Friday, February 22, 2013

Light My Fire.

I am calling for the elderly to chew the fat with me
How different do you feel today to when you were thirty three?
In years gone by with heavy logs I built retaining walls
Concrete steps were not too hard and I never had a fall.

My legs were strong they didn’t shake or wobble on a step
And the flowers that I planted were photographed in health
But now I‘m touching 85 (well in some months I’ll be)
And the very thought of labouring can bring me to my knees.

Now I have told a little lie because my knees won’t bend
For as soon as they have reached the floor pain sends me round the bend.
Now I have to tell you, dear old friends that I’ve just had a big surprise
For yesterday I built an edge with every brick that caught my eyes.

They came from corners of my yard, that were holding up this and that
But now they’re much more useful as an edging that can catch
The water flowing from next door and drains under the fence
Then once it runs right down the yard, it flows back under her fence! 

So I’m surprised I had the strength with my old creaking back
To give my neighbour ‘what for’ and send their wastage back
It seems to me it does depend on if my feelings are strong
And then my ire will light a fire and my muscles can’t go wrong.

Wyn Barratt  Feb 2012.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Return Of The Traveller.

I don’t know where I want to be right now, Lord,
In Your arms or at Your throne
I only know that when I came back home Lord
This house felt strange and not like home.
I flew across the sea to see New Zealand
And was amazed by all its beauty, wild and free
It felt like home, that I belonged there, yet every vista
Was something not familiar to me.

Back at my house with heavy bags and heavy heart too
I opened up the door to silent damp
Where was my heart; my joy; my dearly familiar?
This clammy space, sterile and silent had broken rank.
It lost its spirit in my absence; no voice or music
To keep up the appearance of a home
It was not needed, used, remembered; and now was heart sick
And from me no joy or love for this, my home.

So now to work, and You are with me, I’ll take stock Lord
That bolt that’s hanging off the gate is first
Then the pools of mud and water from that rain storm
Ground waterlogged, it clearly has no thirst
The hinges on the back door need some help now
They’ve lost their grip on a door they’re meant to hold
Dog droppings on the lawn; do they think it’s theirs now?
Come the morning they’ll regret they’ve been so bold.

Wyn Barratt Feb 2013.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Paint My Words Out.

Lord, paint my words out of existence
For things I have said I’d withdraw
Please take up a brush for I’m now in a fuss
Paint Your blood over what I said before.

Words were said when I was so angry
They were said when my feelings were hurt
I was looking at life from my point of view
And now they seem cruel and curt.

I wish I could just click ‘delete’ now
And what I have said disappears
But they’ve already crept into somebody’s heart
And their pain and mine’s growing here.

So Lord paint my words out of existence
While I ask their forgiveness right here
Wash them out with Your blood dear Lord Jesus
I hope my friend knows I’m sincere.

Wyn Barratt Feb 2013