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.

No magic wands

(against the snake oil salesmen)

There are no magic wands,

No miracle cures,

No happy-stance comets

Blazing with pre-set glory

For those who learn and do the right techniques,

Or say the sorcerous words.

Or pay the fee

To some bright charlatan who laughs away

Long years of patient learning with the nudge

That they know all the secrets.

Sit, walk, stand

Under the truth;

Know that the world grinds on

With sludge, drudge, trudge,

With pain borne heavily

With shoulders bowed,

With harsh mortality,

And everyone

Must drink the cup until the world shall change.

And yet

We draw in mercy with each breath

We drink down kindness, wonder, beauty, joy

Here in the very valley of dry bones,

Singing the songs of worlds we’ve not yet trod

Where flowers bloom from every swardy sod

Dark powers shattered by the iron rod

Forged from the nails that thought they could kill God.

His peace, his peace

Sings over everything.

Mary's Questions

Oh angel! It is so easy for you

To tell me not to fear –

You who dwell in light unimaginable,

Forever praising God,

What do you know of fear?

My path is different;

Even in Spring’s upspringing

I feel the slow drag of flesh,

And the questions, like a thousand sword-points,

Bearing down upon me:

What will my mother say?

And Joseph, how will I explain

That I bear Another’s child?

Unless an angel comes to him,

How shall he believe?

And my friends (I can see it now):

Cruel smiles, pointing fingers,

Whispers I only just hear?

This is a small, small town,

I can get away with nothing.

Oh angel, have you any idea?

In this hour of second-guessing

Where has my courage gone?

And who am I to raise a child

Who is not like any other?

He will be the Son of God –

And my mind retreats

From the unearthly strangeness of it all …

But he will be God!

God himself

Will be a baby!

God himself

Will need me,

Will be vulnerable, alone,

Will need me.

God himself

Will taste of fear,

Will understand

This path I scarcely name.

God himself

Will be with me, will be so small, so small …

Let it be to me according to your word.