See how the colours shift -
with each fractional adjustment
I'm met with a 360 revolution
emblazoned horizon to horizon
a panchromatic world of beauty
in a constant state of flux,
with variations,
both major and minor,
circling round 
with each marginal movement
of my creator's hand.

-  I have some questions.
We have a written guide.
- I'd prefer a conversation.
I'd like that too.
- so I guess my first question is Why?
Simply because it gave me great pleasure.
- And How?
With a few tears, much love and a lot of imagination.
- What am I here for?
To be with me.
- Just that?
(a smile)
- For how long?
However long you wish to stay.
- Are you sure?
I've never been surer. 
Now, take my hand and let's begin.

When you make
a memory
use the very best
materials available,
select the ingredients
carefully,
mix them
patiently,
take your time
and over time,
as you hone your craft,
you will make less mistakes
and create something
perfect.

When you make a memory take each opportunity as it arises, don't hesitate, but be ready to grasp each moment, each nettle, whatever's to hand and to celebrate the here and the now - don't be tempted to wait for that perfect moment,
because it's here.

Don't push to take off the poppies
Don't rush to remove the wreaths
I know you long for Christmas cheer
But take time to give thanks and to grieve.

Psalms 23
1 The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3 he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
for his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.

In the presence of my enemies...

IN THEIR FACE!
Right there in full view,
where they can't ignore it -
You lavish your favour.
You flourish extravagance.
You banish restraint.
You shout exuberance.
At the prepared table
we feast together -
a glass sloshing,
chin dripping,
teeth staining,
finger licking,
shirt smearing,
belt loosening,
belch competing,
mouth spilling,
song inducing,
mum tutting
FEAST!
- right there
before my dumbfounded enemies
and in your glorious presence.

You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Amen.

Uncle Christmas
was mucking out
happily mucking in
and wondering
what might have been
had his twin not been sneakier
and the first to emerge
to claim the Father moniker.

Uncle found to his surprise
he was quite content to be
the deputy
and not have the pressure
at the top of the Christmas hierarchy.

Rather he was happier
working with the reindeer,
being grubbier, a little smellier,
leaving his brother
to bear the mantle that was heavier.
However at each and every Christmas dinner
when the family all got together 
Uncle still insisted with a jocular grin
that compared to his twin
he was far better looking
and definitely
relatively
slim.

Blessed are you frustrated

Blessed are you frustrated
For you know this life is defective.
Blessed are you who resist
For you know that you await a liberator.
Blessed are you impatient
For you have your sights on freedom.
Blessed are you who live in hope
For you will not be thwarted.
Blessed are you dissatisfied
For you know this is but a pale reflection.
And blessed are you who
Despite the fight on your hands,
Despite the yearning on your lips,
Despite the ache in your hearts,
You reach out in love,
You speak in peace,
You bring hope to others;
For with such as you God's Spirit rests.

--------------------------

1 Corinthians 13:12
12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

See Romans 8:19-23
19 For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed.
20 For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope
21 that the creation itself will be liberated from its ******* to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.
22 We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.
23 Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies.

Ed the saint lost his head
and opened his house to the arts
artists and poets
came and amazed us
and touched our heads and our hearts

It was a long long way
through dark days
and dank nights
taking dark sides
against the other
against the distant
against the odds.
Trusting the relay of work horses
to drag our destruction
to haul our backsides
to dredge our pain
to our hollow -
to some kind of victory
that I'll never speak of again
outside of my nightmare prayers
for some kind of forgiveness.

-----------------

Blessed are you, who are conscripted ,  when you are dragged into wars not of your choosing -
For you will be remembered.

The Last Priest
smiled his blessings
indiscriminately
bridging
seeding
building
a new priesthood

beyond borders
across tribes
ignoring gender
discounting class
blind to race
snubbing rank
denying privilege

and preferring
a new holy nationality
for refugees
for stateless souls
like mine
- like ours

Silence
like morning fog
over a late sunrise.
Like a discarded novel
beside half finished tea
and cold buttered toast.
Like a last breath,
a released hand,
and my unfinished prayer
beside dad's bed.

The joy of early,
the smile
of taking the moral high ground,
never giving it up
to the jonny-come-latelys.
Giving me time
to sit,
time to ruthlessly ****
with my own bare hands,
striking each minute
into submission.
Never running.
Never running late,
but standing in stillness,
letting the time on my hands
run through my fingers
and pool at my feet
as I wait here
taking my own time.

https://thisfragiletent.com/2017/09/18/world-turned-upside-down-event/

The mask of confession
reveals nothing
compared to the truth
within the worth of the wait
in the crack of the joke
on the breath of the embrace
of a friend beneath
a shared blanket
on an autumn morning
seeking a closer communion.

Embracing the collective.
Grasping the nettle.

Hugging the toilet.
Regretting the rebel
in me.

The known universe was split into two parts.  They were almost completely separated by a thin membrane and had been for 55 years.

On the inner side there was room for one individual, secured behind a flimsy, somewhat porous and pliable divider. It had to be pliable as the individual concerned couldn't decide just how much space would be needed at any one time.

On the outer side the rest of the universe ebbed and flowed, only occasionally taking note of the activities that jostled relentlessly just a short distance away on the far side of the membrane. It was almost as if it was quite unaware of the inevitable collision that was to come once Steve finally published his poetry anthology.

Once he hit that button the two worlds would have to establish new terms for their coexistence.

Only time would tell if it would be a peaceful one.

Octothorp had never thought
her day would finally come,
but she gradually found
she was drawn centre stage
and the source of laughter and fun.
But even as she was prefixed
to all kinds of wit and quick banter,
her name was dumbed down,
she soon lost her crown
to 'hash-tag' the younger pretender.

https://en.m.wiktionary.org/wiki/octothorpe

Not too big to weep,
not too slow to learn.
Not too old to dance
to a fresh new tune.

Never too late to jump
over my wrong conclusions,
to move at the speed of truth,
and outrun my grand delusions.

Not too proud to notice
the wonder of it all,
never dumb enough
to deny I feel so small.

Big enough to confess
I need to ask forgiveness.
Smart enough to kneel
and get down to business.

My debt-ridden past,
more than I asked.

The transactional present,
less pleasure, more torment.

An easy-payments future,
more payments not fewer.

So many give-aways,
at a price I cannot pay.

It's neo-consumerism,
with the soft bite of fascism.

We're infected by the bug,
so we take
the offered
drugs.

(With a nod to Forrest Gump.)

Sometimes there weren't enough rocks.
Sometimes nowhere near enough tears.
Sometimes no matter how far I ran,
I was slowed by too many years.

Then once in a while the rain would stop
and the clouds would thin just a little,
long enough to show me the stars,
enough to shed light on life's riddle.

Is life just a box of chocolates?
Or can we choose whatever we please?
Are each of us here with a purpose?
Or are we feathers on a breeze?

Can our choices make a real difference?
Can we navigate the storms that we face?
In the end is it down to old father fate,
Or is there an offer of grace?

(With a nod to Michael Rosen's poem, Chocolate Cake)

I love money.
I loved it as a boy
and now I love it even more.

Sometimes we used to have it
all spread out on the table
and I would sort it
and stack it.
And dad would say,
"keep the coppers away from the silver"
and laugh at his private joke.

We'd count it all,
bag it
and weigh it.
And then dad would give me a little for myself:
2 shillings, 8 thrupenny bits.

I'd stack them,
and count them again.
I'd put 3 aside for my tin
and count out 5 for school.

I'd take one thrupenny bit to school each day
and at morning break I'd take my thrupenny bit
and wait in the queue at the tuck shop.

But some days,
when standing in the queue
with my thrupenny bit in my hand,
I'd think again and wrap it up in my handkerchief
and I'd push it to the bottom of my grey trouser pocket
for my secret box in my wardrobe.
-
-
Anyway,
once, when dad was sick
he asked me to do the count
- alone.

To spread it on the table,
sort it,
stack it,
keep the coppers away from the silver,
count it
and weigh it.
And then take my share,
2 shillings,  8 thrupenny bits.

I sat in the kitchen
in the silence,
looking down at the spread before me,
full of fear and pride.

I sorted
and I sorted again.

I stacked
and rearrange the stacks.

I saw with a smile
that I had kept the coppers away from the silver.

I counted
and counted again
And for the sheer pleasure of it,
I counted again.

Satisfied,
I took my share
3 shillings, 12 thrupenny bits.

4 bits for my secret box,
3 bits for my tin
and 5 put aside for the week's tuck money.

I love money.
I loved it as a boy
and now sitting in my kitchen
with my red box here in SW1,
full of fear and pride,
I love it even more.

My stomach retracted,
shrank into a black hole,
******* in any courage
that had been stubborn enough
to hang around.

The mic stared at me,
back lit and back dropped
with the steady throb
of anticipation waiting in judgement.
I gripped it
as the lifeline and shield
that it had become -
as I let loose the words
half remembered from an eon ago.

And after a blur of feeble utterance
I fell into the envelope of applause,
part filling the void within and lifting my heart,
until it reached my mouth,
ready for my next poem.

My stomach hesitated,
but held its ground.
...

Today we have the labeling of people groups.
Yesterday we had the suggestion of an inherent disposition to dishonesty and violence in some groups.
Tomorrow we will have the careful counting of individuals and the placing of individuals into each people group.
But today,
today we have the labeling of people groups.

For those of you who are new here, we recommend this period drama underlining racial differences with a subtle suggestion of inferior intellect in some groups indigenous to warmer climes.
And here we have a persuasive and tabloid friendly research paper that hints that children of mixed race tend to struggle in school. You'll be relieved to see that it hasn't any distracting data.
And on the shelf beneath you'll see there's a picture book version for younger children.

Over here is the arbitary divide between us and them, with a useful circle of arguments to differentiate ourselves from others.
Here we have colour coded lables to more easily distinguish between  people groups. Yes, that's correct, we have three labels: white, black and, a recent addition which is now available for added distinction, rainbow.
Oh yes, when engaging in any discussions, for your own safety please ensure you wear these ear defenders.
To ensure a free flow of visitors we have erected large signs in three languages marking where charity at home ends. Yes, after rigorous focus group testing we have selected the English language in three font sizes.

We are coming to the end of this orientation tour.  Please note the subtle but effective shedding of compassion for those who appear or sound different to us.  This underpins the necessary disregard for the rights of others that we assume for ourselves and for those like us. It is almost imperceptible I think you'll agree.

But the priority for today, as I say, is the labeling of people groups. 
No questions.
Shall we begin?

I sat on my hard, green footstool, still, in my grandma's front room, musing over the warm madeira crumbs on my blue-veined white plate.

I climbed up onto my granddad's chair, as familiar as the aroma of his St. Bruno flakes, infused into the dark promise of his worn, warm desk, impatient for his return.

I'm waiting still.

Step up to the mic and strike first with a smile of one liners, with observations or tales that beguile them.
For a smile will disable them while your lines slide in behind them, almost whispering, selecting the sharp-soft phrases that will best penetrate those guarded places. Looking with innocence into their faces, turning minds stage by stages, persuading with insights, with stories of real life, with familiar tales of familiar strife. Then when you follow through and strike with the punch line they have no defence and have no time to decline the good sense found in this food for thought, laughing to a sudden realised stop, looking again at their lives, with a furtive smile of dawning delight at the shed light on shared lives found in your soft amplified lines.
- Do it right when you step up to the mic and you just might change lives.

Blessed are you wounded
for beneath your scars lies healing.
Blessed are you wounded
for you have survived.
Blessed are you wounded
for in your pain you found life.
Blessed are you wounded
for, though the world stares
from a safe distance,
Christ stands near -
closer than any enemies,
closer than any friends,
closer than each tear.
And He holds you.

The taste of well prepared poetry is something you won't fast forget.
Each phrase is fresh, seasoned with restraint and mixed with passion.
Patiently simmered or flash fried, the result is something to be savoured. 
Hold it on your tongue with relish, while the juices coat your chin, but be quick to scoop them up and sip them again for that unexpected echo of the explosion of textures held in each line.
The taste of well prepared poetry
is something you won't fast forget.
And there's always seconds on offer.

I stand in this messy state of grace,
granted forgiveness,
cleansed from my soiled trace,
and dressed in gifted innocence -

yet
I still stand peering through my dark glass,
seeking my father's encountenance,
seeking to keep pace
with a Saviour who appears
to respect breathing space.
Although He is as quick with an embrace
as He is to displace my misplaced fearfulness,
in His presence I'm all too conscious
of lingering idols which were once in place,
now giving rightful pride of place
to this harbinger of grace.

Yet
I still stand peering,
longing for a fanfare,
hearing a distinct whisper,
feeling a familiar nudge,
and so I turn to His touch
in nervous obedience,
with a fragile confidence
growing only as I take a breath,
only as I take
this faithful, fateful step,
stating my allegiance
with every tread
through a messy state of grace,
ready for whatever I may face,
so Saviour, set the pace and lead on!

Ignore the lyrics:
You can't pursue love.
You don't find love.
Love's not a thing to be kept or had;
it's a doing word that you both have to work at.
Love is a language expressed in deeds
and so clear expression of your love best succeeds when you both discover what the other most dearly needs.
So spend time planting daily deeds of love, every one a fragile seed.

Continue to listen day and night
and learn what each other prefers and what you both like.
And then, when you get it right
you'll be answered by a unmistakable light in their wide glistening eyes.
-
Do it on a date.
Do it with your mates.
Do it when you're tired and it's heavy eyed late.
Do it in the everyday mundane way
you pair your own socks
and clear away last night's takeaway.
-
Laugh often and have fun
especially when you feel life has you on the run
and be sure to surprise each other both regularly and often
Maybe even invest
in a pair of water guns.
-
Share the fragile thoughts
you find at the forefront of your mind.
Reveal your vulnerability, the hurt you feel when life's been unkind.
-
And in response to that revealed insecurity, ensure you tread carefully  until you see the healing that comes from interlacing lovingly.
-
Speak your love every day.
Articulate it come what may.
And that way you'll ensure that it stays
at the forefront of each of your todays,
on the tip of your tongues
so when you inevitably take a step wrong
you'll both recall why you're together
and why it's worth the endeavour that it takes to push through that unexpected foul weather.
Love one another through that gale
and sail on to meet the adventure
that's yours to discover:
Through the miles of your wherevers,
for the duration of your whenevers,
strong enough for your whatevers,
standing together,
forever relentlessly loving each other.
-
So may the Lord of your tomorrows bless you together.
May the Lord keep you smiling whatever.
May his face shine on you in all kinds of weather.
And may He give you peace
that will never cease to give you pause to thank Him for his grace
forever.
-
And all the assembled people said
AMEN.

Yes, I embrace my personal spectrum of strange, maintaining my own range of a sense of self, my own present tense, a unique list of contents that expresses my deep down, my compound, my proper noun made up of all that I am and all that resounds and all that pounds within this fragile, fragmented, profound self that will rebound no matter how hard I hit the ground.
Yes, I am down,
but I am relentless regardless.

Broad eyebrows,
porcelain foundation,
pursed lips,
distain flying from painted digits,
resenting the imposed ****** proximity.

Then her eyes met her twin's
and both faces cracked wide in smiles and laughter,
her pose was momentarily forgotten,
as she was reunited once more with her tribe.

My tightrope stretched across the void.
Unimaginable pain on one side;
a new uncharted land on the other.
Balancing anger, pain, loss and a sack of regrets,
I concentrated on the next step and no further.
With no sense of what may lay beyond,
I went on.

You might be
blogging or podding,
Googling, Yahoo-ing,
Texting, Twittering,
Instagraming, Messaging
Snapchating, WhatsApping,
or good old fashioned
rambling Tumblring -
whatever you're casting
your thumbs will be moving
like proverbial lightning
- proving again and again
the might of your words
over any old persitent swords.
Words of love over words of hate.
That's right - words that reconciliate.
Ignore the can'ts, hear the cans
Hash-tag: 'wordsaremightierthan'.
Facing those fears,
shouting through tears.
Redeeming the years
thought lost in arrears.
Letting them know
you're letting them go
and no longer able
to live with old labels.
Finding the roar
to voice who you are.
Finding the words
to blunt those old swords.
Thumbs at the ready,
hands nice and steady.
You're free men and women,
with a brand new beginning.

Blogging or podding,
Googling, Yahoo-ing,
Texting, Twittering,
Face-timing, Instagraming,
Snapchating, WhatsApping,
Messaging, Pinteresting
or good old fashioned
contemplative Tumblring -
whatever you're casting
your thumbs will be moving
like proverbial lightning
- proving again
the might of the word
over the keenest, lunging sword.

(We're being held here to regulate the service.)
A captive audience,
I soaked in the silent stories
framed beyond the glass -
a snap shot of slow life
at apparent ease with itself.
(We apologise for any inconvenience caused.)
Where am I?

Her scars lay obscured,
shrouded by years of survival,
protected by safe distance,
masked by cosmetic smiles -
until you met her eyes
and there you shared
a fragment of her pain.
Wounded,
but after all,
the same wonderful woman.

The island's abandoned beauty
stayed on first name terms
with the coming storm,
oblivious
of its violent betrayal,
unmindful
of the berserker landscaping
that tore a new path towards it.
(Where are all the birds today?)

Let's collaborate and coordinate, cooperate and disseminate.
Let's not disassociate or dare to hesitate, rather let's keep going til we reach a state of counterweight that celebrates the gifts our Father freely donates for us to re-dedicate and elevate His name til we resonate with the angels at heavens gates.
Amen.

As sure as Sunday
As mean as Monday
As true as Tuesday
And Wednesday goes by
As dark as Thursday
As bright as Friday
As soft as a Saturday morning sigh

we struggled
long into the night
it was a gruelling fight
with ***** tactics
on both sides
and even a bite or two

but you can't blame me
it was brutal
it was him or me
and I won
I fought my conscience
and I won

pass me another cake

he snarled at me
accusation embedded into each word
I thought I knew you
I thought I could trust you
but you're nothing like I thought
how can you bear to live with yourself
how can you not feel sick
- collaborator!
he expelled that last word
as if he would be the one to *****
you gave in
while the rest of us struggled on
you gave in
we thought you were with us
but all along you had betrayed us
you betrayed yourself
you didn't write that alone
you had a partner
didn't you!
didn't you!

I paused
not sure how to respond
it was true
I couldn't deny it
I had stopped working alone
I had
- collaborated
I had fallen in step with another writer
and it had felt
great

Dance deep beneath the central bar,
jump, spin, step and blur;
bruise, slide, collapse, collide,
pick yourself up and ssmile
a grin that shouts: never give in.
Pick up the beat, refuse defeat,
skip, slap,
skip, slap,
skip, slap, - leap,
let your feet - fly
...and repeat.

The radio reports no congestion
and the goings good with few delays.
Sat Nav tells me it will take no time
with light traffic the whole way.

It's apparently never crowded here
on this less travelled extra mile
I'm a first time pilgrim and I've not passed others
for a good lonely long while.

The *** sat enthroned,
serene while concealing
the heated turmoil within.
Matching cups laid in wait,
straining against imposed patience,
anticipating the flow of flavour,
the afternoon pleasure
enveloped around the familiar ritual
of shared sweet-musk darjeeling,
while lemon slices rested, reclining,
indifferent but ready if needed.
-
I sat transfixed in Sunday best;
awaiting my slice of black forrest,
impervious to this most grown up delight.

Some people prefer to walk,
some will always run.
But the perfect way
to spend the day
is to stroll
arm in arm
in the sun.

By the time the day catches up with me
The moon is full
And my tears have dried.
Tomorrow will be better.

Spider-Poet, Spider-Poet,
Writes free verse haiku and sonnet
Spins a verse, any size,
Catches rhymes just like flies
Look Out!
Here comes the Spider-Poet.

("Art is never finished, only abandoned" - quote attributed to Leonardo da Vinci.)

I'm not finished yet!
I'm nowhere near complete
You know I'm not yet done
You know I'm not replete

So now's the perfect time
To pause and let me go
Time to pack away
Take that towel and throw

Put me in the drawer
Stand up and walk away
Go and fill the kettle
Or try that new cafe

Come back some time later
Then look at me afresh
Maybe ask your closest friend
To suggest some more or less

Once you've looked at me again
You may be surprised to find
You're not quite satisfied
And can't get peace of mind

I'm art, I'm not a race
There is no finish line
So please don't over-work me
I'm unfinished by design

With a smidgen of talent comes great responsibility.

With great grace comes greater responsibility.

Not
'in this light'
not 'just now'
not 'at first sight'
not 'from this angle,'
but
timelessly,
universally,
after scrutiny,
from all perspectives,
you are absolutely -
wondrous.