Good Friday

Were you there
when they laid palms at
His feet
and praises filled
the air?


Did you feel the loss
when they crowned Him
then hung Him on
a cross?

Did you here
them jeer
when He cried
Eloi Eloi
in loneliness
and fear?

Did you feel
the pain
when the Son of love
was slain?


Is there a greater gift
than this?
is there a greater love
than His?

That on a dark and
fateful day
a saviour came
and took our
sins away.

lone man walking.

A man walks in heat of day and frozen nightt.
Driven by love, a lone man walks through desert dust. In the heat of day and frozen night.
No one knows where he wanders. In heat of day and frozen night.
Thirst swells his tongue and it sticks to his mouth. In heat of day and frozen night.
Hunger bites him and he dreams of food. In heat of day and frozen night.
He is so famished. He can taste the food he dreams of. In heat of day and frozen night.
Hot stones burn his feet in heat of day and cold of night.
The night cold digs deep. In heat of day and frozen of night.
At last, he stops too tired to go on. In heat of day and frozen night.
Now the enemy came to torment him. In heat of day and frozen night.
Offering freedom from hunger and thirst. In heat of day and frozen night.
Tempting him wth power and all a man could dream of. In Heat of day and frozen night.
In spite of his suffering he overcame and stood the test. In forty days and forty nights.,

THE TROLL SONG

This was written for a young girl who was bullied.
I make no apology.
This could be sung or said to any tune you choose.

There once was a troll, a sad little troll

That lived in a hole in the ground.

Its nose was long, its ears were floppy

And its backside dragged on the ground.

Chorus

Oh you sad little troll.

You silly little troll.

You naughty little troll,

Go back to your hole in the ground.

With its beady little eye

It would see if it could spy.

Any mischief it could make.

While it hid in its hole in the ground.

Chorus.: Oh you sad etc.

Its bum would get smelly

And wobble like jelly,

when it found a victim to pick on.

It would gleefully snigger

At people much bigger

As it hid in its hole in the ground.

Chorus: Oh you sad etc

But it knew in its heart

That it would never be part

Of the love that lives all around.

while it hid in its hole in the ground

Chorus: Oh you sad.

In its lonely little nest

It never could rest

In case it would ever be found

As it hid in its hole in the ground.

Chorus: Oh you sad.

So be kind to your sad little troll

As it lies in its hole in the ground

It has no one to love it

And no hope to help it

As it hides in its hole in the ground.

W.R. Turner

To the child who was bullied. listen to the people who love you. Those  others are a waste of space. they’re just smelly bums. B.

Angel Voices

  • Come hear the halls of heaven ringing

with the sound of angels singing.

The heavenly host rejoicing.

At the victory that is bringing

home a sinner.

The gift of life for fallen sheep.

When sin so dark makes angels weep.

That breaks the hearts of those who keep

a watch on every sinner.

Now all heaven rejoices,

at the sound of angel voices

singing praises to the shepherd

who with His life erases

all the dark that

destroys a sinner.

From the depths the broken hearted

sinner rises,

and joyous angels raise their voices

at a wrong that has been righted.

and a sinner has repented.

W. R. Turner.

From Luke 15 v 7.

To the church mouse.c/o Sir John betjamine.

letter to church mouse poem

reply to poem by John betjamine

11.00 $

N.B This was written long before the ordination of women was thought possible. There is a reference to a vicar wearing a frock. This refers to a man in a cassock. there is no offence intended,  I hope there is none taken.

Small mouse, you wee timorous creature

who lives within the house of our Creator

in dark and forgotten places,

where we humans rarely go.

Who hides behind long discarded hassocks

And sleeps on old and grubby  cassocks.

think on us who stand outside

who rarely dare to step inside,

where only the good may go.

It’s  true it must be said

That we will sometimes enter in,

Or to wet the baby’s head,

Or, on occasion, when one of us is dead.

But we rarely dare to stay there among

the graves of long forgotten Knights.

Where statues of old men in tights,

Look down with disapproving eye,

as we try

to follow some ancient liturgy,

and wonder why the vicars got a frock on.

Tell us what to do

and when to stand and when to sit,

do we sing the anthem bit.

or is that just the choir?

Will we be consumed by heavenly fire

when a cold deadly stare

Tells us we are sitting in someones chair?

Good mouse we would gladly sing our Saviours  praise.

But we are told we have to know our place.

What is that place, and where?

And are we really welcome there?

Good friend eat your fill of  festive food.

Think of us and eat with a will.

eat it all, eat  the tower

and the steeple.

Eat it all, but save the people.

W.R.Turner.