Stripped in my winter

Stripped in my winter

The summer leaves fall from the trees. The branches stark and naked against a grey sky, Yet one day the sap will rise again. You, Lord, will send the Spirit Rushing through our veins, And there will be flowers and fruit And shade on a summer’s day.   Ian Bunting...
Your Precious Life

Your Precious Life

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper…?   I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel in the  grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been...
Summer Slaughter

Summer Slaughter

Almost a century, and half a world away The children of Hiroshima were all on holiday; Not dreaming of the holocaust the heavens would release – They weren’t concerned with politics, or even peace.   The children of Hiroshima, like youngsters anywhere, Ran out to...
Asleep in my Hand

Asleep in my Hand

Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie, Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand, Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry – Meadows and gardens running through my hand. Dead that shall quicken at the call of Spring, Sleepers to stir beneath June’s magic...