The dreamer

Joseph
like your namesake in Egypt,
more Egyptian than Hebrew,
yet of your blood,
did you always dream?

Joseph
as a small boy
learning your carpentry trade
at your father's side
did you dream then?

Did you dream of creating

something beautiful from wood

with hands that had learned to be clever:

a bowl, a table, a simple bed

a dream of creation?

Did you dream of crafting

sturdy doors so strong

they would withstand

an onslaught from Roman soldiers
a dream of protection?

Did you dream of hearing
God's voice, that inner knowing
of being told where to go
and what to do:
dreams of directions?

Did you in your wildest dreams then ever think
that God would indeed speak to your soul in your dreams?
Dreams of creation of a tiny baby
Dreams of protection of a mother and child
Dreams of direction for your lives?

Joseph, you were a wonderful dreamer

Christmas past

1982 Patersons in Kenya: German traditions on Christmas Eve, sharing presents, fun and laughter in the kitchen with Anna.
1983 Ivory Coast, with my brother Matthew
1984 With Richard's sister Sarah at Naro Moru
1985 And again at Naro Moru, in a rainstorm, camping in a tent in the garden. Not great.
1986 With Stan and Tami, Byron and Lisa, sharing secret Santa presents and the Christmas story.
1987 In Nyeri: Christmas Eve at Jim and Janet Dillards, Christmas Day at Ann and Clyde Berkeleys' house. Jim and Danyce Gustafson came to stay too.
1988 In Nyeri again: Christmas Eve at Jim and Janet Dillards, Christmas Day at Debbie and Rusty Pughs.
1989 Nyeri again, with all our friends.
1990 Nyeri again.
1991 In Loita Hills at Byron and Lisa's, with Peter and Tammy Russell and Lisa's parents
1992 In Nairobi with Joe and Evelyn Rinella, and their daughter Adrienne
1993 In Nairobi with Chris and Dan Henrich and their children Caren, Sam, Mike and Andrew
1994 In Nairobi with Robyn and David Watkins, Elissa, Michael and Christopher
1995 In Nairobi with Martin and Amanda Geake and family
1996 In Nairobi with Peter and Tammy, Skyler and Chase Russell
1997 In Nairobi by ourselves
1998 In Nairobi with Ken and Jane Wathome
1999 In Nairobi with Max and Hanna Collison, Tim, Katrin and John, and Dr Maurice
2000 In Rugby with Angie's parents, brother Matthew and sister Isabel
2001 In Rugby with Angie's parents, brother Matthew and sister Isabel again
2002 In Rugby again
2003 In Guernsey, by ourselves at Valerie Fox's rented barn cottage.
2004 In Guernsey, at Renee's, with her grandson Duncan and son Glen, Martin and Sarah Thornton
2005 In Guernsey, with Renee at Bryan and Tricia Pill's house
2006 In Guernsey, at our house with Renee, the Pills, and Martin, Sarah and Matt Thornton
2007 In Guernsey, at our house with Ian and Jane, Tom, Josh and Lyddy Langlois
2008 In Guernsey, at Ian and Jane Langlois' house.

On the hillside

Shepherds huddle with their flocks of sheep upon the hills,
The air is cold, the night is dark; this is not the time for thrills.
This is no time for gluttony, for feasting till they burst
This is a time of longing, of craving and of thirst.

Long have these folk awaited a saviour for them all
‘Tis in the long night watches that they listen for the call
To hear the news they yearn for, a sounding of the trumpet horn
Instead an angel tells them that a baby boy is born.

This is no kingly coming, with noise and pomp and power
Whose arrival is announced from every mountainside and tower.
A king who would deliver them from their occupiers’ hands:
Instead it is a baby before whom they cannot stand.

For into tiny Bethlehem those shepherds hurried then
To see that little babe who is the Rescuer of Men.
As they kneel before that manger wherein the Christ child lies
A wondering world can see Him through those humble shepherds’ eyes.

It's Christmas

Tinsel and glitter, razzle and sparkle
Lighting our lives in the midst of the dark.
Silver and gold of the fairies and angels
Moonlight that glints on the snow in the park.

Cinnamon and cloves with the smell of spiced fruit
Warming our bodies with promised delights
Mulled wine and mince pies, nutmeg and ginger
Sing to our souls of the coming of Light.

Mysterious parcels in brightly wrapped paper
Colourful cards come from near and from far.
Stockings hung next to a cosy warm fireplace
Eager eyes hoping to glimpse that bright Star.

It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas, we’re impatient with waiting
It’s hope, love and joy all mixed up in one.
We love all the feasting, the giving, celebrating,
Enjoying this time when we have so much fun!

Christmas Wishes

We wish for all kinds of things at Christmas: these wishes are somewhat different…

I wish I’d been a friend to her, that humble teenage mother
We’d share our laughter and our joy, our fears with one another.
I would have given all I owned to help her make that journey
As she obeyed the word of God , which fulfilled all her yearnings.

I wish I’d been a shepherd boy upon those hills so cold
I’d huddle close up to my sheep and guard them in the fold.
I wouldn’t be so terrified if angels then appeared
I’d laugh and shout and dance with joy: I wouldn’t think it weird.

I wish I’d been a learned man who lived in foreign lands
Who used his brain to study stars, not fight in mighty bands.
I’d pack my bags, gather my friends and make that journey far.
I’d keep my gaze through all those days upon that travelling star.

I wish I’d lived in Bethlehem just near that lowly stable.
I would have rushed on over there as fast as I was able.
I know I would have marvelled at the wonder I would find
The tiny babe a mighty King: the Saviour of mankind.

New Life at Christmas

The nights are dark, the days are dim,
The hearts grow ever weary
And so we turn to gaze at Him
Who holds us all so dearly.

How could this tiny baby boy
Have come to mean so much?
It was not just His mother’s joy
It is His gentle touch.

He came to set us all quite free
From guilt and shame and harm
If our blind eyes could only see
The love and peace and calm.

This is my prayer at Christmas tide
For all of us on earth
That we kneel at that manger’s side
And know that wondrous mirth.

Psalm 23: a paraphrase

I will have just what I need
'Cos the Lord is taking care of me.
When I'm tired He lets me rest
When I'm thirsty I'll be refreshed.
He helps me know just what is right
Since His names mean Mercy, Truth and Light.
When life turns out to be quite hard
And Satan comes with His calling card
I won't be afraid that I'll go wrong
For You, O lord, are with me all along.
You'll give me a push when I don't know
Or can't decide the way to go.
When I've been wronged, you'll put it right
In front of everyone in sight
You'll show them that I'm an okay gal
You give me riches 'cos I'm your pal
There won't be anything else I need
As long as there's room in your house for me.

A cautionary tale: Don't Mess With Your Mother

There was a boy whose name was Chris
I'd like you to remember this:
That from the very earliest age
He used to fly into a rage
When his poor mother combed his hair
He used to shout: "You'll make it bare!"
His mother laughed, and said: "I won't -
Just look at how much hair you've got.
It's thick and bushy through and through.
The wind has tangled it, so you
Must keep it tidy, as you know
Because Mr Morris likes it so."
(Mr Morris was Chris's teacher
Who knew that hair is a boy's best feature
And should be washed and combed at least
Lest a boy be taken for a beast.
And as you are quite well aware
A chap must take good care of hair.)
So Chris's mother pulled and tugged.
Chris wept and screamed, yet still she lugged
The comb right through his luscious curls
As beautiful as any girl's.
Chris had enough: and with a shout
He grabbed the comb and tore it out
His mother's hand, but with it came
A chunk of his amazing mane.
She snatched it back, but with a yank
He grabbed again: this time a hank
of long black hair stuck to the comb
And war began in Chris's home.
So tit for tat they grabbed and pulled
until at last there came a lull
in the hostilities: peace reigned.
Chris and his mother stared, amazed
At Chris' head. There was no hair
To be seen still growing there.
They were both indeed appalled
To see that he was almost bald.
So let this be a careful warning:
Don't fight your mother in the morning!

Exam fever

Impossibility

Read the question
Do the question
Turn the paper over.
Read that question
Check that question
Check your answer over.

The question says…
‘It takes 2 men to dig a hole 4 feet deep.’
I don’t read any more.
2 men.
Why 2 men? Why not 1 man on his own? Or a gang of labourers? And why does it have to be men anyway?
Maybe it’s boys.
Digging a pond or looking
For buried treasure
Or
Just for fun.
In which case it certainly wouldn’t be 2 of them.
There’d be at least 4, because that’s how boys hang around together.
In groups.
Big ones.
I’m a girl. Most girls wouldn’t dig a hole.
Not one four feet deep anyway.
We might dig a small hole, and turn it into an ornamental lake, with miniature trees and houses around it made out of twigs and moss and flowers and pretty little pebbles. And then make up stories about it, with handsome princes and pretty princesses begging to be rescued.
So I just don’t understand why two men would dig a hole four feet deep. What would be the point?
Sir, I can’t do this question.


Exam fever

Oh no! It’s that time of the year again
I’d much rather stay here in bed.
My stomach’s all wobbly, my eyes are in pain
And my arms feel as heavy as lead.

My stomach’s all wobbly, my eyes are in pain
And my arms feel as heavy as lead.
My throat is on fire, my tongue tastes like a drain
There’s a sledgehammer pounding my head.

My throat is on fire, my tongue tastes like a drain
There’s a sledgehammer pounding my head.
Who is it who’s stuffed cotton wool in my brain?
Is this what it’s like to be dead?

Who is it who’s stuffed cotton wool in my brain?
Is this what it’s like to be dead?
Oh no! It’s that time of the year again
I think I’ll just stay here in bed.

Exam fever

Oh no! It’s that time of the year again
I’d much rather stay here in bed.
My stomach’s all wobbly, my eyes are in pain
And my arms feel as heavy as lead.

My throat is on fire, my tongue tastes like a drain
There’s a sledgehammer pounding my head.
Who is it who’s stuffed cotton wool in my brain?
Is this what it’s like to be dead?

The thought of the sitting, the standing, the waiting -
The walking around in the gloom,
The watching, the listening, the prospect of marking
Just fills me with feelings of doom.

The pens and the pencils, the numerous papers
Piled high on my desk with a scowl
The squinting, the marking of young expectations
Are turning me into an owl.

Which means I’m not sleeping, and hardly am eating
There just seems no end to the task
Of checking, correcting, trying to be understanding
With no other adult to ask.

For being an examiner is lonely, destroying
It’s only me and the papers and all
My desperate existence is just filled with marking
With backbreaking, eye watering toil.

The thought of all this has now filled me with pain
And my eyes are already quite red
Oh no! It’s that time of the year again
I think I’ll just stay here in bed.

Staff room rant

Rescue Remedy?

Musings in the staffroom. A pantoum, for Nicola.

This day has been dreadfully long
My head hurts, I'm tired as can be
There are so many things going wrong
I wonder, can YOU rescue me?

My head hurts, I'm tired as can be
I've had such a horrible week
I wonder, can you rescue me?
Dear choc'lates, let me take a peek!

I've had such a horrible week
There's only one thing that will work
Dear choc'lates, let me take a peek
I promise you that I won't smirk

There's only one thing that will work
It's choc'late and truffles and fudge
I promise you that I will smirk
If I spot any candy or nuts.

It's choc'late and truffles and fudge
Vanilla and ginger and mint
If I spot any candy or nuts
I'll scoff them as fast as you blink.

Vanilla and ginger and mint
The answer to so many ills
I'll scoff them as fast as you blink
Instead of those potions and pills.

The answer to so many ills
'Cos this day has been dreadfully long
Instead of those potions and pills
It’s chocolate stops things going wrong.

Staff meeting

Meetings that go on, on and on
Are dreadfully boring you know.
It’s amazing how awfully long
They can go on and cause endless woe.

I’m so bored as I sit here and fret
I’d so like to up sticks and go
Please, isn’t it time to go yet?
Won’t someone say, so I may know?

The sun’s shining down on the grass
The flowers smell exquisitely sweet.
Oh how slowly the time’s going past
I’m dying for something to eat.

I could rush out and jump on my bike
And whizz down the hill fast and quick
I could put on my shoes for a hike
And find an ice lolly to lick.

I could go out for a coffee with friends
I could go for a swim at the beach
I’ve got quite a few letters to send
I’d really just much rather teach.

I could even get on with my marking;
Assessment for learning and stuff
Put energy into preparing:
My lessons should not be too tough.

Cause I’m really just thrilled to be teaching
I get such a buzz from class
There’s nothing to beat that great feeling
You get from the questions they ask…

The pleasure you have when they ‘get it’
The laughter, the jokes and the fun
Seeing them smart in P.E. kit
When all of the written work’s done.

So am I just wasting my life
In a meeting that won’t ever end?
I’m all for good constructive work
Not have to go right round the bend!

School poems

Staff room poetry

Longings
Sit down in hope
Avoid the grope
For the sweets and chocolate which lurk in hidden corners of my handbag.

Something Wrong
The cups are on the bookshelf
The coffee’s in the sink
The milk is in the oven
There’s something wrong, I think.

The spoons are in the rubbish bin
The sugar’s on the floor
I really feel there’s something wrong
Oh, who can tell me more?

It’s appearing pretty simple
It’s obviously quite plain
The solution’s just so obvious
I’ve lost my marbles once again.

Dreams
My thoughts are in the marketplace
My attention in the fields
My dreams have hit the ceiling
My spirit sorely yields.

Wandering
I left the room
Fully intending
To go outside
But
Forgot my mission
And
Ended up
Wandering the corridors in silence.

Time to go home
Isn’t it time to go home yet?
Isn’t it time to be off?
Isn't it time to go out in the wet
And pick up a cold and a cough?

Isn’t it time to finish?
Isn’t it time to end?
Isn’t it time to pick up my bag
And leave to go off round the bend?

Isn’t it time to be sensible?
Isn’t it time to be calm?
Isn’t it time to completely cool down
Before I can do any harm?

Isn’t it time to just stop, now?
Isn’t it time to leave?
Isn’t it time to chuck it all in
And give this malarkey a heave?