Out of Nothing, Something
There is no bloodless myth will hold. — Geoffrey Hill Anecdata are the stuff, amped with wit, that poems are made of. Buber-Neumann, released from a…
Judgement of Solomon
My baby! Give me back my baby boy! Even a harlot is allowed her child, Her comfort for being a cruel man’s toy, For all the moments…
Spring Rain
A fine light moisture drifts to earth In natural silence - it has nothing To say, no endowment of, nor cause For voice - it is, and…
David and Absalom
Absalom! Absalom! My son! My son! Why did it have to end this way, my boy? Absalom! Absalom! My son! My son! Why does this day your…
The Hermitage
(for Ray) There is a place that knows moon sun sea where skies weave tapestries with adachiite vigils indicolite lauds elbaite vespers nard balsam myrrh inebriate…
Simple Grace
When I draw my last breath I’ll wish I had one more to tell you all the things I never said before. Of your relentless love descending…
The Bishop’s Hands
Rivers of strife pour through his veins. White age furls rapidly, time’s rapids reach As fingers. Time does not have time to teach. So he is here;…
The Garden Gate
Welcome, my friend, please enter through my gate! For sun is off sleeping, and night is fine. Your road may be long, but now it can wait…
Some Notes on (Not) Noticing
He saw no colour but those he knew…but they were fresh and poignant, as if he had at that moment first perceived them. - Tolkien, The Two…
The Road to Spring
Breath turns to vapour, bushes burn with frost, Crystal puddles punctuating the trail, On which the sun’s battles are frankly lost, As noon-day sees its thawing vigour…