Welcome to our 46th Poetry Party!
The Poetry Parties have been on hiatus for a few months and I am delighted to bring them back as a regular feature this week.
I select an image and suggest a theme/title and invite you to respond with your poems or other reflections. Add your responses in the comments section. Feel free to take your poem in any direction and then post the image and invitation on your blog (if you have one) and encourage others to come join the party! (permission is granted to reprint the image if a link is provided back to this post)
On Friday, August 27th, I will draw a name at random from those who participate and send the winner a copy of Sacred Poetry: An Invitation to Write (an art journal I published with a collection of previous Poetry Party prompts).
Poetry Party Theme: Monk in the World
I have been so deeply moved by the outpouring of response to my recent Monk Manifesto with almost 300 of you signing (and over 500 are participating in my free 7-day Monk in the World e-course).
As a way to deepen your personal expression of this commitment to live in contemplative, creative, and compassionate ways in the world, I invite you to write a poem which explores what it means for you to be a Monk in the World. The image above is the reflection of St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City in the shimmering glass of an adjacent office building. I love this image because it speaks to me of the meeting place of ancient and modern which is really what living out a monastic way of life in the world is all about.
There is a wonderful poetry-writing exercise from poetry therapist John Fox's book Finding What You Didn't Lose: Expressing Your Truth and Creativity through Poem-Making (I equally recommend his other book Poetic Medicine: The Healing Art of Poem-Making) about exploring your inner poet. I share the questions here, transposed to explore your inner monk. Feel free to let this be a prompt for your own writing or take it in an entirely different direction.
Reclaiming Your Inner Monk:
What does your inner monk look like?
What does your inner monk feel like?
Where was your inner monk born?
What does your inner monk see?
Where is your inner monk recognized?
What does your inner monk know?
What does your inner monk imagine?
Where does your inner monk live?
What must your inner monk say aloud?
Why does your inner monk exist?
So please share your own poetic inspirations in the comments section below of living the contemplative life! Let this be a gathering of monks in a virtual celebration!
You may also like:
- i carry your heart with me
- Stop by this week's Poetry Party!
- Visual Meditation: Birthday Blessings
- this week's winner is . . .
- Invitation to Poetry: Sources of Wisdom
Ancient Wisdom
Ancient wisdom, youthful vigour, men and women, silent voices
across the centuries you call.
Hidden wisdom, faithful vigour, men and women, faithful voices
through the desert you call.
Gospel wisdom, hidden vigour, men and women, ancient voices
to my heart you call.
Faithful wisdom, silent vigour, men and women, hidden voices
'Follow Christ!' you call.
I feel blessed, for all these beautiful and meaningful poems are soul food and I am very hungry. Thank you.
poetry is not my artform of choice, but this was so inviting. i played here.
http://impossiblethingswithgod.blogspot.com/2010/08/monk-in-world.html
Elsa, words came rushing in when I saw the prompt. I have not written any poems since earlier this year. It was curious.
I love your poem and it reflects this musing moment of mine so clearly.
Thank you.
one more! enjoying the ride of monks along the way!
this monk needs to, wants
to slow down long enough to
be here now with you.
Flinging sacred intent hither and yon
Entering holy tussles with expectation
Finding beauty alongside brokenness
Holding space as sacred and full of possibility
Such is the heart of a
Monk in the World
Thank you for sharing your monk's heart with me!
let it be to me
shaped as if by potter's hands
solely, wholly Yours
Thanks for all of this.
Life of Grace
To be in touch
to be aware
to listen intently
creatively to another
is Grace
To be engrossed
in painting
or other art form
seeing
is grace
Riding through
the woods
on bike path
morning Tai Chi
night prayer
is Grace
Hugging husband
listening to
a gifted other
The rare occasion
when scattered
family is together
is Grace
Betsy B Kitch
5-1-2010
Am glad you resurrected this – for it is fun to play with words and musings. And I have so enjoyed all of the contributions – from remembered names and new names – thanks for all of the sharing.
MONKHOOD
Eyes lowered gazing inwards
What grace enfolds me
Peace and oneness with all creation
In awe of the Creator being in me
And I in Him
Born and reborn often
Each transition drawing me nearer
Dare I follow His urgings and promptings
Angels and demons owned and disowned
Which to feed and which to starve
Gazing deeply into another's eyes
Seeing there accepted love and grace
Gazing back affirming my own gifts & blessings
Nothing earned or merited; all is gift
Learning to live in peace
Learning to accept our limitations
Welcoming the complimentary completeness
of gifted others to gifted self
Drawing on hope that all will be well
Shouting aloud To Him Be the Glory
May I reflect unconditional love and acceptance
Granted me by my beloved faithful companion
monk in the world
working
monk in the street
playing
monk in the home
dreaming
monk in the cloister
helping
don't wait for enlightenment
go to meet it where you are
in the gap
between systole and diastole
breathing
beating
Imaginal Monk
Born in the sea,
Slipped out on the land,
She opened her eyes
As change took her hand,
Leapt up at the sound
Of hearing a voice,
Gathered her gear
And made her first choice:
Walked up the mountain,
Climbed dreams like stones,
And gave us the meal
Made of her bones.
Her body the gift,
Her blood given for us.
The wind in the pines,
The sound of the chorus:
The cycles of moon,
The turning around,
The stars in the sky
As feet hit the ground,
“Dive back in the water
That holds holy breath.
Inhale shining waves
To buoy up your death”:
Careless sway
At the crest of a hill –
This current that kissed
And pursued her until
Her heart would soar dancing
Winding down, flying free,
A pure resurrection
To be back in the sea.
A Monk in the World
It was the strangest sight,
a monk in Manhattan.
A friar, actually,
his brown robes swishing
as he turned the block.
I followed.
Brown sandals skipped
the puddles of shade
and his white rope flicked
at curious bystanders.
He was in a hurry,
I followed.
Something was wrong.
Sirens wailed as fire trucks
cut through the traffic.
The friar ran, the chaplain
to pray their ending hour.
I turned and fled.
Dedicated to Fr Mychal Judge, OFM.
Guest of the monastery
I am absorbed by the silence
Shielded in solitude
Stitched seamlessly into the
Sweet silver-toned symphony of worship.
Resident of the world
I am a sanctuary of stillness
A soothing shelter
Serving shattered souls
With the soft solemnity of Sabbath rest.
Oh Ma
Dey tryin change me
' be more like dem
dey want me agree wid dem value
follow dey rules
say no do waves
Jus like Ma say
Dey don't know
I jus inside out
from dem
wid da same pieces n parts
but no steerin wheel
no top or bottom
'less sometime I say
Feel me charge-up
on nuttin
run wid no gas
to find dat ting
dat God ting
alone yet be
in da same soul dem
In this roiling world
a little monk hears
your bitter rant
your boot-on-the-butt
violent certitude
Sees in your hard righteous eyes
deep down glee
at our future torment
A little brown-robed monk
gazes at your red red heart
quivering in its fear
gazes at your red red heart
and just for a moment
stills its anguish
with the gentle caress
of listening love
the monk in the world
"Unununium"
If I take a deep enough breath
something shoots
from my shoulders
through my arms as though
an element of the periodic
table
uncapped itself
bubbling out my wrists
and my hands
feel
holey.
A monk is in the world
the world is composed
and decomposed
of these transitional touching things
sisters
to the fizzing in my finger shells.
How difficult it is
to move the hands
aside
and let the hallowed heart go first.
Thank you for all your wonderful words. It took a while, but I finally wrote this:
A Hundred Wind-powered Turbines
Our ancestors stood their ground
Determined immigrants
Arriving like monks in the world,
Fidelity in motion.
Here a hundred monuments
To their vows of stability.
Prayers were for rain and a good crop,
Steadfast hearts familiar with hours
And seasons.
It stands to reason, then
In their absence:
A wind farm, host
To a myriad of giants (or angels)
Wings spanning two semi trailers
Each
Twenty-six stories high
Glorious hidden generations
Of power.
And so my prayer:
That some Trinity
Might inspire in me
A peaceful place so spacious.
This also did not come to me "in time", but the picture reminded me of the struggle now for the Muslims to build a place of worship in New York. I understand that the Cathedral faced similar hostility when it was being built. So, my poem…
God in the City
Squeezed among
towering buildings
small places of worship
tenaciously hold on.
Others have left,
succumbing to the
temptation of
money-to-be-made.
Magnificent domes have
disappeared, steeples toppled,
replaced by one more
look alike box.
Only the few holdouts
keep God from being
cast out
of our daily lives.
Those brave enough
to try to build anew
face hostility all around.
We need room for the spirit,
Reminders, like a bird
on a park bench,
of all that is
beyond our reach.