riding the poetry bus

When it comes to poetry I'm a peculiar bird. When I try my hand at it I usually do okay, but for whatever reason poetry usually is off my radar. A few of my blogging friends, however, enjoy poetry a great deal, so I am reading and enjoying more and more of it. My friend The Bug participates regularly in some writing challenges via other blogs, and this week one of them piqued my interest enough to give it a go. I have lifted the following (in italics) from her blog:

The Poetry Bus is being driven by the amazing Karen at Keeping Secrets (really, you should check out her poetry). She has us thinking of Robert Frost and forks in the road. She says:

The challenge for passengers this week will be to write about one of the following:

(1) a time you had to choose between two clearly divergent paths; (2) a time you were called to walk a path you didn't choose for yourself; or (3) a time you refused to travel the path you were called to follow. If these won't work for you, write anything about a choice you made.

I'm going with number 1. It is title-less. 

How is it

that love lives

where like can find no home?

The lure of love

brushed past the ragged edges of 

discomfort, 

disunity, 

dis- too many things,

and blazed a trail that,

just in time, 

would host the thundering hooves
of heartbreak.

Worse, dreambreak.

Shards of broken images
stared back at me

from that place of 

dreaming, 

longing, 

imagining a world
through which I was meant 

to dance

and sing

and play

and splash

in puddles of joy.

But, no.

Wisdom called out, 

my own clarion call to hold me back 

and protect the heart 

whose breath lifts the wings of dreams.

In the shadow of wakefulness 

my world went still, 

and gray. 

And it waits. 

Again.

waking

Thanks to my new cyber friend Diane at Contemplative Photography I have been introduced to the work of John O'Donohue, described on a book jacket as a Catholic scholar, but who more specifically, to me, is a Celtic mystic. But I've only just started his book Eternal Echoes, so I might be wrong about the mystic part. I can tell you this--wisdom exudes from what he writes by the bucketfull.

Before I'd even gotten to the table of contents I was bowled over by poetry so rich with imagery that I knew I had to share it here. Perhaps because I am a person for whom metaphor is so effective as a means of grasping the nuances and complexities of the world that can be difficult to apprehend otherwise, his poem, Matins, sank into my soul like water on parched ground.

I went in search of an image to reflect daybreak and then had to do a forehead slap. I had my own! This is from the balcony of my room somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico cruising toward Cozumel. (Hey cruise-mates, I miss ya!).

Without further ado, John O'Donohue:

Matins

I.
Somewhere, out at the edges, the night
Is turning and the waves of darkness
Begin to brighten the shore of dawn.

The heavy dark falls back to earth
And the freed air goes wild with light,
The heart fills with fresh, bright breath
And thoughts stir to give birth to colour.

II.
I arise today

In the name of Silence
Womb of the Word,
In the name of Stillness
Home of Belonging.
In the name of the Solitude
Of the Soul and the Earth.

I arise today

Blessed by all things,
Wings of breath,
Delight of eyes,
Wonder of whisper,
Intimacy of touch,
Eternity of soul,
Urgency of thought,
Miracle of health,
Embrace of God.

May I live this day

Compassionate of heart,
Gentle in word,
Gracious in awareness,
Courageous in thought,
Generous in love.