December… wishing you peace






this is the time of ice, of hungry birds,

give broken bread so they may come –

crows slip on the tops of walls,

puffed pigeon risk a cat-watched lawn



( whisper it )

is about





this is a time of dilemmas

whether to give or not,

does it matter or not,

looking for meaning



( remember it )

is about loving

and not-loving.



Poem and photograph Rose Cook

The Gifts – wishing you all a clear Solstice full of light



The Gifts



It is true there are things that were unexpected, that this

was not the long, happy unfolding we thought it would be.

Some things will never be the same

and even our little cat lies under the apple tree.

Yet, I am filled with the Gladness of Living

and place my blessings out where we can see them,

a kind of counting, or accounting of the year.


On to the table, I place –


the savage fur of grief, the grace of tears,

a meal left in a box by my door,

mornings of atlantic dawn,

all birds’ flight,

small hands making cards, yellow her favourite colour,

a box of eggs tied with red ribbon,

a bunch of sweet-peas, lovingly grown,

the crows’ squawk outside,

your whisper: I am going to make it.

that you were right.

the rain on our skin, a day by the sea,

the sudden rise of laughter round the table,

that here we are together, a family,

changed, opened

that we are not undone

meals shared, a floor strewn with toys,

the quiet growing into being of another child,

a young owl’s cry in the night.




poem and photograph Rose Cook

Seasonal greeting as the year gets ready to turn

New Year Resolve by May Sarton


The time has come
To stop allowing the clutter
To clutter my mind
Like dirty snow,
Shove it off and find
Clear time, clear water.

Time for a change,
Let silence in like a cat
Who has sat at my door
Neither wild nor strange
Hoping for food from my store
And shivering on the mat.

Let silence in.
She will rarely speak or mew,
She will sleep on my bed
And all I have ever been
Either false or true
Will live again in my head.

For it is now or not
As old age silts the stream,
To shove away the clutter,
To untie every knot,
To take the time to dream,
To come back to still water.


from Collected Poems 1930-1993

photo Rose Cook