The Light of the World William Holman Hunt


They gave us God at infant school: some illustrated stories
          and a picture on the wall –
          that Jesus with a lantern lifted high. He’s looking for a sheep,
          they said, a sheep that went astray.
I liked the guy – that tangled hair and beard and dressing gown.

In junior school they ramped him up a bit:
           a hammered piano nailing down the big, fat hymns,
           the manger babe, the prince of peace,
           and how he drowned the multitude but let old Noah go.
I kept him on through two bereavements in my teens
           and I thought I heard him breathing deep inside
           some Bach chorale beyond.

But life itself came tumbling in – a cavalcade of
           silk ropes
           and roses.
And one day he wasn’t there at all.
Instead, out on the road, across the fields,
over the trees, in the sky,
           everything else was.

About Dick Jones

I'm a post-retirement Drama teacher, currently working part-time. I have a grown-up son and daughter, three grandchildren and three young children from my second marriage. I write - principally poetry but prose too, both fitfully published. My poetry collection Ancient Lights is published by Phoenicia Publishing ( and my translation of Blaise Cendrars' 'Trans-Siberian Prosody and Little Jeanne from France' (illustrated by my friend, the artist, writer and long-time blogger Natalie d'Arbeloff) is published by Old Stile Press ( I play bass guitar & bouzouki in the song-based acoustic/electric trio Moorby Jones, playing entirely original material. spotify:artist:07MDD5MK9MnRGSEZwbsas9 I have a dormant blog with posts going back to 2004 at Dick Jones' Patteran Pages - - and I'm a radio ham. My callsign is G0EUV
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4 Responses to

  1. nickc says:

    Was there, but perhaps isn’t now. After all, everything changes.

  2. nickc says:

    everything else was, perhaps, but maybe no longer. Everything changes.

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