Dark Magnificence

Born of blackest blackness

Without a trace of light

No candle glow

No single flame

To pierce the lens of sight

When out of dark magnificence

Mighty bang ensued

Veiled pitch relieved

All light redeemed

Every hope imbued.

Blessed be dark magnificence

Malevolence was torn

Atomic thunder

Shafted curse

Sight, to us, was born.

 

Blown Away

Awestruck at the wonder of creation,

Cosmic power inherent in the gas,

Range of teeming life from evolution,

Big history depicted by deGrasse.

I’m watching and I’m filled wth admiration,

My mind bown out of shape by all I hear,

My soul expanding, replicating universe,

Birthed from dust, the ashes of a star,

Blown upon by breath, behold the heavens,

Sculpted by the hand of something grand,

Evolved in seconds of the cosmic calendar,

Like creation story, biblical by man.

The wonder is we wonder and still flounder,

Fighting for a smidgen of the teeniest of tiniest of parts,

Makes me think we’re stupid, don’t deserve it,

Till we live the wonder present in our hearts.

One glass in hand, my feet put up and gazing,

Not at heavens but at man – mere Man – unfolding all my dreams,

Bliss upon a Friday – and all days –

Lost among the stars where nothing’s as it seems.

 

 

Anna

I lay abed, lazy, this morning,

My 7 year-old wrapped in my arms,

Answering myriad questions,

Curiosity, (her default position!),

Just one of her many sweet charms.

Questions and reasons for answers

Leading to topics anew,

Pride in her thoughtful responses, humour

At so young, so much known, so true.

I lay abed, glad of the chances

To inform inquisitive mind,

Not surprised in the least but delighted

Her queries help me to open and find

Fresh ways of seeing the present,

The past, the memories we’ve shared,

Future unfolding before us, my fruit,

My treasures not spared

In giving, receiving, in loving,

She warms right through to my core,

My youngest, my sweet little Anna,

One of seven I truly adore.

My Weans

When my 20 year old daughter said she wanted a ‘family tree’ picture I thought she meant gathered around the Christmas tree. Nope. IN the apple tree! So we did. Down the garden, through the wet grass, up the tree. Not the adults. We’re not stupid! We loitered around the trunk.  My 24 year old daughter and 23 year old son started on their patter and my jaws ached from laughing. All my kids about me for Christmas. Sister and her three, brother, future son-in-law. Magical times. Fifteen gathered to eat, drink, chat, laugh and celebrate. And all to do again for New Year. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I’ll be needing a holiday at the end of this.

To chat a while –

an hour

or ten –

and know you understand.

And in the understanding, know

that you are understood.

An implicit sort of knowing,

born of love’s connection.

Blessed,

Acceptance,

Joy,

Amazement,

Proud,

Privileged.

In awe.

These,

my own.

I am unworthy,

but not.

I must have had

something to do with

who they are,

how they are,

the wonder they are;

their personalities,

characters,

humour.

Thanksgiving,

we don’t have,

as some do.

But I have,

in measure fullest.

Blessed,

Acceptance,

Joy,

Amazement,

Proud,

Privileged.

In awe.

All twice.

And again

tomorrow

and every day hence.

Magic And Miracles

‘You’re a big liar!’ Niece to my brother. ‘You said the tooth fairy was true!’

‘But you asked me again and again and again. What was I supposed to do?’

Stomped off to her room, stormed out in a huff,

Back minutes later, still not at all chuffed.

 

‘What about Santa? Is he a big fake?’

‘I can’t answer this. The truth you can’t take.’

‘I can! I can! I want to know! Is it Santa that comes or just you?’

‘Weeelll…..Santa’s a story to make things exciting but mum and I make your wishes come true.’

 

‘I hate you! You’re mean! And so is my mum! Why did you spoil it for me?’

‘You begged for the truth, now can’t take it. It’s all magic, like the Christmas tree.’

Some fair time later, niece reappears, eyes narrowed, a pout on her lips,

Staring at brother with such great intent, legs akimbo, hands on her hips.

 

‘So, Jesus, then. Is that all a story to make a little girl good?

Did you make him up too to keep me in check? It’s a conspiracy in the whole neighbourhood!

I’m stamping my feet ‘cos I’m angry at you. And at mum. You both make me sick!

Lying to me and both of my brothers. Is that what you do for your kicks?!’

 

‘Now, calm down sweetheart. Sit while I speak and the truth I’ll offer to you.

If you can take it then you’ve done some growing. Will you listen? Calmly? Please do.’

Sat on the sofa, still pursing lips but a questioning look in her eyes,

A pleading for sense in dreams all distorted. And new hope so she would not despise

 

Her parents and life and all those around her who promised then laughed in your face.

At ten, such a burden, to question the all then discover that words may be laced

With hurt so acute it’s a physical sore

An ache deep inside, right through to the core.

 

‘Now here is the truth. I want you to listen. Say naught till I’ve finished then ask

Any and all questions you may have. This, your poor daddy’s task.

All you’ve been told is real for a while,

Magic ensues. It all made you smile.

 

Fairies in myth and Santa in legend, unicorns from stories you’ve heard,

Monsters in lochs, aliens on planets. Some just exist in your head.

Most is imaginative and feeds little children. Adults wish they could hold fast

To all that you’ve heard from me and your mother. We wish the magic could last.

 

But time takes its toll and friends tell you snippets and magic begins to erode.

But never doubt Jesus, I’ve never lied about that. He is the son of our God.

He fills you with magic more real than a story, an infusing of God’s Holy Spirit

And miracles are better than magic, I tell you. God gives them without any limit.

 

I’d ask for your trust to return to your soul, your belief in things we can’t see.

God gives that faith. It’s a gift, my darling. A gift that’s pouring through me.

I’ve no more to say except that I love you with a love that knows no real end.

It comes from the source of all that’s created. Jesus, my sweet, is your friend.

 

And He is mine, you’d better believe it. I couldn’t do this all by myself.

Your hurt hurts your father, I bleed when you bleed, I feel what you feel. You’re me.’

Runs up to hug him, to wipe away tears. To comfort the father, no less.

‘It’s ok, my daddy. I get what you’re saying. It’s all true and still magic. God bless.’

 

Well, Mark, not at all what I was expecting. But who knows the mysteries of nightly meanderings? 😉