Glasgow Green with Nelson monument and People's Palace 

All photos PH

The page psalm of myself is an ongoing exploration, a work-in-progress

See editing page for my Editing and Proofreading services

The Invitation 

 

The reeds growing thickly, clogging the stream

are dug and pulled and piled on the bank;

the sluggish clunk of the mill-wheel quickens

to a workmanlike chug, clearing, in time,

pondweed and watercress, leaves and green slime;

the water runs clear and at early morning

the kingfisher’s back, a flame in the shadows.

After summer’s stagnation, late August brings

an invitation, a blue flash, my heart sings.

Prayer to the Beloved

 

Great spirit, who exists at my core  

and in whom I exist: I am thankful,  

in awe and delight at your closeness. 

Fill and take over the land of my life, 

and open before me the road I must go. 

You present me with wealth of body and mind;

I am sorry that I continually hurt 

and neglect other people, thinking of myself.

And I let go of their hurting of me. 

You are there beyond the places of evil  

where I end up, in denial and weakness;

you offer ways through, ways to grow. 

You are here, oh beloved,

always have been, always will be. 

 

Untitled sonnet

 

Now I am old and grey and tend to grouch

and groan, bemoan the bits that ache, complain

and blame the world for who I have become,

and looking back at what I did in life

and did not do, and hurt and was hurt by,

it seems survival’s price was paid in hope.

But when I learn to love this ageing self

a light appears anticipating dawn,

illuminating purpose in the world:

how ordinary people are so kind,

how others, finding courage, live their truth,

how more than ever human hearts can feel

another’s pain. Within these fateful times

the burning fuse of our evolving shines.

 

To my Unknown Grandmother

 

You held me once, I do not remember –

I, a baby and you, an old lady.

In the worn, inter-war photograph

you beam in your monochrome garden,

gaunt and poor, stone-deaf, full of joy.

I think since then you’ve always been with me –

somebody has, invisibly guiding –

a warmth running through me, a lifting of thoughts,

hands holding me back from the fatal edge

to which I was drawn too many times. How

can I thank you when I cannot meet you

except when we pass, unremembered at night?

 

Grace lands

 

Sometimes grace explodes –

a blast of bliss

like the hit of a drug

and you hope maybe this

will last for ever.

 

But most times, grace lands disregarded,

a seed in damp earth silently settles

and if you let the pain of its rooting

penetrate you,

before you know it, branches of joy

and leaves of contentment

shelter the heart,

and in cool green shadow

a pillar of oak

stands at your centre.

                                                                       .

God's Bucket

 

If thankfulness for this dear life

rich with the wealth of ample living

rosy the health of simple living

joy in the love of even one other

strong in the love of even oneself

safe in the love of that which gives life –

if this does not rise, a well within,

then quietly sit and with God’s bucket

haul it up: practise the work of gratitude.

Soon it bubbles and surges – here it comes

sparkling – inundates, irrigates, floods

the glad fields, opens new channels,

becomes a new habit.

 

                    Mill race at Island House, Fordham

Do not pray

Do not pray and live the ordered life

because you ought to; go and live

to your extreme until you fail and fall

and find you cannot live unless

you pray and live the ordered life.