Posted on November 23, 2018

At first he was delighted,
delighted at all the things he could do.
But as time passed
he found that much of what he did
caused distress to others
so he did less and less.
It took a while
but eventually he ended up
like the rest of us here in the woodland,
sitting with his back to a tree
just watching the autumn leaves 
falling gently to the ground.


Posted on October 26, 2018

The trains don’t stop here anymore
but I can see them passing through,
and sometimes in the winter
I step onto the tracks, into the slipstream
of one that has hurried past
to feel the warmth it leaves behind,
the scent of the people, the coffee and the oil,
listen to the sound of the wheels fading
down the valley and into the distance,
then I just stand there and let the peace
envelop me again.









Posted on July 25, 2018

Some people,
when they walked
through my heart,
left a golden thread
behind them,
so I could find them
when they were gone.
And when I fell,
I really fell,
I found those threads
also bore my weight.

Knowing You

Posted on April 18, 2018


I look over at you,
or I hear you speak
and I think,

‘I hardly even know you.’

But it’s not in the way you look
or even what you say
that the knowing

I know your heart
and how like
to my own it is.

The Breeze

Posted on November 17, 2017

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When the trees started growing

the first thing the stars did

was to teach the leaves to sing,

how be like them, how to be in harmony,

together and apart.


The stars knew that one day

their brothers and sisters

would want to visit the earth,

but they worried that when they did

the sheer beauty, the power and drama of life

might cause them to forget where they came from,

and this is what happened.


So now they send the breeze

to whisper in the leaves

and remind us

who we are.


Posted on November 1, 2017



Don’t tell me,

don’t talk to me,

don’t stand in my way.

You think I don’t know

that even on a good day

I am morally ambiguous?

That’s because I need to see,

to find out for myself what is

and what is not.


Don’t ask me to

agree with your views,

believe in one thing,

behave in one way

or join your gang.

I can’t, I won’t,

it’s not for me.


I don’t believe that God

favours Clubs or Churches,

or Temples or Synagogues anyway,

or lives in signs or statues either.

I believe God is in the wild places

the difficult places, the places

where His Light is needed.


And the most difficult place I know

is my own heart, a heart that trembles

with fear and anticipation

in the face of what life brings.


Posted on October 23, 2017



The sky is clear and dark,

the air is cool and I am here,

waiting in the garden

for the earth to turn.


Waiting for the light of the sun

to creep across the oceans,

over the farms and the fields

and through the buildings of this city,

waiting for it to turn the clouds pink

and fill the tree above me

with golden light.


I know of no other thing

that I can rely on as much

as the turning of the world.


Posted on October 4, 2017


2015-11-26 00.21.43


As usual I woke up

feeling sad this morning,

now I am in the garden,

it’s 5.30am, dark, windy and balmy,

and I have thirty delicious

minutes all to myself,

here in nature, here with God,

the only one who knows me

well enough to heal me.


But it’s not really a healing is it?

It’s just that in the sound of the wind

rushing through trees and in the stillness beneath it,

I remember, just for a few moments, who I am.


Not the wounded man, broken by life,

caught between the impossible and the implacable,

depressed and angry at the wrongs meted out to him

and waiting for the sweet release of death,

but a man for whom life and death are unimportant

because they are secondary to love.

Waking Poem

Posted on August 9, 2017


It’s stronger in the night,

in the day something else takes over,

something more reasonable

that knows what must be done

for everything and everyone else,

but not for me.

When I sleep I am newborn,

powerless to my Soul,

and though ravished

and ravaged by turn,

my heart knows no fear.


Posted on June 29, 2017



A family of pigeons

have made their home on our roof.

I watch them from the garden

as they fly off in great arcs and return.

Somewhere deep down inside

I know how to do that, how to fly.

I don’t mean that I can imagine it,

I mean that I remember it,

it’s stored somewhere

deep in the marrow of my bones;

the shape of my wings,

how it feels to be lifted by the air,

how to bank, turn and stall.

I know beyond doubt,

I once had a body

that could fly.