Poems

A Big Issue

A quid would have been good,
I could’ve got a drink for a quid;
Sat in the pub for hours,
Washed in the loo with their soap
And warmed myself through.
Yeah – a quid would have been good.

How did I get on the streets?
Well, home was a mess,
There’s not much work when you’re thick
And the leg that I broke as a kid
Never mended the way it should
And I wanted to see some life.

Did I get a quid? What do you think?
Two guys in suits, with their ties
All neatly tied – what do you think?
Nah! Not a penny, but still
After the big one jerked me on my feet
My knee didn’t hurt, I didn’t need a drink.

His name? Peter, I think. His friend was John.
You know them? Well give them my best;
I’m off up north to me mam’s to start again.

A Short Liturgy

In your presence God we meet here
Making this your holy space,
Lord forgive us now and heal us
In the mercy of your grace.
So that we know we are pardoned,
Lifted up and freed of sin,
Baptised in your death you find us
Cleansed without and cleansed within.

We sing your praises, hear the various
Messages your scriptures bring,
Warnings, counsel, consolation,
To each need your offering.

One in joy and one in sorrow,
We the body, you the head,
One with you today, tomorrow,
In the wine and in the bread.

Ours the praise, the jubilation
At the battle fought and won,
That has made a new creation
In the pattern of your Son.

Calming the Storm

The sea was calm when Jesus lay
Down in the bows to sleep.
How tired he was; let fishermen
Tend sail and the watch keep.
But storms of life come suddenly
To trouble peaceful bays
And winds of wrath can rapidly
The monstrous waters raise.
They did their best, hauled manfully
Upon the steering oar,
But all their effort was in vain
The wind it blew the more.
At last when all their hope was gone
They called their Lord by name
He heard, awoke, and through stilled seas
They safe to harbour came.

The Centurion
I knew the ancient virtues, had been trained
In courage, truth and honour, work and discipline.
A loyal citizen, I welcomed strangers in,
And never sponged or stole but paid my dues.
But on that day, when I saw muscles strained
Beyond endurance, without trace of sin,
Then I knew, in my guts, the way to win
Through to God’s grace is not to strive, but sue
For mercy at His feet, confess I’ve failed,
Not once, but time-on-time, was never well but ailed
With sin’s long sickness, in a broken land,
Where evil is long nurtured and long planned.
O Lord have mercy on me, like that stricken thief,
In heaven today please greet your torturer-in-chief.