These poems are the fruit of almost 30 years of occasional writing. They were written as private reflections, or for friends and family. I hadn't intended them for public consumption, but people have told me now and then that they thought I should share them, so I have. I shall add new poems if and when I write them, though a lot of my words tend to go into sermons these days!
If you find something you like and find helpful, you are welcome to use it and share it, but please make sure my name stays attached to it.
The poems are posted in no particular order, but the labels - click on links below - should help you find poems on various themes.
There are also separate pages on this blog containing links to music composed by my husband, Philip, and to Christmas stories which I have told here at Seal in place of sermons on Christmas Day.

Thursday, 1 December 2016

Between the lines

"The time came for her to be delivered.
And she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes
and laid him in a manger."

What was it like for you, Mary, between the lines.
In the long, dark night
and the waiting.
Mother of God-with-us, what did you feel
in your delivery, our deliverance?
The birth of a different child in the birth that all of us have.

"Birth is a time of joy, but also of pain.
The swollen belly, aching back, dragging pull like an iron band.
The stretching, impossible stretching,
and pushing that is pain and joy in the same cry.

Birth is a time of wonder, and yet despair.
Through a dark tunnel to a new world.
Will you ever be born?
Will the pain get better or worse?
Can I live, can I keep control?
At the end, will you be all right?

Birth is a time of hope, and yet of fear.
What will you be?
Will you bring me sorrow or joy?
Will I spoil your life with my wrong?
The shadow of death, of the world I give to you, child,
among children downtrodden, pushed away, scarred by neglect,
lies mixed in my mind with my bright hopes.
You who are born to die, will you wish you had never been born?
Will it be my fault if you fail?"

And suddenly, breaking your broken thou.ghts,
there was your first-born son.
Like mine,
small, weak, crying for food,
God-with-us then,
and now,
in the least of our children.

Christmas 87