezing my moribund spiritual eye
it lets in light –
light I might have missed at Leighton Moss

so its god I see in your buggy
tasting that first ice-cream
joyfully plastered over the hair
blobbed-slobbed on the nose
slip-dripping down hands,
stuck to the face
the vanilla of life

there’ll be ice-cream in the kingdom of god
a real cosmopolitan place
no haughty holiness
no worthless worthiness
no faux friend-ness
no abundant life pretensions……

and then when you burst out laughing
the world starts laughing too
the passers by
have joy in their eyes
the kingdom has come
ice-cream has won
and for god that great ice-cream seller
dreams really do come true.

Adrian Henri

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electric socks…..
that’s what I remember
bright pink I think

I was ballast
not in a bad way
sometimes silence is the best conversation
sat in Angus’ post-card clad room

beat poet –
the mersey sound –
that’s what you were
opening the souls of the young
to the rhythm sound of words
and the talking toxteth blues

what I have now
is your signature
inside a penny arcade
– Cheltenham, Nov84
but I’m no gleaner of thoughts
from pen and black ink
staring at me from the page

you’d come to read poetry
I’d come to fill the room
vaguely aware of who you might be
annoyed at my ignorance
determinedly mute
a quiet soul
of the meet and greet delegation

then you were off
taken on a tour
of liquid haunts
before wakening our minds
to pictures painted
with different coloured words
to mourning for something that was never there
in your penny arcade

electric socks…..
that’s what I remember
bright green I think…….

Woman at the Well

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he spoke in riddles
but explained nothing

stilted
like cold water thrown at your face
was our conversation

Did he always speak like that?
Was he really so rude?

the ripples of passing time
make the memory faint

But for a moment
we stood before him
Intrigued –
we put away our knives – wondering
united in the uncertainty
of what we might have found.

(reflection on Jesus’ meeting with the woman at the well in John 4)