THE PROLETARIAT’S PRAYER

O God
Smash through
That brick wall
Of my heart

Demolish the tower
Of my pride

And – above all –
Make me redundant

BILLIONS - CLICK

The meaning of life
Is not just survival
It is to stand alone
With billions

Who have everything,
Tasteful with colour
Take riches from shelves
And travel high speed
Vibrating their bodies -

I like to stand with them.
Click on my sunset
Relax.

And we
Who evolve
Who cure ailments
With a beam of light
Are lonely

Because we do not touch
Our white heart
Or a place
That never changes.

DROPS OF GRACE v.2

Droplets of grace
Falling from the sky
Absorbed into the eye
Of the dry ground, housed
With the bones of dry men -

Who know the torture of crying

The Wisdom of Grace
Aborbed into Sophia my Mother
Reformed in the ditch
Of Spring and Winter
Every white season.

USES
(A memory of Lindisfarne)

What did you use me for?
To shore your technical theology
Or build a city on a hill?

I would walk in the marsh
And rejoice when the land gives way
Gradually, to an expanse of water

To seek peace,
And sing there still

ISLANDS

We are all so busy
We do not have time to breathe
To pick fruit from the trees

We are all rushing so fast
(Even to our deaths)
Without the consolation
Of islands...

islands of sound
Of graceful beauty and rest
The trees swaying to
An invisible breeze

THE TROUBLE

I’m going to trouble myself
And find a master.
I will trouble myself
Give my heart a home

I don’t know the steps
To discover my fate
The expanse is great.
I don’t know the stones
Tired feet should know

But it is plain and apparent to me
A master of life is needed;
To set the house on fire
To set my house in order

A living flame is needed
To talk to my heart and soul
To reveal I am a tenant
Housed in a ghostly shell

...While earth is spinning blind
And moon is shining on her own

So I will die in Spring - in Winter
And I will die again in Summer -
To know the love of truth.
The truth that they have known.