Virtual Methodist

My second collection of poetry "Hedge Songs" has just been published, and you can come along to the launch event at Grosvenor House, Belfast, on Friday 27th  February at 7.30pm,  with tickets available through Eventbrite at  https://tinyurl.com/hedgesongs   I'll be posting more details about the event and the book in the run up to it. But in thinking about it, my brain is clearly back in "poetry-mode" as I have been writing a lot of new stuff recently, which I will post here in the coming days interspersed with some of the material from the new book. First up is this short piece written in the wake of the controversy about Bad Bunny's Superbowl half time show (full disclosure, I watched neither the match nor the show), and tax dodging patriot Sir Jim Radcliffe's views on immigration. They’re speaking a different language That I don’t understand. It makes me want to drive them From this once great land. They could be planning anything... Perha...

A brand new piece inspired by John 3: 16, John 1: 16 and Philippians 2: 6 written specifically for last night's superb event at the 4 Corners Festival, with Bishop Rose Hudson-Wilkin (pictured with planning team member Iona Holt) speaking powerfully about "The Journey So Far" in St. Brigid's Catholic Parish Church on St. Brigid's Day. For God so loved the world that he gave... For God so loved this city that he gave... For God so loved you, and even me, that he gave... And he gave, and he gave, and he gave, And he gives and he gives, and he gives, Grace piled upon grace already given. For we so lusted after everything that we grasped... We so lusted after forbidden fruit that we grasped... So lusted after wealth and power that we grasped... So lusted after our neighbour’s land that we grasped... So lusted after our neighbour’s ass and wife that we grasped and groped, Gracelessly grasping from the beginning. But God still loved the world so much that he gave... Go...

Written in the light of the brutal death of Renee Nicole Good, a mother and award winning poet, who previously served on Christian mission in Northern Ireland. Some poems are predictable, With a fixed rhythm, rhyme and form. Some are pastoral and romantic  Painting uplifting pictures with words. Others are more disturbing Exploring unsettling events and emotions, Devoid of metre or stanza, And with lines cut off. But whatever the form Or subject matter, The best poems live on Beyond their reading, Even when they are cut short By a bullet... Selah

As I said in a previous re-blog of this monologue, it may seem out of tune withe the tinsel and bright lights of this time of year but its based on the lectionary reading from the Gospel if Matthew for today, and seems pertinent given the challenges some people I know are facing at present. The voice of one calling in the wilderness – prepare the way for the Lord… Never were there more ironic words in scripture… They shaped my life… my ministry… I was ready to bring down the high and mighty to make the foundations for that highway in the wilderness… preparing the way for God’s chosen one… But honestly, I wasn’t really prepared myself… And to tell the truth I have felt more like I was in the wilderness over recent weeks and months than all those years in the howling wastes of desert around the Dead Sea… Was I right? Was he the one? Or was all I had done wasted? I’ve had too much time to think… You would think I would be used to that given that I had spent years alone in the ...

I am being very environmentally friendly with all the recycling of old stuff... For the various seasonal services I've been planning I've largely been using pieces by other poets, rather than writing anything new myself... I just have not had the creative energy. And even with these blogs, where I have been delving into my back-catalogue to reflect where I feel I am at the moment, I find that many of my words and ideas are second-hand. Last week I offered a piece inspired in large part by Janet Lees. Here in this one written in the dark days (and nights) of the 2020 pandemic lockdown, which speaks into how I've been feeling in recent days, I have shamelessly stolen from Christina Georgina Rossetti and St. John of the Cross.  Middle of the night, midwinter As bleak as any I’ve known With no snow on snow To cover the decay underfoot. Awake awaiting the dawn Enfolded in the echoing dark The cold silence pregnant With potential, blessing, piercing. But the archangel...

A poem included in my first published collection of poetry " Doodlings and Doggerel " with the dedication "After Isaiah, John the Baptist and Janet Lees." The first two are obvious. The third is a poet who contributed a similar piece to the Christian Aid Advent and Christmas anthology "Shine On" and which I only unearthed years after writing various versions of what follows, realising how her cire concept and phraseology had worked its way into my thinking. It confirmed for me what I have long believed... that I am a literary magpie... stealing shiny words,  phrases and ideas from others to repurpose them...  But good art should always influence and inspire others, prompting not just the theft and recycling of words, but a chain reaction of creativity. So as I reblog/recycle my own words this morning msy they prompt some sort of response in you my reader/s. There’s still a lot of crying in the wilderness, In the post-industrial wastelands, The ...