Welcome to our 37th Poetry Party!
I select an image and suggest a theme/title and invite you to respond with your poems or other reflections. Add them in the comments section and a link to your blog (if you have one). Make sure to check the comments for new poems added and I encourage you to leave encouraging comments for each other either here or at the poet’s own blog. (I was using Mister Linky before but it started slowing down the loading of my pages drastically, so please leave your poems and links in the comments).
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, July 3rd, I will draw a name at random from those who participate and send the winner a signed copy of my newest zine: Sacred Poetry: An Invitation to Write (which will ship out by Monday, July 6th and you can pre-order for your own copy for the discounted price of $12.50)!
*************************
Theme: Always We Begin Again
I spent this past weekend with my Oblate community at St. Placid Priory. It was our annual retreat and this year I helped Sister Lucy facilitate on the theme of “Always we begin again” which is a line from the Rule of St. Benedict. One of the vows in Benedictine life is conversion which is essentially a commitment to ongoing transformation and recoginizing that we never fully arrive at the destination, we are always on a journey.
I took this photo while up on the Canadian coast last week. At low tide one day I wandered the beach gathering stones and creating cairns, carefully balancing one stone upon another. It became a meditation on my life. For me Benedictine practice is at heart about living my life in a renewing balance between solitude and community, between silence and conversation, between work and prayer, between all the elements of my life that demand attention and energy. I have returned from this retreat renewed in energy, focus, and commitment to my Benedictine practices. I am ready to begin again.
We are half way through the year, so I invite you to take this opportunity to pause and reflect where you are being called to begin again. Write a poem about your longing for balance or the places where you seek renewal.
*************************
© Christine Valters Paintner at Abbey of the Arts:
Transformative Living through Contemplative & Expressive Arts
Become a fan of the Abbey on Facebook, follow this blog on Facebook, friend me on Facebook or follow me on Twitter
26 Responses
Lucy – that is from TS Elliott’s Four Quartets. I have been meaning to reread it again for some weeks, thank you for providing the spur to do so :)
My contribution:
Always I Begin Again
I lay down after I fell
amongst the rocks. But always
I begin again, scanning skies from
where I bade me look, into the deep well.
In I fell.
Had dragged myself round
amongst the Gedarene tombs.
There she was, she’d tried wrapping
herself in cheap veils made from
Beijing smog.
I enfold the mad Gedarene’s hand.
While we’re gone may He make her
a dress and make us a cairn,
a mark to note the summit of the
beautiful mountain.
on the shore
on the shore
between land and water
your body
an inert slab of flesh
struck down by the past year’s griefs
tongue hanging out
heart hanging, clawed out
not even the wild dogs
bother to sniff this log
but gently, inevitably
the soft hands of tiny waves
caress and soothe
Open your eyes
you are in a watercolor of sea and sky
feel the warm rocks
the wisdom-teachers
struggle to your knees
push in your aching heart
take up your driftwood staff
Come
walk your pilgrimage
Here is a haiku for this week’s Poetry Party. I love the whimsy and wisdom of this cairn! Thank you for these in your self, Christine!
Mere pile of stones
Lifted up from big to small
Pyramid of need.
by Martha Louise Harkness
Beginner’s mind
is nothing more than
waking each moment
as if asleep
stretching and yawning and
doing the Downward Dog
in the sunlight.
Only then to crawl back into
our cozy bed again and
sleep, perchance to dream
of waking and doing a full Sun Salute.
a cairn of rocks
reminder both present and future
are balanced upon the past
by Rebecca
so often in
my
life
I have craved a
new
beginning,
failing
to
see
that each
day,
each
moment
holds
fresh
promises…
when
all my
strivings
come
to
naught,
when my
plans
are thwarted,
or must
be
abandoned…
when firm
seeming
foundations
give way
all
is
not
lost
for
once
again,
you call
me
to
begin
again!
help me
to
hear
your
voice….
“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time. ” t.s. elliot (found at “inspired”)
always we begin again! xoxoxo :-)
Some quick responses dear poet friends, as I am in the midst of a pile of work! :-)
kigen, thank you — I love the image of ablutions!
Carolyn, I love the invocation of your poem, a transformation of vision being called upon.
Deb, such a wonderful image of being guided toward something beyond our own great imagining.
Terri, you take us on both a minute and infinite journey with your words. “the ground of all being” – I can smell the sacred earthiness.
Tom, you are able to traverse a long distance in a short space. I love that last line.
Cindy, thanks for the quote — very true!
Shelley, such honest words! I love the image of “Wild Christ.”
shraddha, thank you for your offering, so appropriate to just marvel at what one can do.
Jan, lovely words, I especially love those last two ascendant lines.
Laure, what an incredible journey you offer here, full of grief and hope.
Grady, I love the narrative of your poem and the questions you pose about the nature of the stones.
Before the Harvest Comes
For each time of growth –
each renewal of life in me,
new rows are furrowed:
preparing for the coming seed
that they might grow well.
Hard stone is surfaced –
brought up from below the rich soil:
its harshness hinders –
stunts – the new life sending out roots,
wilting tender growth.
Twelve stones are arranged –
stacked together in firm order:
pillar of hard stone.
Are the stones a mountain altar
a death to falsehood?
Twelve stones are arranged –
stacked together in firm order:
pillar of hard stone.
Are the stones submerged memorial
of river crossing?
Both are renewed living.
Both give life to my planted seeds.
Removed obstacles,
or sown seeds in new-turned earth –
end result is life!
A haibun
In early spring we put up two bird houses in the willing bark of some ponderosa pines. And having asked God to bring eager newlywed bluebirds to one or both, we placed our hearts by the window and waited. When the electric-blue wing of the Mountain man came, our breath caught. When his swelling bride ferried mouthfuls of our mulch into one of the waiting vacancies, our chests gave way to a slight heave of sighing. Mama laid four eggs. All but one baby died. Its downy-feathered frame davening most evenings now inside the temple of branches closest to the suet. Bluebirds don’t mourn their children’s death as far as we can tell. They leave the grieving over what is lost to people like us. Within a week the couple abandoned their first home, to lay their hopes in the second. Our breath caught. Our chests gave way to sighing.
again and again the well
always filling
always full.