Choose to Love

On a cold, starry night,
Two young people wander
On a journey, their lives to discover
As a man led his donkey 
To Bethlehem town
Her cargo, a soon-to-be Mother

With pain she’d looked back
As they’d left Nazareth
The hatred they’d shown had surprised her
When the people perceived
That the babe was conceived
Out of wedlock, they’d all ostracised her.

No room could be found 
In King David’s home town

For the couple and their precious burden
As she cried out in pain
One man listened again 
Calling out, 
They both paused as they heard him

“I have here a stable
It’s not much to see
But it’s warm and it’s dry and it’s free!”

Tired from their journey
The young aching Mother 
Lay down in the hay to give birth
Such humble beginnings 
For this newborn child
The King of all kings of the Earth!

Surrounded by livestock
And sacrifice lambs
The unblemished Lamb he was born
In a cow’s feeding trough
He made his first bed
His clothes made of rags that were torn

Shepherds came to visit He
Whom Angels had adored
And silently they worshipped Him, 
The tiny infant Lord

Whilst still a toddler
Wise men came from Persian lands afar
Recounting their incredible tale
A sparkling bright guiding star!

Dictator King, Herod the Great
Explodes with rage and fear
A newborn King to take his throne
Lived in a town so near!?

A massacre, the despot decrees
Consumed so by his hatred
Each boy child of two years or less
Must be exterminated!

Awoken by a warning dream
The father wakes his family
Heads south to Egypt to escape, 
Political refugees.

This humble Jesus, born so low
Our own hearts does unveil…
And reminds us all to love once again
In this familiar Nativity tale.

P J Deakin 2015 ©

Don’t Lump for Trump!

If I lived in AmericaI wouldn’t vote for Trump
I’d rather vote for Pootle 
In fact, any of The Flumps 
Than sit and twiddle with my thumbs
And watch that redneck lump…

I couldn’t let him have that power
And stand by like a chump!
I couldn’t idly watch that businessman
The US economy gazzump

With his modern take on Nazi prose 
Where African or Mexican can legally be thumped
When I look back on our history 
Consider Hitler, I’m stumped 

As to how a man with so evil an agenda
Could rise to power, yet Trump
Blames all the problems on the Muslims 
And Mexicans who jump

Across the void of poverty 
To make a life like Gump
Where shackles can be overcome 
And you don’t end on your rump 

But Mr Toupee wants to take your dreams
And throw them in the dump
For two centuries your great nation built 
On immigration pump
Yet now you say enough’s enough
You’re greedy and a grump!

The end is nigh, the eagle high 
Lies quivering in a clump
Because of evil, selfish agendas
Of that wicked Mr Trump!

P J Deakin 2016©

How Would You Feel? 

How would you feel,
Excuse me, begging your pardon
But how would you feel if the whole wide world
Decided to fight in your garden?!

Russian jets, Yank and Brit
Dropping bombs on their target
Undermining native hope
How can we poor Syrians cope?

The world and his wife
Has tuned in to us
Each eyeing a piece of the pie
But it’s not your peace, it’s not your war
It’s not your pie it’s not your sky

That’s darkened by the mortar shell
The fiery red, of burning hell
This cradle of humanity
This birthplace of a faith
Is under siege by greed and hate

But don’t just drop your bombs and go!
Stick around for the after-show
The clear-up from this terrible war
The rebuild of my beautiful nation

Not the chance to polish your medals
Or pat each other on the back
But to oust Assad and his evil ways
His allies have been mightily praised
For dropping bombs on hospitals?!
Putin is no Saviour, King!
He just wants his share of the spoils.

So how would you feel
If the whole wide world
Decided to fight in your garden
You’ll excuse me if I don’t jump for joy
If don’t grant your pardon

But I am waiting to see
How much you care
About my sons and daughters
Or whether you are just intent
On another Middle-East slaughter.

P J Deakin 2015 ©