Tag: poem

Dawn Chorus

My friend, Joyce Smith, has sent a Tweet about Nature’s heralding of Spring. Last Sunday was International Dawn Chorus Day (there’s always something for everyone!) and this Robin obliged by turning up in Joyce’s garden and giving a deeply spirited performance.

It got me thinking and so here’s a poem –

At the Break of Day

The Orchestra of Light tunes up;
Trying out riffs and practising scales
Cock clears his throat, ‘Ahem …  a-doodle-doo!’
Songthrush bustles importantly
into the auditorium –‘They rely on me to begin, you know.’
‘Not so’, cuts in Robin, with Blackbird on the wing,
‘We are well-known early risers
our song is eagerly awaited!’
Little Wren, never one to push,
slips onto the stage, 
apologizing profusely for her small stature.
‘Small, but beautifully formed’ says Mr Owl
on his way to bed,
‘sing me to sleep little one.’
The chiffchaff flies into the melée
of slowly gathering sound
as Chaffinch and Sparrow take a bow.
Mr Cock raises his beak,
‘Ladies and gentlemen, shall we begin?
Please open your music
at the ‘Dawn Chorus’,
written, I believe, by God.’

Mr. G.

12th May 2021

Gethsemane

Christ in Gethsemane. Michael O’Brien

Gethsemane

This is his Passion.
Darkness wraps around his very being,
not a warming cloak  but a shroud.
Silence, punctured by friends
snoring off  the wellbeing of food,
minds sloshed with wine.
Alone with the shivers of the night,
everything in him protests.

Sometimes, when we know our destiny,
our minds close.
Not this! No! Never!
But our hearts are our undoing:                                 
our resolve begins; ends there.

So he battles with his need to say ‘Yes’,
for himself, for others,
for us.
How else can the world know what it is to be loved?

Kneeling on the damp ground,
tense, numb,
scared, uncertain, he waits.

And the Father waits too as demons and angels whirl,
stirring up the black air, a vortex of cosmic battle.
Below them, sweat drops as blood.

And still the Father waits, listening expectantly,
daring to hope…

God wrestling desperately with God
with everything – just everything – at stake.
This really is the Passion.

He sighs, deeply,
calm descends.“Yes, let it be.”
The Father wraps his love around him
– and so too around us.

Holy Tuesday 2021

(inspired by St. Luke 22:39-46)

[Mr G]

Watering Holes

The posting we did a little while ago, which centred on Elephants, inspired my friend Gill Henwood to write a poem about ‘Watering holes’, places where we find refreshment in our journey through life. A journey which is spiritual as well as physical. Gill is fed, too, by the countryside of the Lake District where she lives. Nature is always a source of opening our hearts, minds, souls and Cumbria is one of those places which are ‘thin’, places where God is very near and where heaven and earth are within touching distance. In these difficult days, Gill takes up her theme of Living Water.

The ‘tarn’ referred to is Tarn Hows and the ‘Lake’ is Coniston Water.

Watering Hole

Elephants gathering at precious watering holes 
weathering the drought of hot summer, 
water, life-giving, cleansing, refreshing, 
joyful in splashing spray
and, if you have a trunk, 
spraying about!

We in our Covid drought,
seek  a precious watering hole
where  God provides
the living-water we need
to weather this long unseasonable time.

So the little beck wriggles its way down fell,
trickles under ice
to find its way into the tarn
before waterfalling through woods
into the tributary that feeds the lake.

Shower us.
Refresh us
with your living spring of water. *

*John 4:14

[Gill Henwood January 2021]

The Beck at Tarn Hows photographed by Gill Henwood

Given

A poem by Daryl Madden whose blog I follow.
He is an active member of St Thomas a Becket Parish in Reston VA, USA and a minister at Holy Communion.
His poetry on religious themes are regularly available on his blog—https://darylmadden.wordpress.com

He took, blessed, and broke
Then He gave the bread
A miracle to all
Five thousand souls were fed

And for His last supper
Again, He took and blessed
He broke and He gave
His love to friends, professed

The chosen One was blessed
On His cross was broken
God incarnate, given
He is the Word spoken

Walking to Emmaus
With bread of which to share
Took, blessed, broke and gave
Our Lord to them appeared

And so, as His beloved
Through Him, spiritually
Chosen, blessed and broken
And given, let us be

Based upon words by Henri Nouwen
Reproduced with Daryl’s permission