Peter Lilly: Poems

Gentle chill mingles with February sun to warm my bones, and prick my skin with cold.  Lake calm sleep breath waves expose the broken shells that make up the earth,  and keep the land believing in winter.  When I lived in the U.K. the first sunny day of spring would burn itself onto my memory with relief from the cold, joy in the warmth, and anticipation for the summer to come. Most years I would write a poem on that day about my excitement (such as ' I have missed the sun ' written in April 2011).  Now I live in Montpellier in the south of France, that feeling comes a little earlier in the year. This year it was towards the end of February, when we were at the beach near Sète for the day. It was warm but the (relative) cold of winter was still clinging to the air. The feeling given by the weather matched  the relief and thankfulness we feel at finally moving into our flat here in Montpellier. 

Abba father May I not be yet, Clay that has been cast and set. But in humble recognition Of my nature fallible, May I remain childlike And in your hands malleable. May I bow before you In broken dependence, Salvaged by your Unreachable transcendence, Which stretched the distance From holiness to degradation To plant inside flesh The seed of salvation: The very will of God, Who chose as his raiment to endure Rejection humiliation and harrowing slaughter, to procure That which humanity Alone could never reach, As the stains of our folly The blood of Jesus did bleach. May I never fall For any idol of allure, But remain in a garment Cleansed and pure. Lord, bid every facet Of my heart to stay in your hands only, With which you forged night and day, And keep me forever pliant As the potter's unfired clay. Mark 10:13-16; 1 John 2:1-16. SPOILER ALE...