Month: December 2018

The chatter of the loom
Gives way to silence,
The cloth stitched
To a garment,
A baby born.

Across the growing cloth
A line of red thread,
Woven through time,
Waits for the roll
Of judge and dice.

The shuttle on the loom,
Pushed back and forward
In a whisper,
A story yet
To speak aloud.

In the ambient light,
Calm before the storm,
The insurgence
Of love tears at
The darkest crime.

She sat by oil lamp,
A flickering flame
Dancing shadows
On the rough walls
Of the small house.

He slumbered in cold sorrows
that were ploughed deep
in the darkness of a
rough heart;
he had long ago
forgotten the song of joy.

The consciousness of being,
that epiphany of awareness
captured in unguarded moments,
must necessarily be caught
time and time again;
for time is soon lost
to the chores of daily necessity.

You pass needle and thread
and stitch my lips shut
so that I may no longer debate
the nature of god,
the broken ways of man,
the history of fact;
silence, an absolute dictator.

The great evil
slides like a black snake
whose appetite
for human life
is blasphemy unforgivable;
to this evil
we offer up our unborn,
enlist our men for war
and sacrifice our humanity
on the altar of violence.

In the mid 90’s
we ran the Grey Valley,
Blackball, Roa and Moonlight,
in our 1954 Leyland Comet
house bus; tales we collected,
more than a few, from those days
of wonder and miracles!