Welcome to the Abbey’s 53rd Poetry Party!
I select an image and suggest a theme/title and invite you to respond with your own poem. Scroll down and add it in the comments section below. 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 Sunday, September 25th, I will draw a name at random from the participants and the winner will receive a free registration spot in my upcoming online retreat Honoring Saints & Ancestors: Peering through the Veil (October 30-November 19, 2011).
I adore the season of autumn with the crisp air, the days growing shorter, and the brilliance of the world around me as nature prepares for the sleep of winter. This year I am pondering the image of home in her many facets: the Pacific Northwest salmon who right now make the arduous swim up river to return to their birthplace and lay the eggs of the new generation (and losing their lives in the process), the birds who will soon begin their journeys south in the great mystery of migration, in the releasing of ruby and tangerine leaves from branches and drifting downward back to the earth, source of life and home, and in the memory of my mother who took the great journey Home many years ago during this season.
Our photo prompt for this week is from my time on Lake Michigan last week. Something about the vastness of her waters against the evening sky evokes this sense of the primordial source for me and where we all return. My teaching partner, Betsey, calls her “Mother Lake.”
What does the metaphor of “going home” evoke for you? What are the longings that autumn stirs in your heart? I invite you to write a poem about your own process of going home.
*Registration* for two upcoming online retreats is now open: Honoring Saints & Ancestors: Peering through the Veil (October 30-November 19, 2011) and Advent 2011–Birthing the Holy: Becoming a Monk in the World (November 27-December 24, 2011).
55 Responses
Autumn brings me Home
“Mother’s little rosebud that the Angels gave away.”
I know this, as my mother told me so.
The first born child of the New Year on the 12th of January,
Back in 1956, in our little home town of Burlington.
Though it was winter, it was the spring of my life
And as I toddled and grew
Behind my three older sisters,
Such joyous wondrous years unfolded,
Creative play and freedom from concerns.
Summer’s sun was temperament for years
Then grew hot and I wilted I am sure.
And Burlington became very obscure.
Autumn suddenly arrived in my life
And I looked around in sadness at all the year’s passes.
And I yearned for my Burlington’s home years.
Where was my home now? So many had I had.
I found my home in the stark reminder of autumn leaves falling
And as my blossoms fell away.
My thorns had come in gone it’s true, long before I remembered you.
For now I know my home is within.
Jesus waiting patiently in my heart
Led me back to God who lives in me, it’s true.
For the Angels never gave me away,
They only shared me with my Earthly loves.
Autumn’s arrival trembled and I came home.
Genora W. Powell 9/22/11
Coming Home
From a child’s memories
to mid-life musings,
Loves web of sticky threads
holding both joy and sorrow,
draw me inward towards true home
where seasons are lived in the rhythm of breath, heartbeat
and silence that speaks my name.
Thank you. Your imagery is beautiful.
Now, in this breath.
Now, in this breath, I glimpse the eternal.
Now, in this breath, I rise on new wings and pass over Mother Lake.
Now, in this breath, the sharp and the sweet are both present.
Now, in this breath, the sounds of life break across the stillness of the water.
Life: ancient and new, sharp and sweet, noisy and still.
Breathe Now.
I am called
to return
to the ocean
where time and tides
have their own
rhythm
where my spirit
dances
in synchronicity
soaring and sensing
it is
home
Home . . .
the mere thought today brought tears to my eyes . . .
I have home all around me
and all the things that make up home around me . . .
and yet,
and yet,
the heart no longer beats –
at home!
Autumn and the Journey Home
I stand on beach
look out over lake
to distant horizon
subtly
colour of water changes
shallow to deep
light to dark
where thin line
marks
end and new beginning
water to sky
like life
after every ending
a new beginning
many blessings have brought me this far
what is the new horizon
in my life
to be
what God intended me to be
a light worker
as I reach out over water
to touch you
a channel of God’s
hope peace love joy
where
my hands
become
healing hands
of
Jesus
[This poem was “born” along with a photo. To see them together, you may use the link below – or copy and paste – where they are posted on my blog.]
http://findhope-mary.blogspot.com/2011/09/journey-strengthen-me-for-journey-o-my.html
poem
strengthen me
for the journey
O my God…
i feel you drawing
me Home
pulling me toward you
on a journey
far too great
for my fragile
little self.
how can i find
my way
to a Home
I have never seen?
how can i know
where to go,
when there is
no map
(except the one
you have written
on my heart)?
you have given me
beauty to drink
and i am
filled,
sated…
yet thirsting still
with all my being.
my heart
goes flying,
searching for
your Heart,
flying
and
flying
until
i can fly
no more.
and then
at last
i rest
…
you are there.
i am Home.
So much like the Persian mystics, showing me, once again, that all paths lead to the one.
welcome home
Thank you for depicting the soul’s journey so beautifully.
Some great poems being shared here. Here is one of my what I call 1-minute poems. It’s an exercise were you have one minute to write and edit your poem–needless to say, they are usually short.
Torn between desires
To make nest or go explore
Wondering where my heart lies
Is it here or at the other shore?
But then the crickets chirp
While the Flickers take flight
And I realize I am home
Wherever nature shines
i close my eyes and i am able to see and hear you wherever you are — home
Dear Christine,
I’ve offered my poem, Tree, below, but also was reminded of your thoughts regarding journeying and coming-home (home-making) of a meditation I wrote a while back, on exactly that matter. You can find the meditation at: http://web.me.com/ispiritual/Meditation-Essays/balancing_journey_%26_home-making_.html
But now for the poem…
Tree
Tiny sprout,
breaking through the smooth firmness of a seed’s protective shell.
Fragile seedling,
gasping for sunlight
beneath a dense canopy of maternal generations already centuries old.
Spindly sapling,
conserving precious energy
wrestled away from a greater, crowded, forest
limiting its own girth and number of branches.
Middle-aged Fir,
a century of growth,
now just beginning to peak out
above a canopy of lesser coniferous creatures,
knowing only now the full joy of uninhibited sunlight.
Thick brittle wood,
worn by time and storm,
cracked by wind and disease,
purging wounds with sap and syrup,
yet standing tall for deep roots
woven firmly into the duff and decay of previous grand matriarchs.
Old stump,
reminder of something once grand,
whose future is past,
and now holds hope only for others
to root in this crumbling fiber of what has been.
Soft humus of long-ago memories,
ancient strength,
and a wisdom transcending the lifespan
of a thousand generations of trees.
But is there not something more?
Hope and promise of germination in every life.
Sustenance for other communities;
a dozen browsing deer;
one hundred seeking squirrels;
myriad molds and lichens and insects of every kind.
Security and protection for downy,
nest-bound progeny of flittering avian wanderers
and delicate perennial blooms tucked away from fierce April storms.
Cooling relief for summer-time lovers
who seek the moist shadows of a dark forest
in which to share a eucharist of their entwining souls.
An embrace of deep rootedness
to hold fast the Autumnal beds of cool, swift streams
as swimmers return to exchange their lives for a new generation.
The promise of a future beyond one’s lifetime
for all who will touch and taste and understand…
…as immoveable towering timber
is slowly resurrected into soft, spongy, fertile earth!
-Warren Lynn
Lovely – holds such resonance for me; thanks for posting!
picturesque, each and every verse, thank you for all the different images
Desert sands, sun-warmed.
I scrunch bared toes, sink deeply.
Grounded, I am home.