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Invitation to Poetry: Letting Go


Welcome to Poetry Party #80!

I select an image (the photo above is by Alicia Dykstra) 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 with a story from the Gospel of Luke and followed up with our Photo Party on the theme of “letting go.” (You are most welcome to still participate).  We continue this theme in our Poetry Party this month. What are you continuing to discover about letting go?

You can post your poem either in the comment section below*or you can join our Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks Facebook group (with more than 2400 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.

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17 Responses

  1. It is strange that I came to this website looking for something else (the word that I had read, but couldn’t remember — peregrinatio) and found your poem which spoke so deeply into my day that tears came. Such an unexpected blessing … such a touch from God. Thank you.

    1. Oh, Joyce – you made my day with your sweet words – Thank you!
      I kn ow what you mean about this site – it is a continual blessing to me! Everyone shares such timely and beautiful inspirations! God Bless!!


    I request daily bread
    I claim divine favor
    I cry out for heavenly provision
    I petition
    I beseech
    I implore
    I insist…


    And I wonder…
    Are my desperate pleas in vain?
    Are my supplications futile?

    Then I hear just two words:
    Let Go

    I infer a command, thundered from on high:
    LET GO!!!

    And even as I tremble, my muscles tense
    and my closed fists tighten
    to clutch
    to seize
    to grasp
    to cling…

    But it’s not pride that stiffens me, it’s fear.
    fear of lack
    fear of pain
    fear of the unknown
    fear of defeat
    fear of acquiescence…

    And again I hear just two words:
    Let Go

    This time I discern an invitation
    offered gently by my Heavenly Father,
    whispered tenderly by my Holy Beloved.
    let go

    Gingerly, I relax and soften and melt into submission.
    Of their own accord my fingers uncurl
    until my hands are opened wide
    to receive
    to accept
    to welcome
    to embrace…


  3. Singing

    Because I have known many people
    now dead I try to think of wind
    and falling leaves
    as sacred calligraphy to find each year
    let them bring a certain peace in me
    the feeling without fingers
    the hearing without ears
    the seeing without eyes.

    Then today I see a young girl
    talking to herself
    alone on the path behind the house
    where she stays with her father and his friend
    two weeks out of every month
    her life neither here nor there.

    A chill breeze circles
    gold maple leaves around her
    she jumps
    she dances
    she spins arms outstretched.

    And I join her on the path
    open my arms and skip and sing.

  4. i did not know
    He meant my father.
    …but He did.
    and so I let go –
    my heart ripping
    as it released
    what was left
    of the man whose
    life gave life to mine.
    i went away sad
    for i had been very rich.
    but my treasure in heaven
    is joy beyond joy.
    all praise to the One I follow.

  5. The mountain is vibrant with song
    A gentle whrrr through the trees
    I click my heels
    And take up Miriam’s tamborine
    Rejoicing in the dance of fall leaves
    Sycamores turning brown
    Gliding to the ground in grace
    Joining the tip-tap of acorns
    And thud of giant pine cones
    A fall symphony to brighten my heartstrings
    The lovely quilt of green, red, brown, and orange
    Leaves and birds
    in translucent forms of multiverse transparency
    Warms me against the chill that October brings
    As I search for down comforter and jacket
    And begin the movement down
    Away from snow and storm
    Into shores of healing mineral waters
    The tamborine carries Syria’s women in flight
    Nigeria’s school girls’ cries for freedom
    A world in suffering and in need of healing
    The Tibettan bowl’s singing prayer
    Becomes a tamborine flash and cry
    Against thud of dropped weapons
    Oh, that we could only dance
    Not create the anguish of war!
    Gentle whrrr – voice of sanity and peace
    Spirit of God – Come…
    Sing healing, love and forgiveness
    Through the falling leaves of autumn
    Turning and twirling in hope

    Ironically, Christine, my email just reached the shores of Molokai to the place of swaying hips and wave like fingers as I search a hermitage place in winter…

  6. Salome

    I am dancing the seven veils
    Peeling away the silken
    threads of my outer Self
    letting go the mask
    falling into My Self
    as the winter leaves
    fall into the moist
    and fertile soil of God.


    I let myself become the water
    a morning dew, a puddle, a pool
    a brook, a creek, a river,
    a swamp, a pond. a lake,
    an ocean, the sea.
    A channel, a strait, a canal
    a fjord, a shallow, the narrows.

    I let myself be the water
    to know my flow, become fluid
    to tidal, to wave, to fountain
    be the rapids, be the babble.
    To freeze, to melt, to boil and brew
    To feel my blood move through me
    with the pulse of life in steady rhythm

    I let myself become the water
    a harbor, the bay, a marina
    a place to dive deep, to tread gently
    to reflect, to pour into, to
    swim in the shallows, to be
    moved by the ceaseless tides
    To travel on the sea of love

    I let myself be the water
    to stir the voice of the Sirens,
    to tidal towards the light house,
    to crash on to it’s rocks
    to wave toward the beacon,
    to find a Way into my sea ascending
    for a there is a raft lost in my turbulence
    And a great need to see the Light
    when being the water makes
    for such great thirst.

    I let myself become the water
    bursting from wet soaked clouds
    to rain my drops over this land
    with the crack and thunder
    and streaks of brilliant chevron
    in the grey gloom that joins me.
    To move my damp and wet
    over the earth to feed her

    I let myself be the water
    fathomless and forbidding
    a parch to the drought
    a consuming tsunami
    a gentle Spring rain
    Pellets of hail
    a Glacier of unseen lonely
    A sprinkler of childhood
    A winter of frozen hell

    I let myself become the water
    to wash away the daily grim
    be the tears for all the grief
    be the tears for all the joy
    A pond to float, an ocean to dive
    A bath to be drawn
    A thirst always quenched

    I let myself Be the water
    Not the bridge, or the boat,
    Not the cup, or the well,
    Not the shore, or the dock
    Not the raft, or the ship
    Not the container that
    gives me form
    Not the Grail that I sought
    I am the Holy water in the Grail
    I am who I have been searching for
    I will not thirst again.

  8. Opening the Rubbermaid bin,
    which sat in a closet untouched
    for 7 years, then wrapped in packing tape
    then put upon a moving truck
    to sit in a closet
    in Oregon for three months

    I lifted the white rubbery plasticy top
    popping the seal after pulling the tape
    one long strip at a time, my afternoon
    devotion, rolling it back into crunchy balls
    for the cats to bat.

    Inside, over 60 pounds of fat quarters,
    and 1/2 yards, and bolt leftovers:
    pinks, corals, reds, purples, blues,
    lavenders, whites, yellow, browns, blacks,
    greens, oranges, a massive rush of possibility
    meets my eyes.

    Remnants from my puppet making days
    when Customized Characters carried me
    from workshop to workshop, classroom to
    classroom, craft fair to craft fair

    Started one day when I put a sock on my hand
    and it, telling me jokes, dared me
    to put it on my foot. Started when my art had been stolen
    by a right brain insult. Started when I learned a new way to see –
    to translate through the tactile into the visual into the
    construction from dream to reality. Started when I let go
    of the words always echoing: You’ll never (fill in the blank)

    1. In the midst of opening my plastic boxes of fabrics to decide what I am suppose to do, this poem touches my tender spots too. thank you.

  9. I love the season of Fall
    With it’s many colored leaves
    Yellow, red, green and brown
    Gathering on the ground.

    Walking down the winding road
    Noticing tiny treasures,
    Flowers, purple and maize
    Still holding on to life

    What a treat to harvest greens
    Out of our square foot garden
    Mustard, kale, chard and beet
    So delicious when steamed

    No more hot days of summer
    Breezes blow crisp and cool
    But we stay warm inside
    Sipping our hot cocoa