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Invitation to Poetry: Call to Newness

Disibodenberg

Welcome to Poetry Party #70!

button-poetryI 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.

You can see the fall calendar of invitations here>>

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59 Responses

  1. Debris of centuries,
    a falling away,
    a crumbling.
    Erosion of the spirit,
    water on stones.
    And a verdant newness,
    springing
    eternally,
    within the ruins.

    1. “Each breath is a doorway through which the Beloved goes dancing” ~ these words shimmer for me tonight.

  2. 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.

  3. 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

  4. “Step by step, grace is leading the way across the green threshold – tonight.” Thank you for the gift of these words – tonight.

  5. 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

  6. 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

  7. 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.

    1. 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.

  8. 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”