Echoes in Faith

It is in the silence that he is usually there,

in the angel music he will ordinarily speak,

but like many who wander and wonder

there is an emptiness and disconnection.


Shadows of shapes where he used to be

and a faint echo that which led to stability,

a heavy heart hangs low, he held it once

and led me by my own frail hand.


A desertification of my spiritual journey,

sand dunes and landscapes of coloured

hues of a sun set, strange birds and sighs

as the wonder that is around me -waits


by my side and some times I can feel

that he’s been there, walked this way

and in my dreams I am trying to run

and reach him before he is truly gone.


Then the crying of tortured people,

the homeless refugees, raped women,

and hungry children call me to pray

and in praying I kneel and beseech


and ever doing it in a vacuum I trust.

I will not stop even though he is silent.

I will not put down the calls for prayer.

I will never stop saying God is Love.


For Jesus walked this world and wept,

and so I will continue to cry in hope,

and proclaim that God is good ’til –

my wounds and his are bound together,


Glimpses of, What might have been,

Nightmares of what has been.

Days spent in restless anticipation

of fear, nausea, hope or despair.


Hating my own hair and teeth,

revolted by the marks on my flesh,

loved by someone who stands by me

Day on day, hour on hour.


No criticisms or judgements,

no one to take it away,

people trying to shield me

but no person ever can.

The truth is bare, gritty and awful,

the facts and trials tell no lies,

but beauty is there and Jesus

a solid rock, a pinprick of light.


I go down and down and down.

Into a pit of blackness and tears,

Weary now, how can I

climb? Much easier now to fall.


Where is the bottom? When will it come?

Has it passed? I pray for hope.

Is this up? Is it the mud?

where I play Ein Audi over again.


The music is muscle and tears cleanse,

Love weaves a path through 

and years pass and realisation slow

that from 24 hours a day to 

moments that 


and tear






hard won.

A Sacred Moment

The cloud had darkened, and the lane lengthened,

as my dragging feet walked the dusty way home.

My fears were growing and the worry charging

me with the cost of my acuity. The news was bad.


Travelling slowly, saddened and searching, I heard

nearby in a green, thorny thicket a few grams of

feathers, bones and flesh rustled and fluffed, then

interrupted my daydream with a loud, clear call.


A wren, with his hoisted tail, blew my sad and 

gloomy thoughts away as he swelled and music

trebled from his tiny throstle, thrilling me and

retuning me to life in that sacred hopeful place.


Somewhere else a bird sang to his love with

zees and another performed an aria, atop a tree.

They are bastions of creation, holding in their

prayerful songs of praise the glory of their God.

The Virus and World Domination

A fiercesome thing is lockdown,

it growls around us like a roaring

wind, that tears the fabric of lives

apart and turns the hope of Spring

into a winter of depression, and a

lesson that sows seeds in a nation

that seeks to avoid exhalation of

drops of a virus; that violently takes

from us our hopes, and fears, and 

numbs the emotions with the tears,

of disempowerment and the lament

will be heard for years when still it

will bite the crust from hard earned 

folks and their childrens’ hands.


Each person of power walked a 

road of holding might, and a fight

to show they meant to stop its

dividing and riding on the backs

of the innocent, who lack the test,

to show it has them in their grip

and will use them to slip through

to kill, to maim and harm as many

as it can, and monster mutations 

ensure that antibodies are over-

come to win world domination. 


But the divisions and revisions;

the deciders allow doubt to slide

in, trying to slow its pace are in

every way arrogant and hesitant

and ignorant of the resistance

that an unseen enemy has been

able to choose in the absence

of the will to close our borders,

as New Zealand has done and

there the virus has no home, a

whisper and it will be shut down

because there they knew their

enemy and faced reality in time,

choosing the common good first.

A Refuge from Incompetence.

Distraught on the rugged, stony cliff,

she watched the surf spilling onto rocks.

The sussurating sea, a rolling reminder to 

her of Autumn winds and whirling leaves.


The mizzling mist came heavily, hugging,

and wrapping her with a welcome refuge

shushing the hustling agitation in her haven,

til eased, soothed, safe on her own island. 


Viruses and violation and vague politicians,

hours that hurtled her into an aching abyss

of undone work, deadlines, unwritten lines,

statutory isolation, tedium and tension.


For now, though, 



a sentinel, 


amidst the sweet sounds of

calling Choughs, 

children laughing and 

the steady murmur of the sea.