POEMS

Carry On, Pilgrim, Carry On

“Carry on, pilgrim, carry on.”

One of my favorite books to read just for fun is P.G. Wodehouse’s “Carry On, Jeeves.” I revisited his pages during this year of turmoil and found laughter in the present moment.

I have also taken great comfort in reading poetry during this time of reorienting. It has fed my soul like never before. A dozen years have passed since I felt any personal desire to craft words onto paper, although I journal regularly and continue to follow my inner calling to be a Contemplative. My weekly rhythms include days of “being while doing” and days of “doing while being.”

This autumn I finished savoring the last book of poetry I own. Unexpectedly, rather than longing to find the next book of poetry to read, I found myself wanting to delve within myself for inspiration. And suddenly my imagination embraced this latest creative journey, to express what words arose to the surface in a sort of labyrinth pilgrimage – going into the center of a poem, resting and receiving from the place of calm, and then beginning the journey anew, out from the center to beyond.

Autumn 2024

Winfield, Illinois

"The Tempest"

Carry On, Pilgrim, Carry On:

“The Tempest”

Part I

In the vastness of plains and endless sky,

I journey, the wind at my back.

Lost in the wonder of fields and clouds,

dulled to untamed storms.

Without warning, dark clouds rumble,

unknown tempos threaten.

I cast about searching for shelter,

refuge from a deluge of darkness.

The outer layer of life thrashes harshly,

rain drops barbed with malice.

My spirit in anguish at the tempest’s lash,

torrents of tears drench my soul.

A void of utter darkness descends.

I stumble. I sputter despair.

Within, a burning torch catches flame;

its faint glow bids me welcome.

I sit in darkness.

I listen to silence.

I wait.

I wonder.

I let go.

“The Tempest”

Part II

I sit in darkness.

I listen to silence.

I wait.

I wonder.

I let go.

Within, a burning torch catches flame;

its faint glow bids me welcome.

A void of utter darkness descends.

I stumble. I sputter despair.

My spirit in anguish at the tempest’s lash,

torrents of tears drench my soul.

The outer layer of life thrashes harshly,

rain drops barbed with malice.

I cast about searching for shelter,

refuge from a deluge of darkness.

Without warning, dark clouds rumble,

unknown tempos threaten.

Lost in the wonder of fields and clouds,

dulled to untamed storms.

In the vastness of plains and endless sky,

I journey, the wind at my back.

“The Tempest”

Part III

My past retreats,

my future nears.

Carry on, pilgrim, carry on.

Only within could chaos be cornered,

light, order, design.

Strength to feel, vigor to heal,

inner-knowing, murmurs beyond.

The moon brings pause, a restful calm.

The sun dispels the darkness.

I roam with reverence, seeking meaning.

Tree branches sway with wisdom.

My thirst is quenched, by streams that wander,

filled, yet seemingly aimless.

I sense faint rustling, fields of wonder,

birds cooing hope at dawn.

Gentle winds whisper lovingly,

my heart in tender rhythm.

I hear the storm clouds rolling off.

My soul is shaken, yet strong.

Who am I when the storm rolls in?

Who am I when it’s gone?

“The Tempest”

Part IV

Who am I when the storm rolls in?

Who am I when it’s gone?

I hear the storm clouds rolling off.

My soul is shaken, yet strong.

Gentle winds whisper lovingly,

my heart in tender rhythm.

I sense faint rustling, fields of wonder,

birds cooing hope at dawn.

My thirst is quenched, by streams that wander,

filled, yet seemingly aimless.

I roam with reverence, seeking meaning.

Tree branches sway with wisdom.

The moon brings pause, a restful calm.

The sun dispels the darkness.

Strength to feel, vigor to heal,

inner-knowing, murmurs beyond.

Only within could chaos be cornered,

light, order, design.

My past retreats,

my future nears.

Carry on, pilgrim, carry on.

"Wisdom Roots"

Carry On, Pilgrim, Carry On:

“Wisdom Roots”

Part I

My past retreats,

my future nears.

Carry on, pilgrim, carry on.

I pause my walk in the woods to listen.

A rustle. A scamper. A song.

Woodpeckers knocking, chipmunks chirping,

the canopy swaying in rhythm.

Leaves crunch beneath my boots.

I draw in the dew-breath of dawn.

The gnarled bark of an oak tree beckons.

My hands gather its calm.

My eyes close, my fingers probe

rugged depths of fissures.

I ponder tree years, winters weathered,

springs of renewed awakening.

Underground, wisdom roots,

deep sustaining strength.

I rest.

I wait.

I listen.

I wonder.

“Wisdom Roots”

Part II

I wonder.

I listen.

I wait.

I rest.

Underground, wisdom roots,

deep sustaining strength.

I ponder tree years, winters weathered,

springs of renewed awakening.

My eyes close, my fingers probe

rugged depths of fissures.

The gnarled bark of an oak tree beckons.

My hands gather its calm.

Leaves crunch beneath my boots.

I draw in the dew-breath of dawn.

Woodpeckers knocking, chipmunks chirping,

the canopy swaying in rhythm.

I pause my walk in the woods to listen.

A rustle. A scamper. A song.

My past retreats,

my future nears.

Carry on, pilgrim, carry on.