Category Archives: Poetry

On an enclosure of bees in a honey store

The bee is not afraid of me, I know the butterfly. (Emily Dickinson) Busy as themselves, they bustle in explosion of hum and hive. Contained, less fearsome, they pattern out their piece of wall in splendour of black and Emperor’s yellow. Intricate weaving, a tight-packed fabric of sweetness and protection, this is nothing to startleContinue reading “On an enclosure of bees in a honey store”

10 Ways to Embrace the Ring Road

Embrace it. No other time of day can you sit still, without compunction. Here schedules mean nothing. You may be late; that cannot be stopped. Yet you can stop. You can look at clumps of grass and broccoli gums in wetlands and wonder how they looked before this road was even thought. You can watchContinue reading “10 Ways to Embrace the Ring Road”

Redeem the Commute

Keilor-bound at the wheel, a man plucks his middle brow over the hill. Trucks speak in whistling brakes; cars speak in blinkers; billboards speak in covered-up breaths and we, doubting ourselves, tremble forth. Across gorges and bridges, organ-pipes hum in the silent chorale of a wasted commute. Gold glints through gum-trees; grace glints in mirrors.Continue reading “Redeem the Commute”

Doxa

White though simple carries every colour. Glory – small word – is manifold. Break apart light and find prismatic wonder. None of this has words. What then? What sounds can be made to stir hearts? The Word – singular yet many pleats, Many rooms – beams and breathes from beginning. How can we reveal? WeContinue reading “Doxa”

The Long Drizzle

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote, The droghte of March hath perced to the roote… (Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales) Finally the clothes are dry, the air is dry, the leaves fall in their way. Finally April ends with such crispness and we emerge, knowledge of winter on the edges of skin yet our bodiesContinue reading “The Long Drizzle”

The Last Post

Clouds drift; distant, the birds sing. The courtyard sunk in silence sits. Somewhere cars continue the day, and floating in the distance thoughts of mateship dearly bought, and peace woven where no need for war had driven us to foreign shores, repeat: We shall remember them. This has no glory, only silence. And in theContinue reading “The Last Post”

Catechism 45

Is baptism with water the washing away of sin itself? No, only the blood of Christ and the renewal of the Holy Spirit can cleanse us from sin. (New City Catechism)     God, no water is enough. Stains worsen when washed deeper in; this is the deepest, from Adam to now.        Only blood     can washContinue reading “Catechism 45”

Break O’Day

Written Easter Sunday in Pyengana, Tasmania Dedicated to the people of Break O’Day Parish, St Helens Drink from the brook. The day sparkles the hills in their joy. Look to the mountains: there comes your help. Springing forth from caves with rolled-away stones breaks the day, breaks the day. Singing in haze, this resurrection joyContinue reading “Break O’Day”

The Womb of the Morning

(Written on Holy Saturday in Bicheno, Tasmania) The oath must still hold true yet waiting dries expectation; the dew of your youth evaporates in the tomb. Now: what the LORD said to David’s Lord is unchanged, but the rods of foes seem the triumphant ones today. Only Pilate’s wife regrets the washing of hands; onlyContinue reading “The Womb of the Morning”