Monday, 6 February 2017


the gift
not the giver
is revered

the created
not the
is held up

o my

the gifted
is hurled
from such heights
and spins
spiralling down
into deepening

sun-soaked stains
seep deep
from consciousness
to unconsciousness

sleeping so tightly
and sometimes
to dream
of heaven's

o where are you
in the day?

lost in the vast
of the unmade

the uncreated
waits and watches
and weeps

that your sleep
may not be
the sleep
that is unto

Thursday, 2 February 2017

Thursday, 12 January 2017

Today I saw ...

Today I saw a graveyard of Christmas trees
Trees Christmassy no more
Lying on forlorn sides
Waiting for the shredding
The shattering of needle and bark
Remembering better days
Of sparkling, twinkling lights, and rounded laughter
And so many gifts scattered close in celebration
Did it make the cutting down worthwhile?
Did no one say about the cold and the wind and the dark
And the bitter, bitter waiting for non-existence?
The only hope
Is resurrection

Sunday, 4 December 2016

Advent Vigil

We wait, wide-eyed not in wonder
But shock, cold
The world spins, stricken for so many reasons
Darkness expanding, truthfulness receding

We wait, wide-eyed, sleepless
Resisting the inevitable
Wondering if something else could happen to break the night
Seeking warmth, seeing home, listening for a whisper to herald the light

I wait
Can I hold attention?
To be patient someone said – is to be brave

The world’s saviour was born blinking into evil’s glare
An eternal mystery wrapped in time and space
Truth come close
To hold the shattered earth

The shards of existence pierced hallowed hands and feet
Before the descent into the deep depth of darkness

And then the rising          

But not now
Now is the wait, the waiting
For the birth
It’s so cold and so very dark

Don’t fret
Just stay awake for the miracle

We need to be brave
We need to be saved

Sarah Larkin 2016

Saturday, 12 November 2016

“Things don’t change now the way they changed of old” Cuis de Comoes (d 1580)

Things don’t change now the way they changed of old
The world has morphed into a shape not easy to hold

Deepest darkest sword thrusting through these times
Piercing and dislodging
Dismembering and forgetting
The human story

What do we remember?
Dances, long summer days
Safety between sea and sand …

Things don’t change now the way they use to
Not in degrees, a progression
There’s a gathering of disparate forces, uniting for a

O my
What will remain under the surface of so many losses?

Wednesday, 9 November 2016

The morning after

The rain falls today Soak the dry ground and our hearts Turn, run towards home