Wednesday 14 November 2012

The best time to plant a tree is always today


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Photograph from SueAnn's Journey
 

A poem written for dVerse Poetics today, using a photograph of Sue Ann. It also draws on a suffering and healing reflection from  Quaker Faith and Practice (Britain Yearly Meeting). The poem  is based on a Spanish form called Cueca Chilena.

Looking out, makes me sixteen,
alone in the world,
friendless, utterly friendless,
ill and full of woes.
Yet boarding school womb
kept me happier
then the three months of pretence,
families do no harm.

I was awake for three weeks,
doctors refused pills,
and too young for hospital.
So I was pious,
yet dark courage picked
me for action
and I blessed my weeping wrists
to make life an act.

Suicide I did not fear.
The grief of parents
even those contracted to love,
made me cold and pale.
Yet the morning pause,
as staff and girls learn
how I became a story,
made loneliness less.

I thought long with strange wisdom,
(the child now silenced
by voices old when Christ died).
for Plato’s Greek sings.
Yet what wisdom, since
Socrates was lost
and made by hemlock promise.
Tears are for which loss?

I decided not to die,
it was cowardly.
I prayed to find sleep
and to feel comfort.
Yet who counts the cost
of dreams while they wait?
At fifty-one they came true
to save me from waste.

Love was still a lonely wait
under growing trees
not yet able to give shade
to life’s bitter truths.
Yet spring will triumph
for those in despair
to bring joy into each life
and be death’s defeat.

Friday 26 October 2012

Awake on a cold autumn night

 

No God is found in any book or rule
or with good folk that preach aloud the word,
for faith is empty when worn to accrue.

Look beyond Savile suit and Oxford tongue
or in from rags to find if love is bold.
No God is found in any book or rule.

In night alone in silent thought, a guest
abides with song and love to mend your need,
for faith is empty when worn to accrue.

If Icon tears of holy splash on plague
are circus cheer, then love is silent seed.
No God is found in any book or rule.

In Sunday best, unknown at work, cliques
build up walls of truth in stone well laid,
for faith is empty when worn to accrue.

To love is more than words, love is surety:
silence of lovers, silence of a friend.
No God is found in any book or rule
for faith is empty when worn to accrue.

Based on a reflection from Quaker Faith & Practice
by Donald Court in the 1960′s about perceptions of truth.