Don Dickenson

Please, can you tell me
the little boy said,
why you've hundreds of legs,
but only one head?
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I’ve got a rod, I’ve got a line,
I need a fish to make it fine.
I’ll cast my hook in the river deep,
Where denizens of the water sleep.
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A whistling wind in the rigging,
driving rain like rods of steel.
White topped waves, that are riding high,
throwing flotsam, on the deck.
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Puddles are made for children,
Who wearing their wellie boots,
May splish, and splash, fuddle and muddle,
Without ever caring two hoots.
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When Jesus came a preaching,
with a laugh, a joke, or word of cheer.
He was ready, with the folks so poor,
to shed a gentle tear.
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Once, when I walked in a Woodland Glade,
I saw such a funny man, sat in the shade,
with a coat of blue, and hat of green,
his trousers were red as ever I’d seen,
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Oh, the dark, dark, darkness,
Oh, the coldness of this tomb,
Where is that light which voices say,
avails to scatter gloom?
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A man with a gun in his hand,
met a stranger one day.
“Why do you carry a weapon”?
The stranger enquired,
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It’s difficult to believe,
a squishy, squashy caterpillar,
can become a butterfly.
It’s hard to understand,
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I will lift my hands in worship;
I will lift my voice to praise.
You, are the King of Glory,
I’ll extol you all my days.
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Why bother…..?

Cobwebs in a living room,
are not a pretty sight.
...

A late brown leaf, flutters from on high,
Disturbed at last,
its tenuous hold,
Released from nature’s tie.
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Pentecost,
the birthday of the church;
Our Paraclete’s coming;
Fulfilling Christ’s own word.
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A summer storm

Clouds arise
Leaden skies
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I saw the Red Orbe'd Guardian of each day,
slowly rise in majesty, to rule in kingly sway.
But somehow held by misty chain,
it seemed to struggle height to gain,
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Swollen buds, on springtime bough,
Herald a change of season.
New life released from winter store,
Rejoicing heart and reason.
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There are lots of things I want,
but never seem to get.
Like when I was a child,
a ‘Great Dane’, as a pet.
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Swollen buds, on springtime bough,
Herald a change of season.
New life released from winter store,
Rejoicing heart and reason.
...

When I was a child, a game was played,
called ‘Dragons in the Sky’.
We lay on our backs in a hillside field,
to watch the clouds go by.
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If everyone could sing,
like the birds at break of day.
Who then would brush the carpet
or sweep the dust away?
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