Monday 27 May 2019

The leek

There is a common theory that an individual's personality is like an onion, with layers of public image overlaying one's true self. I don't really like this theory. It seems to suggest that the external layer is not truly us. And it leaves little room for variation within each layer, space to be true to ourselves while at the same time acknowledging that what is seen may vary according to social context.

Maybe it's because I am Welsh, or maybe it's because I was cutting up leeks for tea, I concluded today that a leek-theory would be better...


From fragile first shoots
Cowering underfoot
Fighting for the light
Steadily we grow
'Til tough angular stems
Stand exposed
Veined with purpose
And vibrant strength
But beneath this bold show
Something subtle grows
From authentic roots
Hesitantly uncovered
Peeling back the layers
We acknowledge
The complex variance
Within each tier
And every shade
Remains as true.

Saturday 25 May 2019

Noah

Occasionally something catches my eye and ideas start forming in my mind and I think to myself, I shall draw my thoughts together into something poetic.

Last week, during what was quite a tough day, I saw a rainbow. I love rainbows. They always whisper hope to me. This one, especially so, reflected as it was in the dark clouds around it, and on the murky sea, and in the puddles on the empty beach. I mused for a while on the image, and thought I could write a poem about hope shining through the darkness, about covenant promises made long ago, about being carried safe though the storm and seeing rainbow reflections where we least expect them.

But that poem refused to be written. Instead what started to form, as I put pen to paper, were a few rhyming lines about a man who kept building, in the face of much mockery, something that initially didn’t seem to make any logical sense because, despite doubts and storms and long periods of waiting, he knew he wasn’t building this on his own.


Noah

Noah built a boat.
No chance, they said, that it would float
You need to be closer to the shore,
Build less, they said, not more.
But Noah didn’t listen to any of them
for the plans he followed weren’t from men,
And when the doubts crept in, he called to mind
the divine promises he’d heard outlined.
So, determined he hammered every nail
while multitudes laughed, He’s going to fail.
But when the rains fell
Noah could tell
He’d be safe from the storm
And the dark clouds that formed.
And though the days stretched on,
And all solid ground was gone,
Noah patiently waited,
Until the waters abated,
Trusting, as he had from the start,
that eventually the clouds would part,
And the rainbow shine through,
Forever promising, I will be with you.

Sunday 19 May 2019

Truth Floats

This week I have been reflecting on stories, particularly my story and the way my poems reflect the path that I am travelling on. Sue at Quiet Disruptors has also been thinking about how we find our story - well worth a read if you've time to ponder.

This morning, also in reference to telling our story, someone else mentioned rivers and how we can stand in the flow and not know quite where it is going.

I like that. Rivers convey the idea of movement, of starting somewhere defined (the spring) and heading somewhere (the sea) but in between there can be all manner of seemingly pointless meanders and turbulent waterfalls and lazy lakes. Sometimes we are afraid to acknowledge where our journey started, sometimes we are afraid of where we might end up (a friend once mentioned that fear of success can often hold us back as much as the fear of failure), but often our biggest fear is of the in between. Of the unknowns we might encounter in our travelling.

Our challenge is to keep on walking. Or swimming.

There is a beautiful image right at the end of the Bible, in the book of Revelation, of the River of Life which echos a passage in one of the Old Testament the prophets, in Ezekial 47. Ezekiel has a vision where he is led step by step deeper and deeper into the water. It's a risky business, Ezekiel finds himself in a river too deep to cross, but having gone this deep he is then shown the truth - wherever the river flows it brings life.

Back in October last year I went through a difficult time. And I found myself thinking about Ezekial in the river, and the processes we go through as truth is revealed. And I wrote this poem:

Truth Floats

When the well of tears
overflowing from the depth of pain
has risen to the surface
carrying with it previously unspoken burdens
You will find that truth floats.

When you immerse yourself
in healing pools of clarity
letting go of the many layers that mask
that which was hidden will be seen
And you will find that truth floats.

If you risk stepping into this river
apprehensively
or expectantly
Allow yourself to be carried in the flow
wherever it goes
fast and smooth
or tossed in the rapids
trusting in the unseen buoyant force
You will find that truth still floats.

Friday 17 May 2019

Door of Hope

(A reflection on Hosea chapter 2 verses 14 & 15)

Dry lands,
Barren sands.
In the silence,
an echo's heard.
In the desert
is a door of hope.
Suddenly
a sweeping tide
embraces all,
Brings refreshment,
joy,
love.
Love never ceasing
flows from above.
Love so fragile
offered below.
Dry lands,
Barren sands,
Burst forth with life.
Creator and created
walk together
through the door of hope.


Thursday 16 May 2019

Beyond

Moments of joy
slowly breaking through,
I start to fly again,
start to dream,
and lift my eyes up-
to the horizon
and beyond.

Beyond me is a whole world,
unexplored,
unfelt.
And despite the pain,
despair,
rejection,
fear,
despite all I associate with feeling,
I desire to feel-
feel the world,
feel God in the world,
travel beyond me
and live again.

Today the sea shines,
bright sun's rays
dancing on the crests.
I start to dance too,
dance with God
in the wide open spaces
he created.
I feel the freedom of the cliff tops,
start to live again,
dare to travel
beyond myself,
beyond the fear that tells me
to hold back,
not to touch
nor allow myself to be touched,
not to feel.

And as fear
gradually gives way,
I start to fly again,
start to dream,
and lift my eyes up-
to the horizon
and beyond.

Wednesday 15 May 2019

Encircling Me Spiraling Down

Encircling me spiraling down.
I am - spiraling down,
falling down,
confused
and twisting around,
so uncertain,
alone,
trapped within.
I have tried so hard,
risen up only to slip again.
Oh God, why am I still spiraling down?
You are - encircling me,
surrrounding,
reaching out,
holding me,
through the pain
and confusion,
there-
seeing all I hide,
run from,
fear.
Yet you are there still encircling me.

Tuesday 14 May 2019

Storm in Me

God of the gentle sea,
do you see me?
God of the raging storm,
do you hear when I call?
Do you recognise the turbulence
within this calm exterior,
can you calm the waters once again?
Reach out,
speak out,
speak into me.
“Be still”.
Will you wake when I cry,
when I am afraid,
drowning in my own fear and confusion?
Will you question my faith,
frowning down on me?
Or will you gently ask me to trust again?
No condemnation,
just concern,
and love.
The power to change -
Ranging storm to gentle sea,
turbulence to peace in me.
With a word you created,
looked,
saw,
said that it was good.
Your life brought life,
taught me to be.
And now I ask you to speak again.
One word,
to heal and restore,
to calm and change.
To reach out,
speak out,
speak into me,
the storm in me.

Monday 13 May 2019

Hope

My poetry often arises in response to where I feel I am spiritually and mentally (and ocassionally physically). Revisiting poems that I wrote years ago is always interesting; I am rarely in the same place, but sometimes aspects of what I wrote still resonate with me, and perhaps they may resonate with other people too. Either way, the poems stand as a reminder of the journey I am on and where I have come from.

This week I thought I would share a few of the poems that I wrote just over 20 years ago. At the time I was struggling with my mental health. These poems are part of my story.



The sun broke through the clouds today.
Cycling by an empty, muddy beach,
tide withdrawn, way out of reach,
a huge grey void,
echoed by the clouds above,
echoed by my heart.
And yet the sun broke through.
The sun itself was not visible,
but the light whispered its existence,
dared me to believe and breathe and be.
I looked and saw fragile rays falling,
shafts of light reaching down,
and maybe I, reaching out, could grab them
if they were not so far away.
I have seen hope come like that before,
a fragile ray that whispers the truth I cannot fully see.
I have danced in shafts of light,
childhood memories of beech woods in the autumn,
or spring.
Hopeful spring.
Shafts of light falling through the trees,
all quiet, just me and the dancing light.
I cannot dance right now,
I cannot touch the light,
but I can look and hope and dream.
And wait until the sun breaks through my clouds.

Sunday 12 May 2019

Haiku #7

Barely visible
Feeding amongst the weeds
Daily change hidden

Saturday 11 May 2019

Haiku #6

Passive yet active
Gentle waiting creating
Hope brings forth new life

Friday 10 May 2019

Haiku #5

Silent unfurling
Rising from the tangled thorns
Determined we live

Thursday 9 May 2019

Haiku #4

Holly and oak grow
With fragile strength and defence
Protecting each other

Wednesday 8 May 2019

Haiku #3

From such great heights
Discarded but not crushed
Breaking free we fly

Tuesday 7 May 2019

Haiku #2

Narrow paths lead on
With joy and fear, end unclear
Still we choose to walk

Monday 6 May 2019

Haiku #1

Last week I spent a day at The Waterside, Felindre. There I went for a wander, took a few photos and challenged myself to write a haiku for each. This is the first in a series of seven:

So entwined we grow
Together reaching upwards
Thriving in the light


Sunday 5 May 2019

Welcome

Hello.
And welcome to my new blog.

Twenty years ago I was working as an engineer and had an amusing little blog about life and work.
That time passed. I moved on. I changed career and stopped blogging.

But recently, inspired by a friend's comment, I found myself reading Walt Whitman's poem "A passage to India" and pondering the lines:

Ah who shall...
   justify these restless explorations?
Who speak the secret of impassive earth?
...
Yet soul be sure the first intent remains, and shall be carried out,
Perhaps even now the time has arrived.

After the seas are all cross’d, (as they seem already cross’d,)
After the great captains and engineers have accomplish’d their work,
...
Finally shall come the poet...

And so I find myself here. Thinking that perhaps the time has arrived where I acknowledge that I am now a poet. And blogging might be the best way to put what I am writing out there.