Coming Of Age

Coming Of Age

When an infant small

I could not feed

Myself at all.

My food came from

Your hand.

Now

In brokenness

Of a fall

To our distress

You are fed

But from my hand.

In this maturing of

Coming of age

We are both nourished

For a different stage.

Simon C.J. Falk 19 July 2019

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A Neighbour Passed By

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A Neighbour Passed By…

 

I sat

Slumped

Bereft from the beating

Wasn’t they raised with

“You don’t hit girls!”

Or, do I not look

Like a girl?

Whatever that means.

But I wasn’t letting them off

Easily, with the ‘Big Issue’ cash

Not for their stash

Towards their double-dealt slavery

To their cravings and fealty

To the faceless dealers.

Suit-clad women and men

With important looking papers in their grasp

Tapped a rapid rhythm

As their fashionable footwear

Bore them away

To offices of the clones.

 

The odd Christian and Muslim cleric

Passed by

Looking furtively from me to there

And where others

May be observing them

From the courtroom of current conventions.

 

Before they all passed

Another left me lying.

It was I.

I passed me by

Passed me off

Passed on.

I could have called

“Help! I’ve been beaten!”

“I’ve been robbed

By broken people

And a broken society

And my own broken spirit!”

I was not a neighbour

To myself.

 

From where

Would come the help?

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 13 July 2019

When Life Feels Like a Garbage Tip

When Life Feels Like a Garbage Tip

 

When life feels like

A garbage tip

And debris around you

Makes you trip

You fall among it

And your clothes do rip

You sit amidst your garbage tip.

As you sit amidst debris

You begin to feel

A little more free

Pausing from adrenaline pace

You set about to embrace

The place.

Some order suggests itself

Before your gaze

Then meaning emerges

From the malaise.

You sit and learn

As you rummage around

And find some treasure

In the garbage ground.

Simon C.J. Falk 28 June 2019


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Cloth Chatter – Easter Triduum Weaving

 

Cloth Chatter – Easter Triduum Weaving

More reflections for Christians beginning the weeks of Easter.

(i)

His undergarment was seamless, so they cast lots for it (John 19:23-24)

I was fashioned to fit

My warp and weft

Wound in ways

To clothe the person.

The cloth maketh for the man.

I held his outer robes

And moved

With his healing hands.

I was a one-person piece

And they cast lots

For me

Like a commodity on the market.

 

(ii)

The veil in the Temple was torn in two (Luke 23:45)

I hung upon the threshold

Like a garment gathering greatness

A robe for the holiest place

Where God’s word reached

Human words

And was kept.

I held the holy in

And halted the passage

Of peoples coming into this sanctuary space.

At the Saviour’s final breath

I broke

In two

Both adorning the sanctuary

And opening

Like two arms

To welcome people into the holy.

No more a barrier

For the Saviour’s passing over

And now an entry point

For human

And divine.

 

(iii)

Saw the linen cloths on the ground, and also the cloth that had been over his head (John 20:6-7)

We held the battered body

One that had fashioned furniture

Fished with fisher disciples

Healed the sick

Broken bread and

Passed the cup.

We lined the lifeless body

In the cool, dark tomb

Holding the oils and spices

Upon the fragile flesh.

Now discarded

We are

On the ground

Back down to earth

Our role complete

We are now

A notion towards a mystery:

“Where is the Lord?”

 

(iv)

Do not cling to me (John 20:17)

I felt her touch

Urgent and inquisitive

Wondering

“Is it true?”

“Is it you, O Lord?”

As I held him in his new life

There was a quickening

So new

He was very alive

And love

Emanated from he

To her

And from her

As she ran

To share.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 20 April 2019

 

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I Couldn’t Go to Jerusalem or Good Friday

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I Couldn’t Go to Jerusalem or Good Friday

For Christians, Good Friday is a day to remember a life lived, and given away for others, even in suffering. This is for those who want to remember, but are not able to join others in Churches.

I couldn’t go to Jerusalem –

My mother-in-law just

Died

And we are mourning as

Burial is prepared.

 

I couldn’t go to Good Friday –

I’m a nurse

But

I saw the arms of the cross

In the open arms

Of a man

Reaching from the chair

As I moved him

To his bed.

 

I couldn’t go to Good Friday –

I’m at Lifeline

Taking calls

But

I heard the cry

“My God, why have you abandoned me!”

In the tone of a caller

Still reeling from abuse

By one once trusted.

 

I couldn’t go to Good Friday –

I’m old and

My days of driving

Are in the yesterdays of my life.

Family staying here

Won’t take me to Church

It means nothing to them

I wait in the

Tomb of my gloom

Longing to be

Raised to a new life.

 

They couldn’t go to Good Friday –

But we bring them there

If we go

And hold them there in prayer.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 19 April 2019

 

Casting For Laws

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Casting for Laws

Another reading of John 8:1-11

 

Casting stones

And aspersions

He said

I thought

He said

Nasturtiums

Anyway

There was this lady

Supposed adulteress

They were to stone her

Where was the bloke?

Or blokes?

How inconceivable

That so called

‘Civilisations’ have

Bad laws!

Perhaps

Some still do?

 

Simon C.J. Falk 7 April 2019

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Her Name is not Spoken But her Face is Seen

 

Her Name is Not Spoken But her Face is Seen

A reading on John 8:1-11

 

I cast a stone but

It ricocheted back

To me

In her plight I saw

I was not

Free.

In my grasping, accusing

Tone

Did I not notice the sin

Was not her’s alone?

But my vile need

For adulation

From the mob.

Her name was not

Spoken

Yet her face seemed to say:

My name was not called

As they allow me no dignity

Let alone integrity.

But my face

Is known

It is seen in many

A place, or stage

And age

Where nameless women

Are objectified and tried

By the menacing mob

Ironically lustful

For their own ends.

Who can cast a stone?

It comes back

To stony hearts

That know not they are flesh.

 

 

 Simon C.J. Falk 6 April 2019


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