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A Hymn for the Quiet Keeping – “Christ, Keeper of our quiet days” (Common Metre)
The congregational hymn, “Christ the Keeper” emphasizes God’s peace, healing, and confidence in faith, celebrating Christ’s victory over darkness. Continue reading
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A quiet milestone in Kildare
A lovely thing happened today. One of my hymns was sung in St Brigid’s Cathedral, written at the kind invitation of Rev Philip McKinley. There’s something very moving about hearing words that started out quietly on a page finally becoming part of the living prayer of the Church. After the service, I had the chance… Continue reading
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Where the Veil Wears Thin: Perpetua and Felicity – “Where earth and heaven brush as one” (Common Metre)
Perpetua and Felicity inspire with their courage and faith, embodying hope and trust in God despite adversity and suffering. Continue reading
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A quiet hour by the Shannon – “By Shannon’s holy, flowing tide (Common Metre)
St Mary’s Cathedral in Limerick is depicted as a sacred space where faith, memory, and community intertwine, inspiring continuous worship. Continue reading
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The Brittle Border: Why the Abuja Statement Disturbs a Benedictine Autistic Soul
Greetings from the heart of the Church of Ireland. As an Irish Anglican, my faith is rooted in the soil of this island—a tradition that has survived centuries of “hard borders” by choosing the Via Media, the Middle Way. As a Benedictine, my life is anchored by the vows of Stability and Hospitality. And as… Continue reading
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“At Evening, God Has Spoken”: A Vespers Hymn on Psalm 110 (76 76 D)
110 has long been one of the traditional psalms of Sunday Vespers. My new hymn, At Evening, God Has Spoken, reflects on that ancient text through the quiet landscapes of the Irish midlands—heathered hills, the Barrow’s waters, and the stillness of evening prayer—resting in Christ our High King through the night. Continue reading
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Of Lanterns, Bears, and Finding the Sun
113/69 may not be very low for most people, in fact it is well within the normal range, but my normal tends to be high so it was quite a drop. This poem was written during the night after such a drop. The darkness hums too loud to bear, each whisper sharp and near; my… Continue reading
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From Desert Paths to Living Water: A Lenten Invitation – “By stony paths in desert lands” (88 88 D)
The congregational hymn reflects on spiritual thirst, Christ’s grace, and our Lenten journey from doubt to faith, inviting renewal and reconciliation. Continue reading
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Braided Grace—A Hymn on Psalm 129 – “Long have burdens pressed upon us” (87 87 D)
Despite suffering and oppression, God’s enduring faithfulness and promise bring hope, resilience, and strength to His people. Continue reading
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One Faith, One Hope, One Lord: A Hymn for Unity
The hymn prayerfully calls for unity in the Church, invoking the Holy Spirit to heal divisions and reaffirm faith in Christ. Continue reading
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A Hymn of Soil, Saint, and Sacrament – “Here the fields of Erin whisper” (87 87 D)
This hymn celebrates Christ’s presence in creation, uniting diverse traditions in peace and reconciliation through Eucharistic imagery and Celtic spirituality. Continue reading
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A small sweet mercy
This morning was a Tuesday free from the humming dialysis lines—the chest-port resting, the machine silent for a day. I travelled up to Dublin, but by evening the journey had taken its quiet toll. The poem grew out of that very ordinary kind of tiredness: the moment when even cooking feels like too much, the… Continue reading
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The Rafters and the Harbour
The poem I share below about travelling into NHQ isn’t really about trains or coffee or even comms work. It’s about return. There was a time when my work with St John Ambulance Ireland was my paid role—front-line, though not uniformed, serving within National Headquarters. Kidney failure changed that. Dialysis made that life impossible. Now… Continue reading
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The muted blue
I found myself shaping these lines in the crisp hush of early frost, walking toward the station as the birds lifted their chorus into the pale blue morning. The early frost along the lane,The breath that clouds the morning air;The jays cry out their sharp refrain,And rooks rise ragged from their lair.Blue tits dart quick… Continue reading
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Ritual of the evening tea
There are grand liturgies in cathedrals, and there are quieter ones at kitchen tables. Ritual of the Evening Tea was written out of that smaller sanctuary—the hum of the kettle, the red box of Thompson’s on the counter, the amber pour into a waiting cup. In the simple making of tea, I find steadiness, warmth,… Continue reading
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Pancakes made the quiet way
Pancakes Made the Quiet Way is a gentle celebration of ordinary ritual—the kind of small, steady act that steadies the soul as much as it feeds the body. In simple measures and unhurried movements, the poem lingers over flour falling, batter smoothing, and pancakes turning in the pan, finding in each step a quiet grace.… Continue reading
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The star that keeps watch
A lone star high up in the skyBeams brightly through the cold,Its shimmer threading winter’s darkWith stories yet untold.From here inside the quiet house,Where stillness warms the air,We watch it through the windowpane—A small, steadfast prayer.The only sound that stirs the hushIs soft and low and whole:Two kitties sharing, side by side,The murmuring of one… Continue reading
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The hum of lines
I wrote a poem this week called The Hum of Lines. It is not a bright poem. It sits in the quiet room. It listens to the machine. It hears the slow, steady movement of blood through borrowed pathways. Dialysis has a soundscape. The hum of the pump. The soft alarms. The rhythm that is… Continue reading
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Otto. Lancelot. Allen.
There are nights when sleep needs a little help, when the dark feels louder and the mind slower to settle. So Otto, Lancelot, and tiny Allen take their places—not as toys, but as anchors. Softness becomes structure; familiarity becomes safety. For some of us, comfort is architecture. And sometimes resilience is simply three small guardians… Continue reading
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Writing in the Small Hours
This poem was written in real time, in the small hours of the night—not at a desk prepared for “creative work,” but wrapped in a teal blanket, slightly breathless from the stairs, listening to the cats settle at my feet. There is a particular honesty to writing at 3am. The house is quiet. The nervous… Continue reading
New book:
A Living Cloud of Irish Witnesses
NeuroDivine 