England, Tension and Barbers abandon. Three poems by Elliot Vanderhyde


If England is a port harbour
Teeth are implants and the wharf is a pit of decay
The putting on of the shirt is nakedness
Three lions in the place of cowardice
A national zoo where caged birds hold their song back.
Because the mane of the lion is shaved
Silent presenters on the match on Sunday
Yours truly, a striker ready to burn
Our bones are the harvest of the river
And our skeleton is a skyscraper trolley

Let us rack up a porcelain plate and on top ceramic seraphim.
Shattering collected Crockery ships in layers as the spinal kitchen sink receives greased poker chips.
Rattle-some comes a whisper of wheels.
And we slide back into the crack our stack or the sack.
And our skeleton is a skyscraper when we surrender
And our skeleton is a skyscraper when we surrender

Our skeleton is a skyscraper trolley.
Publicity of majesty is the word
A dove is coming
So Return to the mercy seat, you prostitutes.
In my lifetime and likely yours days slip through our fingers as we play on the tyre swing.
What is done there will be here the same thing
And strength is laid waste.
Sausage spaniel strays are runaways.
Us dogs are barking up the wrong tree
As sails are flags without wind
Let us show our wonder for propitiation.
Our skeleton is a skyscraper when we surrender
Our skeleton is a skyscraper when we surrender
Our skeleton is a skyscraper trolley

Let your Knees buckle to the Shepard king and rise up on glory threads harvesting joyful praise.
Wide open are his eyes of fire and under our lips as the surface of a kiss.
Knights are favoured before him.
Long have I searched but searched have I been.
My arms are the gates of thanksgiving.
Don’t look back
Don’t look back
Thank you for the lord
For the lord we thank you
Thank you for the lord
For the lord we thank you
Thank you for the lord
For the lord we thank you”


It’s this change of pace which is heartbreaking.
When liquid turns to solid.

A natural thickness to our world. Our blood is pancake batter suffocating the valves of the heart, nations upon nations.

But I have visited the country lakes and heard the singing ice.

The tarmac outside is scarcely stroked by cars. The birds have even paused their breakfast calls. I set my hope on a lullaby where its verses are piercing shards and a chorus is a fricative freeze.

A song that can best be heard in the beginning of winter just as lakes are frozen. Where trust is given by the earth to release its clenched fists. Whispers to it’s naval gut persuade the surface and underneath the ice to; crack.

It causes forceful vibrations that sound for miles.
Yet only a few factors, a little kindle to determine the range of a lakes frozen voice. How fast the ice is frozen and how much snow was covering the surface all those months like dust.
All that said; with each breaking tension the heavenly conductor waves his strong hand and knows each stroke of this splitting symphony and beckons the sound waves into the air.

Wash your visceral in the creeping minor, the lament of our world under pressure.
When I think about not being able to turn the closed sign over and I cannot grip my imagination to touch it – I think about that country lake.

Barbers abandon

I hope
The street i live on
Remembers where we lied all
Names gone
Reality plucked
Out like hairs that once stood tall
Sweet death
Your fever handcuffed
Enmity is shared
Locked down
Barbers pulled out hair
The prime minister is dead

How kind
Word of mouth and memes
While nurses seek protection
The pregnant worker
Died to feed her little one.
Come out
And grow up stronger
Yesterday was yesterday
Let men
Of iron be made soft
you will find a way to play.

With Gods gift of joy
Restored and restored I am
My memory saved
Holds to no comparison
Mass graves
In mortal ice rinks
stripes guard coasts and the sea shore
chin up
People don’t give up
Let Jesus our lord restore

Yes A killer cold
But hot doesn’t the church burn
Our fear
Is our friend to God
Let early risers worship
Come all
Deterred and broken
Hear through right and wrong from him
Your understanding
Repent and be genuine

I sing
For God is well pleased
And sovereign to all the earth
Within my heart joy
If my post is second birth
Is the letterbox
Which was there before I was
Is reason why
My God loves me just because


England written by Elliot C Vanderhyde (in response to a talk series by James Patrick on eschatology and the anointing of the Holy Spirit) April 20th 2020.

Tension written by Elliot C Vanderhyde. Renter in East Oxford, UK. As self-isolating started my landlord began work on repairing windows in the house and this poem was written before I moved out. April 20th 2020

Barbers abandon written by Elliot C Vanderhyde. I joined a party of people to knock on neighbours doors and greet them to show support and wrote this poem in response to my landlords singing voice.

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