Friday, 29 September 2017
Friday, 25 August 2017
Wednesday, 19 July 2017
Herbert paused by the shop door for the last time. He remembered some of the
wonderful, eccentric and heroically impossible customers he had known over the
years at "Climbury and Son Gents' Outfitters and Specialist Haberdashers". One in
particular was old Popkiss, the professor of mathematics who had been coming in for
30 years with his hopelessly incorrect measurements carefully written out to order his
suits, but Herbert Climbury was a master of his art. One glance at a person coming
through the revolving brass doors and he could tell all their measurements before
they reached the counter, the professor's suits fitted perfectly. He thought about his
dad who had taught him all he knew.
Herbert Senior had ended up in India after World War 1 and there
he met a mysterious Englishman called Cyril who was a tailor, he gave Herbert the
idea to start the business which he did when he returned home in the Twenties.
Apparently this chap Cyril was part of a secret society, which, unlikely as it sounds,
involved tailoring and certain martial arts.' "The Guild of Master Folders and
Haberdashers", they'd never believe it these days', he mused. But this was how
Herbert junior had learned how to size up people with such uncanny accuracy.
He locked the door for the last time, tomorrow he and Sarah would be on
their way to their cottage in Wiltshire where they would spend their retirement. Still,
he was a little sad as he walked up the High St.
He popped into Marks and Spencer's, "just one last time", he
thought. He wandered over to the sweater displays and picking up something he
rather liked went over to the mirror and stood posing with it. He put the sweater back
neatly as only he could, and bid a cheery goodnight to the two assistants whom he
hadn't noticed before. Herbert chuckled as he walked home, "The Guild of Master
Folders, they'd never believe it these days"
Back at Marks, Dierdre and Sharon stared at each other, their mouths still
open in amazement; they had just witnessed Herbert Climbury throw a green argyle
pattern sweater through the air, its sleeves waving wildly, then folding themselves
with the front and back into the neatest of squares as if manipulated by invisible
hands it inserted itself perfectly into the display pile. They couldn't believe it.
WILF Jan 2017
Tuesday, 4 July 2017
How lovely stands the city,
Once so full of people full of gold
How lovely stands this city
Full of gold,
In this furnace of injustice
The gold has melted, spread thinner
Now it shines more brightly.
In injustice the inscrutable hand
Of God may or may not be found
In this intense heat and pressure,
Structures break, protections fall:
Ribs bend and crack
As hearts are pulled close.
Love lives here despite us,
Despite those who were, Them
Before we forgave them.
Love lives here
Love lives here
Love lives here
The hand of God.
Monday, 22 May 2017
MOUNTAIN WALKS (FOR C.V.)
I think if you walked in these mountains
Alone, believing nothing,
You would still be changed somehow
In a somewhere
Deep inside the soul
You do not believe you have.
If you walk these mountains alone
Believing that you, like them
Are made of earth by
The Father of souls
You would not be alone.
If you walk these mountains
With a friend, this kind of friend,
Then the snow and the sky
The rocks and the moss
All reveal the knowledge of God
In friendship’s light which is stronger
In this thin mountain air.
WILF 05 2017
ME AND MS. SIMONE
Ain't got no common ground:
She understands Bach, I don't.
She's a woman, I'm not.
She plays piano, I can't.
She sings; don't ask!
She's beautiful, I'm not.
She's black, I'm not.
She's angry, I'm not,
But when she said
"What I want is to live with no fear"
Her tortured eyes told me
We're in the same place.
WILF 05 2017
Saturday, 25 March 2017
How have we come to this?
Some of the best souls of my generation
Swept off the main streets into back alleys to get lost
In the name of.....
And in the meantime our sons and daughters
Worth their weight in gold
Wander those same streets fatherless.
Yes, I know something had to be done
But how did we come to this?
As I have looked on helplessly
I sometimes think this has broken me beyond repair:
I wish there was something in me,
That could take my anger and grief
And lead them in a protest against
But I am too docile,
Maybe it is the silence of the Lamb
Holy and meek,
Maybe it is the battered sadness of a victim
A victim of this clean up job
Which has made more victims
As it purges out the 'sinners' from the Friend of sinners' church
All in the name....Yes all in that Name
I wish I could cry like Jeremiah did
He had a tender heart.
Mine is tender too because it is bruised
Dear God heal me
Do not leave me too numb to cry
For this church I love.
Wilf Mar 2017