Sunday, February 26, 2012

Hauntings

I like to believe
the little places in my heart,
that haunt my mind and memories,
reciprocate a special part
of me in some strange way.

The marsh-edge oak
with leaning bole and rhino skin;
the birches bursting concrete slabs
like elven mischief breaking in
where industry once lay.

The gravel spit;
the forest river where we swing,
the jetty on the muddy creek,
the foreshore where the salt waves bring
black shark's teeth from the clay.

The maze of gorse
where horses hide from summer glare,
the downland where the skylarks thread
their song like stitches in the air
the pond where children play

I carry all
these landscapes of my heart and mind
as phantoms in my memories
that whisper in my barren times
"we're here for you always."

And may it be
in distant years when passers-by
are seeking solace, needing space
they sense a kindly ghost that sighs
"I also loved this place".



(c) A Mc N

In hospital

Stormcloud bubbles;
boils black against the moon.
Clouds race, light dims and fades.

The moonglow thins to yellow candleflame of light
stuttering in the dark storm- shredded shadows of the night.

I have watched you from a distance teeter on the edge of life.

I have feared for life's fragility
but felt the deep resilience of love.

I have seen the father-love of God
expressed in human form by parents I am proud to know.

I know however deep the cloud or dark the storm
the moon still shines a beacon in the dark;
as love illuminates our fear
and makes us hope anew. 


(c) A Mc N


It is hard to have a grandchild live so far away, harder still when they are seriously ill. But neither love nor faith  diminish with distance. And he is recovered fully now!   

Shoal of stars

A winter's night.

A canopy of branches casts 
an inky net across the sky. 

The air is cold;  
dark as an ocean deep.

Looking up I watch a shoal of stars 
bright as herring flash and
heave in the fishnet weave
of winter twig and branch.

Something in me;
something very, very deep 
from long ago
longs to stretch imagination on tiptoe 
and pluck them shining from their net
to lie as silver sixpence
in my hand. 


(c) A Mc N

Open door

From beginning to end 
the door was open.

The autumn air slid in,
cool and fragrant,
gliding down the aisle,
exploring every nook and
cranny of the place.

One by one it touched us all, 

stroked every face and 
mingled with the breaths 
we breathed.

 And this is why you came.. 

Not because you wanted to 
but from a deeper calling of the God 
who's heart is always 
open like a door;

whose grace is always gliding 

through the nooks and crannies of your life,
even in the places you would hide from view. 

 Beyond this cool October air, 

beyond the liturgies and symbols of  this day 
there is a deep reality 
who longs to be as close  
and vital as the air 
in every breath you breath. 

(c) A Mc N


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