I went to God’s party the other day The usual abundance was given away He offered each guest a drink to take Guaranteed to give joy, with no hangover ache A “punch” called “works” Or a wine called “grace” A choice of drink, all had to face “What’s the diff?” I asked a man by me.... “The punch is costly, but the grace is free” “As much as we want” we incredulously cried “Yes, as much as you want” the Lord replied So each one drank from the fount of grace You could tell it was good by the look on each face They drank from cups, from glasses, from mugs They spooned it, ladled it, poured it in jugs They filled every vessel that you’d care to name But the more they took, the more it came They came from the front They pushed from behind A lot got spilt, but the Lord didn’t mind “Keep helping yourselves” he said oft with a grin “But don’t let the drink, drive you to sin”
Alive and Well and living in the new Jerusalem
I went to Israel last year in a quest to find the Lord I’d heard he was alive so the "promised land" I toured I started at the tomb in this very earnest search but met only men with tickets and some tourists from a church I went into the temple, p’chance his teachings I might hear But for a pound was made a “pilgrim”, A certificate now I bear I went up to Galilee, and looked around the lake But saw only tourists, eating fish- shaped bread or cake. I journeyed on to Olivet, to hear the sermon on the mount There the crowds were even bigger, too great for me to count. But as for finding Jesus, there was just the same They had a standin speaker,- it was only Billy Graham Eventually I gave up and went back home again I fell upon my knees in prayer, my quest had been in vain I’d searched the promised land , The Risen Lord I had not seen Then I heard him gently softly say, Gordon “Where have you been?
Living in the 23rd Psalm
If the Lord is my shepherd and I am his sheep In Him I can trust for my daily upkeep He desires that I follow to pastures so green That the pleasure mad worldling, never has seen He’s aware of the times that my soul needs to lie Beside deep clear water, while the world rushes by He continues to lead me in paths of his plan Paths that are righteous with God and with man He wants me to learn to trust in his leading E’en if, in the valley of death, I were bleeding. He wants me to know the touch of his rod His comforting staff, the Spirit of God He wants me to prove the power of His hand To supply all my needs in an enemy land To be filled with his Spirit, to go where he goes So abounding in joy, it overflows Such is his goodness and mercy to me That my trust and commitment truly should be Not a changeable thing, that “ I might not” or “ might” But a constant, continued, consistant delight
The bible is the greatest book Its story is the greatest No novel ever matches it Not e’en the very latest
It surpasses all love stories As a prince from far away Rescues a poor sin-slaved bride To wed in heaven one day
It’s a "Mystery" that clouds all others Hiding clues in the Old Testament That God’s own Son, to save mankind Would to Earth one day be sent.
Adventure and exciting thrills On every page abound Super human daring acts By men who God surrounds
It’s an “eastern” with a hero No Westerns ever show He entered his enemy H.Q.- hell, His power to overthrow
No fiction though, for all is fact The greatest in history being That Jesus lived, died and rose again And hundreds confessed to seeing.
The greatest fact of Human life That men are sinners indeed And Jesus died to save us all To meet man’s greatest need
A picture book that non can match For God’s words they are the same (As wrote Solomon the wisest man) “Like Gold apples in silver frame
It’s an Accounts book too, by all accounts Of what Man owes to God But cancelled were man’s debts and dues All paid by Jesus’ blood
An Atlas too for all lost souls Where they can find the way That leads back to their father’s home From whence they’ve gone astray
A Calendar of promises Which tells us “ have no fear” Three hundred and sixty five times in all A promise each day of the year.
A Text book for the school of life With lessons we all must learn Obedience the test of love True exam of concern
A timetable for this present age We know the end is near With wars, disasters, godlessness, Hearts failing men for fear.
Some boast their knowledge of literature Which puffs up more than leaven But neglect the greatest works of all In this Library from heaven
So desire the sincere MILK of the word That you might grow thereby If you neglect your soul’s essential food You will not grow but die.
The Word of God is daily BREAD Manna thats fresh each day It gives strength to do God’s perfect will And guide you as you pray.
It is like MEAT to those mature That meditate and chew it well For great strength is brings to overcome What's thrown at them from Hell.
God’s word like HONEY to the lips Delights the soul so sweet A joy to those who taste and see The soul’s one earthly treat
So labour for that whiich perishes not By knowledge and comprehension Thus gain true health and happiness With a good eternal pension
In the great food factory in the sky God manufactures lots of pie As the mighty thunders rumble Puny man must eat the humble
A Funeral tribute to our dearest friend Alice Daniels
A gift from God, a golden thread Enricher of our time A faithful sister, a kindly aunt A loving friend, sublime Words will not suffice to fill The gap encountered now We can but worship God in thanks As Alice showed us how One hundred years of earthly walk Serving in shop and farm Not unto men, but unto God As set in the 100th Psalm Make a joyful shout to the LORD, all you lands! Serve the LORD with gladness; come before His presence with singing. Know that the LORD, He is God; it is He who has made us, and not we ourselves; we are His people and the sheep of His pasture. Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise. Be thankful to Him, and bless His name. For the LORD is good; his mercy is everlasting, and His truth endures to all generations.
.A joyful noise onto the Lord On instruments of praise With gladness Alice served her God The fount of all her days. He was her shepherd, she his sheep His pleasure was her aim She entered his house with thankful heart And blessed his holy name She testified that God is Good His enduring mercies knew Carrying a torch through generations That His word is true.
Our lives are made by friendships Wrote Cicero of old They weave a coloured pattern Some pastel, some quite bold Threads of blue, like friends who inspire us from above Yellow rays of sunshine that bring us warmth and love Some bring peace and harmony in pastel shades of green Others cast a reddish hue, in strife so often seen. The serious thoughts of indigo The honesty of white The pattern weaving to and fro With shades of dark and light
But Alice was a thread of gold Which now the Lord’s removed We can but bow in thanks and praise His sovereign will is proved So, Sovereign Lord this prayer we bring That you might take that golden string May on our hearts a tassel be tied To remind us of how she lived and died Inspiring us into footsteps trod That lead through Life to Thee O God
To be read at my funeral
Family gatherings were never my forte Excuses sometimes were a little bit naughty But today I must say, That there’s no doubt about it I’d not be here today, If I could’ve got out of it.
Poems I remember from my youth
I cannot give it up, the little world I know The innocent delights of youth, the things I cherish so Tis true I want to love my Lord and want to do his will But oh, I may enjoy the world and be a Christian still
And yet outside the camp, twas there my Saviour died It was the world that cast him out and saw him crucified Can I take part with those who nailed him to a tree, And where His name is never praised, Is that the place for me?
Farewell! Henceforth my place is with the Lamb who died. My Saviour, while I have your love, what should I want beside Yourself dear Lord, is now my free and loving choice In whom, though now I see you not, believing- I rejoice
Shame on me that I sought another joy than this. Or dreamt a heart at rest with you could crave for worldly bliss These vain and worthless things, I put them all aside Your presence fills my longing soul, and I am satisfied.
Some Do, do you? Some go to church just for the walk. Some go there to laugh and talk Some to view new coat and bonnet Some to price the trimmings on it Some go there to please the squire Some his daughter to admire Some go there to find a lover Some new gossip to discover Some for a ticket to a garden party Some to meet others, hale and hearty Some for a party with custard & jelly Some because there’s nowt on telly Some go just to to say they’ve been Some go there just to be seen Some go there to doze and nod But very few to worship God.
Dope with no hope
What would be a teenagers chances Of ignoring a pop star’s advances After three or four dances No chance, I’m sure But hear some more. For this I would tell There’d be snow chance in hell Of you climbing the Eiger Without boots or rope A certain suicider Definitely no hope Without a rope To climb the Eiger Unless you’re a tiger.
Would you have any notion What your chances might be If shipwrecked in the ocean Without life belt or craft You’d certainly be daft To think you’d stay alive For no chance you’d survive You’d be believing a lie To think you’d not die And just like a dope You’d grope without hope Though with prayers from your lips Or cross-fingered wish You’d still have your chips Eaten by fish: Who do you think would bet any pounds On you surviving ten rounds With Mohammed Ali. You’d not even ruffle The champ from his shuffle You’d do well, with half a chance To hear the bell of your ambulance
No hope! is the theme Of this poem in dream For me there’s no chance of a dance in the pop music stream No writer with talent in musical score Though they read this poem many times o’er Could set this to tune either later or soon. For the timing is horrible The rhyming is terrible Enough to inflict a pain in the cerebal But this I would offer to you as a parable What do you think the chances might be Of those unprepared for Eternity When the Lord of all life Pulls down the curtain Though much is imagined, Yet one thing is certain For sinner, For good man, For priest or for pope. If Christ aint your Saviour You haven’t a hope!
Johnny’s Secret ( A Story for Children)
Johnny had a girl friend, who lived next door And though he often played with her, She annoyed him more and more.
Her hair was set in pigtail style, like a handle on a pan. And often through spite she’d tell her mum, Of Johnny’s secret plans
She got him into trouble, right through the summer hols So he hated her, her kitten, her books, And especially her stupid dolls
She’d sit in the garden nursing her doll, And would tell it all about Johnny “He’ll never play with us again, he can keep his pocket money"
“It’s all his fault:” she told the doll, And the dolly fully agreed But Johnny watched them angrily, and planned his evil deed.
He wrestled with the problem, As she sat there looking smug “I’ll pay her back” he promised himself As she gave her doll a hug
Then a cunning (J.R.) smile came on his face, “I know what I will do I’ll steal her doll and bury it. That’ll cause a bally Hoo.”!
He knew she oft left it around, Her Mum was oft complaining About her leaving toys outside, Even when it was raining
So one day he spied the doll, While feeding birds with bread So he jumped the fence and stole the doll and buried it by the shed.
He covered it with soil and grass, And a few bits of dirty sacks He looked at it very carefully, and cleverly covered his tracks.
Ha. Ha., he chuckled with wicked glee, They’ll never find it now And no-one will ever know it’s me, I’ll just wait till I hear the row
And sure enough next day did hear, Her squealing like a pig “I cant find my new ragged doll” she screamed As she danced her bad tempered jig. Of course, Johnny was accused of stealing it, By her mother, and even his own But unperturbed, he just denied it, cos He was certain, it would never be known.
After that he didn’t have to play with her And her mum didn’t smile any more And their mum’s didn’t talk about them over the fence. Such Peace! Why didn’t he think of it before?!!
Then one day , arriving home, An angry mother met him, So he thought he’d best go out again, But His mother would not let him.
“Stop in”, she cried, “you naughty boy”, As she smacked him on the head “It was you who stole that doll next door, And you buried it by the shed”
“Oh no”, he thought, “How did she find out By whom had he been betrayed” He was amazed, dumfounded as she dragged him out To where the doll had laid
And there from the ground by the garden shed Was growing a patch of wheat It had a peculiar shape, just like a doll With a head, and hands, and feet.
You see, the doll had been filled with seed Not like the dolls today They didn’t have polystyrene then. They only had seeds or hay.
And the little seeds had sprung to life Down there deep in the ground And Johnny’s secret became known to all Though he thought it would never be found
So remember what the bible says And never be in doubt If you think to do evil secretly, Your sins will find you out
No matter how much you cover them up, Like the doll though we bury them deep Never forget that the bible says, “Whatever you sow, you'll reap”!!!.
To Deborah after the birth of her fourth child
Like the colours in my printer, that are fading fast Life might seem a little jaded as the years go past But with 4 unfolding rosebuds and a wonderful man One day you will be thankful that You didn’t draw the plan
Birthday greets to Jenny my lovely Neice
There was a lovely girl named Jenny Who just loved to spend a penny” She drank a bottle of laxative So her happy returns were many
This was posted as a church advert in a local free Newspaper Once again it’s EASTER The time when springs New- Life The ordinary looks more beautiful Sometimes even the wife So why not bring her and the family To visit the Peoples Church And meet some “New-Life” people Who’ve satisfied their search They’ve found the answer to life’s quest Of “what’s it all about” No ! they didn’t ask Alfie And it cost them next to nowt They heard that Jesus was still alive And willing to come into their life So they asked Him in, -He forgave their sin And Bingo! Joy was rife! So why not come this Easter Say, Good Friday at ll o’clock Or Sunday night at Seven And give your friends a shock !
This next poem was probably “inspired by a neighbour we once had, whose house was an absolute tip. rubbish was everywhere inside and out and the windows uncleaned for fifteen years ran with nicotine stains. But they raised a lovely grown-up daughter. who visited- I think it applies to her
Greasy windows, rotting waste Dreadful awful smell like stale fish paste That filled my lungs, my head, my hair Yet from this odious compost came a Rose of fragrance rare. Yet still that Rose returned with joy to that foul air, For it was the smell of childhood, love, and "Home" to her.
We spent many happy holidays at a guest house “Rossa” in Aberdovey. We became quite friendly with the proprietors, Mike and Chris Rowley. He told us about the many questions that guests expected him to know the answer to. So I left this poem for him in the room before we left. From dutch canals and English dales The guests all come to “Rossa”, Wales. Where Genial hosts, Mike and Chris Greeting all with a hug and kiss. The guests at breakfast, hungry lot Each morning daily plans would plot But local knowledge they do not know They bombard poor Mike with Questions so; Where does the water go when tides from Aberdovey flow? How high’s bird rock? Where’s a welsh mine? Who built the railway? Where to Dine? But poor old Mike, somewhat bemused Even sometimes all confused “Why expect that we more know, We’re not an Information bureau”
But then one day a man so wise Told him the correct replies To all the questions, part or whole, He must simply answer “Coal” So back they came each day the same- It sounded like a Breakfast quiz game “What does Aberdovey mean?” Why did God make grass so green? Where does Mary Jones lie buried Across the river, what get’s ferried? Questions questions, of body and soul But Mike, now calmly answers “coal” The guests bemused all must admit That though the answers never fit Our host maintains a reputation For being a “mine” of information
To let out my frustration with the so-called Decorator’sTrade centre, where we never got any trade discount
In thirty years, I’ve spent with you, some 50,000 pounds Now frustrated and annoyed, I complain with ample grounds. To those of us who decorate to earn a bob ot two A little made on paint and stuff, is never over-due. Plumbers, Sparkies, Chippies, get at least 20 per cent But the Painter at McDougall’s Trade regrets he even went. He could have nipped to B & Q or Texas Superstore Though blatantly “retail” they dont charge a penny more I recently bought 10 litres of your Dulux Matt Plus a tin of coloured emulsion, just to paint a flat. The price for such at B & Q, was as with you I paid, So who do you think you’re kidding, when you “Blurb” - “Our paint is Trade”. Apart from Polycell and turps, you’d hardly e’en compete With shops on local high street, and in Kirby you’d be beat. So all money spent on adverts, in multi-colours glowing Would be better given to Painters, who keep your business going.
Smooth as a snake Sneaks through the grass Stinging all those who just happen to pass Set like the snare of a hunter for game Suddenly striking to make them lame I’m the lame sinner who goes astray I cant, and don’t want to walk in God’s way I say I must change when I get in a stew I carry on doing just what I want to N for the nature of sin that is mine N for the night that suits me just fine N for the need of some peace within N for the net that has trapped me called SIN
Inspired by a bout of flu.
Stuck like glue Were a flea and a fly in a flue So what could they do? Said the flea “Let us fly” Said the fly “Let us Flee So they flew through a flaw in the flue
When thinking about death
I dreamed death came the other night And heaven’s gate stood wide A kindly angel came along And ushered me inside And there to my astonishment stood folk I’d known on earth Some I’d judged as quite unfit or of but little worth But My pride and indignation dissolved quite rapidly For every face showed stunned surprise No -one expected me.
Do you dance in your church?
Do you dance in your church Or are you sober and restrained Do you dance in your church Or are expressions somewhat pained Do you dance in your church But cries of joy can’t ever leap And you don’t dance in your church Cos your joy’s down far too deep
Do you weep in your church Are tears shed in prayer Do you weep in your church Or would emotion cause a stir Do they weep in your church Confessing loud some secret sin Do they only weep in your church At the death of human kin
Do they clap in your church Applaud the Lord for what He’s done Do they clap in your church Praise the mighty victory won Do they clap in your church Or “of the flesh” is what you’d say Do you only clap in your church Who produce the Christmas play
Do they shout in your church Hallelujah! Praise the Lord! Do they shout in your church Amen! Amen! to God’s pure word Do they shout in your church Or is emotion out of place Do they only shout in your church At Church party’s “dressin-up” race
Would King David come to your church Would you even let him in Would King David come to your church With his drums and violin Would you let him in your pulpit Preaching “Clap and Dance and Shout" Lift your hands, to God’s commandments Or would He soon be ushered out.
We visited Rydal Mount, home of William Wordsworth. Unfortunately we were thrown out after an hour or two because a wedding was booked. I sent the following to "Trip adviser". and Rydal Mount. I withdrew my TA contribution after Rydal mount apologised and offered a free day
"Wordsworth- eat your heart out" At 77 each day must count, so I planned a trip to Rydal Mount I took my wife, and paid twelve pounds to view the house, enjoy the grounds Sortied the house, devoured the story, pondered praise to Wordsworth glory We’d planned the day, our time to take, so after a while I took a break Feeling hungry, weary feet, viewed an inviting place to eat - Table and chairs outside the house; but along came a lady with Rydal grouse “You can’t sit here to eat” she said, “ in two hours time, two will wed” So you must leave the mount within the hour, words polite but countenance dower She banished me to another place, down the garden- what disgrace! I wandered lonely as a cloud, like naughty schoolboy, with head bowed To eat in yonder picnic area, any “nit-picking” rant deemed rather scarier. So meek and mild I thought it best, to leave the grounds at their behest Though Robbed of time to fill one’s quest, to enjoy the Wordsworth info fest On exit, complained to the friendly gardener, (sprayed with human-kindness hardener”) She just laughed , and thought it funny, at my being short-changed of pension money The staff, maybe, can be forgiven, following orders, profit driven. But why no sign at the ticket counter, warning every Rydal Mounter “YOU’LL BE THROWN OUT AT HALF PAST TWO, AS WE HAVE A WEDDING DUE” But no! we were expelled in haste, with mounting Rydal sour taste.