tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-266620072024-03-20T21:52:38.175+00:00AnthologyA collection of my poems and sketches.Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-52347165670129497642008-12-31T23:30:00.032+00:002009-01-07T15:32:13.164+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 24th) - You CameI am here<br />You came<br /><br />I am here, refusing to move<br />You came to meet the stubborn<br />I screw up, never getting it right<br />You came to forgive the mistakes<br />I don’t know what it is to live – not properly<br />You came to teach the hopeless<br /><br />I’m here<br />You came<br /><br />I put myself first<br />You came as the least<br />I like to look important<br />You came in humiliation<br />I keep getting lost<br />You came to find me<br /><br />I am here<br />And you came<br /><br />I give, predominantly according to what I am likely to get in return<br />You gave up everything to serve those who had nothing<br /><br />I avoid spending time with those I don’t deem to be worthy of my company<br />You became a joke<br />An embarrassment<br />A disgrace<br />You sacrificed a throne of power and influence to be looked down upon by those residing in gutters<br />You left behind royal robes to wash the feet of fishermen<br /><br />I am here<br />You came<br /><br />I insist on comfort<br />On popularity<br />On attention<br />I demand my rights<br />I focus on what I do not have<br />As I “sacrifice” my ten percent<br /><br />You came into this world amongst cows<br />Covered in blood and hay and filth<br />You came into the cold<br />To a world that rejected you to barns and sheds<br />Even before your birth<br /><br />You came<br /><br />You came to a poor family<br />You came to a lowly and pathetic set of guests<br />You came to a government that feared you<br />You came to a law that sought to destroy you<br />You came as an outlaw<br />You came as a child<br />A baby<br />A newborn<br />A foetus<br />You came to a dangerous world<br />A world that already hated you<br />Already despised you<br />A world that long before had turned its back on you<br />A world that would spend 30 years of its history trying to physically annihilate you<br />And thousands more trying to get rid of you completely<br />You came to that world in the most vulnerable of states<br /><br />And you changed everything<br /><br />I am nothing<br />Filling that void with worthless importance<br />Searching for meaning<br />And purpose<br />And love<br /><br />I am here<br />And you came<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-55345051006531297672008-12-31T23:30:00.030+00:002009-01-07T15:30:13.863+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 23rd) - Dear SantaDear Santa,<br /><br />For Christmas this year<br />I would like peace for all mankind.<br />Place it in a box and wrap it in a bow.<br />Make sure, this year, everyone knows<br />That peace on earth is achieved.<br />I would really love to receive<br />Peace and joy and harmony<br />And cheer and understanding for all<br />Make the weak feel ten feet tall.<br />To the poor give wealth<br />To the sick give health<br />And make the world a better place<br />Let earth and sky resound with grace<br />Let global peace be waiting for me<br />When I look under the Christmas tree<br />Dear Santa Claus I make this plea<br />Yours truly, lots of love, from Me -x-<br /><br />…<br /><br />P.S. Dear Santa<br />Also, please do not forget<br />My radio controlled Meccano set<br />And if it’s not too high a price<br />A chocolate fountain would be nice<br />I need, of course, some garden tools<br />An i-pod would be pretty cool<br />A drill, some socks, a model train<br />Some DVD’s and candy canes<br />And if all this weighs down your sleigh<br />We’ll save peace for another day<br />I really want world hope and love<br />Just not instead of other stuff<br />So Santa let my gifts increase<br />And maybe next year ask for peace.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-7833050128789787352008-12-31T23:30:00.029+00:002009-01-07T15:29:12.691+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 22nd) - If I Were a Turkey<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">To be sung to the tune of If I were a Rich Man from Fiddler on the Roof (I have attached the song so you can play it and sing along if you don't know it)</span>.<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RBHZFYpQ6nc&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RBHZFYpQ6nc&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a turkey<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble yum<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I would run away at Christmas time<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a turkey bird<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I’d really have to work hard<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble yum<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Christmas day is not a festive time<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If you are a big, fat turkey bird<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I’d act like big fat cows or small tiny gerbils<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Dogs, cats or any kind of pet<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Animals that aren’t served as Christmas lunch<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">There would be one mad turkey just going moo<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And one even madder who’s a vet<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And one crazed bird who thinks he’s Captain Crunch<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I’d wag my tail and purr and bark and I’d bleat and neigh<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">For the farm to see and hear<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Anytime the farmer or wife gets near<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And each loud “woof!” and “meow!” and “baaa!” and “eeaaw!”<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Would land like a trumpet on the ear<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">As if to say “there are no turkeys here.”<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a turkey<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble yum<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I would run away at Christmas time<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a turkey bird<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh sage and onion stuffing<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Mix it, boil it, stir it, ball it and then stick it up my bum<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Christmas day is not a festive time<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If you are a big, fat turkey bird<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I’d hide in sheds or trees or behind other turkeys<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Inside a bush or underground<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Anywhere to make sure that I wasn’t seen<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I would hitch-hike my way to some exotic country<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Somewhere where I could not be found<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Where turkeys are treated like kings and queens<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The most important men in town would come to fawn on me!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They would ask me to advise them,<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Like a Mother Goose the Wise.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"If you please, Sir Turkey..."<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Pardon me, Sir Turkey..."<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Posing problems that would cross my farmer's eyes.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gobble Gooooooble<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gobble Gooooooble<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gobble Gooooooble<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuum<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And it won't make one bit of difference if I answer right or wrong.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">When you're there, they treat you like a god.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were there, I'd have the time that I lack<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">To sit in the sun all day and tan.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And made to feel that I stood at ten feet tall<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And at Christmas they’d serve the finest of foods<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And I am not on the menu plan.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And that would be the sweetest thing of all.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a turkey<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble yum<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">All day long I’d gobble gobble yum<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a turkey bird<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I’d really have to work hard<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble yum<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">There are things I never could avoid<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Christmas time my neck would feel a void<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">That is why I’m vastly overjoyed<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">That I’m not a turkey bird<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-73867925545131373972008-12-31T23:30:00.027+00:002009-01-07T15:26:42.133+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 21st) - My Last Mince Pie<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj44luBzOQEX78UoXKjfiq4jPyGYRK4glcwSW6y8KjHRQDomycX61zXCXChIqw12qA6_3VtVnXblJUCCDfirUBtRLSVfjKkdUCwn8U_tFcJN-e8ojAHzvzBMrmeu_9HYkbASE/s200/Mince+Pie+(Neg).bmp"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 129px; height: 89px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj44luBzOQEX78UoXKjfiq4jPyGYRK4glcwSW6y8KjHRQDomycX61zXCXChIqw12qA6_3VtVnXblJUCCDfirUBtRLSVfjKkdUCwn8U_tFcJN-e8ojAHzvzBMrmeu_9HYkbASE/s200/Mince+Pie+(Neg).bmp" border="0" alt="" /></a>I hate mince pies, mince pies suck<br />The chewy, slimy, sickly mess<br />One more pie I swear I’ll chuck<br />I couldn’t like those mince pies less<br /><br />All month long I’ve had to munch<br />Each day and every night<img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 129px; height: 89px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj44luBzOQEX78UoXKjfiq4jPyGYRK4glcwSW6y8KjHRQDomycX61zXCXChIqw12qA6_3VtVnXblJUCCDfirUBtRLSVfjKkdUCwn8U_tFcJN-e8ojAHzvzBMrmeu_9HYkbASE/s200/Mince+Pie+(Neg).bmp" border="0" alt="" /><br /><div>Pies for breakfast, pies for lunch<br />I cannot take another bite<br /><br />I’m full, I’m done, I’m going to die<br />My head and guts are reeling</div><div>As every chew of every pie<img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 129px; height: 89px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj44luBzOQEX78UoXKjfiq4jPyGYRK4glcwSW6y8KjHRQDomycX61zXCXChIqw12qA6_3VtVnXblJUCCDfirUBtRLSVfjKkdUCwn8U_tFcJN-e8ojAHzvzBMrmeu_9HYkbASE/s200/Mince+Pie+(Neg).bmp" border="0" alt="" />Gets less and less appealing</div><div><br />So burn and destroy all supplies<br />I’m sick to death of fresh mince pies</div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-56475458055753992252008-12-31T23:30:00.023+00:002009-01-07T15:23:09.959+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 20th) - Joseph Limerick<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirR007ooL78Gzp9TLHX8-u2TjlV_acAmF2T_iF5rB0E9zXVAr0GjRABLk-yf7-0YSp2OoTYrqQmNTa9KU4SZCDSUYyob9GJHdNivERWBNTfRRPKmorZzrmDGdCQ_Gv3OYgOYI/s400/Joseph.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirR007ooL78Gzp9TLHX8-u2TjlV_acAmF2T_iF5rB0E9zXVAr0GjRABLk-yf7-0YSp2OoTYrqQmNTa9KU4SZCDSUYyob9GJHdNivERWBNTfRRPKmorZzrmDGdCQ_Gv3OYgOYI/s400/Joseph.png" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">There was a young man named Joseph<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Who, um…. darnit!<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-81612886064054674502008-12-31T23:30:00.021+00:002009-01-07T15:21:03.845+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 19th) - Carol Singers (Part 4)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1lgZecmycGRNNRE8F1ow-iHkkiH4FqV27uWwDpl_Zt07Bbyf6arRD5cG-S_8j9N95Cd7I13FlxM30-9oE3y4dVTHbJabYRhlGNUObzXC_mJcoWtArs1nQ4bxmOou08YOUOc/s400/Carol+Singers.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 391px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1lgZecmycGRNNRE8F1ow-iHkkiH4FqV27uWwDpl_Zt07Bbyf6arRD5cG-S_8j9N95Cd7I13FlxM30-9oE3y4dVTHbJabYRhlGNUObzXC_mJcoWtArs1nQ4bxmOou08YOUOc/s400/Carol+Singers.bmp" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Sitting alone in my flat in the cold<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">People I loved have now left<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Family and friends walked out long ago<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Now I’m anxious, depressed and bereft<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Everything I’ve ever believed in was false<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">All those I trusted told lies<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">There is no humanity, love has no pulse<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And kindliness dwindles and dies<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today I discovered that nothing is real<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today marked the back-breaking straw<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today put an end to every ideal<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today my heart learnt to close doors<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Tonight is the night that all of this ends<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Tonight I escape from the pain<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Tonight I respond to a world that pretends<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Tonight I will crumble in vain<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I slowly and cautiously get to my feet<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And pray for a reason to fight<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">When suddenly, quietly, out from the street<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Some soft voices sing “Silent Night”<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I peer through my curtains and smile as I see<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ten people with mince pies and wine<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They grin and they laugh as they sing out of key<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Their quivering voices divine<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They walk down the road and they sing outside drives<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In their jubilant, Christmas time quest<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I sit and I listen and keep closing my eyes<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">As I silently make my requests<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">After an hour, I hear my bell ring<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I hold my breath, hoping they’ll pass<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Not wanting to show them this mess that I’m in<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So I freeze as I peer through the glass<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They leave and I see them try a few more<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Who seem to think that it’s a con<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe I should have just opened the door<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But when I look back they are gone<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I wish I had joined them and not stayed and moped<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I wish I had worked to spread cheer<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But as I reflect, I am filled with the hope<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">That maybe I’ll see them next year<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-88086819844329564462008-12-31T23:30:00.016+00:002009-01-07T15:17:58.874+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 18th) - Carol Singers (Part 3)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV-__fA6oH0gBuLIUSz4PVOe_XCkv7OLLUBmJtotyKcHoas3RNMQbaBsNPD0K58dVxfiKzYwdPJG9gVMdzKRDvbREuaEga3ztoSX76N0QqUtd282bap3WWvNa2PQgzUtbRAhI/s200/Carol+Singers.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV-__fA6oH0gBuLIUSz4PVOe_XCkv7OLLUBmJtotyKcHoas3RNMQbaBsNPD0K58dVxfiKzYwdPJG9gVMdzKRDvbREuaEga3ztoSX76N0QqUtd282bap3WWvNa2PQgzUtbRAhI/s200/Carol+Singers.bmp" border="0" alt="" /></a><div>We sing for an hour then slowly head home<br />Heads down and feeling dejected<br />Ten people united in feeling alone<br />In not getting what was expected<br /><br />The smiles have faded, the laughter has stopped<br />The mince pies and mulled wine have gone cold<br />Our mission to brighten up Christmas has flopped<br />I guess Christmas is getting too old<br /><br />They’ve all stopped believing that people are nice<br />So nobody answers the door<br />People assume it must come at a price<br />That we’re scouting and asking for more<br /><br />Maybe our seasonal plan was naïve<br />In a world that will always suspect<br />Perhaps it was foolishness had us believe<br />That carols would have an affect<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-91417641146683332552008-12-31T23:29:00.002+00:002009-01-07T15:16:06.309+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 17th) - Carol Singers (Part 2)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQQl_wDCTzIj0zguGiFifrOjBz9INflHhyh3kmGoCtyy4UOPezbZs1MW7FUwmuKiESEGkTU2wruHToztTppQcKFbHg_zzQsusf3C0Sg2rzQE-L4-65PNZNf-n6E5zAmuv8d4/s200/Carol+Singers.bmp"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQQl_wDCTzIj0zguGiFifrOjBz9INflHhyh3kmGoCtyy4UOPezbZs1MW7FUwmuKiESEGkTU2wruHToztTppQcKFbHg_zzQsusf3C0Sg2rzQE-L4-65PNZNf-n6E5zAmuv8d4/s200/Carol+Singers.bmp" border="0" alt="" /></a>Relaxing at home with a beer<br />These moments of calm are in danger<br />When suddenly what do I hear<br />Songs of “Away in a Manger”<br /><br />I jump up to switch off the lights<br />So when they knock, I can ignore<br />But I’m too late and they catch sight<br />Of my frame through the glass in the door<br /><br />They tell me they don’t want my money<br />Which instantly makes me suspect<br />These guys are up to something funny<br />Recruiting for some kind of sect<br /><br />I make my excuse and they make their retreat<br />I can’t help a slight twinge of shame<br />I peer out my window and all down the street<br />The reactions are mostly the same<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-76226439672744152342008-12-16T19:03:00.003+00:002008-12-16T19:07:03.868+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 16th) - Carol Singers (Part 1)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJKbxqy1kX0Zxc7rd-UF5MGtcly28CCkDo6Tp0v6ftm2Me425da2y9qy1nkPnrTbRCeH4UHG-cSQKXhftSfoeRpwo2AiDI5FC-JSDv3IWNqt7SDqQ8i5NvbRXGhTY7mX_qZ7g/s200/Carol+Singers.bmp"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJKbxqy1kX0Zxc7rd-UF5MGtcly28CCkDo6Tp0v6ftm2Me425da2y9qy1nkPnrTbRCeH4UHG-cSQKXhftSfoeRpwo2AiDI5FC-JSDv3IWNqt7SDqQ8i5NvbRXGhTY7mX_qZ7g/s200/Carol+Singers.bmp" border="0" alt="" /></a>Wrapped up, gloved and excited<br />Traditional songbooks in hand<br />Ten people together, united<br />In our seasonal holiday plan<br /><br />Tonight we are going to sing<br />Carol’s of Jesus’ birth<br />Our joyful endeavour to bring<br />A blessing to our bit of earth<br /><br />We’re handing out free, fresh mince pies<br />And non-alcoholic mulled wine<br />To neighbours and cold passers-by<br />To brighten up their Christmas time<br /><br />So here we stand, cold and aflame<br />Our songbooks out, ready to start<br />We silently whisper one name<br />As we sing from the depths of our hearts<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries</div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-49235126555375654632008-12-16T19:00:00.002+00:002008-12-16T19:03:26.495+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 15th) - Gateway FMClick <a href="http://confessions-of-an-innocent-man.blogspot.com/2007/12/advent-poems-dec-15th-gateway-fm.html">here</a> for a full explanation as to why this poem came to be:<div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 97px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBx3WiUJp2x-YQ4xH9xhkG41LpfS2Eff9eazu_itE4LUfWt-JOHLvu8C1p31z_2hfijpZM26ewKgyzY29S3S2LwrPgSGBlVMen5YNhUKLN5FvOTs96aXIEyS0CM2hyp-nKQk/s400/Gateway+FM.bmp" border="0" alt="" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sitting in the studio<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Matt and Ruth are a gem<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">From the Basildon steeple to all of three people<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It’s Christmas on Gateway FM<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">With music across the decades<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And local news from the shops<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We’re here until three. There’s a big walking tree<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">He’s live and not likely to stop<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ruth didn’t get the good mic<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Because she turned up quite late<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The gremlins were lurking, the music stopped working<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But now it’s all back and it’s great<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So this is my day on the radio<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Let’s hope it happens again<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The tinsel is glistening but no one is listening<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This Christmas on Gateway FM<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-45320101423764675882008-12-16T18:59:00.000+00:002008-12-16T19:00:25.787+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 14th) - Herod Limerick<div style="text-align: center;">There was an old man who was king<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Who did a peculiar thing<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">He ordered all boys<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Under two be destroyed<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Just so king could then cling to his bling<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-12463670933308829732008-12-16T18:58:00.001+00:002008-12-16T18:59:45.214+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 13th) - Shepherd Limerick<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgni8pr6d2s5y9fVjokDH98qfKBaA9Z-4Wb3Nt61aun5OTOrpQQ3JNP67Xiidz5onBvqnB4EClffYhD4W5XcWqV9_6DfWOVWoc6ZZS1_x-xB9wGY8Mr9GTANJZ_ZJ6q2aFKa14/s400/Shepherds.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 332px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgni8pr6d2s5y9fVjokDH98qfKBaA9Z-4Wb3Nt61aun5OTOrpQQ3JNP67Xiidz5onBvqnB4EClffYhD4W5XcWqV9_6DfWOVWoc6ZZS1_x-xB9wGY8Mr9GTANJZ_ZJ6q2aFKa14/s400/Shepherds.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">There was a young man called Phillipe<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Whose job was to look after sheep<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">One night he looked higher<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">To a heavenly choir<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And ran waking peeps from their sleep<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-62123075419745590772008-12-12T11:43:00.001+00:002008-12-12T11:45:50.747+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 12th) - Advent Songs<div style="text-align: center;">Advent poems and advent songs<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Advent solos, advent throngs<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Losing patience, gaining strength<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Holding now and then at length<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We pause and as we rest we toil<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Bringing silence to the boil<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Longing still to be connected<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">To something more than we expected<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Making noise and celebration<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In active anticipation<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Working hard in quiet reflection<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Waiting for divine detection<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Our spirits lift and we’re aware<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">For what it is we must prepare<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And while we wait, we scrape along<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Singing joyful advent songs<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-50691791205228371102008-12-11T17:50:00.002+00:002008-12-11T17:52:30.274+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 11th) - Radio Times<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiduErp09HXS47RUjO7wF_iLm-CxidVR9Pp6I__wSPSYSg5vc7yWkMrRcy8ePtquHxGRdr_8XkxXppuJrD6_OtbL6m-BvnGBml2_jpL8flPIw5O0CkHgRpRMyiQcFTQhFnda6E/s400/Radio+Times+1982.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiduErp09HXS47RUjO7wF_iLm-CxidVR9Pp6I__wSPSYSg5vc7yWkMrRcy8ePtquHxGRdr_8XkxXppuJrD6_OtbL6m-BvnGBml2_jpL8flPIw5O0CkHgRpRMyiQcFTQhFnda6E/s400/Radio+Times+1982.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">As that beautiful day approaches<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And the anticipation climbs<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">There is always one thing that makes my heart sing<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It’s the Christmas Radio Times<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">With all of that seasonal telly<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">There is only one source you can trust<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It’s detailed and forthright and lasts for a fortnight<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Radio Times is a must<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">With all of its info on programmes and films<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And its practical family guide<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Through the Times I’ll be thumbing. I’ll know just what’s coming<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This Christmas I’m staying inside<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So bring on those holiday listings<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">From now to the new year’s eve chimes<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">No matter what’s aired, I’ll know, I’m prepared<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">With my Christmas Radio Times</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-89781809936162256722008-12-11T17:49:00.000+00:002008-12-11T17:50:36.460+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 10th) - The Retailer's Christmas<div style="text-align: center;">Watching millions and millions peruse the shelves<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In my suited up Christmas-themed store<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Spending their money and losing themselves<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In a world that will always want more<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh how I love the consumers of Yule<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Those wide-eyed, excited young shoppers<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">A young spender’s cash is a retailer’s fuel<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Their notes, their coins and their coppers<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I love it, I love it, the closer it gets<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The last minute panic and rush<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Well meaning mothers working up debts<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In that purchase crazed, pre-Christmas crush<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The spin and ker-ching of the roll in the till<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The pile-up of notes in the bank<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The wallets are emptied, the shopping bags filled<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And who do we have to thank?<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This wonderful season of products and things<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Of marketing, posters and ads<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Reminding the public what joy it can bring<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">To fill up your stockings with fads<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Never allow the silence to stir<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Drown out the peace with a cry<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Spin Christmas into a spend-crazy blur<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And keep them believing the lie<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">“The value of love is the value of cash<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">A man without love is a thrift<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The more that one loves, the more one should dash<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The more one should spend on a gift”<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Force them to buy, remove their autonomy<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Make Christmas spend without reason<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The loss of the spirit boosts the economy<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">God bless the retailer’s season<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-64229257536116126542008-12-11T17:47:00.002+00:002008-12-11T17:49:16.604+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 9th) - Wise Men Limerick<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrOm_qRre7P5Htt3O9WKmK3YVxK6T2e_HjA1xOgW-NIrdkCbf4G25yEp6tABBIYYAakxLH6dryCec6XUA8hD2qK-Wddnx5dtIzxBwETiH-Sa4IAAKcu6lwcndzPUCKHPti2XM/s400/3+Wise+Men.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 309px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrOm_qRre7P5Htt3O9WKmK3YVxK6T2e_HjA1xOgW-NIrdkCbf4G25yEp6tABBIYYAakxLH6dryCec6XUA8hD2qK-Wddnx5dtIzxBwETiH-Sa4IAAKcu6lwcndzPUCKHPti2XM/s400/3+Wise+Men.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">This is the tale of some men<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Whose wisdom exceeded them when<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They followed a star<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Which took them quite far<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And led them to Jesus – Amen!</div><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-47493146321914242122008-12-11T17:45:00.003+00:002008-12-11T17:47:05.578+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 8th) - The Innkeeper's Limerick<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69cgMNhkV27RluRXkpAKoZ6MbdcX1WjCtve7X-dLH-KrOrgAlGUpUe7pzzc3ARwI3bbnGMxtkC4HjeR5sbtUITRzU5xV_6iMNyNrhCuA2UbRMj-FP6kg5PjJ9tB2QgFjStfE/s400/Innkeeper.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 335px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69cgMNhkV27RluRXkpAKoZ6MbdcX1WjCtve7X-dLH-KrOrgAlGUpUe7pzzc3ARwI3bbnGMxtkC4HjeR5sbtUITRzU5xV_6iMNyNrhCuA2UbRMj-FP6kg5PjJ9tB2QgFjStfE/s400/Innkeeper.bmp" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">There was an innkeeper named Ned<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Who offered some hope when he said<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You’ve taken too long<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The birthing suites gone<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But I know of a beautiful shed</div><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-54395642894379728862008-12-11T17:41:00.002+00:002008-12-11T17:44:14.529+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 7th) - Santa<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">This poem, of course, refers to Santa Clause the movie starring Tim Allen as opposed to Santa Claus the Christmas character because, as we all know, that would be inaccurate and stupid.</span></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">S</span>itting<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">A</span>t<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">N</span>ight<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">T</span>hinking<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">A</span>ll<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">C</span>hristmases<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">L</span>ack<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">A</span>ny<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">U</span>nusual<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">S</span>aviour<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">E</span>xpectationsGlyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-433019079245054522008-12-11T17:31:00.004+00:002008-12-11T17:40:30.333+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 6th) - My First Mince Pie<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7_8dBdq2qxlATjekMYxzD63EuV9XmKqSHNcv2ueSsW7HVxaimut1GvqtCImkHDqqVtZiQTZvBQgBL8fZaDlKF34zrqfBg4aSWBX9dM6UN0tzM-9Vy4_xYjCZ8rcr6NZTnSQ/s400/Mince+Pie2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 129px; height: 89px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7_8dBdq2qxlATjekMYxzD63EuV9XmKqSHNcv2ueSsW7HVxaimut1GvqtCImkHDqqVtZiQTZvBQgBL8fZaDlKF34zrqfBg4aSWBX9dM6UN0tzM-9Vy4_xYjCZ8rcr6NZTnSQ/s400/Mince+Pie2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>My first mince pie and I’m in heaven<br />The flaky, crumbly, mincemeat bliss<br />Give me the choice, I’d eat eleven<br />Sweet pastry it doesn’t get better than this<div><br /><div>Serve it hot or serve it cold</div><div>I do not care just serve it<img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 129px; height: 89px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7_8dBdq2qxlATjekMYxzD63EuV9XmKqSHNcv2ueSsW7HVxaimut1GvqtCImkHDqqVtZiQTZvBQgBL8fZaDlKF34zrqfBg4aSWBX9dM6UN0tzM-9Vy4_xYjCZ8rcr6NZTnSQ/s400/Mince+Pie2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /><div>If someone’s selling, deem it sold<br /></div><div>If I’m not there reserve it</div><div><br />Clotted/double/single cream<br />I’m a mince pie eating fool<br /></div><div>I go to bed to mince pie dreams<br /></div><div>If only it were always Yule<br /></div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 129px; height: 89px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7_8dBdq2qxlATjekMYxzD63EuV9XmKqSHNcv2ueSsW7HVxaimut1GvqtCImkHDqqVtZiQTZvBQgBL8fZaDlKF34zrqfBg4aSWBX9dM6UN0tzM-9Vy4_xYjCZ8rcr6NZTnSQ/s400/Mince+Pie2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /><div><br />So stuff me full, I’ll still surmise<br />I’ll never tire of fresh mince pies<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div></div></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-36598800259600407972008-12-05T12:47:00.002+00:002008-12-05T12:52:28.364+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 5th) - Jack's Limerick<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Due to heavy public criticism, this poem has been adapted so that the final line scans "better". For the original (and, I would say, superior) poem, please see <a href="http://confessions-of-an-innocent-man.blogspot.com/2007/12/advent-poems-dec-5th-jacks-limerick.html">here</a>.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is the story of Jack<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Whose energy started to lack<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">See Jack was a donkey<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Whose legs were quite wonky<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">With a pregnant girl sat on his back<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-634695253389385272008-12-04T22:54:00.000+00:002008-12-04T22:55:55.564+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 4th) - Christmas Trees<div style="text-align: center;">Real<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Christmas<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Trees<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Die<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Brown<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Languish<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Shower needles<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Make mess<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Have to be watered<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Need to be thrown away!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Like spoilt children<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They always demand attention<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Insisting they be kept and tended to.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But I love real Christmas trees<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They make a room smell of Christmas<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They bring life to a warmly decorated lounge<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They change the air, the atmosphere<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They turn a neglected corner into a centre piece<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They become an extra seasonal character to the family<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And for this reason<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I’ll always love<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Real trees<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Fake<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Christmas<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Trees<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Last<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Survive<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Keep going<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Do not change<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Continue.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They are practical<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Can be used year after year<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They want for nothing<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They effect their job effortlessly<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Spending summer months in the attic<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They wait for next year patiently<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They do not intrude on the atmosphere<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Simply offer visual stimulus for those who look<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In their manufactured shades of green.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They are clean, cost effective, strong and plastic<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Nothing can be more reliable than a fake Christmas tree<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And for this reason<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I’ll always use<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Fake trees<br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-9690813013135267842008-12-04T22:50:00.002+00:002008-12-04T22:53:59.293+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 3rd) - The Christmas Lesson<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiabQmsO2VtqA3-KBWxoEkf9CrF-I7hOHe23Tg9QOxdvB1dI3uJ2sEfoRiW5QqSr3ykSWp3t3lWqO9BJfVqBwcOGz4WhNV1Y5tcVr9qfouJF5WVdi6sQ8EaruR3v-ThUaVWzFY/s400/Hand.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 189px; height: 125px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiabQmsO2VtqA3-KBWxoEkf9CrF-I7hOHe23Tg9QOxdvB1dI3uJ2sEfoRiW5QqSr3ykSWp3t3lWqO9BJfVqBwcOGz4WhNV1Y5tcVr9qfouJF5WVdi6sQ8EaruR3v-ThUaVWzFY/s400/Hand.bmp" border="0" alt="" /></a>They wait<br />Wide eyed and expectant<br />In a season where good things come<br />From the darkest places<br /><br />They know<br />From the dull comes excitement<br />From frowns comes laughter<br />And soon those who oppressed and restricted<br />Will join and smile and encourage and play.<br /><br />He stands<br />Before them and smiles<br />Allowing their hope to grow<br />Filling their hearts.<br />Behind their eyes he can see it<br />A joy unmistakable<br />Waiting<br />Shaking<br />Leaning forward<br />Ready to breakout across their faces with one word:<br /><br />“Christmas!”<br /><br />They smile,<br />They laugh,<br />They sigh with relief<br />Their brains switch off and their hearts engage<br />A veil dissipates<br />The room brightens<br /><br />There will be no writing today<br />No marks<br />No assessments<br />No judgement<br />They know this subject<br />They do it well<br />This is their speciality<br /><br />“What is Christmas?”<br /><br />Hands shoot up,<br />Stretching to the ceiling<br />Like vines to the sun<br />Answers explode:<br />Food<br />Chocolates<br />Santa<br />Snow<br />Reindeer<br />Trees<br />Jesus<br />They laugh<br /><br />He stops<br />He looks<br />He asks<br /><br />“What about Jesus?”<br /><br />They pause<br />They think<br />They consider<br />They discuss<br /><br />The boring nativity<br />The children’s play<br />The distraction from what’s really important<br /><br />Silence<br /><br />They continue<br /><br />They ask<br />They answer<br />They learn<br />They teach<br /><br />The importance of a childish tale<br />The relevance of an old fable<br />The excitement of a dull story<br />So much knowledge to be acquired from that already known<br />No separation but a solid synthesis<br />Everything they felt<br />And believed<br />And knew<br />Confirmed by what has been procured<br /><br />They leave<br />Unchanged<br />Unshaken<br />Affirmed in their faith of what is pure and perfect and real<br /><br />He stays<br />Inspired, refreshed and challenged<br />He sits and he waits<br />Wide eyed and expectant<br />The only student in the class<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-71321033360284406162008-12-02T20:59:00.002+00:002008-12-02T21:02:04.764+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 2nd) - Mary Limerick<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKpNvM0n9wmfdfW_9XDMabOLEmwqvp9lcfhUdT96jn1aLRss5jT3vsNicnf0tyby9WFOx21vw_KaexOqjFBjZcrvzrXBo0zUiwpEGoZI1fB_ln14ho82fNpuz2Ixay5GHwLk/s400/Annunciation.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 314px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKpNvM0n9wmfdfW_9XDMabOLEmwqvp9lcfhUdT96jn1aLRss5jT3vsNicnf0tyby9WFOx21vw_KaexOqjFBjZcrvzrXBo0zUiwpEGoZI1fB_ln14ho82fNpuz2Ixay5GHwLk/s400/Annunciation.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">There was a young girl named Mary<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Whose encounter with God made her wary<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">He said she’d give birth<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">To the saviour of earth<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I think I’d have found that quite scary<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-47331558668334660992008-12-01T23:51:00.004+00:002008-12-01T23:57:18.863+00:00Advent Poems (Dec 1st) - Advent Calendars<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvEXzvobupMCNF2NoIw-qw8Tcxc6N1P4jyRF9rD73EfrzOVy8o6jv9yrhvq0fG_p_4kbGIOiazxkxOEfQn0OeKxRVxaZKlmTUgBO8-tOg2scQxbmiW0NvgX3GOD-4W-PD-GJpz/s1600-h/Advent+Calendar.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvEXzvobupMCNF2NoIw-qw8Tcxc6N1P4jyRF9rD73EfrzOVy8o6jv9yrhvq0fG_p_4kbGIOiazxkxOEfQn0OeKxRVxaZKlmTUgBO8-tOg2scQxbmiW0NvgX3GOD-4W-PD-GJpz/s400/Advent+Calendar.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274974412108372578" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I love advent – advent calendars<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The chocolaty, picture based, countdown challengers<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I love opening advent doors<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Advent windows, advent drawers<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">December first and I start counting<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Christmas is coming, the excitements mounting<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Put up the tinsel, break out the lights<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Stockings are great but you’ll get more in tights<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Keep shopping, no stopping it all starts here<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">December the first – it’s commercial cheer<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The presents, the trees, the food – it’s great<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Putting off budgets and putting on weight<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I’m already singing, I’m already Dancing<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And Dashing and Blitzing and Donning and Prancing<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It’s time to join throngs of festive scavengers<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And it all starts here with advent calendars</div><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2007 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26662007.post-88460786144425237512008-11-23T21:51:00.001+00:002008-11-24T13:07:36.872+00:00When I LeaveWhen I leave this place<br />The music will continue<br />The lights will follow me<br />The masses, the crowds of like-minded people<br />Jumping<br />On fire<br />Energised<br />Quaking with anticipation<br />They will join me<br />When I leave this place<br />My heart will stay the same<br />It will not shift, become downtrodden<br />Consider sin.<br />It will not lust after the things it will never have<br />It will rest in this place.<br />When I leave here I will walk with you<br />Holding tight to your hand,<br />Never leaving your side<br />I will walk with my chest out and my head held high.<br /><br />When I leave this place<br />I will cry out hallelujah and the world will respond.<br />Communities will sit on the edge of their seats,<br />Waiting for my return.<br />Waiting to hear what I have to say<br />And I will know the words<br />When I leave this place my speech will be loaded with salt<br />Poetry will flow from my tongue<br />My dialogue will change minds<br />And hearts will break and mend at my discourse<br />When I leave this place<br />People will ask for evidence<br />And I will give them proof<br />I will call on you and you will show your face<br />When I leave here you will be known.<br />You will be seen<br />You will be heard<br />Through me<br />Through the music, the lights, the crowds, the words<br />You will be acknowledged, praised, worshipped, adored<br />When I leave this place<br />There will be no more doubt<br />All evidence of a godless world will be removed<br />Your followers will act like you<br />Your enemies will bow to you<br />The world will love you as you love it.<br />When I leave this place<br />It will be exactly like this<br />And you will be the only thing that matters<br />When I leave this place<br />The real world will disappear<br />And I will never wake up.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">Copyright © 2008 Glyn Harries<br /></div>Glyn Harrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02774778167027700588noreply@blogger.com0