God’s seat.

 Just a beach

On an autumnal evening

The sun was low on the horizon

Its reflection lit in the still water

It was warm, I remember that

Yet the beach was empty

Maybe people had better things to do

There was a tree trunk

It had been there for years

Polished by the elements

Every beach has a tree trunk

But there is only ever one!

They always lie parallel to the shoreline

I think God puts them there

Maybe for passing strangers

Maybe for people to reflect

A sort of church on the beach

Maybe they give answers

I have noticed that you never see two people sitting on them

Only lonesome souls sit on God’s seats

And they gaze at the sea

Or maybe they gaze but look beyond the sea

Or below

Lost in thought

Reflecting

Looking for answers

I never sat on them

I had always sat in the sand and leant against them

Maybe I never got the right answer

Because of that

But that evening I was a lonesome soul

So I sat on God’s seat

 I took off my socks and shoes

Wriggled my toes into the sand

Watched the tide

Time and tide

I had them both

The tide would run for ever

But my time was swiftly passing by

It’s right what they say

(Who are ‘they’ anyway?)

(And why do ‘we’ listen to them?)

The older you get

The quicker time passes

I dug my toes in deeper, trying to slow things down

It might have worked

But I had forgotten to check my watch

9/11All those years ago?

Surely not

Lady Diane1997?

Can’t be

I remember I was……..? 

MaybeIf time is passing so quickly

I should dig my toes in even deeper

Time

Such a limited commodity

I sat on God’s seat and thought

Do I still have dreams?

Or are they all dreamt?

Do I still have hopes?

Or am I hopeless? 

And what of you?

Do you still hold onto dreams?

Does your heart still have desires?

Do you hope against hope?

Have you the time you need?

Do you need to make things happen while they still can?

Do you need to dig your toes in the sand? 

Tell me your hopes and dreams

I will help you carry them

Mine seem so simple

And yet

I don’t seem able to make them happen

Maybe it’s because I lean on God’s seat

Instead of sitting on it

 The sun is going down now

It’s refection, a pale image

Watery

Do you see what I mean?

Another day has gone

What happened to today’s dream?

And what happened to this morning’s hopes? 

Maybe tomorrow.

Rivers.

The rivers of thread that run through my heart

Are now loose and entangled, falling apart

The bonds and the bindings, that kept me secure

Are torn free from safety, to leave me unsure

The warm and security, I felt in your smile

Has dropped into shadow and left me the while

And the rivers that run, adrift without thread

Have broke free from my heart, to run through my head

And the rivers are flooding, drowning my mind

And when the waters subside, I’ll dread what I find.

Mary Ann Bell. (The workhouse.)

As I stood, in the mists, of the workhouse

And watched little Mary Ann Bell

Her crime, that she was an orphan

Her punishment, to live in this hell

At seven years old, she was tiny

Malnourished and always so ill

But she sought and was given no pity

And her grace shone out from her still

She had beautiful eyes, did Mary Ann Bell

And a smile that could light up a room

But she shed many tears in the workhouse

She had learned how to cry in the womb

Her meals were served on the bare floor

And the work was savage and cruel

She was dirty, unkempt and bewildered

As she sucked at a bowl of cold gruel

In the nights, were the horrors of warders

Their hands and the rancid black breath

And forlorn and alone was Mary Ann Bell

Who’s only escape would be death

And death did come young, for Mary Ann Bell

She never lived to be eight

Seven long years in the workhouse

Were her epitaph and was her fate

She lies in the soil, somewhere out there

Snowdrops, are her only headstone

She died as she lived, did Mary Ann Bell

Frightened, abused and alone.

The ant army.

  I was sat on a wall just musing

When an army of ants came along

With a lot of military hoo-hah

And a pagan victory song

They were led by Colonel Mustard

Who walked arm in arm with the queen

While the ant behind had a dead fly

To be eaten for supper it seemed

By two, by two, by twenty

With bugles, trumpets and drums

They marched and walked and stumbled

And occasionally wiggled their bums

Some carried leaves so enormous

They couldn’t keep up with the throng

Till a sergeant major in ant terms

Came back to push them along

Onwards and forwards they ventured

Over paths, up walls, around trees

While the old ants fell to the wayside

Tired feet, aching backs and old knees

The ants of the world they were marching

But not one of them knew as to where

And not one of them dared ask that question

Or maybe not one of them cared

Young ants were born on the route march

As the dead they were carried along

Ants went to school and then married

To the strains of an ant marriage song

Nothing it seemed could stop them

Their journey an energy stream

From here to the distant horizon

As one in search of a dream

A column of ants on a highway

A road only they could perceive

Their goal lay unseen in the distance

But it lay in their souls to believe

As the day slipped by so I watched them

A nation of ants on the move

Maybe ants being ants with no logic

Or a species with something to prove.

Lockdown.

‘And what did you learn in lockdown?’

Asked the child with a tear in her eye

I paused and reflected and then answered

‘I found I had lost sight of the sky’

I walked a thousand miles in lockdown

Went nowhere, just walked around and around

My mind was my only companion

And my footsteps, provided the sound

I learned how to think, in Lockdown

A process, I know now, I had lost

But learning to think is doing hard time

And it comes at a personal cost

I lost a few souls, in Lockdown

And I’ll miss them when this is all done

I lost a few battles in Lockdown

And it’s a struggle now, to see what I won

I learned to ‘see’ better, in Lockdown

It opened the eyes in my heart

Am I a better person for Lockdown?

Well, I’ve forgotten who I was at the start

And will I survive through Lockdown

I only know that I’ll try

Because failing to live through Lockdown

Is to sit and to quietly die

So what did I learn in Lockdown

Tell the child with the tear in her eye

The lesson I learned in Lockdown

Is that it’s better to live, than to die.