Four more poems

Published on 30 Jan 2017

by Ged Johnson

 

Woodland Chapel

Sun rising slowly, spring nearing

gently.

Plants bowing to God;

to God sitting in the middle of it all,

allowing it to happen

gently

- in its own time.

No pressure, no vision, no flash, no miracle;

nothing extraordinary…

Yet, is it not here that we find the miracle;

in the ordinary?

In rising sun and nearing spring,

in sentinel trees and still air,

in grey skies and snow-capped distant mountains!

 

Affection

Today,

through the top, right-hand, corner of the chapel window,

and silhouetted against grey sky,

I noticed two birds on a high branch.

Now, I may be mistaken,

but to me they seemed to be huddled together,

in warmth of feather,

one leaning on the breast of the other.

Even amongst the least of God's creatures

such affection does not go unnoticed.

 

Incarnation

Spiral of joy

Dancing over a dark earth.

Three 'Yesses', ringing as one,

Herald the pouring out

- the Dancer is coming to town…

But like unnoticed dew,

Like silent dawn,

Like gentle rain,

Like whispering breeze,

Like patient spring,

Like sleeping baby.

God, though he was God,

Took nine months like everyone else.

 

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree

Trees are supposed to stand upright and tall,

not proud or aloof, but majestic: sure of who they are.

This one was lying flat on its back,

on the city pavement.

It had been hacked in its youth for some short Christmas days,

and was now discarded to die on the cold concrete slabs.

It made me mad to see it still green,

its life still coursing through its branches,

but already condemned by the blows of the axe.

Christmas should be a time of peace and goodwill to all trees.

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