High Tide

Some time ago we had a basement flat, which flooded, twice. It was not a pleasant experience and it left us living in a house that we felt quite vulnerable in, especially during thunderstorms. Can we ever secure ourselves from vulnerability though?

High Tide

On the wall outside, it is there still,
The grey slick of the water line.
Midnight of that summer night
It rose to chalk its personal best
And then slip away by morning.
We found a ghost flat. The plaster hacked
Back, the brickwork gawking in the hall
And all achievements picked up beyond
The tide-line and thrown into a heap.

We creep back though. We paint across the lines
With bold emulsion paints that hide
Our fear, and eat from rough-shaped tables
That should float. We place our sacred books
On higher shelves and then our souls
And then the hope within our fragile selves.

Then, at the top, I scrape back ancient dust
And find a higher line from some dark summer
Back in time, and wonder who to trust.

Haran

I have just started a new job as a pioneer minister - trying to create new and relevant church for people turned off by trad religion. Its a bit of a step into the unknown. So for me recently the story of Abram/Abraham has been a real place of reflection and inspiration, in particular the call of Abram in Gen 12: 1-3. I spent a couple of days before starting this new job praying and reflecting on this passage. This poem came out of that time.

Haran

A man walked here once.
Just a man. Old with many flocks.
And father. He following.

'Leave' the voice says,
All roads leading back
To Ur, the river, the sea.

But this man leaves
Into the mountains and the dust
Into the wind and the wilderness.

And in his trail, some sheep
And old relationships and light,
Like the beginnings of stars.

Nightjar

Like I said I'm quite into birding. I recently discovered that this is also true of another priest-poet the great RS Thomas. 'Blackbird' published in a recent book by Ruth Padel is quite brilliant. This offering of mine came out of the incredible experience od successfully stalking the elusive nightjar. This is a noctural bird which emits an unlikely churring sound at dusk during the summer in lowland heath areas of the UK e.g the New Forest. We stalked this sound one night in June this year, near Sway in Hampshire and were rewarded with a fly-past from this large bat-like flier - it was an amazing experience. It explores, however less well, similar themes to those of 'Blackbird'.

Nightjar

Only in the stillness, when light is half-remembered
Colour spent. Only in dark.
Only in that heavy hum of silence,
The dry roar of the engine
Reduced to a belligerent tick.
Only on the edge of things
Stumbling through fresh bracken.
Only off the common track.
Only then, when the beating of our hearts
And transport of our veins
Was stilled, we heard it,
Nocturnal, churring, nightjar.

Stealth migrant. Night incarnate.
Brazen bird-bat, clapping through
The dark soup at the end
Of our experience. We stalked
Him like a holy grail,
A black gem in the cave
Of clamoured day until he flapped
His revelation from our lives,
Destined for deep night.