The poem, The Kingfisher, is the inspiration that fuels my weekly newsletter….

More “about” text here

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If Christ our king could
In the ammoniac stench of the stable
Suffer at His Nativity to be
Neighbour to slow-breathing beasts,

Then small wonder that the king-
fisher’s spark should be struck
In a damp underworld of willow root and worm
Where vole and water-rat splash.

For once the shells split and sapphire
And fire-opal fledge in their filth
And six or seven small spurts of flame
Are tumbled out into the dazzle,

Then earth, air, fire and water meet
In a perfection of balance, trafficking,
Like prayer, between this world and that.
And isn’t it then that their mother’s

Fabled and other self is said to brood
On a nest of bones, calming the waters,
And granting us glimpses of Eden
In those Mary-blue halcyon days?