Twenty-first Century Prayer

O, Lord, let not my Bluetooth fail

Make all my passwords strong.

Protect my battery from all harm

And make its lifespan long.

O, Lord, may all my tweets be great.

And many find them witty.

May hosts of favourites come my way

And not just out of pity.

O, Lord, when I am in my car

Turn all the lights to green.

If birds should fly above me

Keep their crap from my windscreen.

O, Lord, make sure my TV shows

Don’t meet a sticky end.

Keep spoilers from my eyes and ears

Lest I should lose a friend.

O, Lord, deliver tasty food:

The type that comes with fries.

But keep its stores of harmful fat

From clinging to my thighs.

O, Lord, I do the lottery.

Please help me win a prize,

So I can have these bags removed

From underneath my eyes.

O, Lord, my dryer’s on the blink

Please make it work again.

Or failing that, just stop the rain

Until it’s fixed. Amen!

Lie

It startles me how easily the lies stack up

Until they form a wall.

Why ‘the voice of reason’?

Where are the eyes and ears of reason?

Twisting your fingers into the gaps of despair,

You can pry open a doorway

And climb in.

The weakest are your primary prey.

Oh, how you love to crow!

“I speak for you!”

You lie!

What walls can keep your vicious rumours out?

Walls of truthfulness?

Clear, unvarnished reality

The only answer, but one that is hard to find.

With cameras on every side, we still don’t know for sure

Which way we’re facing.

Bound Haiku

Blow, winds of reaping,

Carrying the time away.

Leave no signs behind.

 

Sing, songs of searching,

Hurrying to break of day.

What hope will you find?

 

Run, rivers flowing,

Wandering. No means to stay.

No mere rocks can bind.

 

Here, at the ending.

Wondering which words to say.

Choosing the wrong kind.

Dawn Bats

They came as though from nowhere,

Melting into existence,

Wisps of grey against the silver streaks,

Wheeling and tumbling,

Bats returning at dawn.

Silent in the overhead, they catch the eye

And keep it until they’re gone.

Vanishing in the same arcane way.

As time paints over the silver with gold and blue,

Leaving me standing.

Staring at the sky.

Blind Turn

At the blind turn, I pressed the horn,

Not knowing what might be around the curve.

Slowing to a crawl, I inched into dangerous possibilities.

No need for concern, the way was empty.

At the blind turn, I wondered if this were the best way forward.

Sometimes it’s better not to know.

But sometimes it’s better to divert.

Anybody’s guess.

 

At the blind turn, I held my breath,

Not knowing what might be around the curve.

Slowing to a stop, I put the car into reverse and drove

Backwards away from the turn, unsettled.

At the blind turn, I saw it would not have been wise to go forward.

Swiftly, the other car passed me.

This time, I’d been right to divert.

Lucky guess.

New Eyes

Suddenly, as if with new eyes I see

This place.

Having passed this way a thousand times or more,

I’m thrown into a panic,

As though lost.

These old bricks, soiled by years of existence

Must have always been this way,

Or similar, for decades.

Today, without real change,

They look so different.

When I first saw this road

They may have been clean

But can’t have been new.

Older than I am,

They’ve watched me pass

And many more before me.

Is it possible that, today,

They have seen me with new eyes?

Do they wonder if I was ever

Untarnished by time?

i

i am the first in line

i am the dead of night

i am the silent witness

i am the speed of light

i cannot give you peace

i cannot hold your hand

i cannot fight your corner

i cannot understand

i come to turn the key

i come to clear the air

i come to face the music

i come to show you where

i make thetimerunfast

i make the words mean more

i make the tide go out

i make the rule of law

i stand outside the world

i stand above the rest

i stand for all your fears

i stand where i fit best

i am the last in line

i guide the dead by night

i leave no single witness

i take away the light

 

Park Bench

From the bench between the lampposts

I can see the path stretch off

To the distance through the trees and through the grass.

I can see the wrought-iron fence.

I can see the tangled shrubs.

I can see the winding road and cars that pass.

 

From the bench between the lampposts

I can see the open field

Where the families and friends spread out and play.

I can see the distant spire.

I can see the old café.

I can see the palm house hiding by the way.

 

From the bench between the lampposts

I can see the ground slope off

Where it gently forms a hill beside the lake.

I can see the beds of flowers.

I can see the tiny bridge.

I can see the perfect scene these features make.

I Wish

I wish I could read the thoughts of the birds.

I wish I could see the view of the wind.

I wish I could taste the eclipse of the moon.

I wish I could teach you to love.

 

I wish I could touch the cry of a child.

I wish I could hear the turn of the tide.

I wish I could find the reason for fish.

I wish I could teach you to love.

 

I wish I could hold the shine on a lake.

I wish I could dance on laughter and pain.

I wish I could leave my cares in a box.

I wish I could teach you to love.

 

I wish I could taste the thrill of the chase.

I wish I could sing the music of fear.

I wish I could carry the hills in my hands.

I wish I could teach you to love.

 

I wish I could ride the sound of the leaves.

I wish I could trap the years in my hands.

I wish I could tell the story of red .

I wish I could teach you to love.

All-nighter

Daytime crawls in from an all-night party,

Sheepish and trying to hide.

But given away by the racket of birds,

Holding sway outside.

It drags its soiled coat behind it,

Grey with a tinge of blue.

Trips on the milk on the doorstep

And stumbles its way up to you.

 

You’re in no mood to hear its reasons,

Tired from lying awake.

You don’t want to listen to any excuses,

Daytime might struggle to make!

You wish it would try

To creep in quietly,

Try not to wake the street!

Instead of creating a terrible rumpus

And tripping on its own feet.

 

Night doesn’t land like a cat on a bin lid,

Night comes with whispers and sighs.

Rivers of dusk and clouds of darkness

Drift in and fill up the skies.

While you aren’t looking, the evening creeps in,

Spreading its treasures your way,

Wrapping you up in its blanket of care

As certain as night follows day.