Monday, 22 January 2018


Out of the wilderness, yet sap‑embrued,
As if it grew where it did not belong
The acacia seasoned to acacia wood:
"How pliable, how durable, how strong!"
Yet see one's skilful workmanship enfold
Wood, measured to its own distinctive marque,
Inside and outside, with the finest gold
To integrate one vessel, God's own Ark.

We see perfection in humanity,
Suitable to sustain and to express
The glory inherent in divinity
Even while journeying in the wilderness.

Beholding One so near, and yet beyond
All human thought, we willingly respond.

Friday, 19 January 2018


Why do the mighty Jordan's waters turn?
Does a great barrier thwart their onward urge
Or some vast tempest's concentration spurn,
For once, the vigour of its downward surge?
No. Just an Ark. Its littleness prevails:
Though men might deem it insignificant
Yet by God's power its presence countervails
Where flood before were always dominant.

Only a man to men's self‑holden sight,
The Christ advanced to meet death's awesome power;
And through God's strength and His inherent right
Quelled it and freed men it once forced to cower.

For while death's torrent rages as before
We stand with Christ upon the other shore.

Saturday, 13 January 2018


Feet clang on the rock,
Clunk on the soils:
The Waste Land.

Star guides,
Lightly crystallise
To the waterside.

Escape! Escape!
Sound the waves:
Sound the heartbeats.

Feet tread the boards:
The ship of faith;
The ship of fools.

Who held my hand, boarding?
Mercy to the left;
Grace to the right.

What would have held me?
Satan’s tentacles, without me;
Lusts and fears: parasites.

The Morning Star guides,
Attracts the eye.

We launch towards it.
The rowers keep pace,
Mercy and grace.

Hope at the prow
Watching and calling
Hosannahs and warnings.

But O the misadventures –
Rock and tides – as I
Ws a skill-less helmsman.

Who would deliver me?
My eyes must fix on the star;
My hand be fixed by the Pilot.

But what wrestling, what
Arm-wrestling; till my arm,
Under the Pilot’s hand, rests.

The river splays:
Salt tangs the spume;
We plunge through surf.

Onward, onward
Guided by the high Star,
By the chart, by the Pilot.

Towards Colosse,
There to freight the boat
With bright nuggets.

Towards Corinth
There to take on
Firm building material.

Towards Ephesus,
There to gain a lading
Of precious stones.

And at Philippi – true,
Noble, just, pure, amiable gems,
Of good report.

Port by port, all
My crew’s fervour ditching
Useless ballast.

Forward, forward
Till the Sun breaks upon
The desired haven!

“Let them thanks unto Jehovah
For his loving-kindness
And for his wondrous works
To the children of men.”

Monday, 8 January 2018


Isaiah 55: 11;  Thess 3: 1

Let me, I pray thee, run,
Begged Ahimaaz.  And he went,
Dove to its cote.  He ran well
But with now news
Suited to him.  Turn aside,
David said.  Void.

But when the word ran,
A cheetah fixed towards its prey,
From a dying Saviour
To a dying thief, it accomplished

A dog runs patiently, wearing down
Its prey.  Saul fled the word
Worrying him, snapping
At him.  Grounding him
It accomplished glory.

That which God pleased

Pleased God.

Friday, 5 January 2018


Do clouds gather, dimness
And grimness oppress?
He has known the darkness.

Does the way narrow?  Cliffs
Loom over you?
How He was straitened!

Do you feel pressures -
Impinging, slow or quick?
He knew Gethsemane.