Bede

To Bede indeed

we owe a debt

that time and tide

will not forget.

 

(As written in visitors book by me on a visit to

St Peter’s Church/ St Paul’s Monastery in Jarrow, England

on 3 September 2019.)

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that smile

Fleet of feet,

there goes a happy girl

striding up the street,

at ease with the weather

on a wet and windy day,

 

while I struggle with my brolly,

my feet and trousers soaking;

to see someone with such a smile

God surely must be joking.

 

Wonder where she’s going

to make a smile like that;

is it just because the winding wind

has stolen my new hat?

 

Wherever she is going,

I wish a fond adieu

and that when the sky is blue again

I’ll be smiling too.

 

@ rowland paul hill  9 August 2019  v.1

 

 

(Written on the Metro train from Newcastle

to North Shields between 9.20 and 9.50. Inspired by

the joyful smile on the face of a young lady

walking up Northumberland Street this morning.)

Dance in the rain (amended version)

Nothing in life lasts forever

Happiness can turn to pain

But life’s not waiting for the storm to pass

It’s learning to dance in the rain

 

Lovers sharing life together

Over time their love might wane

But life’s not waiting for the storm to pass

It’s learning to dance in the rain

 

Not minding getting soaked when it’s pouring

No umbrella to keep yourself dry

Clapping a performance that’s boring

Doing your best whatever you try

 

People suffer stormy weather

Like ships on the ocean main

But life’s not waiting for the storm to pass

It’s learning to dance in the rain

 

Not minding getting soaked when it’s pouring

No umbrella to keep yourself dry

Clapping a performance that’s boring

Doing your best whatever you try

 

Nothing in life lasts forever

Happiness can turn to pain

But life’s not waiting for the storm to pass

It’s learning to dance in the rain

 

No, life’s not waiting for the storm to pass

It’s learning to dance in the rain

 

@ rowland paul hill 16 July 2019

 

 

 

..to turn left or to turn right (based on experience in the Countdown supermarket carpark in Nelson, New Zealand, in October 2016.)

The sun was shining brightly, no mercy did it show,
As round the Countdown supermarket car park we did go.
We’d gone there to buy some food, for our lunch that day,
Returning to our rental car to get back on our way.

Engine on, we slowly rolled out from the parking bay
But couldn’t see an exit sign, much to our dismay.
To turn left or to turn right, we were in a bind,
For whichever way we went no exit could we find.

From ten o’clock, till nearly noon, we searched high and low
And round and round and round again the car park we did go.
Suddenly, from out of the blue, much to our surprise,
The sign that we’d been looking for appeared before our eyes.

Breathing big sighs of relief, back on our way we went,
Cussing Countdown’s car park for the wasted time we’d spent.
Because of Countdown supermarket’s car park in Nelson
We almost missed our ferry from Picton to Wellington.

Good luck, it seemed, was on our side as things turned out all right.
The journey up Queen Charlotte Sound filled us with delight.
A sharp right turn, across Cook Strait, in Wellington by three,
Where we had a walkabout, banana cake and tea.

The moral of this story is be always on your guard,
For leaving Countdown supermarket car parks can be hard.
No need to fret if you make sure you’ve plenty time to spare
And, if at first you don’t succeed, above all, don’t despair.

@ rowland paul hill  1st September 2018.

breakfast

isn’t breakfast
without bran
and the proteins
and the fibre
and the vitamins
and the iron
packed inside
those long brown strands
of wholegrain wheat

if you believe what it says
on the packet.

@ rowland paul hill  14 March 2019

Over farm fields

A cantankerous five-billion-year-old sun,
like a man or woman of a certain age, is
poking fun at me today; playing hide and
seek behind baleful, over-bearing, grey
-black clouds which scatter showers on
slippery,
                 sludgy,
                               fudgy-brown
                                                       terrain
                                                                    as I,
one moment hot, next cold again, wide-eyed,
child-like, content, drudge-trudge across farm
fields betwixt Shiremoor and Whitley Bay. 
                                          
Yet, though clouds try they can’t, for long,
keep concealed a proton-fusion fireball
firing heat and light, ninety-three million
miles in eight minutes flat, through the solar
system’s vast expanse to greet a Lenten
supermoon on this year’s Vernal Equinox.

@ rowland paul hill 2 April 2019 

 

 

 

 

remember

remember roadblocks
barricades blown-up shops
bombed-out hotels
the weeping rain
tears for peace wept in vain
prayers prayed hopes for change
the desperation and the pain
the walls between shankill and falls
the troops in armoured cars
their rifles trained at beating hearts 
as we crossed queen’s bridge

remember airport queues
passport checks questions asked
demanding answers
why have you come?
where are you going?
who are you seeing”
when are you leaving?
they were bad times
they were sad times
for communities for families
for thousands of lives lost
to bullets and bombs

remember mo mowlam
the poisoned chalice she picked up
her empathy her understanding
for victims and survivors
her humanity 
in bringing together
that hallowed good friday
a country divided
through a commitment
to mutual respect civil rights
and religious liberties

let never come the day
when tears for peace
when prayers prayed
when hopes for change
and mo’s pertinacity
will all have been in vain

@ rowland paul hill  3 Feb 2019