From within the human heart


The human heart, vulnerable and doubting,

is the place where everything begins.

It covers itself with light,

it shrouds itself in shadows;

and from seasons bright and seasons dark

produces its fruits.


From fearful seeds

the heart grows thorny brambles

of hate, deceit and greed.

These entwine with other frightened souls,

multiplying their sad despair

to deny life and its possibilities.


From hopeful seeds

the heart grows trees of compassion,

love and peace. With delight and celebration,

they urge other hearts to set aside their fears

to dance exultantly, to live defiantly;

to let go.


Fear and hope;

the human heart, fragile and uncertain,

is the place where everything begins.


© Ken Rookes

Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

Arise, my love,

my fair one, and come away.

The wattle has dressed in yellow merriment,

the sundew proffers its delicate whiteness;

and the leopard orchid, tiny, but persistent,

emerges to glorify its maker.


Arise, my love,

my fair one, and come away.

Ride upon the song of the wattle bird

as it rejoices in the sun’s gleaming victory

over morning’s fog,

and in the promise of warmth.


Arise my love,

my fair one, and come away.

Unshackle earth’s anchors

to sing, to dance, to delight, to play;

to lose yourself in the great mystery.

Join with birds and kings,

old women, children, and all whose hearts

have been warmed from above;

join in the defiant trek to freedom,

the soaring flight of beauty,

love’s aching splendour,

and the unexpectedness of joy.


Arise, my love,

Arise, my love,

Arise, my love,

my fair one, and come away.


© Ken Rookes

Young Wesley, another instalment.

Another trip down memory lane. I’m not posting these in any order, simply as a result of my whim. I can do that.

The recollection is of Sunday Schools in the mid 1980s. For anyone overseas, Sunday Schools in average churches in Australia at that time might have had up to half a dozen classes if it was a large one, and maybe 5-10 children in each age group. A smaller church might have had three classes. Very few children continued at Sunday School beyond early high school years. Sunday Schools have continued to fall away over the past three decades; many congregations have abandoned them altogether, with some exploring other ways of ministering with children and their families.

But among you are some who do not believe

He was being kind.

Even among those who so eagerly sing

his songs, wear

his shining silver jewellery, don

his tee-shirts, and who grumble

self-righteously that the fabric of society

has been irreparably torn;

there are many of us

who will not allow ourselves to believe.

We do not eat the body;

the blood we do not drink.

The precisely cubed crumb of bread,

the broken wafer,

the fragment torn from a loaf;

the silver chalice,

the cup of wine,

the tiny glass of grape juice,

hygienically prepared, red and sweet;

these safe things we will consume

in neat and reassuring patterns.

We fear the bread that is his words,

irregular, wild and costly;

having nibbled at the edge

we shall leave it our plates.

The cup of his outpouring;

we sipped cautiously, tasted the bitter draught

and determinedly placed it to one side.

His difficult words invite us to dine upon him,

to take life deep within our own;

and allow his being to be woven into ours.

Thus we receive his generous life,

crimson with sorrow, love and weeping.

Take courage; eat and drink, he whispers

once more.

© Ken Rookes 2012

I’ve been travelling, and am getting back into my regular pattern. I welcome your comments.

Two Broken Hill Sculptures

The sculpture on the left is Bajo El Sol Jaguar, (Under the Jaguar Sun) by Antonio Nava Tirado of Mexico City.

On the right is Angels of the Sun and the Moon, by Valerian Jikiya, of Rustiva, Georgia.

The sculptures are part of a group of twelve at the Living Desert Sanctuary, outside Broken Hill

Broken Hill Sculptures at Living Desert Sanctuary

A panoramic shot of some of the sculptures.

A wonderful place – I think the best thing about Broken Hill. The walk to the sculptures was a wonderful thing too. We watched a kangaroo and Joey feeding.

The sculptures are in sandstone, and were completed by a multi-national group of sculptors during a Symposium camp held in April – May, 1993.