This is a guest post that comes from the World Community for Christian Meditation . All rights to this poem belong to
John J. Keohane
This is a guest post that comes from the World Community for Christian Meditation . All rights to this poem belong to
Pope Francis has inspired individuals and groups to service by the example of his own living and giving. This poem was written earlier this year in response to an experience of the Washing of the Feet on Holy Thursday at a community called Ariah Park. The washing of the feet is a Christian ritual action expressing service after the manner of Christ in the Gospel account according to John, chapter 13.
FOOTPRINTS
Footfalls
On the floorboards
Padding
The path
Of pilgrims’ lives.
Each footprint
Bears an imprint
Unique to our world.
And yet
They come
From the same creator’s hand.
Feet were washed
Kissed and wiped
After the Master’s example and care.
Each bearer
As they placed their foot
They showed
The grounding of their stand.
Stand
Upon their generous service
Loving others as Christ has loved.
Can they see
Their gift
To their sisters and brothers
Is seen and noticed
Both here below
And above?
As we washed
Those pilgrim feet
A teary smile alights the face.
At this Assembly
On Holy Thursday
Three generations
Witnessed grace.
Grace
Flowing through
Water and towel
At the Saviour’s
Example and command.
Yet they know
Not just the ritual
For they live
The service somehow.
Simon C.J. Falk
Ariah Park,
Holy Thursday, 28 March 2013.
Nearer
Nearer
Than the breathing
In
Or out
Closer
Than
Mine own breath
The Lord is
Is there
In the stillness.
Deep inside
Near my heart
Under my lungs
The lifeblood
And
The breath
Come from his.
Stop
Be still
Know
That he is
Is nearer
And
Always within.
Turn not aside
To pace
And frenetic activity.
Stop
Look within
God is there
In the stillness.
This is a recent free verse from a time of retreat I had at Jamberoo Abbey ( http://www.jamberooabbey.org.au/html/home.htm ). It is a thank you in response to a time of prayer in Christian Meditation.
The years rolled on as he dropped the clutch,
And hopped the roads of Gundagai;
Many miles and years have gone,
As he toiled ‘neath southern sky.
His Telstar now sits idle there,
Under the carport tall;
At times, these days, it’s hard to bear,
His gentle, but plaintive call.
He’s saddened now, as its wheels don’t flow,
His independence lies still on the stones;
The pain within, only he can know,
As he feels it in aging bones.
A passenger now, he may well be,
As it seems his driving days may be done;
We only hope that he can see,
He’s still a valued one.
He may not drive in coat and beret,
Or race other cars at the lights;
But I do hope he can see today,
He’s still joy for many of our nights.
As he struggles in his grief,
And walks away his sorrow;
We look on in hope and belief,
That he’ll smile with us tomorrow.
Goulburn, NSW, 22 September 2003
The late Fr John O’Brien originally hailed from Dublin, Ireland. Having studied at ‘All Hallows’ he came to Australia in the late 1940s. Small in stature, but grand on wit, John knew the dark nights and days of depression too. This poem was written after he had to hand his driver’s licence in. People hate letting go and priests are just like anyone else in that regard. We all struggle to adjust to changes in our lives. May John rest in peace.
Thus far
resisted
I have
in writing
a blog
in cyberspace.
So many others
have
populated pages
and news feeds
and inboxes.
But
something in me
wanted to post
poems and verses
for others to share
in love
of poetry
and subjects
topics
and people
we may care
about.
It is hoped
that this space
may help us
to stop
to ponder
to still ourselves.
Just a few minutes
gathering
threads together
in the fabric
of our lives.
So here it is!
Blog number
one.
More words
in verses
May follow.
Simon C.J. Falk
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