Author: richclarkson

Advent Candle II

As we move deeper into advent
    [holy holy holy]
We strain our eyes towards the dawn
    [holy holy holy]
To see a shard, a flicker, a fragment
    [holy holy holy]
Of Heaven in the coming morn
    [holy holy holy]
So we light these candles, not one but two
    [holy holy holy]
To remind us that the day draws nearer
    [holy holy holy]
When He will be revealed anew
    [holy holy holy]
And we will see Him so much clearer
    [holy holy holy]
But now we wait, we watch , we pray
    [holy holy holy]
As advent slowly passes by
    [holy holy holy]
And we await that glorious day
    [holy holy holy]
When with countless angels we’ll cry
Holy Holy Holy

(c) Rich Clarkson 2010

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Advent Candle I

Advent is here
The waiting begins
Anticipation feeds our expectation
As the hope of salvation lies in incubation
The heavens sing in exaltation
As all creation waits
for the coming of the creator

[pause to light candle]

So we light this candle
One solitary light
Reminding us of those first words
“let there be light”
And his promise that in our darkness
He is our light
And at the end we’ll need no sun or moon
for he will be our light
As the Alpha and Omega
gives us vision, gives us sight
So this candle is a reminder
As we wait in the night
That the dawn is coming soon
When we will see our creator

(c) Rich Clarkson 2010

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Lest We Remember

It’s easy to forget
As poppies bloom in winter gloom
Reminding us that time of year is near
Yet we choose to forget
grow flowers in our shirt
As if the hurt
And pain
Was all in vain
Yet we remain
Unchanged
For to truly remember would be to invite
The pain and bitterness of the fight
To darken our sight
And we fear we might have to adjust
We forget because we must
So we plant our poppies
Each November
Lest we remember

(c) 2010 Rich Clarkson

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Time

Do not fear
The passing of time.
Each second is but a pause,
A fragment of a moment
Not to be feared
But to be treasured.
Celebrated as a snapshot of life
In all its technicolour splendour.
And as it passes
Gently into memory
A new moment takes its place.
Sometimes this new moment is an echo
of time just passed,
Sometimes this new moment changes everything.
But in that moment,
This moment,
These moments,
Time is not to be feared
But to be held gently
And remembered for all it is
And was.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2010

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The Littlest Monkey

This is a story about a monkey
Who wasn’t cool, he wasn’t funky
He wasn’t clever, he wasn’t wise
He didn’t have the prettiest eyes

Our monkey was a tiny creature,
That was his one distinguishing feature
He was so very very small,
He often wasn’t noticed at all!

The monkeys loved to race each other
Up one tree and down another
Every day it was the same,
The monkeys played their monkey games

Every day they gave the winner
An extra special treat for dinner
All the monkeys wanted the prize –
A bowl of tasty juicy flies!

But our little monkey wasn’t fast
He always used to come in last
He tried and tried to no avail
Our monkey always seemed to fail

Tears streamed down our monkey’s face
“How will I ever win a race?
Before I finish I’ve been beaten,
And all the nice flies have been eaten!”

One day a wise old monkey said
“Hey listen up, don’t hang your head,
You’ll soon grow up all big and strong,
don’t worry lad, it won’t be long”

Our monkey said “That’s very kind
to say those things but please don’t mind
If I don’t believe your words at all,
I always will be far too small!”

As time went on our monkey grew
The wise old monkey’s words came true
Before he’d noticed it at all,
Our little monkey wasn’t small

His fur got dark, his arms grew longer,
His tail got thick, his legs got stronger
He started to climb the trees much faster
and as for racing – he was the master!

One day as our monkey sat in the sun
Eating the flies that he’d just won
He spotted a monkey in a tree,
The littlest monkey he’d ever seen

Tears rolled down the monkeys face
As he said “I’ll never win a race,
I couldn’t even beat a snail”
So our monkey said: “Let me tell you a tale…”

(c) Rich Clarkson 2010

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Senses

Senseless violence they called it
I’m not so sure

The blinding flash of the explosion
The numbing punch of the shockwave
The deafening roar of the collapsing wall
The bitter taste of the settling dust
The acrid smell of the burning rubble

Mindless violence?
Maybe.
Senseless?
I’m not so sure.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2010

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The Dusty Curtain

The dust gathers on the old curtain
When it was last drawn I’m not certain
It looks so forlorn
All battered and worn
And even it’s seams have got dirt in!

(c) Rich Clarkson 2010

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Immovable

Along the boundary line where land meets sea
The cliff face leaves the sand behind to rise
A barrier, firm against the spray and breeze
A match for howling gale and rising tides.
Each day it’s there, each day it stands its ground
The frontline in a battle centuries old
A fearsome foe, immovable and sound
unstirred by rain or shine, by heat or cold.
But water takes a longer view of things
Each day attack, retreat, attack again
And slowly, oh so slowly it begins
to chip away each tiny little grain.
Immovable? of that I’m not so sure
that cliff seems slightly smoother than before.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2010

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The Paper Bird

On a cool August night something caught in my ear
and I turned, astonished by the sound that I heard;
Like the wind through the trees, though the air was still
I caught my fist glimpse of the paper bird.

In that moment the world seemed to fade away
as I gazed at the creature before me,
so graceful, so splendid, so fragile it seemed
like the ghost of a shadow, a spectre of glory.

As we stood there, alone but for the crescent moon
it fixed me with a steely gaze
which seemed to challenge my right to that moment,
under the stars, in the misty haze.

And then, as swiftly as it had appeared
it was gone, lost to the starlit sky,
and the world returned, like the incoming tide
washing over our world, the paper bird and I.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2010

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May your voice

May your voice,
That commands galaxies
and orders armies of angels,
speak to me

May your voice,
that paints the stars
and covers the cosmos with colour,
speak to me

May your voice
that inspires volcanoes
and gives rocks a reason to rejoice,
speak to me

May your voice,
that tells tales of time
and speaks of stories that span centuries,
speak to me

May your voice,
that knows the name
of every atom in existence,
speak to me

May your voice,
that evokes every emotion
and inspires every melody ,
that knows every passion, every pain, every prayer in me,
open my eyes and ears
and help me hear the heartbeat of Heaven
as you speak to me

(c) Rich Clarkson 2010

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Ode to a new notebook

A new start, full of promise unfulfilled
Blank pages wait for thoughts as yet unheard
An empty canvas waiting to be filled
With memories, poems, songs and empty words
Great works of art will sit with nonsense here
But on these pages all will find a home
Words of faith and hope, of joy and fear
Some to share and some for me alone
A snapshot of a period of time
Will one day lie within this humble book
And when this space is filled with verse and rhyme
We will return to take a closer look
But now we wait in keen anticipation
And listen in to hear the next creation

© Rich Clarkson 2009

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