Tag: Poetry

Wounded

*Broken Branch, Garden of Cromwell Arms, Romsey. Photo by Mr.G*

WOUNDED
Sometimes we are broken
by circumstances or events,
like a tree branch
ripped untimely from its mother.

The nerve ends which drank greedily
of the sap of life, are still now.
Jagged edges that once pulsated
with vibrant greenery,
shading and embracing
those sheltering beneath,
are signs now of death and decay.

Life can feel like that sometimes.
Is this the end?
Slivers of experience, of joy,
of very being, shiver
and contribute to the dust of the earth,
unremembered, unneeded.

Is this what life becomes for all of us?
in the end?

Yet, gazing at the ruptured tree branch,
there is a certain beauty,
not simply a reflection of a life that was,
a contribution which a part of nature
makes to the whole of living,
but rather a symbol of our own part
in the cyclical journeys of the earth.

That which wounds us; breaks us,
is itself broken in turn.
We all belong to the same tree,
the same roots.

Knowing that is itself a kind of healing,
and a defence against all that would harm us.

[Mr G. 12 July 2025]
inspired by a fallen tree branch and a current sense of uncertainty.

Built only to serve

LIGHTHOUSE

I was built only to serve;
to warn; to guide;
reassure; prevent.

I was built on rock.
I am stability in a shifting world
of uncertainty and fragility;
reliability in a sea of change.

I can withstand wind and wave,
crashing storms,
skies rent asunder with electric light.
I can be drenched with wild rain;
withstand angry skies;
resist swirling mist;
be brave in deepest dark.

I can wave at stars,
bathe in the sun;
befriend the moon.

You may take me for granted,
even find me beautiful,
solid but slender;
be at peace because I am there.

I am a lighthouse;
keeping mariners safe, focused
and at the beck and call
of all who sail by.

(Inspired by the Hundredth Anniversary of the
BBC Shipping Forecast July 4^th 2025)

[Mr.G]

A Song of God’s making

At a recent study Group, there was a discussion about the nature of Psalms and about how they can be used in our own praying. Psalms bring us close to the praying of Jesus and were his own ‘prayer book.’
We can approach the Psalms in whatever state of mind or being we are and there find comfort, love, challenge and a response to our own feelings and thoughts. In the Psalms we find honesty and a sense that whatever we are going through, good, bad and indifferent, we shall find God.

The study group leader suggested that the members might try to write their own version of a Psalm as a way of growing in understanding of both God and of self. The ‘Psalm’ which is offered here is one such response. It was Scarlet’s first offering of a ‘song to God’ from the centre of her heart.

There are echoes of Psalm 23, Psalm 138, and Psalm 8. The real echo comes from the hearing of God’s voice in a listening which needs silence for it to make the deepest impact on life, as it did, of course, to the writers of the Psalms in Old Testament times.

~ Psalm reflection by Scarlet Hellard-Malt.~

Jesus in Gethsemane

[photo from Gill Henwood – of the area near the Black Mountains, Bhutan]

Jesus prays in Gethsemane

On the night of his betrayal, Jesus took his disciples to the Garden of Gethsemane, near the Mount of Olives. He asked them to pray for themselves and then went to a place by himself. He prayed to his Father that he might be released from the trial and crucifixion ahead of him. But he also prayed that his Father’s will should prevail. The humanity of Jesus cried out and his anguish caused his sweat to fall like drops of blood. An angel from heaven came to strengthen him. His disciples were fast asleep. Then the Roman soldiers came to the garden to arrest him…. (St Luke’s Gospel Chapter 22: 39-53)

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.

[Mr G. ]