The shed of shielding The igloo of isolation The desert of distance The street of space The sea of sorrow The lagoon of loneliness The world of worry The bubble of belonging The hill of hope The field of friendship
I take God out of the dictionary and listen to G-d’s breathlessness. There are claims that God’s vocation is to tell of flittings.
What shall I send them today, I wonder, those faithful inheritors of George Fox standing silent and still on the top of Pendle Hill or up against the wall in Launceston Prison.
We gauge things differently now as we walk down the street: eyeing up personal space. A man whose dreads unfurl, mouths his thanks for the room I make as he legs it past me.
‘Asylum seekers’ Poem by Rainbows Children’s Meeting Mother and child are fleeing in the night. The brutal soldiers search for them behind, And in the sky ahead, the stars are bright. The tired donkey follows Joseph’s light, ...
Live adventurously. When choices arise, do you take the way that offers the fullest opportunity for the use of your gifts in the service of God and the community ? Let your life speak. When decisions have to be made, are you ready to join with others in seeking clearness, asking...
Grey waters, vast as an area of prayer that one enters. Daily over a period of years I have let the eye rest on them. Was I waiting for something? ...
At the start, it’s no more than a fist, doing that opening, shutting, pumping business.
Mashed into the last summer sunshine cold wind, a paper-cut barb Hints at winter ahead. Though told that warmth would banish this virus it hovers still, a vulture that threatens our fresh horizons Corralls us back into our cups Of joys, miseries and memories.
Rain is all mist without fall, and mottled with grey motions, the sky. There’s a sea-roar in that fruitless sycamore, and eucalyptus leads the cheer, throwing jackdaws in streaming perichoresis about a pale, unblooded sky.