Poetry

When Nan burned bright

  At a hundred-and-a-half, Nan was ready to ease out of life. Burning her body was one thing, but bearing the heat in the room was quite another prospect.   Nan was born into shame, an illegitimate child whose mother had nothing but contempt and spite for her. She was raised to feel she ought…

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Small boat, big seas

  In roiling seas I’d wished I’d skirted – harbour-seeking all perverted – the passage to that still horizon reels me, and my soul is siphoned down into deep briny troughs. But though my fears are in the buff I’ll hunker in the hull of this coracle, and trust it’s bouyant beams arborical.    …

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Fruit shoots

I had such zest and energy, a new skin of sweet piquancy. ’Don’t take the pith!’ I pled and cried, ’Don’t pare me from ekklesia’s side!’ Uncommon people pulped me down, sapped me – but, was then I found out flowed  a fresh vitality. This juice was worth the press and squeeze. Discarded flesh, all…

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CROSSED THE RUBICON

No more shall we be woe-begone, not since we crossed the rubicon! Habeas corpus – no unicorn? That horny time is purged.   The test is always by the fruit, and moral tales we shall impute. Our time of ripening (from deep roots) will sap the bitter urge.   Laughter transports poignancy and gives the…

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Phoenix kicks

A greater authority gives me true edicts. My territory’s enlarged, my horizon so scenic. I rebuff the acruidity.   The ash and the oil shall be marked on this phoenix, and I shall rise above power politics – I’m healing by creativity.

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Ashes and Oil

It is not I, but he, indicted – such sadness of a soul benighted. Pride has wounded and misguided but the critics heart is unrequited. In brokenness I once was sighted, yet – of sustaining grace reminded – ashes and oil are all united. To restoration I’m invited.

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Sleeping Snooty

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the one who’s so enthralled by abusing those who see past self-centred deity? It’s served you well to spin the story, and yet its lost you so much glory. A little prick – how do you sleep? No conscience, you shrug off deceits. But the greater wheel of justice…

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Embezzler

When the good book has been cooked, the flock is fleeced – we all have hooked into a deficit of kingdom riches, squandered as the truth unhitches from a place of right accounting. Bottom line – the plunder’s mounting, from one man’s debt and diminution (rather than make restitution).

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Stony Ground

My steps did cede on stony ground – I wait to see injustice drowned. An ocean’s-worth of briny tears have stung and washed me. And the pier of jutting pride is not so grand to ever ‘gainst His flow withstand. Time and tide of grace will wash us all, and heal with salty solace.

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Elephant in the room

We walk into my padded room and – yes – there is the pachyderm. Of course it’s there, all grey and trunky! “But what the heck is smelling funky from that corner?” folks exclaim as they exit, in disdain.   I stay perched upon the stool – I will not run or lose my cool.…

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