Rising - Ian Duquemin

I'd sit down and think of the times of my past
The shit and the shadows depression had cast
The troubles, the fears, in a future untold
I'd cling to those times, though they left me so cold
I'd grow from a child who was always in pain
I'd fall to my knees, but I'd rise once again
Over and over the hurdles appeared
But the falls became lessons I no longer feared
No barrier stopped me, I'd crash my way through
I tried to be someone who's honest and true
Those days as a child they were never to last
As you cannot move forward, if you live in the past
I think of those days with a new sense of pride
As no one can tell me that I've never tried
I give what I can to those living in pain
As I know in my heart... You will rise once again

Ian Duquemin
Image : Pixabay - Crucifurr

Friend Of Mine - Ian Duquemin

Jesus was a friend of mine
We hung out every day
He asked me why I sinned so much?
And why I never pray?
I told him that I loved him
That I do the best I can
Said "I am not a preacher
I am simply just a man"
He told me of his journey
He'd come so very far
He pointed to the heavens
Towards the brightest star
He said that's where he came from
And I stood there in his spell
I wondered how this Moon child
Could have stumbled into hell?
I watched as he was talking
To the crowds that gathered round
I saw his lips were moving
But I could not hear a sound
And when I asked him later
Of the message I'd not heard
He told me not to worry
As he hadn't said a word
The further that we travelled
He moved too far ahead
It's then that I discovered
That I had been misled
I called for him to save me
But he did not hear my call
The man that I had followed
Was not a friend at all

Ian Duquemin

The Men in the Masks: Pt1 - Callum Lee Doherty

Say not as thou dost, but through clocks as we rot
and thy shine dare not speak as before.
Pray, what divine cost, whispers, gods have we lost;
should my time and my steeple endure?
What price did He ask of you? What silence they grasp from us all.
We regress to impress; dictions learned, fictions spread,
Crystal spurned in pursuit of the chore.

Wear(e), take me; here, lately,
Enslaved of my bastard rapport.
De-grade me; dear, break me,
For we’ve lost in this faintest of cause.
I’m consumed by that thing I abhorred; I’m consumed by the virus in thoughts.

His mask see not mine, told my stifling mind,
As the roses – redolent – entwined.
And we all sing and dance, lest we might get a glance
of the frozen – exposure – we’re blind.

Déjà entendu, elate and offend you
Rehearsed since thy birth and refined.
But when all set aside, through thine time’s genocide
Hollows corpses – thoughtless – confined.

I will not reach out to your hand; and I swear I ne’er called on your name.
My design can divide and abort you; but my solace – I lied – I’m afraid.

Callum Lee Doherty

The Robins of Cardiff - Kathy Figueroa

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in November 2012

Though the snow did cling, 'twas the first day of spring
And I wanted to celebrate
No matter what faith is dear, to all it's clear
That this is an important date

It was Sunday, too, so the thing to do
To start the brand new week
Seemed to me that it would be
To go to church and hear the minister speak

So off I went as a congregant
Since my celebrations weren't of the partying kind
And I hoped that a measure of spiritual treasure
Would be something that I'd find

I wasn't wrong, sermon and song
Spoke of a man from the distant past
Who was wise and kind, a type hard to find
So fond memories of him still last

I sat in the pew and listened to
The minister speak some interesting words
And then was surprised when I realized
She had started to talk about birds

She said she'd learned, when early each year they returned
That finding food could be a difficult feat
So to make it less hard, she spread seeds in her yard
For the birds as a special treat

This once attracted a flock from all over the block
That enjoyed the unexpected lunch
'Til assailed by feathery blows from a crowd of crows
Which were a raucous and boisterous bunch

Suddenly, during the melee, from the fray
A big robin did appear
Then it perched quite still, on her window sill
And showed absolutely no fear

There it stayed, unafraid
As it looked right up at her face
And, with a knowing nod, she said it was sent by God
To illustrate God’s divine presence and grace

The sermon came to an end and I thought of a friend
Whose name was 'Mary Lou'
She had a heart of gold and stories are told
About the kind things that she used to do

All critters wounded or lost, no matter the cost
At her place were welcomed and mended
They convalesced, with food and rest
And were most carefully tended

With the hurt and stray, she had a way
She'd heal them or give them a home
It was a good circumstance, if by chance
To her place they managed to roam

Once, by bad luck, a tragedy struck
And baby birds were left bereft of a mother's care
Though still alive, they couldn't survive
They were too young to find food anywhere

Someone knew about Mary Lou
And her way with creatures large and small
Then correctly guessed the young birds in the nest
Should be taken to her to have any chance at all

Mary Lou fed them by hand and could understand
Exactly what they needed to eat
And people were amazed that the birds were hand raised
Because that was an unusual feat

Thus, by and by, they grew large enough to fly
After being nurtured so carefully
And, for they were wild, not tame, the time eventually came
When they had to be taken outside and set free

It was hard to part because, with all her heart
Mary Lou loved those birds, it was clear
So, her eyes shone bright, with a radiant light
When she said what happened the following year

It was a lovely day, in April or May
Her living room window was open wide
And to her delight, some birds paused in flight
Then, through the open window, hopped inside

They wandered about and checked things out
And seemed as if, to each other, they said
“Here we were raised, mercy be praised
We were kept safe, sheltered, and fed

Though far we did roam, this is our home
When we were motherless we were brought here to stay”
And they looked as if they knew kind Mary Lou
And thanked her, and then flew away

Medicine and technology were employed, but her body was destroyed
For her, doctors couldn't do anything
And right 'til her last days, she continued to amaze
With the way she’d ease all creatures’ suffering

She found relief in her belief
In a man who performed many a miraculous feat
Through the stories told, from times of old
She believed that, eventually, she and he would meet

Poorly she fared, but she never despaired
Or cried out from self pity or the great pain
And though, one day, she went away
I believe Mary Lou lives, again

When birds sing at dawn, maybe they pass the story on
So it's known in each new bird generation
Of how the kindly soul, on whom illness took such a toll
Is now held in great veneration

“It was a sign of love, from Heaven above!”
Said the minister that day in church
“An example of grace, from a holy place
That sent the robin to the windowsill to perch!”

And, to give the minister her due, what she said was true
But there was more, of which she was unaware
You see, Mary Lou used to live in that Cardiff, Ontario, neighbourhood
And I’ll bet the robins still look for her there

Kathy Figueroa

The Carpenter - Stephen A. Roberts

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in February 2012

Image - Stephen Roberts

The bent nail stares at me accusingly,
Useless
The Carpenter says nothing as
I place another and drive it in
Hoping to miss the tendons this time
Some of His blood touches me
But I don’t feel blessed

Stephen A. Roberts

This poem was originally published in 2010, as part of the Guernsey Arts Commission's international poetry competition "Poems On The Buses".

Second Skin - Chris Hudson

Before I cast off my second skin
And let the silky darkness in
Turn off the light
And into night
Spill the day’s noise and din.

I close my eyes
Turn to the skies

I say no prayer- for the world is my prayer
I turn off the radio
Now it has nothing to say to me
I think: this day has passed in a riotous racket
Like an express train passing
It makes a lot of noise
And passes by purposelessly
In an insane journey from one place
To another exactly the same

But now I hear a different sound
The sun is rising in the East
I have not eaten, and know I am alive.

Christopher J Hudson

Bleak Thoughts For A Bleak Generation - Stephen A. Roberts

An eternal scream, ragged, raw
rises from the very floor
a despairing roar of misery
from the echo chamber
of history

Where now is the god you trust
in his house, or somehow lost -
a bullet fired into his head
a bullet
in the temple, dead

Kneel for worship,
kneel for death
the dividing line was never less
in this wholly,
unholy mess

Will you live to carry on
caring for the blinded son,
or perish in the next pogrom -
as others die in ecstasy
cursing your apostasy?

Will someone, somewhere
drop the Bomb,
let Mankind
face
what he has become...?

Stephen A. Roberts

One Needs - Ian Duquemin

One needs the resurrection
A spark to fire the heart
One needs a little helping hand
A push to help him start
When somebody knocks him down
He has to rise again
And face once more his mountain built of pain
One needs a voice of comfort
A whispered word of truth
One needs to carry memories
Of times he spent in youth
And when he feels there's nothing left
He then can turn back time
And thread the very footsteps cast as mine
One needs some inspiration
A place where he is free
One needs to have a little faith
To find and use the key
As when it seems that all is wrong
His darkness turns to light
Then he is shown the path he chose was right

Ian Duquemin

Jerusalem - Joan Raleigh

This Holy city is torn apart,
with man’s hostility to man.
There’s no benevolence or love,
just rockets and Kalashnikovs.
Bullets tear into your mother,
father, sister, babes and brother.
My name’s David, yours Abdullah ,
is yours so different to mine?

They say ‘We’ll cancel Christmastime’.
Jerusalem will not celebrate
the deaths of so many people,
the hate of race to race.
But how can goodwill ever come
in this blessed war-torn place?

If there’s no Holy Christmas birth
can peace be born again on earth?

Your name’s Abdullah, mine is David,
our lives should be forever sacred

Joan Raleigh

Before The Service - Vic Gamble

Sundays were by fate, grey,
lacking even peculiar grace,
my old man chewing over communion
and crudely caught in his own private act
of bewitchment and the folly of fear,
under the inescapable eyes
of some inconsolable God.

My young shoes polished
by a firm pious mother,
peeling off the dirt
like an enemy;
my hair stretched on the racks of comb
slicked surface as smooth as any
covered grave.

Father smiled his nervous disappearing act
in low roofed pantries
to nip at Dutch courage
for the sake of God & sanity,
brushing long slashes of ash
from his best suit
and smacking vulgar lips
as if his mouth was full
of the sensation
of his own carcass.
His wink was for me,
his scowl for God
and revealed, like a poor trump card,
he handed my mother
the creased eyed pain
of a wilted bouquet.

in the church
it was all air
and strange decorum,
the tinge of whiskey
still jigging my father’s tongue
like a devil sick to death
of its own inbreeding.
when no-one looked
I ran a hand through my hair,
digging up that grave image
so carefully earlier laid,
and catching her eye of disapproval
I yearned for the day when,
like my father,
I could play at evil
and still be loved by her.

Sundays were by fate, grey,
lacking even a peculiar grace………

Vic Gamble

I Was A Rasta - Chris Hudson

I was a Rasta, a Taoist, Zen, Christian, Buddhist, Pagan
Homeless, poor, yet wealthy and landed
My forebears knew Christ, yet the horned god
And the void were more to my taste
Experiences received, lived and believed
Dogma unearthed, I came, I saw yet was unheard
And unsung, senses burned
And clung to one word
Unfolded karmic ritual of soul
The astral path my one and only goal
Once imprisoned in electric cell of force-field
In a static hell smothered in If-words of doubt
My entire being vibrating to the call of the crystal
My universe within forced out
Seed of all life, put my enemies to route
At last to fall, and break my path
Between gates of logic, ether-breeze
Bust open all doors, for I reached into the womb of earth
Where I beheld all fruits of wisdom and worth
The ancient shrine stood yet undefiled
A sight all too glad for longing eyes!
Blistered by such radiant smiles
Eyes flutter, hearts pound, hands that
Are likened as to butterflies
From what befalls of time and the
Nexus of an aggregate of chance and twisted fate
This hand that stayed to reach the sky
From these clouds heaven’s bolt alighted
Carried from the hole cold blasted and blighted
Airy hail which pounded in the place
Where wealth is not measured by weight or rod
Where sun shines on rich and poor alike
I was touched by the hand of God
He showed me, in a dream
He left his mark, told me I was to be a poet
(Please do not kick this poor sod,
For I do try not to show it.)
Hark! Cracks at the gates of dawn!
Has the Golden Horn yet sounded?

Chris Hudson

When God Drops His Crumbs - Chris Hudson

When God drops his crumbs
Into our muddling pool of reality
They tumble to earth
Will they breed new humans sprouting from that ancient turf?
Will the millennium spell the end to poetry
That man no longer requires to be free;
Life’s summary written, “Oh!”, “Agh!”;
Will our dates ever be the same again;
Will a meteor smash into the biosphere;
Or a squaddie press the wrong button
Causing tidal wave, earthquake famine, death and fear;
Will there be scientific innovation
At last to feed every nation?

Chris Hudson

Golgotha - Joan Raleigh

‘Crucify Him!’ the people called
in the heat of a Jerusalem day.
‘Let Barabbas go!’

With leather scourged, and step by step,
He bore the heavy cross of redemption
on to Golgotha.

Through the shimmering haze of dust
the people gathered to watch Him die -
flanked by two thieves.

The Judean sky filled with portent
as they heard in the midst of sacrifice:
‘Father, forgive them!’

Darkening clouds were spreading forth
black as a solar eclipse. The people
were afraid, and left.

On the ground a torrent of rain
drained His blood, and all who stayed knew,
He was the Messiah.

Joan Raleigh

A Place of Pride - Janet

Behind the half price decs they hide.
Waiting to take a place of pride
on tinselled shelves, where snowy chocs
and golden reindeer in glittered box. Are
left unsold, since festive excess
by those now needing larger dress.

January brings the Hot Cross Bun
and chocolate eggs promise Easter fun.
With threats of hell and damnation from
the post-Christmas diet nation.
Still, slowly moving to the fore and
stacked up high beside the door.

The Easter Chick and Golden Bunny
little chocolate lots of money.
Wait till all resolve is weak and
diet days have become so bleak.
Celery, grape and low fat sticks, now
someone needs the chocolate fix.

No more from view they need to hide.
At the front of the shelf they stand with pride.
Egg hunts and the Easter Bunny.
Shopkeepers making too much money.
Stretch until the ice creams come, with
chocolate melting in Summer sun.

Then festive decs on shelves appear.
Must haves for December cheer.
Golden reindeer snowy chocs.
All encased in glittered box.
While chocolate eggs prepare to hide
'Til they can take a place of pride...

Janet

Unlimited Resources - Rod Ferbrache

We went to town last week to do some bits and bobs.
Nothing in particular, although there was one job.
When we gained a grandson we saved up our loose cash
And once in a while when there’s enough, to the bank we dash.
We did the same one Saturday, and as we stood in line
A thought dropped into my head, that there would come a time
When Zach would be quite old enough to know he had a sum
That bit by bit had mounted up and then the time would come
When with his bank book in his hand he’d draw some money out
He didn’t have to worry, he didn’t have to doubt.

While too young to understand, or even be aware,
Resources are building up from those who love and care.
It didn’t depend on what he did, the kind of boy he was,
The money was simply there, I have to say, because-
His Gran and Granddad love him just the way he is,
He didn’t have to earn it; the fact is, it was his-
To do with as he wanted, to spend it his own way,
We wouldn’t dictate just where it went, we wouldn’t have a say.
So we’ll go on saving, until the time is right
And when we hand it over we’ll share in his delight.

This got me kind of thinking how just like life this is?
A truth that stares us in the face, and yet can so easily miss.
That in our name a bank account is there in time of need,
To draw upon, to benefit, if the truth of God we heed.
He says to me in weakness, His strength will make me strong.
When I mess up, do stupid things, do something that is wrong,
For me there is forgiveness, a massive stash of grace,
But I must go and draw it out, if the future I will face.
The Father paid a huge sum in sending us His Son,
It seems so sad to waste it, with all that He has done.

When next you go into a bank to draw some money out
Remember all that Fathers done, you never need to doubt.
If in any way you lack, in spirit or in soul
It need not forever stay that way; He wants to make you whole.
You may not realise in Him how rich you really are.
It’s something that’s not measured by size of house or car.
It’s also not dependant on how much is in the bank
As a son or daughter of the King it is how high you rank.
If Father owns the cattle upon a thousand hills
Then all is at His disposal, and can give it as He wills.
So never think you’re wanting, or have a need that goes unmet
We are heirs to the King of all, this we never should forget.

Rod Ferbrache

A Different Road - Chris Hudson

I work
It is a mind-dulling, monotonous process
Relaxation is guaranteed to purge all rebellious thought in hazy absurdity.
Television and alcohol subdue thought, reducing
The polarised participant into and incapable, emotional torpor
Drugs which increase and sharpen awareness are kept under lock and key
Their criminalisation reducing their quality and purity
Feeding the unscrupulous profiteering dealers
Lysergic acid and cannabis, not opium or heroin
Political stratagems, ancient and modern regimes
Profit for undercover agents and tax dodgers
In the free world captors and slave-drivers benefactor façade removed
Illusions abandoned, the universal dance of impermanence
Static power systems abandoned, minds freed
Turning to the light, the truth, the life, listening to within
Cease all violent striving and watch power systems crumble
Death-grip on the throat of humanity released at last
Laugh, turn away and real life
Way forward to peace, all feeling, all seeing
Freedom from within, conquest religion
Subverted into enslaving people, dividing them
Liberate the human spirit
Let the select masses pampered and preened to perpetuate
The rule of trained power systems, self-abasing slaves in ignorance
Absolute ego-addicts, manipulating sub-symbols
Elasticity, poverty, electricity of elitism.

Chris Hudson

A Different Planet - Chris Hudson

It seemed no sin to believe in magic
Or to be living a myth
A symbiosis between man and nature
All barriers dropped, no inside no outside
Gathered around the fire, flames
Licking into the inky blackness and shades
And livid colours splashed our faces
We felt warmth, reaching out our hands
Smile spread from face to face, person to person
A smile born from the wisdom
That fire shuts out the night.
In the cities and towns, dull shadows walk the streets
A ghoulish army to confront and meet
A legion of fears to test my verve
Is wraithlike existence what they really deserve?
In the country, autumn displays her dapperness
Wind howls, rain strafes,
The colours glow in a hollow echo
Light diffuse, night close
Journeys bind and tighten in knots
Sea cold, sky bland,
Yet there is movement here between sea and land.
The Christian and the Pagan are at opposite ends of the earth
Yet they meet and mingle, on this, our sacred turf.
They say ignorance is bliss; then am I to surmise
That the blind and happier than those left behind?
Ignorance of the law is no defence
Yet panderers and flatterers set the pretence.

Chris Hudson

Tears …The Souls Rain - Rod Ferbrache

Image Source: Rod Ferbrache

It says in Psalm 34 “The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Therefore none of our tears are wasted or overlooked.

The young married couple had dreamt of the day
When a daughter or son would be born.
At last the time came for the wife to give birth
Though the labour was long, and she worn.
Nothing could stop the joy in their hearts,
As she held the young babe to her breast,
A tear trickled down the young father’s cheek,
As he looked at the infant at rest.
So innocent there, untouched by the world,
With a peace that nothing could shake.
He was choked with emotion, full of pride too,
That he felt his heart would break.

The child quickly grew, and to school she did go,
Her lessons she learnt with ease,
A good sense of humour, well liked in the class,
A person who loved a good tease.
In no time at all university loomed,
With all of the study that meant,
She excelled in her work, a degree was attained,
A career in medicine spent.
As her parents watched on graduation day
Their daughter walk forward so meek,
Their eyes filled with water, a lump in their throats,
And tears trickled down both their cheeks.

One day she arrived at the family home
With a young man they never had seen,
“I’d like you to meet my husband to be”,
She said in a voice so keen.
Dad looked at Mum, Mum spluttered out loud,
“We really had no idea”.
“Oh mummy, we’re headlong in love, you see,
You really have nothing to fear!”
The church was arranged, the outfits bought,
The wedding day quickly arrived.
What a picture she made, their own little girl
Was now somebody else’s bride.
Once again they felt that that tear trickling down,
As they let their daughter go.
On the way home, it struck them so hard,
The trickle turned into a flow.

The parents had brought up their girl in the Lord,
She walked with Him close to her side.
But with pressures of family, career, and time,
She gradually started to slide.
At first, - wasn’t much, just her prayer time got dropped
In an effort to fit it all in.
But before very long, she was staying out late,
And then a young man led her to sin.
How it broke the hearts of her parents close by,
As they saw all their dreams disappear.
It wasn’t for joy, pleasure, or pride
That they ended up shedding a tear.

Like the Prodigal son in the story of old,
‘Twas only when nothing remained
She came to her senses, returned to her home,
Begged forgiveness from those she had pained.
There were tears shed that night, for the lost had been found,
They were gripped in a tight embrace.
It mattered not what the neighbours thought,
Or to the family, had brought disgrace.
Their child was back home, to the ones who had loved,
Throughout this crisis and pain.
Tears were a symbol of the compassion they felt,
But their faces expressed all the strain.

Tears are the rain that waters the soul,
As it passes through seasons which change,
Some filled with such joy, inexpressibly good,
The thought of sorrow seems strange.
But all of us know from personal expense,
That grief comes to each one in turn.
Whether it be the loss of a son,
Or a difficult lesson to learn.
Perhaps it’s our way of coping with pain,
Or compassion, or being a friend.
It never hurts to show that we care,
If a few tears on our loved ones we spend.

When Lazarus died, and Jesus was told
His friend had passed away,
He didn’t pretend He was under control,
Or even call it a day.
He came to Bethany, to the home that He loved,
To the place He had eaten and slept.
It wasn’t the words that He spoke that day –
We remember just “That He Wept”.
He cried tears of sadness, just as we do,
There were times of passion He felt.
Remember that night in the garden alone,
There fell sweat drops of blood where He knelt.

The tears that you shed in secret,
The emotions that run so deep,
He sees every drop, He knows every heart,
And near to His side He will keep-
Those who are hurting, confused, at an end.
He promises always to stay-
Until the time comes, as He says in His Word,
“All tears will be wiped away."

Rod Ferbrache

I Have Seen My True Soul - Chris Hudson

I have seen my true soul:
It is neither young nor old
Neither rich nor poor
Neither a believer nor an atheist
Neither law abiding nor an anarchist
Neither slovenly nor yet eager
Love neither man nor woman
Neither alone nor in company
Is neither still nor in motion
It neither senses nor thinks
It neither eats nor drinks
Is neither inside nor out
It is neither everything, nor yet, nothing

I have seen my true soul.

Chris Hudson

The Right Book - John E Blaise

Fruit of flowers for the sick
Smell the freshness, deliver them quick.
An apple a day, go and pray,
For health not wealth.
I hope your God listens,
As the gold cross glistens.
In the dark, dank, empty church,
Long abandoned by lost souls.
In search of redemption or attention,
To the plight of the terminally ill.
Ferociously searching or fighting for the will,
To go forward into the fray,
Or to pause on ‘all souls day’,
If your denomination allows you
The freedom to pursue your own mind,
You have to be kind to be cruel.
You know there is only one golden rule,
It’s written so clearly, no need to look
You just have to find the right book.

John E Blaise