Category Archives: Uncategorized

A Sonnet for Easter Dawn

The Lord is Risen! He is risen indeed Alleluia!

Heres is an extra ‘fifteenth’ sonnet for Easter Morning, which I dedicate to my friend Mary who asked me to write it, and to the memory of her husband Gavin. May he rest in peace and rise in glory.

This sonnet, and the others I have been posting for Holy Week are all drawn from my collection Sounding the Seasons, published by Canterbury Press here in England. The book is now back in stock on both Amazon UK and USA and physical copies are shortly to be available in Canada via Steve Bell‘s Signpost Music. The book is now also out on Kindle. Please feel free to make use of these sonnets in church services and to copy and share them. If you can mention the book from which they are taken that would be great.

I am grateful to Oliver Neale for permission to use the image above. as always you can hear the sonnet by clicking on the ‘play’ button or on the title.



XV Easter Dawn

He blesses every love which weeps and grieves

And now he blesses hers who stood and wept

And would not be consoled, or leave her love’s

Last touching place, but watched as low light crept

Up from the east. A sound behind her stirs

A scatter of bright birdsong through the air.

She turns, but cannot focus through her tears,

Or recognise the Gardener standing there.

She hardly hears his gentle question ‘Why,

Why are you weeping?’, or sees the play of light

That brightens as she chokes out her reply

‘They took my love away, my day is night’

And then she hears her name, she hears Love say

The Word that turns her night, and ours, to Day.

7 Comments

Filed under christianity, Poems, Uncategorized

Easter Dawn

Heres is an unexpected extra fifteenth sonnet for Easter Morning, which I dedicate to my friend Mary who asked me to write it, and to the memory of her husband Gavin. May he rest in peace and rise in glory.

I am grateful to Oliver Neale for permission to use the image above. as always you can hear the sonnet by clicking on the ‘play’ button or on the title.



XV Easter Dawn

He blesses every love which weeps and grieves

And now he blesses hers who stood and wept

And would not be consoled, or leave her love’s

Last touching place, but watched as low light crept

Up from the east. A sound behind her stirs

A scatter of bright birdsong through the air.

She turns, but cannot focus through her tears,

Or recognise the Gardener standing there.

She hardly hears his gentle question ‘Why,

Why are you weeping?’, or sees the play of light

That brightens as she chokes out her reply

‘They took my love away, my day is night’

And then she hears her name, she hears Love say

The Word that turns her night, and ours, to Day.

11 Comments

Filed under christianity, Poems, Uncategorized

XV Easter Dawn

Heres is an unexpected extra fifteenth sonnet for Easter Morning

Which I dedicate to my friend Mary who asked me to write it, and to the memory of her husband Gavin. May he rest in peace and rise in glory.

The Image of Christ and Mary Magdelene is by Alexandra Drysdale

as always you can hear the sonnet by clicking on the ‘play’ button if it appears, or else on the title of the poem

20110423-220133.jpg


XV Easter Dawn

He blesses every love which weeps and grieves

And now he blesses hers who stood and wept

And would not be consoled, or leave her love’s

Last touching place, but watched as low light crept

Up from the east. A sound behind her stirs

A scatter of bright birdsong through the air.

She turns, but cannot focus through her tears,

Or recognise the Gardener standing there.

She hardly hears his gentle question ‘Why,

Why are you weeping?’, or sees the play of light

That brightens as she chokes out her reply

‘They took my love away, my day is night’

And then she hears her name, she hears Love say

The Word that turns her night, and ours, to Day.

11 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

The Poets have been strangely silent about cheese!

‘The Poets have been Mysteriously Silent about Cheese’ GK Chesterton

well, as its Brisish Cheese Week (really!) here’s a little response to GKC:

Poets have been silent about cheese

Because whilst every  subject is the message.

Cheese is the very medium of their work.

We drink in language with our mothers milk

But poets curdle words until they bite,

With substance and a flavour of their own:

So Donne is sharp and Geoffrey Hill is sour

Larkin ascerbic, Tennyson has power

(But only late at night, taken with port)

I like them all and sample every sort

from Creamy keats with his mossed cottage trees

tasting the words themselves like cottage cheese

To Eliot, difficult, in cold collations

Crumbling and stuffed with other folk’s quotations..

4 Comments

Filed under literature, Poems, Uncategorized

Who Is The Honest Man? George Herbert on Tony Blair and Iraq

George Herbert should have been on the Chilcot Inquiry!  At least he would have known how to ask the right questions. His poem Constancie sets out in searching detail the real criteria by which we should judge honesty in our selves and others.

Who is the honest man ? he asks, and then goes on to set out a series of bench-marks all of which are astonishingly pertinent to our judgment of today’s proceedings at the Iraq inquiry. He asks us to look for a leader whose pursuit of  integrity neither force, nor fawning can unpin from giving all their due

Those two terms force and fawning go right to the heart of this inquiry.  What was the influence of force, fire-power and power-politics on behalf of both Iraq and America? How much fawning was there? Was Tony Blair  Bush’s wise restrainer or his poodle?  Was he ‘unpinned’ by either of these two f-words from giving all their due?  The families of Soldiers who died in Iraq are rightly present in the room at this inquiry, for they have a strong case for saying that they have not ‘been given all their due’, not yet in terms of honesty.

And Honesty is the next topic in Herbert’s masterful inquiry. He asks us to sift every claim and to look for someone Whose honesty is not So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind Can blow away, or glittering look it blind Was Tony Blair that man?  Or were there glittering looks that blinded him? That’s what this inquiry is meant to uncover.

Now Blair himself might seize on the next item on  Herbert’s agenda, as a summary of his own position. He clearly believes himself to be someone ‘Who, when great trials come, Nor seeks, nor shuns them; but does calmly stay, Till he the thing and the example weigh.. ‘I had the integrity’, he is claiming, ‘to weigh all things and come to a judgment, I asked you to trust my judgement then and I’m asking you to trust it now’. Certainly that’s what he believes of himself, that his integrity is unimpeached. But whereas the present members of the inquiry seem ready to take that assessment at face-value without further question, George Herbert asks us to probe a little more closely and suggests that if someone wants to claim that kind of integrity and ask us to trust their judgment then we should ask whether they are a man Whom none can work or woo To use in any thing a trick or sleight; For above all things he abhors deceit: His words and works and fashion too All of a piece, and all are clear and straight. We are entitled to ask, says Herbert, whether the ‘dodgy dossier’ and the ringing speeches that led parliament to vote for war were put together using ‘any trick or sleight’ or whether were ‘all of a piece’, ‘all clear and straight’

I give below the text of a poem which should have been given to every member of the inquiry and written in letters of gold over its door, but with the proviso that if the strong light of Herbert’s verse is to be trained on our politicians, we should, in justice, also turn it back and train it on ourselves.

Who is the honest man?

He that does still and strongly good pursue,

To God, his neighbor, and himself most true:

Whom neither force nor fawning can

Unpin, or wrench from giving all their due.

Whose honesty is not

So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind

Can blow away, or glittering look it blind:

Who rides his sure and even trot,

While the world now rides by, now lags behind.

Who, when great trials come,

Nor seeks, nor shuns them; but does calmly stay,

Till he the thing and the example weigh:

All being brought into a sum,

What place or person calls for, he does pay.

Whom none can work or woo

To use in any thing a trick or sleight;

For above all things he abhors deceit:

His words and works and fashion too

All of a piece, and all are clear and straight.

Who never melts or thaws

At close temptations: when the day is done,

His goodness sets not, but in dark can run:

The sun to others writes their laws,

And is their virtue; Virtue is his Sun…

…Whom nothing can procure,

When the wide world runs bias from his will,

To writhe his limbs, and share, not mend the ill,

This is the Mark-man, safe and sure,

Who still is right, and prays to be so still.

3 Comments

Filed under Current affairs, Poems, Uncategorized

A new poem in terza rima

I have returned to my love of terza rima and further meditations on Dante with the following poem, which forms a kind of conversation with the opening of the Divine Comedy. I hope to take the advice my muse so freely gives in this poem and make it the first in a series, so I need prayer for the discipline it takes to give my muse the time she needs. Anyway here’s the poem:

In Medias Res

And so I start again, here in the middle,
The middle of a life I scarcely know,
How many guesses left to get the riddle?

The woods are dark and darker shadows flow,

I followed someone here, but lost her leading,

With nothing but my lostness left to show.

The voice that drew me on is faint and fading

And something else is following behind.

Over whose heart, I wonder, are we treading?

My shadow-beasts can scent, though they are blind;

All three are here; leopard, lion, wolf,

My kith and kin, the emblems of my kind.

They’ve come to draw me back across the gulf,

Back from the path I wanted to have chosen:

Fall back, they call, you can’t run from yourself,

Fall to the place where every hope is frozen…

But not his time. This time I choose to choose

The other path, path of the dead and risen,

And of the hidden heart, this time I choose,

To lose myself and find again the voice

That called and drew me here; my freeing muse.

Begin again, she calls, you have the choice,

Little by little you can travel far,

Learn to lament before you can rejoice,

Sing to the shadows, sing and do not fear

But sing them into love little by little.

Begin the song exactly where you are.

And so I start again, here in the middle.

4 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized