Pray For Our Pastor

Pray For Our Pastor

Please pray much faster,
we’ve only one pastor
And he has so much
he’s to do.

He’s prayed and he’s fasted
I amazed that he’s lasted
Especially pastoring you

He’s youth clubs and kids club
Studies and prayer meets
And even a men’s group or three

And if that ain’t enough
It’s really been tough
Cause he’s even been pastoring me

So please pray much faster
For our solitary pastor
And the life that now is his lot

And if you’ve a mind
Be ever so kind
And forgive him
For being a Scott!

And think of his wife
As she helps with his strife
And their children
Whom they love so true.

So show that you care
And for her say a prayer
And forgive her
Cause she’s Scottish too.

© Kevin A. Deane

To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.

OK here is a just a bit of fun really. I was mopping the floor and thinking about a conversation I had had with my Pastor when this little poem started to form in my head.

As you know I live and attend a church in Ireland. The Pastor and his wife (Andrew and Lorna) a good friends of mine and are great people whom I love dearly. Both of them are Scottish and came over here to answer a call they had on their lives.

Now I often play with them about their being Scottish (I’m English so that may explain why) and so wrote this little poem just as a bit of playfulness really.

I hope you enjoy it.

Tomorrow Never Comes

Tomorrow Never Comes

Today is just a poem,
Yesterday’s a rhyme
Tomorrow’s simply nothing,
until the end of time…….

© Kevin A. Deane

To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.

Another silliness poem.

The Philosophy Of A Snail

The Philosophy of A Snail

Sitting here is really sad,
The world around is going mad.
The people rush past to and fro’
But I’m quite content at being slow.

No-one knows more, about all their waste.
But I’ll never fathom human taste.
‘cause I don’t like living in cardboard boxes,
I don’t even like the lairs of foxes.

I don’t even like that sort of wooden shack,
I prefer my house upon my back.
And cooking food ain’t my belief.
I find my “grub” beneath some leaf.

So to all you people I’d like to say,
In my simple, little way.
Within this poem, is my tale.
Of why I’m glad that I’m a snail.

© Kevin A. Deane

To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.

Another silly poem. What can I tell you? At times I am prone to silly thoughts.

The Morning After The Night Before

The Morning After The Night Before

I can’t move.
My head’s in a vice.
Last night it was fine,
but today it’s not nice.

Least I think it was fine.
I don’t seem to recall.
Why’s my memory gone?
Was I hit? Did I fall?

Are my legs still there?
Well God only knows.
Because my belly’s so big,
I can’t see my toes.

Breakfast she said.
I just can’t stand the thought.
So I lie here and wonder,
“how many drinks had I bought?”

Time to clear out me head,
with a soluble pill.
But the sound that it makes
is like a pneumatic drill.

And it’s meant to be fun
getting drunk, paralytic.
Does it make me look cool,
or simply pathetic?

© Kevin A. Deane

To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.

Just a funny poem about getting drunk. Well the poem might be funny but the message is serious.

Past & Present

Past And Present

I used to be the way I was.
That’s how I used to be.
But now I feel the way I was.
Wasn’t really me.

I’m not the way I used to be.
I’m not the way I was.
I am the way I am, you see.
Because, well, just because

© Kevin A. Deane

To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.

Another of my silliness poems, or is it?

Ode To A Munchkin

Ode To A Munchkin

I spend my time in meditation,
reasoning out my own creation.
But all this does is make me sad.
Do you know what? I think I’m mad.

© Kevin A. Deane

To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.

Many years ago whilst homeless and living on the streets of Birmingham, England I met a young man called Colin whom I affectionately nick named Munchkin.

After a while he and I and a lad known as “Scouse” moved into a derelict building together. Over the months that I was to know Colin I soon realized that one of his main past times was to contemplate why he had even been born. Leaving your family behind, hitting the streets and becoming street homeless can cause you to become very analytical but the reasons behind your decision to hit the streets and become homeless often have the greater effect.

The thing is that for Colin all this ever seemed to do was make him depressed. This poem reflects that and reflects my belief that trying to reason out your own existence is futile and unhealthy unless you are able in the end to see a greater purpose. For me personally that greater purpose is God.

The Alice in Wonderland (or Alice Through the looking glass depending on your preference) graphic I have chosen to accompany this poem results from another of Colin’s (aka Munchkin’s) past times which was to zip himself up in his sleeping bag which had a hood to it and wriggle about in the middle of the night saying, “look at me I’m a worm, I’m a worm”. A sight which put me in mind of the caterpillar in the Alice story.

I should perhaps point out that there was only one dry bedroom in this derelict house of ours and we only had two mattresses so we all slept in the same room all lined up in a row in our sleeping bags.

This “Look at me I’m a worm” past time of Munchkin’s was one he enjoyed best at 3 in the morning! LOL.

From sheep to Shepherd

From sheep to shepherd

“Bah, Bah, Black sheep,
will you give me all?”

“Yes Sir, Yes Sir,
three lots full.

One for the Father,
for the spirit the same.
And one for the little boy,
Christ Jesus is His name.”

© Kevin A. Deane

To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.

I sat thinking about children’s nursery rhymes, not sure what got me to thinking about them probably I had just been reading some to my son, but then I thought about the Christian message and so I came up with this one.

Every Circus Has It’s Own Sad Clown

Every Circus Has It's Own Sad Clown

The plastic tent is up Lord.
With metal, ropes and all.
But everyone’s gone home now,
Except, this simple fool.

It’s quiet and it’s lonely.
But at least there’s tons of room.
Room to feel your presence near?
Oh well, at least I have my gloom.

Four thousand seats, they say there are,
With every one, on view.
Some quite near and some, quite far,
So there must be one for you?

“So, come on in!” and, “Take a seat!”
“Come!” and, “Chat a while!”
“Have some tea and rest your feet!
Perhaps, You! can make me smile.”

Oh, it’s silly really. Yes, I know.
I mean, “One lump or Two?”
I’m told that so that, you can show.
I must come to you.

And every night I listen,
To Eric stand and say,
“Give your life to Jesus!
In that public sort of way.”

But where am I at this point?
As far away as I can be!
Wishing that I had some drugs,
To postpone, my misery!

Oh, I can hear you calling.
So gently calling me.
But my defenses they aren’t falling.
Because I’m scared you see?

It ain’t that I don’t need you, Lord.
Or of Love I have a wealth.
Or that my life is all so sorted,
I just cannot help myself.

So when all these nights are over,
And the tent is all pulled down.
Please remember you befriended,
This circus’s own sad clown.

© Kevin A. Deane

To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.

Back in the 1980′s I got involved with an evangelical mission being held in my home town. The mission lasted for about 6 weeks as I recall with the first two weeks being held in schools and halls around the local area and then the last four weeks being held in a four thousand seater tent by the sea front.

It was a time in my life when I was unemployed, recovering from a drug addiction and when I truly knew that life had to be more than what I had experienced. So I joined this evangelical mission and was there every night in those schools and halls and then in the four thousand seater tent and I took on the responsibility of co-ordinating the security of the mission.

On the outside I was happy and fun and enthusiastic, that was the makeup I wore to hide the sadness I felt within. Every night I would listen to Eric, the evangelist give his message and invite people to respond by making a public declaration of commitment.

This poem was written at the end of that mission and represents the sadness and struggle I experienced. Not the very end of the mission, no the very end of the mission saw me make the commitment I knew I had to make all along.

A Silly Thought

A Silly Thought (from my padded cell.)

The lotus position goes down quite well,
sitting in my padded cell.
Opposite sits a buddhist monk.
But I’m quite content as an elephant’s trunk.

© Kevin A. Deane

To listen to this poem please click on the arrow below.

Ok so some of my poems are just mindless silliness.  But hey a little bit of silliness is alright by me.