James Tipp Poems

Today the mist was warm
Like a lovers embrace.
The birds sang, the river ebbed.
All is at peace.
...

Together in the darkness we struggle
We the messengers of light, and love.
We struggle with the pain
Of the one we love, cherish,
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Shall I search the depths of space
As did the men of old?
Seeking for the one to come
Bold enough to follow.
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White washed Lemmings

They gather like white washed lemmings awaiting their fate
Charged again with previous vows that have been broken
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Holy week in an unholy world the title seems redundant
Lost in the annuls of time and space, a theological nicety.
What is holy about crucifixion, killing a man painfully?
Yet the Church still in her wisdom celebrates or remembers
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The master painter unfolds his palette
Strokes generously with his brush,
The sky explodes with images of delight,
An inspiration, for the mind, and heart.
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He stands transfixed on a road to nowhere
Pregnant and traumatised she stares into empty space
His voice is one of complete despair we have nothing
Yesterday he dispensed drugs to the sick and suffering
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The death of the church is drowned in tradition
Those who believe that nothing changes,
The ship of faith papers over the holes
Dismisses the cracks in the superstructure
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In the quiet of the forest lies a track so straight and clear
It’s an echo of another age that suddenly comes near
In the setting of the sun comes the shadow of a dream
Listen to the ghostly sounds the clanking and the steam
...