I believe in mothers. I believe in mothers who watched the appearance of the thin blue line with longing. I believe in mothers who watched for it with dread. I believe in mothers whose hair became thick and sumptuous. I believe in mothers whose hair fell out. I believe in mothers who wore jeans till…
Category: poem
advent poem (i)
This, This is why it’s good to be alive – the rising and scattering of wings up into the early mist, stabbing white on grey on white; the creeping fingers of sycamores circling the late November wood. And advent soon to dawn. His coming will be silent, swift, piercing the dark, stripping us bare –…
advent poem (ii)
We tripped, and falling forward into Advent we blundered into waiting, unprepared the altar purpled; candles spluttering a welcome for the hesitating king. As candles marked the time we took to walk the plodding path, something unfolded there: our ancient fathers knowing floods would come prepared to sail to a different home and prophets…
part time priest 