Knitted

In my mother’s womb you knitted me
My fabric fashioned from your own design.
As weft and warp were woven, even then
You knew what this frail form would one day be.
Each stitch, with love and care, was intertwined
And tied off with a heavenly “Amen!”.
But some threads are no longer firmly tied,
and edges, over time, have become frayed,
causing                   gaps to appear
revealing the unravelling inside.
We may indeed be “wonderfully made”,
but “fearfully” at times gives way to fear
yet one day God will take this threadbare frame
and weave it into beauty once again.

© Rich Clarkson 2017

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Coddiwomple

It was dark outside but with one pull
Of the bell the train slid to a stop
I leapt out and began to coddiwomple
In search of a hoped-for shop
I knew there was one near the station
So set of with a purposeful stride
To my as-yet-unknown destination
And the treasures awaiting inside.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2017

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Hidden

It is hidden
like a current beneath the waves
not thrashing and crashing and making a scene
not tossing and turning and clamouring for attention
but quietly, steadily, irresistably there.

It is hidden
like the trunk of a willow
As branches whip around in the wind
and leaves fly, and catkins cry out for fear of falling
In the turmoil it stands unmoved.

It is not found
in the stampede of the horse
or the silver words of the powerful
in the flashing diversions of billboards
or the honeyed lure of the bank balance

It is hidden
from all but those who seek it
those who are not turned
by the distractions that swirl
to the left and to the right

Those who know the still small voice
The word whispered close into the ear
“This is the way, walk in it”

© Rich Clarkson 2016

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Praise God for Humble Moss

Praise God for humble moss, without whom we,
Who live and breathe and leap and laugh and praise,
Could no more do such things. Praise God for days
Long past when mosses spread from sea to sea
A continental carpet breathing fresh
New life into the oxygen starved air.
Praise God for lungs which found that they could bear
To breathe this atmosphere. Praise God for flesh
Which crept and crawled and leapt and breathed and moved
Among the lichens, liverworts and ferns.
Praise God for life’s tenacity across
The ages as it gradually improved,
Evolved, developed hopes, dreams and concerns.
For all of this, praise God for humble moss.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2016

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Leftovers

“Not ’til you’ve finished your dinner”
Is the constant refrain on our lips
“Can I watch something?” “Can I get down?” “Can I play?”
“Not ’til you’ve finished your chips!”

“Can we go outside?” “Can we have a bath?”
“Can we put on our superman clothes?”
“when you’ve eaten what’s left on your plate first!”
“Oh, but that will take ages” “I KNOW!”

“Fine, just have four more then you can stop”
“Just have three more and then you are done”
“Just have two more big mouthfuls and then you can go”
“Come on open wide, here’s the last one…”

© Rich Clarkson 2016

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The Natural History Museum

The queue is long, the sun is shining down
upon the gathered hoards. With cameras primed
and guidebooks open ready for the day
they wait, though some more patiently than others.
Then, urged on by the bells, the great beast moves,
slithering its way towards the doors
like some vast prehistoric serpentine.

Transitioning from warm to cool, from light
to dark they make their way into the hall –
presided over by that well known frame,
which once inspired great fear, but now brings joy,
delight upon the faces of both young
and old, as Dippy watches over all.

Then from the central chamber’s beating heart
the crowds, like blood, are pumped around the whole:
through corridors, round galleries, up stairs.
And as its hushed tones rise towards a roar
the dormant building slowly comes to life.

This ancient silver-speckled behemoth
stands proudly as a creature in its prime
Sharing its age-old wisdom with the world
Revealing the secrets of another time.

© Rich Clarkson 2016

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The Little Cloud

Scudding across the sky like a gleefully skimmed stone
The little cloud made her way speedily home
Back towards the mountain where her journey began
In the gully on the hillside where the little stream ran

But the gully on the hillside seemed deeper than before
And the stream a little quicker to the valley floor
And the journey to the river and the river to the sea
Wasn’t quite what the cloud remembered it to be

Then the waves in the ocean and the pull of the sun
Reminded the cloud why she found this ride such fun
And as she got ready to turn back into rain
She cried out to her friends “Come on let’s do that again!”

(c) Rich Clarkson 2016

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Mind the Gap

I wonder what mysteries lie in the gap
‘twixt platform edge and train.
A place where lost footings and favourite toys go,
never to be seen again.

I wonder what creatures lie in the shadows
awaiting the opening door,
Looking for ankles that misjudge the leap
From carriage to station floor.

I wonder what pressure makes platforms recoil
When the train rolls to a stop
Turning slit into canyon, crack into rift,
Groove into bottomless drop.

But do not fear the looming gap
Nor mind the impending height,
For the dark may be conquered with one simple step
So take care as you alight.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2016

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The Session

The gathered few share tales and songs
As drinks are poured and memories raised,
And all join in, and all belong.

The tunes fly past the nearby throng,
Some are left cold, others amazed.
The gathered few share tales and songs.

There is no right, there is no wrong,
Songs are enjoyed and not appraised,
And all join in, and all belong.

Some know their craft, their voices – strong
With rounded tone – are neatly phrased.
The gathered few share tales and songs.

Some, though unconfident or young,
Still play their part, receive their praise,
And all join in, and all belong.

And when all voices sing along,
The rafters of the roof are raised!
The gathered few share tales and songs,
And all join in, and all belong.

© Rich Clarkson, 2016

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Existentialism

I exist. (I think…)

I think I do?

I do! (I know!)

I know I learn,

I learn, I find,

I find I see.

I see I am…

I am… I hope…

Me.

© Rich Clarkson, 2016

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Second Chance

I’ve often wondered whether, given a second chance,
I’d not just do the same thing as before?
Whether the benefit of hindsight or a change in circumstance
has made any kind of difference at all?

Sometimes, in an idle moment, I wonder how it would play out
if I had to go and do it all again.
But for all I’ve grown in wisdom, and for all I’ve learned about
the world, I know my weaknesses remain.

Now I could find this depressing, let it creep into my mind,
watch bitterness and self-doubt grow apace,
or I could, when sat reflecting, be honest about what I find
accept my flaws and surrender to grace.

Mistakes? they make us human. Regrets? they help us learn.
A backwards step can help us to advance.
We none of us are perfect, however hard we yearn
so go on, give yourself a second chance!

© Rich Clarkson, July 2016

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If

If a pacifist identifies fifty different rifles
If a squiffy drifter sniffs a whiff of aperitif
If an aquifer calcifies manifold cuneiform artifacts
If a shifty grifter testifies to terrifying a housewife
If a sheriff in midlife swiftly modifies his lifestyle
If a scientific lowlife recodifies conifer diffusion
The ramifications will be terrific

(c) Rich Clarkson 2016

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