Author: richclarkson

The Ballad of Tetete Ni Kolivuti

Tetete Ni Kolivuti (which means ‘hill of prayer’) is the headquarters of the Community of the Sisters of the Church in Solomon Islands. I visited TNK back in September and this is a little ballad about this wonderful place.

The soldiers arrived in ’42
With their guns and their packs and their marching boots too
They unloaded their ships and they made their way through
In search of a place to call home
They built a new hill on a flat piece of ground
Cleared the coconut trees from the bush all around
Made a fortified lookout on top of the mound
At Tetete ni Leleu – the Hill of War

The sisters arrived in 71,
The trees had returned now the soldiers had gone
They faithfully followed as God led them on
In search of a place to call home
They built their first chapel up on the hill there
The community grew as together they shared
what little they had with compassion and care
At Tetete ni Kolivuti – the Hill of Prayer

The flood waters rose in ’23
Submerging the land all the way to the sea
And the people all round had to climb up the trees
In search of a place to call home
The hill was an island for several days
Like Noah and Jonah the sisters all prayed
In the swirling of waters as together they stayed
At Tetete lia Kokomu – the Island Hill

For nearly a century the hill has stood
Through war and disaster, through wildfire and flood
As a beacon of light and a wellspring of good
Tetete Ni Kolivuti
This community of sisters still hold on to the spark
in this hill which has been an island, a refuge, an ark,
In a turbulent world where so much is dark
From the hill of war came the hill of prayer
The island hill is still standing there
Tetete Ni Kolivuti (the Hill of Prayer)

(c) Rich Clarkson 2025

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A Conversation Outside the Charles Elliot Fox Library at Kohimarama

Another poem inspired by my recent visit to the Anglican Church of Melanesia. This is based on a conversation I had with a student at the Bishop Patteson Theological College outside their college library.

“The birds around here speak sometimes”, he said,
“the smallish brown ones with the yellow eyes.
You have to pay attention though, they spread
their mottled wings, glance back, say their goodbyes
and then before you know it they have gone,
packed up their conversation and moved on.”

“We used to have a bishop here,” he said,
“who was well known for talking to the birds
and other creatures.  Once the rats all fled
from the cassava patch at just a word
from Bishop Fox.  His grave is over there.
It’s said the birds still join with him in prayer.”

I tried to pay attention like he said,
but though I watched and listened for a week,
I talked to them, sang songs, and shared my bread,
I never once did hear the Myna speak.
Beside the Charles Fox library, filled with words,
I sit in silence, praying with the birds.

(c) Rich Clarkson, 2025

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Vulnerable

I visited the Anglican Church of Melanesia this September, in part to see first hand the impacts of Climate Change in the Pacific. I was struck by how tangible those impacts are and the real sense of vulnerability in these island nations. However I was also struck by the sense that though these islands may be vulnerable, they are not powerless. I wrote this poem to express some of that.

There is a vulnerability in these
small Islands where the challenges they face
are mostly not of their own making.  Seas
are rising, trees are being felled, the race
for land and for development is fierce –
their magnitude could flood the roads with tears.
But vulnerable does not mean powerless.
Developing does not mean uninformed.
These islands, villages, and towns are getting
ready now to face the gathering storm.
Stone by stone, day by day, resisting
those forces that would stop them from existing.
Here, where land and sea are in a battle aeons long,
a fragile hope against all odds has always been their song.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2025

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Parallels

I visited the Anglican Church of Melanesia this September, and while there were a lot of differences between life there and in England, I wrote this poem reflecting on some of the similarities

A mother anxiously comforts her baby
An old man groans as he sits on a chair
Children giggle as they enter the classroom
People are people everywhere

Schools that don’t have enough equipment
Farms that struggle for lack of rain
Big corporations that do what they want to
Ten thousand miles, and still the same

Birds sing out as the sun is rising
Stars shine brightly through gaps in the clouds
A cool breeze blows through an open window
At home or away these blessings are found

A helping hand from a kindly stranger
A wordless grin in a crowded hall
A moment of laughter that transcends language
The world is not so big after all

(c) Rich Clarkson 2025

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Umbilical Tree

I visited the Anglican Church of Melanesia this September and as part of the visit I spoke to the students at the Bishop Patteson Theological College at Kohimarama. This is a poetic description of part of that deeply moving conversation.

I
There is a small Pacific Island where
when a child is born they cut the cord
and plant it in the ground with a new tree
so that, however far away they sail,
they will forever be linked with their home.

II
I met a man today, a priest, who knows
the place where his umbilical tree is growing.
It is a source of life and strength to him,
a tangible connection to the earth,
to God’s creation, to his ancestral home.

III
That cord was severed many years before,
but now he fears it will be cut again
and this time he’s not sure if he’ll survive
the separation from his source of life.

IV
His island home is being washed away
and with it goes a part of who he is,
while we sit by and watch – or worse, do not.
We are presiding over his destruction.

V
I looked him in the eye then turned away
in sorrow and in shame for what we’ve done,
yet still he greeted me as his own brother,
a fellow child of God and, trembling, I
returned his gaze once more and said “I’m sorry
for all that we have done to you my friend”.

VI
Our actions or complacency are not
without their consequences in this world
but every day we have to make the choice:
Do we give life and seek forgiveness, or
do we keep cutting that life-giving cord?

(c) Rich Clarkson 2025

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George Augustus Selwyn

I visited the Anglican Church of Melanesia this September at the invitation of the Bishop of Lichfield, whose predecessor – George Augustus Selwyn – was the first Bishop of New Zealand (which included Melanesia) then came back to be Bishop of Lichfield. I wrote this poem to tell a bit of his story.

In 1841 George Selwyn sailed
to Aukland as a Missionary Bishop.
But on arrival found that it entailed
(due to an administrative mishap)
not just the many islands of New Zealand
but somehow all of Melanesia too!
He set out on a ship to go and see them
with local guides to help him and his crew.
Five times he sailed around these happy isles
and gave to them a Bishop of their own
then, after thirty years of joys and trials,
in Lichfield Bishop Selwyn was enthroned.
His ministry set deep roots and encouraged
the Melanesian people’s faith to flourish.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2025

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Brisbane Cathedral

I visited the Anglican Church of Melanesia this September, and on the way spent a day in Brisbane acclimatising. I wrote this poem after visiting the Cathedral.

I wander, tired and worn, in search of silence,
a refuge from these jetlag laden days,
but Miner Birds and traffic horns and sirens
and the busy city sounds get in the way.
The doors to the cathedral all stand open
and, with relief, I gently enter in.
Though if it was for quiet I was hoping,
even here I’m followed by the city’s din.
Frustrated by this, prayer feels hard to come by
then slowly something changes as I see
the noise of vehicles, voices, planes and drums might
be exactly where they’re meant to be.
Drawn through open doors into this haven,
the city, and I, are lifted up to heaven.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2025

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Stars

New Song: Stars
This was inspired by a line from Shakespeare that goes
“At first I did adore a twinkling star
But now I worship a celestial sun”

Once I loved a star so distant in the sky
Delicate and far away, so far away that I
Could never reach her
I lost my heart to some celestial creature

Once I loved a bird so high up in the air
Never was a word between us ever really shared
But I could hear her
I lost my heart just trying to get near her

Once I loved a star, a bird, an ocean and a flower
The wonders of the universe so far beyond my power
They stole my heart and kept it safe
until the day when she would give it back to me
Well I wasn’t ready then but now I am and now I know
That reaching out in love is how our hearts begin to grow
And somewhere in the waiting and the wondering
Love will come to you

Once I loved the sea so bountiful and deep
Vast and wild and free I could not ever truly keep
Her or her treasure
I lost my heart in depths I could not measure

Once I loved a flower blooming in a field
I gazed at her for hours but her secrets remained sealed
I could know know her
I lost my heart endeavouring to grow her

Chorus

Once I loved a girl so beautiful and fair
Her voice was like a bird and she had flowers in her hair
Her eyes were starlight
She swept me off my feet like waves at twilight

Now I love a star, a bird, an ocean and a flower
The wonders of the universe so far beyond my power
She stole my heart and kept it safe
until the day when she will give it back to me
Well I wasn’t ready then but now I am and now I know
That reaching out in love is how our hearts begin to grow
And one day when the stars align and constellations roar
And the ocean breakers lay their treasures gently on the shore
And the flowers bloom and bird song rises sweeter than before
Love will come to you

(c) 2025 Rich Clarkson

Photo by NASA Hubble Space Telescope on Unsplash

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Chronicles

I’ve been reading Bob Dylan’s autobiography ‘Chronicles’ and as I was reading it I found 5 Argentinian Pesos in it which I’ve been using as a bookmark and which felt very fitting for a Dylan book. I wrote this song inspired by a mix of the book and the 5 Peso note!

There’s a hurricane howling off on the horizon
Building like a brass band’s roar
The change in the weather’s no longer surprising
Cos nothing stays the same any more
and I’m sitting here waiting and watching and writing
and wondering when it’s time to go
The lights are flickering and faltering and fading
like fireflies after the show

There’s a train that’s thundering off in the distance
Heading for who knows where
I had my chances and I know that I missed them
They could have taken me there
Now I’m stuck in the dirt and the dust of the desert
and I’m drowning in my dreams
But something inside is still there saying
“it isn’t all that it seems”

So I pick up my pack and I grab my guitar
And I set out towards the sun
Don’t know where I’m heading but I know that it’s far
Away from where I’ve begun
With five pesos I pull from my pocket that I found
in the back of a borrowed book
I buy my ticket, can I also buy forgiveness
for all those mistakes that I took

So I’m out on the road now, this is my life
I’m nothing but a travelling man
I don’t have a home or a gun or a knife
Just a guitar and an unravelling plan
I’m a no-one, a nothing, I never was here,
and here’s where I’ll forever be
I’ve slipped through the cracks of the railroad tracks
and I find that I’m finally free, finally I’m free

(c) Rich Clarkson 2025

Photo by Grant Durr on Unsplash

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Bone Flutes and Cow Horns

This song was inspired by reading a book about the origins of sound and music (Sounds Wild and Broken, by David Haskell) and by reading a dystopian fiction novel which included a line about how nobody makes guitar strings any more (Briefly Very Beautiful, by Roz Dineen). The line “What makes us all human is music” came to me and the rest of the song built from there!

What music will there be when there’s nobody to sing their songs
What tunes will still be heard when the instruments don’t play along
And what stories will be passed on
When the balladeers are long gone?
What will be left when we are not here?

Bone flutes and cow horns and panpipes and rhythms of
Shell shakers, clapsticks and bead covered gourds and the
Joining of voices, what makes us all human is music
Sports crowds and orchestras, buskers and people in
Pubs singing folk songs and carols at Christmas,
The joining of voices, what makes us all human is music

What will the world sound like when the human noise has died away
What will the soundscape be when our instruments no longer play
And what beauty will be missing
When there’s nobody to listen
What will be left when we are not here?

Bone flutes and cow horns …

The tunes that we whistle, the songs that we sing
All filling the air like the birds on the wing
Twisting and turning, enveloping everything
In all of our differences, music reminds us
That there is still so much more that binds us
For thousands and thousands and thousands of years
Just like our ancestors we are still here playing

Bone flutes and cow horns …

© Rich Clarkson 2025

Picture from https://www.nms.si/en/collections/highlights/343-Neanderthal-flute

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Acrobat

I’m not quite sure where this song came from, other than I mentioned a trombone piece called “The Acrobat” in a sermon recently and the music has been on the music stand in my study, clearly seeping into my subconscious!

Without her coat and hat
She tumbles from her flat
Like some strange acrobat
And after that
She sets off down the street
On someone else’s feet
Her tightrope walk complete
So bittersweet

And even though her world is upside down
And she’s falling with the puppeteers and clowns
And though the crowds cheering her on
can see there’s something wrong
They think it’s somehow all part of the show
Little do they know

She’s up on her trapeze
And looking down she sees
The rubble and debris
That used to be
The life she thought she knew
So comfortable and true
But now she swings right through
To something new

She’s coming in to land
As time flows like the sand
Slipping through her hand
She understands
That all there is to know
Is nothing but a show
And when the curtains close
It’s time to go
© Rich Clarkson 2025

Photo by Robin Battison on Unsplash

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Protest Song

I’ve been listening to a lot of Bob Dylan recently, since watching the film ‘A Complete Unknown’, and inspired by his protest songs have had a go at writing my own!

Where are the poets, the prophets the priests and the kings
Lending their voices to those who can no longer sing
Do they have the courage to meet this hour
Exchanging their platforms of privilege and power
For a better, more beautiful world where we all can be free

How do the men making millions off misery sleep
When their bedsheets are washed with the tears of the many who weep?
The merchants of war who would rather we bleed
Than exchange their selfishness, power, and greed
For a better more beautiful world where we all can be free

Why are the women still wailing and when will they see
Their long promised justice roll in like the waves on the sea?
In the face of oppression still they persist
Replacing a world filled with prejudice
With a better more beautiful world where we all can be free

Who are the people who profit while the planet burns?
Spreading pollution and lies without any concerns
Blaming our problems on refugees
While the billionaire conmen steal whatever they please
From the better more beautiful world where we all can be free

Where are the poets, the prophets, the priests and the kings
The ones who believe in the promise of what tomorrow may bring
The hopers and dreamers working to see
A brighter tomorrow where together we’ll be
The poets and prophets and priests and kings and queens
Of a better more beautiful world where we all can be free

(c) Rich Clarkson 2025

Photo by Nikoloz Gachechiladze on Unsplash

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