The apple harvest was in full swing
and between the branches
of the trees, the pickers
traded stories and hopes and dreams,
broke bread and supped on red wine
and worked each day as the sun
rose in the wide, blue sky.
Back then the old country hall
rang to the praises of the Lord,
the eager calls of bingo players
and the thump and whack
of the badminton racket;
back then the walls sung
to the joy of our hearts.
She is hanging low
on the edge of a
floundering memory;
in time, a simple touch
shall bring back the joy
of that sweet embrace.
She drops the three kids off
to me on her way to work –
She’s a wonder woman.
Coffee? I ask.
Yes please! I’m running late but
I don’t not have time for coffee!
The grey summer sky
squeezes drops of rain
onto the still sea;
triangles of stretched canvas
wait for the breeze.
There was no man or woman,
no country or government
who could lay claim to
the other side of the coin;
that side, the domain
of that other kingdom.
He showed the coin
this side and that,
a dull, bronze metal
carrying the image of man
whose due though
was only half the story.
Fields with treasure
and lost coins, and good seeds
and bad seeds and pearls
and soft ground and hard ground,
kindness, caring, generosity,
inclusiveness and love,
all that kingdom make.
In this age, Caesar conspires
to take the whole coin for himself,
but it never was about the money,
more about mustard seeds
and leaven.
I am sorry that your heart
is broken and helpless,
I want to sing you a song
to lift your spirit
and settle your soul,
but I cannot hold a tune.
Not that matters I guess,
just need to find the words
that have something
real to say.