Poetry

We are delighted to announce the winners of the Faith in Ageing Poetry competition 2025.
As in previous years, it was a difficult choice, with nearly 90 poems to choose from. Our oldest poet this year was 103! From quiet reflections and raw honesty to humour, hope, and homecoming, our poets celebrate the beauty and complexity of later life—its losses, its joys, and the enduring presence of God through it all.

This is sadly the last year of the poetry competition. The poems from all three years are a testament to later lives well lived and the faith, hope and joy that deepen with through the years.
May they comfort, challenge, and inspire — reminding us that ageing is not the end of the story, but a season of fruitfulness, ripening and joy, with much to be thankful for.

Winning Poems:

1st Place: Simeon by Michael Jackson
2nd Place: An Age of Faith by Gill Bradbury
3rd Place: If I Must Boast by Steve Page

Judges Choice - Highly Commended

Faith in Ageing by David Corfe
Doubting Daughter by Irene Howat
A Care Home Christmas by Glenys Adams

Simeon by Michael Jackson

Bent back and stiffened knees prompt gait
Of laboured intent, an occasional wince, whilst
Unspoken pain dogs each gently measured step.
Sparse tendrils of grey enfold a mottled pate;
A beard of rugged individuality points the jaw.
However closely one marks his slow coming,
He will struggle to greet, until rheumy eyes
Come close and he frames a quavered greeting.
And yet, a steely resolve drives his halting steps,
Daily bearing him steadfast within temple walls;
Where, never failing, he daily worships God.
He carries lightly divine dealt wisdom of years,
Such his faithfulness, a mark amongst his peers.
Unbeknown, faith grows through desert moments,
And seeds of wisdom find root within the soul.
Doubt and uncertainty have melded into promise
Of limitless love to be incarnated in humanity.
Yet a lasting fulfilment eludes vaunted patience.
He waits, yearning consummation of that to come,
The long heralded advent of God’s Messiah.
Waits until now, for amidst the ardent in prayer,
With hesitant footfall enter man and wife,
A little awed and yet radiant in their humility
With baby first born son, held holy for the Lord.
The old man’s heart misses a celestial beat, as
He reaches for, and holds forth, a baby whose eyes
Lock with his in communion of untroubled grace,
And proclaim: love, salvation, hope and glory.
Waiting on God is not for the impatient, but
Its fruit is born of faith that never waivers.
So yes, ‘Lord, now lettest thou thy servant
….depart in peace’.

Michael is a retired Anglican priest now in his eighth decade, although as he points out you never retire as a priest and he is quite busy supporting parishes currently without a vicar. Much of his focus nowadays is as a carer for his wife who has Alzheimer’s disease. One of the great joys of later life for him is time spent with his seven grandchildren, although he sees less of the two who live in Australia. Michael was for twenty six years director of a Christian charitable foundation providing sheltered housing and nursing care for older people. This gave him a great interest in how we can age well and draw on the spiritual resources which help us to a fulfilled old age.

He decided in retirement to write about his thoughts on this process, and his book Still Love Left: Faith and Hope in Later Life was published four years ago. He drew quite extensively on poetry in his book, and as an occasional poet himself has welcomed the chance to enter the Embracing Age poetry competitions in recent years. He spent a little while considering how to approach this year’s theme. Somehow the account of Simeon in Luke’s gospel culminating in the Nunc Dimittis seemed to him to embody faith in ageing, so he spent a while visualising what the gospel recounts. Having done so it was a case of trying to capture that image in his poem. He is delighted that this has struck a positive chord with the judges.

Judges Comments

DAVE BILBROUGH:
The more I read this remarkable poem the more I was inspired. Michael Jackson caught the essence of this godly character who through the years carried in his heart the hope of the Saviour to come. Diligently, doggedly with raw authentic faith, Simeon believed and trusted that the day would finally arrive and the longed for Messiah would enter into this world.
I get a sense of Simeon‘s physical frailty as the years have taken their toll yet through the refining process of time, a rare wisdom emerges from this man who believed. A true elder with qualities, forged by age, experience and prayer. What a moment it must have been to finally see, recognise and honour this infant baby. Michael captures the steely resolve to see the fulfilment of the promised ones coming in the flesh and so doing directs us towards that light of life. The light that will never fade. The hope of all the Earth.

ANDREW PRATT:
These words take me into a temple. The light is fading. Then, in the distance a shuffled footstep or, as the poet phrases it so eloquently…
Bent back and stiffened knees prompt gait
Of laboured intent, an occasional wince, whilst
Unspoken pain dogs each gently measured step.

From the first word to the last the picture is deftly painted, the image real, as I watch and wait for someone, almost feeling each footstep, approaching, peering through the haze of dust held in the dusking light.

The text is superb, the expression moving, the language emotive, the image real. What a privilege to read words created with skill making an all too familiar image fresh. Given the opportunity I would love to use these words in worship at Compline, Vespers or Evensong or, in my tradition at the presentation of Jesus in the Temple recollected in Luke 2:25–32.

Thank you for this perfect poem, this beautiful gift.

PAM RHODES :
When asked to write a poem about something as personal as faith, most people of our age turn towards their personal experience for inspiration. Michael very cleverly chose to look out and back towards a tired, frail old man whose deep and intuitive faith not only shaped his own life, but all of ours. In Simeon we glimpse ourselves as time takes its toll on our bodies, our emotions and the way in which the world views us – but we also discover the depth of patient, trusting “faith that never wavers” in this wise, elderly man who meets a young child, and finds himself looking into the eyes of our timeless eternal God. I feel like cheering at the final lines of this poem, and congratulate Michael on this beautifully phrased, inspiring verse.

An Age of Faith by Gill Bradbury

A place of beauty and refuge
for a thousand years or so,
the parish church has been standing,
heaven’s witness here below.

At half its age the yew tree grows
beside the church’s door;
symbol of immortality,
according to ancient lore.

Its bells have rung for hundreds of years
to tell the village folk
through plague and famine and skirmishes
that this is a place of hope.

Looking about I have to say,
approaching my eightieth year,
surrounded by all this history,
I feel I’m a youngster here.

My faith is just a tiny part
of this symbol of love and care
of the saints who have worshipped age by age
and filled this place with prayer.

As it’s comforted those with doubts and fears
eternal truth held high,
I trust in my increasing years,
by God’s grace so shall I.

Gill spent most of her professional life in social work education and training, as an Advisor and External Examiner, which she very much enjoyed. Since retirement she has trained as a Spiritual Director and offer spiritual direction within the Portsmouth Diocese.
She attends her local parish church in a beautiful rural and coastal village on the Isle of Wight where she lives with her cat, Leo. She has served as a lay worship leader and churchwarden and currently assists with services at the local care home.
With a friend, she produces a monthly ‘Celtic Encounter’, a short contemplative service, held outdoors, if possible, in ‘God’s Cathedral’. She is increasingly drawn to Celtic spirituality and is a Friend of the dispersed Community of Aidan and Hilda.
Language, words and their derivation fascinate her and she is an avid reader and writer of poems with which she says she constantly bores other people! Otherwise she exercises her creativity in stained glass work.

Judges Comments

PAM RHODES:
After all the churches I’ve visited during nearly four decades of presenting SONGS OF PRAISE, this poem captures so much of what I’ve felt within their ancient walls, as if they’ve watched over and absorbed all that’s ever happened there. The glorious hymns, the conflicting emotions, the heartfelt prayers, along with compassion and fellowship, have seeped into the very fabric of the building in which we all sense the constant, quiet presence of God. In a simple, conversational way, this heartwarming poem from Gill describes the reassurance and comfort so many of us find within our beloved churches.

DAVE BILBROUGH:
One generation shall tell another the psalmist boldly states in the ancient Scriptures. As I read through this well-crafted poem I was really caught with a sense of the larger perspective of how we view our lives on earth. Our four score years and ten might seem like a long time but by comparison, the symbol of the work of the parish church that Gill Bradbury writes about has stood and borne testimony to God‘s faithfulness for hundreds of years.
Alluding to the rhythm and flow that this church has provided in prayer and ministry for so long the writer concludes not only with appreciation but strong determination to be a beacon of hope, another link in the chain of witness to others.

ANDREW PRATT:
A hymn comes to mind:
‘Transported with the view I’m lost in wonder, love and praise’.
Near to where I live is a sandstone parish church and, as I approach my eighties, how short is the span of life in the shadow of stone or yew trees. Have you been here I wonder? These words are transferable, and that is significant, for anyone who has lived near, or worshipped in, such an edifice will be moved by this descriptive poem. For those who have grown up worshipping amid the history it will be all the more moving.
Though this is not my experience I sense the truth of these words:

My faith is just a tiny part
of this symbol of love and care
of the saints who have worshipped age by age
and filled this place with prayer.

And, perhaps, I can echo out of my own faith journey comfort…

…with doubts and fears
eternal truth held high,
I trust in my increasing years,
by God’s grace …

I might, at the last, rest in peace…
Thank you for the hope you offer.

If I Must Boast by Steve Page

[After 2 Corinthians 11.29]

If I must boast, I will boast
of the things that show my weakness.
I will flaunt my gammy knee
and its ability to forecast a heavy early mist.

I will brag of my swollen ankles
as examples of my tendency to slow
and amble, perhaps presenting this
as a sign of maturity, rather than
my inability to hurry as I used to.

I will showcase my leg brace
as perhaps a sign of our Lord’s kindness,
gifting me a thorn, lest I boast
in one of the great many talents
entrusted to me against His return.

I will display (with no little pride) a profile
characterised by a receding hair line
and a stoop suggesting the weight of decades,
letting the eye of the beholder assume
wisdom commensurate with my years.

If I must boast, and I surely should,
I will boast of the things acquired by age
and glory in these weaknesses
that cast me more fully on God’s good graces.

If I must boast, I will boast
in my God’s long faithfulness.

Steve Page is a Londoner, born and bred. For the last 30 years, he’s worked as an investigator in financial services regulation. He started his career as a police officer, and then took a left turn through a theological degree and into financial services. He also serves as a deacon and small group leader at Redeemer Church, Ealing. Writing poetry is very much a means of worship for him.
Now in his sixties, He is a proud father (of two) and grandfather (of one so far). In his forties, he was advised by his manager to try a writing class to improve his report writing skills. Since then, he’s been writing poetry as a near daily habit - both for pleasure and self-therapy, as well as on request for church occasions. He’s self-published several collections of poetry and short prose. More recently, he’s founded a 'Secret Poets Society' at work, and he organises a poetry circle at his local library where he volunteers.

Judges Comments

ANDREW PRATT:
St Paul felt himself strong in weakness and constantly afflicted by ‘a thorn in his flesh’. He was given strength to endure weakness.
This poem echoes, very effectively, those same feelings, but in terms that I find to be contemporary and applicable in my own life and experience. At a time when, though I didn’t know the cause of my pain, I was suffering from pleurisy, my sense was such that I held in my mind, ‘God is strongest in our weakness’. These words, much later, found their way into a hymn.
And so, we find here, a catalogue of malady which inspires the author to boast of the way in which, in spite of painful knees and ankles’ he is able to glory in these weaknesses and cast himself ‘more fully on God’s good graces’… boasting
in ‘God’s long faithfulness’.

These are words I can echo and with honesty and with gratitude to the author.

DAVE BILBROUGH:
Based on the proclamation of Saint Paul that our sufficiency is in Christ. This poem drew me to reflect again on the liberating biblical truth that our strength is made perfect and weakness. Rather than negative responses to common ailments synonymous with old age, Steve Page invites us to see them as an opportunity for Grace to be fully at work in our lives. Avoiding self pity and angst Steve skilfully shifts the focus from self reliance towards God, engaging us to think of our advancing years in a new and positive way.

PAM RHODES:
If I ever met Steve Page, the author of this poem, I know I’d like him! His wry sense of humour, his down-to earth descriptions of the physical indignities brought to us by old age, like receding hair lines, swollen ankles and that characteristic “stoop” that gives us a silhouette that belies the precious person within that hasn’t aged one bit over the years! Boast away, Steve – and your poem will encourage me to do the same.

Dave Bilbrough's Choice

Faith in Ageing by David Corfe

I have no faith in ageing, it just happens,
happens to me. I grow weaker by the day,
slower, deafer, more forgetting, out of touch,
and one by one death takes my family and friends.
Ah, but who would begin again? I watch
the children in the park, who skip and run
for joy, eager to explore new worlds.
I watch young couples first discovering love,
and older folk still loving as they age;
I'm glad for them, perhaps nostalgically,
but not to go back and learn it all again.
I would not waste the years of my apprenticeship,
painful, with many failures and mistakes,
and understanding coming oh so slowly.
The rays of my declining sun are casting
shadows, but the one true light is brighter.
It feels as though the curtains of my flesh
in which I trusted must be pulled apart,
my heart be broken, to fill it with new love.
I've seen his grace all down the years as I
have wandered, often lost, and every time
He's picked me up and cleaned and led me on.
The pattern of it all must soon come clear
when once the weaver shows me how He's worked.
One thing I know. Beyond my failing world
I sense a magnet drawing me, a love
more wonderful than ever I have known.
Stumble I may in my old age, and yet
my pace accelerates as I am drawn;
nor will I stop until I'm clasped and held
and kissed by One who's held me all along.
He'll introduce this new boy to his family,
and satisfied, I'll find myself at home.

Between the writing of this poem and the publication of the anthology, David sadly died - casting a poignant light on the final lines of his work. His daughter Sarah writes:
David Corfe grew up on a fruit farm in Kent and was evacuated to the Lake District during the war. After gaining a degree from Cambridge University and spending some time in Theological college, he was ordained and worked as a curate in Wigan. He felt called to work in India where he met his wife, Rosemary, at Language school. Together they spent about 10 years in India where he was the pastor of two churches.

David was then a Vicar in Kent for several years before moving to Manchester where he worked with an organisation called Mission to Asians in Britain (part of Interserve), work that he particularly enjoyed. He and Rosemary retired to Southampton in 1999 where they were active members of their local church. Rosemary died in 2016, and David lived alone until his death in July 25 at the age of 90, though he enjoyed the company of his girlfriend, Brenda for some of this time.

For as long as I can remember, Dad has written poetry and as children we would occasionally go out for a meal at the ‘Happy Eater’ when one of his poems was published! At times, he put his poetry aside to focus on serving God in the church, but with retirement and more time, he began honing his skills with the help of Geoff Daniels from the Association of Christian Writers (ACW) I’m sure Dad would be delighted to know that his poem was acclaimed by the judges and we three children will celebrate for him!

Dave Bilbrough writes:

Like it or loath it ageing happens. Month by month, year by year as the old saying goes, change is here to stay for us all. Accepting and embracing new possibilities at various stages of life can either lift us to face our future positively or cause us to journey down the road of envy and regret. Here is a robust and resilient appraisal of advancing years, truthful to feelings we all experience yet full of hope and expectation.

It’s real and raw with observations not only of the gradual decline in health that the years inevitably bring but loss of family and friends. There’s an interesting reflection as to how David Corfe responds to those in different circumstances and stages along life's path. As the poem progresses, the inner conviction conveyed that the process of ageing does not define us and the assurance of God’s non coercive invitation is both moving and challenging.

Displaying a mature faith perspective, void of cliche and sentiment I found this poem led me to consider again the mystery and wonder of the eternal horizon that awaits.

Pam Rhodes Choice

Doubting Daughter by Irene Howat

‘There is no God,’ you tell me.
But I know better,
for I was speaking to him
just this morning.

No God!
Who brought your father into my life?
Who dried my tears
when we lost our unborn babies?
Who breathed life and love
into our dear children
and precious grandchildren?
Who has been my companion
through all life’s ups and downs?
Who is my sure and certain hope
for life here and hereafter?

My doubting daughter,
I pray that you will meet God
before you shed lonely tears,
before your load is too heavy
to bear,
before you grow old.

Dear doubting daughter,
I pray that you will meet Jesus
as your Saviour
before you meet him as your judge
and tell him to his face
that he doesn’t exist.

Irene writes:
“I am a Scottish biographer and poet. Now 78 years old, I have left writing Christian biographies in the past, and now concentrate on poems in both Scots and English. My books fill a shelf as there are over 60 of them (about half of them for children) and over a million have sold worldwide. God is so good!
My husband, who is a retired minister, and I, have lived in Ayrshire, Moray, Edinburgh, Argyll and now East Dunbartonshire. I still cling to my Ayrshire accent. Ayrshire is the Land o' Burns, after all!
If hobbies are what we do in our free time, then life is my hobby. It takes so much longer to live than it used to do. Older age brings its challenges but it also comes with God's promise that his grace is sufficient for all our needs. To him be all the glory.”

Pam Rhodes writes

This was the poem that touched me most of all. I wish I’d thought of these words to say to my daughter over the years as she made it clear she could ever only learn from her own experience, not mine. So, thank you, Irene, for sharing your prayer for your daughter so that I can now pray the same for mine – that, in her own way and time, she’ll find the faithful God we’ve come to know and trust throughout a lifetime of blessing.

Andrew Pratt's Choice

A Care Home Christmas by Glenys Adams

Away with the fairies and lost in her head
Old Agnes McKenzie lay curled in her bed,
With memories of stables, a babe in the hay,
While the glow from the night-light shone down where she lay.

The carollers carol downstairs in the hall,
But Agnes McKenzie just stares at the wall.
Alone in her room, she traverses afar,
With angels and shepherds, wise men and a star.

Long lost in confusion and trapped in her mind
Young Agnes McKenzie leaves all this behind.
‘Be near me, Lord Jesus, my last silent prayer.
And take me to heaven to live with thee there.

Glenys enjoys playing with words to create both serious and humorous poems. She also writes magazine articles on various subjects, and flash fiction. But mostly poems.

She is a retired primary school teacher, involved in a community theatre company, a youth camp and her local group of churches. She lives just north of Liverpool, sharing her home with an array of fossils and elephants, piles of books, and a lifetime of other accumulated clutter. Plus the occasional cat.

This poem was written after a group she was with were carol singing in a local care home one Christmas. Many residents were in the lounge, but as they went round the bedrooms to greet those who could not make it down, they were introduced to a frail old lady, awake but apparently unresponsive, curled up in her bed. Glenys wondered if the carols had triggered any memories for her.

Andrew Pratt writes:

This poem caught me with the first word and the rhythm and metre of the text.
And already I found myself conflicted. ‘away with the fairies’, can I say that? Isn’t it offensive? Well yes. But then again fairies echo childhood and, in memory can be comforting. I’m taken to Peter Pan. And this woven complexity follows me all the way through the poem.
Next, the obvious allusion to ‘Away in a manger’ is confirmed. Not fairies now but something inherently Biblical! And these mixed memories and allusions match what I have heard said, that in age songs can be remembered and sung and that ‘Away in manger’ and ‘All things bright and beautiful’, become prominent. Learnt in childhood they are hidden deep in our subconscious and become prescient and comforting. Agnes McKenzie is pictured as lost in this morass of memory, but there is no sense of distress for her in this, though, for those listening and watching, the incongruous nature of it all is, indeed disturbing.
Pastorally I am reminded that, with all the empathy in the world, we cannot always enter another person’s reality.
And as I reach this point the whole proposition, intentional or not, of these verses is to offer a sense of intentional comfort. Agnes McKenzie is comfortable, at home here, secure. And far from being ‘Away with the fairies’ the internalised memory takes us to share where she really is:
‘Be near me, Lord Jesus, my last silent prayer.
And take me to heaven to live with thee there.’
And if this is a true interpretation, what a wonderful vision of a good, a perfect death.