Category Archives: Life

The darker the better

Hiding under her blankets
The darker the better
….presses her button to drop the blinds
The darker the better.

The only light comes from the flicker of the horror movie
Where the hellovision screen is her mirror…it makes her feel at home.

Her clothes fit her well;
– Aching uncertainty
– Dark forebodings
– Tender pessimism
The mirror keeps reminding her.

The bottle of emptied Johnny Walker speaks:
“You’ve stopped walking”,
The dropped blind says
“You’ve stopped seeing”,
The mirror confirms:
“This is what you’ve become”.

The arteries have hardened…her heart pumps without a beat.

With the press of a button
The blind can go up
The screen can stop its lies
The heater could fire up.

But in her caged freedom…
She has made her choice.

Her eyes narrow as she focuses harder on the screen…

The darker the better.

 

 

Note: this is a description of a women in her late 20’s who lodged with a friend. This was her life in her room; empty whisky bottles, watching depressing shows on her Netflix account as she curls under her blankets. She was offered help, and a new identity in Christ….but she made her choice. How many more are there like her ?.

Darker the better

Alva Highland Games

The Sun was hot
The sky was blue
The hills were green
Is Alva’s cue,
For highlands games
Set in June
Tartan dancing
Bagpipes tunes.

Men in kilts
Built like tanks
Toss the caber
To cheers & thanks,
Fish and chips
Ice cream, beer
Alva’s time
Once a year.

Yelling at a flower

Yelling at a flower
Doesn’t make it grow
It won’t grow any higher
If it’s feeling low
Anger changes little
Just keeps the status quo
Yelling at a flower
Doesn’t make it grow.

Yelling at a flower
Doesn’t make it grow
The still voice of the Spirit
Is wisdom put on show
You can’t get light from darkness
You can’t get heat from snow
Yelling at a flower
Doesn’t make it grow.

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Heading west, heading east

red-dirt

Heading west…

 

The Aussie bloke drives west,
To find the perfect place,
That lives inside his head
To occupy that space,
The north would be too hot
The south would be too cold,
The east is too familiar
He looks for foolish gold.

The Scottish lass turns to the east
To chase the Spanish sun,
To fly away from Celtic stress
And guilt from Catholic Nuns,
To chase a promised freedom
By fake celebrities
She flys like Scottish birds
To a place called “I’m care free”.

 

spain-beach

Heading east..Spanish beach

 

You’re not !

If you think you’re not enough
And of sub standard stuff
To be in the Christian club
You’re not !.

If you say that you’re not clean
And say that you’re not seen
And no different from a machine
You’re not !.

If you feel that no one cares
You’re playing musical chairs
Unworthy of Heaven’s share
You’re not.

When voices scream you’re done
And the treachery weighs a ton
And you are the lie that’s spun
You’re not !.

It seems that God’s not there
It seems that God’s not fair
Your placed where there’s no prayer
You’re not !.

It’s all about who you are
And Him who drives the car
Think you’re defined by your scars ?.
You’re not !.

Bored

People walking down town on Life Street
With apple earphones in their ears,
Blocking out the noise of the traffic
Contemplating dealing with their fears,
They look for bling while window shopping
To brighten up the mask they made themselves
Trying to fill empty lives with something
But there’s nothing on the shelves.

How long before they will realize
That road has nothing in their stores,
Nothing that will give the satisfaction
To take away the reason they’re bored,
The things that they thought would be so exciting
Has made them see that they have learnt,
The only thing Life street has to offer
Was the law of diminishing returns.

But they just keep on window shopping
Even though they know it is absurd,
Because that’s the way the ants keep on creeping
And they want to keep up with the herd,
So they learn to enjoy the numbing boredom
Because they know nothing else,
While hoping something just appears
Around the corner on the next shelf.

But there will always be another fashion
That will tickle boredom’s itch,
And give them strength to keep on walking
While keeping fashion houses rich,
But changing wives and cars and horses
Or wishing they were thin or tall,
Will just defer the problem
That they are just plain bored.

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Driverless train on the Paris metro

Paris_Metro_Sign

Driverless train on the Paris metro
How it’s stops I’ll never know,
I’ll just have to trust the engineer
And the technology that made it go,
Going faster up the hill
My heartbeat climbs another notch
Slowing down on the other side
How on Earth does it feather stop ?.

Parisian eggs and bacon for breakfast
Along with a croissant and strawberry jam,
Washes well with Parisian coffee
And the sausage and seasoned ham,
But what happens after the chewing
Is a mystery no one knows,
How the food turns into muscle
And sinew and into blood that flows.

These are mysteries we cannot fathom
But we know they always work,
Because of laws made by the creator
The one who gave His life for His Church,
The laws of science and food are sure
We live our life in their rhythms and rhymes,
So love the mystery and the God who made them
Along with the food and the Parisian ride.

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What is it about a hillbilly song ?

2KA 2 QSL360w

What is it about a Hillbilly Song ?
That sounds so good to me
What is it about a Hillbilly Song ?
The story’s of life believed
What is it about a Hillbilly Song ?
That touches me within
Can ya please tell me
What is it about a Hillbilly Song ?.

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When I was a boy of twelve
My Grandpa played to me
Little Roy Lewis on the ol’ banjo
I couldn’t believe my ears
He picked & played that ol’ 5 string
Like I never heard before
& when he sang about my Jesus
He opened that hillbilly door.

I remember my childhood on the farm
My family would sing & play
Between the ukulele’s & steel guitars
They had something to say
They recorded “I met the Master”
And “When God dips His pen”
And preached about the love of Jesus
On Radio 2KA.

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Now they call it “country”
Not “Hillbilly” now it seems
They’ve replaced the fiddle & banjo
With tinsel & cellophane dreams
Give me a song sung from the heart
Sung the Hillbilly way
With banjo’s, dobro’s & steel guitars
I wanna hear a hillbilly play !.

Words & music by Peter Hall 20/8/2010. © Scot Free Music

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A true story song. My family would record gospel songs to play in between talking about the gospel on a half hour radio show called “Happy Harmonies” on radio 2KA during the 1960’s and 1970’s.

Kimberley man

The first sun shines at half past four
The red dirt makes a grass-less floor
This is a life of unique brand
For him they call “the Kimberley man”.

The fans are never cool enough
On leathered skin built Kimberley tough
But how do you tell the tourist fleet
You never get used to Kimberley heat.

But there’s a thinking that takes it slow
In rhythm with Ord River’s flow
There’s more to life than comfort and money
Like fishing for Barra without the hurry.

Albino gekko’s’ eat the flys
While the blue tailed kooka’s laughs and crys
Crocs and dragons and wallabies too
Live with the Owl who gives two hoots.

The Kimberley man is silently proud
Like a Kimberley king with a Kimberley crown
Of views a virtuoso would say
Is fit for a concert that he would play.

Wet season build up is only released
By cracking black clouds that sets you free
From humid sighs in front of the fan
And the unsaid life of the Kimberley man.

Kimberely man

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The smell of Kimberley rain

The daylight owl stops giving advice
From his throne on the Boab tree,
The Kimberley winds crank up a few gears
The Eucalypts mingle the breeze,
And bring a smell unique to Oz
That dulls the homesick pain,
The sound of drops smashing on tin rooves
Bring the smell of Kimberley rain.

The sound of the thunder cracks the sky
And let’s the cooling rain fall,
And everyone’s bare shoulder smiles
At relief from the heat in store,
While the hot red dirt greets an old friend
And the cracking thunder in the main,
Combine to give you a precious gift;
The smell of Kimberley rain.

The ancient land and it red ridge sights
Have seen it all before,
For this is the build up to the summer rains
That opens the wet season door,
The sight of the lightening bisecting the black
Means no two moments are the same
And combines the eyegate and the ears
With the smell of Kimberley rain.

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