Poetry as a resource for feral explorers
Posted by Henry
- “Poetry uses soul language. To be a language of human growth & formation it needs to be a language of provocation with tricks of the light & complex, nuanced prompts that shift our terrain, that interrupt our snoring. Only this type of language will resemble the life of the soul in relationship & conversation with God, always furthering our boundaries into fresh wisdom & new being.” Mark Oakley
- I have used, and re-use, a number of books of poetry over the years: Mark Oakley’s ‘Splash of Words’ is one. He introduces a number of poems, tells us something about the poet, and then offers some personal reflections. Its good stuff. Janet Morley has done something similar in “Haphazard by starlight: a poem a day from Advent to Epiphany”; “The Heart’s Time: a poem a day for Lent and Easter”; and “our last awakening: poems for living in the face of death.”
- Also excellent is “Soul Food: nourishing poems for starved minds” drawn from poets of different faith traditions around the world.
Written by Mike Catling, January 2023
The Year’s Turning
The year is turning, but turning into what?
The days slip through the fingers like fine grey dust.
The rain falls but not as blessing, no washing away
of sins either owned or bartered for at a price.
The gap between my words and the Word is palpable.
The threat and reality of disruption and crisis
grows like tumours in the planet’s lungs and peoples’ hearts.
Courage and hope struggle to rise above the fog of disillusion.
And the Christ child is smuggled away to Egypt
whilst the whisper on my lips,
like breath in frozen air, utters,
‘Go gently and come again safely.’
The Year’s Turning
The year is turning, but turning into what?
The days slip through the fingers like fine grey dust.
The rain falls but not as blessing, no washing away
of sins either owned or bartered for at a price.
The gap between my words and the Word is palpable.
The threat and reality of disruption and crisis
grows like tumours in the planet’s lungs and peoples’ hearts.
Courage and hope struggle to rise above the fog of disillusion.
And the Christ child is smuggled away to Egypt
whilst the whisper on my lips,
like breath in frozen air, utters,
‘Go gently and come again safely.’
