Writing and the Sacred – a reflection by John F Zurn

This is a brief discussion of writing and the sacred.                  

The relationship between writing and the sacred has existed for thousands of years. During the Greek and Roman eras, for example, myths were eventually formalized into story forms and described religious beliefs and practices. Nevertheless, writing also remains one of the most powerful ways to express spiritual themes. I would like to express a few of these relationships that have been important to me. These reasons can be seen as descriptive and are not my attempt to limit or deny other equally important ideas.

The first and possibly most important of these relationships is in expressing devotion. Whether its praise, gratitude or petition, writing devotional words on a page often gives these words special meaning. A spiritual poem or prayer is either written to God or for God, so it must be carefully written with a spiritual attitude. For example, when writing a prayer about “Despair,” the literary poem is transformed into a spiritual exercise. When the prayer is finished, I can feel closure, and my relationship to God may become more intimate. Since the poem may take at least two hours to finish, the whole time may be spent in thinking about our relationship. This sincerity can also provide the opportunity to discover thoughts and feelings that lead to a greater understanding of the divine. After a dangerous experience or memorable encounter, writing can integrate the experience into a higher spiritual awareness. Thus the feeling of exploration and searching becomes a part of writing and the sacred.

For example, sometimes memorable encounters can transform writing into a spiritual experience. When I was nineteen, I hunted at my Uncle’s resort. One day, as I sat under a tree on a sunny afternoon, a huge snowshoe hare, prematurely white prior to the first snow, hopped fifteen yards directly in front of me. If I were to kill the hare, the whole hunting lodge would have cheered. However, I realized it was my soul that I was preparing to kill. I dropped my gun and never picked up one again. Years later, when I wrote the story, it became a spiritual epiphany for me and much more than a woodland adventure story.

Perhaps, the most subjective writing expresses personal spiritual experience itself. Often these experiences are so intense, writers feel compelled to either share them, or never reveal them. Those who decide to reveal their spiritual experiences may be challenged with the doubt and rejection of others. Many years ago I had an experience in meditation during which I realized that: “God is love in the form of light energy.” Like most people who discover something beautiful, I was intent on sharing the experience. However, my friends and family ignored or rejected it.  Now, by writing poems that explain this experience with verses and images, this discovery is, at least, not immediately discounted. Writers often employ literary devices to explain these experiences and this might seem more practical.

Writing about the Divine can be lonely and frustrating, but it can also be rewarding to the adventurous writer who searches for self-discovery.

John F Zurn has an M.A. in English from Western Illinois University and spent much of his career as a school teacher.  Now retired, he continues to write and publish poems and stories. As one of seven children, his experiences growing up help inspire his art and influence his life.

Songbirds – a poem by Lisa Meserole

Songbirds


do you remember the first time you sang?

was it 4 am, your soul’s sound a lone ripple in darkness
or did you wait for the morning chorus, blend your voice in?

was it midday, your lungs pointing toward the sun
or was your first warble just before bed
a lullaby to the wind-swaying trees?

did you present yourself on the highest stage
or nestle invisible behind the curtain?

did you call out to every star and syrinx
or did you sing soft and quiet for no one at all
or share only when loved ones were listening?

where did you learn to hear the music of being
did someone help teach you arpeggios and scales
or were you born with special knowing
your own perfect pitch?

do you remember that very first song
did you bob your head to your heart’s singular beat
or did your lungs fill with melancholy air?

were you scared
did you wait past your peers until you alone were ready,
or were you curious
did melody burst forth from your feathers
you couldn’t have held back if you tried?

do you remember
that first time you dared sing in this world?

did you feel so fluttery with goodness
or were you ashamed?

tell me, did your voice feel as true
and breathtaking as wings?

does it still? 

Lisa Meserole teaches music and movement to young children in Connecticut. Her poems have appeared in Waking Up to the Earth, and in Oysterville: Poems, as well as in Connecticut River ReviewGreen Hills Literary Lantern, and Shot Glass Journal. She was also an Edwin Way Teale Writer-In-Residence at Trail Wood.

The Hunch – a poem by Nicole Lee

The Hunch
 
I can’t watch John McEnroe
I want him to win so much
he’s brilliant but oh so
volatile and I know
that if I care I’ll doom him
if I watch he’ll surely lose
his insouciance his touch
 
But that is magical thinking
and obviously absurd
and when I’m kneeling
at the Communion rail
how primitive is it
when the vicar murmurs
Body of Christ His Blood
 
Everybody knows
when you’re dead you’re dead
and that’s just how it goes
there’s no such thing
as an immortal soul
and nothing’s changed
by a prayer you’ve said
 
Yet the demonstration
of particle physics
that observation
switches quantum states
the butterfly effect
e equals mc squared
thermodynamics’
 
law re energy
being a constant
able like the body
to be transformed
but not destroyed  
hint how this human
hunch is relevant

a clue left by God
that maybe he’s here
for are we not
energy made briefly
conscious and those
spasms Eternity’s
voice in our ear?

Nicole Lee was born in Kuala Lumpur and educated at Malvern and Oxford. She has worked as a banker in Hong Kong and London and now lives in Wandsworth, works in Kew and writes poetry. She has been published in various online journals and long-listed in the National Poetry Competition.

Life Story – a poem by Diane Elayne Dees

Life Story


Our self-portraits, rendered dense by pentimento,
reveal the paths we took, and those we feared—
while the stories of our lives are so much cento,
that who we are is never really clear.
Are those our thoughts, or are they someone else’s?
How much of what we went through is repressed?
We’ve worn so many masks, they’re now like faces
that change without our knowledge. Is it best
to know that we may never see our souls
revealed in any but the dimmest light?
Perhaps we need to give up all the roles
that have defined us—but do we want unfiltered sight?
Our layers thicken as our years increase;
do we dare to peel them off and welcome peace?

Diane Elayne Dees is the author of the chapbook, Coronary Truth (Kelsay Books); she has two other chapbooks forthcoming. Diane, who lives in Covington, Louisiana, also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women’s professional tennis throughout the world.

Old Woman Bay – a poem by Paula Kienapple-Summers

Old Woman Bay

I rise, grandmother spirit, Nokomis
here, at the bay, where I have always been

my face, the furrowed head land, 
turns toward the horizon
though the great lake’s cold, deep water
pounds life and death against me

my hair of balsam-fir-cedar 
mantles across my great granite spine
its millions of rugged tendrils
burrow in earth and rock 
when I am silent, buried beneath snow
	
my limbs, branches of sugar maples,
dance green in the spring 
until the time of letting go
when my yellow-orange-red dreams
tumble across the skies

I am Nokomis, grandmother spirit,
here, at the bay, where I have always been
for all my great age, I am strong
how else to bear this wild, dazzling cold?

Paula Kienapple-Summers is a poet from Kitchener, Ontario. Her poems have been published in Existere, The Nashwaak Review, Tower Poetry, and Spadina Literary Review as well as anthologies including Another Dysfunctional Cancer Poetry Anthology (Mansfield Press: 2018) and Voicing Suicide (Ekstasis Editions: 2020).

Forward Motion – a poem by Bill Richardson

FORWARD MOTION

You push off; I hold my breath: 
the wobbling bike a wayward lurching ball,
its fits and starts careering left and right,
along, across, astride the wheel of life.
A six-year’s path is there before my eyes;
the flutters in me bounce and brace
and bounce again,
while cycles you traverse 
are loaded down with dream and hope.
Speed your way along the road, my son:
the trick, it seems, is in not staying still.

Bill Richardson lives in Galway, Ireland, where he is Emeritus Professor in Spanish at the National University of Ireland Galway. He has published books and articles on Spanish and Latin American literature. His poems have been published in Irish newspapers, Galway ReviewStony Thursday Book and the Fish Anthology 2020.

What the Sheep Know – a poem by Judy A. Johnson

What the Sheep Know



The whole flock on State Route 72 near Jackson Road huddles
around a large haystack the farmer has just refreshed. 
They do not remember yesterday, when he marked them
or know they have blue or red splotches on bellies or backs.
They do not consider his plans to shear them next week.

They know that fresh hay is sweet 
and the breeze foretells a summer storm 
but there’s a barn if the rain bothers them 
              which it won’t.

Not much bothers them—
hail or lightning or extreme cold
might cause a small panic
but they are placid creatures 
what brains they have 
busy with important things—
              hay in front of them
              sun on their woolly backs
              lambs frolicking nearby.
 

Judy A. Johnson’s work has been published in journals and anthologized; her poems have been recorded and broadcast on a local radio station. Johnson works in libraries and educational publishing, mining daily life for poems and essays. She has belonged to a writing group for more than two decades.

A Lily Over Glass – a poem by Hannah Hinsch

A LILY OVER GLASS 

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow;  
they toil not, neither do they spin... 
Matthew 6:28 KJV 
 
I. GROVE 
 
Here, there is only a release. 
A falling against  
the space at the center 
where rain dapples my face 
and all is quiet. 
Silver mountain water 
shapes my voice, 
caught in swallow’s call.  
Let the moment fall over you, 
swell over your feet. 
It asks only  
for your release. 
 
II. GROUNDWATER 
 
Notice where it pulls  
and where it stops to 
curve around you, this  
current from fracture. 
 
Made from the silver skin 
of deep earth,  
it grounds you  
and keeps you  
afloat. 
 
A lily over glass 
Suspended. 
 
 
III. SURFACING 
 
Glass pearled in mist 
breaks over my head.  
Brine-drenched arms reach,  
hands splay  
toward nameless shore.  
I watch the seagull, 
a specter in gray, 
bow to the water’s edge. 

Hannah Hinsch is a Seattle-based writer who graduated summa cum laude from Seattle Pacific University with a degree in English Literature and fiction. She was the editorial intern at Image journal, a leading quarterly that joins art and faith, for two years. Hannah writes across genres, and finds her impetus among Greek mythology, the Old and New Testament, and in the green, salt-soaked Pacific Northwest. Hannah not only sees writing as an exercise in aesthetics and attentiveness, she leans into writing as a way of knowing, a hermeneutic of God.  

Cell Types – a poem by Andrea Kibel

Cell Types

Bubbles bunch in the bath
like staphylococci –
nature poking fun
at our idea of cleanliness.

Would that I could believe
in these tempting regularities,
the shapes echoed from scale to scale
like emblems of a fractal God:
God of spirals, God of branches,
God of blobs and hexagons,
God of little walking stick,
God of body politic.

Andrea Kibel is a new poet and 24-year-old graduate student in biology. A child of immigrants from South Africa and Zimbabwe, she grew up in the redwoods of California’s Santa Cruz mountains before studying in Dallas, TX and South Bend, Indiana. Andrea draws on science and nature, strangeness and isolation, and Jewish experience and imagery to create poems ranging from free verse to blank verse and sonnets.

Haibun: A Dry July – a poem by Kathryn MacDonald

HAIBUN: A DRY JULY

The woods stand brittle-dry. Leaves curl, falling prematurely. Rain has failed throughout this arid July. Across the fields, dust devils spiral over spots void of clover. Hardy Ox-eye Daisies (Chrysanthemum leucanthemum) – white against purple Viper’s Bugloss (Echium vulgare) – bloom in fencerows and wood’s edge, unaffected. My eyes hurt with dryness; my mind clamours over symbols of death and snakes. Poplar leaves tremble by the farm pond, seek their felted undersides that would foretell rains’ approach. Another dusk. In the dwindling light, a slender doe with fawn, approaches the pond, her ears erect, listening. My breath catches in mirage-light. Slowly, they descend the gentle slope where frogs croak, red-wing blackbirds settle for the night, and I swallow a silent breath.

In mid-summer drought
Doe and fawn discover pond
Frogs croak rousing cheer

Kathryn MacDonald’s poetry has been published in literary journals in Canada, the U.S., England, and Ireland. Her poem “Seduction” was short-listed for the 2019 Freefall Poetry Contest. She is the author of A Breeze You Whisper (poems, 2011) and Calla & Édourd (fiction, 2009). Website: https://KathrynMacDonald.com.