Thank You Lord

I took a bit of time to appreciate the beauty and sponaenity of God's creation yesterday as one of my favourite birds came right into my world early in the morning whilst getting in to work. It was a Jay, part of the crow family, but far from monochrome. They have the most interesting plumage, almost ashen grey and blues on top of smokey orange. Just a joy to watch. And there they were suddenly, two of them, one perched perched right on the wall, almost watching me rather than me, it. 

The two Jays revealed to me that wonder is right around the corner, and in the most unexpected of settings. There I was, admiring creation, standing looking up at a tree, watching these beautiful creatures. Reality slunk its weary head in fast, however, and I was reminded where I was and where I needed to be, but not before that same reality had given me a free and wonderful treat.

Even though we must live out our lives from day to day, we need to remember that God has a plan, and a purpose that can take us past seriously wonderful experiences and opportunities. It's our job to stop and appreciate those moments, which means we have to be looking out for them, even when we get used to things being pretty stable and seemingly uninteresting. 

Interest-able (kitchen sink)

Constable wrote of what he felt,

Do it all again and onagain.

Turntables and rusty old cables at the heart of the

Haywain.

Every grain of sand experienced as a grain of gas,

A fixture of dust before the Big Bang,

Stand on a shoulder of lemon giants and grass root

Badgers.

Cold irons bound in trouble, caught hand in hand,

Along side the Salisbury Plain, with a rainbow,

Come sundown, the rainbow is still sitting,

Underneath the spire,

There's ice creams for hire,

Over the miked up gem of disgrace and upgrades,

Speciality over and under, come rain, come shine,

I feel fine, do it all again and then some.

Grass garbage and a garage chimpanzee,

Itching for space amongst the car parts and forest grumps.

Novel Idea

A novel idea this way comes,

Breathing and cracking like an egg in a bowl.

Weaving and jumping up and down it survives,

In old and new ways coming up in a haze.

Cheeky and false, breaking its fall,

In stories are told,

In the folds of a paperback,

Lathered in fortune and singing,

Papers and writing sheets,

Mistakes and misprints,

Cautioned and concrete,

Brinked and barnacled

Tempered and placed in

That special spot.

Copper Kettle

Hey pretty copper kettle,

There's something wrong with you.

You've got a steaming headache,

You just have to move away from that 

Burning hob.

The heat is sensational,

There's red hot vapour in the middle,

You can't get through and the only

Way out is to cool right down.

Hey conventional copper kettle,

You're tarnished and green.

You belong to some forgotten age,

To some Bronze Age studio,

Raking and stoning the cold hard floor,

Of the kiln.