The Six-O-Clock News
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
Today on this road to nowhere he stands bewildered.
I sit in front of the screen sobbing with grief for them
For the rest of us who sit by and can do nothing
I have entered their grief and seen their powerlessness
Yet unlike my vocational calling, I can do nor say anything
I view as one like the ancient gods of Greece on Olympus
Detached and far away, yet I feel the pain and despair
They scream at me from their faces, their body language
So I sob and sob, wondering for whom do I feel so sad
For on both sides of the glass we are powerless
So the bombs still fall and people are left in despair.
poem by James Tipp
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A Chance Encounter A Poem of Love over Hate
Beneath the London landmark of St Martins
A meeting of cartoons and reality surprised me.
Political art broke down the prejudice of either side
Showed the futility of hate in all our lives.
Then the meeting of reality, two faces undistinguishable
We are bereaved women, Palestinian and Jew you choose
Each a victim each in pain a pain so real within their eyes.
This pain had no cultural divide such idiosyncrasies irrelevant
Now they travel the same journey together challenging purists
To look in the mirror of hate and see who is staring back.
Dedicated to Robi Damelin & Seham Abu Awwad
www.FamiliesForum.co.uk
18 January 2010
This poem was written on the London underground after what was for myself and my wife a very emotional meeting with Robi & Seham challenging us to find ways become involved ourselves.
poem by James Tipp
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In Death I See Myself
In the face of a friend I see death
Written large for all who can see the signs.
We who travel with the dying are frail
We have nothing of ourselves to offer,
Only the faith we carry in fragile vessels.
Each life accompanied into this dark mystery
Mirrors yourself, unable to escape the realities
Each person loved and treasured, memory filled
Reminds you that you are gazing at tomorrow,
Looking at your future, at all our futures.
Each will travel light, but for those of faith
We never travel alone, a companion
One who has been this way, guides
Sheds light before our path, draws us on
To the hope that is born of resurrection
In the knowledge of the one who is resurrected
So we are able to look into the mirror of death
Travel with those who go before us.
Because the light shines in the darkness
And the darkness has not overcome it
poem by James Tipp
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Return Of The Telegram Boy circa 1962
Sunday mornings of my youth flash back
White helmet, yellow gloves, motorbike all red
Delivery for the London Docks pier nine.
Deserted streets, silent, no traffic, nobody.
Pass high brick walls, windows set high,
Filthy dirty glass, the ruins made by bombs
Scar the dockland landscape of Limehouse,
China Town source of much imagination
Deserted on this Sabbath day of rest.
So here I stand, returning to my past
The Rotherhithe steps are all that’s left
With their tiled lavatorial walls
All else is new and vibrant, stunning.
Through Narrow Street to the Isle of Dogs
Unrecognisable, here the Thames becomes transformed
The sun sets on the skyline, the scene majestic
My memories fade in this picture of beauty
Autumnal colours, light the sky I am transformed
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poem by James Tipp
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Good Friday Meditation
In Him are mirrored
All our failures
The pain of contrast
Leads to the final solution.
Injustice is man's weakness
Each new age invents new ways.
As God stood among them
His challenge, was too great.
So today beneath the stairs
Their game took new meaning
The King is crowned
By men outside 'Torah'.
Darkness that leads to death
Overshadows the sun
The winding stair,
That leads to so much pain.
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poem by James Tipp
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