First thoughts on St Francis of Assisi

The little man stands before the crowd

as his father raves and rants in fury:  

'This son, this disgraceful, wasteful son,

refusing his father's reasonable demands,

adding nothing to the family coffers,

stealing to fund his ridiculous schemes. 

Useless soldier, no head for business,

bringing shame to Pietro di Bernadone, 

who has twice sent him out in the brightest armour,

and would clothe him in finest purple silk

if only he'd take his allotted place,

the next strong branch in the family tree.'

But the crowd and the kindly, worried bishop,

no longer attend to the spluttering man,

for his son has quietly cast off his clothes,

which lie, with the gold, at his father's feet,

and the bishop is offering his cloak to the man,

impressed by the soul but unnerved by the flesh. 

The father's rage flares at this new outrage. 

'Damn his eyes! Damn his belly, his buttocks, his mouth!

Let him freeze, let him rot, get him out of my sight!'

And the little man leaves in the borrowed cloak,

seeking his place in a different world. 

Three on a road

Turning our backs on Jerusalem

we should be trudging, downhearted,

but a nervous energy drives us on. 

Talk flashes to and fro;

hope seems dead

but won't lie down. 

The evening light plays tricks:

two of us walk towards sunset,

but glancing back, we see three shadows. 

Why do you argue? says the voice. 

Isn't it obvious? we reply, but

who is this third who walks beside us?

We tell all. A volcano of hurt erupts,

hopes raised and dashed, the journeys,

the tales, the hill, the tomb. He speaks –

repaints our angry canvasses

in fresh, unsettling colours:

evening becoming a strange, new dawn. 

Home, hungry for more than bread,

we lure the stranger in

with promise of supper, but

where have we seen those hands

that lift the bread and break our hearts

afresh as scales fall from our eyes

and knowledge comes and two of us

gaze, dumbstruck, at an empty space...

...we breathe in the lingering scent 

of future hope

The dragon, the chimp and the turtle

A dragon cools her mouth in the waters.

Her friendly snout held up to breathe,

she gazes, dreaming, out to sea. 

Nearby a sad chimp

rests his chin on the waves. 

He turns, gazing inland;

something concerns him,

something forgotten,

something he must find. 

Alongside him a turtle laps the water, 

unconcerned with tomorrow,

with an hour from now,

drinking in the moment.