Under the Sun

We all must pass under the sun

and walk into its light

knowing life precedes death

but death is not

the final word. Instead,

the innocence of the cloud’s

white cloak, washed with the blood

that rains down from heaven,

wraps us in its pure embrace

to carry us, cleansed, into

the arms of God.


They have come with their spices

to bury him in a moving service

but the stone has been removed.


A shaft of light blasts through the window

where the Paschal Candle is lit

and a voice cries Alleluia!


A man stands in his garden

holding a rose clipping

and smells its sweet scent.


A woman cries out ‘He is risen!’

disbelieving in her amazement

until she sees him for herself.

Bin Collection

The synchronised movement of men

one by one, up and down the driveway

to fetch their bins.

This is Saturday morning through my window

come rain, sun, sleet, or snow.

They march to and fro

as if they’d planned it,

with nothing else to do.

I sip my tea and smile, thinking

how the ordinary can be so funny

sometimes, and can turn necessity into

a weekly dance that delights.

A Sign

When I see the rainbow

bending its way over the hospital

beyond the steeple of the marble church

God sees it too


and, remembering his agreement

with every living thing on earth

when all seemed bereft of hope

as it does now,


our eyes meet directly in its colours,

confirming his presence;

that he is still with us.

He has not forgotten us.


My walk to Poundland

on the eve of lockdown

in search of toilet roll,

after finding bare shelves in B&M

and a complete clearance in Asda,

leads to a right ruckus when, on entering the store,

a fresh delivery finds people pushing forcibly past

to get their hands on this paper gold.


I join these guzzling gannets, not to stockpile,

but out of sheer necessity,

a genuine need for more.

Who knew that, faced with a pandemic,

it would be faeces and not food

that we would worry about?

Our obsession with cleanliness is either admirable

or completely misplaced.

We all like sheep

As I stare out over the rolling hills,

I notice the pockets of white dotted

over a large field of mud, around which

a green grassy border sits, and wonder

if this is the reason why Jesus

referred to humans as sheep.

My Name is

Gwared. Gareth.

Gentle on the listening ear.

Caredig. Cariad.

I’ve slowly come to love it.

Affectionate. Friendship.

Gaz – the name that seals it.

Gary. Mate.

Two words that will break it.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑