For Day 1 of Week 1 of the #LiveLent devotional for Lent. \\\* Bless our broken and our breaking, these bodies creaking beneath the pressure of a living daily eked out. Bless our riven hearts in all their parts, strewn as it were along the paths we once trod in hope. Let light, by your speaking bring peace Let our shattered things be whole again let hope with light spring, again.
For Week 1, Sunday of the CoE’s #LiveLent Devotional \\\* Over the cold dark swirling mists, the Spirit breathes then speaks: Light, come forth.
For Day 4 of the CoE #LiveLent Devotional. \\\* All things - the frail and the sturdy, the weak and the strong- hold together, and consist in You Who leaves the saved ninety-nine to find the one; lost sheep who slips into the dark and unclear paths where fear thrives. You offer redemption and finding and saving from the miry clay. Save me.
\\\* May laughter linger here, ring loud in this place where the weight of the burden of living once reigned. May the promise of good news, of sight and freedom come true, bringing life to this thirsty earth.
\\\* I come to lose myself in the brightness of the King, to join the crashing waves the whistling winds and glistening leaves in joyful adoration, to raise a song, like a string quivering at the strumming of the maestro, a tune pregnant with desire its purpose revealed in the reveling of those who hear, many voices, all together resounding as one.
For Lent this year, I’m choosing to reflect via the medium of poetry, inspired in part by Pádraig Ó Tuama’s Poetry Unbound podcast and an inability to pray, in any formal sense of the word. What started as a season of uncertainty has evolved into something bigger, hence this, an attempt to use poetry as prayer. These will be a response to the daily reflection from the Church of England’s LiveLent app which this year encourages us to reflect on creation and how we can be better stewards of it. Here goes! NB for a version in which I attempt to read, visit the anchor.fm page. \\\* The bright gleam of sunlight reflecting in the glass and the steel of the hills we have built lull me into forgetting, that this - these monuments to our power and resolve which wrap themselves like a shroud around the horizon, a scar from a wound revived in the present, tethering us to the certainty of the things we think we know- is but a moment, fleeting in its existence. ...
For the Poetic Aside Prompt #516 and the Novem poetic form. Not strictly interpreted though… \\\* Come bask beneath the starlight. Yield yourself to Time’s gift of colour splashed across night’s canvas. Come here, Hear the whisper of nature’s song. Ponder in awe.
Between a super busy week at work and beginning to pack up my life for an upcoming move, I made slow going of studying this week, hence the lateness of this week’s wrap-up. A highlight was receiving largely positive feedback on my first assignment, an exercise in people-watching which took me to a city centre Burger King. This week’s learning focus was research; tips and tricks for getting beneath the skin of a place to understand the wider context behind the story we’re trying to tell and to ground it in facts and truths. Memory being as fickle as it can be, there was rightly a focus on building systems for capturing details about the people, places and things we write about. Upon reflection, some of the great essayists who have inspired me on this journey have documented their own systems for doing just this including David Sedaris and Ryan Holiday (both of whom have inspired Austin Kleon) to name a few. Also introduced this week were a number of tools: brainstorming (a la mind maps of ideas around a central topic) and foot stepping, physically visiting the area one wishes to write about to absorb its very essence into one’s mind. That I suspect will be very useful over the next few years as I travel more. ...
For The Sunday Muse Prompt #95. \\\* It thunders, and then it wafts, its wispy tendrils slowly rising like the white smoke of incense from a censer, held aloft by a priest intoning a muttered prayer. Behind, a bridge to the past hides, disappearing, as it were, into the haze of memory; ahead, the future - not yet glimpsed but in the moment frozen - and enjoyed.
Last week was about thinking about the underlying reasons for writing, this week was starting off on the journey towards sharpening our powers of observation, the idea being to hone our ability to find stories in the quotidian. A city-centre eatery late one night was my muse. \\\* It is a little after 8.30pm when the smell of French fries wafting in through the door draws me in. The first thing that strikes me as I stride through the door is how empty it looks, the bulk of the two-storied structure being cordoned off, with only the small section to the right of the counter open for use. I find the emptiness surprising given it is next to a major bus station and right in the centre of town. As I wait for the chance to order, I find myself behind three people, all decked out in the garb of people dressed to brace the cold, with the brightly coloured logo of a food delivery service gracing the insulated bags they hold. ...