September 2018 Writing

The Parable of the Sower:-

Nothing is Lost.

The sower spreads His seed
Some in deserts dry and barren,
But cracks and hidden streams embrace blown seeds
To bloom again
In colours rich and deep

Some among thistles thick and choking
Thorns to tear you apart
But bursting seeds
Fly to the sky, caught by the hungry birds
Hope for new life

The path may be long and hard
With missing signposts
And full of human pain and blood
But the wind of the Holy Spirit knows where to blow
Keeping the everlasting seed growing

© Helen McNicoll


Silent are the ancestors who owned the field in Galilee.
Silent are the words of the inheritor, the sower with the seed.
Silent are the arms that scatter with aspirations so high.
Silent is the village hope for rain from the sky.

Silent are the thorns, sharply defending their ground.
Silent are the stones, stubborn and stationary on the mound.
Silent are the paths that offer an easy way out.
Silent are the greedy birds, pecking grain, no doubt.
Silent is the second when the seed meets earth.
Silent is the germination that brings each seed to birth.
Silent is the intensity of heat from the sun,
scorching the saplings which wither and burn.
Silent is the stealth of thorns that choke plants in their prime.
Silent is the dead greenery, lying shallow in a line.
Silent is the relationship between farmer, seed and soil.
Silent is the farmer’s sweat whilst he continues to toil.

Listen, can you hear? The sounds of life being shown?
Even in the thorns and stones, love can be known.
Listen to the miracles of change at every stage.
Listen to the birds that spread the seed from age to age.
Listen to the seed just sown and to saplings growing high.
Listen to the life cycle from seed to flourishing vine.
I grow seeds of peace, blooms of joy and blossoms of love,
I harvest gentleness, patience and goodness from above.
I live in each human heart, in every woman and man.
I offer again my counsel, a counsel that only a loving God can.
Listen, simply listen, to that loving voice inside.
Those branches are from the seed I planted.
Ask me again to be your guide.

© Frances Burton, September 2018

The Scorched Earth

Oh Lord what have we done
We have destroyed good and fertile soil
We have burnt the life out of the land
And have laid it bare and barren
And yet

And yet we look, and see, the wonder of your creation
Creeping along the burning soil we see shoots of green
Seeds that have been scorched now ready for germination
The Lord sees roots seeking moisture and goodness
Small shoots reaching for light and warmth.
And yet

The soil is thin and stoney, dry and poor
What have we done, what have we created.
But look, we can repent and start again
Till the soil, water the land and allow
Creation to flourish in your name.

© Jenny English

During the morning, David New displayed a mosaic he produced some years ago based on the Parable of the Sower . . .


. . . and whilst working on the design of origami birds for one of the activites, David also composed the following poem:

The Sower

Had it not been for you
Birds would have eaten
Every seed.

You touch our hearts
But we think
It’s a rush of blood.

You call us by name
But we say
“It’s all in the mind.”

We had a moment when time stood still
When we heard our baby’s first cry.

There was the moment
At the crossroads.
We called it
A lucky escape.

You came but we did not know it
But now we sense your presence.

Yes, you covered the seed
You waited till we understood

How your heavenly Spirit
Our earthly world.

One hundredfold
You bless us.

David New