A Godde who is not afraid of the dark

This is inspired by a mixture of recent mealtime conversations in our new home, a podcast about "God Our Mother", a church service during people who were feeling pretty desperate for things in their live to change knelt while one of the leaders read a prayer for them, Remembrance Day... Just life from the past week really.

I read that some people are using the word Godde instead of God to emphasize the feminine side of the Divine, so that's how you should read the poem. The title is inspired by a line from the podcast during which Christena Cleveland, a social psychologist and theologian, talks about the Black Madonna.

Our Godde who is not afraid of the dark

Her arm is a pattern of overlapping crescent moons
Even though her nails look too short to make a mark
Please stop
Please stop

I’ll kneel in the grit for you
Take marks in my knees for you
Kneel in the grit
Would I though?
I didn’t even look for a white poppy
I wore no poppy at all
Frozen by shoulds and overwhelm
I know I hate war
So would I fight for you?

I Was Raised (An attempt to sum up my spiritual journey in a less-than-5-minute poem)

As the blog title says... this is an attempt - to put some of the last 30 years into words --

I wrote this for a performance at a Poets & MCs Battle event for Brighton Fringe, at Komedia, so needed it to make some sense to people who weren't familiar with a Christian upbringing. And I was on the 'Spirit' team (battling the 'Sceptics') so it forced me to dig deep to find the hope often buried under cynicism. I definitely didn't find it easy to write!

5 minutes and words alone in general will never be enough, this is only a slice and simplification of the story. But it's a start. An offering. It's cliche but I think faith is most certainly a journey and things change day to day. For most of us. I don't think it's healthy to stick in exactly the same place, even if that makes it all a lot more uncertain. Performers on both the Spirit and Sceptic teams agreed that an open mind was really important and there were elements of doubt and hope and questionning in all perspectives.

Anyways, here goes!

I was raised 

I was raised in the holy city of Basingstoke
On a diet of memory verses -
I could recite a Psalm, or three, or four for you
List the books of the Bible
Sing you a hundred modern day hymns
I was raised on communion and creationism
On revivals, prayer meetings and baptisms
Notebooks filled with prayers and prophecies
My childhood heroes were missionaries

Brighton Fringe, Here I come!

So this is why the blog has been a little quiet.... :-)

Tickets are now on sale! I'd love it if you came.

February reflections (getting back into poetry)

The flat-shaking drilling of the flood defence work has paused and the sun has come out, a rarity for the two to occur together, it seems. So for the first time I'm sitting out on the decking of the "new" flat we're temporarily living in. Pausing, this Friday evening, with a coffee, and if I smoked I'd have a cigarette in a poetic sort of way.

This week seems to have flown by but has also been pretty significant, in a whole bunch of ways. So I don't want to let it slip by unappreciated. Actually I was up until 3am last night just kind of buzzing with it all, which wasn't particularly helpful but I guess it reminded me I'm alive and no day is the same (and I ended up watching Luisa Omielan's comedy show which is pretty brilliant!)

The main thing is I've performed poetry twice this week, for the first time this year. Both nights were really positive and have enabled me to start building connections and feeling like I am beginning my journey of 'getting back into the Brighton (and hopefully beyond!) scene'.

Follow (Happy Christmas!)

I was asked to write a poem about "Following" for a Christmas Carol Service.

The reference to Philip and Nathanael is inspired by John 1:43 in the New Testament.

Happy Christmas one and all, may you know peace and joy. x


Follow

We’re all following something

The leader
The teacher
The dotted path on the map
The road sign
The sat nav
The feeling in our gut
The worndown path
The light through the trees
Our nose
Our heart
The weakness in our knees
The scent of success
The sound of a loved one calling
The Youtube tutorial
The sound of a baby bawling
The crowd
The recipe
Someone who’s been there before
The recommendation
The end of the tunnel
The open doors
The compass
The moon
The illusive dream
The holy book
The general expectation
The lighthouse beam

Hope is:

Last weekend we took part in an exhibition along with other artists from Hertfordshire. The theme was Hope and the artwork was displayed in a gorgeous chapel in Harpenden. On the Saturday there were workshops and in the evening there were performances. I shared some poems, including the one below which I wrote for the event. It was such a great day, so inspiring and encouraging to be around hard-working, talented artists. And another reminder of how happy it makes me to perform my poems :-)

Hope is

Hope is:
The smell before the smell of rain coming
One hundred poems before this one
The silence of the morning creeping through an open window
Before the day crowds in

Hope is:
Gritted teeth and binoculars
Checking your inbox at 1am
A pinky promise in the playground - moons ago
Newborn skin

Letty

Letty is my sunshine friend

Shadows shift upon the sight of her

Scents of summer waft in

Her smile is light

Set in face round, bright

Warming the coldest day

And she is generous with it

Backpack on

She braves Bristol

Its hills, its tunes, its pints, its colour, its green

And all its crazy and broken and creative and beautiful people

Breathes it all in hard

Trailing light rivers from bicycle wheels

Changing the map

Lots of London Lenten Thanks (part 2)

Some more thanks, to fight back against the gloom that settles too quickly on my shoulders at the moment, the anxiety that tightens my chest. The "God God God, help" I chant under my breath every morning.

It feels wrong to feel sad in the springtime.

But anyway.

In between all this there's been some moments of London joy. I've been trying to finish this off for over a week, and now it's gotten long and each thing probably could have done with its own post. But hey ho, it's done, it's still Lent, just about!! :-)

Pavrov Stelar @ Alexandra Palace

Why have I not been to "Ally Pally" before?!! What a fab venue, and a great view over London (that I couldn't see this time as it was dark, but will definitely be back!). There are food stalls, so everyone was eating, sitting on the fake grass and listening to some live music before the actual show. Felt like a festival. Pavrov Stelar (Austrian electro swing DJ plus live band) were awesome, especially the saxophone, trumpet and trombone players as well as the stage lighting. Did boogie a little, with my beautiful friend Shona, although wasn't quite the full on dance I hoped, partly because there were SO many people there and very little room! But a fab night, followed by a lazy morning lying in the sunshine coming through the living room window. Lovely.

New mercies

Morning by morning new mercies I see:

First word on a new page
Last breath of a night sustained
Daily miracles – by the hour, minute, second
I'm still breathing

A soft pillow
Blankets cocoon
The wrinkles around your sleeping eyes
Hot rivers massage my shoulders
Oats bubbling
Coffee steam dancing in sun streams

Sometimes

BUT

What I remembered/learned, this weekend

Sometimes, after another one of THOSE weeks, (I think) you've got to say:

F*** the cough and the cold that have been clutching icy fingers around your chest
and F*** the late night tears when all the unanswered questions overwhelm
and F*** feeling lonely
and F*** the dark cloud overhead
and F*** not consuming dairy, caffeine or alcohol
and say 'Fuck' out loud

And get on a train
And have one more little cry
And then slap on some more foundation over the shadows under your eyes
And take a big gulp of the gin and tonic your sister-in-law hands you
And apply red lipstick generously
And wear ridiculously short shorts that show off the tattoo no one usually sees
And wobble downstairs in high heels
And throw your arms around people you love
And have some more gin and tonic
And dance
And dance
And dance

Breathe out peace

Some of my reflections on all that's going on in the world. I know there's no easy answers, and there's opinions on all sides as to how we respond. I don't know the ins and outs, I don't know the best way forward. But this is some of what my heart says, about how we could be living every day, because you don't know what tomorrow will bring, and the smallest gesture could change eveything.

Today reminds me

To breathe out peace

Before the trouble comes
Before the night arrives
Before the sirens and the hashtags
Breathe out peace

In all the comings and goings
In all the conversations and pauses in between
Bring it with you, wear it on your sleeve
Pass it on, pass it on

Not overwhelmed

Spent the weekend with friends who are actually family, my crazy creative family that loves to dance and drum (and eat cake) and fill the space with colour and laughter and give all that they are the the One that inspires and outspires - breathes out life and love too deep for words. But here are some words, a humble offering, because being in that place I can't help but watch and listen and move and when I take a break from the dancing, pick up a pen and write...

Trains of thought

I like trains. Not in a trainspotter type way. Just like travelling on them, like the views they give and that you can get up and walk about if you need to.

Trains were the main way in which we travelled from Budapest, Belgrade, back to Budapest, then on to Prague and Dresden this summer.

I've been thinking a lot about trains since then. The thoughts are not ordered like carriages, but scattered like the clouds that skittered across the hot blue. But I had to start, had to plant the thoughts to see if they'll grow.

Sparks (happy times at the Penzance literary festival)

The weekend just gone was one of those times when I'm super thankful to live in Penzance, when I think actually I will miss this place rather a lot. The Penzance Literary Festival ran from last Wednesday until Saturday and I was fortunate enough to perform poetry at three events: Telltales, the show I hosted: Poetry Tapas, and at the kids version of the festival. They all had a different feel but attentive audiences and great atmosphere and I really enjoyed all of them.

Dancing in the rain, almost

We had our last 'Creative/Movement in Worship' evening on Saturday - well last one before I go, anyways. As usual, it was a time of freedom, of dancing, of laying down all my doubts and questions for a while and letting go, being thankful, playing, remembering God's love and bigness and the things that are most important to me. All in the company of some wild, creative, beautiful ladies. I can't always believe it's the same me who sits behind a desk all day, who isn't at all as sure about her faith as she used to be, who seems to soak in the cynicism around her like a sponge. But it is. That's why these times are important. That's why I dance.

Here's to you, Andy Au

Life has been mental the last few weeks, but full of lots of good things that have made me feel full to bursting. One such good thing was a flying visit to Sussex to surprise our great friend and pastor of our church in Brighton at his 60th birthday party. Over the past few years Andy Au welcomed us into his home literally countless times, fed, 'watered', gave, encouraged, counselled, laughed with, and even married us. People in churches all around the world know Andy for his dancing, I'm just very glad to say he's my friend.

I wrote this poem for him, and read it out at the party. I think it sums him up quite well. And it was a lot of fun writing :-)

Resurrection

Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world,
It is never any more than a grain of wheat
And the code for a new crop
Can't be realised

Every seed is a miracle
The plan for a forest
Hidden in such an unassuming shell
And whether buried with tenderness
Or discarded and forgotten
Always the possibility of life
Creeping
then, bursting forth

All of me

How can I ever thank you enough?

For the way you
cut through the tension that bound my shoulders
that kept my heart closed
and my ears deaf to the truth
- that stopped me moving
even when I heard your call

For the way you
snapped the chains
that kept my feet from dancing
like they were made to

The Grandstand (Happy Independence Day, Zambia!)

Tomorrow is Zambia's 50th anniversary of Independence from British colonial rule.

I lived in Zambia from 1999-2001, aged 12 - 15, at a boarding school where my parents worked.

So here's a poem that sums up quite a bit of my experience there.

The Grandstand

There is a pyramid
In the centralsouthernafrican bush
Disrupting Zambia’s maize field and gum tree patchwork
It stands
Grand
Presiding over The Sports Field
That sprints away to the base of the hill with the cross on top
Flanked by tennis courts on the north and swimming pool on the south

No halo

There was no halo -
Like they show
In the paintings

At least
Not revealed to human eyes, most of the time
Momentary mountaintop flashes of glory
But then it was fish and foot-washing and dinner with 'Les miserables'
And maybe it was all a dream?