Category Archives: Workshop

Sacred Love

Sacred Love

Once I dreamt
that I was a photon
travelling from the sun to the earth
and being drawn into a green leaf.

How happy I was
to be passed along
a membrane in a thylakoid
from one phospholipid to another;
a heavenly chain in a chloroplast.

The mechanism was divine.

I was ecstatic
to be part of the amazing energy capture
the splitting of carbon dioxide and water
the production of oxygen, ATP and food.

St Theresa of Avila’s visions
paled beside the stupendous significance
of my encounter with creation.

It was love of the most sublime kind.
And still I feel it when the trees
open their leaves in spring.



Strike a match,
flares into flame.

Light the wick,
glows into life.

Illuminates our faces,
gleams in our eyes.

Gilded within
our magic circle.

But a spell with
a strict time limit.

Even Cinderella’s
expired at midnight.

Reduced to a stub,
gutters and dies.

A wisp of smoke
in a pool of wax.

All Souls


Starlings rumble the morning;
dark clouds constantly moving.
Wren mute with their bantering.
They are potent.
I breathe and think of friends
who walk softly beside me
even though          they are dead.

Your light kindles my light
and my light kindles another
and suddenly the darkness
is ablaze with lamps of gold.

It always starts with a trickle;

a drip from the gutter,
a splash from a road puddle.
droplets cluster and procreate;
a lake ripples over grass.
Waves froth and rise up;
crunch pebbles and bones.
Water floods in from above.
A dream re-stitched and recycled.
Torpedo slashed the old packet.
Empty eyes passed him in the water.
Ocean filled the radio officer’s hat.

Ocean filled the radio officer’s hat.
Empty eyes passed him in the water.
Torpedo slashed the old packet.
A dream re-stitched and recycled.
Water floods in from above
Crunches pebbles and bones.
Waves froth and rise up;
A lake ripples over grass.
Droplets cluster and procreate,
a splash from a road puddle
a drip from the gutter.

It always starts with a trickle.



Inscrutable presence
the red and black mask
on our wall.

You can sense
ancient wisdom within
the curve of its brow.

Eye holes dark voids
through which it watches
what’s going on.

Shell earrings dangling
on both sides
pick up every sound.

Slab of a nose
all the better
to sniff things out.

Finely chiselled lips
silent now but one day
will pronounce judgement.

Cat and mouse

Cat and mouse

Sun bed, shorts, sun cream.
Another chance to top up his tan.

A cloud smothers the sun.
Temperature plummets.

Sticks it out as long as he can.
Finally, pulls on his sweater.

As if on cue, the sun re-emerges.
Hotter than ever.

All morning: sweater off, sun in.
Sweater back on, sun back out.

Only when rain sweeps the patio
does he admit defeat.

Retreats indoors, to be met by
the Paleface’s feline smile.


Every time a charity bag
is posted through my letterbox
I think ‘this time I’ll let it go’

But then I stroke its fine velour,
admire the red silk lining
of its jacket

take it out to dust it down,
put it back and close
the wardrobe doors again.

I cannot bear to let it go
even though it’s a long, long time
since I sat sideways on a horse,

even though I was
a different, smaller, size
back then.

Gill McEvoy