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Andrew Prince Poem
God isn't neat
He hasn't got it all sewn up
Tidy
Complete
He doesn't have a perfect plan
Preprepared
A place for everything
Colour coordinated
Sussed out, exclusively available
To the spiritual elite.
He doesn't have a bag of surprises
Distributed on a whim
Leukaemia for you
Long life for her
Alzheimer's or dementia or a road traffic accident for him.
He doesn't mete out chance events
Based on our choices
The sound of our voices
The town of our birth
Our place on the earth
The state of our hearts
Our love of the Arts
Our reliance on science
Our sin.
He never has promised that life will be fair
Or tragedies rare
Simply he tells us
Because of his son
All that he is
All he has done
In the light and the dark
In joy and in pain
Perceived or
Ignored
Trusted or
Doubted
He will be there
Copyright © Andrew Prince | Year Posted 2026
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Andrew Prince Poem
It ain’t very often – even if you’re very wise
That you see a cosmic signpost lighting up the skies.
So I grabs me two mates, Belteshaz and Shem
Saddled up the camels and went down to Bethlehem.
The signpost that I saw was really rather posh
And Belteshaz, the wisest mate let out a feeble, “Gosh,
I wonder who had that put there
It must have cost a bob or two?”
And someone said, “It is amazin’ the fings wot God can do!”
It weren’t no ordinary star – its light was far too bright
I’ad to grab me shades you see, to see its ‘eavenly light.
All of us, excited, got up there and then
To saddle up the camels and go down to Bethlehem.
The message of the star was very plain to see
‘specially if you’re wise enough, like Belteshaz and me.
And as you can imagine we were causing quite a stir
As we set off on our camels
Taking Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh!
The message said a king’s been born – Him wot we’e been waitin’ for.
The Son of God’s been born on Earth – ain’t never ‘appened ‘ere before.
So ‘urry up you three wise men
Saddle up the camels and get down to Bethlehem.
We went first to the palace to see the kingly boy
But the king – a guy called Herod – didn’t seem so full of joy
When we told him why we’d come
‘E seemed a bit surprised when we asked to see his son.
You’d ‘ave thought, I suppose, if the Son of God was going to live on Earth
He’d ‘ave the sense to pick a palace as the setting of His birth.
But when we found the birthplace God picked out for His Son
We ‘ad to hold our noses cos it stank of cattle dung.
The boy grew up, the story’s told, and never wore a crown,
Unless you count a crown of thorns to match his purple gown.
They ‘ad ‘im executed and laughing watched Him die,
“E’s gone” they shrieked in ruthless mirth, “to meet ‘is daddy in the sky”.
Of course it came as some surprise
Three days later He was seen... alive
But we didn’t know about that when
We saddled up the camels and went down to Bethlehem
Copyright © Andrew Prince | Year Posted 2026
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Andrew Prince Poem
The way he’s come seems now so long and winding
Tramping through the rugged hills of time
His footfalls, once so full of purpose, begin to falter
As if the destination is now further off
And the path no longer for the finding.
His will to walk is undiminished
(Please God let that be true)
The will to strive, to climb, to go the umpteenth second mile
The will to gather other pilgrims too.
But this dark place is littered with conflicting signposts
With other walkers passing by too sure
“This is the path and this the way to walk”
“This is the marching song to sing and this the way to talk”
As striding by on different paths they leave his questioning unfinished.
The questions dance inside his head, whilst answers walk with leaden feet
That stumble slowly to the place where ask and answer meet.
Then meeting, change to swifter,
Spin-blurred dancing feet
That turn and mock his efforts to be sure
And shriek instead to trust
And thus to know far more.
Yet in it all he knows
Beyond the fog
The sun still shines
The Son still reigns
As
Head down
Stumbling
Sometimes falling
Wondering
Step-by-step
By step
He makes his way to higher ground.
Copyright © Andrew Prince | Year Posted 2026
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Andrew Prince Poem
A seagull ate my sandwich when I was sitting on the beach
My Mummy made and packed them so we could have one each
My brother’s was a cheese one, ham and mayonnaise for me
We were looking forward to our tasty lunchtime by the sea.
I sat down on the sandy beach, my brother sat close by
He pointed to a seagull flying slowly in the sky
Daddy opened up the picnic bag and perched it on a rock
I noticed that the seagull had become a little flock.
“It’s lunchtime now”, my Daddy said and went to fetch my treat
I smiled my biggest, hungriest smile as I prepared to eat
But before he even reached the bag I saw the seagull swoop
It grabbed my precious sandwich and went on to loop the loop.
A seagull ate my sandwich when I was sitting on the sand
It pinched the packet from our bag and shared it with a hungry band
Of seagulls, who ate every bit
And I could only sit and watch and cry in deep dismay
As Daddy and my brother tried to shoo them all away.
They ran around and waved their arms, they really did their best
As some other greedy seagulls came in behind to pinch the rest.
I cried because I thought that I would not be fed
But we all went to a café and had fish and chips instead.
Copyright © Andrew Prince | Year Posted 2026
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Andrew Prince Poem
Shouting in the dark
Screaming in the night
Howling in the silence
Tensing for a fight
Steeling for the blow
Cowering in fear
Reeling from the thought
There is no friend here
Summoning up hope
Longing for release
Recalling the days
Of life lived in peace
Calling out to God
Telling him my plight
Listening in pain
For songs in the nigh
Copyright © Andrew Prince | Year Posted 2026
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Andrew Prince Poem
These walls seem empty now
We cannot quite believe, somehow
That we will never hear your voice again
And now that you have died
Perhaps a little piece of us
Has also died inside
We ask the haunting questions only you can answer
Only you
Cannot answer
For you are gone
And all the answers with you
And we, wondering, are left remembering
The smiling face
The seeming love of life that drove you
To ignore the danger
To try things out
To touch
To taste
To see
And so, with heavy hearts, we say good bye,
And know that, deep within,
We keep a special place for you,
Anthony
Copyright © Andrew Prince | Year Posted 2026
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Andrew Prince Poem
Not me, but through me.
Not me, You!
Not me, yet needing me
My hands, my feet, my words, my presence
Infused by You,
Used by You
You
Being You
Through me.
Seeing me, meeting me
How many recognise
You
In me?
Being me, doing me
How often do I remember
You
Are there?
Copyright © Andrew Prince | Year Posted 2026
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Andrew Prince Poem
(A well-groomed, well-spoken man begins to talk. He has a mobile phone in his hand)
Good (evening) my name is Charles, but you can call me “sir”
I’ve not been knighted yet, but it’s the title I prefer
And to complete this informal introduction
I should tell you that I’m a big shot in housing and construction.
I’m having issues with a competitor, let’s just call him Stan.
A short, fatish, hard working sort of man.
The salt of the earth they say, making his way in the building trade
A fussy, working class sort of chap, but always proud of what he’s made
Everything’s done by the book
It hasn’t just got to look right
It’s got to be right
Even on site
Everything’s got be square, or plumb, done with care
“Nuffin’ dodgy”, he says, “Know what I mean”?
I think it’s a bit dumb
What’s wrong with a shortcut if it can’t be seen?
He pays through the nose for top class kit
And it takes him an age to check every fit
Everything just so, tight, snug, listen for the “oh so satisfying click”
Time taken over every bit
Every last bloody brick
Even the pointing
Has to be pointing
In the right direction
To justify the careful selection of colour and mix
There’s absolutely no room for fiddle or fix
Oh sure, it looks nice, feels good
Perfect brickwork
Quality wood
The whole thing sounds perfectly boring
Little Miss Perfect from ridge tiles to flooring
Solar panels, triple glazing, Eco-friendly, tech savvy
He even uses Grey water to flush the lavvy
I can’t even lament
The quality cement
Nor be conceited about
The foundations he’s concreted
But the chap needs to see
He can learn so much from me.
My bottom line is quite fantastic
Even if my standards are, well,
Somewhat elastic.
It’s my fondest, biggest dream
To turn a profit, skim the cream
To be a fat cat sat on a pile of gold
Lots of houses built and sold
Situational ethics is what it’s called
If you think my houses look good, don’t be fooled
Behind the posh exterior
Some of the work is, well, inferior.
For example, the installation of cavity insulation
There exists a building regulation
Giving all the information about what U value I must achieve
Well I have zero inclination
To match this configuration
So in every planning application I’m aiming to deceive
And if this causes consternation
Go ahead. Make an allegation
I’ll sue for defamation
Tie you up in libel litigation
Until, with dawning realisation of my total vindication
You come on bended knee to ask for reconciliation.
Well now, back to Stan
A pernickety, frustrating man
The only place he’d build his house was on prime, development land
I’ve built mine so much more cheaply
I don’t mind a little sand.
(The phone rings)
Excuse me while I take a phone call from my wife
You don’t, my dear, need to worry about a little rain…
Yes I know we’re by the river and the risk of flood is quite a pain…
What’s that? Are you sure? You can see a crack that’s growing in the plaster?
I’ll be right there.
(Ends the call, then to the audience…)
Excuse me folks I have to go…
There’s been a terrible disaster.
Copyright © Andrew Prince | Year Posted 2026
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Andrew Prince Poem
On the mountain top alone
Standing with you
Deepest darkness dances
Spits on all that's true
Watching wringing, writhing hands
See strutting evil fall
Laughing at those who call on gods
That are not gods at all.
Simply in power you came Simply,
in power, Lord, come again.
Cowering in my cave alone
I've run from you
As in the deepest darkness of
My blackest point of view,
Beyond the howling hurricane,
Rock-cracking earthquake's fall,
After all-consuming Fire
I heard your gentle call.
Simply in power you came Simply,
in power, Lord, come again.
Lord let me hear your still small voice
Speak softly Lord to me
Speak through my busy world of noise
I'll listen eagerly.
So, what are you doing here?
I hear you ask
Disclose your deep-down, deep-felt
Fears. Come let's restart
Walk with me, my willing friend
Surrender now your all
And then, empowered, we can go
Together, walking tall.
Simply in power you came Simply,
in power, Lord, come again.
Copyright © Andrew Prince | Year Posted 2026
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Andrew Prince Poem
Have you ever had to sleep with your knickers on your head?
It once happened to a friend
who traveled from Southend
To a first class, five star Marrakesh hotel
Husband Michael came along
they got the booking for a song
And if they’d just stayed put there’d be no tale to tell.
She had arranged an outing
Cross-Sahara scouting
Golden sand dune trekking had sounded quite a treat
They got to ride a camel
A grumpy, bumpy mammal
That swayed and lurched across the shimmering desert heat.
Factor fifty all the way
The sun beat down all day
camels grumbling with every step and stamp
And as the day was ending
With the blazing sun descending
The weary travellers came jerking into camp.
So much more than just camping
This was proper glamping
With electric lights and heaters in the tent
But despite this circumstance
They should perhaps have spared a glance
And thought about what solar panels might have meant.
When it suddenly went dark
They lost each and every spark
The lights went out and the heaters cooled instead
They stumbled through the gloom
Until they found their room
And, with great difficulty, got themselves in bed.
They tossed and turned and rolled
The desert night grew cold
A summer nightie not warm enough for sleep
Not even a nice cuddle
Could help warm them through this muddle
She was so cold my sleepless friend began to weep.
Now instead of getting stressed
They opted to get dressed
And, all toastie warm, they settled back in bed
But the cold around her ears
Conjured hypothermic fears
Which she solved by wearing knickers on her head
So if there’s any learning
Any wise discerning
Be sure to pack for every circumstance
List every needed thing
Above all making sure you bring
A good supply of freshly laundered cotton pants
Copyright © Andrew Prince | Year Posted 2026
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