Little Book of Pomes

This short anthology of poems, (yes I can spell), have all been written between April 2018 and November 2020. They are a diverse collection, some rhyme, some don’t. There is no common theme except randomness.

Many are inspired by a fellow poet Franci Eugenia Hoffman who regularly publishes a “prompt” on her site, some by travel, others by mood or situation. Poetry helps me think. I am also an author and my debut novel is on Amazon. Thomas, Wizard’s Son.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08P3YMDGL/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_aDyVFbVM5MDM2

All the earth we bow to You

A Song of Praise, loosely based on Psalm 66.

Photo by Josh Sorenson on Pexels.com

Oh Holy Spirit come today,

We in repentance bow.

Revival bless and come we pray

It’s what our land needs now.

All the earth we bow to You,

How awesome are Your deeds?

All the earth bow down to You,

Supplier of our needs.

Shout with joy to God all earth,

Sing glory to His name.

He rules forever by His power

Forever He’s the same.

(Yes), All the earth we bow to You,

How awesome are Your deeds?

All the earth bow down to You,

Supplier of our needs.

So come and listen all who fear,

Let’s tell of what He’s done.

He has heard my every prayer,

His praise is on my tongue.

(Yes), All the earth we bow to You,

How awesome are Your deeds?

All the earth bow down to You,

Supplier of our needs.

Praise be to God who is on high,

He heard my voice in prayer.

He won’t withhold His love from me,

Rescue me from satans snare.

(Yes), All the earth we bow to You,

How awesome are Your deeds?

All the earth bow down to You,

Supplier of our needs.

So, shout with joy to God all earth,

Sing glory to His name.

He rules forever by His power

Forever He’s the same.

(Yes), All the earth we bow to You,

How awesome are Your deeds?

All the earth bow down to You,

Supplier of our needs.

©joseph r mason 2020

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Rememberance

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A tannoy sounds in the supermarket
Another in the mall,
We all stand still and upright
As we remember all.
I cannot remember,
And that goes for my son,
My grandchild can’t remember,
For he is only one
Although we can’t remember, as statues we still stand
Heads bowed and we remember the loved ones who were slain.
Although we did not know them, they weren’t our kith or kin.
We just know they went before us to a death that was insane.
Many British, German too, American, Japanese,
Australians and Indians, Canadians and Burmese.
Sent out to be slaughtered while the generals stayed behind,
Eating well and drinking tea, to casualties they were blind.
But we still bow our heads in prayer and we still remember them.
We pray for the next generation that they will not condemn.
War is for the foolish, politicians, generals, lords,
It’s not them that do the dying, they leave that to the hoards.
But war has changed since world war 2, but not for any easier,
With guided drones and cyber wars, it’s only just got sleazier.
So even though we knew them not, we still can shed a tear.
Because of their great sacrifice, we should not live in fear.


Remembering.
Nineteen million dead in world war 1
Eighty million in world war 2

Everlasting Twaddle

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Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone.

Please don’t read it to the end,

Or it will send you round the bend.

Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone.

Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone.

Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And if you read it to the end,

Then you, like me, are round the bend,

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone…………………………………………..

and on, and on, and on……………………………………………

©joseph r mason 2020

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Be.

Berkelium  a transuranic radioactive chemical element – atomic number 97

Be whatever you want to be

Beginning or be ending

Be dazzled or bejazzled

Be beautiful be belonging

Befitting or befuddled

Beryllium if you’re only four

Betrothed and then be married

Beatitude with an attitude

Beekeeper or be kepter

Belicose and berserk

Berkelium if you’re 97 or

Beccafico if you’re a bird

Be Berberine if that’s your salt

or bengaline if you’re cloth

Bestriding or bestraggling

Beshrouding all the others

Just

DON’T

Be Bewitched.

©joseph r mason 2020

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All Hallows Eve.

© Shutterstock – True Touch Lifestyle

October ends with Halloween

A pointless celebration.

For ghosts and ghouls do not exist

‘cept in imagination.

All Hallows Eve, its proper name

The night before all saint’s day.

To celebrate the saints of old

And I would just like to say.

Halloween is just not us,

Imported from the States.

And of the many things that come our way,

It’s not one of the greats.

So you can keep your Halloween,

Your pumpkins, trick or treat.

Frightening the old and frail,

That live along our street.

We can’t abide your Halloween,

and we don’t want it here.

It’s not the ghosts who frighten me

It’s God the one I fear.

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https://josephmasonauthor.com/about/

Super Powers!

This little missive in no way reflects me or anything about me. I am sure it will resonate with many people, but not me, I have absolutely no concept of low self esteem, depression or anxiety. I am the happiest person I know and the happiest you will ever know. I am my own self appreciation society. So, please no messages of support. No DM me babes, no “wanna talk?” This is not a cry for help, it’s just a poem.

I have a super power,

Hindsight.

I have another too,

Self loathing.

I hate myself with every fibre.

I have another super power.

Failure.

I have another too,

Regret.

It applies to my every action.

The super power I really want?

Foresight.

With it, I could change my every action.

Then life would be so different.

No DM me babes.

Or call if you wanna talk.

No regrets.

No self loathing,

Success instead of fail.

But it ain’t gonner happen.

So this is my goodbye.

Not goodbye friends.

I have none.

Just goodbye world.

I’m gone.

©joseph r mason 2020

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FORGIVENESS — A HEART MATTER

A short reflection….

Forgiveness is a work of the heart — first, foremost, and forever.

Beginning in the heart, forgiveness reflects a decision made on the inside to refuse to live in the past. This is critical. You can’t move forward if you are still holding on to the past. It would be like looking at something on one side of the room and, without turning your head, trying to see something on the other side of the room.

In dealing with people, you may have heard someone say, “I just can’t get over it” or “I can’t let it go.” These people have not forgiven. The old adage is true: You don’t hold a grudge as much as a grudge holds you. Booker T. Washington gave voice to a profound insight: “Holding a grudge doesn’t hurt the person against whom the grudge is held; it hurts the one who holds it.” He also said, “I will permit no man to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him.”

Forgiveness is letting go of the past and releasing the people who hurt us. Archbishop Desmond Tutu declared, “Without forgiveness, there is no future.”

Forgiveness does not deny the pain or change the past, but it does break the cycle of bitterness that binds us to the wounds of yesterday. Forgiveness allows us to let go and move on.

Forgiveness is like salvation — it is a gift that is freely given; it cannot be earned. We can forgive without saying, “I forgive you,” because forgiveness is a matter of the heart.

Not forgiving costs your heart. In time your heart will become cold, dark, and lifeless. The grudge you hold holds you in the end, petrifying your heart.


Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. Colossians 3:13

Miss Tickle

As Monty Python used to say, and now for something completely different. This is not my normal style, most of the poems you will find on my page are quite serious, some spiritual, some dark, some, according to my friend Laurence, just weird. (I’m mentioning Laurence just to see if he actually reads this stuff like he claims.) But, as a children’s author, I put this little poem in just for fun.

©Mr. Men belongs to Renegade Animations, Cartoon Network, Sanrio and the Hargreaves. Drawing by Izaylin Arias.

Of all the Mr Men chaps, and all the lasses too.

The one my grand-kids love the best will be no surprise to you.

They all love Mr Funny, they all like Mr Bump

They laugh at Mr Messy, he reminds them all of Grump.

But the one they always want to read, and you may think them fickle

Is the one that makes them laugh the most

And that will be Miss Tickle.

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The Potters Wheel.

A Poem for National Poetry Day 2020 on October 1st.

The potter sits at his spinning wheel

hands slippery with water and clay.

Thumbs dig deep as his fingers feel

a bowl curling up on the way.

It pleases him to see its form,

with its wafer thin shape at the edge,

it’s everyday life, to him it’s the norm,

a finished and fine featheredge.

A slip of the hand, the work is a ruin

returned to a pottage of clay.

Fear not, he thinks, I know what I’m doing,

there’s plenty more time in the day.

The clay, is it just like a person?

Fragile and easily damaged?

Ruined by one stupid action,

left as a wreck if mismanaged.

But that’s not the end of the story,

like clay, we can all be reformed.

Remoulded, rejiggered more finely

I know, I’m reliably informed.

It says so quite plain in the bible

Jeremiah, in chapter eighteen

When broken and down we are liable

Be made best that we’ve ever been.

©joseph r mason 2020

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At the Potter’s House

18 This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: “Go down to the potter’s house, and there I will give you my message.” So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel.But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.

Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.®

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