Welcome to Poetry Party #69!
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! (If you repost the photo, please make sure to include the credit link below it and link back to this post inviting others to join us).
I received this photo on a recent journey out to the island of Inis Mór, which is one of the Aran Islands off the west coast of Ireland. We were visiting the monastic ruins of St Ciaran and there was this beautiful, young Connemara pony in the field adjacent. When we walked into the church, there he was waiting for us at the other doorway. We had just visited St. Enda’s hermitage, where he had lived as an anchorite, receiving visitors for spiritual direction. And so I imagined this pony coming to the window to offer his own wisdom.
Write a poem in celebration of the earth’s creatures and the wisdom they have to offer to us. Share it below in the comments with the Abbey community.
On Sunday, June 9th I will draw a name at random from those who participate and the winner will receive a signed copy of Eyes of the Heart: Photography as a Christian Contemplative Practice directly from me in Ireland!
26 Responses
Big dog Holy dog. I know
your belly is fat with sweet Green grass
and pure White light Love.
The heart and soul of you between your Tawny perceiving receiving ears
is an ocean of wisdom
swimming up and out
to greet my Grey muddled Me
in the sacred Blue
Now.
What? You have no Facebook page, Connemara pony?
You do not follow Twitter across the field?
Utube and Google don’t rate even a sniff?
Your eyes tell you what is predator, what is not.
Your ears tell you which creature approaches.
Your nose tells you sweet grass, thistle, dung.
Your skin and shaggy coat tell you heat, sleet, snow.
What else need you know?
Horse Sense
Stand, be still
Exist in the field,
Wait, wait, wait
For the slightest movement
A flicker of the master’s hand
Filled and still
Exist in the field
Wait, wait, wait
All is as it should be
Everything as intended
Centered and still
Exist in the field
Wait, wait, wait
Content and patient
Participant in the eternal Now
Deep and lovely.
You are blessed to carry eagle feathers
I said to the Zuni boy.
We alone have license to possess them.
We alone are keepers of these eagles,
The boy said in reply.
They serve our sacred ceremonies.
I had an eagle feather once, I told him.
The bird sat preening on a branch
So close I almost could have touched him.
He made no effort to depart
As I stepped underneath.
Then from his breast he plucked a two-inch feather
And dropped it at my feet.
I saw no crime in keeping it
For it had been a gift.
Ohhh….said the boy, and stared at me
So long I thought he would accuse.
Ohhh, again, and measured out his words:
You…You are….very, VERY…blessed.
We walked in silence to rejoin my tour.
Among the blessed no further words were needed.
Something more than speech had passed between us.
Out of the blue shadows
ocean, distance, memory
Step into focus:
Light on truths,
for the wild rider.
Be done with ancient lies,
embrace what is
what you have done
what you have not done
Come.
The mountains of mystery are calling.
I wait patient as earth
Nostrils breathing your scent
As you breathe my breath of sweet grass
Stroke my forehead
Forget the march of time
Enter my world of wind and meadow
My pricked ears move to your voice
I will teach you to speak another language
Of gentle touch, of dappled leaf, of clattering hooves
Ride with me, let me be your vehicle
You will be transported
By trust and grace
Lovely!
Standing at the door
With a wise and open heart
Waiting to see God
How I wish I could be like he
who in peace knows how to be.
Satisfied with plot and lot,
everything he wants he’s got.
I once held in my arms
my beloved dying dog
who died as she lived,
at peace with the will of her Maker.
Do they wonder at us
with our rebellions and fuss,
but loving us adoringly,
as we should love our Creator.
on the broody hen:
http://kendalprivette.blogspot.com/2013/06/on-broodiness-oh-its-word.html
Eyes wild hooves ready
Red lush throbbing my blood runs
Mystery calling