THE KILLING GAME

War games, they’re what politicians play,

We see it on the telly day by day,

In freedom’s name they order

their troops to kill,

They show no shame for

the innocent blood they spill.

We see the hungry children on the screen

Destruction and death where the men of war have been,

Midst the bodies of the dead

they speak of peace,

Will the day ever come when their

obscene wars will cease?

Within the church the candles for peace still burn,

We are made in God’s image,

to Him our faces we turn,

For God is love,

destruction and death He abhors,

God’s will is peace,

He despises men’s endless wars.

“Father forgive them”,

the crucified Jesus cries,

But the men who make war have

a blindfold round their eyes,

They cannot see

the graves of the innocent dead,

Nor the children whose mothers still

weep where blood runs red.

We pray for hope to overcome despair,

For the songs of angel voices to fill the air,

For the candles to burn

in the darkness of the church,

For the world to be blessed with that

peace for which we search.

Rev John Stephenson, Sunderland

PLAY ON

The big wheels are no longer turning

The tubs are laid to rest

Now filled with flowers in the park

Instead of the black coal from the pit.

All the ponies are gone now

There may be one or two

Dotted around the country

In museums or pastures new.

What of the miner who worked

All manner of hours and days

Walking in the street in his cloth cap

You’d spot him a mile away

With banners flying and sounding brass

These old men have had their reunion day

When to Durham’s hilly streets

Once more the bands did play.

Elizabeth Sayers, Spennymoor

WE LEFT WHEN…

We left when fading evening sunshine cast

Lengthening shadows through the pier, darkening fast

Over a seashore carpet of hard, unyielding pebbles

Soon to be washed by the incoming tide on varying levels.

This tranquil ending to our fun-filled day

Will stay in our hearts as we wearily wend our way

Homeward, one pebble in hand, surely not missed

While on my bedroom windowsill it sits.

Constance Culley, Darlington