Thank you!

Thank you if you’ve viewed. liked or followed any of my poems this Advent. This has been my first real attempt at poetry! I’ve very much appreciated you even looking at my first fruits. Because of you I will keep writing and blogging! Thank you!

Christmas Eve

In this hollow night the heart that has beaten within has been born.
What was known but not known is now met.
In this time of hatred, anger and division,
there is now grace.
In this lonely place we are no longer alone in our fear.
We have a new Mother and Father,
what was once all mighty has chosen to be humbled,
made vulnerable and fragile.
I may never hold the child or feel his pulse,
I may never hear his cry or see his smile,
But I am there and he is here.
I can join the choir and sing the song of the angels,
I can reach out my hand in wonder and desperation.
For unto US a child is born.
In this hollow land the love that was held by few has been born afresh.
I must play my part and give myself in gift.
I can put down my baggage and follow now.
I can begin again and be reborn,
humbled, made vulnerable, fragile.
In the child I am born,
In the grace I am forgiven,
In the love I am embraced,
In the peace I must walk.
Hallelu-jah, the light has come and filled the darkness.

Advent 36

To be in the time between times,

The moment swollen with what might happen.

In recent days new depth has been found.

New love met, new family made.

We sat together, healed and dreamed.

We talked of the past and the present till the night had faded around us.

We drank and ate together, stopped to hear stories and struggles.

We’ve shared so much so far!

We found new words and span poetry in the dark.

We painted each other’s colours and sang each other’s songs.

We argued and fought, doing what lovers and siblings do.

Our path has changed me, it is changing me.

Together we got to this place, and now we pause to breathe.

It might not be our choice to stop here, but here we are.

In the time between times,

In the place between places.

This isn’t the end, it can’t be. But it’s not the beginning. We left that months behind.

This is a space to be still, to rest, to breathe, to eat and celebrate. To be grateful for where we have got to and to let go of worry about where we will go.

What we do know is that we have been bound together and we will begin again together.

Our time is not over.

Our time will be soon.

This is the time between times.

Advent 33

Luke 2:8-15

The call goes out across the landscape,

The song is being sung across the hillside,

It rings in the air, sweeps down streets, brushes the surface of rivers, ripples through the fields.

The cry must be heard, it cannot be ignored.

So many voices, so many colours, so many tones, so many rhythms.

The voices of all nations woven in melody that recalls all cultures.

Like the seas no longer flood the earth,

Like the lands have rejoined as one,

Like the tunes of all people woven together in the song of the divine.

The dance begins amongst the rocky passes, following the herds to reach the plains and shelters.

It skips through the city and on into the night.

Shaking the earth with its raw cry of justice and peace, it’s desperate descant cutting through centuries of abuse and war.

Turn your heads toward the highest place, to the one who began it all.

Hear the call of the ages, hear the call of the creator, hear the call of the re-creator, hear the call of shalom.





Advent 32

Romans 8:22

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.

There is a deep swell in the earth. She writhes and aches, she cannot settle. She can find no place or pose of comfort. Rest and peace are beyond her reach. There are no words, and if there were no breath to carry them. All she can do is exhale the noises of deep animal loss as the waves of energy pull at her very core.

She is afraid, afraid that she will rip and burst, that the heat within will flow as torrents of burning rock, consuming everything. Afraid that she cannot hold this tension, each twist and tug a battle for balance. The fear of being torn, of all that is rooted crumbling in a cacophony of quake and blast. All around her war is raging, violence spreads and flows like unstaunchable blood. Storms batter her from without and within, but she must ride them, she must breathe. For the time is almost here.

She labours in the light and in the dark, feeding, quenching, nourishing, reaching deep and drawing life from the dirt she bears. She was made to carry life within and to birth new times and new hopes. She pours water into the barren places and rivers flow in her dry lands so life can swell and bloom. She warms the oceans with her pulsing heart so that currents keep the life in motion. The gifts she gives are our daily bread.

Yet she groans in pain and anticipation, for birth is coming, coming soon. In final hours the pain becomes all, the groans her only language, the expectation overwhelming, the hope flooding, the struggle all encompassing.

This it the earth, our mother, our home. We her children are now midwives of the future that is not written. This is God, our father. We his children are the bearers of the life that is to come.