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time and none of it - the boy- so silently - did we see this man - remember me - winter paths

Time And None Of It
I have no time for anything,
No time to live, no time to die.
No time to plant, no time to weed.
No time to destroy, no time to help.
No time to mock, no time to encourage.
No time to cry, no time to joke.
No time to remember, no time to party.
No time to hold tight, no time to cast aside.
No time to disperse, no time to assemble.
No time to rip down, no time to sew up.
No time to listen, no time to shout.
No time to love, no time to hate.
No time for destruction, no time for agreeing.
No time for anything,
Too busy for time.
(based on Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)
(1997)

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The Boy
Quiet, still, the boy turns
And looks into the eyes of the father far away.
Darkness surrounds like a blanket
Security. Tight. Closing in.
Light flickers like a candle moving in the wind.
Eyes melt, glances bounce between the two
The father sees a tear move
Trickle down his face
The son just looks up at his face.
The father stretches out his hand,
But the son draws, moves away,
Back into the darkness.
Wrapping it around him.
The father grabs the darkness and shakes.
The son once again glances into his father's eyes
And stares . . .
(1997)

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So Silently
What comes upon this world,
So silently, without the trumpet
Blasting out the news of grace
As He is given to us free.

Softly the cat which stalks the prey,
Silently is assesses where to make its move,
When to risk all and chance it
To get what it requires and wants.

The time so perfect, written in endless store,
Spoken as the wind which blows.
Present given to spin out time
And draw us closer to His arms.

The world shaken without a move.
The world changed without force.
The world told before it listened.
Silently, the word has come to us.
(1997)

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Did We See This Man?
Did we see this man?
He walked by our eyes,
Along the road, busy with lives.
Along the time which we cast
Aside, to be forgotten
To be left alone until he
Draws and touches us.

Many walk along the street
Many just glance but never
Really see, he who sits
He who stands, just there.
We pick, catch snips
But yet never hear
Really hear his own words.

The sun shines on the glistening
Rain which drops off his hat.
Those who chat pass his words
But no one notices
No one every gives him
Life, which each of us hold
Tight against our side.

Questions which never answer
Looks which don't exist
Time which doesn't pass
Before he has gone, and then
We may notice, see, hear
And only then care for
He who once was with us.
(1997)

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Remember Me!
He broke the bread and said,
That this was His body, and we ate.
He took the wine and said
That this was His blood, and we drank.
We ate and drank, but then we saw.

Yes we saw! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Cruel, iron nails driving in.
Cutting through flesh, arms and legs.
Slicing His body, which He gave
Freely, broken and shared for us.

Cries and tears could not withhold
The spear which pierced the side of Him.
Crushing, wounding, causing blood to flow,
Slowly down the side of Him, then
Momentarily hang, suspended in the air.

And then it fell, slowly, towards the earth
Splashing in a thrown cup, dying water red
And then heard the words which he said.
"My body. My blood. Given to you.
Now eat. Now drink. Remember me."
(1997)

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Winter Paths
Sometimes when I walk winter paths,
The grey in front appears to press down,
As though its haunting presence
Is taking all my joy and leaving me empty.
It seems always there,
Whatever way I glance,
Surrounding me on two sides
With walls towering down upon me.
The best thing I find to do
When greeted with these unwelcome times
Is to look for some small patch
Some patch of blue sky,
To lift my spirit, and joy.
Blue, has the amazing effect
Of drawing me into that space
So that soon the sky begins to clear.
Then sometime later, a sun ray strikes
A fallen leaf, sending orange flying
Shooting off in my direction
Mixing with the blue as white
Appears softly on the scene,
Moving gently, breaking through the bars.
Surrounding me. Lifting me.
Within me always blue,
The the world slowly melts
Into colours of life, colours of joy
They wash over as water trinkles down.
And I begin to see
Truly see as if looking from my heart
Rather than my eyes
Warmth which surrounds my walk.
Leading me into joy.
(1997)

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All poems written by Stephen Ogston
and are Copyright Protected