Don Dickenson Poems

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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Please, can you tell me
the little boy said,
why you've hundreds of legs,
but only one head?
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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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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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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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Pentecost,
the birthday of the church;
Our Paraclete’s coming;
Fulfilling Christ’s own word.
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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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