Whatever Happened to Nigel?

While having lunch with friends the other day we were reminiscing about people we knew at 6th form. 

Suddenly one friend said "Whatever happened to Nigel?" 

And this poem was born, with apologies to XTC.

Whatever happened to Nigel?

He had so many plans.

He dreamt of sailing round the world

In a boat made of tin cans.

 

He wanted to raise tigers

On the scrubland by the park,

Ride his bike, strung up with fairy lights

As it was getting dark

 

He craved a life full of adventure

You could never call him dull

He must live in some far-flung place

Perhaps the Isle of Mull?

 

And yet the other day

I thought I spied him on the train

Lank hair dripping wet

Caught out by the rain.

 

He looked so sad and lonely

Plans puddled at his feet.

“Are you Nigel?” I enquired

“What’s the chance that we should meet!”

 

I took him home and fed him soup

Tomato from a can

“Did you ever make a boat?

What happened to your plans?”

Third Row Back, With Chocolate

 Today is World Poetry Day, so it’s only fitting I should write a poem.

This come from a conversation with the rector on Tuesday evening after I was once again nominated/coerced into leading a small group at our lent course. I really don’t mind and I like to think I have the skills required, even when some of the theological debates are a bit beyond me. I certainly don’t have all the answers.

When I left, he said “thank you” and I answered “I will get my reward in heaven.”

“Third row back, with chocolate!” was his flippant retort.

It was too good a line to be thrown away, so it is the title of this poem.

One day two of Jesus’ disciples, James and John, ask to sit beside Jesus in Heaven, they believed, they were worthy of such a great honour. (or maybe their pushy mother did, it depends which gospel you read - look up Mark chapter 10 and Matthew chapter 20).

Jesus replied they didn’t know what they were really asking for.

Is three rows back with chocolate also an audacious ask?

Jesus also tells a parable of the guests where he says it is better to take the lowest seat available. If the host asks you to move closer to the top table you will be honoured but just imagine how embarrassing it would be to be asked to move further away, giving up your seat for someone more important. Shameful!

But then remember that Jesus tells us to love our neighbour as we love ourselves – nothing is ever straightforward in the kingdom of heaven, everything is so topsy turvey.

 

So with these confusing thoughts bubbling in my head here is my poem… which could easily be about any relationship with someone we admire and wondering where we fit into the pecking order. You could even read as something quite dark, like a bar of bitter chocolate, maybe it's about obsession?  But it was written from a light and happy, Dairy Milk kind of place, with apologies to anyone who has given up chocolate for lent - hehehe!

 

Third Row Back, With Chocolate

 

I don’t need a red carpet

Or to be at your right hand

A crown, would be too heavy,

I hope you understand.

 

I’d be happy sitting three rows back

A box of chocolates on my knee

Just to catch a glimpse of you,

Hope no one tall’s in front of me!

 

Yes, the glamour might be welcome

Could I live with the fame?

The rich adoration

Everyone knowing my name.

 

With a hint of anonymity

Let me be humble to the end.

I just long to be included

And for you to call me friend.

 

The Strangest Week

We recently set up a new group of Storytellers who go into the local primary schools and act out Bible stories in assemblies. 

We used to follow the Open the Book syllabus but after a few admin changes we decided to break away, which allows us to write our own stories.

This is the first of our bespoke stories which I wrote and we performed last week. A story about Holy Week from a new perspective.

I am happy to share it and would be even more delighted if anyone wants to use it in their church, Sunday School or assembly.

The Strangest Week

I clearly remember the day it went dark at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.

It was a Friday and I was preparing food for the next day, the Sabbath, that’s the day us Jews have to rest, so Fridays are always very busy especially in the kitchen.

I had just put the bread in the oven where the fire was glowing red and when I lifted me head up everything was black.

My eyes adjusted to the gloom and I rushed outside. There was my husband Simeon looking up toward Golgotha Hill, the place of the skull we knew it as, bad things happened there.

“I knew there would be trouble” he said shaking his head, “it’s been the strangest week.”

*****

I suppose it all started the previous Sunday when Jesus rode into town on a donkey. We’d heard such stories of his amazing miracles, how he fed crowds of people and healed the sick. We were told he was a marvellous teacher, so we joined the crowds to listen to his words.

We shouted Hosannah and waved palm branches. It was such a celebration. Jesus was treated like a King.

But later that week he was arrested. He stood in court, meek and mild, a shadow of the man we saw on Sunday.

Some say he was betrayed by one of his closest friends.

“Some friend!” Simeon said shaking his head, “it’s been the strangest week.”

*****

Pontius Pilate the Roman governor wanted to let Jesus go. He said he had done nothing wrong.

“As is our custom we will release one prisoner – you choose - Jesus or Barabbas?”

I was about to shout Jesus’s name but Simeon gave me a look and shook his head. Many of the Jewish leaders hated Jesus and were calling for Barabbas to be set free. He is a known thief, and a big bully in these parts. But suddenly we found ourselves joining in calling for Barabbas, although I didn’t shout very loudly.

“Why did we do that?” I asked Simeon as we walked home

“It’s been the strangest week.” He said with a shrug.

*****

Jesus was crucified that Friday, hung on a cross to die on the hill called Golgotha, the place of the skull. We didn’t go and watch, I couldn’t face it and I had so much to do, but that was the day the sky went dark at 3 o’clock.

We thought it was the end.

And when the sky went back to normal we carried on as usual trying to put the strangest week behind us.

*****

But at the start of the next week the strangest thing of all happened.

It started as a whisper from the women who visited Jesus’s tomb - “Jesus is alive!”

Then the rumour spread to the disciples, Jesus’s special friends. “He’s come back!”

Soon everyone had heard, “It’s true!” “But he was dead!” “Not anymore, he’s alive!”

Although not everyone wanted to believe it.

“It’s the greatest miracle of all.” Said Simeon shaking his head “but it has been the strangest week!”

 

Myths and Fairy Tales

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything on my blog.

Been a while since I attended a writing workshop.

And been a while since I have written a poem.

 

With one fell swoop I shall rectify all of the above.

This afternoon I went to a Myths and Fairy Tales Poetry workshop.

We warmed up with a CINQUAIN – which I will confess I’ve never written before and I was glad when we were told how it is written. Two syllables in the first line, four in the second, then six, then eight and back to 2 syllables in the fifth and final line.

 

Rose red

lips like petals.

Here lies Snow White asleep.

I aim to wake her with a kiss,

I miss!

 

I am definitely in a playful mood, just right for subverting the fairy tale stereotypes.

We looked at some other poems, several from Carol Ann Duffy’s collection The World’s Wife which give a different slant on many traditional myths. I also really enjoyed this one by A.E. Stallings, which includes a multitude of magical tales.

Then, we had twenty minutes to write a poem from the perspective of a different character in a familiar story.

I chose someone’s mum – see if you can guess whose?

 

Jacqueline

I should have had a daughter

Jacqueline, I would have called her

Not as foolish as my lazy son

She would have valued our cow

Seen her true worth

Traded her for more than a handful of beans.

 

Oh my stupid, stupid boy!

Head stuck in the clouds

With thoughts of giants in his tiny head

Made up stories that grow exponentially over night

And fill his world with madness.

 

There’s not even enough beans for a stew tonight

We’ve no eggs for breakfast either

When the golden sunrise comes.

 

I cast the beans upon the ground

Stomp on them for good measure

In defiance!

 

Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum

If only I’d had a daughter, instead of a son!

 

We then looked at the location and how myths and fairy tales can take on a whole new direction when you change the setting. The challenge was to place a character somewhere new.

Before writing about Jack I had toyed with the idea of writing something about Rapunzel. What if after she escaped her tower she took a visit to the hairdressers? A strange experience for someone who has not visited one for a very long time.

 

The Up Do

 

They gather a team for my dramatic “up do”

“Your hair is so thick.”

“Would you like a tea or coffee?”

“Any holidays planned?”

 

I sit in a chair like a throne

No longer all alone.

Being pampered and cared for

Enjoying the incessant chatter.

 

I have little to offer in the conversation of celebrity.

I’ve been shut away too long.

But I don’t have chance to answer

Or drink my tea which sits growing cold, forgotten.

 

They wash and brush and snip and jabber,

And trim and curl and twirl and prattle.

They surround me in a miasma

of product and spritz and spray

Which scratches my throat

Like the sharp thorns

That one held me prisoner.

 

They twist strands of my hair, like rope

And pin it up into a high tower on my head.

Unscalable!

How will I get out of here?

Unfathomable!

 

Finally, they let me see

A mirror is held to the back of my head

They smile, suddenly silent, awaiting affirmation

 

I wish I’d gone short instead!

 

So there we have it, 2 poems written, 3 if you include in the cinquain, all in one afternoon. And it was lots of fun, especially sharing at the end and seeing what everyone else had written about.