|
|
Rivers of Grace. (Drinkin’ and Drivin’)
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”
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?
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
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
God’s Library
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
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
Humble Pie
In the great food factory in the sky
God manufactures lots of pie
As the mighty thunders rumble
Puny man must eat the humble
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
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.
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.
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!
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”!!!.
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
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.
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.
SIN
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
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
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.
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.
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.
