Falling

One of the most moving encounters in my time in Melanesia was with George. He moved to his village when he was a child from his home island of Sikaiana, which is about 100 miles out into the Pacific. He showed me a tree on the shoreline where he prays every day, but because of Climate Change the tree is threatened by the rising sea levels and he said to me “if the tree falls I will too”. His community only has about 10 years left before their village will be washed away by the sea.

He landed here when he was only eight
Crossed a hundred miles of ocean on the way
Left his island and his heart to make a brand new start
In this strange and unfamiliar place

When he left his boat he sat under a tree
It was only small, like him, but he could see
The horizon far away and he knew beyond it lay
His home, his heart, his history

And the tree grew bigger as the years passed by
And he built a life here under strange new skies
But the tree was watered by the tears he’d cry
For his far off far off home

He watched with pride as all his children grew
And then he watched his grandchildren too
As they laid down their roots And started to bear fruit
In the only place they ever knew

His tree became a refuge for his soul
His confidante, his muse, his hiding hole
He would visit every day to sit, and watch, and pray
To restore his heart and be made whole

And the tree grew bigger as the years passed by
And he built a life here under strange new skies
But the tree was watered by the tears he’d cry
For his far off far off home

One day while he was walking to the shore
It seemed a little closer than before
As slowly day by day the land was washed away
And his tree wasn’t safe there anymore

For the second time in his life he knew
What this meant and what they’d have to do
It was time to move on before his tree was gone
Because if it fell he knew that he would too

And so the tree grew smaller as they sailed away
In search of a new life and a brighter day
But the tears feel freely as he bid goodbye
To his far off far off home

Oct 5, 2026 0

Waves

As I was preparing for my visit to Melanesia I had a conversation with a priest from Guadalcanal. I asked him about the impact of Climate Change on his islands and he spoke about the work they are doing to protect themselves, building sea walls and moving inland, but then he said “but the waves keep coming”. I wrote this song based on that phrase., the character in the story is fictional but it is an all too real story.

As a child he sailed beyond the reef where all is sky and ocean
He learned to trust the wind and waves, their rhythm and their motion
Out there on the endless blue he fell in love with water
His island was his own canoe, his lifeline and supporter

But the waves keep coming and the waves keep coming
and the waves keep coming and they’re washing it all away…

He built his house beside the shore, a stones throw from the coastline
Looking out towards the sea where he would spend the most time
Casting out his fishing nets and hauling in his quota
Hoping that come market time he’d keep his world afloat

But the waves keep coming and the waves keep coming
and the waves keep coming and they’re washing it all away…

It didn’t happen all at once, it took a while to spot it
The slow surrender of the beach ’till nobody could stop it
The water which he’d learned to trust around him now was rising
This skilled seafarer could not stop his island from capsizing

And the waves keep coming and the waves keep coming
and the waves keep coming and they’re washing it all away…

He lives up on the mainland now, safe distance from the water
He works a steady job and has a wife, a son, a daughter
But when he sees those distant waves he fills up with emotion
The quiet tears roll down his cheek… salt water, like the ocean

And the waves keep coming and the waves keep coming
and the waves keep coming and they’re washing it all away…
…they’re washing the world away

Oct 5, 2026 0

Vulnerable

I visited the Anglican Church of Melanesia this September, in part to see first hand the impacts of Climate Change in the Pacific. I was struck by how tangible those impacts are and the real sense of vulnerability in these island nations. However I was also struck by the sense that though these islands may be vulnerable, they are not powerless. I wrote this poem to express some of that.

There is a vulnerability in these
small Islands where the challenges they face
are mostly not of their own making. Seas
are rising, trees are being felled, the race
for land and for development is fierce –
their magnitude could flood the roads with tears.
But vulnerable does not mean powerless.
Developing does not mean uninformed.
These islands, villages, and towns are getting
ready now to face the gathering storm.
Stone by stone, day by day, resisting
those forces that would stop them from existing.
Here, where land and sea are in a battle aeons long,
a fragile hope against all odds has always been their song.

Oct 6, 2025 0

Umbilical Tree

I visited the Anglican Church of Melanesia this September and as part of the visit I spoke to the students at the Bishop Patteson Theological College at Kohimarama. This is a poetic description of part of that deeply moving conversation.

I
There is a small Pacific Island where
when a child is born they cut the cord
and plant it in the ground with a new tree
so that, however far away they sail,
they will forever be linked with their home.

II
I met a man today, a priest, who knows
the place where his umbilical tree is growing.
It is a source of life and strength to him,
a tangible connection to the earth,
to God’s creation, to his ancestral home.

III
That cord was severed many years before,
but now he fears it will be cut again
and this time he’s not sure if he’ll survive
the separation from his source of life.

IV
His island home is being washed away
and with it goes a part of who he is,
while we sit by and watch – or worse, do not.
We are presiding over his destruction.

V
I looked him in the eye then turned away
in sorrow and in shame for what we’ve done,
yet still he greeted me as his own brother,
a fellow child of God and, trembling, I
returned his gaze once more and said “I’m sorry
for all that we have done to you my friend”.

VI
Our actions or complacency are not
without their consequences in this world
but every day we have to make the choice:
Do we give life and seek forgiveness, or
do we keep cutting that life-giving cord?

Oct 6, 2025 0

Protest Song

I’ve been listening to a lot of Bob Dylan recently, since watching the film ‘A Complete Unknown’, and inspired by his protest songs have had a go at writing my own!

Where are the poets, the prophets the priests and the kings
Lending their voices to those who can no longer sing
Do they have the courage to meet this hour
Exchanging their platforms of privilege and power
For a better, more beautiful world where we all can be free

How do the men making millions off misery sleep
When their bedsheets are washed with the tears of the many who weep?
The merchants of war who would rather we bleed
Than exchange their selfishness, power, and greed
For a better more beautiful world where we all can be free

Why are the women still wailing and when will they see
Their long promised justice roll in like the waves on the sea?
In the face of oppression still they persist
Replacing a world filled with prejudice
With a better more beautiful world where we all can be free

Who are the people who profit while the planet burns?
Spreading pollution and lies without any concerns
Blaming our problems on refugees
While the billionaire conmen steal whatever they please
From the better more beautiful world where we all can be free

Where are the poets, the prophets, the priests and the kings
The ones who believe in the promise of what tomorrow may bring
The hopers and dreamers working to see
A brighter tomorrow where together we’ll be
The poets and prophets and priests and kings and queens
Of a better more beautiful world where we all can be free

Photo by Nikoloz Gachechiladze on Unsplash

May 24, 2025 0

Tag: climate change