Thursday, 15 January 2009

Gen 1 - "...He saw that it was good"

The other day, I took a trip to Glasgow's Mitchell Library. Now I'd been on the first floor a couple of times over the last few months, where its done up real nice and very modern looking now, but on this occasion I went upstairs into the 4th and 5th floors, where I hadn't been for just over three years; since before I even moved over to Glasgow. I had been to the library on one of my many excursions over from Belfast, in December 2005, and you'd think that on this wee trip to the 4th floor, in January 2009, I'd just been in the same area the day before - it was identical to how I recall it three years prior. Same carpets, same furniture, same layout of the bookcases and desks; in fact, its probably looked the exact same way over the last 30 years, let alone the last three!

It sounds silly but I couldn't get over this because, in the period of time between the last time I was there and on this occasion, I had experienced a number of changes in my life - I mean loads! - and, in a lot of ways, was a different guy from who I was in December 2005. Yet the room seemingly hadn't changed in the slightest. (I don't know if you've ever been at, say, a party or a gathering of friends/family where there's akways one quiet man or woman sitting comfortably in the corner and, you could be walking out of the room for long periods of time, yet when you come back, they haven't moved a muscle - that's what it loosely put me in mind of!) Ans as I wandered round askimg myself why I hadn't been here for such a length of time, I was reminded by how much God never changes and remains the same today and tomorrow as He did yesterday.

Maybe you're at a stage in your life where you've gone through too many life-changing experiences that you wish to even care about any longer; perhaps you're not necessarily like myself but like the casual library-goer who hasn't been there for years and you've done all the changes enough for both yourself and your area of context. Or maybe you're like that Mr or Miss Cool at the party, just sitting there taking it all in, watching the world go by, and you've barely lifted a finger. Regardless of which category you fall into, the day God kicked off creation, "He saw that it was good" and today He looks at each of you and sees that you are good. You are His child, His creation and He's not going anywhere anytime soon.

I know its not always easy to believe that but its the truth and He constantly reveals thr truth so we are reminded of His constant presence.

Saturday, 10 January 2009

Poem - Substance

Yesterday, I owned a pair of shoes;
today they sit at the bin, worn out.

Last week, I had a ticket to fly away
but, this week, I'm still here because it ran out.

A few months ago, my credit was interest-free!
This month's bill is in, reminding me nothing's free.

When I was a child, I owned many toys.
Where are they now? My playtime is no more.

In my teen years, I had the best video games -
before technology advanced and I was left behind.

Once upon a time, this was a happy home!
Today, in its place, is a half-empty house.

Mum had a parcel arrive, saing "Fragile".
I now see why, for rattles inside.

Loved ones seem to come and go....
Jesus is still here, didn't you know.

Friday, 9 January 2009

Poem - Ulster Sonnett

A combination of the past and now
will blend together if we all allow;
for in the land where time seemingly stops,
a ruin comes among the harvest crops
which promise hope and value in the morn',
instead of pessimissm, hate and scorn.
Our fathers and our neighbours will unite
forgetting any reason left to fight.

When day returns forever and a day,
my people on my turf will see the way
that they should follow, like some follow on,
in stark contrst to Peter, James and John.

Unholy world, we have to leave behind;
the way, the truth, the life: indeed, we'll find!

Two new poems


In the busyness of it all, my shepherd
lays me down to rest. Among the quiet
pastures appears a certain serenity;
my restlessness is vanquished by the
touch of peace and tranquility.

A door
opens, following the closure of another:
inside there is bedding, so comfortable
and cosy.

My eyes deceive me from the
wonders of the world; when they say
"seeing is believing", they don't always
test the waters before jumping right in.
Temptation is there for me.

Give me peace
and solitude to hide away from what is
recognised as life's freewheeler, for I don't
want to fall asleep at the wheel.

Search me and protect me Lord; allow
relaxation and tranquility to come my way.


My jokebook collection's going to
expand today! So I can crack a few
gags and hear her laugh all day. Its
music to my ears and it sounds so
sweet; it brightens up my day each
and every time we meet.

I love to listen to her reaction whenever
she gets tickled; this makes a change
from today's worldly society - oh so
fickle. Be it black or white the colour,
I don't really care - as long as she keeps
laughing, I just want her there!

Poem - When flowers bloom

When a seed is planted into the ground,
the farmers sowing hasn't started.
He's a patient man. But, even still,
his patience is tried so much so he exits.
And when he leaves to go away,
the tempests come to try our patience,
for we only want what's best for all
and protect what we've got while it grows.

So up it grows, while the farmers gone,
and radiance beams on a daily basis;
the bees will come and attempt to make
their honey, because its only natural
while its sunny. For the farmer would
even find it funny. If only he had
a little bit of money, which he'd saved at
home before but greater things are even
more across the water, where he needs
to be; because he's not a bee.

A gardener waters his gorgeous fields
with the right idea to maintain such
beauty. So when the roses blossom and
flowers bloom, it could never be like
any other, like a daughter running to
her mother. Or a hero fighting for
his lover. What a plot of land we
bore in front of us! The battle grounds
exist no longer; there's new life to
keep us stronger - and why not?

Poem - East Belfast

Interestingly enough, the smell still
pipes from the Fryar Tuck; with many
locallers queuing up. I don't blame them -
the fish suppers are amazing.

Almost like the Blue Lagoon but with
more history attached to them.

While standing at the top of Bloomfield,
looking down to where Beersbridge runs
across, the stars and city lights look
shiny and electric. A charge connects
to me and longs to take me elsewhere.

Its picturesque down Cyprus too, where
Lottie likes to make a mess and walk
me while I pull her lead. She charges
at a smaller mutt; serves her right
for even looking over this way!

The rain is starting and I'm off
home; I cut through Kirkliston and think
about getting a house like these. But
I don't have the money.

(Neither will half of them, for a
crunch is munching everybody.)

Perhaps tomorrow, I will return to
the Newtownards Road, where so many
went about their business day-to-day
when I was a teenager.

Poem - Winter's Belfast morning

Without a spick or speck of rain,
the sun shines through the bitter cold;
no snowflake, hailstorm, cloud in sight
but frost and temperatures are down.

And down south is a different land -
the currency and language alter
from our part of town; as if to say
they are not like us. Well I'll disagree
myself for, even though we differ,
we are stubborn and could do with
moving on across the bridge and not
fall through the icy water.

Without a sighting of a storm,
the ice melts with the sunrise coming
up above what's horrible and lifeless
but the temperature's still down.

The city has advanced somewhat;
in many ways, its changed a lot
from years ago, when flying stones
could more than likely break my bones.
Like the ice before me, melting further
into waters still that circulate the Lough,
under the Lagan river. Memories still
cause a quiver.

Frosty fog leave months and spread
into the air, never to be seen again;
like the ice today attached to all
the runaway from yesterday.

Tuesday, 6 January 2009

Poem - South Belfast

Children of the education
run amock and their salvation
lies among the Avenue, where
friends will meet, both old and new.

Bars and clubs are rather dear,
and leave me skint each time I'm here;
the artists, they aren't far away
with plenty to sing about or say.

Windsor Park will show a match
which finishes with a punch and scratch
between the players, green and blue,
and children grow up like that too.

Round the corner is the Road;
it runs for miles while carrying the load
of violent outbreaks from before.
The scars inside remain quite sore.

QUB is looking strong; the
children are right, they're not wrong
about the way this area looks;
they do not need anymore crooks.

Not to far away's the Pass,
where Harold's numbered days were last.
A man, he was, in South Belfast
where buildings crumbled with a blast.

Poem - Will they or won't they?

He walks in, sits down to take a seat.
She's been there a little bit longer and feels comfortable.

Throughout the duration, he contemplates flirtation,
as time is short and precious, without little to spare.
But no high sign is given. She sits looking exceptionally
gorgeous, without even a dab of make-up on her face.

He glances over as subtle as possible, yet makes himself
obvious to everybody, including her, but himself. She sits
there thinking, "Is he going to approach me or not?"

A sign is all he needs; not because he feels insecure
but because, for ll he knows, she could cry "Rape!" or
scream the house down, with many looking on.
Now, our boy's not easily embarrassed but this would
seriously be extracting the uring - so-to-speak!

"My word, she looks so sexy. Blue is her colour,
brown is her hair". "Why won't he just talk to me,
even if its to say hello? He'll get my number anyway!"

She strokes her hair and plays with it discreetly,
wishing those were his hands. He's thinking exactly the same,
only neither of them know this because both are either
too shy or are convinced the other isn't interested.

As soon as he gets up again, she'll be gutted but,
you never know, she may decide to follow.