Musings in Poetry and Experiments in Creative Non-fiction
We all must pass under the sun
and walk into its light
knowing life precedes death
but death is not
the final word. Instead,
the innocence of the cloud’s
white cloak, washed with the blood
that rains down from heaven,
wraps us in its pure embrace
to carry us, cleansed, into
the arms of God.
They have come with their spices
to bury him in a moving service
but the stone has been removed.
.
A shaft of light blasts through the window
where the Paschal Candle is lit
and a voice cries Alleluia!
.
A man stands in his garden
holding a rose clipping
and smells its sweet scent.
.
A woman cries out ‘He is risen!’
disbelieving in her amazement
until she sees him for herself.
The synchronised movement of men
one by one, up and down the driveway
to fetch their bins.
This is Saturday morning through my window
come rain, sun, sleet, or snow.
They march to and fro
as if they’d planned it,
with nothing else to do.
I sip my tea and smile, thinking
how the ordinary can be so funny
sometimes, and can turn necessity into
a weekly dance that delights.
The offer of a prayer
for those who may need it
to the One who hears it
from one who has said it
without fear of reprisal.
When I see the rainbow
bending its way over the hospital
beyond the steeple of the marble church
God sees it too
.
and, remembering his agreement
with every living thing on earth
when all seemed bereft of hope
as it does now,
.
our eyes meet directly in its colours,
confirming his presence;
that he is still with us.
He has not forgotten us.
My walk to Poundland
on the eve of lockdown
in search of toilet roll,
after finding bare shelves in B&M
and a complete clearance in Asda,
leads to a right ruckus when, on entering the store,
a fresh delivery finds people pushing forcibly past
to get their hands on this paper gold.
.
I join these guzzling gannets, not to stockpile,
but out of sheer necessity,
a genuine need for more.
Who knew that, faced with a pandemic,
it would be faeces and not food
that we would worry about?
Our obsession with cleanliness is either admirable
or completely misplaced.
I am content
in my own way, you say.
Then how do you expect
to serve others, I ask.
As I stare out over the rolling hills,
I notice the pockets of white dotted
over a large field of mud, around which
a green grassy border sits, and wonder
if this is the reason why Jesus
referred to humans as sheep.
Frustration is a dark cloud
with a silver lining.
Ask it its purpose and it will tell you
about yourself.
Gwared. Gareth.
Gentle on the listening ear.
Caredig. Cariad.
I’ve slowly come to love it.
Affectionate. Friendship.
Gaz – the name that seals it.
Gary. Mate.
Two words that will break it.
lostinbluejazz 