Poetry

My Pilgrimage Poems are now published in my book, The Poetry of Pilgrimage.

Here is a sample:

BRIGID

Brigid was born around 454. She was the Abbess of the monastery at Kildare that included both women and men. She was known for her kindness and charity, assisting the poor and freeing slaves. The fire she lit in the heart of her community burned for a thousand years, and the remains of this fire temple exist to this day.

Leading lady, leading light and brightly lit leader;

You were fuelled by the Breath of God

And the deep breath of a people inhaling the life of Christ.

Lit by compassion you reached out with healing.

Your flame burned for a thousand years

Tended by women of faith

And your fire is still remembered

By those who seek the warmth of Christ.

Dear God, open the vents of heaven

That I may catch my breath at your wonders

Fill me, that I may breathe upon the dimly burning wicks

And the fragile fires burning in the hearts

Of your servants in this beloved yet wounded world

And let the compassion of Brigid

Be as a fire in the temple of my soul.

KEVIN

Kevin was born in the middle of the 6th century. He founded his monastery in the lower valley of Glendalough, but later felt called to live the life of a hermit in the upper valley. He was at heart a mystic and was a great poet. He was a gentle and kind person with an unusual affinity to nature.

Gentle Kevin

Few heard your footsteps in the forest

As you searched for your place of prayer.

You came to your mountain like an evening mist;

Mystery hung in the valley

While poetry rose in your soul.

Young mystic, dark-battling, light-releasing saint

You settled in your quiet soil

As autumn leaves brushed the lips

That quivered in devotion.

Sweet Jesus

May I too find my high places of prayer;

Give me the grace to live with the shadows of God

And let holy mists of glory

Rise in praise to my most dear Creator.

_________________________________________________________________________

Our God of Hope

There is a God whose light shines in every darkness
There is a God who hears every lament
There is a God who transforms even the deepest grief
Therefore you have hope:
You shall sing again, but with a different tune
You shall dance again, but with a different step
You shall laugh again, but with a different breath
Not yet, but one day,
For there is a God who heals your wound
with the gentlest hand.

This is a poem I wrote some years ago for some friends of mine who experienced a sudden and terribly tragic family bereavement. The situation seemed so hopeless, but as I prayed for them I realised that there was hope around, but hope didn't mean everything would get better and we'd all get over it - far from it. The bereavement would cause us to change, and within that change there would be newness. I also wanted to include a note about not trying to find hope in a hurry, but to give it time.

MICHAEL MITTON

Poetry