There are a number of poems and other reflections below, some of which also carry links directly to the poets’ own web-pages, should you wish to explore some of their other writings.

This week’s poem is by Wendell Berry (b. 1934), The peace of wild things:
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Two of my favourite poems for this challenging time are printed in full below, but why not also take a look at:

Deflections in early summer, by Betty Shepherd
How Quiet, by Judith Harris
The Way It Is, by William Stafford

Some other poems we love are:
I will not live an unlived life, by Dawna Markova
I go among trees, by Wendell Berry
Let Evening Come, by Jane Kenyon
In, by Ana Lisa de Jong
Pandemic, by Lynn Ungar

In his book, Benedictus, John O’Donohue has written this lovely poem, ‘This is the time to be slow‘. Click here for a link to an audio file of the poem, read by Fergal Keane on Radio 4.

In the Dark (Robin Fulton Macpherson, b. 1937)

God said: Let the dark be dark.
Let the stars shine properly.
And let the darkness with no stars
heal the damage caused by light.

Men said: Let there be light all
night through, where there is no-one
much or no-one at all, let
the gathered haze from street-lamps,
undying brand-names, full-blaze
unpopulated windows
stain the undersides of clouds
even when nights are cloudless.

God said: Light itself needs rest.
Some things are best seen, unseen,
in darkness unhindered by
Great Light. Me, for example.


Pandemic (by Lynn Ungar)

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love–
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

A theological thought about the impact of the Coronavirus on both society at large and our own spiritual journeys – produced by the Friends of St Levan, in Cornwall.