A Poem for February

The Christmas Angel

Abandoned to briars and dry grass,

she lay in a rain sodden cardboard box,

her wings a mess of broken feathers,

a single tear speck on her cheek,

her pearly necklace hanging careless on the

fading pink of her dress and white satin underskirt

collecting country dirt.

Yellow Gorse flowered above, its scent of coconut

too remote to gather into her shabby box,

thrown perhaps like litter from a passing car.

I wondered if I should rescue her but

Caution came between us so

I stood her upright to face the road

and kept on walking.

Next day, remorse found me

with rubber gloves, plastic bag and

rucksack to carry her in and once home,

her angel wings removed, I soaked her in a

bucket of warm water and disinfectant,

quietly pleased with my efforts. 

I kept her for a few days but

something didn’t feel right.

I hadn’t thought it through.

What if she was left as a memorial

like some folk might do.

I returned her to the country bed,

laid her gently beneath the gorse and

pledged to rescue no more.

She was just a doll after all, 

but to my eyes,

she was a Christmas Angel in disguise.



A Poem For January


days are too quiet, too cold,

too frustrating to be interested in

anything much, except how I am

the only person I know having such

a miserable time of it, but I know

that’s not true, so I tell myself to

climb out of the hole of self-indulgent

pity, it’s time-wasting and the doldrums

are not where I meet any interesting

people, especially on a grey winter

morning when SAD syndrome threatens.

I will engage a spirit of cheerfulness

to light up my day, be eccentric,

wear the black velvet jacket with all my

vintage brooches on the lapel, ask the

cashier at the supermarket for a

six-penny stamp and one of those blue

air-mail letters that are also an envelope.

When I get home, I will make a pot of tea in

my Mother’s blue willow-pattered tea pot,

shame I dropped the lid and broke it ages ago,

I still haven’t found a replacement to fit the gap.

Sometimes, around twilight,

when the house is quiet and

my cat sits full stretch on my writing desk,

I hear the indescribable sound of his rough

tongue licking his paws to clean behind

his ears, when he’s finished, we listen to

small creatures that move through the

night garden beyond the window.

I mark the passage of the moon rolling a

silver thunder to lovers in a sky of dreams,

close my eyes in the far away music,

drumming to the beat of my heart.


(Reworked from an earlier post around 2015)

Curtains still drawn.

Lamp light glow on the oak refectory table.

Colours fading on the blue and gold tray

with the image of Van Gogh’s

Almond Tree Blosom, diminishing.

My turquoise mug with the same timeless

design placed alongside the cafetière of

freshly brewed coffee.

Books on shelves, favourite things nearby,

objects of stillness with no question of

why or where, simply rooted where I place them.

What would they be if I weren’t here to

love them even more in this almost light,

shared with the first bird calling the morning

to begin again.


Goodness is stronger than evil. Love is stronger than hate.
Light is stronger than darkness. Life is stronger than death.
Victory is ours through Him who loved us

Quote -Desmond Tutu


How long did the dream hold you.

It seemed real, but you were balancing

Everything on a tightrope.

What you needed was a bridge.

You’re still not sure how or when it started,

Perhaps that time when you gazed into

The stillness of a summer evening,

or heard the dawn chorus for the first time,

or when you knew that plants and trees were

communicating something to you and you felt

the presence of God that brought a peace beyond words,

for words cannot tell where words do not dwell.

Only then were you balanced

on the tightrope that had become a bridge and

the world pulsed with the love song of creation.

Angels sang of the wonders, trees told the story,

birds spread the message, rivers and oceans 

danced to the music of the spheres.

Water was filled with it. Tides carried it and

you remembered that what you had once perceived as

creations fragile balance, was bigger and stronger

than anything you could imagine.

The signs  of the Creator were everywhere.

Image taken from an original watercolour by Teri


Isn’t that what life is about, happiness, just being happy. Such a hard thing to prophesy to others and yet, such a simple thing to achieve, to have happy thoughts, to dwell on the happiness that we have all experienced in our lives.

I know there have been times of sorrow, despair, depression and despondency, but to give in is to lose ourselves.

I’m on a soapbox of “I have lost faith and trust in all that I thought was right and real and honest. It’s not. Not anymore

Now is the time to look to the simplicity and wonder that we held in childhood, when the world was, as Del Boy famously said, our lobster.

Smile, laugh and be happy, otherwise, it’s all over.

Making Choices

Sophia Said, go out to play. Follow your imagination and the day was filled with expectation

A Chosen Path

I walk / jog along soaked and muddied paths in Johnstown Castle Gardens. Moorhens dive and disappear in the lake, re-appearing further along as if by magic. It’s raining hard and even though my trainers are not waterproof, I walk right through the middle of flooded paths, like a child out to play. It’s only water after all. I can get dry later, so will my jeans, trainers, jacket. hat and gloves, all soaked, but I am alive, exhilarated and fully intent on making the best of what God has in store for me. Perhaps I will invest in a new pair of walking shoes / boots and waterproof coat, when to wear them would still be my choice to make.

After waling around two of the three lakes, I need coffee. The cafeteria is bright and warm, people sit at tables drinking and eating while I, bedraggled and gloriously wet, think of pushing boundaries of comfort zones. Happy new Year to you all.

Sky Boat

Sky Boat

Hold fast to the tiller, to Gods of wind and waves, through storms and dreams,

through heartbeat of wings that arc and swoop and cry for land. Now is the time for faith, strength and courage.

We are not what we once were. The rushing waves break open our hearts, revealing the lies we told ourselves.

Swim, little fish, swim now to the edge and rest where the sky meets the horizon and see, in-between.

Image from a copy of my original oil painting from ‘Cynefin’ collection, a selection of paintings and prose, exhibited in Waterford, Ireland 2017.


A Prayer In The Gazebo

A prayer for the well-being and peace of my Mother, and her Mother, and her Mother, and her Mother, and all the Mothers we are descended from.

A prayer for my Daughter, and your daughter, and her daughter, and their daughters, for their peace and well-being, for the spirit and soul of the Feminine, without which we are lost.

A prayer for my Sons, and your sons, and their sons, and their sons, for their peace and well-being, for the spirit and soul of the Masculine, without which they are lost.

A prayer for our world, for everything in it, for the peace and well-being of all its peoples and all its animals,  birds, plants, trees,  rocks, mountains, rivers and seas and all the fish therein.

May we live in peace, love and harmony with gratitude to the Creator of our universe, and all its suns and moons, stars and planets

and for all those gone before us, all those with us and all those yet to come, may all be blessed in this prayer.

(‘Prayer’ by Teri Flynn)