Tag: Poetry

Cuddy’s Isle

Cuddy’s Isle (St Cuthbert’s Isle) on Lindisfarne, Northumbria. This photograph was taken by my friend Helen Gheorghiu-Gould earlier this week. She is currently having sabbatical time and this visit is part of her time away from her ministry. It is a time of reflection, prayer, rest and opening her heart to God’s possibilities for her.

The photograph took me back to the many visits and associations I have had over the years and stirred the heart-strings both of memory and of my halting spiritual pilgrimage. It has always been, for me, a place of encounter with God where He has guided me with love.

Holy Island (Lindisfarne) is a deeply special place for the story of Christianity in our land. It was to here that St. Aidan came from Iona to proclaim the love of God in Jesus Christ for His people. Here St. Aidan trained up twelve Saxon boys, including four brothers, to spread the Good News of Jesus. It was here, the day after Aidan’s soul was taken up to heaven that a boy named Cuthbert came to dedicate his life to God after first testing his vocation at the Abbey in Melrose.

When Cuthbert was called to be a great leader of the church and weighed down by the many tasks he undertook, he escaped to his special meeting place with God. As Lindisfarne became (and becomes) an island twice a day, so the little island known as Cuddy’s isle is the same. Here Cuthbert crossed before the tide cut him off and left him to simply be with God.

Here’s a poem I’ve just written inspired by Helen’s photograph and the thoughts it has stirred.

An Island

There is an island
made holy by the prayers and tears of saints.
A holy, set-aside place where souls in search of God
find him waiting.

It is a thin place
where earth touches heaven
and barriers are paper-thin:
tissue hiding nothing,
darkness transparent,
light warmly radiant.

I have been there,
down the rough path
past the church to a bend in the road
where expectancy parts the air.
The sea drifts to shore,
benign and welcoming
or pushing waves to the limit of its power.

Go there.
It beckons and seeks you.
Clamber and scramble the rocks of your desire.
You have a meeting, a moment, an arrangement.
God waits and stretches out his hand in welcome,
shelters safe and holds.

You are there
at the place of speaking,
listening,
being still.

Even as the wind swirls and chills,
you are warm.

And this place?
Cuddy’s Isle of Lindisfarne.
Or perhaps…
your heart.

[Mr G. 1st July 2021]

Hidden Beauty

This photograph was sent to me by my friend Lynn. We are not sure of the origin.

It is an unusual view of an earwig
They may look dull—until they open their wings, shimmering structures that expand 10-fold and lock without the use of muscles. Earwigs are usually reluctant to fly. Unlike most insects, a female earwig is a good mother. She lays 30-50 eggs and protects them through the winter. When they hatch, she feeds and tends the nymphs until they are able to fend for themselves. Despite their name, earwigs are unlikely to venture into a human ear!

Beauty Within

I do not just open myself to anyone.

I am cautious, even afraid that you may judge me

without knowing me.

That’s often the way in the human world too.

Yet, if we but have the patience to sit and go deep,

we meet people clothed in all their rich diversity.

I do not reveal myself  fully,

except to my Maker

and those I trust;

those who will sit still with me,  

who are prepared to wait and take time

to drink in the loveliness of God in me

and maybe so help others see the beauty of God

in themselves and

in you too.

[Mr. G]

Cyclamen in the Snow

Cyclamen in fresh Snow photographed by my friend Gill Henwood in the Lake District.

Gill sent me this photograph a little while ago. It moved me very much at the darkest time of the year just as we were entering the 3rd Lockdown. At the time I couldn’t decide how to respond to it. There were allusions to lockdown, hope, struggle at a very difficult time for us. Gill used the word endurance.

As I continued to mull over it, I discussed it with my friend Piers and he came up with this reflection:

‘Initially I looked at this image and thought of the ice and snow as something that was holding the flowers back; through which they had to struggle – and this made me think of feelings thrown up by this current lockdown. But actually, as I thought more and read Geoffrey’s poem, it dawned on me that the ice and snow protect and insulate the seed as it germinates and emerges to flower. The struggle is filled with new hope and possibilities.
We tend to see being in lockdown as a negative, threatening thing but of course it’s a collective act in which we’re protecting each other and ourselves – and looked at that way it feels far more positive. And just as the dormant plant flowers to new life, we can also use it as a time to discover what is truly important: what values and priorities will help to sustain our lives, our society and our planet.
What if the snow and ice of lockdown are allowing us to emerge into really new life?‘

PN

Here’s a poem I have written on this photograph.

Lockdown wake-up

Earth’s untidy clutter
of hurried hibernation
covered over with scattered flakes
of heaven’s protection.
Opaque cloak of winter
wraps warmly around dormant seed.

Early buds break open crusty ground
scattering melted crystal.
Coloured life announces
Nature’s lockdown ended,
beckoning us to New Beginnings
at last!

Alleluia!

[Mr G]
Photo | Gill Henwood.
Reflection| Piers Northam

Jacob’s ladder

Liturgy is praxis where Beth-el recurs.
The ladder is always there, Emmanu-el.
Angels are always around us, enfolding us,
watching over God’s little ones.

Today, the burnt red leaves fallen from the Norway maples
sear the earth with their lifeblood, to nurture the future.
‘God’s grandeur’ always around our misted vision.

Gill Henwood