Invitation to Poetry: Welcoming the New Year
January 7, 2008 · by Christine
Our 10th Poetry Party and the first of the New Year! I select an image and suggest a title and invite you to respond with your poems, words, reflections, quotes, song lyrics, etc. Leave them in the comments or email me and I’ll add them to the body of the post as they come in along with a link back to your blog if you have one (not required to participate!) I’ll add your contributions all week and then I will draw a name on Friday again from everyone who participates and will send the winner a copy of my newest zine Callings.
Feel free to post the poem along with my image below on your blog with a link back to this post. Please invite your readers to come join the party too!
The photo below was taken in Squamish, British Columbia on a foggy December day. I love fog because of its mystery, not knowing what is being cloaked in its mist. The New Year offers us new possibilities we may have no inkling of just yet, but we are invited to fly, our beating hearts and beating wings carrying us forward into the unknown. What does the new year evoke for you?
*****
“Not knowing when the dawn will come
I open every door.”
~ Emily Dickinson
submitted by kigen
*****
Fog
Alone? Wing beats
through curling mist
the grey of unlight
clinging fast, feathers
dull with cold wet beads
of isolation.
But lift a searching eye from tracking
our own curling, twisting patterns
and there ahead, behind, beside
see movement through
the thickening tide
and crying out hear echoing
voices each calling softly,
alone, alone.
-Tandaina at Snow on Roses
*****
Speeding through a world obscured,
our flight in freedom tense against
the discipline of perfect patterning.
Our wingbeats dance past clearings
of deepest vision then sweep on,
powerful, moving eagerly homeward.
-Tess at Anchors and Masts
*****
she saw the sun go down twenty-one times
twenty-one times in thirty-five years
she saw the sun go down
she thought there’d be a million
and she thought that she would see them
but she saw the sun go down twenty-one times
she stayed and danced all night only one time
only one time in thirty-five years
she stayed and danced all night
the moonlight fell like laughter
on her happy ever after
but she stayed and danced all night only one time
and over new England geese are flying south
a november nightfall gathers round about
while a lighthouse calls another home
she walked away from love so many times
so many times in thirty-five years
she walked away from love
and hearing lesser voices
she turned them into choices
and she walked away from love so many times
and over new England geese are flying south
a november nightfall gathers round about
while a lighthouse calls another home
-Milton Brasher-Cunningham at Don’t Eat Alone
*****
In the new year
I look closely
at the mist and wait
for it to disappear.
It does.
And then I see the trees,
their branches
held like signs
I’ve waited for.
I see the birds
and hear their songs,
the call
I’ve waited for.
I see the color
of the sky
and all at once
and deep within
I sense
the strength of trees,
the lift of wings,
the clarity of space.
-Theresa Walker
*****
Gulls Against a Winter Sky
Wings and whispy
branches
in the mist
of winter solace.
What beatings
stir
beneath the bark?
What clear
horizons
beckon?
*****
Trees rest their heads against a pillow of clouds
Bodies cradled in a soft quilt of fog
Winter sleep.
The New Year beckons
“Wake up, set goals, make plans!”
Oh, let me rest a little longer
To dream my dreams
and release them to the heavens
So they can soar with grace and courage
Boundless and fearless.
-Elaine at The Edible Balcony Garden
*****
Finally, a calm
has settled in this valley–
a pine-scented mist . . .
the forest fills each deep breath
as dew rolls down my shoulders.
-b’oki.
*****
Be (from Jonathan Livingston Seagull) by Neil Diamond
Lost
On a painted sky
Where the clouds are hung
For the poet’s eye
You may find him
If you may find him
There
On a distant shore
By the wings of dreams
Through an open door
You may know him
If you may
Be
As a page that aches for a word
Which speaks on a theme that is timeless
And the one God will make for your day
Sing
As a song in search of a voice that is silent
And the sun God will make for your way
And we dance
To a whispered voice
Overheard by the soul,
Undertook by the heart
And you may know it
If you may know it
While the sand would become the stone
Which begat the spark
Turned to living bone
Holy, holy
Sanctus, sanctus
Be
As a page that aches for a word
Which speaks on a theme that is timeless
While the one God will make for your day
Sing
As a song in search of a voice that is silent
And the one God will make for your way
-submitted by Kievas Fargo
*****
Making Their Way
Geese fly together through a gray mist
and beautiful shadows of trees.
The ones in the lead flicker with
grace and light, certain of their way.
There was no one in the lead in his life.
No certainty of his way.
No one saw his beauty,
the flickering promise of his youth,
interrupted by that one moment.
He is reminded of it every day,
he dreams of his family every night.
Bullets ring through his thoughts,
pierce his soul like sudden staccato notes
in a somber melody; there will be no lullaby for him.
He struggles toward the light,
to know the lingering black trees amidst
the gathered fog, to see the faces of his family
there, like welcoming trees. Instead, he sees bars,
he hears the clanging of doors, the rattling of keys.
He sees men in gray suits carrying wooden clubs.
He longs for the brightness of former days,
like the memory of his mother holding his hand,
tenderly saying his name as they crossed a busy street;
safe, an umbrella protected them from the rain,
kept him from his fears.
He longs for life before the bullets—
before the one day that changed his life,
that one moment no one will ever let him forget.
We have defined him by that moment
and he has accepted it, against his will
for he cannot remember his true self.
He is alone.
Briefly the light comes near
and he feels it within him,
rising like a star through the clouds.
He looks beyond the bars
and sees geese making their way.
He hears a human voice; his only visitor
has gently spoken his name and these simple,
loving words: “One day, you will, too.”
-Martha Louise Marvin Harkness
*****
through the dense fog
a seagull appears
then another one
-Valeria Simonova-Cecon
*****
Mystery rolls in with the fog.
Trees peer out from
behind their lacy veils.
A hush settles in
as we move like shadows.
Only the calls of the birds
pierce this muffled existence.
Then, once again,
silence reigns
As this grey on grey
cloak wraps around us.
-Pamela McCauley
*****
Staring up in the trees
Feeling the giants in the breeze
Life becomes more free
-Arlene Angell
*****
Listen
and you will find me here
illuminated
carried on the edge of a cloud
holy in the rain.
-Christine at Quiet Paths
*****
HIDDEN THINGS
“I will show you hidden things,
hidden things you have not known.” - Isaiah 48:6
At dawn a portal opens
revealing hidden things
to ancient eyes that wisely
choose to closely watch.
Nature dances in close step
and sings with perfect pitch
chords created before time
in simple harmony.
Wild geese on a northern wing
follow their true compass,
a map inscribed within their hearts
by One who calls them blessed.
Hidden things, freely given
revealed in simple ways
guide us on our pilgrim path
delivering us home.
-Rich Murray at Pilgrim Path
*****
como se destino?
a cercano?
a lejano?
casa?
hacia dios?
quien sabe?
where are you going?
near?
far away?
home?
toward god?
who can tell?
-Kayce Hughlett at Diamonds in the Sky With Lucy
*****
From what do they flee - or flee not at all
From what do they hide - from nothing at all
In mist and in fog they fly on their way
With no thought at all of today, their last day
From what do we flee - or flee not at all
From what do we hide - no - nothing at all
In mist and in fog we go on our way with no thought at all of
Today our last day
And if they should die in the fog and in mist
Won’t they fly with real joy toward the Son to be kissed
And if we should die in our fog and real mist
Will we rejoice any less than by God being kissed
*****
Fog is always creating.
The surprise was that fog
was known to hibernate
like bear in winter.
Something stirred
its milky breast
and birds of white
birthed into life
forming a partial
V
-Tom Delmore at crow’s perch
*****
夕霧の
小波の上に
囁きは
yuugiri no
ko-nami no ue ni
sasayaki ha
night fog, whispering over the small waves
夜かもめ ・ 鴎庵
-yorukamome (ou an)
*****
You can learn from wild geese.
They don’t fret about tonight’s dinner.
No matter how grey and dense the fog, I have never heard of one that crashed into a
tree.
They choose their leaders with such little commotion.
They know how to find “home” and when to kick their babies out of the nest.
Bitty heads on those geese, though.
I’ll bet they have bitty wizened walnut brains inside those heads.
But, still, I am awed at the dignity of their lives.
Early morning and I sit alone by my window, staring at that fog, dense as grey
boiled wool.
I worry about my husband when the weatherman reports cars careening into each other
like high school hockey players out of control.
“What will we eat for dinner tonight,” I ponder. “No primavera for that pasta in the
cupboard!”
“Can I trust this mixed-up world to take care of my young adult daughter?”
“And who will be there to finally lead me Home?”
You can learn a lot from wild geese.
You can learn a lot.
-Suz Reaney
*****
Flying in the mist,
seeing
no clear path ahead,
they fly on,
guided by
an internal light,
a knowledge deeper,
and a call stronger,
than eyesight
can scan,
or ears pick out.
Onwards, ever
onwards.
Flying.
Following…
flying…
-Sally Coleman at Eternal Echoes
*****
early morning summer fog crawls along Harwich, Pleasant Bay
later creeps inland from Salem Willows
and
surprisingly after a sunny morning
quickly Prospects up from Windansea–
on that same Saturday afternoon I pictured afternoon fog…
now, this new year 2008
started in another cloud of apparently obliterated expectations
but next the Spirit remembered me into trusting
God who makes everything new
journeys alongside us
and surprises us with resurrection
often emerging through foggy haze
what does this year 2008 mean for me, for us?
new life despite and because of shattered pasts?
oh, yes! of this I am so very, very sure!
-Leah at This Far by Faith
*****
Freedom’s Flight
Their winged flight bisects the misty gloom
as they head south. Or so it seems to me–
I cannot really tell from where they came.
And where they go, a mystery as well.
The fog grows dense. My thoughts begin to fade
as cold and clammy fingers trace a path
across my face. “Give in,” a voice begins
to say. “Don’t fight, for who needs strife and pain?”
The choice seems clear as I capitulate,
but then I hear a harsh, imperious call.
The birds have turned, and in a V
they point to freedom. So I take a step,
and running wildly through the woods I laugh.
The fight goes on, there’s victory to be won.
*****
With short-sighted loneliness
I imagine I’m the only one
Grey clouds
Cold breezes
and endless travel ahead
When I open my eyes
Grace shows me the truth
Many more
than I imagined
Take this journey with me
-Anne Sims at Stories and Faith
*****
Flying through the fog
tuned in
to the inner voice that guides them
ever ready
to take the lead
fall back into the slip stream
to encourage
those who follow
-Lorna at See-Through Faith
*****
“Mommy, if it’s froggy again tomorrow, will we have school?”
“I hope so honey, you’ve already missed so many days!”
And the fury of planning for the unwanted inevitable drives the night into stress,
Into restless sleep, until the fog takes over and takes me deep, deep into my dreams.
Frog - That thick, oh so dense air, that one could cut with a knife
That mist which settles upon all things
Below 32 degrees, a winter wonderland of beauty ensues.
(But just don’t drive!)
Above 32, a damp, sometimes dreary, always calm aura arrives.
(And still don’t drive!)
This thick breath from heaven encircles me in silence
And in solitude
A reminder to “slow down”
To love that which you can, and can’t see
To contemplate the mysteries of the Holy
And wrap my eyes on the certainty that guides me
Foggy, froggy winter morns
Filled with sighs
Filled with wonder
Filled with moments to be still
With my God
To hear Her wonderous beckonings
To behold Her beauty
And hold, as the nursing mother, the gift She has bestowed
Gently rocking in the still quiet dark of Fog.
Thank you for this moment, Holy Mother.
Thank you.
-Karla MG
*****
-Christine Valters Paintner @ Abbey of the Arts
*~* Subscribe to the every other week Abbey email newsletter or visit Etsy to purchase reflective art journals and prayer cards *~*
Posted in Poetry Invitation |
January 7th, 2008 at 5:40 am
“Not knowing when the dawn will come
I open every door.”
~ Emily Dickinson
submitted by kigen
January 7th, 2008 at 6:39 am
Fog
Alone? Wing beats
through curling mist
the grey of unlight
clinging fast, feathers
dull with cold wet beads
of isolation.
But lift a searching eye from tracking
our own curling, twisting patterns
and there ahead, behind, beside
see movement through
the thickening tide
and crying out hear echoing
voices each calling softly,
alone, alone.
January 7th, 2008 at 12:23 pm
Speeding through a world obscured,
our flight in freedom tense against
the discipline of perfect patterning.
Our wingbeats dance past clearings
of deepest vision then sweep on,
powerful, moving eagerly homeward.
January 7th, 2008 at 1:46 pm
Christine
Your picture took me back to a song I wrote with my friend Billy Crockett many years ago called “Twenty One Times.” (The reason the woman is thirty-five in the song is that’s how old we were when we wrote it.)
she saw the sun go down twenty-one times
twenty-one times in thirty-five years
she saw the sun go down
she thought there’d be a million
and she thought that she would see them
but she saw the sun go down twenty-one times
she stayed and danced all night only one time
only one time in thirty-five years
she stayed and danced all night
the moonlight fell like laughter
on her happy ever after
but she stayed and danced all night only one time
and over new England geese are flying south
a november nightfall gathers round about
while a lighthouse calls another home
she walked away from love so many times
so many times in thirty-five years
she walked away from love
and hearing lesser voices
she turned them into choices
and she walked away from love so many times
and over new England geese are flying south
a november nightfall gathers round about
while a lighthouse calls another home
Peace,
Milton
January 7th, 2008 at 3:05 pm
In the new year
I look closely
at the mist and wait
for it to disappear.
It does.
And then I see the trees,
their branches
held like signs
I’ve waited for.
I see the birds
and hear their songs,
the call
I’ve waited for.
I see the color
of the sky
and all at once
and deep within
I sense
the strength of trees,
the lift of wings,
the clarity of space.
###
January 7th, 2008 at 3:16 pm
Gulls Against a Winter Sky
Wings and whispy
branches
in the mist
of winter solace.
What beatings
stir
beneath the bark?
What clear
horizons
beckon?
January 7th, 2008 at 3:29 pm
Trees rest their heads against a pillow of clouds
Bodies cradled in a soft quilt of fog
Winter sleep.
The New Year beckons
“Wake up, set goals, make plans!”
Oh, let me rest a little longer
To dream my dreams
and release them to the heavens
So they can soar with grace and courage
Boundless and fearless.
January 7th, 2008 at 3:31 pm
Finally, a calm
has settled in this valley–
a pine-scented mist . . .
the forest fills each deep breath
as dew rolls down my shoulders.
b’oki.
January 7th, 2008 at 5:32 pm
I tagged your Invitation to Poetry on my blog
January 7th, 2008 at 7:39 pm
Perfect timing, since I just posted this song on my blog:
Be (from Jonathan Livingston Seagull) by Neil Diamond
Lost
On a painted sky
Where the clouds are hung
For the poet’s eye
You may find him
If you may find him
There
On a distant shore
By the wings of dreams
Through an open door
You may know him
If you may
Be
As a page that aches for a word
Which speaks on a theme that is timeless
And the one God will make for your day
Sing
As a song in search of a voice that is silent
And the sun God will make for your way
And we dance
To a whispered voice
Overheard by the soul,
Undertook by the heart
And you may know it
If you may know it
While the sand would become the stone
Which begat the spark
Turned to living bone
Holy, holy
Sanctus, sanctus
Be
As a page that aches for a word
Which speaks on a theme that is timeless
While the one God will make for your day
Sing
As a song in search of a voice that is silent
And the one God will make for your way
January 7th, 2008 at 8:51 pm
I am overwhelmed at the beauty of these poems. Thank you, all of you. I will work on something myself…I am working on being a courageous beginner!
January 7th, 2008 at 9:38 pm
[…] on her beautiful blog, Christine invited her readers to respond to this photo. Thinking about birds flying through the winter mist to destination unknown inspired me to write […]
January 8th, 2008 at 11:11 am
through the dense fog
a seagull appears
then another one
January 8th, 2008 at 12:13 pm
Mystery rolls in with the fog.
Trees peer out from
behind their lacy veils.
A hush settles in
as we move like shadows.
Only the calls of the birds
pierce this muffled existence.
Then, once again,
silence reigns
As this grey on grey
cloak wraps around us.
January 8th, 2008 at 12:44 pm
Staring up in the trees
Feeling the giants in the breeze
Life becomes more free
January 8th, 2008 at 12:51 pm
Suz, you are right, such a feast of beauty here. Can’t wait until you add your offering!
January 8th, 2008 at 1:47 pm
Listen
and you will find me here
illuminated
carried on the edge of a cloud
holy in the rain.
January 8th, 2008 at 2:27 pm
Christine - from lovely (and WARM) Sanibel Island, Florida…
HIDDEN THINGS
“I will show you hidden things,
hidden things you have not known.” - Isaiah 48:6
At dawn a portal opens
revealing hidden things
to ancient eyes that wisely
choose to closely watch.
Nature dances in close step
and sings with perfect pitch
chords created before time
in simple harmony.
Wild geese on a northern wing
follow their true compass,
a map inscribed within their hearts
by One who calls them blessed.
Hidden things, freely given
revealed in simple ways
guide us on our pilgrim path
delivering us home.
January 8th, 2008 at 7:11 pm
Here is my attempt. For some reason, when I saw this photo, I could only think of it in Spanish. This is quite curious, because I don’t speak the language and the photo really looks nothing like Mexico. Go figure? I was unable to figure out the appropriate accents and I am pretty sure the translation is not correct, but, hey…I tried something different and had fun doing it. If anyone is proficient in the language, I would love to know how close I got ☺. Buenos dias!
como se destino?
a cercano?
a lejano?
casa?
hacia dios?
quien sabe?
where are you going?
near?
far away?
home?
toward god?
who can tell?
January 8th, 2008 at 8:44 pm
Felicidades Lucy - espanol es lengua secondaria de usted!
In English for me today -
From what do they flee - or flee not at all
From what do they hide - from nothing at all
In mist and in fog they fly on their way
With no thought at all of today, their last day
From what do we flee - or flee not at all
From what do we hide - no - nothing at all
In mist and in fog we go on our way with no thought at all of
Today our last day
And if they should die in the fog and in mist
Won’t they fly with real joy toward the Son to be kissed
And if we should die in our fog and real mist
Will we rejoice any less than by God being kissed
SS
January 8th, 2008 at 9:16 pm
Fog is always creating.
The surprise was that fog
was known to hibernate
like bear in winter.
Something stirred
its milky breast
and birds of white
birthed into life
forming a partial
V
January 9th, 2008 at 12:07 am
[…] for other reading recommendations, make sure to go visit this week’s Poetry Party! There is always an abundance of beauty and poetic wisdom to be found there offered up by you […]
January 9th, 2008 at 3:44 pm
夕霧の
小波の上に
囁きは
yuugiri no
ko-nami no ue ni
sasayaki ha
night fog, whispering over the small waves
夜かもめ ・ 鴎庵
January 9th, 2008 at 9:04 pm
You can learn from wild geese.
They don’t fret about tonight’s dinner.
No matter how grey and dense the fog, I have never heard of one that crashed into a tree.
They choose their leaders with such little commotion.
They know how to find “home” and when to kick their babies out of the nest.
Bitty heads on those geese, though.
I’ll bet they have bitty wizened walnut brains inside those heads.
But, still, I am awed at the dignity of their lives.
Early morning and I sit alone by my window, staring at that fog, dense as grey boiled wool.
I worry about my husband when the weatherman reports cars careening into each other like high school hockey players out of control.
“What will we eat for dinner tonight,” I ponder. “No primavera for that pasta in the cupboard!”
“Can I trust this mixed-up world to take care of my young adult daughter?”
“And who will be there to finally lead me Home?”
You can learn a lot from wild geese.
You can learn a lot.
January 10th, 2008 at 12:04 am
[…] more day to submit your poem for this week’s Poetry Party! Go read the latest submissions, as usual it is an abundance of poetic […]
January 10th, 2008 at 9:51 am
Flying in the mist,
seeing
no clear path ahead,
they fly on,
guided by
an internal light,
a knowledge deeper,
and a call stronger,
than eyesight
can scan,
or ears pick out.
Onwards, ever
onwards.
Flying.
Following…
flying…
January 10th, 2008 at 5:45 pm
here’s mine:
http://thisfarbyfaith.blogspot.com/2008/01/poetry-party-10.html
Christine, these poetry parties have become such welcome, healing events in my life! Blessed 2008!
January 10th, 2008 at 8:29 pm
Freedom’s Flight
Their winged flight bisects the misty gloom
as they head south. Or so it seems to me–
I cannot really tell from where they came.
And where they go, a mystery as well.
The fog grows dense. My thoughts begin to fade
as cold and clammy fingers trace a path
across my face. “Give in,” a voice begins
to say. “Don’t fight, for who needs strife and pain?”
The choice seems clear as I capitulate,
but then I hear a harsh, imperious call.
The birds have turned, and in a V
they point to freedom. So I take a step,
and running wildly through the woods I laugh.
The fight goes on, there’s victory to be won.
January 11th, 2008 at 12:09 am
[…] winner of this week’s Poetry Party drawing will be announced later today! There’s still time to add your poem — currently […]
January 11th, 2008 at 7:45 am
Wow…Everyone’s here!
I’m late…but better late than never!
With short-sighted loneliness
I imagine I’m all alone
Grey clouds
Cold breezes
and endless travel ahead
When I open my eyes
Grace shows me the truth
Many more
than I imagined
Take this journey with me
January 11th, 2008 at 7:48 am
Oops…that’s a draft. The 2nd line should read, “I imagine I’m the only one”. Sorry, all, I’ll do better. I promise!
January 11th, 2008 at 7:50 am
Blessed new year
Flying through the fog
tuned in
to the inner voice that guides them
ever ready
to take the lead
fall back into the slip stream
to encourage
those who follow
January 11th, 2008 at 5:14 pm
[…] you to everyone who participated in this week’s Poetry Party, we had a *great* turnout for the new year. Look for the next party on Monday, January […]
January 17th, 2008 at 1:10 pm
Christine,
Sorry I’m so late in sharing, but have been pondering and playing with words for over a week, since Leah encouraged me to create again! In the midwest, over the last several weeks, we’ve had many school delays and cancellations because of the fog, so this hits closer to home right now. –Karla
+++++++++++++++++++++++
“Mommy, if it’s froggy again tomorrow, will we have school?”
“I hope so honey, you’ve already missed so many days!”
And the fury of planning for the unwanted inevitable drives the night into stress,
Into restless sleep, until the fog takes over and takes me deep, deep into my dreams.
Frog - That thick, oh so dense air, that one could cut with a knife
That mist which settles upon all things
Below 32 degrees, a winter wonderland of beauty ensues.
(But just don’t drive!)
Above 32, a damp, sometimes dreary, always calm aura arrives.
(And still don’t drive!)
This thick breath from heaven encircles me in silence
And in solitude
A reminder to “slow down”
To love that which you can, and can’t see
To contemplate the mysteries of the Holy
And wrap my eyes on the certainty that guides me
Foggy, froggy winter morns
Filled with sighs
Filled withwonder
Filled with moments to be still
With my God
To hear Her wonderous beckonings
To behold Her beauty
And hold, as the nursing mother, the gift She has bestowed
Gently rocking in the still quiet dark of Fog.
Thank you for this moment, Holy Mother.
Thank you.
January 21st, 2008 at 8:20 pm
They left that quickly-
smell of fish and bread
over recognition.
The boat waiting a turn
in the tide. The men
worn out by fear and damp
splinters of faith, could only
recognize Him in the fracture
of the bread.
March 3rd, 2008 at 5:13 pm
[…] out, but some serious revising is called for. Also, I’m still considering Christine’s Invitation to Poetry this week. We’ll see. So, until then, here’s a poem about truth, which is almost always […]