Back (Page 1)



In midnight alleys we hear Him whisper
A grateful benediction to she who gave ease
To Him who offered life and sight to her
And all our benighted sisters.

Gentle spikenard for bleeding feet

Sovereign ointment for wounded head
Soothing balsam for ruined hands
Love warmed tears to mend a broken heart.

Another sunset starts our day
One more night of play for pay.
In the dark our only warmth hot tears,
Soon freeze dried in chilly noisome air.

Who placed us here, to be condemned
In the night wanderer’s despise-ed trade?
Loving father, even Mother,
Husband, son, wastrel brother?

Virtuous wives, cops on their beat
Plunge venomed darts, stiletto-ed beaks,
Into the pulsing, helpless meat,
Their easy targets our
Heated weary failing hearts.

Only we pay while others make free
With our souls so rudely taken.
All, all eat of our broken spirits,
Save He who stayed your killing hands.

In midnight alleys a dim light flickers,
On cobbles a worn penny falls.
A shuffle of feet, a hoarse voice calls –
Heralding our final bloody dawn?

Gentle spikenard for bleeding feet
Sovereign ointment for wounded head
Soothing balsam for ruined hands
Love warmed tears to mend a broken heart.


Still-born babes sleep in grouped allotted spaces
– Secured in a blanket of cemetery green,
Secluded, tucked in by boundary pathways,
Shaded by their whispering guardian trees.

In daylight hours the babes lay undisturbed
By distant traffic’s roar, or squeaking prams,
Heralding daily passage of proud, caring mums
Wheeling lusty offspring along tomb-lined paths,
Short cuts for living infants from home to nursery doors.

Setting sun peals approaching end to day,
Sending all but grave vandals scurrying away.
Now waddling pigeons and stately crows chuckle, murmur,
Their bobbing heads lowered to part the grass
As they seek the day’s last grave top gleanings.

Do the birds with beaks to ground sing songs to wakening babes?
Or are they chorus for a visiting cherub’s greetings,
Sweetly singing solo to the newly stirring souls below:
‘Awake from your twilight dreaming,
‘Come dance with us in skies above!
‘Though unborn, unseeing, unspeaking,
‘You are cherished, you are loved!’


I wish, I wish we were young again, when evening breezes cooled our heated hearts.
Again to see swallows roam, as the last laden bee drones for home.

Then, together watching from sheltering trees, your unblemished hand
So fondly squeezed mine, as again and again you sighed: ‘Oh, how lovely!’

I wish, I wish that we were young again, could hear the bluebells ringing
In that scented springtime woodlands, the place we made our own.

There, serenaded by sighing budded boughs, we lay softly bedded in flowery carpets,
And first found unbounded joyous love.

I wish, I wish we were young again, as by your last bedside bereft I stand,
Heart aching for your pain, I hear final faint laboured breathing.

Pale lips smile a weary farewell benediction, and in leaving
I feel your fondly gently squeezing hand.
Oh! How I wish, I wish we were young again,
And I could fly you safely home,
On lightning wings, to far off heavenly things,
To the heart’s dream places that are ours, just ours alone!





Available to BUY online NOW.
Little Buddha's
Big Miracle In Lai Shan Road

Beyond 'Pride and Predjudice'
Lydia's Lives

Golgotha Gate



Copyright © John Alan Rickard. All rights reserved.