A Plea:

What of terror can I usefully say?  
Is it all I can do, sit and pray?
Or, duty bound must I try to write,
Of Manchester’s most appalling night?

Did those who died have time to feel,
Ripped apart by bits of steel?
Had they the time to know much fear,
And cling to that they held most dear?

I cannot know, but I think/pray not,
Their deaths almost instant, but what
Of those poor souls who lay and bled
And turned the floor a violent red?

The injured and the maimed who live;
Those who loved and can’t forgive;
What does the future hold for them,
As they struggle to be whole again?

And how does this make any sense,
When a God of love was their defence,
And that same God that the bomber knew 
Said to kill was the righteous thing to do?

It makes sense, in truth, for man is free
To kill and maim or a lover be.
And all the scriptures can be read,
For good or ill, embrace or behead.

But in that loving God I still believe,
The one who in his arms received,
Those children from their families torn,
Who lived a miracle as they were born.

And this same God will reach out and touch
The wounded, maimed, bereft and such;
He’ll not forsake them, though it may seem so,
As they try to adapt and live with the blow

Which broke their bodies and their hearts,
Or so it seemed at the nightmare’s start.
And though slow and hard is the road they take,
His love will lighten gently each daybreak. 

And as for those who in such terror deal,
Though it be anathema they too will feel,
God’s love, I’m sure, for I know full well
A God of Love could create no Hell.

That said, and knowing it may cause pain,
And righteous anger to well up again,
If one is to believe as I believe,
We must hold to love while we grieve,

For violence does violent response beget,
And hatred and killing perpetuate the threat
Of actions, which to that tragic stadium led,
And more innocent children will then be dead.

To defend ourselves is a basic right,
And I’m not saying we should never fight,
But such defence needs be most precise
Not deal in vengeance, but the threat excise.

So let us do whatever we can
To support the continuance of man,
And stop the bombs from planes and such
And those which terrorists admire so much.

Though it be hard, try we must,
To in both God and Love have trust,
And let love prevail in all we are,
As amor vincit omnia.

For My Grandson, Opie and for Matty and Jade

A Child Is Born:

A glory transpired and a babe was born; Opie, a new lens with 
Which to see the world, a lens which may well look with ease 
Beyond E=MC² and not consider our hard won, fixed laws of 
Physics anything other than starting points for far deeper truths.

This new mind can mature without pre-conceptions, and gift us 
New music, painting, sculpture and poetry if we but see as he 
Sees, what we never saw as art; a mind with only the burden of
Limitations that we, in our ignorance, may choose to impose.

We, in our love, his family, his teachers and friends will give to 
Him the tools we feel he needs to flourish in the world.  Doing 
This we risk smearing his lens, for we are ignorant of what he 
Sees and what he has the potential to see as he lives his turn.

Originality is a flower, or perchance an oak or a plant we have 
Never before seen, and has the greatest chance to blossom and 
Thrive when it is tended with loving care, with enough light, 
Water, nutrients and such, but will do not well without them. 

It can be true with too much also.  Sine ulla dubitatione it is 
Thus with the newborn mind and continues into adulthood, and 
Beyond that, to whatever our next adventure be.  This miracle 
Needs support, space, love, freedom and open minds to bloom.

………………………………………………………………….

I saw a beautiful flower once; its colour was iridescent blue,
The petals soft, coated with downy fur.  The scent was a most 
Exquisite reminder of building tepees in Savernake forest with
My cousins as a child, during that age of innocence and joy.

I picked it and with great care carried it home, placing it in 
Water, wanting to share the beauty and memory with those I 
Loved.  They did not understand.  How could they?  The scent 
And beauty did not touch them as it touched me.  Soon it died.   

I saw a gorgeous bird once; its wings were the colour of a gem 
Sprinkled rainbow and chest a cascade of magenta and green. 
Heartrendingly melancholy was its song.  I captured it, placed 
It in a gilded cage, its beauty to adore.  Its heart fractured there.

I saw a stunning woman once; her hair was raven blue and her 
Face that of an angel.  She walked with grace, and thought with 
Style.  I knew I had to have her.  I used my every wile to make
Her mine, and at the last she came, to be suffocated by love.

………………………………………………………………….

Loving is dangerous, not just to he or she who loves but also to
He or she who is loved, if it be not tempered with consideration 
And respect.  Love is not about owning, not about taking, not 
About changing to suit one’s self.  Love is selfless and giving.

Love is the joy of watching the flower grow as it wishes to; it is 
About ensuring the flower has what it needs to become the best 
Flower it can possibly be, and if you think it is a rose and it is 
Not, love it as it is.  Love must define the lover, not the loved. 

So let it be with Opie.  Let our love not smother him, not try to 
Force him into a mould, with the best of intentions, which we 
See as right for him.  Let us walk that most care-full line which
Builds around him a love scaffold which compliments his him.

Let us encourage joyous curiosity, an enquiring mind and some 
Relaxed scepticism.  Let us give him the example of respect for 
The world and all upon it, and a richness of compassion and 
Empathy.  Thus equipped, a code of love will be his paradigm. 

Let him be so enfolded with undemanding love, that loving 
Becomes his safe harbour, his shield against the dark, with the 
Sure knowledge that there is always someone he can turn to as 
He learns to live in a free mind, one that reaches for the stars. 

He must know too, embraced in love, that cruelty, killing, envy 
Greed and wrath are the weapons of maladjusted minds, and 
Thus learn that black and white are not real, up and down can
Change, hatred can be turned to love and magic can be reality!

Let then our golden thread of selfless love guide him through 
The labyrinth of life.  Let his mind, free of prejudice and full of 
Wonder, stand each day on the threshold of new discovery and 
End each day fulfilled, to dream fine dreams and rise with awe. 

………………………………………………………………….

May that which is the ultimate Mystery and repository of Love, 
bless and guide Opie, all the days of his life, and may those days 
be many, and be days of joy and learning.  Let him grasp each 
one, tenderly but most assuredly; and let his life’s purpose be 
to pursue wisdom, that he may live a life of service to the world 
and its creatures, and lifelong make it a better place. 
Amen