| A retreat at Sheldon often seems to move people to express their feelings and experience in writing, and we are pleased to share a few with you ... |
| See also writing emerging from Fun with Words workshops on 12,000-mile Service weeks. |
Sensing the Passion
Poignant the fragrance of love’s home:
Not putrid Lazarus, death-entombed,
Nor stove-aroma rich from one who served,
But Mary’s precious pungent perfume poured.
Feet washed, death death consumed.
Bitter the savour: memory’s feast,
Sour traitor’s morsel, couching sin;
Spurious loyalty in pride-chewed vow;
Wilderness death by freedom-tasting slave;
Bread, flesh; wine, blood; slave, king.
Strident the clamour: boot-black night,
Jeer-jangling mob: ‘Our will!’ Fear chill
Trampling through spirit-willing sleep, flesh weak;
Sword-whistle wound heard hard upon the ear;
Still, hear: ‘I Am. I will.’
Vivid the image: furnace fire
As cock-crow sears on stricken sight
Threefold, tear-tainted snap of stark remorse.
Exposed, abandoned flame-companion’s gaze.
Bright morning star; black night.
Flinching to feel, sawn splintered strut,
Spined circlet, steely-slivered nail;
Betrayal; gaol; flail; rich-robe arrayal;
‘Hail, King of Jews!’ Wine, stale. Life, frail, fail;
Last breath exhale; torn veil.
Kindle with Passion-sense dull flesh.
Roll free capped stone, trapped inward sight.
Unbind to scent, taste, sing the Passion-song,
To feel and long, with throng, alive and strong
Dark-journeying to light.
© Christopher Wilson 2008
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Dark chocolate
"Formula-one" swifts
scythe between thatched barns
with urgent
piercing cries
and uncanny accuracy.
Nimble Nuthatch
wearily waits
while bickering Sparrows
jossle and flutter
around their peanut-caged feast.
Beyond Green Lane
Ten Acres is wide-framed by rich petalled buttercup
and
gusting winds comb slender grasses
into dancing waves
upward.
Prey-laden tallons of Buzzard
rise
from golden hayfield
stubble cropped,
to drop
silently
into Yonder Wood and St Anthony.
by Clive Laws. May 2006
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The Pearl
Is your love like
Grit to the pearl
So slow to add
Each layer?
Each a light shining in earth-sea
To become iridescent power,
A weight in my hand,
Adorning my life.
No more irritation for the eye,
The speck I cannot bear
-Always in others-
Fearing this will cause all to stumble
To fall down into loss of meaning,
Rhyme, or rhythm, or even hope.
Ah is your love such as this,
So soft coming here, Lips-ease in holding open
Moment by moment strokes for my
Slow awakening?
So then is my gratitude
A lapful of gems, each built
From those piercings of hurt and abuse
Received and worked
Worked and received
Again.
Transformed by this aeonic patient love
In depths oft felt as yet more loss,
Waiting on my hurt, my refusal,
Anger held in stony stubbornness
Washed out in salt-seas of releasing tears
Waiting on all my story
Each telling-time a little nearer,
The head turned to feed with true longing
Gleaming, milky, food to bathe and renew
Inside and out.
O Beauteous pearl, held in your mother's arms
For me and for all Creation
Hold us in the pledge your treasured coming tells:
That the healing
She was happening
She is happening
All of the time.
by Karen Reeves. Advent 2004
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True light
eternally shining
refracted through all our days
Kaleidoscoped
rainbow scattered
deep
into nature's heart.
Echoed music
from infinity
gives voice to Age-aching souls.
The river sings
passing otter-printed mud-flat bank
The trees rejoice
releasing their autumn offerings
silently.
The whale bursts ocean's surface
crash-splashing down
for sheer thunderous joy!
And all creation
joins the dance of the prodigal
as heavens gladness plays merrily on.
by Clive Laws December 2004
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Following a workshop in which I had painted a picture of an outstretched hand, these words came to me as I sat in silence following the end of a service in the chapel...
After the Service
The candle's light extinguished
It's last breath of smoke swirls and rises
And as a man, they stand and leave.
Their service done.
Yet stay a while
And bathe in my presence
Stay a while and listen to my silence.
Now your words are done - I can speak.
In this house of prayer
I hold my hand of love before you
And beckon you to my embrace.
No need for words my brother
Some to enfold you in my grace.
by Rod White. Sheldon 2005 |
A place ...
A place for peace
A place for rest
Away from all
that anxious stress
A place to be
A place to see
More of God's
great mystery
A place to recover
A place to be free
And to rediscover
the real me!
A place to think
A place for dreams
and to re-focus
on life's main themes
A place for those
whose burdens are great
And for those
who just need to escape
A place to be silent
A place to pray
And be refreshed
for another day
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| May God bless this place with his peace and encouragement forever! |
