His heart broken by her careless

words directed at his pain,

as she left with their son

emptying his pockets,


and tearing his heart.

He beats back the tears;

and the loneliness of 

the silence, of their shared


home pared of his peace.

Mates pat him on the back

where his son rode, on his 

broad shoulders, laughing


and shouting to his mother

who has smothered his hopes

of footie games, rugby and

being with his Dad. A phone is


now how they speak, and share

feeling for the right words,

trying not to break her rules

recalling the reality of a




A Teenager

On through the desert

on a donkey she rubbed her aching back

and panted through the spasm

in her stomach as the long

ride and poor food, and

a long laden pregnancy were 

stretching her system.


He walked ahead of her

and turned to check,

she saw his smile and

tried to return it but he

turned back; and the 

ever ready tears dripped down

her face leaving muddy

trails as if, the ever present

flies, had left muddy footprints.

She longed for the journey

to end; and for a rest

from the endless jolting

thirst and pain, and the 

night long, day long plight.

Disgraced and denied a bed

a troubled teenager in childbirth,

Mary’s tear filled soul cried 

and called on a gone God;

and in the emptiness of

an absence, the child pushed 

hopefully, seeking a way through

to the shambles, and together 

they brought the baby, bereft

of a father into the filth; and 

the sound of the animals

calling, comforted them.

Fy Nghariad/ My love

Fy Nghariad – My love

The words trip off the tongue,

and write the limits of choice

each thought a myriad possibilities,

impossibly wanting a voice


to describe a man of character,

whose heart is known to more

because of grateful generosity

of his willingness to feel


their pain, and hold it in his

thoughtfulness and through

concentration of courage show

his spirit and good sense


and there he is 

the guardian of my soul.

The Nativity

She bent over in agony and rage,

the pain in her belly burrowing

into her head and heart, her soul,

while the farting animals watched.


Her stolen insides were hardening

as she fought with her body to 

bring to the light a boy that

would one day fight with his own


high on the tree. As blood seeped 

high on the tree, as blood seeped 

from her womb, it flowed from him

who brought her tears of joy

and a graveyard  lament


with birth pangs that gripped

her grief contracting vision,

stretching her, God cried out 

in agony, as Christ is born.