2453 - Sun and train

Passing a power station in the rain
Now passing a sunlit field full of sheep
You might've guessed I'm writing on the train
You won't know that I just awoke from sleep
Spots of sunlight strobing me as they peep
Through gaps in passing trees like a disco
Hosted by God & Branson, as we creep
Up the western mainline, both fast and slow
Now brilliant white cumulus, grey below
Adorns the bright blue sky to the refrains
Of Frank - Here Comes That Rainy Day - and keep
Your big umbrella up as Pennies flow
From Heaven, past the moving window pane
Sinking into the track, ever so deep

2289 - The goose is getting fat

Listening to Rory Gallagher's guitar
Irish Tour '74, remastered
Been Christmas shopping, you see - I walked far
This lunchtime, got some CDs as I pored
Over the racks. 'Where's Will-I-Am?' I thought
Where there's a Will, there's a Sway. Flo-Rida
I did find, however, for my daughter
But got Rory for me, Tori, Hardcore
Compilation, very cheap, diary for
Next year (bit late for this one!), cards were a
Bargain in Poundland, but though I wandered
Round and round, no swimming float found. Got a
Few small Christmas trees for the flat - they are
Placed, all to praise the coming of the Lord!

2213 - Chilling in

An exciting evening not doing much
Still, after last night's guitar, gotta chill
Worked hard at work, got lots done, which is such
A relief when you've got a big workpile
Things are OK now on that front - meanwhile
I'm about to relax with a book called
'God Is Not Great' - it's got great hate and bile
Directed towards him up there, the old
Man with the beard whose story we were told
As kids. There's some TV drama to watch -
A new 'Room At The Top' - a retro thrill
Maybe. Changed the bed, shaved - shower (not cold)
Still to come. Did some ironing. Is a match
On tonight, I wonder? Enjoyed my meal!

2207 - Who do we think we are (divine version)

Does God exist? What is God? Or a god?
There are so many, they're like a species
With many branches, some long fallen out
Of favour, landed, rotted 'neath the trees
Trodden on by insensible feet, leaves
Of yesteryear, once beautiful, living
Now rotten, defunct, dethroned, no-one sees
Them or knows they ever reigned, creating
Our ancestors but not us. We're living
Now, not then, so we don't know who's the God-
Father of our god. Get the software please
To work on the ultimate family string
Who was the prime mover of all the gods?
Surely he's the real one (or maybe she's...)

2072 - The devil's harp

Today I bought me a harmonica
(In the key of C), twenty quid, it was
More than you'd think, from Forsyth's, Manchester
Mind you, things from music shops always cost
A lot. God knows how to play it - I must
Work it out for myself, I guess. It can't
Be that difficult, surely? Don't I just
Put my lips to it and blow? That's the point -
It's easy to carry and play and won't
Need a car to transport it! When I'm poor
I'll still be able to blow and draw, test
My mettle, shed some spittle, suck it in
To and fro it goes, mouth rhythm-giver
In and out, loud and quiet, ego boost

2020 - An evening with Jesus

I've got a cold, my first one for ages
An itchy nose, running a little bit
Tired, could have had one of my sick days
But cos I'm so hard-working (!) I didn't
Luckily I'm staying at home tonight
I've got 'Jesus of Nazareth' with me
A miracle, please Jeez, make me feel right!
How come I have such blessed company?
He's only on a borrowed DVD
I like to watch this stuff as Easter nears
His life story - or myth - is hard to beat
It describes cleverly how life should be
And still has relevance today - all those
Who believe, derive their false hopes from it

1753 - The God profusion

I'm nearing the end of that massive book
'Gargantua and Pantagruel,' and next
Up is 'God Collar' by Marcus Brigstocke
A new-published, anti-religious text
In a comedy vein, so more relaxed
Than 'The God Delusion' (Richard Dawkins)
Although I've not read that, not seen pole-axed
The idea of deities, thrown in bins
Held up to scorn, though I've seen many times
Professor Dawkins on TV, that look
Of disdain for the superstitious sects
And their defence of faith along the lines
That science is a belief too, and stuck
Behind, not having answers that are fixed

1596 - The midnight reader

After last night's late night, I woke early
At half-past five, for God's sake. I could not
Drift back off. On came the lamp, dazzlingly
My eyes ran down my face as though upset
But these tears were as those when you see God
When the bright light of heaven penetrates
Your once-mortal cornea and the rods
And cones squirm in pleasure and pain, the great
Light like an elephant dancing in skates
On your retina. So it felt to me
When the lamp shone and its beams cut like hot
Lasers into my orbs. I read. By eight
As gentler daylight came, I finally
Drifted off, dropped the book and lost the plot

1532 - Miracle at Abu Dhabi

Maybe there is a God. If so, then he
Must have been up above or in the crowd
At the motor racing, Abu Dhabi
Overseeing things as the cars roared loud
Around and around, around and around
Sebastian Vettel in pole position
Remained first to the end, while losing ground
The bad-tempered Alonso's frustration
Poured out, berating the bemused Russian
Driver, Petrov, abusing him simply
Because he wouldn't let him pass. Well how
Darn cheeky can you be? So the champion
Driver this year is Vettel (Germany)
Oh Lord, reward the good and damn the proud

1518 - Ghost in the machine

This Halloween's not been hellish for me
I drove to town and saw them all dressed up
In scary guises, but I had to be
Serious, buying my monitor - yep,
At last! I carried it and didn't trip
Back to the car, all in one piece, thank God
Back home, connected it to the laptop
And, thank the devil, it worked, but the odds
Were against me again for I had lost
My broadband connection; I couldn't see
How to restore it, so I rang them up
And O2 helped me. All evening, uploads
Of holiday pix at last I could see
Still got my mobile pix, though, to load up
Sun 31 Oct

1471 - Man in the tree

I saw my shadowed head against the tree
In the dark night, by kitchen light backlit
As I stood smoking on the balcony
A magnified dark head that seemed to sit
Among the leaves and branches. I moved it
From side to side to check that it was mine
But it wasn’t mine; more like the spirit
Of the tree, revealed by the magic shine
Of a long life bulb; transported in time
Back to some pagan Bronze Age century
A god reborn, its one leg and arms knit
Into a sentient being, tall and fine
Green and brown sentinel, security
Watching over this patch I inhabit

1467 - Portrait of a pope

Pope Paul II (his real name Peter)
Was a gay fellow, or so it was said
Around the Vatican were repeated
Scurrilous rumours, by his rivals spread
God knows those holy types, like us were fed
By jealousy - human, all too human
When printing presses were wheeled in, this led
To those paid well for writing bull by hand
Sorry, bulls - papal bulls. Paul seemed to plan
Everything secretly, so to meet the
Pope was almost impossible; his red
Robed cardinals, they sought him here, there and
Everywhere. But he was fond of theatre
And to the horse racing in Rome he sped

1386 - The outer light

The longest day, and I woke too early
And it appears that I’m staying up late
Stonehenge looms large, and through it we can see
Plainly the sun rise like an orange plate
Now the year starts its decline, the year’s fate
Reflecting everyone’s in miniature
In moments miniscule and moments great
The end is presaged along with the year
And comforting notions dispel the fear
Sun gods, moon goddesses, gods we can see
And gods we can’t see or address or paint
Who wait for souls as bodies disappear
Wishful thinking and beer combine to free
Our inner selves from the body’s locked gate

1373 - God comes to Norwich

The year of the Divine Revelations
Was 1373, in Norwich
A lady hermit received these visions
And later wrote them down. She lay there, sick
And as she lay, she thought such fantastic
Thoughts that they surely had to be divine…
Such positive thoughts for a Catholic
For instance, we’re forgiven for all sin
And God really is love; anger is mine
And yours, but we grow out of it. Julian
Of Norwich, female medieval mystic
Also saw the divine as female, in
An early feminist theologian
Kind of way, an ancient to modern bridge

1176 - A hard rain has fallen

Dylan's hard rain has fallen, sure enough
The worst of it's up there in Cumbria
Workington, Keswick, Cockermouth - so tough
To lose it all in the muddy water
Like some blues number. It can't happen here
Well now it can, and does, unhappily
Bridges must be rebuilt; warring nature
Warning us with each new lightning decree
Once again displaying her savagery
After an afternoon rest, with a puff
Then turning away, unconcerned. Cleaner
Than it was, that's how she likes it. Debris
Swept away, and that includes forms of life
This is the dawning of a new era

1166 - Coronation chuckin'

Friday the thirteenth! Yeah yeah; it’s no worse
Than any other day. We’ve all survived
It, haven’t we? We’re not yet in a hearse
Although, no doubt, some people must have died
Today. Don’t feel like doing much tonight
But I may do some music nonetheless
Just got the telly on for now, and right
Now, Coronation Street is on. Ah, bless!
Familiar faces, although I confess
There are some new ones I don’t know. I curse
Umbrellas! Left mine with a friend. Surprise!
It’s now raining every day! Makes a mess
Of my new bushy hairstyle! Let this verse
Reach God: please let it rain only at night!