After the rains the sun comes, after the night is dawn. After labour is rest, after the climb is the view. After, everything comes after. It’s as though after is a gate, a fence behind which blessing is stored. But before, before is a long blank space. A desert or a wilderness, a necessary ascent. … More A Poem: After the Rains

I catch sight of myself in the window’s reflection. I catch sight of myself as you might hold me daily in your gaze. Every now and then I think to hide. That if I can walk undercover of the night, then your sweeping search light will pass by me here. But then I see myself, … More A Poem: Reflections

To wrap yourself around with blessing is not to give false comfort. The heart knows when you are bluffing. To wrap yourself in trust is to hold it all in shaking hands, the contained things and overflowing, until a safe place is found to put them down. To wrap yourself in peace is not never … More A Poem: To wrap yourself with Blessing

Anyone know? How to live in the world and not carry it close. How to live in the world and not grasp it tight. How to bring the lightest touch to bear. How to love one another and not live another’s life. How to love one another and allow each other autonomy. How to trust … More A Poem: How to live in the World

The human heart is a deep deep well. Or a sky blue until we’ve fallen in, and then its indigo until its black, and everything then is done by feel. The human heart is a wide wide expanse. Of desert, and wildernesses and wild flowers springing where we’ve not tread. And of vistas, such that … More A Poem: A Sky Blue

Poetry is a door open half a crack. A window ajar to the wind. A structure without walls. Poetry is the tap tap of a blind against the sill. An ocean in a shell. The sound of a distant sea. Poetry is the slope of words, off which we take a little leap. And the … More A Poem: A Door Open

Ah, when the heart is too deeply grieved sometimes the light is too bright a thing. The hurt animal seeks a dark habitat to hide. Perhaps it’s safety that is perceived in the half light. Perhaps it is the same as wearing black in mourning, in that once there was apportioned a time to rightly … More A Poem: Dawning Light

Hope is made for such a day as this. It is not made for when all is sweet and light. Although the memory of the good can be a fueler of the flame. Because hope was made for when the darkness is most apparent. Hope was made for when the sky has changed to black. … More A Poem: Hope is Made

I bring with me a field. I don’t like expectations, uncertainties. The new year is a precipice. Tasks ahead I cannot face, promises I’ve made. I am a field mouse, scurrying through the long grass to its home. With haste I might avoid detection. But in all the fretful rushing, what fear is it that … More A Poem: A Field

How do we cross into the year, with peace our compass and courage our hiking stick? I’ve heard suggested that we set our minds on heaven – and yes, the mountaineer has a goal though shrouded yet in mist. But where in looking forward do we find the present? Where might we spread ourselves as … More A Poem: Crossing Over