The lamplighter

The lamplighter, the man who beat the march of night with hardened soles on cobbles and brick and reached deep into the gloom to bring life.  Who turned the dampened streets a safe and sickly green as he walked. My grandfather told me of about the sacrifice of the lamplighter, to give the gift of light but to always face the dark.

But there are no lamplighters anymore.

The year of the poets and the prophets

This could be the year of the poets and the prophets.

Why not?

The politicians and profiteers have failed us, the powerful have had their way.

We’ve bowed down to the fear-mongers and fat-cats, who’ve divided us and made it pay.

This could be the year of the poets and the prophets, the artists and the authors, the makers and the movers, the strange and the sublime.

Through them old songs can be reborn and new storylines be told.

Through them there’ll be a place for poetry to fill and shift the soul.

They could paint the future rich in colours still not mixed,

and speak the whispered love language of heaven in our midst.

Could they teach us to abandon the desperate greed for power,

And seek a simple beauty in the patterns of a flower.

To stand and watch the sea breathe deep against the broken land,

And the whitening of the knuckles as we hold another’s hand.

Could this be a year of art, of story, verse and song,

Of the dreams in colourful compassion we’ve painted for so long.

A year of risk and possibility, of creativity and love.

Of tales and tunes that tell of hope and launch us high above.

To look upon this world we walk with eyes that see the new.

So let the poets weave their spells and the prophets speak of you.

Advent 36

To be in the time between times,

The moment swollen with what might happen.

In recent days new depth has been found.

New love met, new family made.

We sat together, healed and dreamed.

We talked of the past and the present till the night had faded around us.

We drank and ate together, stopped to hear stories and struggles.

We’ve shared so much so far!

We found new words and span poetry in the dark.

We painted each other’s colours and sang each other’s songs.

We argued and fought, doing what lovers and siblings do.

Our path has changed me, it is changing me.

Together we got to this place, and now we pause to breathe.

It might not be our choice to stop here, but here we are.

In the time between times,

In the place between places.

This isn’t the end, it can’t be. But it’s not the beginning. We left that months behind.

This is a space to be still, to rest, to breathe, to eat and celebrate. To be grateful for where we have got to and to let go of worry about where we will go.

What we do know is that we have been bound together and we will begin again together.

Our time is not over.

Our time will be soon.

This is the time between times.