Two years ago, I broke a tooth
While eating an iced bun, no less.
(There’s no dignified way to break
A tooth it seems, I must confess.)
James’s Blog: Filling.
poem
James’s Blog: The Ballad of the Handyman.
The workshop smelt of oil and sweat,
Of stone and wood and clay.
The tools of many disciplines,
Around, about they lay.
The handyman, he raised his head:
“How may I help today?” Read more
James’s Blog: Intercession.
(I’m having one of my ‘stretched’ times at the moment, and writing a fresh and engaging blog post seems like a bridge too far. The good news is that’s been a while since I inflicted one of my experiments in poetry on you, so here’s one that I’ve had sitting around for just a moment like this. I’m not going to apologise…) Read more
James’s Blog: This Post-Easter Blog is Far Too Long.
Sometimes a song or a story or a poem will generate a powerful emotional response in me by putting into words something that is buried deep within, something I haven’t really given shape to myself yet. This is what art does. Why just the other day I was listening to someone explain how he had been left shaken by listening to a short story that somehow managed to encapsulate his own experience of childhood. Read more
James’s Blog: Bank Holiday.
(I warned you that I’d be writing more poetry. Good poetry doesn’t need an explanation, so you can be sure that what follows is not a good poem. It came out of a thought I’m sure many of you have had; Easter is now so normalised that it can be easy – even for followers of Jesus – to take for granted things that shouldn’t. Anyway, it’s not a great poem, and comes across a bit more cynical than I’d like. I don’t want you to think that I’m some kind of Easter Scrooge – I actually quite like chocolate eggs and holidays, but I also quite like the last two lines. If I had the time I’d try and fix what I think is wrong with it, but there’s an Easter blog due, so…) Read more
James’s Blog: Ash Friday.
What can you build from dust and ashes?
From remnants scattered after flames?
Wealth of a life all burnt, destroyed,
Nothing of joy or hope remains. Read more
James’s Blog: The Jeremiah Blues.
So God says “Go!” and you say, “No, I’ve worn
These shoes before. I know the way this ends.
With me abused, misused, confused and bruised,
I wonder why you don’t have any friends?” Read more
James’s Blog: Another Advent Poem.
There were no lights, no holly and the ivy;
no red-breasted robin to sing in festivity;
no cheer of any sort to warm the cold winters;
no berry red Santa bringing sacks of presents,
only blood red legionaries, bringing Pax (with blades)
and the hungry hoping that it wouldn’t snow.
And after all no ear did hear his coming,
because we only listen to music that we like,
and no eye did witness the raging storm
of heaven contained within tiny feet and hands,
for sometimes the first line of a poem
is best when it can only be whispered.
So into this absent-minded world of winter
(that tells itself lies to keep the dark dreams at bay),
came a mustard seed shaped Christmas,
that didn’t end with an angel or a star on a tree,
and the hat that was worn for this main event
you wouldn’t get from pulling any crackers.
And into this absent-minded world of winter
(that tells itself lies to keep the dark dreams at bay),
how silently, how silently,
the wondrous truth bomb is dropped,
and God imparts to human hearts
the blessings of dark dreams stopped.
James’s Blog: An Advent Poem.
There are those who think it odd,
that you came as man and not as God.
A God would make things right
with shows of power, glory and might.
A God would shake the stage,
smiting evil-doers with holy rage.
A God, you see, will get things done.
A baby can’t. He needs his mum.
A baby is no use to us;
a baby screams and makes a fuss.
A baby doesn’t clear up mess,
solve problems, or bring progress.
But as for us, we’re not so hot,
we’re babies too, don’t pretend we’re not.
We need to scream, need a nappy,
we need our toys to make us happy.
We haven’t grown up in years,
so only a baby could share our tears.
We’re still learning how to crawl,
so I’m just thankful you came at all.
James’s Blog: Treasure Hunt.
(A serious thought became this not-so-serious poem. I’m not sure that the ten-syllables per line experiment really works, nor am I totally thrilled with the rhyme in the last verse, but it’ll do.)
Have you ever discovered something big
hidden away in a minuscule place?
Maybe something obvious, but more like
a raindrop that’s reflecting a child’s face.
We’re used to seeing small things in the big,
like grains of sand hidden amongst a beach,
or the grains of truth buried deep, hidden
within a major politician’s speech.
What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever noticed
hidden away inside something that’s small?
An elephant in a matchbox, perhaps,
or maybe nothing that silly at all?
As for me, I bet I’ve got you all beat,
for I had the most magnificent find.
You see, today I found the universe
in a scrap of bread and a sip of wine.
