This little ship

This little ship must sail, it must go forth

From the familiar harbour to the lonely sea

Committed to the rhythm of the waves

The long, heartbreaking, crying of the gulls

The churning of the waters.

This little ship must say farewell to shore

Must leave behind the view of soft green hills

The peaceful ebb and flowing of the tides

The laughter of the children on the shore

The safety of its rope.

This little ship must bear its cargo forth

Not knowing if its freight has any worth

But facing down the sea-wrack and the storm

And here be dragons in uncharted places

Alone beneath the stars.

The Knowing is the Peace

Grant me the peace of knowing

For the knowing is the peace

The understanding

That all things come home to your hands,

And that you hold them

Safe in eternal being,

Safe in love

Where the love and the being are one.

Here, a scent of flowers

Drifts to the sense

And memory, soft, awakens

Past the rub and the nub of things

To the heart that is waiting, waiting,

In the touch and the breath of its springtime,

Though we walk through all seasons and years.

Time is heavy, heavy,

And mortal shoulders droop,

Done down in the burden of being

Where love feels a little like drowning

And the birdsongs retreat into silence

That falls like the twilight of life

As harsh as the clashing of stones.

Only love can carry

Through the loneliness of our breathing

To the peace on the other side,

Where hope has wings,

And the kiss and the promise are one,

And the peace is forever.

Today i grieve ..

Today I grieve for beauty gone

For loveliness made desolate:

All gone, and only ash remains

With bitterness to desecrate.

No trees to rise in majesty

And build a haven sweet and green,

No ferns, no grass, no bushes left

Where little creatures rest unseen.

No bellbirds chime, no whipbirds call,

No little streams go whisp’ring by,

No magpies echo through the leaves,

No kookaburras joyous cry.

No gentle, solemn sanctuary

Where we breathe in creation’s breath,

But just a black and dreadful waste

The acrid, weary land of death.

We grieve with prayer, we sow with tears

And bowed by horror, wear the pain,

And wait still for the miracle:

The blessed benison of rain.

Learning ...

We sit together

In a darkened cave,

Raising up our lanterns

To shine

On one another’s faces.

We leave the sheltered waters

And set forth,

Defying wind and current

On the sulky seas,

To steer true to our star.

We still ourselves to listen

To the song and to the silence,

Hushing our chatter

Until we hear

Whispers of broken hearts.

We love as the wind loves,

Moving mountains of air

Across continents

So that a breeze might caress

One tear-stained face.

We take off our blindfolds

With slow and trembling fingers,

Facing our terror

Of our own nakedness

Until we see glory.

Prayer in a Time of Fire

For the grey-green forest,

Lyrical in beauty,

Nurturing life and joy –

Now gone.

We pray

For those who rise in courage

To battle monsters,

To bear the dragon’s breath,

Struggling, exhausted,

We pray.

For those who cower

On new-crowded beaches

Desolate with fear

And too much loss to count

We pray.

For history made palpable:

Country townscapes

Wearing charm and welcome

Utterly destroyed

We pray.

For those so cruelly bludgeoned

Grieving for the arms

That will never touch again

And the words now no more spoken

We pray.

For sweet summer air made bitter

Tainted by smoke,

Choking and unbreathable

Blotting out the sun

We pray.

Let us never be a people

Of cold hearts and crossed arms

Wearing indifference as a shield

Terminally self-seeking

We pray.

Elizabeth Speaks

The flesh is fading, but the love is strong

And wonder overwhelms my every breath;

For who am I to walk in miracles

When, humanly, my womb was only death?

I did not hear the wild angelic words:

What do I know of angels and their ways?

Yet he, my learned husband, is struck dumb

While my lips open wide to sing God’s praise.

I do not know if it is shame or pride

That bids me hide myself from careless eyes

The while my body swells with burgeoned life

And all my soul’s a-tremble with surprise.

There is a knowing deep, deep in the bone,

Where all my living comes down to this place:

This life in me that reason can’t explain,

This aged flesh a temple of his grace.

My grandmother's oak

My grandmother’s oak (I think of it as hers)

Is growing old now, with some branches bare;

I watch it, fleeting, from the passing train,

And think back fifty years, when she was there.

All histories bear their own entanglements,

And I, still near a child, I did not know,

And know not yet what she was to herself,

Or how her years spelled out their ebb and flow.

Now, looking back, my guesses grow more sharp,

But, sharper still, the holes I cannot guess,

Yet she is still a memory of love,

A shade within my childhood’s wilderness.