Candlemas Bells

If there were a flower for prophecy it
would be the snow-white bells arriving
early in time for Candlemas arrogant
even a brash flower cutting through the
cold earth it comes resilient, hardy.
Beauty beguiles its strength.
Amidst the darkness expectant of the
warmth to come our instinct is to light
candles. An incandescent dream.
Inefficient of light but life enough to stir
the soul into speaking. The snowdrop
harbinger of those who hear the silent
call to defiance of convention.

The Green Man of Ffynnon Mair – sleeps

Ffynnon Mair is not hidden

from view, but facing Enlli.

Yet a visitor must approach

her down a rugged cliff edge

not made for humans passing by.

No casual tourist turns up here

for a sympathetic blessing. This

is a hard place appropriate for Mary.

The sea is caught on the rocks

beneath, thrown up in sunlight

refracted droplets held for a moment

before us, like memories, we see

a glimpse of them before they return.

Each new wave a fragment of the path

that brought us to her in between place.

Neither land nor sea, rock face nor shore line

salt nor fresh. We cannot stay long, for this

is neither the end of our journey

nor yet, the beginning of the next.


The Green Man, with the weight of the world upon

his bearded face. Sleeps. Unborn. Awaiting the moment

to arise from her salt fresh womb and we await his coming

to reconcile and heal the earth.

Lammas Bread


Our table is covered in crumbs.
I feel your disapproval growing
as an unwelcome guest in our midst.
Yet there are none such at this table.
Even the disapproving are welcome to
gather the crumbs under this table.
Not untidy but loved.
Much bread has been broken around it. As we say
‘Blessed are you Lord God of all creation.’
Broken and shared this bread will sustain our journey.
The crumbs that fall tell the story of those left behind.
‘Through your goodness we have this bread to offer;’
a blessing on those who gather.
Offered back we declare all bread blessed.
A simple offering set aside, to taste goodness.
‘Earth has given and human hands have
made’ crafted and created, kneaded in an
ancient love of giving for new life, nutrition.
‘It will become for us the bread of life.’ Rise up,
living breath of the bread made manifest in the
goodness the earth, sun and rain, bound up in wheat grain.
Broken before us, source and leaven of life itself.
The breath in all that lives, the space
between the strands. Blessed be god in the scattered crumbs
that forever remain as precious as those shared and eaten.