Listen – The shepherd has come, the true shepherd who will not lead us down false paths or beside wild streams nor through fields of brown; The shepherd has come, the shepherd who dwells among his sheep, who leads them only in good paths and gives them rest. Listen – He has seen us, sheepContinue reading “The Shepherd’s Dwelling”
Category Archives: Poetry
Winter’s Child
Winter’s Child Into this world in bitter cold – Brother and sister rosy-cheeked Fresh from playing in the snow, A luxury, a game to them; My screams perhaps a little louder For the blast of Ballarat cold Upon my newly disclosed flesh, The summer of my mother gone – (In this weather there is nothingContinue reading “Winter’s Child”
100 Words for Sleep
An ocean of sound waves in whelming rhythm; A lounge-room full of inviting chairs; The lightness of a dumbbell, The weight of a wafer; A lullaby, A symphony; The distance from inside to The furthest place away from day; A tower of the smallest seeds; A firm and delicate soft thing; A consuming embrace, AContinue reading “100 Words for Sleep”
Ants Around the Basin
These travellers must have come from arid lands, Drawn as they are to the flood-plains here Where splashes from ablutions fall In puddles where these ants may drink. Tenacious, they hold to their collective purpose; Though I swipe at them daily with moistened rag, Their kin replace them unabashed by the evening Like small settlersContinue reading “Ants Around the Basin”
Heart and Mind
The heart is deceitful above all things; But the fading brain has its own daytime delusions, Pulling all the shutters up, Leaving the dirty dishes undone, Denying all rumours of people at home And threading needles to stitch up The wounds that no-one else can see. The heart is deceitful above all things, But theseContinue reading “Heart and Mind”
Languor
Dali painted sleep how it feels To be drooping languidly upon Daytime’s set of wooden prongs: Awake and yet invertebrate, Held up by forces that impose Their sharpness on the tilted soul, The night-time of old age propped up While all around seems clear blue sky.
Clean Hands and Pure Heart (Seventh Sunday After Pentecost)
I am not a prophet nor A prophet’s son. I am a herdsman And I dress the bowers of The sycamore. The Lord called to me With His plumb-line And He said, “Amos, hold this Plumb-line against my people Israel. No more will I pass them by.” “Who may ascend the hill of God?” WeContinue reading “Clean Hands and Pure Heart (Seventh Sunday After Pentecost)”
The Bishop of Pyramid Hill (For Sydney James Kirkby)
Open and dry, the plains drew him in; They say he “carried his swag” where he went. He knew how to sketch and could play the piano, A bag full of gifts always ready for use. In city or bush he looked for a city That was not yet here; so he set down hisContinue reading “The Bishop of Pyramid Hill (For Sydney James Kirkby)”
A Prayer (For Benedict of Nursia)
Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Non draco sit mihi dux! May the holy cross be my light! May the dragon never be my overlord! (Prayer of the Saint Benedict Medal) Caught between the rule and obedience, Scarcely strong enough to hold but Scared of where my sins might take me, May I know the loveContinue reading “A Prayer (For Benedict of Nursia)”
A Great City Stood (The Sixth Sunday After Pentecost)
A great city stood, on a hill so tall That it reached to the heavens and took in all Who came there to dwell in its rich home of peace, With a king strong and humble, A king and a priest, And a God who dwelt with them, There with them all. And the nationsContinue reading “A Great City Stood (The Sixth Sunday After Pentecost)”
The Consolations of Writing 