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:
- The Rise & Fall of Everything
- Body-Words of Love
- Awakening (5)
- Awakening
- Photography and Holy Moments
I played here… for the first time in a long time.
LINK ADDED: http://unfinsymphony.wordpress.com/2010/08/23/poetry-party-monk-in-the-world/
so glad the poetry parties are back! you can find my offering at my blog.
Inner Monk
Tall, dark and handsome
Strong and smooth
Born in silence
Seeing things as they are
Found in the gaze of others
He knows nothing more but dreams of possibilities.
Living in the world, shouting Hallelujah because nothing else expresses it so well.
Stacy, your vibrant colors, designs and poetry continue to stir my heart. Can envy ever be a positive virtue? My mother used to say it was alright to envy as long as you wished something better for the person or thing you envied. I have mulled over that meaning for some time. Perhaps admiring and desiring of your wonderful talent rather than envy is what I am feeling. It is so very expressive of your inner child/monk/person. I would like to be able to create those deep feelings within myself in some form of art that has color in it.
mine too
Stacy and Sally, lovely poems.
Thanks Maureen
Christene, Thank you for the prompt and inspiration. I have not written any poetry in month, upon seeing the picture, the words just came. Feels so good.
Beautiful new website.
Also, I love Sally's, Patricia's and Stacy's work.
I like being able to read all poems on the same page and then look at blogs. So, I am adding my poem here.
The heavily cloaked and hooded androgyny deep in the belly of the ancient sacred sanctuary where it is dark and moist illuminated and bathed in golden reflections by two round and richly colored orbs.
Walking in silence with head bowed, soft steps and almost inaudible breath.
Alive, aware and conscious, yet perceived as a shadow, hollow and transparent.
Grounded, yet equally lofty, in the world and off it.
A solidified mass within ethereal vastness, holy and human, natural and animal alike.
I am.
Embodied Spirit.
Amongst my brothers and sisters,
I walk.
I surf the waves.
I touch.
I serve.
I co-create.
Stepping through the carved portals from the safe heaven of the cloister cell, blinded by the reflection of the new world, I reach for the light and shed my cloak.
I am.
Spirit.
Among my brothers and sisters,
I soar.
I praise.
I serve.
I celebrate.
A Monk in the World
Transparent in sand and sky
This inner monk reflects upon
The office of the day;
pray newness spawn
Or move into awareness,
Know the time unknowingly
Like shadows on the glass,
Or letting go and letting be;
Aspiring to clear heaven
And sing a blue note chime
Of silence where the bell even
Echoes chant within one time.
love this
Thank you, Sally. Blessings on your monkhood!
I have not written poetry in a while, either. Thank you for resurrecting this! Mine can be found here
Beauty comes anew
Always we begin again
Monks in the world
And again and again ~ yes!
"This world is not my home,
I'm just a travelin' through…"
Words from the past journey
Echo new meaning.
When I was twelve, wanting to be a nun,
impossible for a little Mennonite girl in pigtails.
When I was twenty, finding the Spirit's power
in place of my struggles to be good enough.
When I was forty, restless with the inner tuggings,
waiting to discern my call.
When I'm near sixty, settling into God's lap
for long times of silent holding,
then into the world,
but not of the world,
…somewhere in between.
–Linda Alley, Harrisonburg, VA
Spiritual Director, child of God
incredible….Linda….this poem spoke volumes to me…thank you so much for sharing. Blessings on your journey! Deb
Thanks, Christine! Been missing the 'parties'!
http://virtualteahouse.com/blogs/beth/archive/2010/08/24/just-don-t-go-thinking-there-s-a-cure.aspx
As I make love
make salad
make mischief
make peace
I am always reminded
by the little things
the precious things
that spring tears unbidden from my heart-eyes:
Life is short
And here’s the damn thing about it:
You’re gonna die, gonna die for sure.
And you can learn to live with love or without it
But there ain’t no cure. –John Hiatt
Being in love in concept
is a far cry from being in love
‘for sure’.
Being in love with this world
brings grief, a sense of deep brokenness and a longing for home.
Being a monk in this world, right here, right now
brings a certain compassion
that only swimming in these waters
Can produce.
The by-product
the offspring of
spaciousness and crowdedness
fearlessness and terror
sitting and running
is compassion.
Being a monk in this world doesn’t take the place of home. But it gives us moments of the sense of it.
So if death is certain, and the time of death is uncertain, what’s important is this:
To live in the world with a *monk’s heart and an artist’s eye.
There just ain’t no cure for what ails us.
Only medicine.
Beautiful, the last two lines invite me to contemplate.
"Being in love with this world
brings grief, a sense of deep brokenness and a longing for home." Deeply resonates with my experience of being a bee looking for her lost hive.
The Monk Within
With a stomp of her feet she casts off the heavy shroud.
She steps in the dance.
In the freedom to BE, she expands and feels her own power.
She says Yes and NO.
She knows what is right.
When she IS, it is easy and power flows like water – thru her and from her.
We are and we have all we need.
Love this!
You there
architecture of some
holy space
you stand to
block my reflection
light my shadow
bring both to
wholeness.
Me here
moving in and out
of reflection and
shadow pacing
the aisles between
altar and outside
linking them in
my heart.
Headwaters
Rising out of the quiet, dark places of the earth
Through the grasses of the forest,
Flowing clear and clean into the landscape,
The Metolius River.
Like me!
Revealing myself in the world – a monk-
Only after long distances traveled underground,
Through the many submerged passageways of my soul,
I flow into spaces carved out for me.
Hard-packed earth awaiting my arrival,
Rocks and pebbles warmed in the sun and ready for my cool,
refreshing mist,
and drenching of water-soaked power.
I am home to teeming life
And I carry whatever wants to travel with me.
What I bring is soothing,
Restoring,
Renewing.
I simply flow and blend in.
Without concern, I am on a path called merging.
My fresh waters meet salt water and we are One.
Indeed You Are That!
Ahh..your words touch me like a breath of fresh air.
my inner monk was
cloistered within until she
was wakened by Love.
Monk…
Short for monkeylater
Or maybe monkey
moinky
monkalisa
monkiker
monkastic
monkotheis
moltenmonkobrain
Long for mo
Or maybe mmm
onk
ok
Backward for knom
Or maybe om
o
kom
Also maybe nokm
yoky
okyoky
komk
Yea, that's me
monk soup
go ahead, drink…
you'll feel good
Monk
Loving Kindness
Compassionately living life
Trudging life becoming more doing less
My offering is at my blog!
Christine, thanks for the beautiful invitation.
Here is my response:
She was rushing busy busy
When she tripped on the reflection
Stopped by beauty
Stunned by wonder
When she fell into the time warp
Timeless beauty
Endless wonder
When she heard the monk-voice whisper
'Write them beauty
Sing them wonder'
And she stopped to write a poem
Twelve line thank you, ode to wonder.
Delightful offering of wonder and beauty!
A Good Place to Start
Man’s world burns to the ground, lights up darkened hillsides
to reveal there is no safe passage through the night.
What masochistic twist of fate is this?
Life goes easy after the loss of all one struggles for,
burning sanctuary down until even pyre ash tastes sweet.
Only surrender offers solace in a bed of cold, filthy cinders.
Nude under sheets of denial, I ache to be exposed.
How does mortality set the immortal soul aflame?
A blaze of such incurable, inextinguishable anguish,
ignited by a spark so tender, no one may resist or escape.
Listen to the flames. Not to their crackle, to their hearts.
To hear a heart we must be able to listen with one.
"if" heaves the tomb open. "if only" buries it shut.
Fearing Hell's black grief I void one half of Heaven.
Self-protection is rejection, rejection of who we truly are.
Wow, Cain…this really touched my heart. Thank you so much for your offering! Blessings to you! Love and Light,
Deb
Beautiful and deep.
"To hear a heart we must be able to listen with one." this line especially resonated with recent personal struggle. Thank you.
Thanks for inviting me
Monk on the Street
The line forms here
men, women, old and young
wait
forgotten all
except by
The Monk on the Street
A bowl of soup
a handshake,
contact …
The Monk Room
An inside space
Darkly lighted
A mysterious space
Silently dimmed
A solid place
Spaciously emptied
A hollow place
Fully occupied
Laughing and dancing
In the monk room
The girl in the lavender robe
with exposed saffron hair,
hidden hands and a curvilinear
hallux valgus, prays.
Sometimes she is not alone.
Transitioning breezes lift curtain
hems and the insistent
knock knock knock
jiggles the bone plastic crucifix
nailed to the lock rail
on the kitchen wood door
that opens outward.
http://wordinthehand.blogspot.com/2010/08/monk-in-modern-world.html
Just posted my tiny poem, "Dressing My Monk":
http://writingwithoutpaper.blogspot.com/2010/08/dressing-my-monk-poem.html
Gazing out my window seat
Drying grasses from the heat of summer
Vacant stares as people walk their dogs in the courtyard
Where are we going
Where have we been
Who is minding the store of the soul?
Peace and solitude in a noisy world
Peace and solitude in a noisy mind
Peace and solitude lost to many
Peace and solitude lost to me
Reclaiming the Holy Sacred Spirit encased in this body
Gazing out my window seat
What are we going
What have we been
Who is minding the store of the soul?