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I Live in Porirua and enjoy running, keeping fit and writing rhyming poetry. You can visit my blog and leave me a message if you like.

Blaze the highway

I want to blaze the highway,

with your heart that burns so bright.

To fill the sky with fury,

of our love that will ignite.


We rise and rise together,

from the dead and darkest night.

I’ll see your every facet,

with my eyes so full of sight.


Now we live forever,

fly into the blinding light.

Above the clouds and sky now,

and beyond the highest height.


The demons, powers and angels,

though they pull with all their might.

We can’t be separated,

our souls bound by God so tight.


I shall rest with you eternal,

peace amazing, naught of plight.

His example strong and glowing,

purest love and purest white.

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Death is gone

Death won’t come from suicide,

from quiet stream or raging tide.

Twisted metal, deadly snakes,

can’t take the soul that death forsakes.

 

From darkened prayer and darker sleep,

death in my bones it will not seep.

So many years of trial and pain,

yet all my strength renewed again.

 

Death the stranger that I seek,

from year to year and week to week.

My Lord commanded him “away,”

“go take some other soul today.”

 

Death is gone, the Kingdom’s far,

I watch then drift to heavens star.

So fortunate that they can see,

death in your glory – run from me. 

Could I Be Your Angel?

Gliding on the early morning,
resting on the sun.
I’m sending out God’s love and joy,
to each and every one.

I saw your beauty shining bright,
like none I’ve seen before.
Through time and tide, the whole world wide,
just one without a flaw.

Warming my wings on desert sands,
then playing with a cloud.
I’ll write your name upon my heart,
and call it right out loud.

All His sweet children through the years,
I’ve loved them all so dear.
He made just one most perfect one,
to hold my heart so near.

Before His throne on bended knees,
could I her Angel be?
Would He entrust this maiden fair,
to one humble as me.

New Digs

Whether hammock ‘neath the swaying palms,
seaside shack or lean-to.
I’m packing my kit and moving on,
to find somewhere I mean to.
—-
I’d pick an old hut deep in the wood,
where most would fear to tread.
Or a cave cut long or treehouse high,
somewhere to lay my head.
—-
Whether cabin in the northern pines
or igloo in the snow.
If the bed is soft and rent is cheap,
then I will surely go.
—-
From tropical heat to the frozen north,
or dunes of the Sahara.
I’ll search for digs most anywhere, even
Kenya’s Masai Mara.
—-
I’ll weed the garden and milk the cow,
I’ll do most any chore.
Work hard ’till I’m starved of love and food,
to help settle my score.
 —-
(Yes I am looking for a new place to stay and thought I would write a poem about it)

The Daydream

Clouds float today above the hay,

God’s handiwork so high above.

What skillful art could mend this heart,

or fill each beat with tender love.


Sweet natures bed to lay my head,

to draw each breath upon your chest.

What springtime joy could tame this boy,

and find this weary soul a rest.


Birds in their dance and perfect stance,

to give me peace and rest me slow.

Your beauty ought to still each thought,

ignite my spirit, watch me glow.

House Trained

I was going through my socks the other day and found a pair of my running socks that I hadn’t worn for a while. I put one on and was thinking how comfortable it was when I noticed a small hole starting in the toe. “I wonder why I haven’t worn these for so long” I thought to myself.

Oh that’s why. I also remembered that I had another sock that needed sewing so I darned the socks and fixed a dolls dress for a charity shop that had a tare in it. 

Fixed

Well who ever said guys can’t sew and be house trained? Now I have another pain of running socks to wear to add to the list of socks that I have had to fix recently. This has saved me lots of money. Wish I could thank my mum for teaching me to sew.

Where To Go Now?

To Heaven or Hell to pick a fight.

To dance with the Devil in the pale moonlight.

To follow the red-haired Angels flight.

To tear the sea and land asunder.

To rain from Heaven – fire and thunder.

To live with the pirates, pillage, plunder.

Time and again the thankless task.

To choose a wife with furies flask.

So where to now I dare to ask?

Just a fun poem. Which one would you choose and why (accepting that for women it would be choose a husband).

The Ballad Of Christina and Divina

In a cottage near the hill,

past the stream, past the mill,

see her there waiting still,

the one they call Cristina.

Near the thorny beds of rose,

plucking weeds that skyward chose,

scented herbs under her nose,

the other called Davina.

 

Through the fields of golden rye,

comes a knight riding by,

with an errand from on high,

sees the young Cristina.

Through the lattice kneeling there,

near the rustic garden chair,

‘neath her long and flowing hair,

the lady named Davina.

 

Continue reading The Ballad Of Christina and Divina

Ration Challenge

Michelle and I are taking part in the Ration Challenge, it’s for a week (17th to the 24th of June) You can sponsor me if you like, your prayers and thoughts will be appreciated.  (click here to find out about it)

This is from the Ration Challenge Co-Founder Kaz:

Last year, I sponsored myself $144 – enough to send a child to school for two months. Education is really important to me and I feel privileged to have studied at a great high school and attended university. Since the war broke out many Syrian children have not been able to go to school at all.

I’ve visited the Ration Challenge’s education program in Jordan that your Ration Challenge fundraising helps to make possible. I saw firsthand just how important it is for Syrian children living in the camps. The local schools are full and the informal classes run by our partner are the only education some of these kids have access to.

The program helps kids learn the skills they need to thrive academically in the future, and importantly, allows them to discover a part of childhood that war so cruelly took away from them. In class, they play, learn and have fun with their friends (like kids are supposed to!) – in an environment designed to help them deal with their trauma.

Willows Journey

Willow on the hillside steep,

Night time brings the stars a-peep

I alone without her weep,

The lady Gabriella strayed.

Two sunsets and never sighted,

maybe taken wing and flighted,

or fallen ill and deadly plighted?

The lady Gabriella strayed.

 

Grateful for the weeping tree,

The Creator did provide for me,

so lay me down and let me see,

Where has my Gabriella laid?

On the path she ought have stepped,

now drifted off and wayward slept,

engagement  ‘neath willow not kept,

Where has my Gabriella laid?

Continue reading Willows Journey