Sunday, 3 December 2017

When winter comes

When winter comes
it brings

that special  blue grey, 
afternoon light and

the cold, diamond sun .

All of the seasons

with it's promise of new life

sand in my toes and 
the cry of the seagull, chips from a paper bag.

Fall, the ending of something
yet the promise of beginnings
hiding shyly 
in the shadows.

when Winter comes
she brings  
the crackle of frost underfoot

lifting out the Christmas baubles
wrapped in silent memories 
of years
long gone.

The much loved sound of Carols
on the radio ,
that particular noise of wrapping paper
being taken from a 
Christmas present.

All these,
Winter comes

Sunday, 12 November 2017


The sky is

shell pink 

outside the window

and the Kerry air, 

as they say ~ 

is like Champagne.

All these dreams 
are sown into 
the pockets of my hearts

days we've spent 
driving through the 
savage beauty of Ireland.

let's make them
you said.

I don't know if anyone
can understand,
but my heart! 

The church is ringing it's bells
and the house is silent.

The salt of the sea
steals in 
through the window
to where the one
my heart loves,
lies sleeping. 


Darling don't rush.

Friday, 15 September 2017



like the night fox.

Listening to the sounds of the city and

wondering how noise

can be quiet.

Autumn has entered through the door

bringing her soft,

misty mornings.

Church spires poking the early sky

and coffee scent stealing up the stairs.

All these little rituals.

Our day to day livings.

Some times even words,

fail to express the fullness

of the human heart.

Sunday, 11 June 2017

Where time went

Summer ,

driving while
watching all the pretty dresses
flutter in the breeze

armfuls of fresh flowers
and the smell of coffee
from the outdoor cafes

it's dreaming of blue skies
and golden sand

castles with little flags atop
seagulls screeching
for your food

you remember a summer in the seventies
when you wore flares and tie dye tees

and all you listened to on the radio
were the songs of Simon and Garfunkel









Sunday, 9 April 2017

The old man with the sticks

I saw him

walking with the sticks

bundled ,

under his arm.

Shuffling along


going home,

to his fire.  

Sunday, 5 March 2017


This month

the one

that tears into us

like a lion

and leaves
like a butterfly
with pale,
green wings

Then the earth is happy

she looks to the sky



Saturday, 24 December 2016

He will come

He will come like last leaf's fall.
One night when the November wind
has flayed the trees to the bone, and earth
wakes choking on the mould,
the soft shroud's folding.

He will come like frost.
One morning when the shrinking earth
opens on mist, to find itself
arrested in the net
of alien, sword-set beauty.

He will come like dark.
One evening when the bursting red
December sun draws up the sheet
and penny-masks its eye to yield
the star-snowed fields of sky.

He will come, will come,
will come like crying in the night,
like blood, like breaking,
as the earth writhes to toss him free.
He will come like child.

© Rowan Williams

A very happy Christmas to all the silent footsteps that fall this way, and a blessed and peaceful 2017 to you all xx 

When winter comes

When winter comes it brings that special  blue grey,  afternoon light and the cold, diamond sun . All of the seasons Sprin...