Tag Archives: poetry

the simple act of putting one foot in front of another, even if you are not sure where you are going, and the truth that you are not alone, there is another who walks alongside, or even carrying.

‘My life is the light that pierces the world’s darkness’, he said, as he spat on the ground. He knelt to scoop up a handful of spittle and mud and rubbed it in his palm to make a paste. He smeared it gently on the man’s eyes. ‘Blind from birth’, we whispered between ourselves, ‘hisContinueContinue reading “#12- See”

I think of washing something so hot and so thoroughly that it comes out like new. I think of the white lambs down the lane again, untarnished by this muddy life, (all except for their bony knees, for they must kneel to find their mother’s milk). And just like this, life has a way ofContinueContinue reading “#11 Cleanse”

Like today, when you wake to a celebration, a cacophony of noise in the valley. The birds sing, their voices a rising chorus, the sun is hot as it blazes its glory all over the place, and the sheep call out, loudly. Does it not seem to you that the whole earth is shouting outContinueContinue reading “#10 Hosanna”

Sometimes it feels as if all of this could fall apart, as if we are all hanging on by a thread. How often did it feel like that to you, I wonder? How often did you wonder if this master plan would work? With all the washing of feet, the talking of forgiveness and eatingContinueContinue reading “#9 servant”

each of us somewhere along the path. scattered, some resting, some running. some holding the hands of the very young, and some, the very old. but it isn’t a race, it is companionship. it is pacing ourselves, walking well,   because this whole life is a journey, from the time we first wake until theContinueContinue reading “#8 journey”

there was a lamb down the lane lying on the cold grass, its mother standing helplessly by. we have seen the farmer before now, lift a stiff lamb and hurl it into the back of his truck. it is survival of the fittest, no time to care for the weakest ones. if they make it,ContinueContinue reading “#7 truth”

solo. alone with a dream, but listening, always, for a change in the plan. learning to walk at a steady pace, one step in front of the other, in front of the other, not wishing any of this away. peace in the way that I walk, for, at the end of it all, my lifeContinueContinue reading “#6 solitude”

If I am weak, then there is more room for you to pour through, water through my desert, rain over the dry riverbed of my soul, and in its wake the miracle of tiny buds, blooming all over this desert, hidden gifts bought to life by water, and it makes me think, if I amContinueContinue reading “#5 weak”

even today, our lives circle around it; the warm dough, it’s salt crust. toast and marmalade, dipped into soup, mopping up sausage stew, but it is not enough, we hunger again, and as essential as it is, you say,  ‘There is more. Come.’

it would be easy to think that hope wouldn’t last, that it could be stamped out, that a little frail thing like that shoot wouldn’t be strong enough to last through the droughts and storms. tempting to imagine that it was all in your own hands now, that you had been left alone, and youContinueContinue reading “#2 temptation”

my hands scratch at the dust, this crumbling ground. they feel their way around this void, try to fathom it, to make sense of it. I dig in desperation to work out what we are doing here in the dust, when we are meant to be sons and daughters. but in the desert we needContinueContinue reading “#1 wasteland”