Jenny’s Poems

Do you love poetry? Up until recently I’ve never really thought of myself as a poet – yet every now and again I find myself writing some. For those lovers of all things lyrical I’ve decided to collate my offerings on this page for handy reference.

LIGHTHOUSE (5 August 2013)

I began writing this in the nineties – but just finished it today.

For my very dear friend, Carol.

“He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed.” Psalm 107:29 NIV  (see 23-32)

By Jeanette O’Hagan

5 August 2013

Steady light in the dark, stormy maw of the night
obscured by driving rains or, perhaps, my own tear blurred sight -
Jesus, my Lord and God, you are the lighthouse of my life.
Giver of breath, love and meaning in the midst of human strife,
forgive me when I doubt you or, dreaming, wanting, scheming,
drift away from your shining beacon of light,
towards the sharp toothed rocks of my own devise.


FINE LINES (30 March 2013)

Fine Lines emerged out of reflecting on memory loss, family and faith and the verses Isaiah 49:15-16.

Fine Lines
By Jeanette O’Hagan
30 March 2013

Fine lines crisscross the map
In a tangled grid;
Pathways through the city’s maze
Lines in time and space
That situate the temporal place.

Fine lines adorn the beloved face
Marking passing years;
Deeper lines with time are etched
Tracing happiness and grief
Hostage to the memory thief.

Read more….

OLD TAPES (6 April 2013)

I contributed this poem to Christian Writers Downunder. Once again I was thinking of my father’s journey with  – the slow fade of memory and how that impacts on him and our family.   The thought that Alzheimer’s is like the slow fade of an old tape was transformed into the hope and certainty that Jesus takes our old faded tapes and makes them new both in this life and the next.

Old Tapes
By Jeanette O’Hagan
6 April 2013
Images fade off the screen
Leaving an after shadow.
Flickering lights
The insistent click, click
Of terminating tape.
The darkness settles into silence.

Followers savour and reflect
in the hushed dimness
Stirring in plush seats
The soft shuffle, shuffle
of feet along the rows
Leaving a wake of empty echoes

Read More …

WINDS OF TIME (9 November 2012)

I wrote this song in November 2012 as a tribute to my Dad, who I love very much. It was inspired by his current journey in the shadow lands of Alzheimer’s. My friend Suzanne and I have worked on a tune so one day I hope to have the sound as well as the words to share with you.

Winds of Time

by Jeanette O’Hagan

9 November 2012


The winds of time flow aslant the land

Bringing rain, stealing soil and sand

As memory erodes and

Love just keeps on growing;

Faith is growing, flowing

The love just keeps on growing.

Verse One

Irish lad sweeps Capetown girl to

Yellow summer grass and grey icy rains.

The north wind blows with oven heat

Or bone gnawing sleet, windows rattle

In a red brick bungalow.

Markets crash, warring nations retreat

Axis powers are admitting defeat

And nine children on

The love is flowing, it just keeps on growing.

Read More…


The poem Cry My Beloved Country is written in response to the paper, “After-birth abortion: why should the baby live?” by Alberto Giubilini and  Francesca Minerva along with recent readings of the New Atheists or “the Brights” as they style themselves.

Cry My Beloved Country

by Jeanette O’Hagan

3 March 2012

Cry my beloved country.
Cry as the hoary walls slide into the foaming Sea.
The corrosive waves of doubt and anger eat away
at the base of the white cliffs along the shoreline.
Day after day the foundations are weakened.
The foam of scepticism floats in the whipping wind;
The tainted salt rusts the walls
and encrusts the stained glass windows.

“We must be understanding, We must be tolerant,
We are not like the ancients.
We are rational, urbane, superior.
We do not persecute or start religious wars.
We are not small minded.
We do not cramp other people’s freedom.
Don’t worry, the building is solid
and only a bright future for our country can we see.”

Read More …


I wrote for my youngest brother Christopher Paul (29-6-1966 to 6-3-2002).  At the time he was going through a losing battle with depression.  Still missed, not forgotten by forgiven and encircled by God’s grace.

In Clay Jars

by Jeanette O’Hagan


This treasure in clay jars God holds,
Clay that is cracked, dirtied, chipped, abused,
Clay that hides the treasure
God enfolds.

So often we see but the outward shell,
Judge others and ourselves by imperfections which abound,
Turn our backs on treasure
God knows well.

Read More …

All rights reserved. If by chance you wish to reproduce or copy these poems please contact me.

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