THE SPIRIT

Into obedient person

The Spirit is received;

Within obedient persons

The Spirit is ungrieved.

ONE MAN

As the heavens parted

The Father’s voice sounded

And the Spirit descended

God

Was distinguishing one Man.

As the cloud surrounded

And, from its shekinah,

The Father spoke

God was

Distinguishing one Man.

Even when the sun was darkened

And darkness covered the earth,

While the Father’s voice was absent,

God was distinguishing

One Man.

Then, when a cloud received Him,

When He was taken up

And sat at God’s right hand

God was distinguishing one

Man.

When they see the Son of Man sitting

At the right hand of power

And coming with the clouds of heaven

They shall acknowledge

God is distinguishing one Man.

THOU ART FAIRER THAN THE SONS OF MEN

Lord, Thy praise exceedeth tongue or pen:

From our hearts an anthem swelleth

To the One whose grace excelleth  

Thou art fairer than the sons of men!

Thou art First and Last and the Amen:

Thou art throned in perfect fitness

Who wast here the faithful Witness  

Thou art fairer than the sons of men!

All Thou art transcendeth human ken

Thus Thy grace and glory raises

Worship, adoration, praises  

Thou art fairer than the sons of men!

Sing this to the tune of "God be with you till we meet again".

MORNING

Early that morning
The Father brought His glory
To the grave of Christ.

SOUTHERNDOWN BEACH

I wrote a verse on sand

Now lost to tide and wind:

Why should I take that worse

Than all my other verse?

Soon loss will have occurred

To all words but the Word;

None stands the tidal shock

Apart from Christ, the Rock.

Which finishes, and comments on, my diversion into the subject of writing verse.

A POEM

Sometimes the mind boils, bubbling,

Yet flavourless, as water.

Perhaps a conceit or concept

Will seethe for days - or moments.

Maybe the stock will be savoury:

Maybe insipid and thin.

Adding the garnish - rhythm and styles -

Should make poem; or verse,

But no ingredients disguise

A poor stock.

Here it is now - reader,

Is this to your taste?

THE POEMS

From - Books I will not write.

The poems -

They are copious as milt.

Some died undischarged;

Some failed to fertilise;

Some were distorted embryos

Eyeless or finless.

Fragmented bodies

Were swallowed by other fish,

Sometimes to be spat out.

Some simply degenerated

As time failed them.

So what you have

Is a survivor

Amid cataclysms.

POEM

Should it be a tree, drawing

Moist life from a mind’s

Tilth of humus and sediment?

Or like a beast, vividly

Swerving and glancing, fleetingly

Glimpsed in the dappled forest?

Or crisp, and uniform,

Each facet aureate,

And polished to conform?

Choose for yourself. I

Will not complain. Yet you

Can tell what I root for.

So - what do you choose?