A Prayer In Memory of Father Jacques Hamel, murdered by IS While Saying Mass.

May the peace of the Lord be with you;

May the calm warmth of a July morning in church remain 

Always this sense of love, the love of an old priest for his fellow men. Let it renew,

A thousand fold, the stock of love, so we regain

Our sense of trust in each other, and the pain

And suffering and loss shall not obscure our view

Of hope.  Let us mark each hour in our minds with the refrain:

May the peace of the Lord be with you!

And give thanks for it in all the quiet moments of our lives. Let true

Wisdom and mercy govern our reactions, let us remember each grain

Of love produces a miraculous yield. The bad are but the few.

May the calm warmth of a July morning in church remain

In your heart and mind as the scent of a sweet flower when strain

And fear seem to overwhelm, may you find the clear, blue

Light of a summer day beyond the clouds and may it contain

Always this sense of love, the love of an old priest for his fellow men. Let it renew

Your spirit so that you go forth into the world with that tranquility he knew,

Born of faith and trust.  Let not contempt, disdain,

For those who dwell in blackness guide. For we must increase, in all that we do

A thousand fold, the stock of love, so we regain

Our sense of trust in each other: let him not have died in vain.

Let the pastoral peace of psalms and hymns be the warmth that lifts the settled dew

Of sorrow from your saddened soul, may the path of life be a summer lane
Ending in a quiet church wherein that balm of stillness is, which shall violence subdue:

The peace of the Lord.

The Women

They came from shortlists, well designed,

To fill the House with just their kind,

The lesbians with butch, cropped hair,

The Tory ladies dressed with care,

The deeply spoken, and the squeaky,

They came from Ramsgate and Auld Reekie,

Harridans and cold, hard bores,

With steely eyes, pugnacious jaws.

Their politics were much the same

They thought alike, shared every aim,

They crowded round the centre ground

And dished out dull, bland bites of sound,

Their minds were empty, speeches hollow,

Ambition led, ideas could follow,

And yet they rarely ever did.

And they would never make a bid

In favour of less government

Because they were a regiment

Of bossy sisters who loved rules

And took the demos for dumb fools.

They spat at liberty and swore 

To do away with common law,

Because they did not understand

The history of our ancient land

And thought a web of regulation

Would much enhance this once great nation.

They didn't know that less was more

And mould grows from a single spore.