Julian of Norwich's Teabag
Poems and prayers from morning to night
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'My trip is this teabag, giving up its loveThis perforated planet, in my steaming mug' Every day is a poem. From the first cup of tea in the morning as the recycling lorry trundles down the street to those final random thoughts before we drop off at night. As the children grow up and someone we love dies; as we rage against life and love brings us home. 'Dear Life, Dear All, Dear Me, Dear YouA prayer, a sign, some shy synchronicitySome days all we ask for is some kind of clue' Martin Wroe lives with Meg, a painter, in North London where their devot...
'My trip is this teabag, giving up its loveThis perforated planet, in my steaming mug' Every day is a poem. From the first cup of tea in the morning as the recycling lorry trundles down the street to those final random thoughts before we drop off at night. As the children grow up and someone we love dies; as we rage against life and love brings us home. 'Dear Life, Dear All, Dear Me, Dear YouA prayer, a sign, some shy synchronicitySome days all we ask for is some kind of clue' Martin Wroe lives with Meg, a painter, in North London where their devotion to each new day begins with tea. At one time on staff at The Independent and later The Observer and a former chair of the Greenbelt Arts Festival, Martin is an associate member of the Iona Community and a regular contributor to BBC Radio 4's Thought for the Day.
