‘Clock face made by convicts – hospital for the insane’ Willow Court New Norfolk, Tasmania.
Reflecting heaven’s light
captured by stillness in breath
obscuring the shallow beneath
stones settle buried at rest
It’s the things that aren’t said that hurt the most.
I can hear the tower clock chime from my pillow
It is the only constant I hear.
But even this clock;
I envy the care and attention
it receives for its restoration.
I hope to have its constancy at heart.
‘O Holy Spirit, as the sun is full of light, the ocean full of water,
Heaven full of glory, so may my heart be full of thee.’
Vast and free twirling round
gazing down on a breadth of seas
For ancients’ sake boulders quake
and spread their plume and fume
in pillows of magnetic blue.
All this time we knew you
a firm sphere of life
revolution all around you
and yet it is not all
who tremble as you shake,
lie in your wake.
We’re one and all reliant on
the One source.
These heavenly bodies
are not far from it.
Constancy in our distance,
we stay our path, in safety.
No freedom flier
but remain, obey, rely.
One solstice past
an emergency flight path.
We cannot wish to undo
or change our place
for all order that surrounds
and lies floating in chaotic wait
will unleash their quiet laden weight.
Best to gaze on star’s light from afar.
I love all the unseen things about you
I wait for them to make themselves known
a word, a look, a gesture, a smile
a gift of Love – one treasure I own.
When I stand before the body, in the flesh
I am confused. It’s You that I miss.
I respond in words I don’t understand
I lose part of myself in this.
Waiting for the unseen,
the centre of our being
to come forward again
In the Spring.
When you play, your work, your dream
it is there – the unseen
making music in my ears
as sweet as a song of songs.
Sweet fruit. Spring flush
Eat, dear friends, and drink your fill of love¹
The days were Made for this.
The season of singing has come.²
Love stronger than death
burns like a Mighty fire
Many waters cannot quench
Nor rivers sweep it away.³
By day the Lord directs his love,
at night his song is with me—
a prayer to the God of my life. –Psalm 42:8
Image source: ‘Looking through the trees to the stream’ by John Groves
A rare bird indeed
we are exotic, an ancient lineage
We are two much, one to know another
protect, preserve our own our offspring,
territorial ties that wound
What we love, what is it?
The glorious plumage?
A splendour to behold
The sound of our call, cool, titillating talk?
are but echoes in the sky.
No, much more than that.
The most glorious sound to adore
is the heart beating in our chests
Listen, my friend, keenly –
look with those two deep oceans you keep.
See – every word, move, motion,
every flash in the eye, affection
reveals the timbre of the heart.