The buffeting breeze and rippling waves settle down to a steady rhythm.
You are the god of the tides, I say.
And how true this is.
Day by day the rock stands ringed by sands, and stone.
No one comes and goes except for the tide.
Now crowded , now alone
Better to travel on the outgoing tide, adventure bound than stand forlorn in sand and stone. Untold unfound.
You are the god of the tides I say
And how true that is.
Seize the day let peace abide
And know your life is his.
LINDISFARNE
Life cries in the sand wind
Breath hushes the sea grass
The sea leans softly to the land
And a million creatures feel it pass
And they chatter in the village street, walking on the stones
Gazing at the ruins, walking on the bones
Life beams warm from the sun
Praised by God-clothed flowers
The tide has left small streams to run
Drawn back to the deep by unseen power
And they slam doors in the car park, walking on the stones
Buying tea and tickets, walking on the bones
A road joins land to mainland
A cross joins earth to heaven
The sea can hiss and thunder
But the rock sand land stands even
And boots crunch to the castle, walking on the stones
Built by Henry’s soldiers, walking on the bones
There are prayers in the grey church
Still warm with the grace of I AM
There is a hollow by the island cross
Where grasses listen to the lifting wind
And the stones can hear the running of the tide
I AM is there
And the roof has all the patterns of the sky
I AM who conquered brooding death
I AM breath of the moving wind
I AM light on the soothing waves
I AM life in the soaking sand
I come breathing in the sea light
I come standing in the rock faith
I come whistling with the birds’ prayer
I come running with the tide’s wave
Come you breathing in the sea light
Come you standing in the rock faith
Come you whistling with the birds’ prayer
Come you running like the tide’s wave
Weave in, weave in the Father, Son in woven faith in weaven pattern
Spirit’s working weft of all creation, I in Them and Thou in Me
And they’re coming out at closing time from walking on the stones
A little life, a little life from walking on the bones
August 1999
Broken. He came home, broken. Bits of bike under truck wheels on a dark night. On the road. Broken. He came home.
Not another word spoken. Where god tears great gaps….puff daddy raps but the wound is still open. He came home broken.
He came home to father or rather he lay in waiting. The morgue lights fading. Pain in the uncovering rage in the discovering. Fathers arms open.
Another token.
The prodigal had a better ride. Fathers arms open wide. Ring n ting party's over. Rolling in clover. Who knows what road he took on that dark night. Oily tarmac shouts back. Broken.
Diesel and dust is a must. Don't let your blade rust keep it sharp for that killing thrust. Cos the anger inside is twisting your guts. Where in hell can you find an answer. What road did he take.
Was it fate or grace. Get outta my face. Where god tears great gaps he should be ashamed to revisit that place. Where he left his own son, broken.
On the road to god knows where..,
