George Herbert, poet and priest


The moon is full
and hangs heavy,
struggling to get up
and respond to fields
of wispy waving grass.

Its reluctance to rise
is unsurprising,
as the sun,
not far off from the midnight hour
still fires the western sky
with a blazing colour palette
of purple, red and orange.

Venus and Jupiter,
bright and beautiful,
sure and steady,
look from a distance,
unperturbed as they watch
sun and moon
– west versus east –
compete for best in show.

Oblivious to it all,
bats fling themselves through the dusk,
across the moon,
through the fields,
darting, diving,
catching supper;
while down below
a solitary hedgehog
peers up at me
from the pavement,
then shuffles
as hastily as a hedgehog can
into the safety of the hedge.

Few people are out
to see this midsummer drama,
choosing instead to watch TV
behind closed curtains,
while I,
I have seen
and breathed nature’s night
in all its splendid silence.
© Pam Pointer 2018


Taut sticky buds
in winter simplicity
give way to outrageously over-sized leaves
and colossal candelabra
that break out in a burst
of extrovert extravagance.


Welsh lamb
in mountain meadow,
lifts his head
and turns a sweet face
to spring’s sunshine.

All too fleeting
is this bleating bundle
of heart-beating life
as, oblivious to fate,
he leaps in joyous bliss.

An all-too-brief life
on a plate;
ah, bitter-sweet taste
this Welsh lamb.



Out of a listless sky,
burdened with greyness
and the ominous threat of depression,
a thin strip of sunlight appears.
It is at the lowest point
on the eastern horizon;
a golden gleam that backlights
shivering skeletal trees.
And then it’s gone,
blanked out by overbearing cloud
that silently sneers
and snuffs the glint that dared
for one brief moment
to blink.
And yet,
that little glimpse
is enough for now,
a hint of hope,
of better days to come,
for the light, though hidden,
is always there
and can never
be extinguished.

© Pam Pointer 2018


You came,
naked, vulnerable,
left the glory of heaven,
came to ‘be’ on earth.

You came,
a baby in an occupied land,
a toddler refugee,
a child in a country village.

You came,
to be rejected in your home town,
to show compassion, love and care
to those who stopped to look and listen.

You came,
were bound and spat upon,
stripped naked and crucified,
but loved, without faltering, to the end.

You came,
rising to new life,
giving hope, joy and purpose
and everlasting life to those who follow you.

You come,
to light a muddled, weary world,
to offer life how it should be, could be, would be,
if only we’d open our arms to you as you opened yours for us.

You come,
Emmanuel: God with us,
in every moment of each new day.

© Pam Pointer 2017


Mildewing blackberries fester
behind spiders’ fairy fences
of strong, silken webs,
whose owner occupiers
patiently reconstruct
rudely ruined traps
set for unsuspecting prey,
and destroyed by purple-stained fingers.

© Pam Pointer 2017


The woods are flaming
with red, yellow
and bronze leaves
tumbling, twirling
in the wind
swirling into drifts,

to be scuffed through
and thrown high
to fall in new patterns
with which no carpet weaver
could compete
on his clanking loom;

Here is God’s
gleeful autumn spectacle
where rain-blackened bark
and sun-kissed golden leaves
sparkle, sing and show
the season’s glory.

©  Pam Pointer 2017



The golden gleam of sunset
Has scarce slipped out of sight
Before the glow of sunrise
Defies the hours of night.

A hasty moon comes swiftly
And glows, ice-cool and calm,
Its paling face fades quickly
At birds’ wake-up alarm.

No agony at bedtime
The darkness brings no fear
Tranquillity, a glad time,
This short night of the year.



Chewing cud,
Stands and stares,
Knee-deep in buttercups.



Why is my shadow black
when I’m wearing pink?

Why does my shadow make
my figure fat or thin?

Why does my shadow join
my feet with its feet?

Why does my shadow stick
with me so I can’t escape?

Why didn’t I listen
in science lessons?



He named the light, “Day,”
and the darkness, “Night,”
this inventive God of the universe.

He called himself, “The Light,”
the one who shines in darkness,
this Saviour of the world.

Light that bursts through cloud,
pushes aside the grey gloom
of sadness, fear and death.

Light that comes to embrace,
warms the chill of sorrow,
and lightens life’s way.



Blossom blushes,
tight-curled leaves unfurl,
and a chorus of praise
from robin, thrush and blackbird,
combine to celebrate new life
on this bright English spring day.
God’s in his heaven…

All’s well with the world?
No. For somewhere near or far
underlying darkness lurks,
where fear, despair and sorrow
tremble, plunge and weep,
where lives are marred and scarred,
bodies hurt, hearts ache,
and outraged cries rise
to the God of heaven
who came to earth.

He came to earth
to meet those anguished howls
and silent screams.
Down, down to earth,
to be humiliated, battered, tortured, murdered,
to die in the ultimate empathetic act of love;
to offer hope from destructive forces
that wreak decay and death on body, mind and spirit;
to demonstrate, in his raised life,
a new vast canvas
of redemption, resurrection, renewal.

He who makes the robin sing and blossom bloom,
sees you now, just as you are, glad or sad, joyful or fearful,
smiles on you, weeps with you, holds you,
and points you to the day of promise
when there will be no more death, grief, crying or pain,
just healing beauty in paradise perfection
in the presence of the Life-Giver.
For you. Forever.

© Pam Pointer 2017



Silently he hovers
dips, swoops,
and rises to glide
in joyous abandon;
then breaks his silence
with a single mew
that makes me glance up
from muddied earth-bound gaze
to soar, momentarily,
with him.


Crabby crow
in parsoned black
caws crossly,
flaps, frets and fights,
defending unfenced airspace,
while wide-winged and watchful,
his targeted buzzard,
in sun-kissed regal raiment
floats fearlessly,
unfazed, unhurried.
No crow commotion quells
fortune’s felicity.


Fog descends
slowly at first
with still a hint of pale stars,

then, with swift stealth
and in smothering silence,
closes in cruel embrace.

Birds have long since
given up daytime chatter
and evening praise;

twigs hold pearl tears
in uneasy tension,
as yet unreleased.

In the isolating silence
a woman walks alone
with dampened hair and spirit.

On, on, in automatic mode,
with steady rhythmic beat,
not knowing where she goes.

Yet even within her shrouded soul,
bruised body, and numbed mind,
there is a thought

that she isn’t quite alone,
that beyond, behind, above the fog
somewhere, steady stars still shine.

Copyright: Pam Pointer 2017


With what delight, joy, mirth,
God sweeps the sky with bold strokes
from his saturated palette;
he scales the heights, creates a fiery sight
as fun-filled fervour grips his brush with the sun.

The sky, now ablaze, holds the gaze
of wondering eyes,
as the Creator of light,
in an ever-changing painting
gives it his golden touch
and raises the orb itself,
elevates it till, exalted and complete,
it dominates and dazzles all it shines upon.

Such glorious art!
Such work of imagination, skill and pleasure!
Reflecting his glory, and beautiful to behold,
this awesome canvas
invigorates a waking world,
delights and inspires
its emergence from winter’s night
to the adventure of a new day.

Copyright: Pam Pointer 2017