He has come – a poem

Darkness, unspeakable and unspeaking Darkness. Silence, not of contemplation, Nor of craning, halt-breathed expectation, But silence of the now non-verbal God, Void quiet, out-of-form condemnation. This is all, for generation after Generation, ten times over, silence, Darkness, a people un-peopled, distant. Now, over the deep of barren gloom, over The depths of a barren womb,…

Hope by any other name

The etymology of words seldom brings us hope. If sentences and paragraphs, properly constructed and carefully concocted, are slender means to mend a heart or heal a wound, what capacity can the history of how we speak hold to help us? One phrase which finds its own space in modern English, and which does its…