PoetryOfPlace
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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
Christianity, ChurchOfIreland, Clonmacnoise, Contemplation, Faith, FaithAndHistory, FaithInTheEveryday, Hymnody, IrishAnglicanVoice, IrishHymnody, IrishSpirituality, MonasticWisdom, NeuroDivine, NewHymn, NewHymns, NewSong, Pilgrimage, Poetry, PoetryOfPlace, Prayer, QuietMoments, SacredSpaces, ScriptureAndStillness, Spirituality, TheLostCity -
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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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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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
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Lines. Rise. Twice.
When the Words Arrive Twice This morning I wrote a poem for a grieving friend. The words came quickly—not rushed, but with that quiet certainty that sometimes accompanies deep care. They felt true. They felt needed. They felt like mine to offer. And yet, before I pressed “publish,” I did what many of us do:… Continue reading
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Held in the humming
A poem expressing the medical treatment I experience. The morning hums its fragile tune,the clinic lights grow bright;on Monday, Wednesday, Friday dawnsI take my steady rite.The lines connect with practiced care,the blood begins its round;a pilgrim held by humming pumps,yet rooted in this ground.Twice yearly comes the Dublin trip,a check that keeps me true;HIV’s a… Continue reading
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God’s Whisper Everywhere
A short poem in celebration of God’s whisper written during a restless night. Continue reading
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Platform Wait
The platform wind cuts through my coat, My patience wears too thin;Two hours between each wretched train— What state are we all in?A bank-day hush lies on the tracks, The cold seeps through my bones;The loudspeaker stays deathly mute, Ignoring all my groans.I pace the boards, I stamp my feet, I mutter at the sky;So who designed this dismal plan And… Continue reading
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Soft. Anchor. Steadfast.
Otto sits gently by my side,Grey Belfast hoodie wrapped with pride;A quiet friend who does not speak,Yet offers calm when days feel bleak.His soft paws rest within my own,A steadying weight I’ve always known;He comes to dialysis with me too,And helps me face what I must do.When noise or brightness starts to swell,He anchors me… Continue reading
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Umbrellas. Flowers. Puddle.
The rain beats softly on the glass;the ward keeps steady time.A holiday that will not pausefor weather, will, or rhyme.Coats drip in corners, umbrellas closelike flowers bruised by rain.The nurses move with gentle poisethrough hours long and plain.Your blood flows out, your blood flows in—a tide you cannot sway.Yet kindness holds you, calm and thin,through… Continue reading
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Mary. Mother. Thanksgiving.
On my mum’s 80th birthday, I’m sharing the hymn her life inspired. I hope to give it voice at her celebration in Ballymena on Saturday — throat permitting. Some words wait years to be spoken, and sometimes love speaks most clearly when the voice is fragile. Continue reading
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