Welcome to Poetry Party #70!
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 or join our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group and post there.
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).
We began this month with a Community Lectio Divina practice and followed up with our Photo Party on the theme of “Call to Newness.” (You are most welcome to still participate). We continue this theme in our Poetry Party this month.
The photo above was received by me this past week at Disibodenberg, the beautiful monastic ruins in Germany where Hildegard of Bingen spent the first half of her life as a Benedictine. This place formed her for all that was to come in her life. I love doorways and thresholds and how they beckon us to something new. You are invited to share a poem about the call to newness in your own life. What thresholds are shimmering?
You can post your poem either in the comment section below*or you can join our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group (with close to 600 members!) and post there.
*Note: If this is your first time posting, or includes a link, your comment will need to be moderated before it appears. This is to prevent spam and should be approved within 24 hours.
59 Responses
Debris of centuries,
a falling away,
a crumbling.
Erosion of the spirit,
water on stones.
And a verdant newness,
springing
eternally,
within the ruins.
I love the image of new springing eternally within ruins.
Every breath, a doorway
a new moment when the world
is not what it was
or what it will be.
The Beloved sees you fretting,
and shakes her tambourine:
dance, beloved
dance in the newness
of tears and laughter.
Each breath is a doorway
through which the Beloved goes
dancing, and you must
go: so why not
dance?
(On my blog here: http://www.barefoottheology.com/2013/09/poetry-party-call-to-newness.html)
“Each breath is a doorway through which the Beloved goes dancing” ~ these words shimmer for me tonight.
Come aside to my little room
Where all is green and fresh and new.
Rest awhile inside my sturdy walls
Where once prayer echoed through these halls.
The roof is opened to the sky,
To let your own petitions fly.
What a beautiful invitation. Coming!
Call to Newness
Sky floods into this chapel with no roof
wooden floors have long since
returned to earth
And a carpet of grass grows
lovely and wild
Moss and lichen dress the walls,
On which once hung holy icons
Empty windows invite
Trees to reach inside–
And, happily, they do.
There have been no services here
for many generations now
Still a path is worn
down the center of the chapel
Where feet stand on holy ground
And eyes look towards heaven
And the expansive arch of sky greets the gaze
Time has stripped this holy structure
Down to stone bones
Yet in its nakedness, it has opened wide to heaven,
And been clothed in the verdancy of God
Its walls stand like two hands cupped to receive
The rain, the wind, the warmth of sun
Whatever gift each new day brings
Such a sense of expansiveness in your poem.
“Step by step, grace is leading the way across the green threshold – tonight.” Thank you for the gift of these words – tonight.
There is a passage lush with moss,damp from morning dew that calls me to step across the threshold into something new. The things I’ve known catch on my sleeves and pant legs like prickers on already harvested black berry bushes. They pull, scratch, and demand I stay past the harvest; to only see glimpses of cool green just beyond gate. I’ve peeked over the wall to that garden, and it looks like a place I might want to call home; if only there was time to make it just that – home.
It’s no mistake that the grass is sometimes greener. I’ve seen that cool, restful plot and laid my hope in that space that separates me from what is and what is yet to be. The gate is unlocked, yet I keep thinking I’m left outside of this garden. Moving heart-heavy feet across the green to the greener can take some effort. Just beyond that threshold is all the new, the in-progress, and not quite comfortable yet. Inhale. Exhale.
Lift a left foot, then the right. Step by step, grace is leading the way across the green threshold – tonight.
T.L. Eastman/September 2013
Poem inspired by a quote from Loa Tzu: “New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings…” written 1/19/2013
New chances
Clean slates
Starting over places
Fresh page to be written on
New chapters
A way up,
A way out
Opportunities for the wisdom acquired to inform a new way
The first step in a new direction
Openings to new experiences
A budding
A birthing
A springing forth
Pain transformed
New life from ashes of the past
By:Trudy Gomez
budding, birthing, springing ~ I love the sense of movement and life these words evoke!
Very cool!
So, I opened up my eyes
and beheld a door, stone arched, imposing
threshold of walled enclosure open to the sky and green
grass, green Hibernia spread deep upon the ground
like an ancient prophecy, and I was not afraid. And I saw
the ghost of Gawain, lying prone upon a plinth, his two minds, pain and pleasure
borne out to the end, and the spirit of the Green Knight watching from a high place
assessing mortal damage, the final outcome.
Shape shifter, Green Lord of the ruins who
sat at table long with Gawain, spread before him feasts
of the eyes and gullet, the beauty of wifely flesh and
temptation delivered daily to his bed, yet he did not waver. Until
a seed of fear took root inside his room, until
he began to doubt his gift, until
he anticipated pain, and
she offered him a small love gift
long and green and gold entwined, encircling
thrice over. As if hammered metal mesh wrapping hard
muscled flesh was not enough, and the belt
borne serpentine around him foretold a sure victory.
I opened up my ears and heard echoed within the walls
his voice, like moss over stone, holding soft
a wretched plea to redeem his final hour. Yet still
he wore the faded cord, and still held fast within his breast
her name, her troth, and did not see the conflict of the two, but that
the good Lord required more than he could freely give.
The spectre shimmered in my view, and I could see
suns rise over cap stones soon would wash him from my sight.
And I was glad the grace of ninth hour would take from me
the grief of this unforgiven sin of one so pure, UNTIL,
and of the Green Lord watching, waiting, not intervening
and then, I was afraid.
As I worked on this poem today, I came to a different ending… in the flavour of the poem, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the ending is a five line rhyming “bob and wheel” stanza.
So, I opened up my eyes
and beheld a door, stone arched, imposing
threshold of walled enclosure open to the sky and all the green
of green Hibernia spread deep upon the ground
like an elfin prophecy, and I was not afraid. And I saw
the ghost of Gawain, lying prone upon a plinth, his two minds, pain and pleasure
borne out to the end, and spirit of the Green Knight watching from a high place
assessing mortal damage, the final outcome.
Shape shifter, Green Lord of the ruins who
sat at table long with Gawain, spread before him feasts
of eyes and gullet, the beauty of wifely flesh and
temptation delivered daily to his bed, yet he did not waver. Until
a seed of fear took root inside his room, until
he began to doubt his gift, until
he anticipated pain, and
she offered him a love gift
long and green and gold entwined, encircling
thrice over. As if his hammered metal mesh wrapping hard
about his muscled flesh was not enough, and the belt
borne serpentine around foretold of sure victory.
I opened up my ears and heard echoed in the walls
his voice, like moss on stone, softening the blow
a wretched plea to redeem his final hour. Yet still
he wore the faded cord, and still held fast within his breast
her name, her troth, and did not see the conflict of the two, but that
the good Lord required more than he could freely give.
The spectre shimmered in my sight, and I foresaw
the suns rise o’er cap stones would soon wash him from my view.
And I was glad of ninth hour grace to take away my gaze
on grief of unforgiven sin, and one so pure, UNTIL.
And all the while and even now, the Green Lord sits, and
listens unrelentingly,
to the telling of this tale so true
’bout a man as nearly good as He.
Makes my soul shudder ere He knew
much greater sin is found in me.
I’m drawn into the story of this poem…
Breathe
I’ve traveled so long, so far, frantically searching for fulfillment
The type that makes me comfortable in my own skin
Pursuing possessions, Ego, busyness and many good works
Now I stand in this empty long forgotten space, still
Disappointed in the ruins, exposed to the air and overgrown
Expecting so much more I sit and let out my frustrated breath
In with the good, out with the bad
In with the Spirit, out with the world
Slowly each exhale becomes less labored as there is less to push
Sounds of the world without begins to quiet, to move away
Sounds of the universe in my head, the taskmaster, the disciplinarian
the voices of all those who demand to be heard also begin to quiet, to sit, still
Resounding from the isolating walls I hear only my breath
Becoming slower, shallower, quieter, still
Past and Future dissolve into an eternal moment -the Evernow
Then my old friend speaks, from the greenness and quiet
“Welcome, I’ve been here waiting for your return, still”
Thank you for taking me on this journey…even now my breathing feels less labored.