Yesterday a friend reached out to me and asked if I’d be willing to share some poetry on his lit blog. Rob said he’s planning to host a full month of guest poets on his long time blog in celebration of National Poetry Month 2020. Yes, I said. And as I looked at what poems I might send to Rob, I felt a tiny shift in me that felt a wee bit like I mattered again in the world (cue all the feelings). And then I began wondering how I might be part of a ripple effect within my own creative community.
Bringing us here: day one of our NaPoMo poetry party!
Please say hello to our first guest and my friend, Anne Linington. Anne and I met through Faithwriters, an online writing community in 2006, and have continued a virtual friendship every since. Anne is a lay minister (Reader) with the Church of England, and lives on the picturesque Isle of Wight. Anne reads her poetry at open mics, and leads a monthly poetry group at Carisbrooke Priory.
Before you share your poem Anne, I’d like to ask you 3 questions, questions I will be asking each one of our poetry party guests:
1. What is this quieter version of life teaching you?
Anne: The importance of structure for the day which will be useful as we head to retirement.
2. We often say we wish we had more time for certain things. Having been given this gift of more time, what are you spending it on?
Anne: Sharing more of my writing, not necessarily new material, but older articles and poetry.
3. What is one surprising thing that happened today?
Anne: I offered to share my seventeen years experience of “Contemplative prayer” with others via Facebook.
Thanks for starting us off so well, Anne, and for sharing your beautiful gift and heart.
The Plough How could I have known When I opened the creaking gate to the field of my life, And invited you in To do the necessary work, That your activity would be so painful And yet ultimately Bring about a harvest? Setting your plough To dig down deep To turn over And break up Almost touching the deep bedrock Of my soul Revealing me in all my created Rawness. Leaving me exposed Rich pickings for hungry gulls Whilst all that I had previously Thought worthwhile Is torn from its root Dies And is re-interred In the soil Of my life Now I lie open and naked As my neat furrows are Rained upon Reduced Frozen Broken down Emptied of all former life Waiting Then one day The returning sun of your love Gently warming O'er lengthening days Begins my re-awakening Precious seed is sown In prepared ground Watched over Anticipated And the Autumn pain Brings life And hope. Anne Linington ©