Creative Ministries - Poetry

			SUMMONING SPRING

				A pool of blue under a tree - forget-me-nots. In diamond dew wild violets grow beneath another. The pond alive - hat a flutter of duck and drake! Chasing each other, skiing on water, such ripples make! Blue of the sky, the April sun, summoning spring. On greening trees branch after branch is blossoming. Tender new life oh, everywhere surrounding us; Of providence, God’s vital care, reminding us.
							Teresa White, fcJ

SOMETIMES I WONDER: Is it the Journey or the Destination we're made for?

			I had a nest in Africa. Nice one it was, built it myself. A good place to live, Africa warm–plenty of insects- a swallow could grow fat except for the annual long haul flights, that is.
I enjoy them, mind you, soaring over the sands, diving over the dunes, flitting over the fields. Gazing down at mountain, lake and river. Navigating carefully through canyon and casbah Taking in the odours and aromas of the miles. An awful long way for a small bird like me but it’s worth it. We always put up in a barn when we arrive. The owls don’t mind and the children are quite well-behaved. It’s a good place to rear the young. Sometimes I sit on the telephone line and I wonder Is it the journey or the destination we’re made for? Gloria Calabrese fcJ

		THE CRADLED CUP OF COFFEE						THE WHIPPED TOPPING ON THE CAPPUCCINO 'Ooooh!' you said and laughed - but the whipped topping was the icing on the cake the cherry on the bun truly the crème de la crème and remains as memory of that happy day. Mary Campion McCarren, fcJ
			The cradled cup of coffee...; giving off warmth comfort encouragement stirring memories promising new beginnings connecting my awakening self to planters growers pickers shippers to graders grinders packers sellers reminding me of that Other Cup which holds past present and future...; living and dead...; Now I can pray...; Mary Campion McCarren, fcJ


							ZACCHAEUS 'Zacchaeus, can I come in?' He received Him joyfully that first momentous time - and every time He came morning, noon or night, meal time or office hours, family time, free time, prayer time always eager, keen, excited, perceptive grateful loving joyful of course - And I? Mary Campion McCarren, fcJ
	SHEER GIFT Sheer gift yawning heavy-eyed half asleep I peeped through the curtains just to look at the night and my heart sang I couldn’t go back to bed nurturing sustaining like old children’s stories of toys come alive at night daffodils dancing in the dark

			THE QUEEN'S KINGDOM A land ruled by a king is a kingdom, we know. What if ruled by a queen? It's a queendom? Not so! A journey of journeys length and breadth of our Isles, was planned for our monarch cov'ring hundreds of miles. The reason behind this was her jubilee (gold) - a marathon jouney for a 76-year-old.
								She in Falmouth proclaimed her inaugural word. All over the harbour her clear tones were heard: "I intend, as the queen of this kingdom of mine, each region to visit as a unitive sign. On hearing this speech, I Laughed aloud, I recall. A queen of a kingdom? It makes no sense at all! Teresa White, fcJ

		I AM THE BREAD OF LIFE						AFRICA Red earth - sweltering heat The smile of the child holding nothing Inane busyness of activity and bustle Eking a living from a single seed Death and life mingle Natural and accepted Too easily perhaps The life and death symbol carries a quality That you and I don't know The trees green and luscious The ground dry and barren Flowers in the Sahara Overwhelm the depths of despair And cry becomes crisis in the search for a new level of being God in all and all in God Africa gives life and cries out for life You and I are Africa. Christine Anderson, fcJ

	‘I am the Bread of Life.’ ‘Take and eat.’ The Word hung suspended, a living soul, neither more in heaven than on earth, but binding inextricably Adam and the Hands that fashioned him. The words split the air, crash through the endless aeons and in our Word-gifted ‘Yes’, reverberate in the tomb of the world, transforming it into the Resurrection garden of growth in Him who is. Rita McLoughlin, fcJ

	MARGINALISED PEOPLE There be three sorry sights A hungry child, the frail without support, innocent men shot dead. Power stalks weaker people pushed to the margins technology advances quick. Lonely homeless people sleep in boxes like seeds perennial reproach to wealth Hiding. Rain is desolation in May's summer weather like tear-drops washing my sad heart crying.
					Now is eternal gold carat burnished nugget minutest particle of time precious. Taken my life like flour by the master-Baker kneaded to Eucharistic Bread. Given. The tree images up static monochrome life awaiting denudation in autumn. Helen Bresnihan, fcJ

		Surreal they seem those days when time was easeful life a valley sheltered from the harsher winds of yesterday and tomorrow a vague unsubstantial dream, light shadows. The grass was soft beneath my feet the friendly rain refreshed the earth and my being was irrigated with peaceful streams and rills of joy gently inducing peace and sweet content entering glades of dappled green deep solitude glimpsing thro' the trees a gentle sea caressing sunlit shores of France. Miriam Maher, fcJ
							Fluid grace effortless speed birds against changing blue a roundabout static creatures stare from behind glass walls I watch the broken flow awkward gyration staccato pattern my body bound my spirit free winging with the birds. Miriam Maher, fcJ