Welcome to the Abbey’s 54th Poetry Party (it has been long overdue)!
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), Facebook, or Twitter, 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, January 15, I will draw a name at random from the participants and the winner will receive a free registration spot in my upcoming online art retreat for the season of Lent – Soul of a Pilgrim (February 22-April 7, 2012).
I adore winter trees. Something about their bare beauty, revealing their essence against a pale sky, makes my soul sing. They remind me that winter calls us to shed what is not necessary and turn inward, seeking the gifts of silence and stillness. A winter landscape demands that we slow down to receive its invitation. There is no rushing through this season.
I have a fascination with bones for the same reason. Something about this return to our own essence offers up a powerful invitation to me. In Paris I have gone to see the catacombs, a sacred burial site underground of the bones from millions of bodies that were deposited there. Being in their presence elicited a deep sense of awe and wonder at the lives that once animated these skeletons, the brilliant minds contained in those skulls, the passionate hearts once beating within those bodies. And knowing that one day I will also be rendered into the essence of dust and bone. It can be a painful knowing, but one that brings me to a sense of cherishing life, of savoring its beauty.
I invite you to write a poem this week about the gifts (and challenges) of winter. What does this season call forth from you? Where do you seek greater restoration and the nourishment that only darkness can bring? What are the challenges you experience as you wait for the light to return?
If you are one of my beloved southern hemisphere readers, feel free to image the far-off winter season, or share with us what you are discovering about summer’s gifts this year.
*Please note: Some folks are having trouble with the comment feature – I am looking into the issue, but if you are unable to leave your poem please email it to me at Christine@AbbeyoftheArts.com and I will make sure it is included.*
76 Responses
Annual Grievance
Our yearly visitor
knocks unrestrainedly,
rattling both the door
and the calm within;
then gushes in loudly
once entrance is
finally granted.
Doling out an
unsolicited icy hug
to all within close reach –
and blowing only a quick
frosty token kiss
to the more bashful
(and lucky) among us,
cowering in the distance –
she once again intrudes.
Her drab attire
doesn’t correspond
to the heavy laden bags
which accompany her.
What she packs
remains a complete mystery.
That is until she suddenly
gets a whim
to unfurl some of her
dormant hidden stash.
Then, beware the onslaught –
for, though often her goodies
can snag one’s interest
in their uniquely enticing fashion,
more often then not
we would have been better off
had they been left
undisturbed!
Next, begins
her incessant chatter –
her cold, repetitive, gossipy yarns
and her absurd ranting.
On and on, we listen
in blatant inattentiveness.
When at last she grows weary
of our noncommittal attempt
at communion and camaraderie –
and still totally oblivious to our
prolonged boredom and annoyance
in her presence
during this tedious stay –
she’ll gather her belongings
and disappear in a snit.
Throwing her scraggly gray arms
up in mock chagrin
as she crosses the threshold,
she bids us one final
and not so fond farewell.
Good riddance…
until the next rematch!
In the delightful silence
that follows her departure,
we are gently reminded
that she too
is a wondrous creation of God,
and thus deserves
our uninhibited love
and utmost respect.
A few fleeting moments
are spent in honest reflection
of our inadequacies
in the areas of hospitality
and welcoming.
We pause,
filled with genuine regret,
and repenting
of our failure – once again –
to meet the annual challenge
of responding warmly
and cheerfully
to our unwanted
but ever faithful guest.
We vow once more
to meet her chilling arrival
and bitter innuendos
with an enthusiastic smile.
Until next time…
stained glass cathedral
yearning
pushing ever upward
in search of what?
life?
contentment?
or is it yearning?
maybe
you grow and leaf
and shed your green
to allow the light
the colors of the sun
to filter through you
to filter to me
to call me back
to call me back to
the Divine Artist
—Elizabeth McLean
These are all so amazing to read, especially since we all started from the same place yet our separate selves show such lovely uniqueness. I bought a new journal today. For some reason I was drawn to one with a tree on the front! :-)
Reflections on a Winter Tree
Pat Wheelhouse
You are a sculpture, a work of art
Chiseled in wood, sanded by the winds of winter.
Your inner beauty stands naked
Before us, unashamed and jubilant.
Dancing, you extend your many arms
Into the wind, always moving, fully alive
Although seeming lifeless in the cold.
You are a touchstone to remind us
That we are all dust,
And to dust we shall all return.
Death, then life after death;
the annual stripping of leaves,
Knowing that in the spring time
This tree will be born again.
Winter starkness
stripped of non-essentials
bidding me to come and LISTEN at your frozen breast
sounds of life in limbo whisper
Waiting, Waiting, Waiting
Winter starkness
stripped of non-essentials
bidding me to come and LEARN from your lap of luxury
for all that’s lost is gained again
Hoping, Hoping, Hoping
Winter starkness
stripped of non-essentials
bidding me to come and LOVE your nest of naked faith
blindly dancing in the darkness
Trusting, Trusting, Trusting
Halleluiah!
Like that old
beanstalk of Jack’s
you can’t keep
a good seed down.
Made my escape
ran for it
headed to the sky
rose up in song
Halleluiah!
You can’t keep
a good seed down.
Found my place
amidst the blue
spreading out
my arms in joy
I’m free
Halleluiah
You can’t keep
a good seed down.
December’s Tree
Shedding your coat
You raise tentacled arms…
and command me to cease my frantic dancing.
You call forth sleeting rain
which prickles my skin…
just so…
Teasing a smile from silent lips.
Branches and Bones
Branches and bones
The essence—the skeleton
Of what are we made?
Stripped of all other
The nonsense—the nuisance
What is revealed?
Cold days of winter
The wet—the dark
Where find we warmth?
Hunkering down
The silence—the wonder
What’s to be found?
Winter
Now
We spend some time
Inside the pearl
Where light is liquid
And form & distance
Are unclear.
Then,
Before it’s ever fully day
Night
Lays her hands
Upon us.
Always glad to see your offering here at the Abbey, Richard; ‘like’….
tree of life hidden
sparks the sky with vivid hue
its secret revealed