Hailsham Gospel Mission

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 >>>

  • Can you hear me? >>>

  • On being without you >>>

  • Things I love about Autumn >>>


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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

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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..."

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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

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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


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