When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Jenny Joseph

Mark Heard

These days
We put on cars like shoes
And walk faster
We form lines and remain mute
Almost unaware of the walkers around us
As we transcend space
We put on wings like a coat
And spend morning and evening in separate worlds
Instant schizophrenia
As we transcend time

Maps hide cities
Cities hide houses
Houses hide faces
Faces hide hearts
But hearts still beat quietly
Few feel even their own pulse
But hearts are made to beat
We can drown them out with more accessible rhythms
But they continue the counterpoint
Hearts are made to beat
Our souls are still within us
Our Creator waits for us to notice
As our geographical boundaries
Are chased around the sun by time
Decaying in a fashion some call normal

Strong Hand of Love

Down peppers the rain from a clear blue sky
Down trickles a tear on a youthful face
Feeling in haste and wondering why

Up struggles the sun from a wounded night
Out venture our hearts from their silent shrouds
Trying to ignite but wondering how

We can laugh and we can cry
And never see the strong hand of love hidden in the shadows
We can dance and we can sigh
And never see the strong hand of love hidden in the shadows

Young dreamers explode like popped balloons
Some kind of emotional rodeo
Learning too slow and acting too soon

Time marches away like a lost platoon
We gracefully age as we feel the weight
Of loving too late and leaving too soon

We can laugh and we can cry
And never see the strong hand of love hidden in the shadows
We can dance and we can sigh
And never see the strong hand of love hidden in the shadows

                                                                           Mark Heard

Strong Hand of Love

Wrote these words this morning whilst listening to Automatic For The People by R.E.M...

Wide blue eyes bright and open
Fresh clay skin a pure white canvas
Stretched tight over risen bones
Surf fizzed through adventurous souls
Naively laid down upon an alter
So called love raised a heavy knife
Rage flashed in the summer light
As it pierced remaining stone

All who you were is dead
Songs that stirred your heart
Words crafted by sons and daughters
Fathers and mothers who were brave
Brave enough to offer themselves
How they wrote through tears,
Embracing our fears
Of loss, gender and mortality
Child they led you astray

Did their poetry question
The control of a concrete empire
To encourage the wanderer
To wonder again and dance
With all that’s black and the white
Into a garden full of wildflowers
Where tears heal and offer hope
To those weary of a system

  Kris Lannen