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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