Tag Archives: hope

From Black To Blue

From Black To Blue

You can make the wrong decision,
at the time it seemed right.
You can train to be a pilot
then freak out on first flight.

But life has a habit
of making each day new,
to change the view
from black to blue.

You can look cool in sun glasses
but then it starts to rain.
You can pass your health check up,
then feel a sudden pain.

But life has a habit
of making each day new,
to change the view
from black to blue.

You can dream you are a mammoth
then wake up as a snail.
You can earn your certificate,
and still feel doomed to fail.

But life has a habit
of making each day new,
to change the view
from black to blue.

You can vote for politicians,
see not one promise kept.
You can see a far off widow
who has all her tears wept.

But life has a habit
of making each day new,
to change the view
from black to blue.

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Winter Without, Within

Winter Without, Within

Winter without my walls
made me feel winter within.
So severe the cold, the hollowness
I was alarmed to consider
this desolation sin.
Winter without is natural
but not winter within.
A carol from a choir
stung my eyes, peeled back the skin,
till I felt the thaw begin.
It re-lit my lamp,
cleansed me from winter within.

World must accept winter without,
but not winter within.
Peel back the skin,
let the thaw begin.
Relight the lamp,
to be saved from winter within.

Endure winter without, within.
Do not forget a thing.
You know what comes after.
Spring.

Hagar in the Desert of Beersheba

Hagar in the Desert of Beersheba

Sarah was very old, almost as old
as her husband, Abraham.
Her hands looked thin and cold,
hard as the horns of a ram.
Then she filled her tent with laughter
when she gave birth to Isaac,
the Lord’s promise had been kept.
She said her faith had never died,
but for long now it had slept.
Yes, Isaac filled her life with laughter,
but she knew bitterness, grew cold,
when she looked on Hagar, her maid servant,
saw her as a viper, a hyena,
a danger to the fold.
As was the custom of her tribe,
when she thought she could not bear his child,
she had brought her maid servant to her husband’s tent
to be his second wife,
a plan that seemed practical not wild.
Hagar gave birth to Ishmael,
the son of Abraham,
so his seed could flourish,
not be held back by a dam.
Now that Sarah was the mother of Isaac,
she grew vile to Hagar,
told her husband he must send her to the desert,
her son must go with her,
so in what Isaac inherits,
he would have no share.
Abraham was hurt by her command,
though he understood, knew why
Sarah wanted Hagar and Ishmael
sent out into the desert,
where he knew they would die.
But the Lord made him a promise,
Ishmael would be the father of a nation,
would carry on his seed,
though his heart was wounded,
he would not be left to bleed.
Abraham gave Hagar bread and a skin of water,
tied them in a sack,
to sustain her on her journey,
and strapped it to her back.
Hagar took the hand of Ishmael,
walked out with him to the desert of Beersheba,
where she thought they would die.
She thought her eyes deceived her,
when she ran out of water,
and she saw a figure
that was at first a shimmer in the sky.
Then she saw it was an angel,
he revealed a well of water,
not far from where Ishmael lay,
his eyes blind with dust and tears,
less than an arrow shot away.
Hagar rose to her feet,
led Ishmael to the well.
They drank and quenched their thirst,
knew the future would be harsh,
but they had lived beyond the worst.
Ishmael became an archer,
leader of a tribe of nomads
in the desert of Paran.
Hagar found for him a wife,
an Egyptian woman,
who gave birth to his children,
the seed of Abraham,
so he lived to be a happy man,
though the world grew more grim,
hard as the horns of a ram.
When you feel at your lowest ebb,
remember Hagar in the desert,
when she thought she would die,
how the turn came when she saw a figure
that was at first a shimmer in the sky.
Never abandon hope,
for a well of water may be revealed to your eye.

Lullaby For Bethlehem

Lullaby For Bethlehem

I was told I was part of a war,
to decide which side I fought for.
I laid aside whatever armour I wore,
to be a spirit naked and pure.

Was this the way?
Is this the way we came?
Is that the street?
Or did it have a different name?
How did we get lost?
Who now can we blame?

Remember the flower and the stem,
the lullaby for Bethlehem?

Yes, I do.
And as I ran, I said:
It’s all true. It’s all true.
The world is cold,
still on its slide from its fall.
Some words I recall.

The shepherds hear the angels sing,
bring tidings of a new born king.
Sure as the flower and the stem,
a star shines over Bethlehem.

A child lay in the golden straw,
a mother kneeling down before.

Yes, they are some of the words.
There were more.

He walked upon the waters wide,
he gathered many to his side.

This is the way.
I remember that sign.
Now we know where we are.
So good we are together,
so glad you are mine.
Still there is Bethlehem,
the flower, the stem,
the stable, the star.

Odd Peg

Odd Peg

First birds she heard in the dawn,
found an odd peg lying on the lawn
that must have fallen from the line,
left forgotten, sodden by the rain,
trodden deeper in the ground,
so sad and silent, but then,
an odd peg cannot make a sound.
She stooped, picked it up,
put it in her peg bag in her shed,
bunched it with the other pegs,
thought of all the things
that had come and fled,
but now that odd peg
would help her hang out
her clothes and sheets on the line,
so once again, it would shine,
when the weather’s dry and fine.
And she said to one she could not see:
Sorry it was me and not the one
you wanted me to be.
Sorry it was me but I was not sorry it was you,
for it was you I was looking for.
It was you I wanted to see
when I opened the door.
Sorry I was just another shell on the ocean shore,
just another cherry in the market store.
Sorry I could tell that you wanted more.
Sorry for the things that we never did,
sorry for the things ever to be hid.
Sorry for this odd peg I found on the ground.
It cannot cry, for it cannot make a sound,
but when I hang my clothes and sheets on the line,
like me, once again it will shine,
when the weather’s dry and fine.

New Lights

New Lights

One was ruby, one was shining sapphire.
All the clouds cleansed in golden fire.
I was alone, late evening, on the shore.
I held my breath, counted up to seven.
Saw new lights coming down from heaven.
Tides came in, tides came in a door,
tides came in through a jewel door.

Mary told her mother on the sand:
“I’m spinning round, please hold my hand.
Can you and I walk forever on the shore?
Please hold your breath and count up to seven,
see new lights coming down from heaven.
Can this be, this be forever more?
Can we always walk on the shore?

“Mother, mother,
they are brighter than the pennies in your purse.”
Mary’s mother said:
“Things may now grow better, instead of worse.
And yes, we will always walk here, you and I.
Always beneath this windy sea shore sky.
But what are these lights,
these new lights in our eyes,
new lights speeding through the skies,
new lights that touch us with surprise,
new lights, new lights in our eyes?”
“Mother, mother,
they are brighter than the pennies in your purse.”

One was falling, one was turning a wheel.
I was learning strange things still real.
One bronze cone shooting from a scarlet core.
I had to smile and count up to seven.
More new lights coming down from heaven.
Waves flowed in, waves flowed in a door,
waves flowed in to flood a pebble shore.

“Mother, mother,
they are brighter than the pennies in your purse.”
Mary’s mother said:
“Things may now grow better, not ever worse.”