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John Coldwell

The Shape of the Wind...

The arctic blasts turn men into plaster casts,
They take the shape of the wind.
The ragged sails lashed by the gales,
Are full of the the shape of the wind.

The shrewd and wise, with half closed eyes,
Can guess the way of the wind.
They bend and bow, and go with the flow,
They take the shape of the wind.

The evening fires make crooked spires,
As they give way to the shape of the wind.
My ice cold breath meets it’s sudden death,
As it takes the shape of the wind.

And all our life, with all it’s strife,
Is nought but the shape of the wind.
So no longer resist, just desist,
And accept the shape of the wind.

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The Humble Hymn Book

The Humble Hymn Book

I am the humble Hymn book,
You may have heard of me before.
You’d see me on the seat in front,
Or maybe on the floor.
But now I’m mostly not in Church,
No more beneath your feet.
Because, you see, the times have changed,
And now I’m obsolete

I can’t seem to project myself,
In colours on the wall,
That clash with background graphics,
And words that are too small.
I don’t know how to show a verse,
Out of order or upside down.
Or jump between the choruses,
Like some demented clown.

[...] Read more

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