Scargill, 4am

Patchwork quilts have old and new scraps.  I'll be transferring some poems and pieces across from my other blog, mainly for ease of finding them here.  If you've already read them, bear with me - I'll be adding new ones too!  This one was written on family retreat in September, when Jeremy was not quite 4 months old.

Scargill, 4am

I told myself I'd use this time to pray,

But my son's sleepy snuffling at the breast

Has lulled me to a semi-slumbering rest

And skims the rising bubbles of my prayers away.

Subjects occur to me, but never stay:

In the peripheries of my mind swim pleas and fears

That vanish, like a star which disappears

When looked at straight. The dawning of the day

Is nearly here. Birdsong. I sigh and yawn.

My reverent efforts having failed, my thoughts

Switch to toast and coffee: prayer leaves with no trace.

Yet somehow, in the meshes of the dawn

Around this prayed-in place, my prayers are caught

And every wordless word is heard with grace.