If you could see what grace descends during the liturgy in church, you would gather the dust and wash your face with it.
Saint Gabriel of Georgia
Divine liturgy
Our Union Jack
Three crosses woven, bold and bright,
St George in red, St Andrew white,
St Patrick’s saltire laid between,
Upon the flag where kings have been.
A banner born of storm and sea,
Of island hearts and history,
Three patron saints in cloth entwined,
Three ancient peoples, fate combined.
It flew through cannon smoke and rain,
Through years of glory, loss, and pain,
Yet still it dances in the sky,
Beneath the same old northern cry.
Glory – to God’s might! Who gave us such a sight!
visit
I asked you about the weather,
You asked if I was sleeping.
Neither of us touched the truth
Pressed hard against the glass.
Time was called, our red eyes met
But our skin was not permitted.
I hope you know I miss you — and all your ways.
Roots
Their little hands pulling me towards responsibility,
not with force,
but with trust.
A tug at the sleeve,
a voice in the night,
small shoes waiting by the door.
And suddenly a man understands
that love is not a feeling that visits —
it is weight carried willingly.
The world still calls him elsewhere:
towards freedom without anchors,
towards silence, towards self.
But those small hands
keep leading him back
to what matters.
Not chains.Roots.
And without roots you die.
I look towards the heavens
And with grattitude I cry.
A Love Declared.
A love declared for days to come,
is as good as none.
It's fog upon the mountain top.
Soft warm skin you can not touch.
'tomorrow' 'tomorrow' -
like time an endless field.
like hearts don't tire.
like the grass will not be cut.
But love is here -
it breathes in the moment its given,
or dilutes like a tear into the sea.
Like promises undelivered - worse than
nothing at all.
Friday Evening Wine
The week parks the van,
loosens its laces and sighs.
Nothing left half-finished,
noise fading from tired eyes.
The evening leans in gently,
like a friend who knows the way.
Gleam glass catching candlelight,
asking nothing of the day.
And in that quiet unspoken pause,
the aches feel far away.
Friday evening glass of wine,
We start the month of May.
Icon she gave me
She placed before me, still and small,
The icon in silence, head did fall.
Yet in my sorrow eyes were bright,
A love that turns the dark to light.
The Holy Mother stands in grief,
Yet holds the faith beyond belief.
Her gaze fixed where the suffering lies,
Mercy from the crucified.
In this icon, still and true,
I see what love can bring us through.
For she who gave it, soft and kind,
Gave more than heart—she gave her mind.
To God, to me, to all things whole,
A window opened in my soul.
a broken sky
She walked in with a fractured heart,
and eyes that held the day.
But left beneath a broken sky,
with all her colours grey.
The world grew hard, the air turned cold,
the stars forgot to shine.
Yet far beneath the shattered ground,
there stirred a root of vine.
They crossed a door that should have stayed,
Through hands that failed our trust.
Warnings ignored, duty sleeps
The price was paid in dust.
For though the night had marked her soul,
and bent what once stood free,
the dawn still whispered through the dark:
We are more than a memory.
Haven’t Cried
I used to tell them I hated you.
Then you died.
Im sorry — I forgive you.
Still I haven't cried.
The words came late – but true not offcast.
Quiet - as a door closing on the past.
Just the weight finally taken from my golden crown.
And the silence where it used to live.
Written down!
The Wolf
The violence did not leave me.
Is a wolf without teeth good - or just harmless?
I've proven I can destroy - tearing down to the
ground is easy.
The question - could I stop?
I still have my blade - but now also a sheath.
And still I stand when chaos screams.
now with a discipline - forged not found.
A wolf guards the pack - it doesn't only devour
every act is a decision - every act it carries weight
A wolf still a monster - just in control of when it kills.
Smith Shine Poetry 