Welcome to our Poetry Party No. 5. These are posted every other Monday. 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 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!)
Feel free to post the poem along with my image below on your blog with a link back to this post. Invite your readers to come join the party too. Community poetry is wonderful!
What does this image stir in you?
***
leaving
closing the door on one thing and heading toward another.
there are options in many different directions,
you don’t have to stay where you are
–take wing and fly–
you are your only anchor.
-Dawn at Wild Yarn
*****
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church —
I keep it, staying at Home —
With a Bobolink for a Chorister —
And an Orchard, for a Dome —
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice —
I just wear my Wings —
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton — sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman —
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last —
I’m going, all along.
~ Emily Dickinson (sent in by Kigen)
*****
Hope, they say, is a thing with feathers
a joyous leap in flight
powerful wingbeats that find purchase in thin air
Hope, I’ve heard, is an elusive dream
too slippery to count on
teasing, taunting, rarified, surreal
Hope, I say, is the earnest expectation
that the God who works the everyday miracles
of birds in flight
can work them in us, too
Hope, God tells us, is believing
that grace abounds
that mercy flows
that birds fly
and so can we.
-Anne Sims at Stories and Faith
*****
in her light
the owl spreads its wings
sepia moon
*****
Is it a dream?
To hear the silent wings,
to feel the rush of blood.
-Tess at Anchors and Masts
*****
gossamer wings taking flight,
are they of this world?
-Kayce Hughlett at Diamonds in the Sky With Lucy
*****
It was Athena who told me first:
“Sometimes you must turn
your back on the world
so you can return and embrace it.
Sometimes you must soar
to reach the darkest
landscape within.
Don’t be afraid.
The dark discoveries
ground you to this earth
ground you to all others,
and the fierce love in your heart
will give you wings.”
-Kathy Flugel Stone
*****
Oh, take me with you
up and away
on your wings.
My spirit needs to know
what it is to soar,
to be part of the sky,
To take off with grace
and beauty and force,
being lifted from the ground.
Just for a short time,
I long to be lost
high in a tree
Unseen, but seeing
far across land and water,
stretching out infinitely.
Then, to swoop low again,
riding the wind,
with freedom unknown.
It is not that I want
to leave this life.
No, only to fly with a hawk.
So, upon returning,
When my feet feel heavy
Or my life feels small,
My spirit could rise again
with the birds
as I watch from my perch below.
-Pamela McCauley
*****
Riding high on
Spirits breath..
Strong, yet fragile
We can soar…
If we dare to
allow ourselves
to be held
by the invisible…
-Sally Coleman at Eternal Echoes
*****
-“transfiguration” by Rich Murray at Pilgrim Path
*****
Under God’s wings
rest, little one, rest
you are safe
you are loved
you are sheltered
I shall find rest
dream, little one, dream
fly high
fly free
fly strong
Until I shall land
homeward fly
see my love
beckoning
beaconing
calling
In a nest of love and peace.
-Deb Vaughn at Another Unfinished Symphony
*****
You sleep and snore
while I fly and hunt.
Your soul seeks rest and succor.
I hunt to feed
You sleep to dream
We both fulfill our needs.
And when I’ve fed
And when you’ve dreamed
I carry your dreams to heaven.
It’s the last place
on this whirling planet
where balance is made.
Your pillow
My sky
God has one smile left.
*****
Metamorphosis
the winged beast waits;
his eyes pierce the night,
watching. time flows
in an endless loop
that he has mastered
long ago.
a mouse approaches,
hungry, worn, and weary,
seeking shelter. the warmth
is inviting. the feathered arch
beckons with its promise
of comfort.
a shriek. a squeal. talons grip
the furry body. a razor
tears through flesh.
shelter was a promise
never kept. instead of haven,
extinction.
*****
-Christine Valters Paintner @ Abbey of the Arts
15 Responses
Riding high on
Spirits breath..
Strong, yet fragile
We can soar…
If we dare to
allow ourselves
to be held
by the invisible…
Oh, take me with you
up and away
on your wings.
My spirit needs to know
what it is to soar,
to be part of the sky,
To take off with grace
and beauty and force,
being lifted from the ground.
Just for a short time,
I long to be lost
high in a tree
Unseen, but seeing
far across land and water,
stretching out infinitely.
Then, to swoop low again,
riding the wind,
with freedom unknown.
It is not that I want
to leave this life.
No, only to fly with a hawk.
So, upon returning,
When my feet feel heavy
Or my life feels small,
My spirit could rise again
with the birds
as I watch from my perch below.
It was Athena who told me first:
“Sometimes you must turn
your back on the world
so you can return and embrace it.
Sometimes you must soar
to reach the darkest
landscape within.
Don’t be afraid.
The dark discoveries
ground you to this earth
ground you to all others,
and the fierce love in your heart
will give you wings.”
gossamer wings taking flight,
are they of this world?
Is it a dream?
To hear the silent wings,
to feel the rush of blood.
in her light
the owl spreads its wings
sepia moon
b’oki.
Hope, they say, is a thing with feathers
a joyous leap in flight
powerful wingbeats that find purchase in thin air
Hope, I’ve heard, is an elusive dream
too slippery to count on
teasing, taunting, rarified, surreal
Hope, I say, is the earnest expectation
that the God who works the everyday miracles
of birds in flight
can work them in us, too
Hope, God tells us, is believing
that grace abounds
that mercy flows
that birds fly
and so can we.
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church —
I keep it, staying at Home —
With a Bobolink for a Chorister —
And an Orchard, for a Dome —
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice —
I just wear my Wings —
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton — sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman —
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last —
I’m going, all along.
~ Emily Dickinson
leaving
closing the door on one thing and heading toward another.
there are options in many different directions,
you don’t have to stay where you are
–take wing and fly–
you are your only anchor.