Now you see me

2011-12-21T21:43:00.004Z

Just heard from Canon Andrew White, Vicar of Baghdad, about the desperate situation in Iraq now that the US forces have left. There remains hope ... but it needs us to share the love of that baby who came so far to save us.

Look into the stable, feel the warmth inside.
See the loving mother, see the loving child.
See the adoration, hands and gifts are raised -
hear the angels worship, all creation praise ...

"Glory to God, in the highest place;
on the earth there will be peace",
if we share redeeming grace.

Look outside the stable, still the world's the same.
There's no room for Jesus, so few know his name.
Many hands are lifted as war and famine reign.
Hear the prayers of nations, as we cry again.

"Glory to God, in the highest place;
on the earth there will be peace",
if we share redeeming grace.

Look into your heart now, what do you see there?
Is there hope and comfort or a deep despair?
look back to the stable where the Promise lay,
hear the words of Jesus, "I AM com to save!"

"Glory to God, in the highest place;
on the earth there will be peace",
if we share redeeming grace.

(C) 2003 Graham Oakes

2011-12-03T17:14:00.001Z

Folk at the Parish ...

Thursday, 1st December 2011 I read some poems at Merthyr Tydfil in aid of MacMillan Cancer Support and included a new one written for the occasion about Dic Penderyn, after whom the local Witherspoons is named! Nice curries on Thursdays!

"DymaGamwedd!"

Innocenceis no defence

whenscapegoats are required;

caughtup in something bigger

than asingle, just desire.

Youmarch with fellow workers

theirpassion in your soul;

withlittle thought that very soon

you’llhave the starring role.

A soldiertakes a bloody wound,

andyou, my friend, were there.

So fromthe crowd you’re singled out

tocries of “that’s not fair!”’

The Governmenthas had enough

of Welshmen on the move.

Theywant to crush our wide dissent

theyhave a point to prove.

Againstthe power of Gentry rule,

ofmoney and of might,

the workers’cause is brought to heel

and manyput to flight.

Butyou, young Dic Penderyn,

muststand upon the door.

Andwhile you wait you tell them all

justwhat you’re dying for.

“OArglwydd, dyma gamwedd!”

“Lord,this is so unjust!”

Andstill this cry does echo,

andlisten still they must!

Also read this one which was written for Gail ...

Colour me ...

Onto thelandscape

of mywaiting canvas

brush mewith love

and thefinest of care.

Colour mefree

with thejoy of your laughter;

colour medeep

with thewarmth of your smile.

Blue forthe Spring

when wefound each other,

and foryour eyes

when theysparkle with fun.

Gold forthe Summers

that weshared together,

and foryour hair

thatshines in the sun.

Brown forthe Autumn:

its rhymesand its reasons

therichest of blessings,

for youare my wife.

Grey forthe Winter

thatcloses the seasons,

yet hiddenbeneath it

thepromise of life.

RESTORATION

2011-08-06T19:19:00.000+01:00

I often walk along our Rhymney River through the now meadowed pathways where the railway sidings of Brittania Colliery used to be. The pit has gone, along with all physical evidence of its imposing and vital presence to the community which is now a different place to that which I grew up in ... but those of us who lived within its shadow cannot help but remember and wonder at the things that have been won and lost with its demise ... this is one of my recent attempts to reflect on the changes

Black blood flowed

down wounded valleys

mixed with the rush of

the iron-red streams

pumped from the heart

of the virgin strata

as men scratched low

with their flesh and bone

for the loan of a loaf

a roof and a home.

Black scars marred

the mountain moorland

shaped the run

of the sun in the cwm

time clutched hard

to the wheel that winding

marked the birth and

the death of the day

while doorsteps waited

for their men to pay.

Black shadows

now a fading memory

of washed out riches

and wasted hills

as sunshine springs

down natured pathways

new journeys weave

round the ancient track

for a rainbow promise

and a long look back.

Surprising Blade

2011-08-04T08:48:00.000+01:00

“… she, for whatever reason, finds something loveable in this most unlovable of men … and the soul, once it’s insisted upon - being loved - has only one inevitable response and that is to love back and gradually a soul gets stitched ponderously back together and something resembling a human being gets reconstructed …”

Bob Geldorf in a Radio 4 interview.

Surprising Blade.

Unlovely and unloving,
full of guilt and cold remorse;
taking much but seldom giving,
letting sorrow run its course.

All the world on the attack,
low you hide, without defence.
Centuries stoop upon your back
raising walls of dry pretence.

Tough the skin and hard the core,
yet you fail to stem the tears.
Resistance only brings to fore
words that fan the flaming fears.

Helpless you; and hopeless too,
Life has failed to satisfy.
Slow to dream of morrows new,
quick the thoughts to fall and die ...

Cold the heart … but hot the steel
of that Surprising Blade
which cuts, so deep, to purge and heal;
Glory strikes: the shadows fade.

Light, for darkness long endured,
Love, for raw and hurting soul;
Life, for Ransom, full, assured,
Hope restored, as one made whole.

Now, renewed as fertile ground,
the wilderness, in thrice blessed praise
with grateful songs to heaven resounds,
and lives to love eternal days.

© July 2011 Graham Oakes

Road Works

2011-06-17T18:22:00.000+01:00

Croeso Ready Writers, June 2011.

There’s only one thing worse than a hole in the road and that’s the disruption caused by trying to repair it.

It isn’t the hole’s fault; neither can we blame the road. If we are honest the reason the hole appeared in the first place is the weight of traffic and a refusal to be prevented from enjoying that most basic of modern human rights - freedom to travel when, how and where we desire using the infernal combustion engine and its associated mechanology.

Whatever the size of the hole and however important the road, it could most simply be fixed by closing the highway for a few hours and allowing the workmen to do their job while we make alternative arrangements. This may mean staying at home for a change; discovering a more scenic route; considering why we actually drive any way or simply sharing our transport arrangements rather than continuing with our individualistic and private carriages which carry such a toxic premium for our descendants.

Common sense has never accompanied the nation’s locomotive aspirations. Each new mass transport system has been introduced by successive decisions which appease the fast buck rather than slow assurance of getting from A to B at minimum cost to the environment.

Horses, our original power source, were enhanced through track and canal bringing increased speed and loads but retaining that sense of tranquillity and co-existence with our natural environment. Then came the kettle’s curse as Mr. Watt realised that steam could be harnessed as well as horses and these beautiful creatures were eventually reduced to a mere definition of what a kettle on wheels could achieve.

So was born the industrial revolution - and what a revolution it was - as wheels upon wheels turned up and down the land and across the world. Each revolution dependant on fossil fuel, the legacy of our sunken past resurrected to bring in another judgement day.

We got used to steam and even grew to love these mighty engines as they romantically wove across the land knitting distant towns together into the same timeframe. Railways became synonymous with proper time-keeping and stations with the whole range of human emotions in the ‘meeting and greeting’, the ‘letting go’, and the ‘minding of the gap’. Brief encounters were rife and we all know what happened on the Orient Express.

This has been called the golden age of steam - but was it fool’s gold? It tarnished so quickly, to be replaced by dirty diesel, un-manned and un-romantic stations, or those lonely ‘halts’, and timetables that could be trusted only to the extent that they would succumb to fallen leaves or the wrong kind of snow!

In the swinging sixties, when no-one who was there can remember what they were doing, the government, in its own hallucinogenic fog, reduced the community enhancing network to model railway levels at a stroke and prepared the ground for the rise of that most potent of status symbols the private motor car. This may not have been so bad but the flood gates were also opened to the juggernaut, the leviathan of our day which shudders at seismic levels through now insomniac villages forcing us to build more motorways and by-passes on which they can wreak even more havoc. Many now carry a rear facing message inviting us to ring a number if they have been driven well. Not many people who have got close enough to read this have survived long enough to make the call!

To conclude. Each generation has to accommodate the technology of its day. Each generation also has to endure changes in technology which appear to herald a brighter future. The problem is that, until now, we haven’t lived long enough to see the effects of these ’improvements’. We are slowly awakening to the reality of what our industrial appetite and individual sense of freedom is doing to our planet, to our lives and to our heritage.

We need to stop, allow the hole to be repaired properly - and take this opportunity to consider what we can do to avoid making even bigger holes into which our children will inevitably fall.

EASTER GARDEN

2011-04-24T17:09:00.000+01:00

The Tomb.

With a finality beyond death, burial removes all trace of existence. Not enough you walked this earth, but you had to be consumed by it – embedded, implanted, sown in this fertile ground.

The Stone.

Heavy with our morbid fear and sealed with all the arrogance of a fallen humanity, it plays its lonely part.

The Garden.

Undisturbed peace. Mankind’s first (and last) resting place. Here, in the arboreal stillness, as leaves respire and sap cools, Nature, sublimely conscious of the Divine, waits, with expectant patience for its most glorious bud to flower.

The Dawn.

Never since its first creation has the sun appeared with greater humility. On this Day a broken body lives again and holy blood pulses triumphantly through once emptied veins. The Son of God rises to still enclosed darkness and the Stone is rolled away. The Shutter opens for a greater Light to shine.

This final barrier does not and cannot resist the truth of Resurrection. Might and meaning; rite and religion; sight and science ... lose their dominance, though not as gladly as the morning star.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Gardener steps into his bower and is welcomed. Creation beams with joy at the presence of perfect Spring and faithful stems bend in the Spirit’s gentle breeze.

At last, a saddened and subdued humanity approaches, still clothed in unredeemable fear. Woman, first cursed by the Fall, is now First Blessed in this Garden as she walks and talks with her God again ... with great joy, she runs to man with the most favoured fruit of everlasting life … disrobed of fear, innocence is no longer ashamed ...

… and, beneath the displaced Stone lies the bruised and bloodied form of a dying serpent …

Mynyddislwyn Male Voice Choir 40th Anniversary Concert Blackwood Miners Institute September 23rd 2010

2011-04-10T19:06:00.003+01:00

Written following attending their annual concert and pondering on the link between music and our environment.

Hewn from deep and darkened seams

Of rock and crumbling dusty coal.

Tempered like the rolling steel

from furnace fires of the soul.

Music quivers through the air

In the freedom we now share.

Something binds the working hearts

That beat to toil and agony.

Drawn to share their common bond

In tighter frames of harmony.

Music quivers through the air

In the freedom we now share.

Rising, caged, from deathly deep

Hope shines out from wearied eyes.

Beauty leaps from surfaced hours

And finds response in practised lives.

Music quivers through the air

In the freedom we now share.

Cleaner now the valley’s air

Gone the shafts that sucked earth cold.

Decades since have come and gone

Still we hear the sounds of gold.

Music quivers through the air

In the freedom we now share.

The greenwood , flayed

2011-04-10T18:54:00.004+01:00

Composed following some recent sermons on Mary and Joseph.

How great the God

we worship here,

Supreme above all things.

Revealed by words,

inspired and true,

the Holy Spirit brings.

Yet see, he chose to come to earth

not as a Warrior-King.

No, born in low humility,

such is the God we sing.

The virgin finds herself with child

and bears much hurt and shame.

Now her betrothed

must hold his thoughts,

as whispered is his name.

“Oh why should this be my reward,

for all the love I gave?”

The answer comes by angel voice,

“This child is born to save!”

So Joseph trusts

God’s strange command

and leaves the Law alone.

He learns to love a child, not his,

and tends him as his own.

Within this family are found

the wounds of love and grace

as God reveals his sovereign plan

to save our human race.

A carpenter

will teach his son

the worth and way of wood;

but this Son learns a harder way

to bring our world to good.

In echo of young Joseph’s cry

hear Jesus’ anguished prayer,

“O Father, why must this be so,

their scorn I should not bear?”

Deep sorrow

hangs upon the Cross,

and nails hold fast the shame.

As Jesus bleeds his mother weeps;

his Father turns away.

Such Horror,

never has earth known,

as Jesus dies for all.

Such Love,

that gives its all for me

before him I must fall.

The greenwood, flayed

and broken down,

is laid to rest in earth;

but like a seed that’s sown in death

it springs to fruitful birth.

How great the God

we worship here,

Supreme above all things;

the child who grew at Joseph’s side

now reigns as King of Kings.

Alternative Carols

2011-01-03T10:58:00.004Z

The following was written in response to a friend having a moan about Carols ... in fact I have a few friends who don't appear to appreciate their lyrical merits ... it was interesting how these writings developed into one which tells the story of the Prodigal Son, still with a hint of Christmas.

Old Grumpy men rejoice

for you there is no choice.

Christmas comes but once a year

but still you have to show good cheer

soon it will be gone

soon it will be gone!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In this bleak mid-winter

I begin to moan.

Where are all the carols

I can sing alone?

Sentimental saccharin

leaves me quite upset.

Nothing like the story

no-one should forget!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silent night, don't be trite.

Noise was heard, every word!

Angels streaming in the sky,

shepherds screaming "Let us die!"

“We can't take any more ...

We can't take any more!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Away in a pig sty, no money, no friends;

the prodigal wonders if this is the end.

But then he remembers his Father's true worth

and runs for his home and the place of his birth.

His Father is weeping, his whole world is down;

his brother is hoping he'll never be found.

But when he is spotted, approaching the hill,

his Father rejoices for he loves him still.

The party has started, the calf's not impressed;

the prodigal weeps as in fine robes he's dressed.

The brother must welcome this wanderer back home

where grace, love and peace make a manger a throne!

Just visiting

2011-01-02T21:47:00.003Z

Sorry, have been out of the Blogosphere for some time (too long I hear you shriek) but am back now and will endeavour to maintain a presence, more or less dignified, just in case anyone shows a passing interest.

Why the title?

2008-08-21T19:34:00.001+01:00

2002 and our local Pentecostal church held a special open air event at our local showfield. Nothing special but I took my kids and some of their friends along. The preacher spoke about Jesus walking on the water and Peter taking the plunge.
I'm not sure what it was in particular that inspired me but I felt my creative juices flowing and came up with this song.
I eventually managed to share it with him in Canada of all places, some 5 years later!

Walking on the water.

Walking on the water is impossible to do
unless I look up from the waves
and fix my eyes on You.
Lord Jesus you are calling me
to come and walk Your way
to leave the safety of my boat
and follow You today.
But I don’t know if I can take
a single step towards You.
The water is so very deep
and the waves so very high.
And all You do is beckon me
with eyes that burn like fire.
Reaching me with deeper love,
and grace that’s even higher
than the waves,
than the waves,
than the waves of fear
that break against my soul.

Walking on the water is impossible to do
unless I look up from the waves
and fix my eyes on You.
So Jesus may I always look
straight into Your eyes
and know the truth that saves my soul
from drowning in this world’s lies.
And every step I take towards
Your blood-stained outstretched hands
reminds me that I am a part
of Your eternal plan,
that calls me to step out in faith –
and take Your Holy Fire –
reaching out with deeper love,
and grace that’s even higher
than the waves, than the waves,
than the waves that wreck
the life and soul of man.

Walking on the water is impossible to do
unless I look up from the waves
and fix my eyes on You.
So when the raging storms rush in,
threatening to flood,
support me with Your Spirit
and the power of Your Blood.
So walking on the water
will not seem so very new
when I’m walking with You, step by step,
and doing the things You do.
Reaching out with grace and love
to everyone in need.
To be Your hands, and share Your life
wherever You may lead
through the waves,
through the waves,
through the waves ...

Some years earlier I wrote the poem reproduced below during a church weekend away in Bournemouth. I often hope I'll remember it when I'm facing the storm. After sharing it with another friend and on visiting their home I discovered that it has been given pride of place in their downstairs cloakroom - and learned that they had passed on a copy to one of their friends and guess where they keep it ... in their cloakroom.

Well, I suppose that's some kind of exposure!!!

Lord,

when all is calm,

and the sun is warm and soothing,

help me to trust in You …

for some day the storms will come,

dark clouds will rise over the hill,

and cold waters will overwhelm me …

remind me that You are here,

with me.

Here,

in the same boat;

as much Lord of the darkness as of the light,

as much Lord of the wind as of the calm,

as much Lord of the storm as of the stillness,

to which You bid us come,

and know,

that You are God.

2008-08-19T17:35:00.000+01:00

Well, no comments or responses to my latest posts so far although a couple of friends have owned up to dropping in since I included a reference to it in my e-mail signature. I'll just have to send more e-mails!!!!

This song is based on the idea that our relationship with God is that of a Child and Father, a fact so deceptively profound - but one that really does sum up everything we need to know about how God sees us and how we are meant to relate to him and each other.

I want to be a child again

(Ps 8, Is 40³¹, Mt 18 ^1-4)

I want to be a child again and wonder at your love.

I want to see your Father heart drawn in the stars above.

I want to make you laugh out loud, and shake the mountains tall.

I want to be a child again and know how great it is to be small.

I want to be a child again and know you’re watching me.

I want to hold you by the hand and climb up on your knee.

I want to know you’re by my side while letting me explore

all of the treasures in your house as I keep finding more and more.

I want to be a child again (I know you want that too).

No more the self-made miracle with little time for you.

I want to fly on eagle’s wings, to run and not get tired.

Learning to trust you, come what may, and by your Spirit be inspired.

I want to be a child again and hear the people say,

“Isn’t he just like his Dad?” and be proud to walk your way.

I want to be a child again, in my spirit O let this be:

as I grow older every day I get younger in eternity.

More Canada Musings

2008-08-14T19:47:00.000+01:00

Well, now I've started I can't finish ... thinking about Canada and the wonderful time we had there I thought I'd share some more of my writings inspired as much by the anticipation of the journey as the place itself.

We landed in Edmonton, Alberta and stayed a couple of nights at an out of the way place called Hidden Springs, a Christian retreat run by a couple called Neil & Barbara White. Just arranging our stay there from Wales was an adventure but also a joy as, through e-mail, we gained a sense of each other's testimony and the miracle of fellowship in the Holy Spirit despite never having met.

On our way there I had already started to write something about my longing to see the Rockies, (which we did towards the end of our 3 week stay) after travelling in completely the opposite direction towards the prairie lands of Saskatchewan.

I finished the Rocky Mountain Hymn at Hidden Springs after a very distant glimpse of the Rockies. It compares the unobtainable (for me) heights of those spectacular mountains with the glory of God which he has made accessible to me!

ROCKY MOUNTAIN HYMN:

I dream of lofty mountains and crystal clear blue skies;

of lakes that hold the heavens where mighty eagles fly.

And there beyond the tree line high peaks are capped with snow;

their rushing, living waters to pine-filled valleys flow.

I stand in awe before you beneath bright stars at night.

I wonder at your glory, your power and your might.

My heart beats hard and faster as from this world I soar

to see your Kingdom's glory, a never-ending shore.

Before you I am nothing: beyond my furthest view

I have no hope of climbing the steepest slopes to you.

But from your throne you saw me, stepped down and took my place.

You sacrificed your glory and saved me by pure grace.

You love me and you free me to taste your sweetest wine,

to speak out for your Kingdom and in the darkness shine.

My hands are raised in worship to you my soul must sing:

"Majestic King-Creator, High Lord of everything!"

It can be sung as a hymn and has a 76.76.D metre (such as Aurelia, although I prefer it to a tune called Ewing).

So, Hidden Springs: a real haven and a perfect place to unwind and unload as we took our first tentative steps in a new country. 2 nights to prepare for the long journey from Edmonton to Saskatoon - but it was so much more with late evening chats with Neil and the ever present and hopeful Meg waiting for us to play ball.
I may well return to what we learned and enjoyed about Hidden Springs in future posts - hey, that's what a blog is for isn't it?
For now I'll just leave my tribute to the haven we found at the beginning and end of our Canadian trip ...

See link for the Hidden Springs website.

HIDDEN SPRINGS

Time to leave life's highway, and stop the rush to gain.

Forget the overtaking, and join the slower lane.

Time to stop and ponder what life really means,

time to see new visions and dream some different dreams.

Time to hear creation sing its ceaseless song;

time to ask the question, "Where do we belong?"

Time to be reminded of most important things;

time for soul-refreshing right here at 'Hidden Springs'!

Time to spend reflecting on all we've seen and done.

Time to pray a blessing on what God has begun.

Time to leave the shelter of this safe and happy place.

Time to step on homeward in His enduring grace.

Time and space a plenty in God's scheme of things -

and so we carry with us the hope of 'Hidden Springs' ...

Bye for now, don't be afraid to feedback ...

Oradour and Shuswap

2008-08-06T20:45:00.000+01:00

OK ... 2 pieces which hopefully are more representative of what I write although I'm not sure I have any one particular style despite my use of the word 'definitive' in my last post.

We don't travel much but last year we went to Canada for our Wedding Anniversary and Gail's 50th birthday. I have a few pieces that I wrote over there but the one below celebrates our stay at Salmon Arm and reflects on Shuswap Lake in British Columbia - a different world to the other side of the Rockies from which we had travelled and were returning to so soon.

Shuswap: © Graham Oakes: 2007

Light lingers lazily on Shuswap Lake.
Sunset settles silently and
shadows scamper swiftly away
as the evening lets go of the day ....

What brings us here?

Drawn, not by our own desires,
though they were many,
but by a deeper, higher call.
Deeper than this glacial lake but
warmer to our hearts.
Higher than the mountain peaks
but closer to our souls.

Your presence is everywhere.
In time and in space;
in the minute and the magnificent;
there is no insignificance to you.

You go before us and have counted our steps.
You soar above us watching our way.
You walk beside us and speak peace.
You open our eyes to your truth.

When we think that we are alone
you remind us that your body is real;
tangible, living and breathing.
Each part made for the other,
all made one throughout the earth,
to which we, by grace, belong.

What stupendous grace!

And, just as you have
provided for our journey
you welcome us home
with overwhelming joy.

ORADUR

A few years ago we went with some friends to France and stayed a reasonable car's journey from the Martyr Village of Oradour sur Glane which we visited. It was a powerful reminder of the retributive horrors of the 2nd World War and I had to record my impression and experience of waking around a real ghost town.

“ALL THAT REMAINS”

Dedicated to all those who perished
at Oradour-sur-glane
June 10th 1944.

The rubble pokes up from this sacred ground like a half-finished, fully-forgotten building site. The bricks bare and thirsty, the girders rusted in the bright sunshine. Naked girders echoing the rusty remains of sewing machines and bedsprings, ovens and automobiles which lie within these broken shells which once were homes and workplaces.

The absence of familiar adornments of a living village the open doors and shutters; the simple but homely furniture; the twitching curtains, makes our continued approach uncomfortable.
And through the vacant windows we gaze at emptiness – the distressing emptiness of a broken heart.

The vacuum is not complete. Into this silent village intrude the irreverent noise of people. Hundreds of people. Walking, talking people. But there are no real people in this village – only transients. Tourists, sightseers, passers-by, foreigners. Their only reason to be here is to see for themselves, to be able to say that they have been here. Taking and posing for photographs they record the streets, the barns, the garages, the church. The clicking of cameras a faint echo of the stutter of distant machine guns …

And I was one of them. I walked along the streets and saw the burnt out cars – strangely inverse images (like photographic negatives) of what once was ... I walked the streets that naively welcomed the SS troops. I passed by the barns and garages that held frightened men captive for the slaughter. I stopped at the plaques that asked for prayerful recollection.
I entered the church … and then, only then did I hear the screams as I stopped trying to see the past - and permitted my mind to hear it.

If ever history was palpable it is here. Here, beneath the blue summer sky standing on the old, scarred flagstones of the church at Oradour-sur-glâne.

What happened here should never have happened.

But it did.

And here, beneath my feet, all around me in this confined and holy space the souls of hundreds of women and their children cried out for help, for mercy, for deliverance.
But these walls were unable to save them and their cries fell on hearts too hard to care.

What right did I have to be here, except to be touched by the cries, and to make my own peace with them and all who cry out for mercy, help and deliverance?

Come to this village, but not for the ruins.
Come to this village, but not for the dead.
Come to this village for yourself –

and leave
more determined to build than to destroy,
more committed to heal than to hurt.

Reassess your life and your possessions
and be ready to leave them all.

What will you leave that will last?

What story will be told of you?

Annual Update

2008-08-06T20:40:00.001+01:00

Oh dear, I'm managing one post a year which seems a bit slow to me. However, at least I'm consistent.
I'd like to publish a few more of my writings here as the only one I've offered so far is not really definitive and a bit tongue in cheek. So, what do you think wide world? I'll post some of my favourites with some words of explanation and see what happens. OK! Let's do it and hope for the best ....

Please, please I value feedback which is honest and constructive. Thank you world.

Visit more often

2007-01-02T22:40:00.000Z

I really must get on top of this Blog thing ... especially if I want more people to share it I suppose. Don't want to just blog to myself after all!!!
One way is to do what I'm doing now and enter stuff when I'm at work in the nights (on-call) waiting for things to happen.
So anyway, Happy New Year everyone ... I started it with a sunrise walk around Capel Gwladys. Gwladys was a 5th century Christian lady who is buried on a hillside not far from where I live. I spent some time repenting over the last year and praying for more grace & strength for 2007 ... we'll see. One really helpful blessing however was when I was trying to dislodge a particular thorn from my flesh when I just said ... Lord, you take it, it's too big for me! Just as I said that a distant street light went out (on its own, not with any of the others which all remained lit). It kind of signalled that I'd achieved a hit of some kind; that God had taken that particular prayer on board and that the answer was in process ... Hallelujah!

Of course, two minutes into the future of that prayer may have been a bit soon to be counting my blessings but I was physically excited and filled with a sense of God's presence being not just atmospheric but effective ... if you know what I mean.

Perhaps I'll try and upload (or whatever the term is) a photo of Capel Gwladys - and some other things that have inspired me ... watch this space.

Back again

2006-07-29T12:45:00.000+01:00

Ok, so if you've got a blog you've got to look after it! Bit like a dog really, or kids, both of which I have some experience of ... and feeding either once a year would certainly stunt their growth somewhat. So, here I am again with some word tappings except I'm not sure what to say / share / blog on about.
What's happened since my last (first) attempt?
1. Christmas.
2. Daughter's graduation.
3. Summer Holiday (2 weeks in July) spent doing up the house: clearing the back patio / garden bit. Recovering our basement floor and generally investing heavily in B&Q.
All have been worth the effort and I can now 'breath' in the study, and our bathroom is once more a pleasure to read in!

I've written a few more songs / poems which I'll put on soon ... (now there's a reason to come back before too long).

If you have been, thanks for reading ...

Introduction

2005-12-22T06:19:00.000Z

Hello, and welcome to my venture into Blogland. I'm journeying here with the help of my daughter Ceryn who has beaten me to it in the family blograce.

I hope to fill the universe with my poetry! "Come back!!" OK, I'll be putting some on here along with some random observations of life, the universe and everything. What I'd really like to do is chat over stuff with anyone remotely interested in what I write, or otherwise place on this blog.

So, I look forward to developing this blog, spending hours on the computer and ignoring the rest of humanity ... hey, perhaps this wasn't such a good idea ... discuss?

A Christmas Poem

2005-12-21T22:50:00.000Z

Tell me what you think of Christmas
fishes, in your watery zoo.
Are you getting all excited?
Are you celebrating too?

What do you think of Christmas
as you swim around your tank?
Have you written lists to Santa
and overdrawn your bank?

What do you think of Christmas?
Or should the question be
what do you think of humans?
As through the glass you see

us getting all excited
as nearer draws the day
with paper this, and paper that,
and plastic all the way!

You look at us with open mouths
as ours we fill with fare;
and wonder where we put it all
and do we really care?

O fishies, in your little world
you have enough it's true.
And I should ever grateful be
to have as much as you!

(c) Graham Oakes