Few people seem aware of the many hungry souls there are, who are longing for some sympathetic soul to speak to them about spiritual things. Sanctified common sense is what is needed, tact to deal wisely with all comers… (Mother Esther) Fallen, bones broken, she came to warmer climes; Melbourne’s burgeoning streets beckoned her, LanesContinue reading “Sisters in the Laneways (For Mother Esther, Founder of the Community of the Holy Name)”
Category Archives: Poetry
The Reversal (Fifteenth Sunday After Pentecost)
The mute man with the tangled tongue and Stoppered ears knows now the truth That frees his tongue, says, Ephphatha! And opens that which has been blocked. The daughter freed from demons knows too That dogs may eat the crumbs beneath the Table of the king’s own children, And her mother knows as well theContinue reading “The Reversal (Fifteenth Sunday After Pentecost)”
Ordinary (For the Birth of Mary)
No-one could know – this baby just like any other, no defining features, halo, anything to set it out from Eve or Adam, all their sins already branded into its tiny DNA, and nothing here to say that this flesh will bear the Word Made Flesh. How very ordi- nary this child chosen among millionsContinue reading “Ordinary (For the Birth of Mary)”
Circuitry
Neurons short-circuit somewhere On the road from stimulus to response – A moment suspended, a rush Of pollen wind, a snatch Of last year’s expression Caught in this year’s mute dance; And then: that power-surging arrival, The recognition of things oppressive To the heat-weary brain And the sparks that fly upwards For having nowhere elseContinue reading “Circuitry”
The Governor’s Wife (For Eliza Darling)
Her husband’s name hangs over Sydney’s harbour, A governor in the early days, But hers drops somewhere from our memories: To some, an artist, a painter of note; To others the mother of social reforms Who lifted the lowly while herself on the couch, Always, it seems, with a child on the way. To othersContinue reading “The Governor’s Wife (For Eliza Darling)”
The Shepherd Doctor (For Gregory of Rome)
The pastor should always be a leader in action, that by his living he may point out the way of life to those who are put under him, and that the flock, which follows the voice and manners of the shepherd, may learn how to walk rather through example than through words…For that voice moreContinue reading “The Shepherd Doctor (For Gregory of Rome)”
Bishop Strong’s Broadcast, 1942 (For the Martyrs of New Guinea)
I cannot foretell the future. I cannot guarantee that all will be well – that we shall all come through unscathed. One thing only I can guarantee is that, if we do not forsake Christ here in Papua in His Body, the Church, He will not forsake us. He will uphold us; He will sustainContinue reading “Bishop Strong’s Broadcast, 1942 (For the Martyrs of New Guinea)”
My Heart Is Stirred (Fourteenth Sunday After Pentecost)
My heart is stirred and the wind is blowing From the gentle south; it brings Spring’s soft footsteps with each stirring Song it sings from winter’s aisles. Look, the fig-tree is now blooming; See it herald in the springtime. Look, the bridegroom comes for his bride And my heart stirs with his theme. You, myContinue reading “My Heart Is Stirred (Fourteenth Sunday After Pentecost)”
Lindisfarne (For Aidan, Bishop and Missionary)
On his island amid the temper of seas and warring armies, conquering waves, Aidan, it seems, sat still, calmed somehow by the Prince of Peace, and with eyes quietly opened wide enough to see the doors that stood ajar for him to walk straight through with the words of truth that others had before himContinue reading “Lindisfarne (For Aidan, Bishop and Missionary)”
The Pilgrim in Heavy Chains (For John Bunyan)
One day as I was passing into the field…this sentence fell upon my soul. Thy righteousness is in heaven. And methought, withal, I saw with the eyes of my soul Jesus Christ at God’s right hand; there, I say, was my righteousness; so that wherever I was, or whatever I was doing, God could notContinue reading “The Pilgrim in Heavy Chains (For John Bunyan)”
The Consolations of Writing 