Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves. When our dreams have come true because we dreamed too little. When we arrive safely because we have sailed too close to the shore. Disturb us, Lord.

to have the wisdom to love them back

"you really believe in love then?"

"Yeah...totally, this is a love story that is staggering everybody in the whole world that God really loves us alot....you can wipe my hands on my shirt if you want"

Its ME

I was begging at your feet-
cap in hand, sweater torn, head bowed
on the cold slabs of Mexico Street.
I cried inside as you walked past.
Where could you be heading?
Stop! Oh please…..not so fast!

Again I saw you that November day,
The snow fell and the wind blew cold
whilst under the bridge I lay,
The couch upon which I slept was damp,
But worse than that - my heart ached with loneliness
To the world and to you I am only a ‘tramp’.

The next time I saw you perhaps you never recognized me.
My face was bruised and swollen,
You stared straight ahead and you didn’t see.
I was cold, hungry and had no where to lie,
Crimson tears rolled into the gutter-
You glanced, looked away and then strode on by.

My dear, dear child – It is me!
Your Father, your saviour, your friend,
It is I who has set you free!
I cry to be shown love, clothed and fed.
Yet where is your compassion and love?
For have been raised with me and are no longer dead!


One day you will meet me face to face,
No longer in disguise,
You will celebrate the greatest love and be in awe of this scandalous grace.
So dear child remember me as I sit in the rain,
Don’t hurry on by without caring and offering help,
For remember love was my mission and love is my name!

I knew she wasnt English

I knew she wasn't English cause she spoke it far too well,
the grammar was goodly, the verbs as they should be
and the slang was bang on the bell.

And as the language barrier clanged and banged,
I couldn't hear, hear or see.
England, London and Bow,
Crumbling into the sea.

Inside a painting

The bench was green and pickered with rust.
We were shackled up against a rail
The air was sweet with song, the choral masters of the forest
serenading the tribulations between the lovers.
Thick paint never understood our emotion,
the realness of our life springing from the canvas.
"Oh capture us our wonderful creator. Your majestic hand rouses us", we cry aloud.
An existence inhabiting one's own imagination .
A memory, a dream, a poem - what a sensual snare the monotony of life can be,
The bench was green and pickered with rust,
Yet we lay on it and laughed,
And as the summer rain poured down
the paint disolved and reality was captured.