Category: Poetry

The Sacredness of All Life

Have you considered all the ways in which …

LIFE IS SACRED

Abortion (of choice-caused conception)
Senseless killing (can there be “just war”?)
Death penalties (where’s the capital in that?)

Euthanasia (euphemism for “Mercy Killing”)
Suicide (the traumatized need mercy)
Poisoning our food, air, water, soil, bodies—

Won’t we do what we can to minimize these?
Accepted and un-confronted, a culture of death
will affect who we are, alone and together

Who and what do we want to be?
“Free”
Free, you say?

Where’s the freedom of the pre-born?
Is all fair in love and war, really?
Whose and what “vengeance is mine”?

Too complicated politically to fix?
Are Justice-and-Mercy scales broke?
Isn’t life a gift? Is death escape?

Will crumbling foundations give way in revolt?
Or, as we’re breaking and remaking will we find
that we’ve broken ourselves against bedrock?

Then what and where and who will we be?

~Catherine Lawton


This post previously published in 2021.

Art © Cladach Publishing

The Truth of Nature

“That particular moment will never come again.” –Claude Monet

When I attended the wonderful exhibition of Monet paintings at the Denver Art Museum (fall 2019), I enjoyed viewing up close the originals of many of Monet’s famous paintings. He is known, in part, for painting the same scene in different light, different seasons, and from different angles. You may recall his many colorful and dreamy paintings of his water lily pond or of the haystack series (a few of which are pictured above).

“Above all I wanted to be truthful and exact,” wrote Claude Monet in 1880. “For me a landscape hardly exists at all as a landscape, because its appearance is constantly changing… You have to know how to seize just the right moment in a landscape instantaneously, because that particular moment will never come again, and you’re always wondering if the impression you got was truthful.”

Monet’s observation and intuition describes, in a way, how I feel about the seasons of life and nature. I want to live each day being present to and attentive to the subtle changes of light and shadow, color and shape. I want to let them speak to me, let God speak to me through the truth of the moment, always also watching expectantly for the possibilities of the next moment.

I feel this way about writing a poem as well. The desire to be accurate to the feelings and truth of a moment, to seize and distill it in just the right “colors” and interplay of words to give an impression that expresses truth of “that particular moment” that will never come again in the very same light but which speaks of both the imminent and the transcendent.

One year I made a practice of taking a photo of my pollinator-friendly xeriscape garden, from the same angle every month of the year, to document how it changed, and how differently it presented itself and spoke to me. Some plants come up earlier, some later. Some flowers bloom only in spring; others begin flowering in mid summer. Different species of birds visit the feeders and water bowl in different seasons. The colors of the birds’ plumage changes from duller in the winter to vivid in the spring. Light plays differently on tree leaves and pine boughs as it shines direct and bright from above or paints a golden glow from lower in the sky. One season or time of day does not tell the whole truth of the garden. Just as one visit in one setting doesn’t tell you all about a person or a group of people.

God will speak to us in all seasons and show us different perspectives about the situations, events, and people around us. Take time to consider whether (as Monet said) “the impression you got was truthful.”

I had Monet’s words and my own experiences and observations in mind when I wrote this poem:

NATURE DOESN’T LIE

Nature’s truth presents in facets, angles of

perspective,

changing light,

filtering seasons.

Observe in stages or you won’t know its truth.

You cannot know with

one passing click or

fleeting look.

It doesn’t show you its whole self all at once, so

be still,

listen,

feel.

Recognition, Respect, Revealing come in

mutuality….

Knowing

happens there.

Be present to a flower, tree, or pond, and

gradually it will

be present to you

in truth.

~Catherine Lawton

(poem excerpted from the book, Glimpsing Glory: Poems of Living & Dying, Praying & Playing, Belonging & Longing)

Photos/Art: Wikipedia/public domain

Dogs, Humor and Poetry?

My dog Jasper loves taking walks and spending time with me in my gardens. He doesn’t even know he is mentioned in some of my books and poems, but I think he would approve. He would also approve of this fun thing that arrived in the mail this week: a recognition for a humorous canine poem in my mostly otherwise serious collection of poetry, Glimpsing Glory.

Do “humor” and “poetry” go together in your mind?

Well, we might ask, why do we write and read poems, anyway? I found a few famous answers to the question “why poetry?”:

“Poetry calls upon us to probe our deepest emotions and longings.” ~Sharon Olds
“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a love sickness.” ~Robert Frost
“People who pray, need to learn poetry.” ~Eugene Peterson
“To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary.” ~Edgar Allen Poe

I think most of my poems in Glimpsing Glory do reflect “a homesickness, a love sickness,” they “probe deepest emotions and longings,” and express a kind of “prayer.” But sometimes we need our hearts lifted and loads lightened as well as our souls elevated, something to help us tilt our heads and look at circumstances with a different perspective. Sometimes everyday experiences cause my sense of humor to erupt in fun poems. When these are included in a volume of poetry, they are like lucky limericks teasing Irish elegies or perky wildflowers surprising in cultivated gardens. These things I find delightful, and I hope my readers do also.

Do you have a favorite humorous poem that brings a smile to your face and quickens your step? Perhaps it’s a folk song or ditty, or a poem like this one for which I received the above recognition:

CANINE SOCIAL MEDIA

My dog, Jasper, reads
pee mail with his nose.
And he’s a dexterous texter
as he lifts four toes.

Some moms dole out tech time;
but me? I give trek time.
Each bush, post, and bench
offers doggy wifi.

When he wiggles and whines
and starts to holler,
I lace up my shoes, click
the links of his collar.

When he meets other dogs, it’s
‘Will you be my friend?
Follow me in the net-erhood,
my hashtag’s a trend.’

Dogs carry screen names
on their behinds;
Cuz that’s where they sniff,
their profiles to find.

With his nose he scans lawns
for the latest chatter
from cute Lily on the corner
or Bruce the Irish Setter.

–Catherine Lawton

Here’s to soul-elevating and prayerful, as well as playful poetry!

~Catherine Lawton

 

Poetry Helps Us Open Our Hearts to God

Poetry Helps Us Open Our Hearts to God

by Catherine Lawton

In our experience of God’s presence, poetry can help us focus and engage our senses and entire being. Poetry can help us process life and emotions—and see ourselves—in new ways, and thus be open to hearing God say fresh, new things to us. Scripture does this also, of course. In fact, much of the Bible was written as poetry. I have long found soul nourishment and renewed perspective in the Psalms. And how can a person read Song of Solomon and not believe God seeks to woo and reach us through the five senses he has given us? The prophet Isaiah wrote often in poetry. Sometimes poetic expression reaches straight to the heart more effectively than prose.

“Poetry, in capturing the moment, captures the soul,” says poet Mary Harwell Sayler.

I believe God still speaks through poets today. Sometimes with a prophetic voice. Sometimes imparting wisdom. Sometimes bringing clarity. Sometimes lifting the soul to hope and love.

Even if you think you aren’t, you probably are more “into” poetry than you realize. Song lyrics are a type of poetry. Along with the instruments and voices, the words of songs can pierce or soothe our hearts as well as our minds.

Voltaire called poetry “the music of the soul.”

On World Poetry Day (March 21) and every day I encourage you to begin the practice of including poetry in your devotional reading, meditative prayer, quiet times, and soul care.

Eugene Peterson stated, “People who pray, need to learn poetry.”

But don’t just take my word for it. Listen to these comments from readers who have found poems help them focus on, and open their hearts to, God’s presence and love:

“In our own seasons of suffering, [these poems give us] words to explain the pain, to cry out to God, or to get a grip on our faith.” –Elaine Wright Colvin (after reading I Cry Unto You, O Lord by Sarah Suzanne Noble

“This book is a steady and wise companion for those who read the Bible with real devotion and honest questions.” –Connie Wanek (after reading Bible Poems by Donna Marie Merritt)

Each one [of these poems] lifts my heart towards God. They have become a part of my morning devotions.–Bev Coons (reader of PRAISE! Poems by Mary Harwell Sayler)

“So many of the poems provided moments of prayer for me.” ~Jimmie Kepler (speaking of Glimpsing Glory by Catherine Lawton)

Poetry, and all the feelings it represents, connects us to all of humanity’s longings and searchings for God. Here is one of my favorite poems of devotion, written by Irish poet Thomas Moore, about 200 years ago:

MY GOD! SILENT TO THEE!

As, down in the sunless retreats of the ocean,

  Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,

So, deep in my heart, the still prayer of devotion,

  Unheard by the world, rises, silent, to Thee,

     My God! Silent, to Thee,—

     Pure, warm, silent, to Thee.

As still to the start of its worship, though clouded,

  The needle points faithfully o-er the dim sea,

So, dark as I roam, thro’ this wintry world shrouded,

  The hope of my spirit turns, trembling, to Thee,

     My God! Trembling, to Thee,—

     True, fond, trembling, to Thee.

–Thomas Moore

 

On hopeful paths of prayer and poetry,

~Catherine Lawton


(Photo by Thomas Jay Oord. Used with permission.)

(This post was revised and expanded from one I first published here in 2018. In this form, it first appeared on the Godspace Blog to celebrate World Poetry Day, 2023).

 

 

Courage, Dear Hearts

Listen to / read this poem prayer for those weeping in the night, struggling emotionally and spiritually, perhaps physically, during this season.

Listen to the poem:

COURAGE IN

Encourage each one,
dear God,
their heart desire
to know.
Distill the cry
of “help”
to nesting purr
of “with”—
so they can face
the day
and all it holds…
the night
and all it hides…
to see
in darkness, treasures,
awake
with second sight.

~Catherine Lawton

(poet/author of Remembering Softly and Glimpsing Glory)

Cathartic Tears

Are you, or is someone you know, crying—even as a holiday approaches? You are not alone. Many people are sad, bereaved, or lonely during the holidays.

A.R. Cecil speaks to these feelings in her beautiful poem:


GUEST POST

WHAT? YOU CAN’T STOP CRYING.

What? You can’t stop crying.
I hear you. Been there.
You say you left your grocery cart in frozen foods.
You’re telling me it was loaded with food
and every kind of whatnot
from all the other aisles,
and then you hightailed it to your car.
There you hid behind sunglasses and drove home.
Did you remember to wipe your fingerprints
off the handle of the loaded, abandoned cart
in frozen foods?—
Just kidding.

You complain you couldn’t sleep because your slumber
was interrupted by the need to blow your nose.
David of the Old Testament cried on his bed.
See, we are in good company.

Let’s look at the list of life’s events that can trigger
such an avalanche of emotion.
Just check the one that fits, or mark “Other”
at the bottom.

All right, here we go.
You poured your life into the children.
All the children left home.
The empty nest doesn’t feel as good as you thought it would.

You lost your job.
You’re too old to be hired.
You’re not sure whether this reinventing is right for you.

You moved your mother into a nursing home.
You tried to manage Mom at home.
You moved your mother back into the home.

There is an injustice in your life.
You try to think of ways to address it.
Every idea leads to a dead end.
You choose to remain silent.

You have just received a bad diagnosis.
Many well intentioned people are offering suggestions.

Someone who is dear to you is very ill.
That loved-one says, “Just sit with me.”

An important person in your life passes away.

Other.

Listen, if you weren’t crying, I’d be worried about you.
I sympathize with you.
God empathizes with you.
That’s the reason He included people
like Joseph, David, Job, and Paul in His Book.
Think about them; think about the Lord; and think about me.
And, in the near future,
you’ll be able to leave your empty cart in the corral,
go home, store the perishables in the refrigerator,
and then sit on the sofa and have a good cry.
Now, that will be progress. That will be hope.

~ A.R. (Alice) Cecil

 


Editor’s note: This poem first appeared in A.R. Cecil’s published book of poetry, IN THAT PLACE CALLED DAY: Poems and Reflections That Witness God’s Love. Mrs. Cecil is also the author of That Was the Best Christmas!: 25 Short Stories from the Generations (Cladach, 2013) and is one of the contributing authors of Journeys to Mother Love: Nine Women Tell their Stories of Forgiveness and Healing.(Cladach, 2012).

Alice Cecil has a Master of Science in Fine Art from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. She has worked as a third-grade teacher, as well as writing poetry, fiction, and nonfiction for many years.

Alice and her physician husband reside in Louisville, Kentucky. They enjoy traveling to visit their four children and four grandchildren who live in various parts of the world.

Alice enjoys giving book readings and speaking to women’s groups.


Photo: UNSPLASH

This post was first published in 2017.

Giving Thanks To “A Worthy King”

For Christ the King Sunday (Nov. 19 this year) I again share this poem:

Worthy to Receive Glory

Made to honor, we give fealty,

We seek true north like a needle.

But to look for your king

in a pulpit, disappoints;

in a government, fails;

in the mirror, distorts.

Look instead with the eyes of your heart

to the Wounded who heals;

to the Throne that is true;

to the Lamb who was slain,

Christ the King.

–Catherine Lawton

(Excerpted from the book Glimpsing Glory)

In Revelation Chapter 5, Christ the King is depicted as a Lamb who has been slaughtered. All the magnificence of Heaven bows down and worships this Lamb.

In Isaiah 53 we are told “he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.”

Then why do we continually seek the pretty, the popular, the powerful, the polished to emulate, venerate, and follow?

More questions: Have we ever given thanks to God for entering into our humanity and suffering with us and for us? Have we given thanks for the privilege of suffering with him and for him? Are we giving our hearts, our allegiance, our lives to the slaughtered Lamb who lives? the wounded one who heals? Are we willing to bring our wounds to the Lamb for healing? to transform us into wounded healers?

This Thanksgiving I want to join my thanks giving and praise with the angels and those who “fell down and worshiped” the lamb as they held aloft bowls filled with “the prayers of the saints” and as they sang a “new song”:

You are worthy …

for you were slaughtered

and by your blood you ransomed,

for God,

saints from every tribe and language

and people and nation….

To the one seated on the throne

and to the Lamb

be blessing and honor and glory

and might forever and ever!

(Rev. 5:9-13, NRSV)

Giving thanks,

 


Photo: Photo: “Thanksgiving” Stained-Glass Windows used by permission of Library of Congress

As the Trees their Glory Hurl

Leafy Lament

I’m raking leaves and raking leaves,
scrape, scrape, scraping leaves;
reds and oranges, greens and yellows,
all the crispy, crunchy fellows
in soft piles under the big
Mulberry trees.

Leaves are falling all around me,
on my head, before, behind me,
making mockery of my raking,
all my nice green lawn o’ertaking.

It’s a leafy, leafy world
as the trees their glory hurl.
Oh, I need a vacuum sweeper
or a giant tree-leaf eater.

–Catherine Lawton

This poem was written a number of years ago before our neighborhood had leaf blowers. Extracted here from the book, Remembering Softly: A Life In Poems. This post was first published five years ago. I thought we could all use a little humor again.

Photo © Can Stock Photo, BackyardProduct

 

Be(e) Doing Good

As my husband and I make our backyard garden a hospitable place for creatures, pollinators, and people … I watch the bees on flowers (like in these photos I took). The bees inspire me by the goodness of their work: They seem to remind the plants to produce, and the blooms and blossoms respond by flourishing. Honeybees pollinate and gather nectar within about a two-mile radius, reminding me of the interconnectedness of nature and of us all. They risk the journey of flying out to forage, then back to the hive laden with pollen and nectar, despite the perils of nature’s predators and humans’ poisons. Thus they store up honey that will feed the hive in winter as well as the people who respectfully extract and enjoy the delicious, surplus honey.

IMG 6154

As I watched a “bee doing good” this week, I was reminded to “be doing good” myself.* And this poem came to me:

Be(e) Doing Good

As you buzz about (many things)

    are you singing, bringing out

    the fruitfulness of life?

As you wing from place to place

    do you cherish each colorful face

    in the garden of life?

As you pollinate far and wide

    are you ever calling forth

    the Creativity of Life?

As you gladly sip secreted nectar

    will you with honey feed

    both the world and the hive?

Catherine Lawton


*”Jesus … went about doing good.” (Acts 10:38)

This post was first published at GodSpace

 

The Long Cold Stare of January

JANUARY

A captive to granite gray stare,

I shiver and hunker there.

Clouds shudder also and

shake loose frozen crystals

flashing slivered light.

Now silver gleam the gazing eyes.

I rise unblinking, captivated.

As I awoke from sleep one morning, these words came distinctly to my mind: The long, cold stare of January.

I don’t know where those words came from. But they came clear and definite and stayed with me. I wrote that phrase in my journal, thought about it a while, looked outside at the wintry landscape, then composed the (above) poem.

I live in northern Colorado. January is our coldest month. And it is a long month, 31 days. The cold, short days and long nights can make one feel captive. It is a season when people, those who can afford it, like to travel to places like Mexico, Florida, or Spain. Other people may dream of warm beaches during January. But the weather often keeps us indoors and isolated. One can feel captive.

One can also feel captive in an uncomfortable way when people stare at them. Cold stares are especially disconcerting.

Feeling trapped, fearful, impatient with your situation can make your outlook seem hard and gray. But, truly, there is beauty in every season. Opening our hearts to “see” that beauty can turn those cold, gray eyes to a silver gaze.

Contemplatives speak of the “gaze” of the face of Christ that holds, sees deeply, and can draw out the inner radiance of one’s true self.

Recently I was reading a story that described the “silver” eyes of some Scottish Highland folk. I had never heard eye color described as silver before. Polished silver is not necessarily a cold-looking metal. A warmth seems to gleam from deep inside.

Hidden in every hard place is hope. If we look for it with eyes to see, it will eventually gleam forth; and then, rather than be captives we may become captivated by the presence of love and even joy.

~Catherine Lawton


Photo by Kacper Szczechla on Unsplash

This post was first published at Godspacelight 1/18/22, here slightly edited.