bluebell {trapeze}

In Dublin I walked past a house

With five bluebells in the yard

Looking proudly out of place

In a mostly peculiar way.
Three crows called out

From a tree by the river

And an elephant rode by

On a circus truck
I know a girl who ran

To the circus for a time

She learned the high wire

Trapeze and cream pies.
She left to attend study

And sits quietly in class

Dreaming of not running away

To three rings of death defying feats.
Bluebells sway demurely

Like a girl balancing in the air

Delicate blue skimming in

The early morning sunlight
Girl sits in class modestly unassuming

Eyes that flash like sapphires

When interest is peaked

And fade to dull aching
When the lecturer snores his words

drowning the room

with waves of hibernation

The dreams of faded tutus return.
She really is an oddity

The stunning long legged beauty

In a space of elder haggards

Exuding confidence aloft

In a mostly peculiar way.

Day six How would John Wesley take his coffee?

Two years ago or possibly less when I was given the task of reading these forty four sermons I completed the task. I am a monkey see monkey do kind of a girl and so if I am given a task I complete it. There is a whole world of difference between reading something and reading and understanding it.

Now I am discovering there is a whole pile of difference between blandly reading and engaging with the author. So there is what two hundred and fifty years time difference but I want to have a cup of coffee with John Wesley. His mind intrigues me, and as I travel half way across the country for a decent Spirit filled conversation I have no problems imagining travelling back in time.

I wonder what he would make of us now, there are no penny gin houses in London anymore but there are plenty of distractions for a Christian to get caught up in, like finding the best barista in town. Such opulence, such spendthriftly ways in church. Where’s the fire? Where’s the commitment? Let’s have tea instead.

Would we listen to his vitriolic sermons? Would we turn on our heel, well turned out ones at that? What kind of church have we become? What kind of welcome would he receive?

And I want to ask him loads of questions about how his ideas changed? And then I am thinking am I going to do this with all these theologians and preachers from eons ago. And then I am just smiling wryly and thinking of all the times in my life I was supposed to study and wouldn’t and what a transformation to this voluntary immersion.

So a daft small poem to celebrate reaching my favourite sermon (9)

Java with John

I wonder how he takes his coffee?

Or would he go for tea?

This instance of historic holiness

Sitting in our putrid mess


Wesley preached a mighty sermon

Lived a life shrunk from ermine

Forbearance he taught

Universality for naught


But what did he teach us

What can we learn

The heart of his theology

Is his astute pneumatology


To live a life in the Spirit

Collecting gifts and fruit

To love as we are loved

Communion with the unloved


So John will ye have a latte

With you being older than Kawate

I know enough not to offer Rioja

But what about a mocha?