There I was outside Sheerness Tesco

Watching two pied wagtails doing their thing

on the sea  wall;

up comes genial bloke having parked his car;

“In’it incredible!” He says, with some agitation,

“All us humans being subhuman,

Like robots pushing trolleys,

Fixated on shopping;

We don’t learn !”

I found some words of agreement

and off he went;

Then I thought “ he saw my collar”

- I’d forgotten I had it on -

“so he felt at ease sounding off at me….”

Thank you God for unexpected moments

when I am public property.

Rev. Alan Amos

A Higgs boson enters a church : “No Higgs Bosons allowed in here !” he is told.   “ Well, you can’t have Mass without me” he replies.

I’m no “Higgs Boson”   priest

No, spare me please !

I’m no “Higgs boson” priest,

travelling at infinite speed

to make Mass possible ! 

No, not me !

I am a walker, a ponderer,

one who takes bread in his hands for sharing, 

who prays when he can,

and tries when he can’t

who believes in caring,

but knows his limit

falls far short of God’s compassion.

Bread comes from the hand of the sower,

from the work of the reaper,

the oven of the baker,

gift of the earth;

ours to shape, take and offer

together, together, together. 

Alan Amos 

+ + + 

A poem from Newington School : 

Tiny Seeds 

Tiny seeds giggling excitedly

Like a bird tweeting in the trees

Thin twigs twisting wildly

Like vines on buildings

Grey sky growling nervously

Like a tiger after its prey

Cold houses standing tightly

Like people on a freezing winter night.

©   Newington C of E Primary School

I like this poem, because it speaks to me of the time of the year, a time which is full of the repressed excitement of the Spring which is to come. Alan

Cattle Shed 

‘Hi kid’, I smile to hear you cry
As the breathy cattle low,
For the angels brought you from on high
To a stable here below.
Don’t make too much noise now,
With Herod’s men around,
Checking doors wherever the Messiah might be found.
Would you believe that Herod’s scared
Of such a tiny thing ?
He thinks you’ll raise an army
And be a mighty king.
What he hasn’t figured
Is that you could rule the earth
With nothing but the Word made flesh
In an infant’s virgin birth. 

Yes, you’ll rule the earth, as it were spinning in your hand,
But first the trek through Egypt
And its alien desert sand.
For you’re a Jew and fate dictates
Your people wander far.
As Herod searches palaces,
He won’t know where you are.
First Carpenter then Rabbi
For your duty is to teach,
A crazy new idea, that you brought from above,
That peace should reign and men should treat
Their enemies with love.
 

Don’t worry about the Romans,
As Pilate takes the washing bowl.
For if they break your body
They cannot touch your soul.
It’s the kiss that you must fear
That, in its treachery,
Will fix your hands with iron nails
Upon the hanging tree. 

So snuggle up there in the hay
And watch the ox and ass
You’ll get through Gethsemane
The chalice will not pass.
It holds life eternal,
The key to heaven’s door.
Where you will lead the faithful
Who will fear death no more.
I guess that’s why you’re down here.
Aleluia ! Save the tears.
So let the light shine from you,
The angels safely keep,
The One who’s come to save us,
As with ox and ass you sleep. 

• I love the line “so let the light shine from you”; that is what many artists have tried to show,to imagine, as they depict Christ as a source of light shining out from within.
  Look at the East window in Lower Halstow for a local example – Alan 

Last week I wrote about my experience with tortoises, and lo and behold yet another one,
 300 years old and preserved in the guard room of Lambeth palace, where I arrived for a conference last week. This tortoise belonged to Archbishop Laud, Charles the first’s archbishop who lost his head as he stirred up the enmity of the Puritans. I found myself writing a kind of poem, from which you might gather something about his character…. 

To Master William Laud from his Tortoise… 

Dear Master,  much have I been moved and troubled by thy care of me,

thy humble servant,  when I know most keenly of my silly uselessness…

How tenderly thou bendest thyself to minister to me a leaf of lettuce -

muttering under thy breath the while, imprecations gainst thine enemies !

Let it be said that I provide thee with a slight diversion;

for of late,  thine enemies be many.

“Tuck thy head in, dear Master ! ” is my plea,  not just the once but on our several
happenings.

And yet thou wouldest not.

For soothly thou persistest in thy ways as pedagogue,   reproving this man for want of surplice,

that clerk for an undressed altar.   I live in fright for thee, dear Master !

Dost thou not see, sometime to halt, consider and retire,

is yet better than to advance i’the fray ?

For such is the secret of my longevity,  which I much fear will surely exceed thine own,

unless thou turnest from thy way. .

Such turns are not in harmony with thy nature;   slight of stature thou mayest be

but most firm is thy disposition;

thou bendest to no man,  yet only to a tortoise.

God bless thee, dear my Master ! 

In the quietness of my shell,  I will pray for thee !

Alan Amos – see:         http://www.ice.cam.ac.uk/who-we-are/institute-blogs/adrian-barlows-blog/833-world-and-time-the-lambeth-tortoise

( if you wish to use the above poem please do so with acknowledgment. )

This is something I often look for, in my own way,  when I try to write a poem. 

Winter Sunshine, Newington Churchyard

Standing among the tombstones
I find an inner peace,
casting my shadow alongside theirs
sharing their vigil
if only for an interval.

A woodpecker busies itself,
beak down into the turf;
A small white feather floats downward on the breeze;
a chestnut leaf of flaming red rests beneath the tree. 

Borrowed time was this,
gifted by a cancelled meeting
and doubly precious. 

Alan Amos

This is a busy time of the year, with plenty to send us haywire, so to stop and to stare, to take time, is a refreshment. The phrase “timeless moments” led me to some artwork on the internet, and to the following webpage which I much enjoyed, and I hope you may as well. The appreciation of art is a very individual, subjective thing;  yet at least for me, and I hope for others, this artist does capture something of beauty, and hold our attention:

http://www.annafeneis.com/category/the-art-of-lunacy

Don’t tell me it gets dark tonight
For I just want to chase the light
Across the waters of Lake Anderson.
For there in dappled light we’ll play,
The cruising boat meets end of day,
And I’ll gaze at the third rock from the sun.

It’s the rock before the craggy lip
Where sunlight makes its final dip
High above the golden-surfaced lake.
It’s where we played our rock ‘n roll
‘Give me the beat, boys. Free my soul!’
Our bodies and the beat were one
As time and boat just drifted on;
And the light climbed to the next rock in the sun.

We drifted in some angel’s space
Below McGillivray’s mountain face,
Floating on a beam of liquid gold.
We watched the twilit alchemy
As dancing waves went silvery
When life was stilled, so we could not grow old;
Captured in some Camelot,
Past and future all forgot,
Our journey into fantasy begun.

We glimpsed through Heaven’s curtain
If only for a while
The boat afloat on stardust for a mile.
So when I get the final call
To seek Eternity,
Don’t look for any monument for me.
Just gaze above Lake Anderson
When the day is done
And I’ll be on the last rock in the sun.

James Graham

Advent Rose

There it was, unnoticed, underneath the bough
like a pure note, breaking on the ear
from an unsuspected bell;

slender, yet perfect,
white rose of Advent now you call me on
to what refinement, I cannot see
or know.

Alan Amos

I have a love of stepping stones
from childhood,
with my father
gingerly I trod
across the Dove at Dovedale
before health and safety
tidied them up…
as a young man
I got to know Chapel Stile, Langdale
and watched an otter there
and remember the stretch of one foot
in front of the other, the glinting,
glistening water pushing between.

And now, I begin to find myself
at ease with being a stepping stone,
fixed point in time’s flow
that rests while others pass beyond,
and me, made firm through grace
in this instant of crossing,
content.

Alan

Stockbury, Remembrance Sunday 2011

Here the sun shines, brings to life the beauty of the scene
As we gather at the memorial
thankful for the weather’s peaceful brightness.
Over the stone cross clamber a fleet of lady-birds,
each seeming in a unique hurry,
as they haste in several directions,
some exploring poppy wreaths down below.

I think if I had been one of those fallen, brought back to life
to view this scene,
I might not have been stirred by sight of the stone memorial,
even with my name writ on it;
artificial poppies might have left me cold;
but the lady- birds, they would have delighted me,
bringing radiant  life to lifeless wreaths of glory.

                      + + + + + + + + + +             

The prophet Ezekiel looked over a valley marked by former battles, and saw a vision…. Ezekiel 37.1-14

In your presence, Lord,
Ezekiel looked upon a valley of dry bones
and there was a great re-membering,
and bone was joined to bone
and sinew to sinew
and through your Spirit
all became alive.

Now in your presence, Lord,
and through your Spirit
we remember.
We bring together our memories
and retrieve the meaning of lives
that seem so lost and broken
except in your hands,
and in your presence, Lord.

© Alan Amos

St. George at Iwade…

Where did I find a face at once so beautiful and sad ?
Crowned with helm and laurels, compassed round with light ?
You might have thought of notes of triumph here,
vestiges of glory;
You might have sought a martial frown, announcing victory;
but no, nothing… nothing but sadness in those eyes;
Saint George, you come to Iwade to assault our hearts
with knowledge of war as carnage, tragedy and loss,
and only thus you hold before us now your shield,
your banner with your cross.

[ on looking at the window of St. George on the south side of the church, at the west end, a memorial of victory at the end of the first world war. ]

© Alan Amos

A poem from Newington C of E Primary School : the seed, an emblem of hope…

Winter Feed

Tiny seeds sing loudly
Like a woodpecker pecking loudly
Fierce sky coming after a rabbit
Huge home standing still
Like a box under a tree
Thick twisting suddenly
Like the root under the ground.

© Newington C of E Primary School

For permission to print and use material from this Poetry Circle, please contact

Alan Amos : alankeycol@btinternet.com

]]> http://poetrycircle.wordpress.com/2011/11/10/poems-of-remembrance-and-hope/feed/ 0 sixchurches http://poetrycircle.wordpress.com/2011/10/26/from-loneliness-and-sorrow-to-joy-all-saints/ http://poetrycircle.wordpress.com/2011/10/26/from-loneliness-and-sorrow-to-joy-all-saints/#comments Wed, 26 Oct 2011 20:48:01 +0000 The Six http://poetrycircle.wordpress.com/?p=92 ]]> This week, I would like through these poems to trace a path from sorrow to joy.
The first poem, from Newington C of E Primary School, begins with loneliness;
the second poem, by a friend, plumbs depths of grief;   the third brings us through to joy.
(These last two poems have been written as hymns.)
The movement from sorrow to joy seems right as we celebrate All Saints.

The Lonely Tree

Lonely tree crying sadly

Like a baby calling alone

Bare branches hanging gently

Like a swing hanging from a tree

Breezy field sitting silently

Like the bottom of an ocean ground

White sky opening slowly

Like a summer flower

 ©Newington C of E Primary School

           A hymn for times of trouble

          A hymn for All Saints, for the communion

                  Lord we come, for you have called us,

                  Words : ©Alan Amos, To the tune Quem Pastores

For permission to print and use material from this Poetry Circle, please contact

Alan Amos : alankeycol@btinternet.com

If these two poems are linked by a theme, it is that of the desert and loneliness,

but also of beauty and treasure. 

The first of our poems is from a pupil of Newington C of E Primary School : 

A Lonely Church 

Old church standing lonely

Like a vast desert

Bare trees reaching desperately

Like a caterpillar already trying to fly

Grey skies threaten angrily

Like a hurricane about to hit the shore

Tall tower standing powerfully

Like a soldier guarding royal treasure.

 Our second poem is by a friend of mine, Jane Smith, who is a member of the Society of

Friends. I love this poem “Nomad” because it speaks to me of learning through journeying

into uncomfortable territory; Jesus was driven into the wilderness after his baptism;

many early Christians went to the desert to form communities or become hermits seeking

their salvation from Christ. For them the desert was a place of spiritual warfare, wrestling with

themselves and reaching out to God. Jane’s poem seems to me to present the desert as a place that

“clarifies” – simplifying life to the point that we cannot hide from the question at the heart of life.

Nomad 

Each time that I am drawn into the desert

There’s a grim satisfaction in remarking

How the discomfort suits me, the pack-back journeying.

Then I remember, I was bred among tents.

Mingled with regrets for the landmarks of the cities,

Nostalgia for the illusions of permanence,

The now-and-then stumbling ache for a road, a path,

comes

A painful pleasure: the breaking of adhesions.

I rediscover the long heat of day,

When heads must all be hooded, bowed and silent;

And the sober enjoyment of an oasis

Where nobody makes himself at home.

Ever since Eden, travellers have the right of it,

Seeking the rootless wilderness, a place for

The only question and the unequivocal answer,

Not inevitably to be found but here if anywhere.

copyright : Jane Smith ( previously published under her first married name of

Hooppell )

Among the poems that will be offered on this “poetry circle” site, I am glad to include those written by pupils in our local schools. ( They will be attributed to the School rather than to named pupils for reasons of privacy. ) There is something vital and lovely about children’s poetry.  After all, who would not give a great deal to have the eyes of a child ?   As we grow older, if we are to remain people of thanksgiving and hope, we need to have the heart of a child within us.

So this time I am going to begin with a simple poem I have written for you about “poetry” itself,   and then we have the first of our “children’s poems.”

-   Alan

Poetry

A poem is….
words weighed;
sounds assayed,
meanings tendered
hearts engaged.

A poem is…
fragments offered
beauty glimpsed
memories treasured
journeys shared.

The Holly Tree

Spiky holly swaying wildly
Like grass in a summers breeze
Dull berries waving quickly
Like a strong wind in the woods
Long branches bending sadly
Like a bluebell stretching for water
Huge bushes shaking nervously
Like a wobbly jelly.

-from Newington C of E Primary School