Tag: story

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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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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Frog

There once was a frog
Who got lost in the fog
As he made his way over the road
He hopped and he hopped
But then his jaw dropped
As he saw that his boat had been towed
He’d parked on the side
Of a river so wide
And he thought that it would be ok
But a grumpy old coot
Thought it would be a hoot
To carry his rowboat away

(c) Rich Clarkson 2017

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Bible Memory Poem II (The Gospels)

As a boy Jesus loved to learn all about God
Told his friends: “follow me, fish for people, not cod!”
When people in need came to him he would heal them
And teaching the crowds he’d take truths and reveal them
His miracles they were the talk of the town
And his stories could make people think, laugh and frown
“Who is this amazing man?” asked everyone
Only Peter knew how to reply: “he’s God’s son!”
“Yes I am”, Jesus said, “I’m the truth, the life, the way”
Then “our Father in Heaven” he taught them to pray
The crowds cheered, but some of them weren’t so impressed
And after the last supper they came for his arrest
They killed him and buried him but that wasn’t the end
Jesus rose from the dead so now God is our friend!

(c) Rich Clarkson 2016

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Bible Memory Poem I (The Old Testament)

In the beginning God made it all
Then Abraham and Sarah followed God’s call
But their family was messy – Jacob tricked Esau
And Joseph went to Egypt following dreams he saw.
The Egyptians enslaved them but God called out Moses
Who led them to freedom from under their noses.
God gave them commandments to show right from wrong
And judges – like Deborah – to help them along.
Ruth was a foreigner but God called her in
And her great-grandson David became their best king.
But some kings forgot God so to exile they went
Then God called Isaiah, and a message he sent:
“I’m coming myself to show you the way”
And so God became a baby on the first Christmas day.

(c) 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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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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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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