Read some books
Sing some songs
Ride my bike from time to time
Cook some food
Play some games
Write some poems (make them rhyme)
Hug my parents
See my friends
Get a vaccine when it comes
Drink some coffee
Pray some prayers
That’s my plan for ’21
Rich Clarkson, New Year’s day 2021
The tree enters the new year much the same
as every year, with empty branches save
a few resigned leaves clinging to the flame
of life. They are not obstinate or brave
they are just there. It knows the old routine –
the long, hard nights as winter’s cold embrace
holds sap and sunlight captive. One day green
will wash away the whites and golds and greys
of winter, but for now the pale light shows
bare arms, snow-shrouded roots. A narrow ring,
engraved upon the heartwood as it grows,
will hold this winter tree’s remembering.
The year is done and much is gained and lost,
all held within the tree ring and the frost.
Rich Clarkson, New Year’s Eve 2020
I wrote this song years ago, to tell the Christmas Story from Joseph’s perspective!
Hello, My name is Joe
I was a carpenter in Nazareth a long time ago
This is my story, it’s one that you might know.
You see Mary, my wife to be,
She got pregnant but the dad wasn’t me
So I planned to divorce her quietly
But then an angel appeared in my dream
He said “things aren’t quite what they seem
And I know it’s hard, I know it’s scary
But you’ve got to stick with Mary
This child is God’s own son
This has been God’s plan since time begun
And it won’t be easy, it’s gonna be tough
But God’s strength will be enough for you.”
So I went back to my wife
I said “I’ll stick with you for the rest of my life
This is God’s son, His name is Jesus Christ.
I don’t know what the neighbours will say
And our family will probably turn us away
but I know it’s gonna be okay.”
So we went on down to Bethlehem
And he was born in a manger in a stable and then
Word must have got out as to where we’d be cos
A bunch of shepherds came to see us
They told us that some angels had appeared in the sky
And told them ’bout the baby who was God on high
So they left their sheep in the fields and came
‘Cos to see God’s child would be enough for them.
Next on the scene came three wise men
Bringing gifts of gold, myrrh and frankincense
Then they told us what these presents meant
Gold for a king who will reign on high
Incense for a priest who will glorify the Lord
And myrrh for the death he is going to die
Then all our guests went their separate ways
But the king heard the word and he went a bit crazy
and killed all the boys below the age of three but
We managed to escape and we went to Egypt
As time went on my boy grew strong
He had a pretty clear view of what was right and wrong
He didn’t mind when times got tough
Because God’s word was always enough
Then one day the pharisees got fed up
They nailed my boy to a wooden cross
And they left him there and they watched him die
But three days later he was up and alive
And he wants us to give him our hearts and lives
For the promise of the glory of eternal life
He doesn’t say it’s easy, no it’s going to be tough
But if we follow Him He’ll be enough for us.
(c) Rich Clarkson 2007(ish!)
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 saviour
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 saviour.
II
May the Lord, when he comes
find us watching and waiting
Not hesitating or procrastinating
but ready to face him
to give an account
of our time, of our words
of the things that we’ve done
in his name
not with fear
not wanting to run
but claiming our prize
as his daughters and sons
to hear him say
‘now faithful servant, well done’
so we wait, we prepare
For we know he will come
We may not know when
but we know he will come
we may not know how
but we know he will come
So we get ourselves ready
because when he does come
like a thief in the night
or with trumpets and drums
all our worries and fears will be gone
when he comes.
III
That is the hope
that is the promise
And yes there are days
when it seems what’s to come
is a long way away
so we watch and we pray
and say ‘Your kingdom come’
yes, and ‘your will be done’
then we work to make it true
that’s all we can do.
Because our king is coming
as surely as spring
but while winter is here
we shall not fear a thing
For 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
So this candle is a reminder
As we wait in the night
That the dawn is coming soon
And we will see our saviour.
As I was a riding down by the canal
I spotted a kingfisher racing along
And as he drew near me I heard him say
I’m off and away, I’m off and away, I’m off and away
Well then he flashed past me like lightning and gold
And I watched him travel between water and trees
But no word of mine could compel him to stay
I’m off and away, I’m off and away, I’m off and away.
Then I blinked and I found the kingfisher was gone
And the water was calm and the leaves they were still
But the song that he left echoed round me all day
I’m off and away, I’m off and away, I’m off and away
Rich Clarkson, November 2020
My memory is a woodland grove of trees
who, down the years, have joined with me in prayer.
For such a long time I was unaware
Of quite how deeply my roots joined with these
Companions who, while steadfast in their place,
Have walked with me on paths of pain and grace.
There was the Hawthorn, clinging to the rocks
Where I sought shelter from the driving rain,
The fragile Birch outside the window pane
Where we would pray beneath the tower blocks,
The Chestnut, lightning scarred yet resolute,
Into my prayers these trees have taken root.
So now, as I seek stillness for my praying,
I find their rustling leaves, their branches swaying.
© Rich Clarkson, 2020
The blue black beetle
Scuttled to safety, until
The adder had her
Rich Clarkson, September 2020
Everyone wants the troops home by Christmas
We want things back to how they used to be
And yet, as time goes on, we know that this just
Isn’t going to disappear. We see
The constant stream of rules and regulations
Rewriting risk assessments once again
The protocols and COVID-mitigations
Allow life to go on, but heal no pain.
So how do we adjust to this existence
Where none of us imagined we would be?
How can we perform acts of resistance
to help us in this new normality?
Go! find a stream! Sit under a Sycamore!
Watch a seagull circle in the sky!
Or, if that doesn’t work for you then pick a more
Personal way to get yourself outside!
If Spring brings hope, then Autumn teaches patience
When flourishing is no longer a choice
We shed our weary leaves and, in the spacious
emptiness, await the still small voice.
Rich Clarkson, September 2020
After Reading Mary Oliver, I Hoover The Lounge
(For Lucy Jeffries)
******
The hairy black spider
That went to her death
In the hoover’s red throat
Was my small Sister,
And the girl
With the white fear
Like a shroud on her head
Who is laughing now with great delight
In the dining room
Is my tall thin Sister.
My heart dresses in black
And dances.
Rich Clarkson, August 2020
I Found A Stick
———————–
While walking in the woods below the Edge
I found a stick blown down by last night’s storm.
I wasn’t looking for it, but was drawn
along a winding path which led me to
a pair of Birch trees, standing guard beside
a Chestnut. It was from one of these trees
that my particular stick had once been part
before Storm Francis (we’ll return to that)
had sent it tumbling wildly to the ground.
I picked it up and weighed it in my hand
then with my penknife rounded off the ends
which had been damaged by its recent fall.
The bark that clothed my stick, which on first glance
looked just like any other stick, now shone
with colour: green and white and bronze and more
whose names I do not know, if they have names
at all. If this were in a gallery
it would be honoured as a masterpiece
but it was simply on a winding path
beneath the Edge, where none but me passed by.
St Francis, after whom the storm was named,
(or not, I do not know) taught us to see
our fellow creatures as God’s children too,
with whom we share this wild and winding world.
And so as I walked home I held my stick,
a masterpiece of colour, shape and form,
thankful that I’d been blessed to receive
a gift from Sister Birch and Brother Wind.
Rich Clarkson, August 2020
It has been the strangest of Holy Weeks, with no services and no gatherings. However this unexpected interruption has left time and space for noticing and contemplating the beauty of nature. One thing that struck me today was that, as the hedgerows begin to fill with greenery, the hawthorns are the first to blossom seasoning the hedgerows with beautiful white flowers. The contrast of flower and thorn resonated with our Easter celebrations and gave rise to this poem/song.
As a strange and unseen shadow slowly spreads
Encircling our lives with its fierce thorns
And pinning down our plans with its dark threads
The hawthorn in the hedgerow blooms with beauty
As pandemic presses pause on our affection
Keeping us away from those we love
And though painful separation means protection
The hawthorn in the hedgerow blooms with beauty
And in this moment of great dislocation
Where normal life has been turned on its head
Our minds turn to another separation
While the hawthorn in the hedgerow blooms with beauty
As darkness fell and fierce thorns decorated
As separation drew both blood and tears
He who is love, in love was isolated
And the hawthorn in the hedgerow blooms with beauty
Yet in those empty days of fear and sorrow
Where hope felt frail, another unexpected
Emptiness gave hope for all tomorrows
And the hawthorn in the hedgerow blooms with beauty
As the hawthorn in the hedgerow blooms with beauty
And the bright sun rises on another day
We find new strength in knowing absolutely
That even in the thorns life and love will always find a way
(c) Rich Clarkson 2020
© Rich Clarkson 2020
Rich Clarkson Poetry 