Monday, 9 December 2013

Preparation for a King.



1.       Preparation for a King.

It was an unusual beginning for a king-
His mother pregnant before marriage,
Her betrothed, His future stepfather,
Bewildered, uncertain, knowing the child
Was not his but not knowing what to do.

It was an unusual infancy for a king-
His birth in a stable, a hurried flight
As a refugee to neighbouring Egypt,
His guardian and mother living there as outsiders,
Aliens with an alien tongue in an alien land.

It was an unusual place for a king-
A childhood in a quiet, lowly village,
With all the close awareness of struggles,
The day-to-day immediacy, the earthiness,
The friendships, the caring and sharing.

It was an unusual home for a king-
A simple, modest, ordinary house,
Four half-brothers, some sisters too,
The rough and tumble of family life,
With all its closeness, conflict and intimacy.

It was an unusual discipline for a king-
In His child’s mind were great questions
For which He sought answers in His Father’s House,
But He saw His mother’s confusion, his step-father’s anxiety
And to them both He submitted in patient obedience.

For a King’s preparation it was unusual-
No luxury, no finery, no exclusive tutors,
No servants, no sense of privilege or right,
No-one to order, little chance for ego to swell,
A quiet, contemplative preparation,
Ideal for growth in humility and giving,
For empathy and compassion to flourish,
For fostering deep understanding of the heart,
For identification with ordinary people,
For developing sympathy with the outcasts,
The poor, lame, blind, deaf, dumb,
The sad and lonely lepers, the suffering,
The sick, the widows, the orphans
And the poor, oppressed and abused harlots.

Later, when He left His home, many of them saw Him,
Recognised His greatness and responded in love.
To them he opened His heart and to them,
His people most obviously in need,
He touched, healed, blessed and loved.

Yes, unusual preparation for a king,
But for this man, the greatest of men,
This poet, this story teller, this scholar,
This miracle worker, this great teacher,
This radical and innovative thinker,
This challenger of the status quo,
This exposer of folly, pretence and hypocrisy,
This future King of the world, this Son of God,
This loving, gentle, compassionate man of sympathetic tears,
It was perfectly designed, closely fitted and exactly right.

Thursday, 28 November 2013

Seals Playing.





Unhindered, they roll from South America,
Swells traversing three vast oceans
To crash upon the cliffs of this small island.
Unhindered, southwards, the great rolling sea
Stretches far beyond the distant horizon
To Antarctica’s glistening whiteness.
Unhindered, the salt-laden wind blows
Unceasingly over the huddling heathland.
This is a wild, remote, windswept beauty.
Beneath the cliffs and above the surge,
At least on this clear, mild, late spring day,
Are crevassed platforms and a beautiful arch,
A great curving expanse leading to a pool
Of sheltered, exquisite transparency.
Everywhere the fur seals bask in the sun,
Argue over position, laze in the clear pool
Or clamber awkwardly towards the sea.
They are protected, contented and safe
In the place where once men with clubs
Cruelly hunted them to near extinction.
In one place, where the sea is most dangerous,
A narrow, steep cleft where the surging swell
Is a rush and retreat of foam- filled water,
A place to quickly perish upon unforgiving rocks,
Two young seals play with abandoned pleasure.
Out of the foaming surge they momentarily appear
In tangled somersault, roll and wrestle.
They are in no hurry to leave. In adrenalin-filled joy
They breach, surge, wrestle and dive again and again.
They are young, joyous and unafraid
And I think of the delight of toddlers
In a playground, the joy of swing and dip,
Or a child’s delight in climbing a tree,
Save this playground makes me feel inadequate,
A weak, thin-skinned, vulnerable being,
And my heart opens to these soft-eyed creatures,
For this is no carefully constructed safe zone
But the immense, cold, surging, cliff-pounding sea.


-Admiral’s Arch, Flinders Chase National Park, Kangaroo Island.




Two young seals at play.


 
Admiral's Arch


Seals lazing on a rock platform


Towards Admiral's Arch

Sunday, 17 November 2013

These Trifling Things.



Here, I give to you these trifling things
Heated by light, love and increasing age,
Life’s diverse experiences distilled
And dripped in patterns upon the page.

They are little more than wisps of breath
Or, as distillation from the human chest,
Form essence of sorrow, love, joy, hope or pain
Which must pour forth before final rest.

If they are lighter than thistledown,
Slight, a deception or a mere seeming,
They still stem from the heart’s deep desire
To struggle and search for purpose and meaning.

Some build tall towers or beautiful bridges.
These are merely the heart’s desire to sing,
But here, take them as gifts that I offer,
These distillations, these essences, these trifling things.

Wednesday, 2 October 2013

The Miner.



He dipped his pan into the stream
Hoping for a glimpse of gold
And swirled the water through the sand
To see what wealth he could unfold.

Many times he swirled that sand,
Many times he dipped and sluiced,
Many times his eyes beheld
The water swirl and the sand reduce

And as he in patient diligence worked
He found things to please him well enough-
Coloured rock, crystal or amethyst,
Stones flat and smooth or jagged and rough.

Others panned and some found wealth
But at last he came to see
The gold as merely the by-product-
The real wealth was the creativity

And in bending to the stream to work
He realised that he too played a part,
In sand and stone and search for gold
In speaking of the human heart.

And if all he ever pans is sand
He has dwelt by the riverside,
Dipped his pan into the stream
And searched for where truth can reside.