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Christmas Snow and Other Poems

Alasdair Bothwell Gordon

Eva Publications

Hamilton, South Lanarkshire

Scotland (UK)

First Published 2013

Revised Edition Christmas 2013

CHRISTMAS SNOW

Today the ground is white;

Snow has fallen and covered the earth like a blanket

Beneath the snow, the plants lie warm and snug

Waiting sleepily for the coming of Spring.

In God's time there is always a time of waiting

We say "I want" and God says "now - but not yet"

He has given us the gift of Jesus "now"

But "not yet" is all revealed to our eyes.

There is much evil, much sorrow and much despair

But God has not forgotten - He does not change His mind

As the Spring bulbs grow unseen under the snow

So God's purposes are working out - unseen but sure.

THE CHOSEN PEOPLE

Sometimes people irritate

People I love and respect

God's own people - so strange and full of contradictions

New men and women in Jesus Christ

Strong, humble, reliable, stout hearted

Looking to God's Word and to His Spirit

Yet also weak, proud, ready to fall

Conformed to the mould of this world.

What must you think of us, Father?

What must you think of your church?

So weak - and yet so strong

So true - and yet so false

Thank you Lord that you do not put out the flickering flame

Thank you Lord that your strength is made perfect in weakness.

Help me Lord not to judge others according to my own lights

Help me Lord to look at others through the eyes of Jesus Christ.

A DISMAL DAY

Cold, rainy, dull, depressing

That's the kind of day it is.

Do I feel the weather in my soul?

Of course I do

It is so easy to stumble

To feel as dreary as the weather

Grey, dark, splattered, muddy,

To feel as useless as the fag-end, floating in the gutter

Or like the crisp bag on the wet grass

But even in these times we are of value to God

He who created all things

From the smallest to the greatest

How sad he must be, to see the human race,

How much we fall short of his likeness

But God is not without hope

His Son is our hope.

LIFE IS SHORT

A long, routine nondescript day

Plenty to do, but lacking the will to do it.

When we are young, life stretched out before us

Like a great sea, rippling towards the horizon.

But soon that distant line comes nearer

Life is short, time goes fast.

So much intended, so little done.

So many ideals which were keen and sharp

Now are blunt or forgotten

Zeal for the Lord

No longer burns in me like a fire.

But the Lord can restore

The years which the locust has eaten

He can put a new song in my mouth

He can give me a new heart.

I AM EMBARRASSED

Lord, I feel good today

Not good in my own power

But just good in your strength, Lord,

In your loving goodness.

How trite we make it all seem

But for you it was not so

To see your own Son stretched out on a Cross

To hear his words of forgiveness, of desolation and of triumph

Lord you alone are good

You alone could give your own Son

And he died to make me good?

Lord I feel embarrassed

It is too much!

Did you have to go so far?

Lord, how much easier it would be

If you loved me just a little less.

TOO MUCH THINKING

We have to use our minds so much

Just to make our bodies work

To go about our daily round

To earn our living

To organise ourselves in the way we want

But do we sometimes use our minds too much?

Do we stifle what we feel in our hearts?

Do we speak of you as "Our Father"

Whilst we think of you as something else?

Too often we think of you as a thing

Perhaps even a "being", great - yes, and wonderful.

But do we feel and experience your love

That love poured out on Calvary's tree

That love which does not stop short

Lord, may I experience you more

That your love may melt my cold heart

My trained and educated mind

May it be less narrow

May it be more open to you

May I be more like Jesus Christ

IT'S A BATTLE

There are times when it all seems a battle

Everything we say seems to be misunderstood

People are awkward; difficult to please.

But what of us?

What about the plank in our own eye

Are we not too quick to judge?

To assume the worst in others

To ask more of them than we ask of ourselves

The question is - how does Jesus see them?

FEELINGS

Feelings that are inside and won't come out

Feelings so deep that I don't know what they are

Who am I?  What's it all about?

Sometimes it's as though there's a deep joy and sadness

How I long for the luxury of tears

Not tears wasted on hurt pride or pride of foolish vanity

But tears which themselves flow from the heart of God

Do I envy those with superficial joy?

Sometimes I do.

Blessed are those who seem to sail through life unscathed

Or are they?

The wounds of life may also be our healing

They draw us to the mystery of the Godhead

I may feel crushed but I'm not destroyed

If I am God's child, surely that's for ever

Yes, for ever and for ever and for ever.

CHARITY AND OLD AGE

Charity - what's it all about?

Better lives for others

More money in the pocket

More food in the larder

More coal on the fire

More help in old age?

But charity can be cold as ice

A mere exercise in "people play"

If our interest is "the system"

Or making ourselves "feel good"

Thank you, thank you and thank you!

Thank you, thank you and thank you!

How these words sound like music to our ears

Coming from the lips of grateful "clients".

How will we be when we are old?

Lumbered with worn-out bodies

Knees trembling, fingers twisted, minds confused

Our hearing dull, our sight and senses dimmed

Where will our charity be then?

With all the people we once helped long dead?

The clever theories, the books and articles we read

The plans we made, advice so freely given?

Will they be mere words, just phrases vaguely remembered?

Like waking suddenly out of a dream?

And life will be gone before we've grasped its meaning.

STEEPLES

Steeples - they point our eyes to Heaven

Steeples - they lighten a stark sky-line

Steeples - they wag an accusing finger

Steeples - they may say "Glory to God"

Steeples - they may say "Glory to man"

Steeples - they and their noisy bells will crumble to dust

Steeples - they are nothing beside He who built the starry skies

Steeples - they remind us of what - the carpenter of Nazareth?

Steeples - they remind us that all is vanity

SEASIDE HOLIDAYS

The smell of the sea

The crunch of sand beneath our feet

The sound of pop songs and roller-coasters

The tuneless jangle from the ice cream van

Funny hats, peeling arms,

Dark glasses, baggy shorts,

Chip bags, saucy postcards

Do we feel as silly as we look?

All set to enjoy - come what may

Huddling to keep warm against the bracing air

Shivering in our C & A's beach-wear

Stubbing our toes on hidden stones

Getting stuck in ancient deck-chairs

Paddling bravely in the icy waters

Shrieking when it splashes our ankles.

And when it rains, we trail round "Woolies"

Gazing at things we've seen a hundred times before

Wishing we didn't wish we were back home.

When the holiday is over, we say "farewell" to "Seaview"

Thank you, Mrs Thing, for being so kind

[She'd skin a louse for its tallow, mean old crow]

We'll see you again next year [well maybe not]

Then it’s into the car and away

Soon we'll see it - home sweet home

That's the part of our holiday

We like the best of all.

THE LONG AND THE SHORT OF IT

A long week - or a short week

A bit of both

And how do I know - and does it matter?

Life itself is so precious

Each second of great value

Yet we fritter it away

Wasting our God-given time

Why do we put in time?

Afraid that we may start to think

Having to face life and death

Shaky marriages, delinquent kids

Jobs we can't stand

Debt that weighs us down

Like an albatross round our necks

God's blessings are new every morning

He wants us to live each day

But not for each day

Do not be anxious about tomorrow

Today has cares of its own.

RED SANDSTONE

Taken from the depths

Hidden under the earth

It emerges red and clean

A marvel of creation

Now moulded and shaped

Into proud, confident blocks

Built into great walls of high tenement houses

Bay windows, turrets

Archways and chimney stacks

Stained glass and tiled closes

Set foursquare, strongly founded

Soot and grime, petrol fumes

Years of rain and "Scotch mist"

These have taken their toll

Reducing grand to ordinary

But these are homes

Part of the living city

Families have come and gone

Children played beneath the walls

Will you last for ever

Despite the passing of the years?

Nothing does; it all crumbles

The wind blows and it is gone

THE LIBRARY

Ssssh - be quiet!

Silence- don't talk

This is a place of study

Where we all act "properly".

It’s like a cathedral

High roofed and airy

A great gallery of shelves

Reading booths like confessionals

I want to borrow a book

I must approach the altar

The acolyte takes my card

It seems that all is well

How much dead thought lies here

Ancient tomes like gravestones

Monuments to days and nights

Thoughts and tears and joys

I move from aisle to transept

From nave to apse

From side-chapel to aisle

Yet - whose house is it?

A WALK IN PARTICK

A strange feeling of unease

Where is north, where is south

Why can't I follow the map?

Have I been here before?

Why don't people hear what I say?

Am I so odd, my intonation so foreign?

Do I look out of place?

Are my clothes as odd as they feel?

We're all strangers in a strange land

Like Ruth of Old Testament times

Maybe we do belong

Yet maybe we don't

These narrow streets

These dusty pavements

These chip bags flying in the air

These iron-barred shops

Bookies, pubs, fast-food

Cheap clothes, pawn shops

Here they buy and sell all hours

Do some of them never close?

A young man in tight jeans

Stands in a doorway, looking sullen

He watches me as I pass by

Does he wish me good or ill?

A woman shuffles past

In slippers, fag in hand

Trailing a weary, tired old dog

Seeming to count every step

An Indian woman in her shop

Glares suspiciously as I pass

Two giggling girls, exchanging sexual lore

Break into loud laughter

At some swopped intimacy

A blowsy woman, of uncertain age

With leather skirt and tart-like look

Bedecked with chains and bangles

Flashes her thigh at passing men

Waiting to ply her trade of the night

The traffic roars, both day and night

Relentless, unending, often trivial

Taking people from nowhere to nowhere

Eating up the miles, keeping moving

What panic there would be if we had to stop!

We might have to think of life's meaning

And that would never do.

Partick is part of the City of Glasgow.

The poem was written when the writer was a student at Jordanhill College of Education.

A NEW DAY

What will it be today?

Frustration, disappointment

Pleasure, opportunity

Pleasure, opportunity

Fear, dislike

Pleasure, love?

Who decides?

Is it God?

Is it me?

Am I helpless?

Is it my choice?

God holds me in the hollow of his hand

His love is new every morning

Why am I slow to claim

Those precious words?

Help me today to lean

Not on myself but on the spirit

The spirit which prevents us

The spirit which surrounds us

The spirit which upholds us

MISTS AND SOUNDS

Mists and sounds

Distant thuds and creaking

A strange place

And here I am, a stranger

No sun, but the rumble of trains

No rain, but a smell of the city

God looks down on his children

Day by day, wherever we are

Why do I often feel alone?

The only pebble on the beach

Where people crowd around us like ants

Yet are as distant as the far hills

I see a woman on her way to work

Stout, overweight, yet dogged in her steps

Lighting the cigarette which does her harm

Yet without which she cannot live.

What story have you to tell?

Of sorrow and joy

Of hope and sadness

Of days gone by?

Do others watch me

And wonder - who is he

The grey-bearded man

With the sad face?

TIME AND TIDE

Like a river, it runs and runs

Sometimes in slow pools

Or dashing over the rocks

Overflowing its banks

or drying to a trickle

Time is all the same

Sixty minutes in the hour

Yet some is fast

And some is slow

Moments that pass

And time that drags

In God's sight, a thousand years are as a day

And a day is as a thousand years.

Lord, help me to redeem the time

I can't relive what's gone

But nothing is wasted in God

Who holds us in the hollow of his hand

But the tide won't wait

And my life must change

God, help me to know

That though I'm safe in you

I must give myself anew

Day by day by day by day.

GOODBYE OLD SCHOOL

Once you were so sound and steady

Red brick, 1930’s and proud of it!

Imposing entrance and high ceilings

Plaques on the walls to the great and the good.

Once you echoed to hundreds of voices

Voices of happiness hope and despair

Dreams for tomorrow and high aspirations

Dread of shortcomings and failing the grade

Maths and Science, French and German,

Latin and Greek, English and History,

Only some of the subjects we learned

For school was much more than those

Here we made friends

Here we lost friends

Here we began to learn who we were

And who perhaps we might become.

The empty rooms, now sad and neglected

Our handsome school hall now bleak and forlorn

Waiting their fate at the hands of the smashers

Dust and ashes you soon will become.

Goodbye old school and thanks for the memories

Goodbye to the ghosts of people long dead

Goodbye to my teachers and those whom I knew

Goodbye and thank you, old school

Labor Omnia Vincit? – well, maybe.

This was written to mark the demolition of the “old” Dunfermline High School building in 2012,

Labor Omnia Vincit is the school motto as is also Quidquid Agis Age Pro Viribus.

I AM NO PROBLEM

As we draw into Autumn

Our thoughts are on the Summer that is gone

We had hoped for better

We always do

When we look at our lives

Our thoughts are on what they have been

And what they might have been

We had hoped for better

We always do

Yet we are as we are – and we were what we were

What might have been is like a story in a book

It’s good to read – but it isn’t real

There is only one true me

If others have problems with me

What do they expect me to do?

I cannot jump out of my skin

I cannot change my past

I cannot change you

But you can change how you look at me

To me, I make perfect sense

To me, I’m a whole person

To me, the world goes round in the same way as it does for you.

I need your friendship, not your pity

I value friends who take me as I am

Who do not judge according to their rules

Who listen even when they don’t quite understand

Who take time to work things through with me

Who don’t regard me as a “case” or a “problem”

I am no problem. I’m just me

Read at an ecumenical service for Mental Health Week 2012 held in Union Terrace Gardens, Aberdeen.

Alasdair Gordon was born in Aberdeen in 1943. He was educated at Dunfermline High School and is a graduate in Law and Divinity of Edinburgh University.

Alasdair was employed by the Church of Scotland for eleven years. Thereafter he worked for a large city based charity in Aberdeen for nearly ten years.

From there he moved on to take up a post of Lecturer in Business Studies at Aberdeen College, also qualifying as a registered teacher (further education).

Alasdair has written three student textbooks on Scots Law and was also a contributor to the Dictionary of Evangelical Biography.

For the last part of his working life, Alasdair worked as Personal Development Tutor in a Brain Injury Vocational Centre, supporting people recovering from brain injury.

Alasdair is a registered Hypnotherapist and a Certified NLP Master Practitioner. He also holds a taught Doctoral Degree (EdD) from Calamus International University (BWI) in Change Agent Studies.

Alasdair and his wife Carole both retired in 2011. They now live in Hamilton, South Lanarkshire, Scotland (UK).

This book was distributed courtesy of:

For your own Unlimited Reading and FREE eBooks today, visit:
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