God is in His Heaven...

[Jimmy O'Connell]

God is in His Heaven...

The convent smelled always of buttery
shortbread and shone of fragrant wax, with
a rhythmic clicking of black wooden rosary beads,
and a swish of copious cloth, heads bowed,
eyes guarded in decorum, as laid down
by religious regulation.

I played soccer on a grass tennis court,
kicking the ball into the drooping net;
our Sunday visit; an old nun sat
in a brown stoned alcove reading from
a black leather bound prayer book;
my aunt and mother in quiet conversation
spoke of family, children and sickness.

An adventure it was from Artane to Howth,
riding on a green double decker, a chatty
bus conductor and a driver isolated in his
noisy cockpit -- past Dollymount reminding me
to ask: “Can we swim? Can we swim?”
and: “Can we walk to the cove?”
“Can we climb to the lighthouse?’”
Did God live only in places that were
shiny and silent? What happened to Him
when we closed the heavy wooden convent gate
and walked through a blackberry lane
full of thistles and wild wind swayed grass?

Would He have walked the pebbled, shingle cove
as we played by an abandoned boathouse
-- we, in a reverie of oil-skinned fishermen
and sea rescues -- He, in the sand crunch of sea, echoing
anger into the cliff above when the sun was hidden
behind heavy grey clouds?

The return of a smiling sea
at a sudden sun burst brought, “Can we swim?
Can we swim?” It was always too wildly noisy,
and unpredictable. “Let’s get back for tea
before the bell rings,” my aunt would say.

Tea was served with linen stiff serviettes
and shallow china cups -- a formality which

starched any compulsion to get to the chocolate
biscuits first. In convents where God lived,
you waited your turn, were polite and didn’t
let your mother down, even in front of aunts
who smiled like a benevolent big sister,
who wanted to indulge.

After the evening bell for prayer,
we would leave in a hurry because
God was waiting in the chapel and
she must not keep them waiting.
We caught the same bus; the conductor
with a Sunday evening smile asked me,
who would win next Sunday,
Kilkenny or Tipperary?

Even though I was a Leinster man,
I wanted Tipp to win (Tom and Noel’s
father was from Nenagh, and I did not want
to disappoint), though I knew I felt the tug
of loyalty to my native province.
I wondered which team God would want to win --
but He would not even be at Croke Park.
He was in a convent by the sea,
waiting patiently for my aunt.

[lizzytysh]

Hello Jimmy ~

So much of your poem makes me grateful that I believe in G~d and in my belief that G~d is truly everywhere. Your as-always, highly-evocative poetry brings me to the immediacy of time and place as an acute observer.

I like the subtlety of your humour tinged with sad realities. Amongst many others, I really liked your wording here:

starched any compulsion

Thanks very much for writing and posting your memoir poem.


~ Lizzy

[mat james]

Hi Jimmy,

Did God live only in places that were
shiny and silent? What happened to Him
when we closed the heavy wooden convent gate
and walked through a blackberry lane
full of thistles and wild wind swayed grass?

…He was in a convent by the sea,
waiting patiently for my aunt.

I am pleased your "young mind" found an answer to this perplexing question, Jimmy!
I thoroughly enjoyed your little journey.
Regards, Matj

[lizzytysh]

Did God live only in places that were
shiny and silent? What happened to Him
when we closed the heavy wooden convent gate
and walked through a blackberry lane
full of thistles and wild wind swayed grass?

…He was in a convent by the sea, waiting patiently for my aunt.

From a child or an adult, I love this line of questioning and wit- and wisdom-filled response.

Your perspectives are always so real to me, Jimmy.


~ Lizzy

[dangermouse]

Wow again Jimmy, your piece is so long.
How do you keep the concentration to get it that long?
Are you never tempted to settle for something shorter?
You know what they say about brevity and literature, especially in the poetic genre?
Don't you think it might benefit from cutting back?

[Diane]

Did God live only in places that were
shiny and silent? What happened to Him
when we closed the heavy wooden convent gate
and walked through a blackberry lane
full of thistles and wild wind swayed grass?

Hi Jimmy, always enjoy your pomes, thanks. I am reminded a of a Basho haiku:

The temple bell stops--
but the sound keeps coming
out of the flowers.

[Byron]

I've been pondering on going on Retreat for some time, and this 'pome' has hit several of the right buttons for me. We don't have to be alone, in a monk's cell, in a courtyard, in a quadrangle, walking around a cloistered old monastery, to be with God. (I give Him his name in full)

It's like 'sanctuary,' in that we don't need to seek it inside a church to find it. It is within us all if we can only slow down, step sideways, and look where we've been. We have to know where we've been in order to know how to move on from where we are. Sometimes, finding where we are comes as a bit of a shock ( ie; spiritually)

Yep, try and keep the words to a minimum. I have a hell of a job with that and fail every time.

[Jimmy O'Connell]

Thank you dangermouse for your comments. I do have shorter ones on the forum!!!!
This one is a narrative poem. I think the story telling is in itself what the poem is about. I think sometimes poetry that has a narrative quality can be an interesting stroll through many land/emotion-scapes. Like good wine needs air and a little space to breath.

Byron avail of that opportunity to go on retreat. Space and quiet is part of the spiritual journey too... sometimes that is where we find our God...

Thank you for your comments.

Jimmy

[dangermouse]

Hey Diane,
that haiku is a syllable short in the middle line.
Is that your transcription or a bad translation.
Kind of fucks the whole thing up for me!

[mat james]

Kind of fucks the whole thing up for me!

Danger!-mouse.(Jung would love to do a number on that combo of archetypes )

the whole thing

???
The image and message are evident whether in correct format or not.

[Diane]

"keeps on coming..."

Sorted.

[Jimmy O'Connell]

whew.....
peace has broken out....

Jimmy

[Birdonawire]

Peace has broken out
The sky, divided by cloud,
United by rain


Yes? No?

[Jimmy O'Connell]

with a quote from Paddy Kavanagh ya just havta be Irish....

I don't knew where the haiku quote is from... but I like it. It ain't Kavanagh... but dat's awright...

Jimmy

[Diane]

Hey I really like that. Another Irish poet on board? Rave on, Bird on. Hi to your bros.