Sonnets of Sky




I look far out to sea where waves conceived

in storms begin their marathon, each sweeping

to the distant shores, from which they leave,

returning to their origin of weeping

sky. The coasts they visit, weathered by

their countless multitudes, like heaven’s halls

by sounds of praise, familiar with the cry

of surf, are temples filled with mighty calls.

I wonder as I view the sea about

another storm, conceived by man, that sends

its waves towards the shore, but who can shout

to silence it, a storm we all defend,

made from our long neglect of all that’s good –

the world, its rhythms, humbly understood.




I stand here in the centre of a field.

Above me in the centre of the sky

the sun is there, another I I feel

I am an echo of. Or is the I

a more pervasive term, the language of

our consciousness, the single eye through which

the universe is seen? Here all that was

is new in individual view. How rich

a thing we share with whales and dolphins, cows

and bees! I do not think the sun can think,

but when I see its sphere, its unique power

that reigns alone upon the air, I drink

another consciousness from which I come,

and every other mind beneath the sun.




A flock of cockatoos is flying, sunlit


How can a face migrate – for sometimes I

can see a face I knew now in another.

Is this one way a family line

remains? A sea of time may separate

but genes dictate a likeness stays. And now

I see your face in mine. Your face becomes

a frame of me, and mine where your identity

is hanging on the wall. For this

is what two people know when love begins a

line that branches from the one

great human tree. But still it is a great

surprise to see someone in other’s eyes,

and find the face of God is mirrored there,

and every I is seen in every you.




When you were born I thought about the bells.

finds another form lying hidden there.

He works so patiently. His carving calls

what lay within into the morning air.

The grain inside our hearts is meant to feel

the sculptor’s hands. We need his skill to find

us there – his eye to see what lies concealed –

and match us to the image in his mind.

All that exists is one majestic tree.

Its roots are sunk into eternity.

Its branches stretch into the world to be.

Within its form he sees both you and me.

What is this beauty in our grain?

What God has placed there shall remain.

For on a single piece of wood

the universe was understood.




A tiny tadpole in a pond that swims

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