Spirituality group meeting

We are a group from St Birinus and St John’s church who enjoy meeting to have  a chat about spiritual  and faith issues in the Wendover Arms pub every other Wednesday. If anyone would like to join us in our chats, please feel free to come along. Our next meetings are on Wed 29^th Feb and Weds 14^th  March, both at 7.45 . For further info please contact office@banjos.org.uk

Each month they have a message for you.  
This month it is Ecclesiastes 3 v1-8 - you can listen here.===>(podcasts)


A Time for Everything
1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Your feedback

And I dreamt,

" As with your previous poems, this really conveys strong images of childhood and of the natural world. I love the way your poems seem to draw the reader in straight away – the imagery you use is very powerful and I could really imagine being there. I particularly liked the description of the sheep, the ‘keepers of the mountain’ - their lively characters contrasting well with the harsh image of the dead crows in the next.


The description of the blue bottle in the last verse, desperate to escape, is great and emphasises the peace and stillness of the room really well. I really like the way your writing conveys meaning so effectively and conjures up such strong imagery! "

Happy New Year to all

岁月被一页一页地撕去

Time passes by, page by page torn away

新年的脚步悄悄来临...

New Year’s footsteps softly tread
大街上喜庆的七彩灯

The main street draped in festive, multi coloured lanterns
点缀着节日美好氛围...

Decorating this beautiful festive air
空中飞舞的祝福

Blessings dance in the breeze
把新年的大门叩响...

The New Year Door knocks
祝你：
元旦快乐！

Wishing you a Happy New Year!

我的朋友写的  笑容皇后– 广东，深圳

From a friend Li Jing in Shenzhen, GuangDong, China

翻译的莫文 translated by Mervyn

THE NINETY NINE PERCENT

THE NINETY NINE PERCENT

by Aubrey Keith Attwater

WHO ARE THE NINETY NINE PERCENT

WHEN EVERYONE BORN IS HEAVEN SENT

HERE ENDETH THE MYTH OF EQUALITY

FOR THEY ARE SUBJECT TO LEGALITY

THOSE ELITE DO NOT EVER SUFFER ANY GUILT

BEHIND THEM STRONG DEFENSIVE WALLS ARE BUILT

THEY PROVIDE CANON FODDER FOR THE WARS

HOWEVER ILLOGICAL OR UNJUST THE CAUSE

THEY ARE TO BE MAINTAINED AS SLAVES

AND KEPT WELL WITHIN THEIR ENCLAVES

LET THEM WORK TO FILL OUR POCKETS

GIVE THEM SMALL BEER IN THEIR PAY PACKETS

THEY ARE THERE TO DO OUR CHORES

WHILST WE ENJOY PEACE ON FINE SEA SHORES

KEEP THEM THIRSTY AND HUNGRY AT TIMES

SO THAT THEY APPRECIATE THE GOOD TIMES

IS THAT MADE ABSOLUTELY CLEAR

FOR WE WILL DIVIDE AND RULE WITH FEAR

Steve Jobs 1955 - 2011 RIP

A Little Piece of Poetry in your Frame

First of all some people said I should READ THEM OUT ALOUD,
so I did. Some people said i should PUBLISH A BOOK , so I will.

How come I never get these ideas?
Anyway, next few gigs coming up in September and October
The Poetry Cafe is 35 poets, 5 mins each, and the best survive?

You better be there!

Anyway here is an opportunity to take home a PRINT of your favourite poem, complete with the original 1950 B&W photo to hang up er...in your bog?
(SEE PDF above right)

and u can say " I know this bloke" (bit difficult if you are in the bog on your own..)
email me at mervyn_cooke@hotmail.com with:

1. The Poem you want
2. The B&W photo you want (e.g. 1. We were kings, 2. And I awake, 3. And we were boys)
3. Size A4 or A5
4. Your address and billing details

(Cost GBP7.50 + P&P)

Ted Hughes - Last Load

Baled hay out in a field
Five miles from home. Barometer falling.
A muffler of still cloud padding the stillness
The day after day of blue scorch up to yesterday
The heavens of dazzling iron, that seemed unalterable
Hard now to remember.

Now, tractor bounding along lanes, among echoes
The trailer bouncing, all its iron shouting
Under sag heavy leaves
That seem ready to drip with stillness
Cheek in the air alert for the first speck.

You feel sure the rain's already started
But for the tractor's din you'd hear it hushing
In all the leaves. But still not one drop
On your face or arm. You cant believe it.
The hoicking bales, as if at a contest. Leaping
On and off the tractor as at a rodeo.

Hurling the bales higher. The loader on top
Dodging like a monkey. The fifth layer full
Then a tettering sixth. Then for a seventh
A row down the middle. And if a bale topples
You feel you've lost those seconds forever
Then roping it all tight, like a hard loaf.

Then fast as you dare, watching the sky
And watching the load, and feeling the air darken
With wet electricity
The load foaming through leaves, and wallowing
Like a tug-boat meeting the open sea
The tractor's front wheels rearing up, as you race
And pawing the air. Then all hands
Pitching the bales off, under a roof
Anyhow, then back for the last load.

And now as you dash through the green light
You see between dark trees
On all the little emerald hills
The desperate loading, under the blue cloud

Your sweat tracks through your dust, your shirt flaps chill
And bales multiply out of each other
And down the shorn field ahead
The faster you fling them up, the more there are of them
Till suddendly the field's grey empty. It's finished

And a tobacco reek breaks in your nostrils
As the rain begins
Softly and vertically silver, the whole sky softly
Falling into the stubble all round you

The trees shake out their masses, joyful
Drinking the downpour
The hills pearled, the whole distance drinking
And the earth-smell warm and thick as smoke

And you go, and over the whole land
Like singing heard across evening water
The tall loads are swaying towards their barns
Down the deep lanes

© Ted Hughes 1975