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Front room fire
The fire within the front-room glows,A quiet, tender light;The kitchen stove would warm the house,But needs more wood tonight.I know I should step out and fetchA bundle from the yard;Yet here the flames breathe soft and low,And rising feels too hard.But Andrew, steady, kind, and sure,Will bring the firewood in;He’ll light the stove and stir… Continue reading
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Grace in humble things
In quiet parks at break of day,Your footsteps go before;You bless the paths we daily tread,The commonplace made more.In sparrow-flight and drifting leaves,In laughter on the green,You show us grace in humble thingsWhere You have always been.In benches worn by waiting hearts,In puddles after rain,You sit with those who long for peaceAnd share their hidden… Continue reading
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The Cupboard Apparition
I searched the house from room to room,My heart a tightening thread;For Richard, steadfast tabby guard,Had vanished from his stead.I called his name through shadowed halls,Checked every chair and beam;For only Niamh would play at hide—For Richard, such a dream.Yet still no whisker met my sight,No sentinel in place;Just silence where his watchful eyesWould guard… Continue reading
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Andrew, this is you.
Some love stories are written in grand gestures. Ours has been written in endurance. This Valentine’s Day, I honour fifteen years of partnership with Andrew—and ten years of civil marriage later this year—not because the dates fall now, but because love that has lived this much deserves to be named whenever the heart nudges. Our… Continue reading
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Stubborn Grace
For months I’ve reached the platform wellBefore the train draws near;Ten minutes early, every day,A quiet, steady year.But this one morning, thinking sureI’d make it just in time,I let that margin slip away—A single, harmless crime.Yet frost lay sharp along the rails,The timetable turned sly;It came a minute swift and strange,And left before my eye.I… Continue reading
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Two Sentinels.
Brown Tabby I take my post beside his chair,moon silver on his hair;the window breathes a colder air—I taste it, sharp and spare.He shifts beneath the blanket’s weight,the cough begins to climb;I fix my eyes upon the darkand measure out the time. White Cat I rest beneath his blue-bright crown,lamplight along his face;his breathing lifts… Continue reading
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Before Your holy altar
This hymn was written as a prayer of presence and sending — rooted in the Celtic landscape, centered on the Eucharist, and alive with the missionary fire of the saints. It gathers altar, land, and people into one act of worship: Christ present among us, Christ restoring us, Christ sending us forth. May it be… Continue reading
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Stop. Start. Stay.
Not every journey is straight. Some of us live by detours. Some of us measure time in appointments, recoveries, resets, and the quiet courage it takes to begin again. This new hymn was written from within that kind of landscape. It blesses the roundabout and the restart. The traffic light on a rain-washed street when… Continue reading
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Healing. Prayer. Hope.
This hymn was written for World Day of the Sick, a day when many pilgrims gather in Lourdes seeking healing, prayer, and hope. While crowds pray at the grotto and walk in candlelight procession, many of us keep the day in quieter places—hospital wards, dialysis units, and our own homes. For me, it is shaped… Continue reading
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Incense. Whisper. Hope.
This hymn is inspired by Psalm 141, the Church’s ancient evening prayer: “Let my prayer rise before you like incense.” Set in the landscape of Clonmacnoise, it joins the psalmist’s cry to the Shannon’s air and the long vigil of those who prayed on these stones before us. As night gathers, it asks Christ to… Continue reading
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The Gentle Way
He steadies me when storms arise,He keeps my heart at peace;He makes sure meals are never missed,And anxious thoughts release.He watches that my tablets comeAt times they’re meant to be;His quiet care, his gentle ways,Bring daily strength to me.Though beds may stand in separate roomsFor breath and rest to stay,Our love still holds through every… Continue reading
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Night Watch
On nights when my husband is not well, our cats call me to keep watch. This image and poem honour NeuroDivine care—where animals serve as sentinels, attention becomes prayer, and love stands vigil in quiet hours. Night Watch The house lies still in shadowed hush,yet soft paws stir the air;the cats come whispering through the… Continue reading
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Hours. Pump. Grace.
As I begin another week of dialysis, I come as I am—carrying tiredness, hope, and whatever this day holds. This hymn was written in the quiet place where machines hum and my heart keeps its own steady rhythm. It reminds me that Christ is here with me: in the care I receive, in the long… Continue reading
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Fall. Grace. Love.
This morning did not unfold as expected. Before Mass began, our celebrant was injured in a fall and taken to hospital. In her absence, the community gathered for Morning Prayer and the Litany. The form of worship changed, but prayer continued. What had been prepared for Eucharist became something simpler and quieter, shaped by attentiveness… Continue reading
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From Morning Light to Setting Sun
Sexagesima (the Second Sunday before Lent) draws our attention to the quiet, faithful work of God—the sowing of the seed, the shaping of hearts, the long patience of love that bears fruit in its time. Before we strive, before we worry, before the dawn itself, God is already at work. This hymn is a prayer… Continue reading
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Grace. Place. Presence.
This hymn grew out of a quiet attentiveness to place—to fields, water, stone, and memory—and to the way faith so often takes root through landscape rather than abstraction. Drawing on the life and legacy of St Mel, it traces a spiritual geography shaped by County Longford and Ardagh: hills walked slowly, wells where prayer lingers,… Continue reading
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Shepherd. Host. High King.
This hymn began with a simple wondering: What if Christ doesn’t only meet us at the table, but walks the whole week with us? Faith is rarely confined to sacred hours. It unfolds in Mondays heavy with responsibility, Wednesdays full of noise, Fridays marked by grief, and Saturdays thick with waiting. This hymn traces the… Continue reading
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The Curious Case of the McDonald’s Brownie
Some days, the universe really does like to test your commitment to staying regulated. On Wednesday, I ordered a chocolate brownie at the McDonald’s self-service kiosk. Paid for it, waited… only to be told it had to be refunded because they weren’t ready yet. Fair enough. Mildly irritating, but logical. They were still frozen, and… Continue reading
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Claimed. Accompanied. Sent.
I wrote this hymn slowly, paying attention to water. Not water as an idea, but water as something that moves, waits, gathers, seeps, and returns. Water that has weight and sound and temperature. Water that holds memory. Baptism is often talked about as a moment—something that happens and is done. For me, baptism has always… Continue reading
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Succession. Loss. Continuity.
For more than seventy years, the sixth of February carried a singular weight in the United Kingdom and other Commonwealth realms. As Accession Day, it marked the moment when private loss and public duty first converged, and over time it became a fixed point in the national memory—quietly observed rather than celebrated. I wrote this… Continue reading
New book:
A Living Cloud of Irish Witnesses
NeuroDivine 