Sentinel stands …
Expectant father ...
Hospice nurse …
Awaiting … Awaiting …
Life or death bearing moment
That is yet to come
Watching … Watching …
Over family, ward or city
Scanning farther horizons
Seeing … Seeing …
Beyond the parapets
That limit others' vision
Discerning … Discerning …
The signs of hope or fear
Untroubled, unshaken
By familiar sounds and sights
Guarding … Guarding …
The Peace …
Awaiting Shalom
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Poem - The Clown
The Clown…
Furtive in the escape I make from all that has to be
Wanting to reassure, and seem at set at peace
I trust and share in the honesty of mirrored laughter
But the clown, the fool has in time to come off-stage
And as the weariness of life's journey is felt in one's feet
So their embrace in warming water softens the heart
And the clownish smile, the makeup and pretence
Are washed away, soothed and disturbed into tears
Then the gentle touch in drying affirms and values
Meets the tension and ticklishness of fears and doubts
And patiently brings them from death to life
So now the clown's tears are real and free
The act, the script, the audience, the stage
All are vanished away
And there is no more script to play the fool
Vulnerable, himself, the clown does not know who he is,
And all the cheers, the smiles, seem far away
Silent, restless, I feel the pain of compromise,
The death-dealing self-annihilation of performance
The anger of walking paths that others choose
The frustration in wanting freedom to improvise,
The hypocrisy of living ill at ease with gut-feeling,
And knowing that death seems easier than change.
And in the pain, the anguish that churns the soul
Death to one's self, life to the script, seems the answer
Till gentle, caring lips that have met with feeling
Speak in tender poetic words and touch deep
Deeper than the most passionate embrace
Until the clown knows that he must be himself
Lay aside the make-up, costume and ruddy nose
And cry no more painted tears, but only my own.
Furtive in the escape I make from all that has to be
Wanting to reassure, and seem at set at peace
I trust and share in the honesty of mirrored laughter
But the clown, the fool has in time to come off-stage
And as the weariness of life's journey is felt in one's feet
So their embrace in warming water softens the heart
And the clownish smile, the makeup and pretence
Are washed away, soothed and disturbed into tears
Then the gentle touch in drying affirms and values
Meets the tension and ticklishness of fears and doubts
And patiently brings them from death to life
So now the clown's tears are real and free
The act, the script, the audience, the stage
All are vanished away
And there is no more script to play the fool
Vulnerable, himself, the clown does not know who he is,
And all the cheers, the smiles, seem far away
Silent, restless, I feel the pain of compromise,
The death-dealing self-annihilation of performance
The anger of walking paths that others choose
The frustration in wanting freedom to improvise,
The hypocrisy of living ill at ease with gut-feeling,
And knowing that death seems easier than change.
And in the pain, the anguish that churns the soul
Death to one's self, life to the script, seems the answer
Till gentle, caring lips that have met with feeling
Speak in tender poetic words and touch deep
Deeper than the most passionate embrace
Until the clown knows that he must be himself
Lay aside the make-up, costume and ruddy nose
And cry no more painted tears, but only my own.
Poem - You are the prisoner of yourself
You are the prisoner of yourself,
You hold the key
and you want to throw it away
To remain secure in your hell
Tried, convicted and sentenced
By yourself as prosecution,
Judge and jury
But because you hold the key
We on the other side
Of your prison walls
Who forgive and love you
Feel prisoners too
We long to see you free
Not of memory by denial
But free to be wise
As only we who have failed can be
Free to risk the tears
Of pain and grief and anger
At all that has been
Could have been
And was not
Free to risk the joy
Of all that can be
Free to laugh with your eyes
To show the raw emotion that tells
of how you have faced the edge of life
- hopelessness, fear, rage and death -
and to show that love which rages still
that won't give up
Dare then to lay hold of the key
dare to open wide the prison door
Dare to accept yourself
As we accept you.
You hold the key
and you want to throw it away
To remain secure in your hell
Tried, convicted and sentenced
By yourself as prosecution,
Judge and jury
But because you hold the key
We on the other side
Of your prison walls
Who forgive and love you
Feel prisoners too
We long to see you free
Not of memory by denial
But free to be wise
As only we who have failed can be
Free to risk the tears
Of pain and grief and anger
At all that has been
Could have been
And was not
Free to risk the joy
Of all that can be
Free to laugh with your eyes
To show the raw emotion that tells
of how you have faced the edge of life
- hopelessness, fear, rage and death -
and to show that love which rages still
that won't give up
Dare then to lay hold of the key
dare to open wide the prison door
Dare to accept yourself
As we accept you.
Poem - Winter
Winter
Like a garden
Cleared of a seasons glory of growth now past
Dug over deep and opened to the harshness
Of penetrating frost and icy cold
Bearing no fruit and dying in the hope of spring
Winters waiting and wounding time is now
Like a garden
Cleared of a seasons glory of growth now past
Dug over deep and opened to the harshness
Of penetrating frost and icy cold
Bearing no fruit and dying in the hope of spring
Winters waiting and wounding time is now
Rudolf - Latin lyrics
Rudolf
Rubriconasus reno
Nasum habuit rubrum,
Siquandoque videres
Diceres et igneum.
Et ceteri renones
Hilares irridebant;
Rubriconasum ludos
Ludere suos vetant.
(Sed) Christi nataliciis
Santa “Nebulis”
Inquit “naso ludico,
Duc mi traham, obsecro”.
Tum ceteri renones
Cacchinnant hilariter
“Rubriconase Reno,
Celebraberis semper”.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Rubriconasus reno
Nasum habuit rubrum,
Siquandoque videres
Diceres et igneum.
Et ceteri renones
Hilares irridebant;
Rubriconasum ludos
Ludere suos vetant.
(Sed) Christi nataliciis
Santa “Nebulis”
Inquit “naso ludico,
Duc mi traham, obsecro”.
Tum ceteri renones
Cacchinnant hilariter
“Rubriconase Reno,
Celebraberis semper”.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Bill Bailey - Latin lyrics
Bill Bailey
Veni domum Bill Bailey,
Veni domum,
Diutius abes.
Lances lavabo ipsa,
Mercedulam
Dabo, iniusta sum.
Ubi nocte pluebat,
Te expuli
Cum pectine solum.
Nocens fui,
Vae mihi,
Bill Bailey veni iam domum
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Veni domum Bill Bailey,
Veni domum,
Diutius abes.
Lances lavabo ipsa,
Mercedulam
Dabo, iniusta sum.
Ubi nocte pluebat,
Te expuli
Cum pectine solum.
Nocens fui,
Vae mihi,
Bill Bailey veni iam domum
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Roll over Beethoven - Latin lyrics
Roll over Beethoven
Epistulam scripturus tum missurus sum ad poetam;
Nam cupio moventem cantare cantiunculam;
Revolve Beethoven,
Iamdudum eam audiam.
Fervescit mihi sanguen at confracta mihi cithara;
Cor rapide pulsatur, canit anima caerulea;
Revolve Beethoven,
Accipe nova carmina.
Oriente sole, moneo, mihi calcare
Soleas caeruleas noli;
Tatarantara, modulaber cithara,
Nil necessarium mi;
Revolve Beethoven,
Certiorem fac Tchaikovsky.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Epistulam scripturus tum missurus sum ad poetam;
Nam cupio moventem cantare cantiunculam;
Revolve Beethoven,
Iamdudum eam audiam.
Fervescit mihi sanguen at confracta mihi cithara;
Cor rapide pulsatur, canit anima caerulea;
Revolve Beethoven,
Accipe nova carmina.
Oriente sole, moneo, mihi calcare
Soleas caeruleas noli;
Tatarantara, modulaber cithara,
Nil necessarium mi;
Revolve Beethoven,
Certiorem fac Tchaikovsky.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Till there was you - Latin lyrics
Till there was you
Tinnitus in colle
Erant, nec sonare novi,
Ita, nequaquam novi dum
Venisti tu.
Et stellae in caelo
Erant, nec micare vidi,
Ita, nequaquam vidi dum
Venisti tu.
Et erant cantus, rosaeque pulchrae,
Mi dicunt
Et dulcia mane prata rore.
Aves in foliis
Erant, nec cantare novi,
Ita, nequaquam novi dum
Venisti tu.
Et erant cantus, rosaeque pulchrae,
Mi dicunt
Et dulcia mane prata rore.
Et amor ubique
Erat nec cantare novi,
Ita, nequaquam novi dum
Venisti tu.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Tinnitus in colle
Erant, nec sonare novi,
Ita, nequaquam novi dum
Venisti tu.
Et stellae in caelo
Erant, nec micare vidi,
Ita, nequaquam vidi dum
Venisti tu.
Et erant cantus, rosaeque pulchrae,
Mi dicunt
Et dulcia mane prata rore.
Aves in foliis
Erant, nec cantare novi,
Ita, nequaquam novi dum
Venisti tu.
Et erant cantus, rosaeque pulchrae,
Mi dicunt
Et dulcia mane prata rore.
Et amor ubique
Erat nec cantare novi,
Ita, nequaquam novi dum
Venisti tu.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
From me to you - Latin lyrics
From me to you
Si quid habeo quod cupis,
Si quid opus auxilii,
Vocanti mi tibi id mittem
Amore a me tibi.
Cuncta habeo quae cupis;
Fidelissimum cor mihi;
Vocanti mi tibi id mittam,
Amore a me tibi.
Bracchia volunt tenere
Te ne tu abeas,
Et labra basiare,
Dum satis habeas.
Si quid habeo quod cupis,
Si quid opus auxilii,
Vocanti mi tibi id mittem
Amore a me tibi.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Si quid habeo quod cupis,
Si quid opus auxilii,
Vocanti mi tibi id mittem
Amore a me tibi.
Cuncta habeo quae cupis;
Fidelissimum cor mihi;
Vocanti mi tibi id mittam,
Amore a me tibi.
Bracchia volunt tenere
Te ne tu abeas,
Et labra basiare,
Dum satis habeas.
Si quid habeo quod cupis,
Si quid opus auxilii,
Vocanti mi tibi id mittem
Amore a me tibi.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Can't buy me love - Latin lyrics
Can’t buy me love
Gemmas emam, amica,
Si tibi placebit;
Debo quodvis amica,
Si tibi placebit;
Non amo nimis pecuniam -
Non dat amorem.
Quidquid est dabo si te
Dices favere mi;
Non sunt multa mi quae dem,
Sed quod est dabo tibi;
Non amo nimis pecuniam -
Non dat amorem.
Non dat amorem,
Semper audio;
Non dat amorem,
Nullo modo.
Gemmas velle te nega,
Et mihi placebit;
Dic te velle talia
Quae nummi non parent;
Non amo nimis pecuniam -
Non dat amorem.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Gemmas emam, amica,
Si tibi placebit;
Debo quodvis amica,
Si tibi placebit;
Non amo nimis pecuniam -
Non dat amorem.
Quidquid est dabo si te
Dices favere mi;
Non sunt multa mi quae dem,
Sed quod est dabo tibi;
Non amo nimis pecuniam -
Non dat amorem.
Non dat amorem,
Semper audio;
Non dat amorem,
Nullo modo.
Gemmas velle te nega,
Et mihi placebit;
Dic te velle talia
Quae nummi non parent;
Non amo nimis pecuniam -
Non dat amorem.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
All my loving - Latin lyrics
All my loving
Claude oculos, te basiabo,
Cras desiderabo,
Et semper fidelis ero,
Et tum dum redeam
Domum saepe scribam,
Et totum amorem dabo.
Oscula simulabo,
Quae desiderabo,
Spem fore bonam sperabo,
Et tum dum redeam
Domum saepe scribam,
Et totum amorem dabo.
Ita totum amorem dabo,
Tibi totum, numquam cessabo.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Claude oculos, te basiabo,
Cras desiderabo,
Et semper fidelis ero,
Et tum dum redeam
Domum saepe scribam,
Et totum amorem dabo.
Oscula simulabo,
Quae desiderabo,
Spem fore bonam sperabo,
Et tum dum redeam
Domum saepe scribam,
Et totum amorem dabo.
Ita totum amorem dabo,
Tibi totum, numquam cessabo.
Lyrics sourced by a student teacher at my secondary school ca 1970
Poem on Baptism
Baptism
The gentleness with which I wash them,
Welcoming each in the name of threefold God
To life, that they may have it in abundance;
How that gentle trickle, token gesture,
Betrays the depth, the power, of waters flow.
Still tepid fontfuls, tap or kettle fresh,
Speak little of the awesome mysteries - of life
and death - within each glistening drop
That falls from freshfaced forehead as names
are given and life launched upon.
Praying God to bless that vessel and all who sail in her,
they let the mighty frame created of man slide,
accelerate and rush anchor chain clattering
towards waters edge..
And floating now free from lands firm hold
...the venture of life begins.
Not the youthful bubbling of mountain fresh spring,
nor its trickle 'cross welly-trodden bog of peat;
Not the village brook whose fords and delicate bridges
respect even such shallow flow,
nor the great meanders of angler-populated riverbank;
But on beyond the weirs where tidal mud and sandbanks
witness ocean's mighty surge and fall,
where even from the salt rich air,
men’s bones may sense the hours of ebb and flow.
There in the life teeming, shorecrashing,
whitehorseridden, grey thundering roar of open sea,
Lies the majesty of life.
Hidden beneath the waves in richness beyond
imagination from man who looking the other way
reaches beyond stars to find life
that was already so close at hand.
And that inner space whose depths outreach eyes scan,
as it is pulled about by moon, sun, planets, stars;
As it in each movement and flow witnesses
to the shape and being of all that is;
That inner space gives life as its vapours soften the air.
Gives life that it may also receive...
Not only of mans waste to decay and pollute,
but of man also who ventures to cross those buoyant,
perilous depths in peace, at work, at war.
Giggling bathers fill summer pools and beaches,
but wise salt cracked faces whose eyes have seen
the mountainous swell and whose legs feel uneasy
on the firm land respect the blue smile of summer seas
They know also the grey cruel ashen face of storm thrashed sea
offering final embrace to their lives.
And shall we see in that gentle washing,
child cradled in my arm,
the embrace of the sea, of death,
that calls to us all ?
And shall we discern in those token droplets
the rich abundance of life, the whole universe
speaking through each glistening fall and splash ?
Droplets that make their splash and cease to be
yet remain, lost, forever in puddle in flood.
And shall we be as those who go down to sea in ships;
Learning from the wave and storm as from the calm,
that bone-marrow piercing regard,
fear and love of waters clasp ?
This alone I can tell;
That I have felt oceans mighty roar,
and child's baptismal wash,
United as one in tears that flowed,
of anger, bitterness, exhaustion, fear,
and of gentlest love ... even to death.
The gentleness with which I wash them,
Welcoming each in the name of threefold God
To life, that they may have it in abundance;
How that gentle trickle, token gesture,
Betrays the depth, the power, of waters flow.
Still tepid fontfuls, tap or kettle fresh,
Speak little of the awesome mysteries - of life
and death - within each glistening drop
That falls from freshfaced forehead as names
are given and life launched upon.
Praying God to bless that vessel and all who sail in her,
they let the mighty frame created of man slide,
accelerate and rush anchor chain clattering
towards waters edge..
And floating now free from lands firm hold
...the venture of life begins.
Not the youthful bubbling of mountain fresh spring,
nor its trickle 'cross welly-trodden bog of peat;
Not the village brook whose fords and delicate bridges
respect even such shallow flow,
nor the great meanders of angler-populated riverbank;
But on beyond the weirs where tidal mud and sandbanks
witness ocean's mighty surge and fall,
where even from the salt rich air,
men’s bones may sense the hours of ebb and flow.
There in the life teeming, shorecrashing,
whitehorseridden, grey thundering roar of open sea,
Lies the majesty of life.
Hidden beneath the waves in richness beyond
imagination from man who looking the other way
reaches beyond stars to find life
that was already so close at hand.
And that inner space whose depths outreach eyes scan,
as it is pulled about by moon, sun, planets, stars;
As it in each movement and flow witnesses
to the shape and being of all that is;
That inner space gives life as its vapours soften the air.
Gives life that it may also receive...
Not only of mans waste to decay and pollute,
but of man also who ventures to cross those buoyant,
perilous depths in peace, at work, at war.
Giggling bathers fill summer pools and beaches,
but wise salt cracked faces whose eyes have seen
the mountainous swell and whose legs feel uneasy
on the firm land respect the blue smile of summer seas
They know also the grey cruel ashen face of storm thrashed sea
offering final embrace to their lives.
And shall we see in that gentle washing,
child cradled in my arm,
the embrace of the sea, of death,
that calls to us all ?
And shall we discern in those token droplets
the rich abundance of life, the whole universe
speaking through each glistening fall and splash ?
Droplets that make their splash and cease to be
yet remain, lost, forever in puddle in flood.
And shall we be as those who go down to sea in ships;
Learning from the wave and storm as from the calm,
that bone-marrow piercing regard,
fear and love of waters clasp ?
This alone I can tell;
That I have felt oceans mighty roar,
and child's baptismal wash,
United as one in tears that flowed,
of anger, bitterness, exhaustion, fear,
and of gentlest love ... even to death.
Poem written Nov 2008
Parent and Child estranged
Keeping busy…
..numbs the pain of remembering
Silence…
...is a voyage through inner and outer darkness
Waiting…
…to hear some still small calming voice
Enduring…
...hopes that crucify yet will not die
Neither laughter nor tears…
...belong in this place
Waiting…
...for the time and place you may choose
The beautiful moment…
...when we might meet again
Keeping busy…
..numbs the pain of remembering
Silence…
...is a voyage through inner and outer darkness
Waiting…
…to hear some still small calming voice
Enduring…
...hopes that crucify yet will not die
Neither laughter nor tears…
...belong in this place
Waiting…
...for the time and place you may choose
The beautiful moment…
...when we might meet again
Ken300 Hymn
As part of the 300th anniversary of the death of Thomas Ken, Bishop of Bath & Wells from 1684 to 1691, I've written a hymn commemorating his life.
The hymn was first sung in public at St John the Baptist in Frome, the parish church where Thomas Ken was buried, at a service led by Bishop Peter Price on 20th March 2011.
KEN 300 Hymn
Metre: 88.88 (LM) Tune: Winchester New
We sing with thanks for Thomas Ken,
His legacy of life and pen;
Who showed no false respect for Kings
But cherished only heavenly things;
Who made his converse most sincere
And sought all conscience to keep clear;
Who with the world, himself and Thee
When e'er he slept at peace would be.
His heart of love could not be bound:
The prisoner Jeffreys guilty found,
The poor he welcomed home to dine,
Were equally a child of thine.
Through College days, a man of prayers,
But then within the world's affairs
In sad Tangiers, and at The Hague,
He knows their morals far too vague.
The truth, however hard, he tells
And when deprived of Bath and Wells,
His palace and cathedral seat,
Found welcome solace at Longleat.
He wrote and lived to give thee praise:
His hymns begin and end our days.
Our thanks for Ken to thee we bring
And so with him thy praise we sing:
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye Heavenly Host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
© Colin Alsbury 2011
The hymn was first sung in public at St John the Baptist in Frome, the parish church where Thomas Ken was buried, at a service led by Bishop Peter Price on 20th March 2011.
KEN 300 Hymn
Metre: 88.88 (LM) Tune: Winchester New
We sing with thanks for Thomas Ken,
His legacy of life and pen;
Who showed no false respect for Kings
But cherished only heavenly things;
Who made his converse most sincere
And sought all conscience to keep clear;
Who with the world, himself and Thee
When e'er he slept at peace would be.
His heart of love could not be bound:
The prisoner Jeffreys guilty found,
The poor he welcomed home to dine,
Were equally a child of thine.
Through College days, a man of prayers,
But then within the world's affairs
In sad Tangiers, and at The Hague,
He knows their morals far too vague.
The truth, however hard, he tells
And when deprived of Bath and Wells,
His palace and cathedral seat,
Found welcome solace at Longleat.
He wrote and lived to give thee praise:
His hymns begin and end our days.
Our thanks for Ken to thee we bring
And so with him thy praise we sing:
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye Heavenly Host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
© Colin Alsbury 2011
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