Sermons And Gubbins

This poem was written for our October Pub Poetry group at The Barking Dog . The theme I followed for this month was 'amateur hour'. It was not an easy poem to write, I wanted to make sure the language in it was humorous, and not simply offensive (but, yes, it is offensive - sorry Mum, if you're reading this!) I hope you enjoy it, and - honestly - if you're offended by foul language, please do skip on and read something else instead! A Conversation with the Boss at 5:26 on a Friday Afternoon Are you  shitting  me? You absolute  tool ! Do you think this is amateur hour?             You've made me look a fucking fool!             Shit a brick , you should be back in school-             Stop snivelling!  You think I'm being cruel?   You're such a  Pwecious Lickle Flower ! I can't believe the mess you've made; Fuck   knows  how I'll clean this up!     ...

Today is National Poetry Day. I first put a compilation of my poems over the last twelve months together last year , and thought it would be nice to do the same today!  Each poem should open in a new window/tab so you can come back to this page easily if you like - hope you find something you enjoy, and please let me know if you've got a favourite! November Memories God is Sleeping The Battle / An Evening to Myself / Trauma / Disgust Free Reign Little Wins Promises, Promises Into the Dragon's Lair A Boy's Best Friend It'll Never Catch On Hope Street

This poem was written for our October poetry group at St Michael's Church. The theme I chose to follow for this month was 'hope'. I feel like I might need to hand in my Mancunian badge after writing this, but I have to say Liverpool is a favourite (not the *most* favourite, obvs...) city of mine, and I particularly love Hope Street itself! I hope you enjoy reading it! Hope Street A road between cathedrals, the crown and Roman pope. A street that calls for unity; a street that we call Hope. The Latin bell and candle, the Celtic knotted rope, the Saxon Book of Common Prayer, meet on the street of Hope. A home for the philharmonic, the performing artists' troop, mix in the church and the medical institute: The faith, art and science of Hope. The city looks for union, with solidarity in its scope. It's great straight street signposts the way; take the road called Hope.

This poem was written for our September pub poetry group (at the Barking Dog). The theme was 'some things don't catch on'. I hope you enjoy reading it! It’ll Never Catch On It’ll never catch on, mate, it’ll never catch on. I’ll pay it by card, lad. It’s safer, job done. Crypto’s a scam, bud; it’s a game and they’ve won. It’ll never catch on, mate. It’ll never catch on. It’ll never catch on, guv. It’ll never catch on. Cash is the king - there’s no paper trail, son. I’ll pay you with notes; what’s it cost; ‘bout a tonne? It’ll never catch on, mate. It’ll never catch on. It’ll never catch on, love, it’ll never catch on. Paper’s too flimsy. You want some weight to it, hun. How else will you know they’ve picked your pocket and run? It’ll never catch on, darling - never catch on. It’ll never catch on, sire, it’ll never catch on. Those coins aren’t real gold, they don’t shine like the sun. Give me doubloons, or an ingot; just one. It’ll never catch on, lord, it’ll never catch on. ...

 This sermon was preached on our Sunday morning service on 8th September. The gospel was Mark 7:24-37 . I hope you enjoy reading it! The Jesus of the first half of today’s Gospel is – I have to say – a Jesus I don’t really recognise. I don’t know if you feel the same? It starts off normal enough; in our gospel, we hear that Jesus leaves his own community and sets off travelling. Maybe he’s visiting extended family, or perhaps he’s on a tour, spreading the Good News to other members of the Jewish faith (or, potentially more apposite to today’s Gospel, the Jewish race ). Either way, he’s in foreign climes. Whilst there, he finds a place to stay. He’s approached by a local woman who asks for his help. Not for her, but for her daughter, who, she says, is possessed. And here’s where Jesus looks to go off the rails. He says ‘no’.   Jesus and the Syrophoenician Woman     He says ‘no’, and really not politely. He’s rude to her. His language is discriminatory...