The Rose

The Rose

Sitting there, so quietly,
the colors of your life.
Each of them so perfect yet
each one born of strife.

So many people all around,
that didn’t seem to see.
Or even try to understand,
your longing to be free.

Free from the roots that held you down,
the pain the earth has brought.
The present and the past my child,
all seemed to add to naught.

But if they’d take the time to look
beyond the thorns on you,
they couldn’t help but realize,
deeper beauty that’s so true.

They’d see a thing so wonderful,
so precious and unique.
They’d stand amazed, in wonderment
for more they’d have to seek.

I praise my God in all of this,
for the blessing that I found.
The beauty of that single rose,
within such rocky ground.

I placed a cross upon that rose,
and as I placed it there.
I prayed to God that she would know,
that He and I both care.

No matter what a past she had,
no matter how much pain.
I really know that God above,
is whispering her name.

Through all the guilt and shame my child,
big as the skies above.
The one true gift that I could give,
is a taste of Heavens love.

So when you look within yourself,
and see a dark and stormy night.
Look further in and you will see,
a single pure sweet light.

No matter what the weather brings,
or puts this rose bud through.
That light will never ever dim,
because it’s beauty’s true.

So think on this my pretty rose,
next time your feeling low.
Despite the thorns that you’ve built up,
your beauty did still show.

And when you see the cross you wear,
reflect a while or two.
no matter what you’ve been and done
Your futures up to you.

© Kevin A. Deane

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

To Rose, you know who you are.

Summer Breezes Winter Snows

Summer Breezes Winter Snows

Cold winds blow across the fields,
to this memory my mind yields.
Of days gone by when nights were long
and children sang their happy song.

Strangers came unto this land
seeing sights, oh so grand.
Skies of blues and seas of greens,
why can’t they look behind the scenes.

Now I’ve thoughts of this same time
dirty streets so full of grime.
Where no-one lives of their own free will
just children lying dead or ill.

Such a dream wrapped up in snow
what of the kids, no-where to go?
You return to your nice warm home
What of our youth? the streets they roam.

This one thing is what I pray,
Please don’t turn your head away.
When you see a youth in need
think of the love that could be freed.

No roof of stars, way up above.
All they need is caring love.
No ! Money isn’t all they need.
The healing starts with one kind deed

© Kevin A. Deane

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

I was watching the television news, one afternoon and it was showing the state of poverty in a country – one that shall remain nameless as which country it was is irrelevant. The pictures of poverty; sick, hungry and homeless children touched my heart.

After the news I was flicking through the channels on the television set and saw one of those holiday programs. They were advertising the very same country and area but the picture they built was very different to that shown on the news.

Ah spin doctors and marketers, you just got to love them. This poem was written in response to that situation and because the same situation can happen anywhere in the world

The Runaway Child

The Runaway Child

You’re a runaway child,
with a dream in your mind.
Where pain don’t belong
and all the people are kind.

But you come from a place,
where the opposite’s true.
Where they all seem to hate,
and the pain fathered you.

So you ran far away
in the dream in your mind.
Where the pain don’t belong
and all the people are kind.

But you ran out of time,
couldn’t keep up the pace.
Met the fear in your mind,
saw the pain on your face.

So you walked back a while,
till it started to fade.
Where the picture was good,
and that’s where you stayed.

‘Cause your a runaway child
within a dream in your mind.
Where the pain don’t belong
and all the people are kind.

But it just isn’t real,
it’s all seeming so false.
In it bitterness grows,
and the pain starts to waltz.

So you pack up your bags,
and all the sorrow you feel
And walk out in the night,
to try it for real.

Now you’re a runaway child,
in reality’s night.
For the dream in your mind,
You will just have to fight.

Where the pain don’t belong
and all the people are kind.
Will it ever be true,
or just a dream in your mind?

© Kevin A. Deane

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

Over the years I have been blessed to work in the Social Care sector and part of this work was with homeless kids.

I guess because I too had lived on the streets my passion was obvious and I praise the Lord that I have seen both sides of this massive problem.

Rag And Bone Salvation

Rag And Bone Salvation

Look at the store front.
The young boy who’s there.
The passer’s don’t see him.
If they did would they care?

Look at the rags that.
He pulls round his bones.
The plastic bag’s contents.
Are all that he owns.

The wind that he follows.
Paints pictures in his mind.
The drink that he swallows.
To make himself blind.

Look at the pavement.
So dirty and grim.
A personal diary,
Belonging to him.

Look at the fag-butt,
That’s hung from his lip.
The lights of a car,
That cut like a whip.

Now look at the stranger,
Who’s knelt by his side.
The face gently smiling,
The weeping inside.

Recalling the memory,
When skies were so dim.
When he felt alone,
Hung out on a limb.

He asks if he’s hungry?
When was he last fed?
Out-stretching his arms,
To break him some bread.

He’s seeing the struggle,
As he watches him dine.
Feels a stabbing sensation
As he offers him wine.

Once a person existing,
In pain and despair.
Now a life that’s been kissed,
By loving and care.

See the young boy is leaving.
No more streets to roam.
For the stranger has started
To carry him home.

Re-calling the memories,
when held in the winds.
When he felt alone.
Hung out on his limbs.

© Kevin A. Deane

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

Many moons ago I got myself into trouble and I left my home, my family, the girl I loved and walked out in the night.

I had no choice that I could see at that time, and felt I had to go and so I did. It meant months of sleeping rough on the streets and led to experiences that I could not even begin to describe.

Many of them are related in my poetry and yet so many held within them blessings beyond explanation and one such an experience was the night when laying cold and lifeless in a store front somewhere in Birmingham England, this dream came to me.

For those who are not familiar with English expressions a fag-butt is a cigarette butt.

Homelessness Grace

Homelessness Grace

Bless this bunch,
As they munch their munch.
And at times when they must fast.

And we pray oh Lord
That this food they eat
Will never be their last.

Forgive us Lord,
Should we forget,
When considering streets we roam.

Your love for us,
Is always true.
In you we have a home.

Amen.

© Kevin A. Deane

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

Those who know me will know that in my youth I spent some months living on the streets. Likewise later on I spent many years working for a Christian charity whose work included working with the homeless.

This poem was written as a grace to say at meal times. If you have ever eaten with hungry homeless teens you will know that the grace needs to be short and sweet for fear that the temptation to reach out for the food may grow to great

So I wrote this poem with this in mind.