True artistry

A picture painted in still water
speaks clarity framed by the puddles edge.
But should the wind ruffle it's surface,
this picture is not broken,
it is changed, fragmented.
We see it now with new eyes.
Even the frame may change as it laps upon the shore.
But this is not corruption.
No, rather this is a new image
and with its own beauty,
it is seen in newness.
All variations of God's creation are masterful
and in every change, true artistry.
Do not look at creation and allow yourself chaos and corruption,
rather, look on perfection that in every alteration,
speaks of Him.

A mighty man

A barren plain surrounds,
great warriors abound.
But none brave?
No.
None have strength through faith.

A mighty man steps forth,
the crowds part in answer.
A stone slowly starts its oscillation,
seeking... finding,
the stone goes forth as the spear is raised,
a warrior swings high his arm to strike.
His focus blurs, not fast enough to follow.
Pain... and his spirit fails.
The ground shudders...
silence.
A mighty man steps forth to gain the crown,
a nation roars in affirmation.
A nation shatters upon the rocks.
Together they are the sound and motion of great waters
that break upon the shore of Israel crying...
'David has slain his tens of thousands'.

Freindship

Why. Why, when I had tried so hard,
was my attempt so failed?
A word so quietly spoken.
A meaning softly veiled.
My utterance had been to lift
another’s spirits higher.
The thoughts I had,
the words I spoke,
to this end did conspire.
And yet I thwarted,
now aghast sit still in wonderment.
My meaning so intent on care,
now sullen sits thus spent.
Do I now try to rectify, to show,
that though my words so stumbled,
I chose to be here now.
It was my will, my choice, my joy
to be here for my friend.
Of course I know, I’ll not allow,
for it this way to end.
Of course I know I cannot help,
to try again to speak,
such words of comfort that I can,
to somehow bring you peace.
For Christ has given me new life
and though you may not know it,
my love for you that day I died,
increased.
I hope,
I pray,
I show it?

Rain Rain...

Rain thunders its repetition,

pounding the receiving surface.

A storm encapsulated, breaks on impact,

from one drop, flooding, drenching.

Poplar blossom dusts the sky
with silver dabs and fleeting strokes,
caressing depths of shady blue.
A gentle swash, a feathered stroke.
The soft dance of swaying boughs
awash in springs sweet scented breeze.
Dancing dappled daubs of honey light,
flicker cross the silver bark.
Wildly dances...
...a tree entranced by spring.

Whose kingly palms, hot in anticipation
have been calmed,
by the cool roughness of this stony face.
Whose noble mind,
has been set in its resolve,
by the solidity of this seemingly, immovable rock.
Time itself, exudes from this stone of kings,
witness to the splendour of bygone ages
and their majestic coronations.
Now the cool, hard granite face,
brings a sense of history to this thriving city,
awash with new cultures.
Forgotten by the young.
Remembered as in passing, by those whose path is measured.
Put away in a corner,
it continues its legacy,
as a witness in the hands of father time.
As true as the steadily flowing rivers,
whispering past,
never changing pace for a new day,
but remaining, constant.
Out living.
Out lasting.
Ever watching.

Light breaks, dawn is fulfilled.
The utterance of thousands takes shrill second place,
their chorus receeding as light displays space...
Transient.
All space in a manner is thus understood,
displayed in mediums of ebony and gold.
The very same may in nature be seen in hue's of light'
or shown in satin cover, impenetrable night.
Shadows lift, highway hum transcends.
Self sufficient miriads seek meaning and place.
Simplicity watches aghast at complexity.
Lengthening again, dark fingers steal, reclaiming space...
Transient.
An effort is made, lights ignorance of dark to effect.
Submission attends, enrobed in colours minions all made black.
Time the old master whose keys unlock perceptions depth.
Space he dresses...
Transient.

The sun rises on this weeks day of rest.
sparkling shards of light,
splayed through flowering leafy boughs of spring.
seasonal changes, eternal praises.
From dawns first light,
to evenings blanket of peacefull darkness.
Crescendos and showers of eternal praise,
follow our planetary movements.
As congregations rise from pews
and with one voice lift our thanks
our adoration, our joy and love,
The father listens to our hearts.
Watching his creation revolve,
and suns light release
songs and prayers unto his presence.

The heather of these dunes smells sweeter in the warmth of a storm's breath,
the inhale before the ex that plunges me in thickening air.
A lost bee confused and angered by it knows not what,
runs wild before the crest of the approach.
Waves unhindered by the beach,
the pebble dashed line of lands last defense,
blurs in the crescendo's of a north sea shower.
Sheets of grey marching resolutely westwards.
I am enveloped in the changes that make this another time, another place.
Displaced from before I am awakened to the harsh now.

Snow capped peaks staunchly rise
'bove soft grasses bent beneath fresh loads'
slipping, spattering.
Winter's sun frees streams, that run down cold,
hard packed sand dune faces,
pooling in sunken pits of moss and heather...
I side step with a crisp crunch
and gaze on a steel grey sea.

The ascent of this deep score causes my lungs to swell and burn.
Summit reached, the trees no longer cover me
a sudden gush of wind fills my hood.
Cold crisp air sharply inhaled as the clear call of a gull rings in my ears.
Watering eyes cast afar reveal smeared dark clouds.
A sense of wintery foreboding covers this stretch of coast.
Dead factories, blackened house bricks and peeling painted lintels.
Summer laughter lights these coast towns, winter reveals a ghost town.
What light can I bring, what sense of meaning?
Once trod by thousands, these scores now lurk in the darkness
of street corners as their occupants once did.
I descend, hurring to keep up with my feet.
Behind buildings there is shelter, almost warmth,
but not visible... just there,
much as I feel when on this vast beach, not visible,
just there.

Pebbles under foot, twisting, ratchett and grind against eachother,
a confusing chaos of motion hidden by your loud passing.
In a place as peaceful, as eternal as this,
change would, it seem, take centuries.
But how great a change lies unnoticed beneath your feet.