Category Archives: Love

Everyday Occurrence


It was to be
walk in the woods
Raison d’etre – ?
health – re-invigoration

It was to be
full overcoat
into the home of
the trees

It was to be
excursion into the
grassy undergrowth

It was for me
a daily occurrence
– as for she

Healthy walks
with the nature girl
and I
the townie guy

– country mouse
meets town mouse

thirty-six years later
morphing into

and then home for tea


Life by Paintings Measured


Life and it’s years
Measured by reflection
Recorded by another art work
Through choices of introspection

Forgotten or remembered dates
– written or not recorded dates –
signed pieces of spent time
scribbled on front or back –

Many escaped the cameras cache

Thus opening the door of surmise –
When – where – how – what – ?
Not sure and can’t remember

Marks of my own making
have gone out there
as fully-formed relatives of
heart and mind

Gone out there

There – under the sun – elsewhere
under the skies and ceilings of
other homes
Lost they are –
No tag upon the ankle
– hanging on the wall
Gone from me their first love.

I’ve lost you – children of mine

Who could you possibly
mean more to – than I…?

Time ticked by
as I remember time ticking by

Whilst I studied you – changed you –
added to your import

As I filed you – sold you –
alas – oft with regret

Gave you – itemised you –
folded you – ironed you –
cut you – framed you – forgot you
or got you back.

Gave you to – unworthy foster parents
who put you somewhere –
closed off out of sight in
chest or attic

Years gone by –
measured in spatters – washes
– and dry-brushed patterns all amok

Time recorded in
frantic marks – that scurried across
one hundred and forty pounds cold-pressed

Some stood/stand the test of time –
others – disqualified by those in a
daze of incomprehension

“I don’t know much about art…”
was the rubber stamp at the
custom’s gate of their minds

Still – can’t complain –
‘cause some will not let you go
a pillar of time you represent in
associated thought:

“My husband loved that painting of yours
I still have it – wouldn’t part with it”

Time – years – paintings gone
Out of sight – owned by others
– never to return

Many of them have worn well
Others heard man’s benediction
spoken over them:
“Time for a change –
remove her from the wall…”

What possible worth
can be found in these –
the inanimate?

And yet – thought is
art engrafted-on-paper
and thought is Still Life
revealing – there is still life

Inanimate perhaps
but what stories they tell –

Vincent did well know
His paintings oft rejected –
before he had to go

No artist can measure his years
except by Retrospectives

He alone was at the secret birth
of images coming out
delivered to the picture plane

Years measured by paintings
All unique –
Dark and sombre or all aglow

Years measured by paintings
This will have to do
to document a life

On these – man places worth
If enough will say – it should be so

Years measured by paintings
A raft of scattered years
Recorded in line and colour
and form and tone by what appears

I wonder at them all
Categorised with equality
If rejected by the Salon
It doesn’t matter to me

Years measured by paintings
I have quite a few
still wanting to leave home
to make their way to you


On The Way Home


On his way home from school
The skinny-timid boy espied
A damsel in distress
Bullied by an interloper

He had forgotten about
being beaten up
by the large guy – called Large

He had forgotten about the dog
that bit him sore

He had forgotten the gang who
grabbed his lapels and
punched him

He had forgotten being
pushed around at school

He forgot the interloper was
much larger than he
as he manhandled
the pretty Linda

Before he realised it
and as though in a dream
His skinny fist shot out
across the interloper’s chin

Flabbergasted at himself
He asked the lovely Linda
‘if she was ok?’

She ran away

And the interloper lay
crying on the ground
refusing to rise

But how could this be?
He sauntered on home
bemused in the
bewilderment his
skinny fist had created


New Blog



Hesitantly I invite you to visit my new blog.
I say hesitantly for purely technical reasons. Because of the technical knowledge de-motivation mode that I’m usually in (ie knowledge as a result of necessity, rather than ‘Yippee! lets set up a blog’ – standpoint, if you get my gist?).

I haven’t worked out the technical side, in other words.

As in e.g. where did the ‘Page’ I just set up go to!?

I’m pretty sure there are a myriad of things I am not doing to ‘spread’ either of my two blogs to a wider audience – but I try to engage in life outside of blogging, so I’m afraid I’m relaxed over who (i.e. numbers) reads ‘seeds…’ or this new blog.

Anyway –
Posts are appearing, and that’s the main thing.

The Blog is named: ‘The Bible Returns’, and the other Christian name that my parents gave me (which I’m not too keen on) refers to yours truly (Ken) as Douglas.

Those at all familiar among the 3 hundred and something (I haven’t looked at statistics for months) – followers – will know I speak of ‘different hats’ that I wear. My Preacher hat is
donned almost exclusively now at ‘The Bible Returns’.

The Blog is primarily Bible Teaching for Christians but not exclusively.
So feel free to have a look.

Have a good day – have a day of Revelation.


Memory’s Song


You listen to the song
It triggers your memory’s reprise

The song of intermittent thought
going from scene to scene
You alone know what it means

You’re back there
and then
You’re back here again

Your memory has made them
glorious days
But sometimes
Take with a pinch of salt
what memory says

Nevertheless it’s good to recall
Give thanks for most – if not all
But in your youth –
(are you in your youth?)

Such travellings don’t
get a look in
‘Cause – see –
you haven’t time for them

But even you –
(what’s in it for you)
Gives way to:

A lived moment back
through your teens to
Mama’s outstretched arms
And cuddles so pure
You felt loved and secure

Maybe though –
you cannot compute?
Due to loud angry shoutings
Of an out-of-tune song
The lyric of incessant violence
Bad behaviour of the most
despicable kind
This memory song you
never want to sing

Nevertheless my friend
Find the memory that
means the most
And sing your song of
frozen-screen’s joy

Live it again
the song of back then

And see the contrast
of good and bad
But know good is…
As bad should not be…

Count blessings
God is in earshot
Let Him know
you will sing His hymn


Three Became One


“How do I look?”
We cared with youthful vanity
back in the day.
Setting ourselves on display

But all of this
was longing
for acceptance
in mutual admiration society

The connections were made
That lasted and didn’t last

We grasped at life
Clinging and letting go
With equal intensity

But it was all of youth’s
interminable searching
for a soul mate
while the inner-inner man
lay dormant
starved of the true reality

A Messiah is coming
Three parts full
Vacuum gone

I fell into the water that was Living
Buoyant in spiritual love
Lovely word – redeemed
Maturing quickly and gradually
at the same time

With and in
the ups and downs
of life
– of all lives

But sustained throughout
and from then on
I was – borne up
on wings of eagles

Splendid things to come

Two become one
He governs me
with humility

Then she came
and three become one
in holy matrimony







The Hill


The tall tree beside the hill
Young boys rolling down
finding its adjunct

Buttercups blooming
on the roll

Up they would pant to the
top again
Falling down ‘headlong’

All kinds of games
in Fresh air
with pollen and
various scents

Battle of Trafalgar?
…they knew nothing about
but re-wrote it’s history
a million times
…or thereabouts?

They knew each other well
In Phileo love
Interrupted by
of the natural man

they all fought
for real on a bad day

Sloping home
It was ice-pops or ice cream or
penny chews or chewing gum
the reward of battles won

The hill never spoke
Never complained at being
trodden underfoot

They all knew it’s name
But never wondered why

The ‘Dummy’s Hill’
A green mound still
in memory’s sigh







Fishing Bond


The dew rested on the grass
That semi-chill factor
Pins and needles effect
On your advancing face

Good job – these water boots!
The grass is so long

Morning – Right time to fish
Or so they say

First cast in

Birds chirping now
with intermittent grace

And yes straight away
bite on the line
Played well and landed

Catch and release
ten fish later and
it’s time for a ‘home made’

Sandwich and a slurp of soup

Back to the casting
But as the day dwindles past noon
Then past the six o’clock mark
So too dwindles the fish

Still – thirty fish can’t be bad
Let’s call it a day
Did I say: my son caught more?

I pretend envy
While secretly so glad
for his success
Best buddies in the love of God
Thank you fish
My excuse for bonding






He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me…

2016-12-08 17.32.37
He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me… (Watercolour)

I remember…

I remember

I remember…
The whitewash on the yard walls
The transformation when renewed

I remember…
the long wooden trays of
the baker –
in a van
calling at doors

The array of breads – biscuits – cakes
each allocated it’s partition.
Each breathtakingly sealed on
a young mind

I remember…
the semi-circular
pristineness of mum’s
scrubbing of the street
outside the door

I remember…
dad’s froth covered face
and ski-slope tracks made in
it’s shaven snow.

I remember…
dad – shoulders back –
chest out – muscles flexed as he
punched the wall in jest –
to impress his young son

Impressed he was –
and so was the wall

I remember…
the parlour.
The parlour.
For so it was named

I remember…
the cavaliers and
the roundheads
(a patient, loving mum
with son
obtained – in shop ‘umpteenth’
their long slog
the full length of the road)
put away for Christmas day

I remember…
a tender-hearted mother
who put her two children first,
always first.

I remember…
as millions have remembered
As mankind remembers
As mankind is made
to have memory
I remember..

But I also forget…
I forget what memory fails
to revisit
The engine won’t start
No matter how hard I try

We all would revisit
good times/
good things/
good happenings –

meaningful things
frivolous things

Our first-ever this…
our first-ever that…

Off we went without a care
until dished-out treatment
(kids can be so cruel)
stopped us in our
joyous tracks

I remember…
bully boys
and my chivalrous stand
the marks of the one-sided
battle I physically endured

I remember…
great nights of play
continuity from that of the day
Football played by ear
as the day’s light
did disappear

I remember…
a childhood crush
All in the mind

Emotion only
allowed to touch

I remember…


[I break into this trip…]

‘This can’t be me’ I quip
to myself
as I write this
‘I remember’… riff

For I will stop here –
no more visiting
nostalgia –
the bygones

ropes and hooks
on the past
dragged back
into memories
present span

I will no longer challenge
to indulge or disagree
ridicule or stare incredulously

This is out of fashion
to talk so
You are showing your age

McCartney and his
‘silly love songs’
comes to mind

But no one will blemish
my preciousness
with insensitive
I am no pearl and
you are no swine.












The value of value

The value of value

Indiscriminate value

“That’s worth it…”
Highly valued…

Value – please explain

The value people put on things

There it is at the market place
Many monies I pay

There it is –
older –
once used

twice removed
little monies I pay

The artist’s conglomerate
to make a ‘bob or two’
You do the background
I the fore
You mix the paint
I will apply to twelve at once
Churned out –

Standard image

with no thought-standard

Conveyor belt stuff

“Get what you can for it…”

Superficial value –
No love or tender care

Supply and demand
300% mark-up
Somebody’s creaming it.

Nostalgic value to the robbed.

Value contrasts:
The rich pay to indulge
The poor pay to survive

value-added tax

the values of life

Your values
My values
do not coincide


Value and
what is able
to be valued
to remain

Longevity counts
for value

Your valued life
in the hands of
the surgeon

eroded to:
just making a name
for himself(?)

More earnings
to buy valuables

Human life?
thousands and
thousands –
wiped out

too overwhelming
for the brain
to process

thought us
valuable enough
to die for

enough to enter the mystery
of His chosen punishment

to remove the sting
of destroying sin

Value –
Christ forsaken –
‘we esteemed Him
Smitten by God,
and afflicted’.

becoming valueless

that true value
be restored.