Not the Bakers field
Or the town of Carl
Not the Gelding misspelled
Nor Loud ham or ley of Lambs
Not the Calver Town or the Red clay cliff
But… the nether field
You know? The lower one,
The one that floods!
The one where all the trains go to unload all their pile of goods
No cosy nook of Joyce and Bert
Or Southerly minster well
No ford placed west of Bridge for me
Nor Thorpe of Gun to tell…
But a village built fast
When the industry went
It just left wild confusion
Such a maelstrom of people
From diverse situation
Makes for such embittered folks
In dark times of inflation
Single parents, congregate
Natter over garden wall
Refugees seek solace here
Maybe it is peaceful after all!
Six o’clock the bus stop’s full
Of lipstick, heels and pecs
Who leave behind this no hope town
And it’s Mapperley rejects
Charlie Red potent up on top floor
Of the old faithful green number 20
Their LBD’s glitzy as they head off to Ritzy
To dance and drink MD2020
Left behind, Beggars, drunks and layabouts
And kids who want to play about
Behind the old community centre
And boys like me who still climb trees
In search of some adventure.
Window cleaner cases houses
To know which ones to rob
Dole queue stretches round the block
Cos no one’s got a job
Towns of industry
Hubs of community
Left behind till Retail Park revived
So offspring of the factory girls
Walk aisles with cheese and chives
And top up Pringles on the shelves
Now that Morrisons has arrived.
And still the cries of drunken yells
Seep deep into the night
As fearless yob rolls up his sleeves
For Friday’s Fight Night Fight
And as I close my eyes to hear
Another drunken groan
Perfect it may never
But Netherfield is my home
P J Deakin 2016 ©
On endless rich, deep carpet pile
To endless polished marble mile
Excitedly we stride
Towards a wall
Of glass and steel
Which effortlessly glides
Assaulted by the heat and smell
The noise, the fuss, the clamour
The poorest-poor lie unnoticed
Besides the gold and glamour.
I taste the air, its fragrance thick
With car exhaust and turmeric
A thousand fossil bonfires
Fill the air and shroud the glow
Of burning incandescent orb,
The taxi swiftly zips along
The fresh new tarmac highway
With little dwellings here and there
And kids in every byway
The hornéd one
Strolls slowly down the middle
As if she knows she’s deity
And we’re all second fiddle!
Of blaring horn
From tuk-tuk, car and lorry
Don’t sound in anger
But to say “I’m turning right or overtaking,
I’m really very sorry!”
Permanent the smoky haze
Hangs low like ochre, cigarette days
The cricket wing cacophony
I cannot get it off of me
The memory of that magic land
That river valley
That henna hand
Is permanently etched upon my very soul
A land so young, so curious
And yet so very old
So wise and yet so much to learn
As dreams take me back
Still smouldering it burns
Our silver bird punches right through
An arrowhead to skies of blue
And what beholds me
A string of pearls
Beyond the smog!
Just north of this smoky dome-like layer
Lies the entire Himalaya
A chain of snow-capped rocky mounts
These craggy forts the very founts
Of a thousand little tributaries
Which feed this vast expanse
As stream becomes a surging torrent
The mighty rivers all advance
A mighty warlike tribal drum
The beating of her steady thrum
The twisting canyons she has carved
Tower high above and barely halve
The distance down to where she flows
Each bend a turn which petrifies
As down you look into her eyes
The snarling crocodilian river
So sharp, so fierce it makes you shiver
Yet high on Gangtok’s verdant top
A city stands so tall so bright
A city bursting full of light
In ‘Switzerlandish’ type Tibet
This Alpine paradise is set
The mists which here
Taste oh so clear
Are far removed from distant Delhi
Make poinsettia grow to 6 feet high
And flora blooms a’plenty!
So haunting is this ancient land
Her vibrancy, her laugh, her dance
She penetrates my night visions
And puts me in a trance
I’ll always cherish knowing her
Her song, her joy, her art
Eternally her sun will burn
Within my aching heart.
P J Deakin 2016 ©
On Sunday my Pastor spoke about the Parable of the Sower.
The seed fell all over, on the path, the rocky soil, in amongst the thorn bushes and on good well-tilled soil.
We know the story, and over-familiarity can mean that we lose the crux of the story. That we forget to look at things afresh.
Dave further explained how the seed that fell on the rocky soil was shallow, and that like shallow people there is no root and so when hard times come they shrivel up and rarely thrive.
The seed which fell among the thorns represents those who are easily distracted by the pleasures of life and so become choked by the pursuit of happiness through a hedonistic, materialistic lifestyle.
As I reflected on this over a coffee after the service, I recalled the number of times my faith has become stunted due to my shallow nature.
Without roots we die.
I’ve also been guilty of pursuing the pleasurable aspects of life, selfishly… often at the expense of those I should be caring for.
Whilst I considered this, I was looking out of the window and I saw this:
You may not see it at first but this is a (rather blurry) photo of a small tree stump which we pruned right back about 18 months ago when a team of us did some gardening work in the grounds of our new church building.
Look closer and you will see that a small slender branch has sprung up out out that branch and has soared higher and higher! It has grown at least 7 feet high in only 18 months!!
Why? Because despite the tree being removed, the roots still remain! And while the roots remain there is an irresistible instinct within that tree to grow! Roots will always lead to growth!
At the very top of that tiny slender branch there is a single leaf. New life is budding and bursting forth out of the shell of the old.
As I looked on I realised what God was saying to me, “get yourself rooted in me, then whatever life throws at you, you will always come back stronger!”
I realised that I will not pursue selfish pleasure if I am rooted. I will not seek man’s approval of I am rooted! For myself I pray the words of Paul in Ephesians 3 and trust that you will too…
“For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”
Ephesians 3:14-19 NIV
God Bless you!
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©