David Vaughan
I have been asked to write a short synopsis of how I came to be a writer of poetry such as that I have sent to the HGM website. I have always had a vivid imagination and enjoyed writing short stories. For over 30 years I have written professionally for magazines, mainly connected with my work or my hobbies. The articles are all factual and based on visits to various museums or sites of interest in the fields of steam engines and industrial history. This includes such things as canals, mills, heritage railways and traction engines.
Over the years I have also written for various Christian publications, following on from a long friendship with the well-known author Adrian Plass and past work with local churches. Most of the poetry on the website you can read was written following a nervous breakdown in the late 1990’s necessitating hospitalisation, and a long period of recovery, during which time I drew great strength from my Christian friends. My faith was sorely tested but I came through stronger.
The poem “Can you hear me” was written specially for the HMG week of prayer and drew on personal experience. Putting together an article based on history, or an interview with a museum curator or owner of a vintage steam engine, is fairly straightforward, but poetry is another thing and, in my case, is usually spirit led.
In any case I hope you might enjoy some of my scribblings!
-- oo --
I AM WITH YOU ALWAYS
By David Vaughan
October 2024
When despair is all around
when you are filled with sorrow
My promise, true as yesterday,
will still be true tomorrow
Lay your burden at my feet
Seek through prayer and solace
Remember that I said to you
I am with you always
Even though you stray from me
and lose the path to heaven
forgiveness, if you ask of me
will be freely given
When I said I care for you
I didn’t mean just some days
My answer to a prayer from you
I am with you always
______________________________
CAN YOU HEAR ME?
By David Vaughan
September 2024
I’m lost in a crowd, insignificant and scared. I cry out with all the strength my small voice will mutter - MUM-DAD I’m over here.
Can you hear me?
It’s dark and I am alone in a strange place. I call out in hope. It’s me, is anyone there?
Can you hear me?
My voice is drowned by crashing waves. I’m over here I can’t swim, HELP!
Can you hear me?
“I’m sorry I can’t take your call right now please leave a message.” But my friend I need you NOW
Please can you hear me?
As I sit here alone tears of grief run down my cheeks for
my lost companion.
I’m hurting inside.
Can you hear me?
As I lie in my bed the raking pain in my body drowns out
my every thought.
I need some relief, Nurse!
Can you hear me?
I’ve reached the bottom I can’t go on. I don’t want to go
on. I have this number to ring, if I call it
Will anyone hear me?
My lips give voice to my troubled soul and I cry out DEAR GOD I NEED YOU.
Can you hear me?
A softly spoken voice in my head replies
"You only had to ask..."
______________________________
ON BEING WITHOUT YOU
By David Vaughan
October 2024
I wrote this
poem some years ago now. It speaks of how I was feeling then, and still would
today, if I thought I had to go through this world without my Saviour Jesus in
me and with me all the way.
There is a road
that winds and
turns
between grassy
banks
and rocky
outcrops
I cannot travel
that road without you
There is a dawn
That softly
breaks
upon a shoreline
and across the
meadows
I cannot face
that dawn without you
There is a hill
that climbs from
the valley
high into the
clouds
and through into
the sunlight
I cannot climb
that hill without you
There is a river
that flows so
swiftly
with banks so
steep
and rocks so
jagged
I cannot cross
that river without you
THINGS I LOVE ABOUT AUTUMN
By David Vaughan
November 2024
Swallows and
Swifts lining up on telephone wires
Like a row of
commas on lined paper
Queuing up for a
winter sun holiday
Late afternoon
sunshine gilt edging the cloud banks
Berries of red and
yellow decorating the hedgerows
Inviting birds and
squirrels to a garden party
Bonfire smoke,
freshly turned earth and other sensual scent
That come and go
on a fresh, nose-nuzzling autumn breeze
A carpet of golden
leaves that even King Midas could not create
Laid, deep pile,
for our feet to carelessly swish through
The trees dressed
up in bright colours
Party clothes of
red, gold and bronze
Their branches
swaying and singing to the rhythm of the wind
Enjoying a final
fling before going to sleep for the winter
Spider’s webs in
the garden festooned with jewels of dew
Like products from
the nimble hands of lace makers
White mists in the
reed beds and valleys
Like dry ice at a
pop concert
Golden furrows
behind the tractor and the plough
Straight lines
pointing their way to next year’s harvest
The cry of
seagulls following the harrow
Recalling memories of summers beside the sea
The raucous rook
with ragged, flapping coat winging to his roost
A warning of
winter yet to come