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T.M. Moore is a theologian, poet, and Principal of The Fellowship of Ailbe, a spiritual fellowship in the Celtic Christian tradition. He and his wife and editor, Susie, live in the Champlain Valley of Vermont. They have four children, twelve grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. T.M. and Susie have collaborated on more than thirty books over the past forty years of ministry, many of which are available at The Ailbe Bookstore, which includes many of his published volumes of poetry. T. M. spends most of his time writing four teaching letters,  assembling these into books, building-up the fellowship of the Ailbe Brothers, and working with pastors and church leaders. He reads widely, but still is not able to keep pace with Susie – either in the breadth of his reading or the number of books he completes each year. T. M. enjoys many different kinds of music, and he has set the 150 psalms of the Psalter to familiar hymn melodies in The Ailbe Psalter. He is an avid student of creation and its various forms and creatures; delights in the paintings of Andrew Wyeth and Peter Huntoon; and is chief caretaker and best friend of his two dogs, Cu and Paddy Mac. If he had more time, he’d work on his mountain dulcimer and guitar skills, but there are only so many hours in the day. T. M. and Susie have been married and co-laboring for 50 years, and they look forward to many more together in their lovely Williston, VT, townhome. He can be contacted at [email protected].
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2 Responses

  1. Eddie Aitken

    Beauty with a righteous voice
    Lays it out to make your choice
    Indifference or uncompassionate ear
    Or in some cases implicated fear
    The story’s out for all to ponder
    For now efforts seem to fail
    But for those who care their hearts may sail

    Reply
  2. Damian Robin

    Courage
    http://www.anastasialin.com/home/

    Though in your homeland you are persona non grata,
    And Communists would break your Chinese father,
    And The Party kill you inside China,
    You do not wear the ball gown of a martyr.

    Though in the vice of western media glitz,
    Though in the jaws of fame, though where you steer
    The life-consuming giant dragon spits,
    You still cast off its dressing-downs of fear.

    Sometimes it seems you’re crowned with confidence
    Though you may talk on stage through circling fright.
    Your actress training swells experience
    To move you into widening arcs of light.

    And though you’re often scared, you radiate,
    Though clothed by fame, you wear it without pride,
    Though strong-willed, you still must meditate,
    And cultivate, to face the world outside.
    EndFragment

    Reply

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